More pleasant hours were to follow on the amusing arrival of the Emperor
at his half-finished residence at Lochias that night. Pontius proposed
to him to inspect several well-preserved rooms, which had in the first
instance been reserved for the gentlemen of his suite; and one of these
with an open outlook on the harbor, the town, and the island of
Antirrhodus he suggested should be provisionally furnished for the
Emperor's reception. Thanks to the architect's foresight, to Mastor's
practised hand, and to the numbers of men employed in the palace who were
accustomed to all kinds of service--provision was soon made for the
night, for Hadrian and his companions. The comfortable couch which the
prefect had sent to Lochias for Pontius was carried into the Emperor's
sleeping-room, and the camp-beds for Antinous and the suite were soon set
up in the other rooms. Tables, pillows, and various household vessels
which had already been sent in from the manufactories of Alexandria, and
which stood packed in bales and cases in the large central court of the
palace were soon taken out, and so far as they were applicable for use
were carried into the hastily-arranged rooms. Even before Hadrian, under
the prefect's guidance, had reached the last room in which restorations
were being carried out, Pontius was ready with his arrangements, and
could assure the Emperor that to-night he would find a good bed and very
tolerable quarters, and that by to-morrow he should have a really
elegantly-furnished room.
"Charming, quite delightful," cried the Emperor, as he entered his room.
"One might fancy you had some industrious demons at your command. Pour
some water over my hands, Mastor, and then to supper! I am as hungry as
a beggar's clog."
"I think we shall find all you need," replied Titianus, while Hadrian
washed his hands and his bearded face.
"Have you eaten all that I sent down to Lochias to-day, my dear Pontius?"
"Alas! we have," sighed Pontius.
"But I gave orders that a supper for five should be sent."
"It sufficed for six hungry artists," answered the architect, "if only I
could have guessed for whom the food was intended! And now what is to be
done? There are wine and bread still in the hall of the Muses,
meanwhile"
"That must satisfy us," said the Emperor, as he wiped his face. "In the
Dacian war, in Numidia, and often when out hunting, I have been glad if
only one or the other was to be obtained."
Antinous, who was very hungry and tired, made a melancholy face at these
words of his master, and Hadrian perceiving it, added with a smile:
"But youth needs something more to live upon than bread and wine. You
pointed out to me just now the residence of the palace-steward. Might we
not find there a morsel of meat or cheese, or something of the kind?"
"Hardly," replied Pontius. "For the man stuffs his fat stomach and his
eight children with bread and porridge. But an attempt will at any rate
be worth making."
"Then send to him; but conduct us at once to the hall where the Muses
have preserved some bread and wine for me and these good fellows, though
they do not always provide them for their disciples."
Pontius at once conducted the Emperor into the hall. On the way thither,
Hadrian asked:
"Is the steward so miserably paid that he is forced to content himself
with such meagre fare?"
"He has a residence rent free, and two hundred drachmae a month."
"That is not so very little. What is the man's name, and of what kith
and kin is he?"
"He is called Keraunus, and is of ancient Macedonian descent. His
ancestors from time immemorial have held the office he now fills, and he
even supposes himself to be related to the extinct royal dynasty through
the mistress of some one of the Lagides. Keraunus sits in the town
council and never stirs out in the streets without his slave, who is one
of the sort which the merchants in the slave market throw into the
bargain with the buyer. He is as fat as a stuffed pig, dresses like a
senator, loves antiquities and curiosities, for which he will let himself
be cheated of his last coin, and bears his poverty with more of pride
than of dignity; and still he is an honorable man, and can be made
useful, if he is taken on the right side."
"Altogether a queer fellow. And you say he is fat, is he jolly?"
"As far from it as possible."
"Ah, people who are fat and cross are my aversion. What is this by way
of an erection?"
"Behind that screen works Papias' best scholar. His name is Pollux, and
he is the son of the couple who keep the gate-house. You will be pleased
with him."
"Call him here," said the Emperor.
But before the architect could comply with his desire the sculptor's head
had appeared above the screen. The young man had heard the approaching
voices and steps; he greeted the prefect respectfully from his elevated
position, and after satisfying his curiosity was about to spring down
from the stool on which he had climbed when Pontius called to him that
Claudius Venator, the architect from Rome, wished to make his
acquaintance.
"That is very kind in him, and still more kind in you," Pollux answered
from above, "since it is only from you that he can know that I exist
beneath the moon, and use the hammer and chisel. Allow me to descend
from my four-legged cothurnus, for at present you are forced to look up
to me, and from all I have heard of your talents from Pontius, nothing
can be more absolutely the reverse of what it ought to be."
"Nay, stop where you are," answered Hadrian. "We, as fellow-artists, may
waive ceremony.--What are you doing in there?"
"I will push the screen back in a moment and show you our Urania. It is
very good for an artist to hear the opinion of a man who thoroughly
understands the thing."
"Presently, friend-presently; first let me enjoy a scrap of bread, for
the severity of my hunger might very possibly influence my judgment."
As he was speaking the architect offered the Emperor a salver with bread,
salt, and a cup of wine, which his own slave had carried to him. When
Pollux observed this modest meal, he called out:
"That is prisoners' fare, Pontius; have we nothing better in the house
than that?"
"Possibly you yourself assisted in demolishing the dainty dishes I had
sent down for the architect," cried Titianus, pretending to threaten him.
"You are defacing a fair memory," sighed the sculptor, with mock
melancholy. "But, by Hercules, I did my fair share of the work of
destruction. If only now--but stay! I have an idea worthy of Aristotle
himself! that breakfast, to which I invited you to-morrow morning, most
noble Pontius, is all ready at my mother's, and can be warmed up in a few
minutes. Do not be alarmed, worthy sir, but the dish in question is
cabbage with sausages--a mess which, like the soul of an Egyptian,
possesses at the instant of resurrection, nobler qualities than when it
first sees the light."
"Excellent," cried Hadrian. "Cabbage and sausages!" He wiped his full
lips with his hand, smiling with gratification, and he broke into a
hearty laugh of amusement as he heard a loud "Ah!" of satisfaction from
Antinous, who drew nearer to the canvas screen. "There is another whose
mouth waters and whose imagination revels in a happy future," said the
Emperor to the prefect, pointing to his favorite.
But he had misinterpreted the lad's exclamation, for it was the mere name
of the dish--which his mother had often set on the table of his humble
home in Bithynia--which reminded him of his native country and his
childhood, and transplanted him in thought back into their midst. It was
a swift leap at his heart, and not merely the pleasant watering of his
gums, that had forced the "Ah" to his lips. Still, he was glad to see
his native dish again, and would not have exchanged it against the
richest banquet. Pollux had meanwhile come out of his nook, and said:
"In a quarter of an hour I shall set before you the breakfast which has
been turned into a supper. Mitigate your worst hunger with some bread
and salt, and then my mother's cabbage-stew will not only satisfy you,
but will be enjoyed with calm appreciation."
"Greet dame Doris from me," Hadrian called after the sculptor; and when
Pollux had quitted the hall he turned to Titianus and Pontius and said:
"What a splendid young fellow. I am curious to see what he can do as an
artist."
"Then follow me," replied Pontius, leading the way.
"What do you say to this Urania? Papias made the head of the Muse, but
the figure and the drapery Pollux formed with his own hand in a few
days."
The imperial artist stood in front of the statue, with his arms crossed,
and remained there for some time in silence. Then he nodded his bearded
head approvingly, and said gravely:
"A well-considered work, and carried out with remarkable freedom; this
mantle drawn over the bosom would not disgrace a Phidias. All is broad,
characteristic and true. Did the young artist work from the model here
at Lochias?"
"I have seen no model, and I believe that he evolved the whole figure out
of his head," replied Pontius.
"Impossible, perfectly impossible," cried the Emperor, in the tone of a
man who knows well what he is talking about. "Such lines, such forms not
Praxiteles himself could have invented. He must have seen them, have
formed them as he stood face to face with the living copy. We will ask
him. What is to be made out of that newly-set-up mass of clay?"
"Possibly the bust of some princess of the house of the Lagides.
To-morrow you shall see a head of Berenice by our young friend, which
seems to me to be one of the best things ever done in Alexandria."
"And is the lad a proficient in magic?" asked Hadrian. "It seems to me
simply impossible that he should have completed this statue and a woman's
bust in these few days."
Pontius explained to the Emperor that Pollux had mounted the head on a
bust already to hand, and as he answered his questions without reserve,
he revealed to him what stupendous exertions of the arts had been called
into requisition to give the dilapidated palace a suitable and, in its
kind, even brilliant appearance. He frankly confessed that here he was
working only for effect, and talked to Hadrian exactly as he would have
discussed the same subject with any other fellow-artist.
While the Emperor and the architect were thus eagerly conversing, and the
prefect was hearing from Phlegon, the secretary, all the experience of
their journey, Pollux reappeared in the hall of the Muses accompanied by
his father. The singer carried before him a steaming mess, fresh cakes
of bread, and the pasty which a few hours previously he had carried home
to his wife from the architect's table. Pollux held to his breast a
tolerably large two-handled jar full of Mareotic wine, which he had
hastily wreathed with branches of ivy.
A few minutes later the Emperor was reclining on a mattress that had been
laid for him, and was making his way valiantly through the savory mess.
He was in the happiest humor; he called Antinous and his secretary,
heaped abundant portions with his own hand on their plates, which he bade
them hold out to him, declaring as he did so that it was to prevent their
fishing the best of the sausages out of the cabbage for themselves. He
also spoke highly of the Mareotic wine. When they came to opening the
pasty the expression of his face changed; he frowned and asked the
prefect in a suspicious tone, severely and sternly:
"How came these people by such a pasty as this?"
"Where did you get it from?" asked the prefect of the singer.
"From the banquet which the architect gave to the artists here," answered
Euphorion. "The bones were given to the Graces and this dish, which had
not been touched, to me and my wife. She devoted it with pleasure to
Pontius' guest."
Titianus laughed and exclaimed:
"This then accounts for the total disappearance of the handsome supper
which we sent down to the architect. This pasty-allow me to look at it--
this pasty was prepared by a recipe obtained from Verus. He invited us
to breakfast yesterday and instructed my cook how to prepare it."
"No Platonist ever propagated his master's doctrines with greater zeal
than Verus does the merits of this dish," said the Emperor, who had
recovered his good humor as soon as he perceived that no artful
preparation for his arrival was to be suspected in this matter. "What
follies that spoilt child of fortune can commit! Does he still insist
on cooking with his own hands?"
"No, not quite that," replied the prefect. "But he had a couch placed
for him in the kitchen on which he stretched himself at full length and
told my cook exactly how to prepare the pasty, of which you are--I should
say, of which the Emperor is particularly fond. It consists of pheasant,
ham, cow's udder and a baked crust."
"I am quite of Hadrian's opinion," laughed the Emperor; doing all justice
to the excellent pie. "You entertain me splendidly my friend, and I am
very much your debtor. What did you say your name is young man?"
"Pollux."
"Your Urania, Pollux, is a fine piece of work, and Pontius says you
executed the drapery without a model. I said, and I repeat, that it is
simply impossible."
"You judge rightly, a young girl stood for it."
The Emperor glanced at the architect, as much as to say, I knew it!
Pontius asked in astonishment:
"When? I have never seen a female form within these walls."
"Recently."
"But I have never quitted Lochias for a minute. I have never gone to
rest before midnight, and have been on my legs again long before
sunrise."
"But still there were several hours between your going to sleep, and
waking up again," replied Pollux. "Ah, youth--youth!" exclaimed the
Emperor, and a satirical smile played upon his lips.
"Part Damon and Phyllis by iron doors, and they will find their way to
each other through the key-hole."
Euphorion looked seriously at his son, the architect shook his head and
refrained from further questions, but Hadrian rose from his couch,
dismissed Antinous and his secretary to bed, requested Titianus to go
home and to give his wife his kindly greetings, and then desired Pollux
to conduct him within this screen, since he himself was not tired and was
accustomed to do with only a few hours sleep.
The young sculptor was strongly attracted by this commanding personage.
It had not escaped him that the gray-bearded stranger greatly resembled
the Emperor; but Pontius had prepared him for the likeness, and in fact
there was much in the eyes and mouth of the Roman architect that he had
never traced in any portrait of Hadrian 'Imperator.' And as they stood
before his scarcely-finished statue his respect increased for the new
visitor to Lochias; for, with earnest frankness, he pointed out to him
certain faults, and while praising the merits of the rapidly-executed
figure he explained in a few brief and pithy phrases his own conception
of the ideal Urania. Then shortly but clearly, he stated his views as to
how the plastic artist must deal with the problems of his art.
The young man's heart beat faster, and more than once he turned hot and
cold by turns as he heard things uttered by the bearded lips of this
imposing man, in a rich voice and in lucid phrases, which he had often
divined or vaguely felt, but for which, while learning, observing, and
working, he had never sought expression in words. And how kindly the
great master took up his timid observations, how convincingly he answered
them. Such a man as this he had never met, never had he bowed with such
full consent before the superiority and sovereign power of another mind.
The second hour after midnight had begun, when Hadrian, standing before
the rough-cast clay bust, asked Pollux:
"What is this to be?"
"A portrait of a girl."
"Probably of the complaisant model who ventures into Lochias at night?"
"No; a lady of rank will sit to me."
"An Alexandrian?"
"Oh, no. A beauty in the train of the Empress."
"What is her name? I know all the Roman ladies."
"Balbilla."
"Balbilla? There are many of that name. What is she like, the lady you
mean?" asked Hadrian, with a cunning glance of amusement.
"That is easier to ask than to answer," replied the artist, who, seeing
his gray-bearded companion smile, recovered his gay vivacity, "But stay--
you have seen a peacock spread its tail--now only imagine that every eye
in the train of Hera's bird was a graceful round curl, and that in the
middle of the circle there was a charming, intelligent girl's face, with
a merry little nose, and a rather too high forehead, and you will have
the portrait of the young damsel who has graciously permitted me to model
from her person."
Hadrian laughed heartily, threw off his cloak, and exclaimed:
"Stand aside--I know your maiden--and if I mean a different one you shall
tell me."
While he was still speaking he had plunged his powerful hands into the
yielding clay, and kneading and pinching like a practised modeller,
wiping off and pressing on, he formed a woman's face with a towering
structure of curls, which resembled Balbilla, but which reproduced every
conspicuous peculiarity with such whimsical exaggeration that Pollux
could not contain his delight. When at last Hadrian stepped back from
the happy caricature and called upon him to say whether that were not
indeed the Roman lady, Pollux exclaimed:
"It is as surely she, as you are not merely a great architect, but an
admirable sculptor. The thing is coarse, but unmistakably
characteristic."
The Emperor himself seemed to enjoy his artistic joke hugely, for he
looked at it, and laughed again and again. Pontius, however, seemed to
view it differently; he had listened with eager sympathy to the
conversation between Hadrian and the sculptor, and had watched the former
as he began his work; but as it went on he turned away, for he hated that
distortion of fine forms, which he often found that the Egyptians took a
special delight in. It was positively painful to him to see a graceful,
highly-gifted and defenceless creature, to whom, too, he felt himself
bound by ties of gratitude, mocked at in this way by such a man as
Hadrian. He had only to-day met Balbilla for the first time, but he had
heard from Titianus that she was staying at the Caesareum with the
Empress, and the prefect had also told him that she was the granddaughter
of that same governor, Claudius Balbillus, who had granted freedom to his
own grandfather, a learned Greek slave.
He had met her with grateful sympathy and devotion; her bright and lively
nature had delighted him, and at each thoughtless word she uttered he
would have liked to give her some warning sign, as though she were near
to him through some tie of blood, or some old established friendship that
might warrant his right to do so. The defiant, half gallant way in which
Verus, the dissipated lady-killer, had spoken to her had enraged him and
filled him with anxiety, and long after the illustrious visitors had left
Lochias he had thought of her again and again, and had resolved, if it
were possible, to keep a watchful eye on the descendant of the benefactor
of his family. He felt it as a sacred duty to shelter and protect her,
seeming to him as she did, an airy, pretty, defenceless song-bird.
The Emperor's caricature had the same effect on his feelings as though
some one had insulted and scorned, before his eyes, something that ought
to be regarded as sacred. And there stood the monarch, a man no longer
young, gazing at his performance and never weary of the amusement it
afforded him. It pained Pontius keenly, for like all noble natures, he
could not bear to discover anything mean or vulgar in a man to whom he
had always looked up as to a strong exceptional character. As an artist
Hadrian ought not to have vilified beauty, as a man he ought not to have
insulted unprotected innocence.
In the soul of the architect, who had hitherto been one of the Emperor's
warmest admirers, a slight aversion began to dawn, and he was glad, when,
at last, Hadrian decided to withdraw to rest.
The Emperor found in his room every requisite he was accustomed to use,
and while his slave undressed him, lighted his night-lamp and adjusted
his pillows, he said:
"This is the best evening I have enjoyed for years. Is Antinous
comfortably in bed?"
"As much so as in Rome."
"And the big dog?"
"I will lay his rug in the passage at your door."
"Has he had any food?"
"Bones, bread and water."
"I hope you have had something to eat this evening."
"I was not hungry, and there was plenty of bread and wine."
"To-morrow we shall be better supplied. Now, good-night. Weigh your
words for fear you should betray me. A few days here undisturbed would
be delightful!"
With these words the Emperor turned over on his couch and was soon
asleep.
Mastor, too, lay down to rest after he had spread a rug for the dog in
the corridor outside the Emperor's sleeping-room. His head rested on a
curved shield of stout cowhide under which lay his short sword; the bed
was but a hard one, but Mastor had for years been used to rest on nothing
better, and still had enjoyed the dreamless slumbers of a child; but to-
night sleep avoided him, and from time to time he pressed his hand on his
wearily open eyes to wipe away the salt dew which rose to them again and
again. For a long time he had restrained these tears bravely enough, for
the Emperor liked to see none but cheerful faces among his servants; nay,
he had once said that it was in consequence of his bright eyes that he
had entrusted to him the care of his person. Poor, cheerful Mastor!
He was nothing but a slave, still he had a heart which lay open to joy
and suffering, to pleasure and trouble, to hatred and to love.
In his childhood his native village had fallen into the hands of the foes
of his race. He and his brother had been carried away as slaves, first
into Asia Minor, and then as they were both particularly pretty fair-
haired boys, to Rome. There they had been bought for the Emperor; Mastor
had been chosen to wait on Hadrian's person, his brother had been put to
work in the gardens. Nothing was lacking to either except his liberty;
nothing tormented them but their longing for their native home, and even
this altogether faded away after he had married the pretty little
daughter of a superintendent of the gardens, a slave like himself.
She was a lively little woman with sparkling eyes, whom no one could
pass by without noticing.
The slave's duties left him but little time to enjoy the society of his
pretty partner and of the two children she bore him, but the
consciousness of possessing them made him happy when he followed his
master to the chase, or in the journeys through the empire. Now, for
seven months he had heard nothing of his family; but a short letter had
reached him at Pelusium, which had been sent with the despatches for the
Emperor from Ostia to Egypt. He could not read, and in consequence of
the Emperor's rapid travelling, it was not till he reached Lochias, that
he was put in possession of its contents.
Before going to rest Antinous had read him the letter, which had been
written for his brother by a public scribe, and its contents were enough
to wreck the heart even of a slave. His pretty little wife had fled from
her home and from the Emperor's service to follow a Greek ship's captain
across the world; his eldest child, a boy, the darling of his heart, was
dead; and his fair-haired tender little Tullia, with her pearly teeth,
her round little arms, and her pretty tiny fingers that had often tried
to pull his close-cropped hair, and had fondly stroked and patted it, had
been carried off to the miserable refuge, under whose squalid roof the
children of deceased slaves were reared. Only two hours since, and in
fancy he had possessed a home, and a group of human beings, whom he could
love. Now, this was all over and with however hard a hand the deepest
woes might fall on him, he might not sob or groan aloud, or even roll
from side to side as again and again he was violently prompted to do,
for his lord slept lightly and the least noise might wake him. At
sunrise he must appear before the Emperor as cheerful as usual, and yet
he felt as if he must himself perish miserably as his happiness had done.
His heart was bursting with anguish, still he neither groaned nor
stirred.