Titianus had ordered his charioteer to drive at once to Lochias. The
road led past the prefect's palace, his residence on the Bruchiom, and he
paused there; for the letter which lay hidden in the folds of his toga,
contained news, which, within a few hours, might put him under the
necessity of not returning home till the following morning. Without
allowing himself to be detained by the officials, subalterns, or lictors,
who were awaiting his return to make communications, or to receive his
orders, he went straight through the ante-room and the large public rooms
for men, to find his wife in the women's apartments which looked upon the
garden. He met her at the door of her room, for she had heard his step
approaching and came out to receive him.
"I was not mistaken," said the matron with sincere pleasure. "How
pleasant that you have been released so early to-day. I did not expect
you till supper was over."
"I have come only to go again," replied Titianus, entering his wife's
room. "Have some bread brought to me and a cup of mixed wine; why--
really! here stands all I want ready as if I had ordered it. You are
right, I was with Sabina a shorter time than usual; but she exerted
herself in that short time to utter as many sour words as if we had been
talking for half a day. And in five minutes I must quit you again, till
when?--the gods alone know when I shall return. It is hard even to speak
the words, but all our trouble and care, and all poor Pontius' zeal and
pains-taking labor are in vain."
As he spoke the prefect threw himself on a couch; his wife handed him the
refreshment he had asked for, and said, as she passed her hand over his
grey hair:
"Poor man! Has Hadrian then determined after all to inhabit the
Caesareum?"
"No. Leave us, Syra--you shall see directly. Please read me Caesar's
letter once more. Here it is." Julia unfolded the papyrus, which was of
elegant quality, and began:
"Hadrian to his friend Titianus, the Governor of Egypt. The deepest
secrecy--Hadrian greets Titianus, as he has so often done for years at
the beginning of disagreeable business letters, and only with half his
heart. But to-morrow he hopes to greet the dear friend of his youth, his
prudent vicegerent, not merely with his whole soul, but with hand and
tongue. And "now to be more explicit, as follows: I come to-morrow
morning, the fifteenth of December, towards evening, to Alexandria, with
none but Antinous, the slave Mastor, and my private secretary, Phlegon.
We land at Lochias, in the little harbor, and you will know my ship by a
large silver star at the prow. If night should fall before I arrive
there, three red lanterns at the end of the mast shall inform you of the
friend that is approaching. I have sent home the learned and witty men
whom you sent to meet me, in order to detain me, and gain time for the
restoration of the old nest in which I had a fancy to roost with
Minerva's birds--which have not, I hope, all been driven out of it--in
order that Sabina and her following may not lack entertainment, nor the
famous gentlemen themselves be unnecessarily disturbed in their labors.
I need them not. If perchance it was not you who sent them, I ask your
pardon. An error in this matter would certainly involve some
humiliation, for it is easier to explain what has happened than to
foresee what is to come. Or is the reverse the truth? I will indemnify
the learned men for their useless journey by disputing this question with
them and their associates in the Museum. The rapid movement to which the
philologer was prompted on my account will prolong his existence; he
bristles with learning at the tip of every hair, and he sits still more
than is good for him.
"We shall arrive in modest disguise and will sleep at Lochias; you know
that I have rested more than once on the bare earth, and, if need be, can
sleep as well on a mat as on a couch. My pillow follows at my heels--my
big dog, which you know; and some little room, where I can meditate
undisturbed on my designs for next year, can no doubt be found.
"I entreat you to keep my secret strictly. To none--man nor woman--and
I beseech you as urgently as friend or Caesar ever besought a favor--let
the least suspicion of my arrival be known. Nor must the smallest
preparation betray whom it is you receive. I cannot command so dear a
friend as Titianus, but I appeal to his heart to carry out my wishes.
"I rejoice to see you again; what delight I shall find in the whirl of
confusion that I hope to find at Lochias. You shall take me to see the
artists, who are, no doubt, swarming in the old castle, as the architect
Claudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist Pontius with his advice.
But this Pontius, who carried out such fine works for Herodes Atticus,
the rich Sophist, met me at his house, and will certainly recognize me.
Tell him, therefore, what I propose doing. He is a serious and
trustworthy man, not a chatterbox or scatter-brained simpleton who loses
his head. Thus you may take him into the secret, but not till my vessel
is in sight. May all be well with you."
"Well, what do you say to that?" asked Titianus, taking the letter from
his wife's hand. "Is it not more than vexatious--our work was going on
so splendidly."
"But," said Julia thoughtfully and with a meaning smile. "Perhaps it
might not have been finished in time. As matters now stand it need not
be complete, and Hadrian will see the good intention all the same. I am
glad about the letter, for it takes a great responsibility off your
otherwise overloaded shoulders."
"You always see the right side," cried the prefect. "It is well that I
came home, for I can await Caesar with a much lighter heart. Let me lock
up the letter, and then farewell. This parting is for some hours from
you, and from all peace for many days."
Titianus gave her his hand. She held it firmly and said:
"Before you go I must confess to you that I am very proud."
"You have every right to be."
"But you have not said a word to me about keeping silence."
"Because you have kept other tests--still, to be sure, you are a woman,
and a very handsome one besides."
"An old grandmother, with grey hair!"
"And still more upright and more charming than a thousand of the most
admired younger beauties."
"You are trying to convert my pride into vanity, in my old age."
"No, no! I was only looking at you with an examining eye, as our talk
led me to do, and I remembered that Sabina had lamented that handsome
Julia was not looking well. But where is there another woman of your age
with such a carriage, such unwrinkled features, so clear a brow, such
deep kind eyes, such beautifully-polished arms--"
"Be quiet," exclaimed his wife. "You make me blush."
"And may I not be proud that a grandmother, who is a Roman, as my wife
is, can find it so easy to blush? You are quite different from other
women."
"Because you are different from other men."
"You are a flatterer; since all our children have left us, it is as if we
were newly married again."
"Ah! the apple of discord is removed."
"It is always over what he loves best that man is most prompt to be
jealous. But now, once more, farewell."
Titianus kissed his wife's forehead and hurried towards the door; Julia
called him back and said:
"One thing at any rate we can do for Caesar. I send food every day down
to the architect at Lochias, and to-day there shall be three times the
quantity."
"Good; do so."
"Farewell, then."
"And we shall meet again, when it shall please the gods and the Emperor."
........................
When the prefect reached the appointed spot, no vessel with a silver star
was to be seen.
The sun went down and no ship with three red lanterns was visible.
The harbor-master, into whose house Titianus went, was told that he
expected a great architect from Rome, who was to assist Pontius with his
counsel in the works at Lochias, and he thought it quite intelligible
that the governor should do a strange artist the honor of coming to meet
him; for the whole city was well aware of the incredible haste and the
lavish outlay of means that were being given to the restoration of the
ancient palace of the Ptolemies as a residence for the Emperor.
While he was waiting, Titianus remembered the young sculptor Pollux,
whose acquaintance he had made, and his mother in the pretty little gate-
house. Well disposed towards them as he felt, he sent at once to old
Doris, desiring her not to retire to rest early that evening, since he,
the prefect, would be going late to Lochias.
"Tell her, too, as from yourself and not from me," Titianus instructed
the messenger, "that I may very likely look in upon her. She may light
up her little room and keep it in order."
No one at Lochias had the slightest suspicion of the honor which awaited
the old palace.
After Verus had quitted it with his wife and Balbilla, and when he had
again been at work for about an hour the sculptor Pollux came out of his
nook, stretching himself, and called out to Pontius, who was standing on
a scaffold:
"I must either rest or begin upon something new. One cures me of fatigue
as much as the other. Do you find it so?"
"Yes, just as you do," replied the architect, as he continued to direct
the work of the slave-masons, who were fixing a new Corinthian capital in
the place of an old one which had been broken.
"Do not disturb yourself," Pollux cried up to him. "I only request you
to tell my master Papias when he comes here with Gabinius, the dealer in
antiquities, that he will find me at the rotunda that you inspected with
me yesterday. I am going to put the head on to the Berenice; my
apprentice must long since have completed his preparations; but the
rascal came into the world with two left-hands, and as he squints with
one eye everything that is straight looks crooked to him, and--according
to the law of optics--the oblique looks straight. At any rate, he drove
the peg which is to support the new head askew into the neck, and as no
historian has recorded that Berenice ever had her neck on one side, like
the old color-grinder there, I must see to its being straight myself. In
about half an hour, as I calculate, the worthy Queen will no longer be
one of the headless women."
"Where did you get the new head?" asked Pontius. "From the secret
archives of my memory," replied Pollux. "Have you seen it?"
"Yes."
"And do you like it?"
"Very much."
"Then it is worthy to live," sang the sculptor, and, as he quitted the
hall, he waved his left-hand to the architect, and with his right-hand
stuck a pink, which he had picked in the morning, behind his ear.
At the rotunda his pupil had done his business better than his master
could have expected, but Pollux was by no means satisfied with his own
arrangements. His work, like several others standing on the same side of
the platform, turned its back on the steward's balcony, and the only
reason why he had parted with the portrait of Selene's mother, of which
he was so fond, was that his playfellow might gaze at the face whenever
she chose. He found, however, to his satisfaction, that the busts were
held in their places on their tall pedestals only by their own weight,
and he then resolved to alter the historical order of the portrait-heads
by changing their places, and to let the famous Cleopatra turn her back
upon the palace, so that his favorite bust might look towards it.
In order to carry out this purpose then and there, he called some slaves
up to help him in the alteration. This gave rise, more than once, to a
warning cry, and the loud talking and ordering on this spot, for so many
years left solitary and silent, attracted an inquirer, who, soon after
the apprentice had begun his work, had shown herself on the balcony, but
who had soon retreated after casting a glance at the dirty lad, splashed
from head to foot with plaster. This time, however, she remained to
watch, following every movement of Pollux as he directed the slaves;
though, all the time and whatever he was doing, he turned his back upon
her.
At last the portrait-head had found its right position, shrouded still in
a cloth to preserve it from the marks of workmen's hands. With a deep
breath the artist turned full on the steward's house, and immediately a
clear merry voice called out:
"What, tall Pollux! It really is tall Pollux; how glad I am!"
With these words the girl on the balcony loudly clapped her hands; and as
the sculptor hailed her in return, and shouted:
"And you are little Arsinoe, eternal gods! What the little thing has
come to!" She stood on tip-toe to seem taller, nodded at him pleasantly,
and laughed out: "I have not done growing yet; but as for you, you look
quite dignified with the beard on your chin, and your eagle's nose.
Selene did not tell me till to-day that you were living down there with
the others."
The artist's eyes were fixed on the girl, as if spellbound. There are
poetic natures in which the imagination immediately transmutes every new
thing that strikes the eyes or the intelligence, into a romance, or
rapidly embodies it in verse; and Pollux, like many of his calling, could
never set his eyes on a fine human form and face, without instantly
associating them with his art.
"A Galatea--a Galatea without an equal!" thought he, as he stood with his
eyes fixed on Arsinoe's face and figure. "Just as if she had this
instant risen from the sea--that form is just as fresh, and joyous, and
healthy; and her little curls wave back from her brow as if they were
still floating on the water; and now as she stoops, how full and supple
in every movement. It is like a daughter of Nereus following the line of
the as the waves as they rise into crests and dip again into watery
valleys. She is like Selene and her mother in the shape of her head and
the Greek cut of her face, but the elder sister is like the statue of
Prometheus before it had a soul, and Arsinoe is like the Master's work
after the celestial fire coursed through her veins."
The artist had felt and thought all this out in a few seconds, but the
girl found her speechless admirer's silence too long, and exclaimed
impatiently:
"You have not yet offered me any proper greeting. What are you doing
down there?"
"Look here," he replied, lifting the cloth from the portrait, which was a
striking likeness.
Arsinoe leaned far over the parapet of the balcony, shaded her eyes with
her hand and was silent for more than a minute. Then she suddenly cried
out loudly and exclaiming:
"Mother--it is my mother!" She flew into the room behind her.
"Now she will call her father and destroy all poor Selene's comfort,"
thought Pollux, as he pushed the heavy marble bust on which his gypsum
head was fixed, into its right place.
"Well, let him come. We are the masters here now, and Keraunus dare not
touch the Emperor's property." He crossed his arms and stood gazing at
the bust, muttering to himself:
"Patchwork--miserable patchwork. We are cobbling up a robe for the
Emperor out of mere rags; we are upholsterers and not artists. If it
were only for Hadrian, and not for Diotima and her children, not another
finger would I stir in the place."
The path from the steward's residence led through some passages and up a
few steps to the rotunda, on which the sculptor was standing, but in
little more than a minute from Arsinoe's disappearance from the balcony
she was by his side. With a heightened color she pushed the sculptor
away from his work and put herself in the place where he had been
standing, to be able to gaze at her leisure at the beloved features.
Then she exclaimed again:
"It is mother--mother!" and the bright tears ran over her cheeks, without
restraint from the presence of the artist, or the laborers and slaves
whom she had flown past on her way, and who stared at her with as much
alarm as if she were possessed.
Pollux did not disturb her. His heart was softened as he watched the
tears running down the cheeks of this light-hearted child, and he could
not help reflecting that goodness was indeed well rewarded when it could
win such tender and enduring love as was cherished for the poor dead
mother on the pedestal before him.
After looking for some time at the sculptor's work Arsinoe grew calmer,
and turning to Pollux she asked:
"Did you make it?"
"Yes," he replied, looking down.
"And entirely from memory?"
"To be sure."
"Do you know what?"
"Well."
"This shows that the Sibyl at the festival of Adonis was right when she
sang in the Jalemus that the gods did half the work of the artist."
"Arsinoe!" cried Pollux, for her words made him feel as if a hot spring
were seething in his heart, and he gratefully seized her hand; but she
drew it away, for her sister Selene had come out on the balcony and was
calling her.
It was for his elder playfellow and not for Arsinoe that Pollux had set
his work in this place, but, just now, her gaze fell like a disturbing
chill on his excited mood.
"There stands your mother's portrait," he called up to the balcony in an
explanatory tone, pointing to the bust.
"I see it," she replied coldly. "I will look at it presently more
closely. Come up Arsinoe, father wants to speak to you."
Again Pollux stood alone.
As Selene withdrew into the room, she gently shook her pale head, and
said to herself:
"'It was to be for me,' Pollux said; something for me, for once--and even
this pleasure is spoilt."