The spectators from the city gazed with wonder at what was passing, and observed it in silence, without interfering. They were, in a manner, astounded with ignorance and surprise, and stood like figures on a painter's canvas, rivetted upon the scene before them, when lo! a new actress made her appearance on the stage. Chariclea followed close after Calasiris. The eye of a lover is quick as lightning in recognising the object of its passion—a single gesture, the fold of a garment, seen behind, or at a distance, is sufficient to confirm its conjectures. When she knew Theagenes afar off, transported at the long-wished-for sight, she ran frantickly towards him, and, falling on his neck, embraced him closely, breathing out her passion in inarticulate murmurs.
He, when he saw a squalid face, disguised, and industriously discoloured, her tattered garments, and vile appearance, repulsed and threw her from him with disgust, as some common beggar; and when she still persisted, and hindered his seeing Calasiris and his children, he smote her on the face. She softly said to him—"O Pythias, have you then forgotten the torch?" He, startled as at the sudden stroke of an arrow, recognized the token which had been agreed upon between them; and, looking at the countenance of Chariclea, which broke on him like the sun from behind a cloud, rushed into her embrace. All those upon the walls, including Arsace herself, who swelled with displeasure and already viewed Chariclea with jealous eyes, were overcome with wonder, as at some scenic exhibition.
The unnatural warfare between the brothers was now ended; the tragedy which threatened blood, had passed into a comedy. The father, who had seen them armed against each other, and had nearly been a spectator of the wounds of one of them, became the instrument of peace.[7] He who was unable to avoid the fated spectacle of his sons' hostilities, was fortunate enough to rule the issue of what fate had ordered.
They recovered their father after a ten years' exile; and they hastened to crown and invest him again with the ensigns of that dignity, which had nearly been the cause of a bloody contest between them. But amid all these successes the love scene of the drama triumphed—Theagenes and Chariclea, blooming in youth and beauty, and sparkling with pleasure at having recovered one another, attracted the eyes of every beholder. Nearly the whole city poured out through the gates, and a multitude of every age and sex hurried into the plain. The young men surrounded Theagenes; those in the prime of life, and who had formerly known him, crowded round Thyamis; the maidens who already indulged in dreams of wedlock followed Chariclea; the old men and priests attended upon and congratuled Calasiris:—thus a kind of sacred procession was formed upon the instant.
Thyamis dismissed the men of Bessa with much gratitude, and many thanks for their ready assistance. He promised by the next full moon to send them a hundred oxen, a thousand sheep, and ten drachmas each; and then, placing his neck within the embrace of the old man, he supported on one side the tottering steps of his weary father, whom fatigue, surprise, and joy had well nigh exhausted. Petosiris on his side did the same: and thus they led him, with lighted torches, and the applause and congratulations of the surrounding multitude, to the temple of Isis; pipes and sacred flutes attending the procession, and stimulating the spirits of the young to activity in the holy dance. Neither was Arsace herself absent from the ceremony, for with guards, attendants, and much pomp, she proceeded to the temple of Isis, where she offered gold and precious stones, under pretence of setting an example to the city, but having eyes for Theagenes alone, and gazing upon him with more eagerness than did all the others; yet the pleasure she received was not unmixed. Theagenes held Chariclea by the hand, and for her he removed the surrounding crowd, and the keen stings of jealousy sunk deep into the breast of Arsace.
But Calasiris, when he arrived at the innermost part of the temple, threw himself on his face, and continued so long prostrate and motionless at the feet of the sacred image, that he was near expiring under emotion. The bystanders gently raised and set him on his feet; and when with difficulty, and by degrees, he came to himself, he poured out a libation to the goddess, and, in the midst of vows and prayers, took the sacred diadem of the priesthood from his own head, and placed it on that of his son Thyamis; saying to the spectators—"That he felt himself old, and saw his end approaching—that his eldest son was his lawful successor in the office—and that he possessed the needful vigour, both of mind and body, for exercising the functions of it."
The multitude testified, by their acclamations, their approbation of what he said; and he retired with his sons, and Theagenes, to those apartments of the temple which are set apart for the high-priest. The crowd separated to their several habitations; and Arsace at length departed, unwillingly, and often turning back, under pretence of greater respect to the goddess; at last, however she did depart, casting back her eyes as long as possible upon Theagenes.
As soon as she arrived at her palace, she hurried to her chamber, and, throwing herself upon the bed, in the habit she had on, lay there a long time speechless. She was a woman ever inclined to sensual passion; and was now inflamed above measure by the beauties and grace of Theagenes, which excelled any she had ever beheld. She continued restless and agitated all night, turning from one side to the other, fetching deep and frequent sighs; now rising up, and again falling back on her couch; now tearing off her clothes, and then again throwing herself upon her bed; calling in her maids without cause, and dismissing them without orders.[8] In short, her unrestrained love would certainly have driven her into frenzy, had not an old crone, Cybele by name, her bedchamber woman, well acquainted with her secrets, and who had ministered to her amours, hurried into the chamber.
Nothing had escaped her notice, and she now came to add fuel to the flame; thus addressing her:—"What ails you, my dear mistress? What new passion tortures you? Whose countenance has raised such a flame in my nursling's soul? Is there any one foolish or insolent enough to overlook or contemn advances from you? Can any mortal see your charms unmoved, and not esteem your favours as a most supreme felicity? Conceal nothing from me, my sweet child. He must be made of adamant, indeed, whom my arts cannot soften. Only tell me your wishes, and I will answer for the success of them. You have more than once made trial of my skill and fidelity." With these and such like insinuating persuasions, and falling at the feet of Arsace, she entreated her to disclose the cause of her sufferings and agitations. The princess at last, composing herself a little, said—
"Good nurse! I have received a deeper wound than I have ever yet felt; and though I have frequently, on similar occasions, successfully experienced your abilities, I doubt whether they can avail me now. The war which threatened our walls yesterday,[9] has ended without bloodshed, and has settled into peace; but it has been the cause of raising a more cruel war within my bosom, and of inflicting a deep wound, not on any part of my body, but on my very soul, by offering to my view, in a luckless hour, that foreign youth who ran near Thyamis during the single combat. You must know whom I mean, for his beauty shone so transcendently among them all, as to be conspicuous to the rudest and most insensible to love, much more to one of your matured experience. Wherefore my dearest nurse, now that you know my wound, employ all your skill to heal it; call up every art, work with every spell and will which years have taught you, if you would have your mistress survive; for it is in vain for me to think of living, if I do not enjoy this young man."