Hadrian had slept most comfortably; only a few hours it is true, but they
had sufficed to refresh his spirit. He was now in his sitting-room and
had gone to the window, which took up more than half the extent of the
long west wall of the room, and opened on the sea. The wide opening,
which extended downwards to within a few spans of the floor, was finished
at either side by a tall pillar of fine reddish-brown porphyry, flecked
with white, and crowned with gilt Corinthian capitals.
Against one of these the Emperor was leaning stroking the blood-hound,
whose prompt and vigorous watchfulness had pleased him greatly. What did
he care for the terrors the dog might have caused a mere girl?
By the other pillar stood Antinous; he had placed his right foot on the
low window-sill, and with his chin resting on his hand and his elbow on
his knee, his figure was well within the room.
"This, Pontius, is really a first-rate man," said Hadrian, pointing to a
tapestry hanging across the narrow end of the room. "This hanging was
copied from a fruit-piece that I painted some time since, and had
executed here in mosaic. Yesterday this room was not even intended for
my use, thus the hanging must have been put up between our arrival and
this morning. And how many other beautiful things I see around me! The
whole place looks habitable, and the eye finds an abundance of objects on
which it can rest with pleasure."
"Have you examined that magnificent cushion?" asked Antinous; "and the
bronze figures, there in the corner, look to me far from bad."
"They are admirable works," said Hadrian. "Still, I would do without
them with pleasure rather than miss this window. Which is the bluer, the
sky or the sea? And what a delicious spring breeze fans us here, in the
middle of December. Which are the more delightful to contemplate, the
innumerable ships in the harbor, which communicate between this flowery
land and other countries, and bless it with wealth, or the buildings
which attract the eye in whichever direction it turns. It is difficult
to know whether most to admire their stately dimensions or the beauty of
their forms."
"And what is that long, huge dyke, which connects the island with the
mainland? Only look! There is a huge trireme passing under one of the
wide arches, on which it is supported--and there comes another."
"That is the great viaduct, called by the Alexandrians the Heptastadion,
because it is said to be seven stadia in length; and in the upper portion
it carries a stone water-course--as an elder tree has in it a vein of
pith-which supplies water to the island of Pharos."
"What a pity it is," said Antinous, "that we cannot overlook from here
the whole of the structure with the men and the vehicles that swarm upon
it like busy ants. That little island and the narrow tongue of land that
runs out into the harbor with the tall slender building at the end of it,
half hide it."
"But they serve to vary the picture," replied the Emperor. "Cleopatra
often dwelt in the little castle on the island with its harbor, and in
that tall tower on the northern side of the peninsula, round which, just
now, the blue waves are playing, while the gulls and pigeons fly happily
over it--there Antony retreated after the fight of Actium."
"To forget his disgrace!" exclaimed Antinous.
"He named it his Timonareum, because he hoped there to remain unmolested
by other human beings, like the wise misanthrope of Athens. How would it
be if I called Lochias my Timonareum?"
"No man need try to hide fame and greatness."
"Who told you that it was shame that led Antony to hide himself in that
place?" asked the imperial sophist; "he proved often enough, at the head
of his cavalry, that he was a brave soldier; and though at Actium, when
all was still going well, he let his ship be turned, it was out of no
fear of swords and spears, but because Fate compelled him to subjugate
his strong will to the wishes of a woman with whose destiny his was
linked."
"Then do you excuse his conduct?"
"I only seek to account for it, and never, for a moment, could allow
myself to believe that shame ever prompted a single act in Antony. I--
do you suppose I could ever blush? Nay, we cease to feel shame when we
have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world."
"But why then should Marc Antony have shut himself up, in yonder sea-
washed prison?"
"Because, to every true man, who has dissipated whole years of his life
with women, jesters and flatterers, a moment comes of satiety and
loathing. In such an hour he feels that of all the men under the lights
of heaven, he, himself, is the only one with whom it is worth his while
to commune. After Actium, this was what Antony felt, and he quitted the
society of men in order to find himself for once in good company."
"It is that, no doubt, which drives you now and again into solitude."
"No doubt-but you are always allowed to follow me."
"Then you regard me as better than others," exclaimed Antinous joyfully.
"As more beautiful at any rate," replied Hadrian kindly. "Ask me some
more questions."
But Antinous needed a few minutes pause before he could comply with this
desire. At last he recollected himself and proceeded to inquire why most
of the vessels were moored in the harbor beyond the Heptastadion, known
as Eunostus. The entrance there was less dangerous than that between the
Pharos and the point of Lochias which led into the eastern landing-
places. And then Hadrian could give him information as to every building
in the city about which his companion evinced any curiosity. But when
the Emperor had pointed out the Soma, under which rested the remains of
Alexander the Great, he became thoughtful, and said, as if to himself:
"The Great--We may well envy the young Macedonian; not the mere name of
Great, for many of small worth have had it bestowed on them, but because
he really earned it!"
There was not a question put by the handsome Bithynian that Hadrian could
not answer; Antinous followed all his explanations with growing
astonishment, exclaiming at last:
"How perfectly well you know this place--and yet you never were here
before."
"It is one of the greatest pleasures of travelling," replied Hadrian,
"that on our journeys we come to know many things in their actuality of
which we have formed an idea from books and narratives. This requires us
to compare the reality with the pictures in our own minds, seen with the
inward eye, before we saw the reality. It is to me a far smaller
pleasure to be surprised by something new and unexpected than to make
myself more closely acquainted with something I know already sufficiently
to deem it worthy to be known better. Do you understand what I mean?"
"To be sure I do. We hear of a thing, and when we afterwards see it we
ask ourselves whether we have conceived of it rightly. But I always
picture people or places which I hear much praised, as much more
beautiful than I ever find the reality."
"The balance of difference, which is to the disadvantage of reality,"
answered Hadrian, "stands not so much to its discredit, as to the credit
of the eager and beautifying power of your youthful imagination. I--I--"
and the Emperor stroked his beard and gazed out into the distance. "I
learn by experience that the older I grow, the more often I find it
possible so to imagine men, places, and things that I have not seen as
that when I meet them in real life for the first time, I feel justified
in fancying that I have known them long since, visited them, and beheld
them with my bodily eyes. Here, for instance, I feel as if I saw nothing
new, but only gazed once more at what has long been familiar. But that
is no wonder, for I know my Strabo, and have heard and read a hundred
accounts of this city. Still there are many things which are quite
strange to me, and yet as they come before me make me feel as if I had
seen or known them long ago."
"I have felt something like that," said Antinous. "Can our souls have
ever lived in other bodies, and sometimes recall the impressions made in
that former existence?
"Favorinus once told me that some great philosopher, Plato, I think,
asserts that before we are born our souls are wafted about in the
firmament that they may contemplate the earth on which they are destined
subsequently to dwell. Favorinus says too--"
"Favorinus!" cried Hadrian, evasively. "That graceful elocutionist
has plenty of skill in giving new and captivating forms to the thoughts
of the great philosophers; but he has not been able to surprise the
secret of his own soul--besides, he talks too much, and he cannot
dispense with the excitement of life."
"Still you have recognized the phenomenon, but you disapprove of
Favorinus' explanation of it?"
"Yes, for I have met men and things as old acquaintances which never saw
the light till long after I was born. Possibly my own interpretation may
not adapt itself to the consciousness of all--but in myself, I know for
certain, there dwells a mysterious something which stirs and works in me
independently of myself, which enters into me, and takes its departure at
its will. Call it as you will, my Daimon, or even my Genius--the name
matters not. Nor will this 'something' always come at my bidding, while
it often possesses me when I least expect it. In those moments when it
stirs within me, I am master of much which is peculiar to the experience
and potentiality of that hour. What is known to that Daimon always
appears to me the very same when I actually meet it. Thus Alexandria is
not unknown to me, because my Genius has seen it in his flights. It has
learnt and done much, both in me and for me; a hundred times, face to
face with my own finished works I have asked myself: 'Is it possible
that you--Hadrian--your mother's son-can have achieved this? What then
is the mysterious power that aided you to do it?' Now I also recognize
it, and can see it work in others. The man in whom it dwells soon excels
his fellows, and it is most manifest in artists. Or is it that mere
common men become great artists simply because the Genius selects them as
his temple to dwell in? Do you follow me, boy?"
"Not altogether," replied Antinous, and his large eyes which had sparkled
brightly so long as he gazed with the Emperor on the city, were now cast
down and fixed wearily on the ground. "Do not be angry with me, my Lord,
but I shall never understand such things as these, for there is no man
with whom your Genius, as you term it, has less concern than with me.
Thoughts of my own have I none, and it is difficult to me to follow the
thoughts of others; indeed I should like to know how I am ever to do
anything right. When I want to work, to work something out, no Daimon
helps my soul; no--it feels quite helpless, and drifts into dreaminess.
And if I ever do complete anything, I am obliged to own to myself that I
certainly might have been able to do it better."
"Self-knowledge," laughed Hadrian, "is the climax of wisdom. A man has
done something if he has only added a 'thing of beauty' to the joys of a
friend's imagination; what others do by hard work you do by mere
existence. Be quiet, Argus!" For, while he was speaking, the hound had
risen, and had gone snarling to the door. In spite of his master's
orders he broke into a loud bark when he heard a steady knock at the
door. Hadrian looked round in bewilderment, and asked: "Where is
Mastor?"
Antinous shouted the slave's name into the Emperor's bedroom, which was
next to the living-room, but in vain. "He generally is always at hand,
and as brisk as a lark, but to-day he looked as if in a dream, and while
he was dressing me he first let my shoe fall out of his hand and then my
brooch."
"I read him yesterday a letter from Rome. His young wife has gone away
with a ship's captain."
"We may wish him joy of being free again."
"It does not seem to afford him any satisfaction."
"Oh! a handsome lad like my body-slave can find as many substitutes as he
likes."
"But he has not done so. For the present he is still smarting under his
loss."
"How wise! There, some one is knocking again. Just see who ventures--
but to be sure any one has a right to knock, for at Lochias I am not the
Emperor, but a simple private gentleman. Lie down Argus, are you crazy,
old fellow? Why the dog maintains my dignity better than I do, and he
does not seem altogether to like the architect's part I am playing."
Antinous had already raised his hand to lift the handle, when the door
was gently opened from outside, and the steward's slave stood on the
threshold. The old negro presented a lamentable spectacle. The
Emperor's dignified and awe-compelling figure, and his favorite's rich
garments made him feel embarrassed, and the hound's threatening growl
filled him with such terror that he huddled his lean negro-legs together,
and, as far as its length would allow, tried to cover them for protection
with his threadbare tunic.
Hadrian gazed in astonishment at this image of fear, and then asked:
"Well! what do you want, fellow?"
The slave attempted to advance a step or two, but at a loud command from
Hadrian he stood still, and as he looked down at his flat feet, he
ruefully scratched his short-cropped grey hair, some of which had fallen
off and left a bald patch.
"Well," repeated Hadrian, in a tone which was anything rather than
encouraging, as he relaxed his hold on the hound's collar in a somewhat
suspicious manner. The slave's bent knees began to quake, and holding
out his broad palm to the grey-bearded gentleman, who seemed to him
hardly less alarming than the dog, he began to stammer out in fearfully-
mutilated Greek the speech which his master had repeated to him several
times, and which set forth that he had come "into the presence of the
architect, Claudius Venator, of Rome, to announce the visit of his
master, a member of the town-council, a Macedonian, and a Roman citizen,
Keraunus, the son of Ptolemy, steward of the once royal but now imperial
palace at Lochias."
Hadrian unrelentingly allowed the poor wretch to finish his speech,
rubbing his hands with amusement, while the sweat of anguish stood on the
old slave's face, and to prolong the delightful joke, he took good care
not to help the miserable old man when his unaccustomed tongue came to
some insuperable difficulty. When, at length, the negro had finished the
pompous announcement, Hadrian said, kindly:
"Tell your master he may come in."
Scarcely had the slave left the room, when the sovereign, turning to his
favorite, exclaimed:
"This is a delicious joke! What will the Jupiter be like, when the eagle
is such a bird as this!"
Keraunus was not long to wait for. While pacing up and down the passage
outside the Emperor's room, his bad humor had risen considerably, for he
took it as a slight on the part of the architect, that he should allow
him--whose birth and dignities he would have learnt from his slave--to
wait several minutes, each of which seemed to him a quarter of an hour.
His expectation too, that the Roman would come to conduct him in person
into his apartment was by no means fulfilled, for the slave's message was
briefly--"He may come in."
"Did he say may? Did he not say "please to come in, or have the goodness
to come in?" asked the steward.
"He may come in--was what he said," replied the slave.
Keraunus grunted out, "Well!" set his gold circlet straight on his head
which he held very upright, crossed his arms over his broad chest with a
sigh, and ordered the black man:
"Open the door."
The steward crossed the threshold with much dignity: then, not to commit
any breach of courtesy, he bowed low, and was about to begin to utter his
reprimand in cutting terms, when a glance at the Emperor and at the
splendid decoration which the room had undergone since the day previous,
not to mention the very unpleasant growling of the big dog, prompted him
to strike a milder string. His slave had followed him and had sought a
safe corner near the door, between the wall of the room and a couch, but
he himself, conquering his alarm at the dog, went forward some distance
into the room. The Emperor had seated himself on the window-sill; he
pressed his foot lightly on the head of the dog, and gazed at Keraunus as
at some remarkable curiosity. His eye thus met that of the steward and
made him clearly understand that he had to do with a greater personage
than he had expected. There was something imposing in the person of the
man who sat before him; for this very reason, however, his pride stood on
tiptoe, and he asked in a tone of swaggering dignity, though not so
sharply and abruptly as he had intended.
"Am I standing before the new visitor to Lochias, the architect Claudius
Venator of Rome?"
"You are--standing--" replied the Emperor, with a roguish side glance at
Antinous.
"You have met with a friendly reception to this palace. Like my fathers,
who have enjoyed the stewardship of it for centuries, I know how to
exercise the sacred duties of hospitality."
"I am surprised to hear of the high antiquity of your family and bow to
your pious sentiments," answered Hadrian, in the same tone as the
steward. "What farther may I learn from you?"
"I did not come here to relate history," said Keraunus, whose gall rose
as he thought he detected a mocking smile on the stranger's lips. "I did
not come here to tell stories, but to complain that you, as a warmly-
welcomed guest, show so little anxiety to protect your host from injury."
"How is that?" asked Hadrian, rising from his seat and signing to
Antinous to hold back the hound, which manifested a peculiar aversion to
the steward. It no doubt detected that he had come to show no special
friendliness to his owner.
"Is that dangerous dog, gnashing its teeth there, your property?" asked
Keraunus.
"Yes."
This morning it threw down my daughter and smashed a costly pitcher,
which she is fond of carrying to fetch water in the dawn."
"I heard of that misadventure," said Hadrian, "and I would give much if I
could undo it. The vessel shall be amply made good to you."
"I beg you not to add insult to the injury, we have suffered by your
fault. A father whose daughter has been knocked down and hurt--"
"Then, Argus actually bit her?" cried Antinous, horrified.
"No," Keraunus replied. "But as she fell her head and foot have been
injured, and she is suffering much pain."
"That is very sad," said Hadrian, "and as I am not ignorant of the
healing art, I will gladly try to help the poor girl."
"I pay a professional leech, who attends me and mine," replied the
steward, in a repellant tone, "and I came hither to request--or, to be
frank with you--to require--"
"What?"
"First, that my pardon shall be asked."
"That, the artist, Claudius Venator, is always ready to do when any one
has suffered damage by his fault. What has happened--I repeat it--
grieves me sincerely, and I beg you tell the maiden to whom the accident
happened, that her pain is mine. What more do you desire?"
The steward's features had calmed down at these last words, and he
answered with less excitement than before:
"I must request you to chain up your dog, or to shut it up, or in some
way to keep it from mischief."
"That is pretty strong!" cried the Emperor.
"It is only a reasonable demand, and I must stand by it," replied
Keraunus decidedly. "Neither I--nor my children's lives are safe, so
long as this wild beast is prowling about at pleasure."
Hadrian had, ere now, erected monuments to deceased favorites, both dogs
and horses, and his faithful Argus was no less dear to him, than other
four-footed companions have been to other childless men; hence the queer
fat man's demand seemed to him so audacious and monstrous, that he
indignantly exclaimed:
"Folly!--the dog shall be watched, but nothing farther."
"You will chain him up," replied Keraunus, with an angry, glare, "or
someone will be found who will make him harmless forever."
"That will be an evil attempt for the cowardly murderer!" cried Hadrian.
"Eh! Argus, what do you think?"
At these words the dog drew himself up, and would have sprung at the
steward's throat if his master and Antinous had not held him back.
Keraunus felt that the dog had threatened him, but at this instant he
would have let himself be torn by him without wincing, so completely was
he overmastered by the fury born of his injured pride.
"And am I--I too, to be hunted down by a dog, in this house?" he cried
defiantly, setting his left fist on his hip. "Every thing has its
limits, and so has my patience with a guest who, in spite of his ripe age
forgets due consideration. I will inform the prefect Titianus of your
proceedings here, and when the Emperor arrives he shall know--"
"What?" laughed Hadrian.
"The way you behave to me."
"Till then the dog shall stay where it is, and really under due
restraint. But I can tell you man, that Hadrian is as much a friend of
dogs as I am--and fonder of me than even of dogs."
"We will see," growled Keraunus, "I or the dog!"
"I am afraid it will be the dog then."
"And Rome will see a fresh revolt," cried Keraunus, rolling his eyes.
"You took Egypt from the Ptolemies."
"And with very good reason--besides that is a stale old story."
"Justice is never stale, like a bad debt."
"At any rate it perishes with persons it concerns; there have been no
Lagides left here--how many years?"
"So you believe, because it suits your ends to believe it," replied the
steward. "In the man who stands before you flows the blood of the
Macedonian rulers of this country. My eldest son bears the name of
Ptolemaeus Helios--that borne by the last of the Lagides, who perished as
you pretend."
"Dear, good, blind Helios!" interrupted the black slave; for he was
accustomed to avail himself of the hapless child's name as a protection,
when Keraunus was in a doubtful humor.
"Then the last descendant of the Ptolemies is blind!" laughed the
Emperor. "Rome may ignore his claims. But I will inform the Emperor how
dangerous a pretender this roof yet harbors."
"Denounce me, accuse me, calumniate me!" cried the steward,
contemptuously. "But I will not let myself be trodden on. Patience--
patience! you will live to know me yet."
"And you, the blood-hound," replied Hadrian, "if you do not this instant
quit the room with your mouthing crow--"
Keraunus signed to his slave and without greeting his foe in any way,
turned his back upon him. He paused for a moment at the door of the room
and cried out to Hadrian:
"Rely upon this, I shall complain to the Council and write to Caesar how
you presume to behave to a Macedonian citizen."
As soon as the steward had quitted the room, Hadrian freed the dog, which
flew raging at the door which was closed between him and the object of
his aversion. Hadrian ordered him to be quiet, and then turning to his
companion, he exclaimed:
"A perfect monster of a man! to the last degree ridiculous, and at the
same time repulsive. How his rage seethed in him, and yet could not
break out fairly and thoroughly. I am always on my guard with such
obstinate fools. Pay attention to my Argus, and remember, we are in
Egypt, the land of poison, as Homer long since said. Mastor must keep
his eyes open--Here he is at last."
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world
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They keep an account in their heart and not in their head