"I believe I know the youth of whom you speak," replied the old woman; "his chest and shoulders were broad; his neck, straight and noble; his stature, raised above his fellows; and he outshone, in short, every one around him:—his eyes sparkling with animation, yet their fire tempered with sweetness; his beautiful locks clustered on his shoulders; and the first down of youth appeared upon his cheek. An outlandish wench, not without beauty, but of uncommon impudence, ran suddenly up to him, embraced him, and hung upon his neck.—Is not this the man you mean?"
"It is indeed," replied Arsace; "I well remember the last circumstance you mention; and that strolling hussy, whose[10] home-spun made-up charms have nothing more in them than common, but are, alas! much more fortunate than mine, since they have obtained for her such a lover."
The old woman smiled at this, and said,—"Be of good cheer, my child; the stranger just now, perhaps, thinks his present mistress handsome; but if I can make him possessor of your beauties he will find himself to have exchanged brass for gold,[11] and will look with disdain upon that conceited and saucy strumpet."—"Only do this, my dearest Cybele, and you will cure, at once, two dreadful distempers—love and jealousy; you will free me from one, and satisfy the other."—"Be it my care," replied the nurse, "to bring this about; do you, in the meantime, compose yourself; take a little rest; do not despair before the trial, but cherish soothing hope." Having said this, she took up the lamp, and, shutting the door of the chamber, went away.
Soon after sunrise, taking one of the eunuchs of the palace with her, and ordering a maid to follow her with cakes[12] and other requisites for sacrifice, she hastened to the temple of Isis. Upon arriving at the entrance, she said—she came to offer a sacrifice for her mistress Arsace, who had been disturbed by portentous dreams, and wished to propitiate the goddess. One of the vergers opposed, and sent her away, telling her—that the temple was overwhelmed with sorrow—that Calasiris, returned from his long exile, had feasted with his friend the evening before, unbending his mind with unusual cheerfulness and mirth:—after the entertainment he made a libation, and poured out many prayers to the goddess—he told his sons that they would not see him much longer—and earnestly recommended to their protection the young Greeks who came with him; begging them to have the tenderest care of, and assist them in everything:—he then retired to rest; and whether excess of joy had relaxed his nerves and exhausted his spirits more than his old and worn-out frame could bear, or whether he had asked, and obtained, this favour of the gods, towards cock-crowing he was found to have expired, by his sons, who, alarmed at his presages, had watched over him all night. "And now," continued he, "we have sent into the city, to assemble together the rest of the priestly caste, that we may celebrate his funeral rites according to the custom of our country. You must therefore retire; for it is not lawful for any one, except the priests, to enter the temple, much less to sacrifice, for at least seven days."
"What then will become of the Grecian strangers during this interval?" said Cybele.—"Thyamis," he replied, "our new high-priest, has ordered apartments to be fitted up for them, beyond its precincts; and they are even now complying with our custom, by quitting the temple, and during this melancholy space of time, will lodge without."
The old woman, thinking this an admirable occasion to spread her nets and prepare her snares, said, "Good verger, now is the time to be of service to the strangers, and to oblige Arsace, sister of the Great King. You know how fond she is of Greeks, and how ready to show hospitality to foreigners; let these young people know, that with the knowledge, and by the consent of Thyamis, apartments are prepared for them in our palace."
The verger, suspecting nothing of Cybele's designs, imagined that he was doing a very good office for the strangers if he could get them received into the Viceroy's palace; that he should also oblige those who asked this of him, and hurt nobody. He sought therefore Theagenes and Chariclea. He found them drowned in tears, and overwhelmed with sorrow. "You do not act," said he, "conformably to the principles of your country or religion in lamenting so deeply the departure of a holy man, who, besides, foretold it to you, and forbade you to grieve at it. Reason and the divine word should rather encourage you to attend him, mentally, with rejoicing and congratulation as resting from his labours, and having exchanged this troublesome state for a better. On your own account, however, I can excuse your giving way, at first, to grief, having lost your father, your protector, and chief support; but you must not despair; Thyamis succeeds not only to his father's dignity, but to his affections towards you. He has manifested the greatest regard for you. His first thoughts have been for your accommodation. He has been able to procure a retreat for you, so splendid, as not only foreigners in low estate like you, but the greatest of the inhabitants, would envy. Follow then this woman," pointing to Cybele—"consider her as your mother, and accept the hospitality to which she will introduce you."
Theagenes and Chariclea did as they were directed. Grief had so overwhelmed their faculties, that they hardly knew what they were about; and in their present forlorn state were willing to fly to any refuge. But could they have foreseen the calamities which awaited them in the house they were about to enter, they would have shrunk back. Fortune, whose sport they were, seemed now to promise them a short space for rest, and a prospect of joy, only to plunge them deeper in misfortunes. They went voluntary prisoners; and young, strangers, and unsuspecting, deceived by the fair show of hospitality, they delivered themselves up to their enemy. Thus subject is a wandering life to the cloud of error, and thus easily is the unhappy traveller deluded and imposed upon.
The lovers, when they arrived at the viceregal palace, and saw its magnificent vestibules (far more splendid than any private house), the guards, and array of attendants and courtiers, were surprised and disturbed, observing the habitation to be very much beyond what was suitable to the present condition of their fortunes. However, they followed Cybele, who exhorted and encouraged them—called them her friends and children, and bid them form the most pleasing expectations for their future. At length, when she had brought them to her own apartment, which was remote and private, she caused them to sit down, and thus addressed them:
"My children, I am acquainted with the cause of your present sorrow; and that you lament, with great reason, the death of the high priest, Calasiris, who was in the place of a father to you; but it is proper for you now to tell me who you are, and from whence you come. So far I know, that you are Greeks; and, as I judge from your appearance, of a good family; for a countenance so ingenuous, so graceful and engaging an air, bespeak a noble race. But from what country and city of Greece you come, and by what chance you have wandered hither, I wish to know; and it will be for your interest to acquaint me, that I may inform my mistress Arsace, the sister of the Great King, and wife of the most powerful of the viceroys, Oroondates. She is hospitable, refined, and a lover of the Greeks. When she has had some previous information about you, you will appear before her with less embarrassment, and more honour. And whatever you disclose, will not be to an entire stranger, for I also am a Greek by nation. I am a native of Lesbos. I was brought here a captive; but I find my life in captivity pleasanter than any I could have hoped to pass at home, for I enjoy the entire confidence of my mistress; she sees only with my eyes, and hears with my ears; but I make use of the credit I have with her to introduce only worthy and honourable persons to her acquaintance."