At Athens, in one of the most frequented cross-roads, a statue
modelled by Arsinoë--_The victorious Octavius holding up the head of
Brutus_--was exhibited to the people, and the Athenians welcomed in
the daughter of the senator Helvidius Priscus a renewer of the art of
their golden age. But the special dignitaries whose business was to
keep watch on the public temper, officers strangely but rightly
nicknamed "Inquisitors," reported to the proper quarters that the
statue might arouse liberal sentiments in the people. A resemblance to
Julian was discovered in the face of Brutus, and in the work as a
whole a criminal allusion to the recent punishment of Gallus. Attempts
were made to discover in Octavius some analogy to the Emperor
Constantius. The affair took the proportions of an act of treason, and
almost fell into the hands of Paul Catena. Luckily the Imperial
chanceries sent direct a severe order to the local magistrate, that
not only should the statue disappear from the cross-roads, but that it
should be broken to pieces under the eyes of government officials.
Arsinoë wished to hide the statue, but Hortensius was in such mortal
affright that he threatened to give up his ward herself to the
informers.
In deep disgust at the degradation of the public, Arsinoë allowed them
to do with her work everything that Hortensius desired, and masons
broke up the figure.
Arsinoë hastily left Athens, her guardian having persuaded her to
follow him to Rome, where friends had long promised him the office of
Imperial quæstor. They installed themselves in a house not far from
the Palatine Hill.
Days flowed by in inactivity, Arsinoë realising that there was no
longer scope for the greatness and freedom of antique art. She bore in
mind her conversation with Julian at Athens; and it was the only link
which restrained her from suicide. The long suspense of inaction
seemed to her intolerable. In moments of discouragement she longed to
have done with it all, to leave all, to set out for the Gallic
battlefield and at the side of the young Cæsar attain power, or
perish.
But she fell seriously ill. In the long and calm days of convalescence
she found a devoted consoler in her most faithful adorer, Anatolius, a
centurion of the Imperial cavalry, son of a rich merchant of Rhodes.
He was a Roman centurion, as he used to say himself, merely as the
result of a mistake, having only taken to the military career to
satisfy the empty-headed ambition of his father, who desired as the
summit of earthly honour to see his son clothed in gilt armour.
Evading discipline by generous gifts, Anatolius passed his life in
luxurious idleness, amidst works of art and books, in feastings and
indolent and costly travel. The profound lucidity of soul which had
characterised ancient Epicureans was not possessed by this modern. He
complained to his friends--
"I suffer from a mortal malady...."