The Alexandrians were a stiff-necked generation. Only some phenomenal
sight far transcending their every-day experience could avail to make
them turn their heads to stare at it, but just now there was something
to look at, at every moment and in every street of the city. To-day
too each one thought only of himself and of his own pleasure. Some
particularly pretty, tall, or well-dressed figure would give rise to
a smile or an exclamation of approval, but before one sight had been
thoroughly enjoyed the inquisitive eye was seeking a fresh one.
Thus it happened that no one paid any special attention to Hadrian and
his companions who allowed themselves to be unresistingly carried along
the streets by the current of the crowd; and yet each one of them was,
in his way, a remarkable object. Hadrian was dressed as Silenus, Pollux
as a faun. Both wore masks and the disguise of the younger man was as
well suited to his pliant and vigorous figure as that of the elder to
his powerful stately person. Antinous followed his master, dressed as
Eros. He wore a crimson mantle and was crowned with roses, while the
silver quiver on his shoulder and the bow in his hand clearly symbolized
the god he was intended to represent. He too wore a mask, but his figure
attracted many gazers, and many a greeting of “Long live the god of
love” or “Be gracious to me oh! son of Aphrodite” was spoken as he
passed.
Pollux had obtained all the things requisite for these disguises from
the store of drapery belonging to his master. Papias had been out, but
the young man did not deem it necessary to ask his consent, for he and
the other assistants had often used the things for similar purposes with
his full permission. Only as he took the quiver intended for Antinous,
Pollux hesitated a little for it was of solid silver and had been
given to his master by the wife of a wealthy cone-dealer, whom he had
represented in marble as Artemis equipped for the chase.
“The Roman’s handsome companion,” thought the young artist as he placed
the costly object in with the others in a basket, which a squinting
apprentice was to carry behind him--“The Roman’s handsome companion must
be made a splendid Eros--and before sunrise the useless thing will be
hanging on its hook again.”
Indeed Pollux had not much time to admire the splendid appearance of
the god of love he had so richly adorned, for the Roman architect was
possessed by such thirst for knowledge and such inexhaustible curiosity
as to the minutest details that even Pollux who was born in Alexandria,
and had grown up there with his eyes very wide open, was often unable to
answer his indefatigable questioning.
The grey-bearded master wanted to see every thing and to be informed
on every subject. Not content with making acquaintance with the main
streets and squares the public sites and buildings, he peeped into the
handsomest of the private houses and asked the names, rank and fortunes
of the owners. The decided way in which he told Pollux the way he wished
to be conducted proved to the artist that he was thoroughly familiar
with the plan of the city. And when the sagacious and enlightened man
expressed his approval, nay his admiration of the broad clean streets of
the town, the handsome open places, and particularly handsome buildings
which abounded on all sides, the young Alexandrian who was proud of his
city was delighted.
First Hadrian made him lead him along the seashore by the Bruchiom
to the temple of Poseidon, where he performed some devotions, then he
looked into the garden of the palace and the courts of the adjoining
museum. The Caesareum with its Egyptian gateway excited his admiration
no less than the theatre, surrounded with pillared arcades in stories,
and decorated with numerous statues. From thence deviating to the left
they once more approached the sea to visit the great Emporium, to see
the forest of masts of Eunostus, and the finely-constructed quays. They
left the viaduct known as the Heptastadion to their right and the harbor
of Kibotus, swarming with small merchant craft, did not detain them
long.
Here they turned backs on the sea following a street which led inland
through the quarter called Khakotis inhabited only by native Egyptians,
and here the Roman found much to see that was noteworthy. First he and
his companions met a procession of the priests who serve the gods of the
Nile valley, carrying reliquaries and sacred vessels, with images of the
gods and sacred animals, and tending towards the Serapeum which towered
high above the streets in the vicinity. Hadrian did not visit the
temple, but he inspected the chariots which carried people along an
inclined road which led up the hill on which was the sanctuary, and
watched devotees on foot who mounted by an endless flight of steps
constructed on purpose; these grew wider towards the top, terminating
in a platform where four mighty pillars bore up a boldly-curved cupola.
Nothing looked down upon the temple-building which with its halls,
galleries and rooms rose behind this huge canopy.
The priests with their white robes, the meagre, half-naked Egyptians
with their pleated aprons and headcloths, the images of beasts and the
wonderfully-painted houses in this quarter of the city, particularly
attracted Hadrian’s attention and made him ask many questions, not all
of which could Pollux answer.
Their walk which now took them farther and farther from the sea extended
to the extreme south of the town and the shores of lake Mareotis. Nile
boats and vessels of every form and size lay at anchor in this deep and
sheltered inland sea; here the sculptor pointed out to Hadrian the canal
through which goods were conveyed to the marine fleet which had been
brought down the river to Alexandria. And he pointed out to the Roman
the handsome country-houses and well-tended vineyards on the shores of
the lake.
“The bodies in this city ought to thrive,” said Hadrian meditatively.
“For here are two stomachs and two mouths by which they absorb
nourishment; the sea, I mean, and this lake.”
“And the harbors in each,” added Pollux.
“Just so; but now it is time we should turn about,” replied Hadrian, and
the party soon took a road leading eastward; they walked without pause
through the quiet streets inhabited by the Christians, and finally
through the Jews’ quarter. In the heart of this quarter many houses
were shut up, and there were no signs to be seen of the gay doings which
crowded on the sense and fancy in the heathen part of the town, for
the stricter among the Hebrews held sternly aloof, from the holiday
festivities in which most of their nation and creed who dwelt among the
Greeks, took part.
For a third time Hadrian and his companions crossed the Canopic way
which formed the main artery of the city and divided it into the
northern and southern halves, for he wished to look down from the hill
of the Paneum on the combined effect as a whole of all that he had seen
in detail. The carefully-kept gardens which surrounded this elevation
swarmed with men, and the spiral path which led to the top was crowded
with women and children, who came here to see the most splendid
spectacle of the whole day, which closed with performances in all the
theatres in the town. Before the Emperor and his escort could reach
the Paneum itself the crowd suddenly packed more closely and began
exclaiming among themselves, “Here they come!” “They are early to-day!”
“Here they are!”
Lictors with their fasces over their shoulders were clearing the broad
roadway, which led from the prefect’s on the Bruchiom to the Paneum,
with their staves and paying no heed to the mocking and witty speeches
addressed to them by the mob wherever they appeared. One woman, as she
was driven back by a Roman guardian of the peace, cried scornfully,
“Give me your rods for my children and do not use them on unoffending
citizens.”
“There is an axe hidden among the faggots,” added an Egyptian
letter-writer in a warning voice.
“Bring it here,” cried a butcher. “I can use it to slaughter my beasts.”
The Romans as they heard these bandied words felt the blood mounting
to their faces, but the prefect, who knew his Alexandrians well, had
counselled them to be deaf; to see everything but to hear nothing. Now
there appeared a cohort of the Twelfth Legion, who were quartered in
garrison in Egypt, in their richest arms and holiday uniforms. Behind
them came two files of particularly tall lictors wearing wreaths,
and they were followed by several hundred wild beasts, leopards
and panthers, giraffes, gazelles, antelopes, and deer, all led by
dark-colored Egyptians. Then came a richly-dressed and much be-wreathed
Dionysian chorus with the sound of tambourines and lyres, double flutes
and triangles, and finally, drawn by ten elephants and twenty white
horses, a large ship, resting on wheels and gilt from stem to stern,
representing the vessel in which the Tyrrhenian pirates were said to
have carried off the young Dionysus when they had seen the black-haired
hero on the shore in his purple garments. But the miscreants--so the
myth went on to say--were not allowed long to rejoice in their violence,
for hardly had the ship reached the open sea when the fetters dropped
from the god, vines entwined the sails in sudden luxuriance, tendrils
encumbered the oars and rudder, heavy grapes clustered round the ropes,
and ivy clung to the mast and shrouded the seats and sides of the
vessel. Dionysus is equally powerful on sea and on land; in the pirates’
ship he assumed the form of a lion, and the pirates, filled with terror,
flung themselves into the sea, and in the form of dolphins followed
their lost bark.
All this Titianus had caused to be represented just as the Homeric
hymns described it, out of slight materials, but richly and elegantly
decorated, in order to provide a feast for the eyes of the Alexandrians,
with the intention of riding in it himself, with his wife and the most
illustrious of the Romans who formed the Empress’ suite, to enjoy all
the Holiday doings in the chief streets of the city. Young and old,
great and small, men and women, Greeks, Romans, Jews, Egyptians,
foreigners dark and fair, with smooth hair or crisp wool, crowded with
equal eagerness to the edge of the roadway to see the gorgeous boat.
Hadrian, far more anxious to see the show than his younger but less
excitable favorite, pushed into the front rank, and as Antinous was
trying to follow him, a Greek boy, whom he had shoved aside, snatched
his mask from his face, threw himself on the ground, and slipped nimbly
off with his booty. When Hadrian looked round for the Bithyman, the
ship-in which the prefect was standing between the images of the Emperor
and Empress, while Julia, Balbilla, and her companion, and other Roman
lords and ladies were sitting in it--had come quite near to them. His
sharp eye had recognized them all, and fearing that the lad’s uncovered
face would betray them he cried out:
“Turn round and get into the crowd again.” The favorite immediately
obeyed, and only too glad to escape from the crowd, which was a thing
he detested, he sat down on a bench close to the Paneum, and looked
dreamily at the ground while he thought of Selene and the nosegay he
had sent her, neither seeing nor hearing anything of what was going on
around him.
When the gaudy ship left the gardens of the Paneum and turned into
the Canopic way, the crowd pursued it in a dense mass, hallooing and
shouting. Like a torrent suddenly swelled by a storm it rushed on,
surging and growing at each moment, and carrying with it even those who
tried to resist its force. Thus even Hadrian and Pollux were forced to
follow in its wake, and it was not till they found themselves in the
broad Canopic way that they were able to come to a stand-still. The
broad roadway of this famous street was bordered on each side by a long
vista of colonnade, and it extended from one end of the city to the
other. There were hundreds of the Corinthian columns which supported the
roof that covered the footway, and near to one of these the Emperor and
Pollux succeeded at last in effecting a halt and taking breath.
Hadrian’s first thought was for his favorite, and being averse to
venturing himself once more to mix with the crowd, he begged the
sculptor to go and seek him and conduct him safely.
“Will you wait for me here?” asked Pollux.
“I have known a pleasanter halting place,” sighed the Emperor.
“So have I,” answered the artist. “But that tall door there, wreathed
round with boughs of poplar and ivy, leads into a cook-shop where the
gods themselves might be content to find themselves.”
“Then I will wait there.”
“But I warn you to eat as much as you can, for the Olympian table’ as
kept by Lykortas, the Corinthian, is the dearest eating-house in the
whole city. None but the richest are his guests.”
“Very good,” laughed Hadrian. “Only find my assistant a new mask and
bring him back to me. It will not ruin me quite, even if I pay for
a supper for all three of us, and on a holiday one expects to spend
something.”
“I hope you may not live to repent,” retorted Pollux. “But a long fellow
like me is a good trencherman, and can do his part with the wine-jar.”
“Only show me what you can do,” cried Hadrian after him as Pollux
hurried off. “I owe you a supper at any rate, for that cabbage stew of
your mother’s.”
While Pollux went to seek the Bithyman in the vicinity of the Paneum,
the Emperor entered the eating house, which the skill of the cook had
made the most frequented and fashionable in Alexandria. The place in
which most of the customers of the house dined, consisted of a large
open hall, surrounded by arcades which were roofed in on three of
its sides and closed by a wall on its fourth; in these arcades stood
couches, on which the guests reclined singly, or in couples, or in
larger groups, and ordered the dishes and liquors which the serving
slaves, pretty boys with curling hair and hand some dresses, placed
before them on low tables. Here all was noise and bustle; at one
table an epicure devoted himself silently to the enjoyment of some
carefully-prepared delicacy, at another a large circle of men seemed to
be talking more eagerly than they either eat or drank, and from several
of the smaller rooms behind the wall at the back of the hall came sounds
of music and song, and the bold laughter of men and women.
The Emperor asked for a private room, but they were all occupied, and
he was requested to wait a little while, for that one of the adjoining.
rooms would very soon be vacant. He had taken off his mask, and though
he was not particularly afraid of being recognized in his disguise he
chose a couch that was screened by a broad pillar in one of the
arcades at the inner side of the court, and which, now that evening was
beginning to fall was already in obscurity. There he ordered, first some
wine and then some oysters to begin, with; while he was eating these he
called one of the superintendents and discussed with him the details
of the supper he wished presently to be served to himself and his two
guests. During this conversation the bustling host came to make his
bow to his new customer, and seeing that he had to do with a man fully
conversant with all the pleasures of the table, he remained to attend on
him, and entered with special zeal into Hadrian’s various requirements.
There was, too, plenty to be seen in the court, which roused the
curiosity of the most inquisitive and enquiring man of his time. In the
large space enclosed by the arcades, and under the eyes of the guests,
on gridirons and hearths, over spits and in ovens the various dishes
were prepared which were served up by the slaves. The cooks prepared
their savory messes on large, clean tables, and the scene of their
labors, which, though enclosed by cords was open to public gaze was
surrounded by a small market, where however only the choicest of wares
were displayed.
Here in tempting array was every variety of vegetable reared on Greek or
Egyptian soil; here speckless fruits of every size and hue were set out,
and there ready baked, shining, golden-brown pasties were displayed.
Those containing meat, fish or the mussels of Canopus were prepared in
Alexandria itself, but others containing fruit or the leaves of flowers
were brought from Arsinoe on the shores of Lake Moeris, for in that
neighborhood the cultivation of fruit and horticulture generally were
pursued with the greatest success. Meat of all sorts lay or hung in
suitable places; there were juicy hams from Cyrene, Italian sausages and
uncooked joints of various slaughtered beasts. By them lay or hung game
and poultry in select abundance, and a large part of the court was taken
up by a tank in which the choicest of the scaly tribes of the Nile,
and of the lakes of Northern Egypt, were swimming about as well as
the Muraena and other fish of Italian breed. Alexandrian crabs and the
mussels, oysters, and cray-fish of Canopus and Klysma were kept alive in
buckets or jars. The smoked meats of Mendes and the neighborhood of
Lake Moeris hung on metal pegs, and in a covered but well-aired room,
sheltered from the sun lay freshly-imported fish from the Mediterranean
and Red Sea. Every guest at the ‘Olympian table’ was allowed here to
select the meat, fruit, asparagus, fish, or pasty which he desired to
have cooked for him. The host, Lykortas, pointed out to Hadrian an old
gentleman who was busy in the court that was so prettily decorated with
still-life, engaged in choosing the raw materials of a banquet he wished
to give some friends in the evening of this very day.
“It is all very nice and extremely good,” said Hadrian, “but the gnats
and flies which are attracted by all those good things are unendurable,
and the strong smell of food spoils my appetite.”
“It is better in the side-rooms,” said the host. “In the one kept for
you the company is now preparing to depart. In behind here the sophists
Demetrius and Pancrates are entertaining a few great men from Rome,
rhetoricians or philosophers or something of the kind. Now they are
bringing in the fine lamps and they have been sitting and talking at
that table ever since breakfast. There come the guests out of the side
room. Will you take it?”
“Yes,” said Hadrian. “And when a tall young man comes to ask for the
architect Claudius Venato, from Rome, bring him in to me.”
“An architect then, and not a sophist or a rhetorician,” said mine host,
looking keenly at the Emperor.
“Silenus,--a philosopher!”
“Oh the two vociferous friends there go about even on other days naked
and with ragged cloaks thrown over their lean shoulders. To-day they are
feeding at the expense of rich Josephus.”
“Josephus! he must be a Jew and yet he is making a large hole in the
ham.”
“There would be more swine in Cyrene if there were no Jews; they are
Greeks like ourselves, and eat everything that is good.”
Hadrian went into the vacant room, lay down on a couch that stood by the
wall, and urged the slaves who were busied in removing the dishes and
vessels used by his predecessors, and which were swarming with flies.
As soon as he was alone he listened to the conversation which was being
carried on between Favorinus, Florus, and their Greek guests. He knew
the two first very well, and not a word of what they were saying escaped
his keen ear.
Favorinus was praising the Alexandrians in a loud voice, but in flowing
and elegantly-accented Greek. He was a native of Arelas--[Arles]--in
Gaul, but no Hellene of them all could pour forth a purer flow of the
language of Demosthenes than he. The self-reliant, keen, and vivacious
natives of the African metropolis were far more to his taste than the
Athenians; these dwelt only in, and for, the past; the Alexandrians
rejoiced in the present. Here an independent spirit still survived,
while on the shores of the Ilissus there were none but servile souls who
made a merchandise of learning, as the Alexandrians did of the products
of Africa and the treasures of India. Once when he had fallen into
disgrace with Hadrian, the Athenians had thrown down his statue, and
the favor or disfavor of the powerful weighed with him more than
intellectual greatness, valuable labors, and true merit.
Florus agreed with Favorinus on the whole, and declared that Rome must
be freed from the intellectual influence of Athens; but Favorinus did
not admit this; he opined that it was very difficult for any one who had
left youth behind him, to learn anything new, thus referring, with light
irony, to the famous work in which Florus had attempted to divide the
history of Rome into four periods, corresponding to the ages of man,
but had left out old age, and had treated only of childhood, youth, and
manhood. Favorinus reproached him with overestimating the versatility of
the Roman genius, like his friend Fronto, and underrating the Hellenic
intellect.
Florus answered the Gaulish orator in a deep voice, and with such a
grand flow of words, that the listening Emperor would have enjoyed
expressing his approbation, and could not help considering the question
as to how many cups of wine his usually placid fellow-countryman might
have taken since breakfast to be so excited. When Floras tried to prove
that under Hadrian’s rule Rome had risen to the highest stage of its
manhood, his friend, Demetrius, of Alexandria, interrupted him, and
begged him to tell him something about the Emperor’s person. Florus
willingly acceded to this request, and sketched a brilliant picture
of the administrative talent, the learning, and the capability of the
Emperor.
“There is only one thing,” he cried eagerly, “that I cannot approve of;
he is too little at Rome, which is now the core and centre of the world.
He must need see every thing for himself, and he is always wandering
restlessly through the provinces. I should not care to change with him!”
“You have expressed the same ideas in verse,” said Favorinus.
“Oh! a jest at supper-time. So long as I am in Alexandria and waiting
on Caesar I can make myself very comfortable every day at the ‘Olympian
table’ of this admirable cook.”
“But how runs your poem?” asked Pancrates.
“I have forgotten it, and it deserved no better fate,” replied Florus.
“But I,” laughed the Gaul, “I remember the beginning. The first lines, I
think, ran thus:
“‘Let others envy Caesar’s lot;
To wander through Britannia’s dales
And be snowed up in Scythian vales
Is Caesar’s taste--I’d rather not?’”
As he heard these words Hadrian struck his fist into the palm of his
left hand, and while the feasters were hazarding guesses as to why he
was so long in coming to Alexandria, he took out the folding tablet he
was in the habit of carrying in his money-bag, and hastily wrote the
following lines on the wax face of it:
‘Let others envy Florus’ lot;
To wander through the shops for drink,
Or, into foolish dreaming sink
In a cook-shop, where sticky flies
Buzz round him till he shuts his eyes
Is Florus’ taste--I’d rather not?’
[From verses by Hadrian and Florus, preserved in Spartianus.]
Hardly had he ended the lines, muttering them to himself with much
relish as he wrote, when the waiter showed in Pollux. The sculptor had
failed to find Antinous, and suggested that the young man had probably
gone home; he also begged that he might not be detained long at supper,
for he had met his master Papias, who had been extremely annoyed by his
long absence. Hadrian was no longer satisfied with the artist’s society,
for the conversation in the next room was to him far more attractive
than that of the worthy young fellow. He himself was anxious to quit
the meal soon, for he felt restless and uneasy. Antinous could no doubt
easily find his way to Lochias, but recollections of the evil omens he
had observed in the heavens last night flitted across his soul like bats
through a festal hall, marring the pleasure on which he again tried to
concentrate it, in order to enjoy his hours of liberty.
Even Pollux was not so light-hearted as before. His long walk had made
him hungry, and he addressed himself so vigorously to the excellent
dishes which rapidly followed each other by his entertainer’s orders,
and emptied the cup with such unfailing diligence, that the Emperor was
astonished: but the more he had to think about, the less did he talk.
Pollux, to be sure, had had his answer ready for his master, and without
considering how easy it would have been to part from him in kindness, he
had shortly and roundly quitted his service. Now indeed he stood on his
own feet, and he was longing to tell Arsinoe and his parents of what he
had done.
During the course of the meal his mother’s advice recurred to his mind:
to do his best to win the favor and good will of the architect whose
guest he was; but he set it aside, for he was accustomed to owe all he
gained to his own exertions, and though he still keenly felt in Hadrian
the superiority of a powerful mind, their expedition through the city
had not brought him any nearer to the Roman. Some insurmountable barrier
stood fixed between himself and this restless, inquisitive man, who
required so many answers that no one else had time to ask a question,
and who when he was silent looked so absorbed and unapproachable that
no one would have ventured to disturb him. The bold young artist had,
however, tried now and again to break through the fence, but each time,
he had at once been seized with a feeling, of which he could not rid
himself, that he had done something awkward and unbecoming. He felt
in his intercourse with the architect as a noble dog might feel that
sported with a lion, and such sport could come to no good. Thus, for
various reasons, host and guest were well content when the last dish was
removed. Before Pollux left the room the Emperor gave him the tablets
with the verses and begged him, with a meaning smile, to desire the
gate-keeper at the Caesareum to give them to Annaeus Florus the Roman.
He once more urgently charged the sculptor to look about for his young
friend and, if he should find him at Lochias, to tell him that he,
Claudius Venator, would return home ere long. Then the artist went his
way.
Hadrian still sat a long time listening to the talk close by; but after
waiting for above an hour to hear some fresh mention made of himself,
he paid his reckoning and went out into the Canopic way, now brilliantly
lighted. There he mingled with the revellers, and walked slowly onward,
seeking suspiciously and anxiously for his vanished favorite.