Psyche

In the year 23 A. D. there lived in Rome a youth named Gannon. He was a comely lad, seventeen years old, with a bright and happy face covered with a light down. His profile was Greek. His head was poised gracefully on his vigorous young shoulders. His dark eyebrows were slightly curved, and two bright black eyes sparkled under them. His black hair was short and brushed forward. He was neither tall nor stout. He wore a tunic which came down to above his knees, leaving bare his well-shaped neck, arms, and legs. On his small feet were leather sandals, held on by a string of the same material, interlaced and tied above his ankles. His whole air betokened a frank, ingenuous nature; and a cheery influence seemed to surround him, invisible yet perceptible to every one with whom he came in contact.

He was sitting in a room of the Praetorian Camp, translating a letter from Greek into Latin. The task was not a difficult one; for his parents were Greek, and he had been taught by his father to speak and write both languages with fluency and exactness. His duties consisted in copying despatches, writing and translating letters, and taking care of some of the private correspondence of Sejanus, the commander of the Praetorians. The situation, although a responsible one for so young a lad, had been easily secured. Through a friend of his father he had obtained a position as secretary to Macro, an officer in the camp. One day, noticing his intelligent and handsome face, Sejanus took him to his office and tested his ability. The result was so favorable that he made Gannon one of his own secretaries.

Gannon’s father, Alcmaeon, taught Greek in one of the schools of the city. He earned barely enough to support his family of three,--wife, son, and daughter. It was, therefore, with joy that he welcomed the day when Gannon was able to earn his own livelihood. He looked upon his son’s advancement with pride and yet with foreboding. While in the employ of Macro, Gannon had always spent his nights at home; now he was permitted to go home only one night each week. Under Macro he had done only clerical work; now his duties were such that he might learn some important and dangerous secrets. With Macro he worked alone; now he was thrown into the company of unprincipled companions. At first, when Gannon heard the rough stories that circulated around the camp, he modestly retired; but now he could hear the coarsest ones with little show of shame.

The history of Alcmaeon was a sad one. His father had been wealthy, but had lost his patrimony when Antony marched through Greece to fight Octavianus. With what little he had left he moved with his wife to Brundusium, a great seaport town in Italy, where Alcmaeon was born. They lived there until Alcmaeon grew to manhood and married. After the death of his father Alcmaeon took his mother and his wife, Hera, and moved to Rome, where he rented a small house outside the city, on a little road that crossed the Appian Way.

As there was more demand for Greek teachers in Rome than in Brundusium, he soon found employment in one of the schools. But his life was again saddened by the death of his mother. Her delicate constitution could not brave the fever that hovered over the suburbs of the city. Soon after this second loss his daughter, Psyche, was born, and in the following year Gannon. With their coming a new era began for Alcmaeon. After his day’s work at school he hastened home in joyful anticipation of seeing the smiling faces of his children. How it pleased him to watch his little ones grow, day by day! With what delight he taught their baby lips to speak the language of his fatherland! How he loved to put them to sleep, while Hera removed the remains of the evening meal! During this, the children’s hour, he would tenderly take them into his arms for a frolic, and gradually quiet them until their eyelids grew heavy and closed in sleep. Then he would gently put them to bed, and softly kiss them good-night.

When the position as secretary to Sejanus was offered to Gannon, the lad nearly danced with joy. His young heart beat stronger and faster as he broke the news to his family. With such an opportunity he thought he might advance, by diligent application, until he should occupy a post of high honor. He thought that the prayers of his parents, as well as his own, were at last being answered; that through him the fortunes of his family were to be restored. He told his parents that he would take them back to dear old Greece; that they should live once more in the country where, as Alcmaeon said, “The music of soul-stirring phrases and glorious ideas was forged by great men on the anvils of poetry and philosophy.” He worked earnestly and diligently, and progressed steadily, until he was trusted with communications to carry to the emperor. He so promptly responded to every summons, and so cheerfully carried out the orders of Sejanus, as to win the favor of that sternest of masters. His proud and graceful bearing and refined manners greatly aided in his advancement. Chiefly because of these advantages, he had been chosen to carry letters from his master to Livilla, the wife of Drusus and the daughter-in-law of Tiberius.

His situation, however, was not one of unalloyed happiness. His promotion engendered little jealousies and quarrels. At first the other secretaries in the office of Sejanus treated Gannon contemptuously. They watched his advancement invidiously, and one of them, named Alvus, who had previously been employed to carry letters to Livilla, quarrelled with him. Words led to blows, and, although Gannon fought bravely, he was badly beaten. However, the secretaries understood that they could not intimidate him. But there was continual friction, until, one day, Alvus fell ill. With no feeling of resentment towards Alvus, Gannon performed not only his own work, but also that of his sick associate. By this generous act, by other favors, and by the ingenuous manner in which he taught his companions to ornament their speech with Greek words, a fashion of the day, he completely won their friendship.

When Gannon carried the first letter to Livilla, he looked upon that event as the most important in his life. He impatiently awaited his night of freedom, so that he could describe to his family the magnificent palace on the Esquiline Hill. When the night finally came, he hurried home. On his arrival the evening meal was ready, and his family were awaiting him.

“Hail, father, and thee, mother, and thee, Psyche!” he cried joyfully, as he entered the house.

“Art thou not late, my son?” asked Hera.

“Ay, mother. We are always busy at the camp. To-day many letters came from Greece.”

He lovingly kissed his family. His happy talk and gay spirits affected them as a flood of light brightens a darkened room.

“Art thou not hungry, my son?” asked Alcmaeon.

“As hungry as a starving Argonaut,” said Gannon, laughing.

“Come, Hera! Be the Medea to this starving Jason,” said the father, catching the infection of his son’s high spirits.

Hera went to the hearth, and distributed from a boiling pot a thick soup of barley and vegetables.

“O my mother! My favorite broth!” exclaimed Gannon. “A kiss for thy kindness and thy goodness.”

Hera smiled as she received her son’s token of gratitude and affection.

“What news hast thou to feed our curiosity to-night, my son?” asked Alcmaeon.

“I have carried letters to Livilla since I last saw thee.”

“To the wife of Drusus?” he asked, in surprise.

“Ay, father,--but wait until the meal is over. I will then tell thee all. Where is Gyges?” he asked roguishly, looking at Psyche.

“He has gone to Capua to try some horses,” Psyche replied.

“Of a truth, Fortune smiles upon him,” said Gannon.

“Do you speak of his wealth?” asked Psyche, shyly.

“Thou dost not understand me, O my sister. I mean that he is fortunate in winning thee.”

“Rather, Fortune is good to me, my brother. I am to marry a noble man.”

“The gods be thanked for such a union of true and loving hearts,” said Alcmaeon.

“Thy bowl is empty, my son,” interrupted Hera. “Wilt thou have more broth?”

“If thou canst spare some,” said Gannon.

Hera gladly refilled Gannon’s bowl.

“In the past week thou hast not visited me at school,” said Alcmaeon.

“Nay, father; but ’twas not because the desire was lacking. I had not the time.”

“Hast thou been sent again with letters to the emperor?” inquired the father, with anxious interest.

“Only once,” replied Gannon; “but I saw not the emperor. On the way I passed Nero, that most fortunate of princes. He assumes the manly habit in a few days.”

“In the games and entertainments which he gives the people to celebrate that event, Psyche will dance,” proudly said the mother.

“What character portrayest thou, my sister?” asked Gannon.

“Niobe,” she replied.

“I like thy Daphne better,” he suggested.

“’Tis more pleasing, but the character of Niobe requires more art.”