Aleph, the Chaldean; or, the Messiah as Seen from Alexandria

by E. F. Burr

Compared with his movements now, all his former ones were mere pastime. It was sublime to see such a face, such a figure, such a blending of all the poetries of expression and motion. He still parried, but every parry was followed by a blow delivered. Swifter and stronger flew that young hand. He, too, could be swift and mighty—he, too, could press, now on this side and now on that, and again, seemingly, on all sides at once. And yet his breathing was unhurried—there seemed in him endless reserves of strength and battle.

“Immortal gods! how he handles himself,” exclaimed young men as they stood on their benches and watched breathlessly.

Almost as soon as the defensive became the aggressive, a severe stroke on his swollen cheek warned Draco that he must begin to look to self-preservation. He could no longer give his whole attention to assault. He became vividly sensible of the great change that had taken place in the aspect and bearing of his antagonist. He saw how cool and collected he was—how perfectly master of himself. The sight angered him, made him furious. He would have given his life for one fair demolishing stroke on the young man on whom as yet he had not been able to fasten a single bruise. But scant time had he now for even such flashes of thinking. He had all he could do to ward off the blows that came so mightily and swiftly, and yet with a certain deliberate terribleness and ease that seemed to say that such could be delivered forever. Soon another blow passed his ward and reached the cheek hitherto untouched. But it was with the palm of the hand. Was Aleph affecting to be forbearing and merciful to him who had never given mercy nor needed it? Was he, like some perverse boy, being cuffed into good behavior? The thought was intolerable. That a youngster of a score of summers should be sparing him—conquering him with even something less than his utmost, was agony. And yet that was what everybody could now see was bound to happen. It was plain to see that Draco was waning and that Aleph was waxing. The sweat was dropping freely from the face of the one; the brow of the other was not perceptibly moist. Spectators could see that the young man often voluntarily neglected advantages that the passion and precipitation of his adversary gave him, and was seeking to close the contest with as little damage and mortification to him as possible. After one of these plain forbearances he said to Draco in a low voice:

“Need this go on? Say that you are satisfied with the examination and we will stop just here. You have for some time been in my power.”

For answer the infuriated man leaped at him with the expression of a fiend, and tried to throw his arms about him and bear him to the ground. So sudden and violent was the movement that Aleph eluded it with some difficulty; but he did it, and, in passing, dealt the ill-balanced man a blow that felled him to the ground. He lay motionless.

“He is not injured—only stunned,” said Aleph to Cornelius and Metellus as they came up. They looked at the speaker and wondered. Not a blow appeared to have reached him. There was no visible disarrangement of his dress even. The flowers at his girdle were still in place. And the supremely cool and masterful look that had presided through the whole contest was still sitting in full glory on its throne.

The issue had been anticipated by the students for some time; but their breathless interest in watching the conflict had kept them from any general vocal expression. But now there was such an uproar—such a waving of canes and caps, such stamping and clapping and lung-rending huzzaing as a thousand frenzied young men could make, and such as the old Serapeum had not known for many a day, if ever. Did Seti make any effort to suppress or moderate? Not he. Some even go so far as to say that he was seen unconsciously keeping time to the uproar with his foot. Others say (and I am disposed to think they are right) that he sat as motionless as the statue of Memnon, sat as if in a dream, till the tumult had somewhat subsided. Then he held up his hand. Silence at once reigned.

“Young men of the Museum! I cannot think that any considerable number of you have been knowingly concerned in this conspiracy. Were it otherwise it would be to the eternal disgrace of the University, and especially of your part of it. I prefer to think, and do think, that you have been victims. You could not have supposed that it was intended to assail the very life of a young man under pretense of testing his athletic accomplishments. You have been misled and deceived by somebody. I leave you to find out who inspired and contrived this whole thing. It is necessary for your good name. And I shall not wonder if you decline henceforth to have anything to do with these two professional trainers who have allowed themselves to be used for murderous purposes.

“Perhaps some, if not all, of you have thought it strange that I did not interfere to break off this contest when its true character became plain. I was on the point of doing so several times: but as I looked at the young man I seemed to see in his whole bearing such abundant promise of a successful issue that I felt it would be a wrong to all of you young men to keep from you an inspiring example, and a wrong to him to keep him from the honor to which he is so justly entitled.”

“The venerable Seti is right,” cried Metellus. “We of the Museum are no better than we should be; but we are not sunk so low as to take part in a plot against the life or limb of a stranger who has done us no harm—much less against a member of our own University. We have been imposed upon. We supposed that nothing but a reasonable and safe testing was intended: we even supposed that less danger would attend it under our trainers than would naturally belong to an emulative contest between students.