THE STUDIO OF CHIOS
The studio of Chios was very beautiful, and an artist is pretty well
known by the place in which he paints, provided he has means to gratify
his tastes. It was not a great room filled with materials, leaving him
just a dozen square feet to walk about, but a studio of ample
proportions, and kept as it should be with space to move around. Nothing
of it could be seen from the road, for great clusters of myrtle-trees,
gigantic rose-bushes, and crimson oleanders hid it most effectually; but
those of his friends who went that way knew when they had passed through
the quiet gateway and between the flower-trees that not far away was
one of the sweetest little studios in Ephesus. Yes, there it was close
to the pond of water-lilies, with the bees humming from blossom to
blossom, and the birds singing cheerfully from the foliage which
surrounded it; the birds were quite tame, for Chios was kind to them,
and some would light upon his shoulders, and others on his arm.
A few steps led up to the marble portico, with its ceiling of blue
decked with little silver stars and a crescent moon. At the entrance
stood two small statues by Euphranor and Phidias.
Within all was beauty: the studio, circular in form, with alcoves lit
with light which filtered in through the thinnest sheets of coloured
marble; the furniture, simple, but choice; a kline or two of cedar-wood,
enriched with gold, to recline on when weary; a few chairs of ebony,
cypress, and rosewood were placed in the alcoves; a marble thronos for
his sitters; a few small tables, three-legged and four-legged,
beautifully carved, stood about to hold his brushes and palettes and the
choicest flowers, which a good old servant brought him every morning.
These things, with his easels, made up the contents of his studio. It
was not so famous for its furniture as for the beauty of its
construction, with domed roof and circular opening to the sky, and its
floor of marble enriched with precious stones. For Chios was wealthy,
and could lavish money as he pleased in decorating his studio.
Behind this working-room were retiring-rooms, and a small but valuable
library of choice manuscripts by Callinus, the Elegiac poet; Batalus,
the musician; Dion, Andron, Delias, and Daphnus, the philosophers; with
works by Phavorinus, Zenodotus, Menander, and many others.
* * * * *
It was a quiet afternoon; the winds were too lazy to stir and had fallen
asleep.
Varro passed that way, and said: 'I will drop in and see Chios.'
The artist was outside, painting into his picture some apple-blossoms
hanging gracefully from a tree which grew against a piece of old Greek
wall. Looking up from his work with a smile, he welcomed the noble
Roman.
'I am glad thou art come, for my hand is weary and my brain tired. It is
so sultry within that I felt quite unfitted to work there, and sought
refuge beneath those shading trees, whilst, as thou seest, a gleam of
light comes down between the foliage and strikes upon those blossoms of
the apple-tree.'
'I really hope I am not intruding too much, Chios?'
'Oh dear no; I am glad to see thee. Wilt thou sit? Make thyself at
home.'
The two men talked of Ephesus and its people until the conversation was
of the ladies, and soon the name of Nika was heard, for the Roman could
not but speak of her.
'What thinkest thou of her?' said Chios. 'Thou hast seen her?'
'Well, truthfully, I may say, during the interview referred to, my mind
was more concerned to think of Chios until I clearly perceived that he
had the blank face given him by that beautiful girl. Then my heart grew
hopeful, for, to tell thee all, I think I love that maid.'
'Think thou lovest--is that all? A man who loves is sure. A man has no
such sure knowledge of anything else on this earth or in the beyond. I
am afraid thy love is of the morning cloud thinness, and will soon pass
away.'
'No, no. Believe me, it is not so. I spake not so freely, truthfully,
as I should. I love her, and am certain of it; but tell me, Chios, that
thou lovest her not.'
'Why asketh thou such a question? Did she not give me the cut direct in
thy presence?'
'Because I am skilled in the ways of women, and know they frequently act
directly opposite to that they mean. I saw her coldness to thee, and saw
no reason for it, and at once, in my mind, questioned the proceeding.
Say, dost thou love her--hast tried to win her? Is she sporting with thy
manly heart? Speak, on the honour of a Greek, and, if such be the case,
I leave the field.'
'I love her not.'
'Hast thou failed, and stifled the dawn of love?'
'No.'
'Is it, then, Nika loves Chios, and Chios is adamant?'
'I am not skilled in the mysteries to be able to read her thoughts.'
'Perhaps not; but, as a man, like myself, thou canst read actions, and
they are the outcome of thoughts.'
'Thou forgettest, noble friend, but a moment or so ago thou saidst that
frequently actions were contrary to what was really meant. How, then,
can I divine her meaning more than thyself?'
'True, thou hast me rather firmly; and such skill in fencing demands my
admiration and consideration. I will not press further on thee, Chios,
and I have now naught to do but to make love, and make her love me more
than ever she loved another.'
'That will be an easy matter, for I saw how satisfied she was with Varro
when last we passed the evening together at the house of Lucius. An
Ephesian painter would stand no chance against the Proconsul of
Ephesus.'
'Come, come, Chios; thou art already jealous of thy rival!'
'No; thou art free to conquer and annex. I am a friend of Nika, and
trust may remain so, but I am nothing more, or ever may be.'
'Then I may take thee to be a man callous to the beauty of women, if
thou art not charmed with her loveliness, for there is no girl in
Ephesus as beautiful as she.'
'That may be so, but thou must not take me to be indifferent to the
charms of the fair sex because I do not admire Nika's loveliness and
think it beyond compare. I may find loveliness in another form; it may
be in the virtues of the soul, or spirit, whichever you may choose to
name that awful thing. Behind a less lovely face than hers may be
enshrined a splendid harmony of thinking, active life, which is building
up its destiny, and will continue so to do through the great aeons, down
the grand vista of the future, when the face once so fair to look upon
has passed into base mould, and been blown hither and thither, the sport
of every breeze. To love beauty only is like plucking an apple of Sodom,
which has a fair rind to look at, but when pressed sends out little
clouds of dust and leaves you nothing but the broken shell.'
'Chios, my friend, I thought thou wert an artist, but lo, thou art a
philosopher also! And, if thou art not in love, well, I have never been
in Rome! I shall wait; it will develop. I shall know. Well, good-bye,
Chios. I have too long kept thee from thy work. The world waits for thy
beautiful picture--I must not hinder. Good-bye. We meet at the house of
Lucius, where I know thou at least art ever welcome.'
When he had gone, Chios went within, and threw himself upon a seat,
clasping his head with both hands. It seemed as if some great agony
would rend his being.
'What am I,' he cried, 'to be made the sport of fate? Why this great
conflict within me? Why this uprising of my nature to war? He was
true--I love hopelessly, and would to the gods I could quench it! If it
would lie peacefully in my heart like a loving child upon its mother's
bosom I would not care; but it is not so. A year or so ago that love was
like a summer wind, but now it rushes through me with the terrible roar
of a mighty storm, and tosses me to and fro like a ship whirled in a
hurricane. What raises this great tempest? It is not I, Saronia! It is
not Chios! I could have loved thee deeply when thou wert a slave, and
would have at all hazard plucked thee from thy low estate, and lived for
thee; but now I know thou never canst be mine, and fain would let thee
rest, and never trouble, but for this mighty power which forces me
onwards to declare to thee a love as pure as angels ever knew, but which
would be a sacrilege both damned and deep were I to whisper such into
thy soul. No, no; it must not be so! I will rise above it: bring into
the arena all the might of my manhood, and in this holy war will fight
against my star, against my fate, and may the greatest God, whoever He
be, look down on this unequal combat and assist the right.'
Chios sank back upon the couch of cedar-wood. The shadows fell upon the
marble floor. The night crept on, and he slept.