Aye, truly! Sabina’s advent had chased all good spirits from the palace
at Lochias.
The Emperor’s commands had come upon the peaceful little house as a
whirlwind comes on a heap of leaves. The inhabitants were not even
allowed time fully to realize their misfortune, for instead of bewailing
themselves all they could do was to act with circumspection. The tables,
seats, cushions, beds and lutes, the baskets, plants, and bird-cages,
the kitchen utensils and the trunks with their clothes were all piled in
confusion in the courtyard, and Doris was employing the slaves appointed
by Mastor in the task of emptying the house, as briskly and carefully as
though it was nothing more than a move from one house to another. A ray
of the sunny brightness of her nature once more sparkled in her eyes
since she had been able to say to herself that all that happened to her
and hers was one of the things inevitable, and that it was more to the
purpose to think of the future than of the past. The old woman was quite
herself again over the work, and as she looked at Euphorion, who sat
quite crushed on his couch with his eyes fixed on the ground, she cried
out to him:
“After bad times, come good ones! only let us keep from making ourselves
miserable. We have done nothing wrong, and so long as we do not think
ourselves wretched, we are not so. Only, hold up your head!
“Up, old man, up! Go at once to Diotima and tell her that we beg her to
give us hospitality for a few days, and house-room for our chattels.”
“And if Caesar does not keep his word?” asked Euphorion gloomily. “What
sort of a life shall we live then?”
“A bad one-a dog’s life; and for that very reason it is wiser to enjoy
now what we still possess. A cup of wine, Pollux, for me and your
father. But there must be no water in it to-day.”
“I cannot drink,” sighed Euphorion.
“Then I will drink your share and my own too.”
“Nay-nay, mother,” remonstrated Pollux.
“Well put some water in, lad, just a little water, only do not make such
a pitiful face. Is that the way a young fellow should look who has
his art, and plenty of strength in his hands, and the sweetest of
sweethearts in his heart?”
“It is certainly not for myself, mother,” retorted the sculptor, “that
I am anxious. But how am I ever to get into the palace again to see
Arsinoe, and how am I to deal with that ferocious old Keraunus?”
“Leave that question for time to answer,” replied Doris.
“Time may give a good answer, but it may also give a bad one.”
“And the best she only gives to those who wait for her in the
antechamber of Patience.”
“A bad place for me, and for those like me,” sighed Pollux.
“You have only to sit still and go on knocking at the doors,” replied
Doris, “and before you can look round you Time will call out, ‘come in.’
Now show the men how they are to treat the statue of Apollo, and be my
own happy, bright boy once more.”
Pollux did as she desired, thinking as he went: “She speaks wisely--she
is not leaving Arsinoe behind. If only I had been able to arrange with
Antinous at least, where I should find him again; but at Caesar’s orders
the young fellow was like one stunned, and he tottered as he went, as if
he were going to execution.”
Dame Doris had not been betrayed by her happy confidence, for Phlegon
the secretary came to inform her of the Emperor’s purpose to give her
husband half a talent, and to continue to pay him in the future his
little salary.
“You see,” cried the old woman, “the sun of better days is already
rising. Half a talent! Why poverty has nothing to do with such rich
folks as we are! What do you think--would it not be right to pour out
half a cup of wine to the gods, and allow ourselves the other half?”
Doris was as gay as if she were going to a wedding, and her cheerfulness
communicated itself to her son, who saw himself relieved of part of the
anxiety that weighed upon him with regard to his parents and sister. His
drooping courage, and spirit for life, only needed a few drops of kindly
dew to revive it, and he once more began to think of his art. Before
anything else he would try to complete his successfully-sketched bust of
Antinous.
While he was gone back into the house to preserve his work from
injury and was giving the slaves, whom he had desired to follow him,
instructions as to how it should be carried so as not to damage it, his
master Papias came into the palace-court. He had come to put the last
touches to the works he had begun, and proposed to make a fresh attempt
to win the favor of the man whom he now knew to be the Emperor. Papias
was somewhat uneasy for he was alarmed at the thought that Pollux might
now betray how small a share his master had in his last works--which had
brought him higher praise than all he had done previously. It might even
have been wise on his part to pocket his pride and to induce his former
scholar, by lavish promises, to return to his workshop; but the evening
before he had been betrayed into speaking before the Emperor with so
much indignation at the young artist’s evil disposition, of his delight
at being rid of him, that, on Hadrian’s account, he must give up that
idea. Nothing was now to be done, but to procure the removal of Pollux
from Alexandria, or to render him in some way incapable of damaging him,
and this he might perhaps be able to do by the instrumentality of the
wrathful Emperor.
It even came into his mind to hire some Egyptian rascal to have him
assassinated; but he was a citizen of peaceful habits, to whom a breach
of the law was an abomination and he cast the thought from him as too
horrible and base. He was not over-nice in his choice of means, he knew
men, was very capable of finding his way up the backstairs, and did not
hesitate when need arose to calumniate others boldly, and thus he had
before now won the day in many a battle against his fellow-artists of
distinction. His hope of succeeding in the tripping of a scholar of
no great repute, and of rendering him harmless so long as the Emperor
should remain in Alexandria, was certainly not an over-bold one. He
hated the gate-keeper’s son far less than he feared him, and he did not
conceal from himself that if his attack on Pollux should fail and the
young fellow should succeed in proving independently of what he was
capable he could do nothing to prevent his loudly proclaiming all that
he had done in these last years for his master.
His attention was caught by the slaves in Euphorion’s little house,
who were carrying the household chattels of the evicted family into the
street. He had soon learnt what was going forward, and highly pleased
at the ill-will manifested by Hadrian towards the parents of his foe,
he stood looking on, and after brief reflection desired a negro to call
Pollux to speak to him.
The master and scholar exchanged greetings with a show of haughty
coolness and Papias said:
“You forgot to bring back the things which yesterday, without asking my
leave, you took out of my wardrobe. I must have them back to-day.”
“I did not take them for myself, but for the grand lord in there, and
his companion. If any thing is missing apply to him. It grieves me
that I should have taken your silver quiver among them, for the Roman’s
companion has lost it. As soon as I have done here, I will take home all
of your things that I can recover, and bring away my own. A good many
things belonging to me are still lying in your workshop.”
“Good,” replied Papias. “I will expect you an hour before sunset, and
then we will settle every thing,” and without any farewell he turned his
back on his pupil and went into the palace.
Pollux had told him that some of the properties, which he had taken
without asking permission, had been lost-among them an object of
considerable value--and this perhaps would give him a hold over him by
which to prevent his injuring him. He remained in the palace scarcely
half an hour and then, while Pollux was still engaged in escorting his
mother and their household goods to his sister’s house, he went to visit
the night magistrate, who presided over the safety of Alexandria.
Papias was on intimate terms with this important official, for he had
constructed for him a sarcophagus for his deceased wife, an altar with
panels in relief for his men’s apartment, and other works, at moderate
prices, and he could count on his readiness to serve him. When he
quitted him he carried in his hand an order of arrest against his
assistant Pollux, who had attacked his property and abstracted a quiver
of massive silver. The magistrate had also promised him to send two of
his guards who would carry the offender off to prison.
Papias went home with a much lighter heart. His pupil, after he had
accomplished the easy transfer of his parents, had returned to the
palace, and there, to his delight, came across Mastor, who soon fetched
him the garments and masks that he had lent the day before to Hadrian
and Antinous. The Sarmatian at the same time told him, with tears in
his eyes, a sad, very sad story, which stirred the young sculptor’s soul
deeply, and which would have prompted him to penetrate into the palace
at once, and at any risk, if he had not seen the necessity of being with
Papias at the appointed hour, which was drawing near, to answer for the
valuable property that was missing. Thinking of nothing, wishing nothing
so much as to be back as promptly as possible at Lochias, where he was
much needed, and where his heart longed to be, he took the bundle out
of the slave’s hand and hurried away. Papias had sent all his assistants
and even his slaves off the premises; he received the breathless Pollux
quite alone, and took from him, with icy calmness, the things which had
been borrowed from his property-room, asking for them one by one.
“I have already told you,” cried Pollux, “that it is not I, but
the illustrious Roman--you know as well as I do, who he is--who is
answerable for the silver quiver and the torn chiton.” And he began to
tell him how Antinous had commanded him, in the name of his master, to
find masks and disguises for them both. But Papias cut off his speech
at the very beginning, and vehemently demanded the restoration of his
quiver and bow, of which Pollux could not work out the value in two
years. The young man whose heart and thoughts were at Lochias and who,
at any cost, did not want to be detained longer than was necessary,
begged his master, with all possible politeness, to let him go now, and
to settle the matter with him to-morrow after he had discussed it with
the Roman, from whom he might certainly demand any compensation he
chose. But when Papias interrupted him again and again, and obstinately
insisted on the immediate restoration of his property, the artist whose
blood was easily heated, grew angry and replied to the attacks and
questions of the older man with vehement response.
One angry word led to another, and at last Papias hinted of persons who
took possession of other person’s silver goods, and when Pollux retorted
that he knew of some who could put forward the works of others as their
own, the master struck his fist upon the table, and going towards the
door he cried out, as soon as he was at a safe distance from the furious
lad’s powerful fists:
“Thief! I will show you how fellows like you are dealt with in
Alexandria.”
Pollux turned white with rage, and rushed upon Papias, who fled, and
before Pollux could reach him he had taken refuge behind the two guards
sent by the magistrate, and who were waiting in the antechamber.
“Seize the thief!” he cried. “Hold the villain who stole my silver
quiver and now raises his hand against his master. Bind him, fetter him,
carry him off to prison.”
Pollux did not know what had come upon him; he stood like a bear that
has been surrounded by hunters; doubtful but at bay. Should he fling
himself upon his pursuers and fell them to the earth? should he
passively await impending fate?
He knew every stone in his master’s house; the anteroom in which he
stood, and indeed the whole building was on the ground floor. In the
minute while the guards were approaching and his master was giving the
order to the lictor, his eye fell on a window which looked out upon
the street, and possessed only by the single thought of defending his
liberty and returning quickly to Arsinoe he leaped out of the opening
which promised safety and into the street below.
“Thief--stop thief!” he heard as he flew on with long strides; and like
the pelting of rain driven by all the four winds came from all sides the
senseless, odious, horrible cry: “Stop thief!--stop thief!” it seemed to
deprive him of his senses.
But the passionate cry of his heart: “To Lochias, to Arsinoe! keep free,
save your liberty if only to be of use at Lochias!” drowned the shouts
of his pursuers and urged him through the streets that led to the old
palace.
On he went faster and farther, each step a leap; the briny breeze from
the sea already fanned his glowing cheeks and the narrow empty street
yonder he well knew led to the quay by the King’s harbor, where he could
hide from his pursuers among the tall piles of wood. He was just turning
the corner into the alley when an Egyptian ox-driver threw his goad
between his legs; he stumbled, fell to the ground, and instantly felt
that a dog which had rushed upon him was tearing the chiton he wore,
while he was seized by a number of men. An hour later and he found
himself in prison, bitten, beaten, and bound among a crew of malefactors
and real thieves.
Night had fallen. His parents were waiting for him and he came not; and
in Lochias which he had not been able to reach there were misery and
trouble enough, and the only person in the world who could carry comfort
to Arsinoe in her despair was absent and nowhere to be found.