Pearl Maiden

PEARL MAIDEN

“I am not afraid, my uncle,” said Miriam; “indeed,” she added, blushing a little in spite of herself, “Nehushta and I have already become acquainted with this captain”; and she told him of their meeting beyond the village.

“Nehushta, Nehushta,” said Ithiel reprovingly, “have I not said to you that you should not walk so far afield without some of the brethren as an escort? You might, perchance, have met thieves, or drunken men.”

“My lady wished to gather some flowers she sought,” answered Nehushta, “as she has done without harm for many a year; and being armed, I did not fear thieves, if such men are to be found where all are poor.”

“Well, well, as it chances, no harm has happened; but do not go out unattended again, lest the soldiers should not be so courteous as their captain. They will not trouble you by the way, since, with the exception of a single guard, they camp yonder by the streamlet. Farewell for this night, my child; we will meet to-morrow.”

Then Miriam went to rest and dreamed of the Roman captain, and that he, she, and Nehushta made a journey together and met with many great adventures, wherein Caleb played some strange part. In that dream the captain Marcus protected them from all these dangers, till at length they came to a calm sea, on which floated a single white ship wherein they must embark, having the sign of the Cross woven in its sails. Then she awoke and found that it was morning.

Of all the arts she had been taught, Miriam was fondest of that of modelling in clay, for which she had a natural gift. Indeed, so great had her skill become, that these models which

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she made, after they had been baked with fire, were, at her wish, sold by the Essenes to any who took a fancy to them. As to the money which they fetched, it was paid into a fund to be distributed among the poor.

This art Miriam carried on in a reed-thatched shed in the garden, where, by an earthen pipe, water was delivered into a stone basin, which she used to damp her clay and cloths. Sometimes also, with the help of masons and the master who had taught her, now a very old man, she copied these models in marble, which the Essenes brought to her from the ruins of a palace near Jericho. At the time that the Romans came she was finishing a work more ambitious than any which she had undertaken as yet; namely, a life-sized bust cut from the fragment of an ancient column to the likeness of her great-uncle, Ithiel. On the afternoon following the day that she met Marcus, clad in her white working-robe, she was occupied in polishing this bust, with the assistance of Nehushta, who handed her the cloths and grinding-powder. Suddenly shadows fell upon her, and turning, she beheld Ithiel and the Roman.

“Daughter,” said Ithiel, smiling at her confusion, “I have brought the captain Marcus to see your work.”

“Oh, my uncle!” she replied indignantly, “am I in a state to receive any captain?” and she held out her wet hands and pointed to her garments begrimed with clay and powder. “Look at me.”

“I look,” said Ithiel innocently, “and see naught amiss.” “And I look, lady,” added Marcus in his merry voice, “and

see much to admire. Would that more of your sex could be found thus delightfully employed.”

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“Alas, sir,” she replied, adroitly misunderstanding him, for Miriam did not lack readiness, “in this poor work there is little to admire. I am ashamed that you should look on the rude fashionings of a half-trained girl, you who must have seen all those splendid statues of which I have been told.”

“By the throne of Cæsar, lady,” he exclaimed in a voice that carried a conviction of his earnestness, staring hard at the bust of Ithiel before him, “as it chances, although I am not an artist, I do know something of sculpture, since I have a friend who is held to be the best of our day, and often for my sins have sat as model to him. Well, I tell you this – never did the great Glaucus produce a bust like that.”

“I daresay not,” said Miriam smiling. “I daresay the great Glaucus would go mad if he saw it.”

“He would – with envy. He would say that it was the work of one of the glorious Greeks, and of no modern.”

“Sir,” said Ithiel reprovingly, “do not make a jest of the maid, who does the best she can; it pains her and – is not fitting.”

“Friend Ithiel,” replied Marcus, turning quite crimson, “you must indeed think that I lack manners who would come to the home of any artist to mock his work. I say what I mean, neither more nor less. If this bust were shown in Rome, together with yourself who sat for it, the lady Miriam would find herself famous within a week. Yes,” and he ran his eye quickly over various statuettes, some of them baked and some in the raw clay, models, for the most part, of camels or other animals or birds, “yes, and it is the same with all the rest: these are the works of genius, no less.”

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At this praise, to them so exaggerated, Miriam, pleased as she could not help feeling, broke into clear laugher, which both Ithiel and Nehushta echoed. Now, so wroth was he, the face of Marcus grew quite pale and stern.

“It seems,” he said severely, “that it is not I who mock. Tell me, lady, what do you with these things?” and he pointed to the statuettes.

“I, sir? I sell them; or at least my uncles do.”

“The money is given to the poor,” interposed Ithiel. “Would it be rude to ask at what price?”

“Sometimes,” replied Ithiel with pride, “travellers have given me as much as a silver shekel1. Once indeed, for a group of camels with their Arabian drivers, I received four shekels; but that took my niece three months to do.”

“A shekel! Four shekels!” said Marcus in a voice of despair; “I will buy them all – no, I will not, it would be robbery. And this bust?”

“That, sir, is not for sale; it is a gift to my uncle, or rather to my uncles, to be set up in their court-room.”

An idea struck Marcus. “I am here for a few weeks,” he said. “Tell me, lady, if your uncle Ithiel will permit it, at what price will you execute a bust of myself of the same size and quality?”

“It would be dear,” said Miriam, smiling at the notion, “for the marble costs something, and the tools, which wear out. Oh, it would be very dear!” This she repeated, wondering what she could ask in her charitable avarice. “It would be” yes, she would venture it – “fifty shekels!”

1 About 2s. 6d. of English money.

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“I am poor enough,” replied Marcus quietly, “but I will give you two hundred.”

“Two hundred!” gasped Miriam. “It is absurd. I could never accept two hundred shekels for a piece of stonework. Then indeed you might say that you had fallen among thieves on the banks of Jordan. No. If my uncles will permit it and there is time, I will do my poor best for fifty – only, sir, I advise you against it, since to win that bad likeness you must sit for many weary hours.”

“So be it,” said Marcus. “As soon as I get to any civilised place I will send you enough commissions to make the beggars in these parts rich for life, and at a very different figure. Let us begin at once.”

“Sir, I have no leave.”

“The matter,” explained Ithiel, “must be laid before the Court of Curators, which will decide upon it to-morrow. Meanwhile, as we are talking here, I see no harm if my niece chooses to work a lump of clay, which can be broken up later should the Court in its wisdom refuse your request.”

“I hope for its own sake that the Court in its wisdom will not be such a fool,” muttered Marcus to himself; adding aloud, “Lady, where shall I place myself? You will find me the best of sitters. Have I not the great Glaucus for a friend – until I show him this work of yours?”

“If you will, sir, be seated on that stool and be pleased to look towards me.”

“I am your servant,” said Marcus, in a cheerful voice; and the sitting began.

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CHAPTER VIII

MARCUS AND CALEB

On the morrow, as he had promised, Ithiel brought this question of whether or no Miriam was to be allowed to execute a bust of the centurion, Marcus, before the Court of the Curators of the Essenes, who were accustomed thus to consider questions connected with their ward’s welfare in solemn conclave. There was a division of opinion. Some of them saw no harm; others, more strait-laced, held that it was scarcely correct that a Roman whose principles, doubtless, were lax, should be allowed to sit to the lady whom they fondly called their child. Indeed, it seemed dubious whether the leave would be given, until a curator, with more worldly wisdom than the rest, suggested that as the captain seemed desirous of having his picture taken in stone, under the circumstances of his visit, which included a commission to make a general report upon their society to the authorities, it might be scarcely wise to deny his wish. Finally, a compromise was effected. It was agreed that Miriam should be permitted to do the work, but only in the presence of Ithiel and two other curators, one of them her own instructor in art.

Thus it came about that when Marcus presented himself for the second time, at an hour fixed by Ithiel, he found three white-bearded and white-robed old gentlemen seated in a row

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in the workshop, and behind them, a smile on her dusky face, Nehushta. As he entered they rose and bowed to him, a compliment which he returned. Now Miriam appeared, to whom he made his salutation.

“Are these,” he said, indicating the elders, “waiting their turn to be modelled, or are they critics?”

“They are critics,” said Miriam drily, as she lifted the damp cloths from the rude lump of clay.

Then the work began. As the three curators were seated in a line at the end of the shed, and did not seem to think it right to leave their chairs, they could see little of its details, and as they were early risers and the afternoon was hot, soon they were asleep, every one of them.

“Look at them,” said Marcus; “there is a subject for any artist.”

Miriam nodded, and taking three lumps of clay, working deftly and silently, presently produced to his delighted sight rough but excellent portraits of these admirable men, who, when they woke up, laughed at them very heartily.

Thus things went on from day to day. Each afternoon the elders attended, and each afternoon they sank to slumber in their comfortable chairs, an example that Nehushta followed, or seemed to follow, leaving Miriam and her model practically alone. As may be guessed, the model, who liked conversation, did not neglect these opportunities. Few were the subjects which the two of them failed to discuss. He told her of all his life, which had been varied and exciting, omitting, it is true, certain details; also of the wars in which he had served, and the countries that he had visited. She in turn told him

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the simple story of her existence among the Essenes, which he seemed to find of interest. When these subjects were exhausted they discussed other things – the matter of religion, for instance. Indeed, Miriam ventured to expound to him the principles of her faith, to which he listened respectfully and with attention.

“It sounds well,” he said at length with a sigh, “but how do such maxims fit in with this world of ours? See now, lady, I am not old, but already I have studied so many religions. First, there are the gods of Greece and Rome, my own gods, you understand – well, the less said of them the better. They serve, that is all. Then there are the gods of Egypt, as to which I made inquiry, and of them I will say this: that beneath the grotesque cloak of their worship seems to shine some spark of a holy fire. Next come the gods of the Phœnicians, the fathers of a hideous creed. After them the flame worshippers and other kindred religions of the East. There remain the Jews, whose doctrine seems to me a savage one; at least it involves bloodshed with the daily offering of blood. Also they are divided, these Jews, for some are Pharisees, some Sadducees, some Essenes. Lastly, there are you Christians, whose faith is pure enough in theory, but whom all unite against in hate. What is the worth of a belief in this crucified Preacher who promises that He will raise those who trust in Him from the dead?”

“That you will find out when everything else has failed you,” answered Miriam.

“Yes, it is a religion for those whom everything else has failed. When that chances to the rest of us we commit suicide and sink from sight.”

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“And we,” she said proudly, “rise to life eternal.”

“It may be so, lady, it may be so; but let us talk of something more cheerful,” and he sighed. “At present, I hold that nothing is eternal – except perhaps such art as yours.”

“Which will be forgotten in the first change of taste, or crumbled in the first fire. But see, he is awake. Come here, my master, and work this nostril, for it is beyond me.”

The old artist advanced and looked at the bust with admiration.

“Maid Miriam,” he said, “I used to have some skill in this art, and I taught you its rudiments; but now, child, I am not fit to temper your clay. Deal with the nostril as you will; I am but a hodman who bears the bricks, you are the heaven-born architect. I will not meddle, I will not meddle; yet perhaps” and he made a suggestion.

“So?” said Miriam, touching the clay with her tool. “Oh, look! it is right now. You are clever, my master.”

“It was always right. I may be clever, but you have genius, and would have found the fault without any help from me.”

“Did I not say so?” broke in Marcus triumphantly.

“Sir,” replied Miriam, “you say a great deal, and much of it, I think, you do not mean. Please be silent; at this moment I wish to study your lips, and not your words.”

So the work went on. They did not always talk, for soon they found that speech is not necessary to true companionship. Once Miriam began to sing, and since she discovered that her voice pleased Marcus and soothed the slumbers of the elders, she sang often; quaint, sad songs of the desert and of the Jordan fishermen. Also she told him tales and legends,

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and when she had done Nehushta told others – wild stories of Libya, some of them very dark and bloody, others of magic, black or white. Thus these afternoons passed happily enough, and the clay model being finished, after the masons among the brethren had rough hewn it for her, Miriam began to fashion it in marble.

There was one, however, for whom these days did not pass happily – Caleb. From the time that he had seen Miriam walking side by side with Marcus he hated the brilliant-looking Roman in whom, his instinct warned him, he had found a dangerous rival. Oh, how he hated him! So much, indeed, that even in the moment of first meeting he could not keep his rage and envy in his heart, but suffered them to be written on his face, and to shine like danger signals in his eyes, which, it may be remembered, Marcus did not neglect to note.

Of Miriam Caleb had seen but little lately. She was not angry with him, since his offence was of a nature which a woman can forgive, but in her heart she feared him. Of a sudden, as it were, the curtain had been drawn, and she had seen this young man’s secret spirit and learned that it was a consuming fire. It had come home to her that every word he spoke was true, that he who was orphaned and not liked even by the gentle elders of the Essenes, loved but one being upon earth – herself, whereas already his bosom seethed with many hates. She was sure also that any man for whom she chanced to care, if such an one should ever cross her path, would, as Caleb had promised, go in danger at his hands, and the thought frightened her. Most of all did it frighten her when she saw him glower

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