In the Caesareum, where the Empress dwelt, the lights were extinguished
one after another; but in the palace of Lochias they grew more numerous
and brighter. In festal illuminations of the harbor pitch cressets on
the roof, and long rows of lamps that accumulated architectonic features
of the noble structure, were always kindled; but inside it, no blaze so
brilliant had ever lighted it within the memory of man. The harbor
watchmen at first gazed anxiously up at Lochias, for they feared that a
fire must have broken out in the old palace; they were soon reassured
however, by one of the prefect's lictors, who brought them a command to
keep open the harbor gates that night, and every night till the Emperor
should have arrived, to all who might wish to proceed from Lochias to the
city, or from the city to the peninsula, under the orders of Pontius the
architect. And till long past midnight not a quarter of an hour passed
in which the people whom the architect had summoned to his aid were not
knocking at the harbor gates, which, though not locked were all guarded.
The little house belonging to the gate-keeper was also brightly lighted
up; the birds and cats belonging to the old woman whom the prefect and
his companions had found slumbering by her wine-jar, were now fast
asleep, but the little dogs still flew loudly yelping into the yard each
time a new-comer entered by the open gate.
"Come, Aglaia, what will folks think of you? Thalia, my beauty, behave
like a good dog; come here, Euphrosyne, and don't be so silly!" cried
the old lady in a voice which was both pleasant and peremptory, as she
stood-wide awake now-behind her table, folding together the dried
clothes. The little barking beasts who were thus endowed with the names
of the three Graces did not trouble themselves much about her
affectionate admonitions; to their sorrow, for it happened more than once
to each of them, when they had got under the feet of some new-comer, to
creep, whining and howling, into the house again to seek consolation from
their mistress, who would pick up the sufferer and soothe it with kisses
and coaxing.
The old lady was no longer alone, for in the background, on a long and
narrow couch which stood in front of the statue of Apollo, lay a tall,
lean man, wearing a red chiton. A little lamp hanging from the ceiling
threw a dull light on him and on the lute he was playing. To the faint
sound of the instrument, which was rather a large one, and which he had
propped on the pillow by his side, he was singing, or rather murmuring
a long ditty. Twice, thrice, four times he repeated it in the same way.
Now and again he suddenly let his voice sound more loudly--and though his
hair was quite grey his voice was not unpleasing--and sang a few phrases
full of expression and with artistic delivery; and then, when the dogs
barked too vehemently, he would spring up, and with his lute in his left-
hand and a long pliable rattan in his right, he would rush into the
court-yard, shout the names of the dogs, and raise his cane as if he
would kill them; but he always took care not to hit them, only to beat on
the pavement near them. When, returning from such an excursion, he
stretched himself again on his couch, the old woman, pointing to the
hanging-lamp which the impatient creature often knocked with his head,
would call out, "Euphorion, mind the oil."
And he each time answered with the same threatening gesture and the same
glare in his black eyes:
"The little brutes!"
The singer had been diligently practising his musical exercises for about
an hour, when the dogs rushed into the court-yard, not barking this time,
but yelping loudly with joy. The old woman laid aside the washing and
listened, but the tall man said:
"As many birds come flying before the Emperor as gulls before a storm.
If only they would leave us in peace--"
"Hark, that is Pollux; I know by the dogs," said the woman, hastening as
fast as she could over the threshold and out to meet him. But the
expected visitor was already at the door. He picked up the three four-
footed Graces who leaped round him, one after the other by the skin of
the neck, and gave each a tap on its nose. Then, seeing the old woman,
he took her head between his hands, and kissed her forehead, saying,
"Good-evening, little Mother," and shook hands with the singer, adding,
"How are you, great, big Father?"
"You are as big as I am," replied the man thus addressed, and he drew the
younger man towards him, and laid one of his broad hands on his own grey
head and the other on that of his first-born, with its wealth of brown
hair.
"As if we were cast in the same mould," cried the youth; and in fact he
was very like his father--like, no doubt, as a noble hunter is like a
worn-out hack--as marble is like limestone--as a cedar is like a fir-
tree. Both were remarkably tall, had thick hair, dark eyes, and strongly
aquiline noses, exactly of the same shape; but the cheerful brightness
which irradiated the countenance of the youth had certainly not been
inherited from the lute-player, but from the little woman who looked up
into his face and patted his arm.
But whence did he derive the powerful, but indescribable something which
gave nobility to his head, and of which it was impossible to say whether
it lay in his eye, or in the lofty brow, arched so differently to that of
either parent?
"I knew you would come," cried his mother. "This afternoon I dreamed it,
and I can prove that I expected you, for there, on the brazier, stands
the stewed cabbage and sausage waiting for you."
"I cannot stay now," replied Pollux. "Really, I cannot, though your kind
looks would persuade me, and the sausage winks at me out of the cabbage-
pan. My master, Papias, is gone on ahead, and in the palace there we are
to work wonders in less time than it generally takes to consider which
end the work should be begun at."
"Then I will carry the cabbage into the palace for you," said Doris,
standing on tip-toe to hold a sausage to the lips of her tall son.
Pollux bit off a large mouthful and said, as he munched it:
"Excellent! I only wish that the thing I am to construct up there may
turn out as good a statue as this savory cylinder--now fast disappearing
--was a superior and admirable sausage."
"Have another?" said Doris.
"No mother; and you must not bring the cabbage either. Up to midnight
not a minute must be lost, and if I then leave off for a little while you
must by that time be dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things."
"I will carry you the cabbage then," said his father, "for I shall not be
in bed so early at any rate. The hymn to Sabina, composed by Mesomedes,
is to be performed with the chorus, as soon as the Empress visits the
theatre, and I am to lead the upper part of the old men, who grow young
again at the sight of her. The rehearsal is fixed for to-morrow, and I
know nothing about it yet. Old music, note for note, is ready and safe
in my throat, but new things--new things!"
"It is according to circumstances," said Pollux, laughing.
"If only they would perform your father's Satyr-play, or his Theseus!"
cried Doris.
"Only wait a little, I will recommend him to Caesar as soon as he is
proud to call me his friend, as the Phidias of the age. Then, when he
asks me 'Who is the happy man who begot you?' I will answer: It is
Euphorion, the divine poet and singer; and my mother, too, is a worthy
matron, the gate-keeper of your palace, Doris, the enchantress, who
turns dingy clothes into snow-white linen."
These last words the young artist sang in a fine and powerful voice to a
mode invented by his father.
"If only you had been a singer!" exclaimed Euphorion.
"Then I should have enjoyed the prospect," retorted Pollux, "of spending
the evening of my life as your successor in this little abode."
"And now for wretched pay, you plant the laurels with which Papias crowns
himself!" answered the old man shrugging his shoulders.
"His hour is coming, too," cried Doris, "his merit will be recognized;
I saw him in my dreams, with a great garland on his curly head!"
"Patience, father-patience," said the young man, grasping his father's
hand. "I am young and strong, and do all I can. Here, behind this
forehead, good ideas are seething; what I have succeeded in carrying out
by myself, has at any rate brought credit and fame to others, although it
is all far from resembling the ideal of beauty that here--here--I seem to
see far away and behind a cloud; still I feel that if, in a moment of
kindness, Fortune will but shed a few fresh drops of dew on it all I
shall, at any rate, turn out something better than the mere ill-paid
right-hand of Papias, who, without me does not know what he ought to do,
or how to do it."
"Only keep your eyes open and work hard," cried Doris.
"It is of no use without luck," muttered the singer, shrugging his
shoulders.
The young artist bid his parents good-night, and was about to leave, but
his mother detained him to show him the young goldfinches, hatched only
the day before. Pollux obeyed her wish, not merely to please her, but
because he liked to watch the gay little bird that sat warming and
sheltering her nestlings. Close to the cage stood the huge wine-jar and
his mother's cup, decorated by his own hand. His eye fell on these, and
he pushed them aside in silence. Then, taking courage, he said,
laughing: "The Emperor will often pass by here, mother; give up
celebrating your Dionysiac festival. How would it do if you filled the
jar with one-fourth wine and three-fourths water? It does not taste
badly."
"Spoiling good gifts," replied his mother.
"One-fourth wine-to please me," Pollux entreated, taking his mother by
the shoulders and kissing her forehead.
"To please you, you great boy!" said Doris, as her eyes filled with
tears. "Why for you, if I must, I would drink nothing but wretched
water. Euphorion you may finish what is left in the jar presently."
.........................
Pontius had already begun his labors, at first with aid only of his
assistants who had followed him on foot. Measuring, estimating, sending
short notes and writing figures, names and suggestions on the plan, and
on his folding wax-tablets, he was not idle for an instant, though
frequently interrupted by the appointed superintendents of the workshops
and manufactures in Lochias, whose co-operation he required. They only
came at this late hour because they were called upon by the prefect's
orders.
Papias, the sculptor, introduced himself among the latest, though Pontius
had written to him with his own hand that he had to communicate to him a
very remunerative and particularly pressing commission for the Emperor,
which might, perhaps, be taken in hand that very night. The matter in
question was a statue of Urania, which must be completed in eight days by
the same method which Papias had introduced at the last festival of
Adonis, and to the scale which he, Pontius, indicated, in the palace of
Lochias itself. With regard to several works of restoration which had to
be carried out with equal rapidity, and as to the price to be paid, they
could agree at the same time and place.
The sculptor was a man of foresight and did not appear on the scene alone
but with his best assistant, Pollux, the son of the worthy couple at the
gate, and several slaves who dragged after him sundry trunks and carts
loaded with tools, boards, clay, gypsum and other raw materials of his
art. On the road to Lochias he had informed the young sculptor of the
business in hand, and had told him in a condescending tone that he would
be permitted to try his skill in reconstructing the Urania. At the gate
he had permitted Pollux to greet his parents, and had gone alone into the
palace to open his bargain with the architect without the presence of
witnesses.
The young artist perfectly understood his master. He knew that he would
be expected to carry out the statue of Urania, while his task-master,
after making some trifling alterations in the completed work, would
declare that it was his own. Pollux had for two years been obliged, more
than once, to put up with similar treatment; and now, as usual, he
submitted to this dishonest manoeuvre because, under his master there was
plenty to do, and the delight of work was to him the greatest he could
have.
Papias, to whom he had gone early as an apprentice and to whom he owed
the knowledge he possessed, was no miser, still Pollux needed money, not
for himself alone but because he had taken on himself the charge of a
widowed sister and her children as if they were his own family. He was
always glad to take some comfort into the narrow home of his parents, who
were poor, and to maintain his younger brother Teuker--who had devoted
himself to the same art--during the years of his apprenticeship. Again
and again he had thought of telling his master that he should start on
his own footing and earn laurels for himself, but what then would become
of those who relied on his help, if he gave up his regular earnings and
if he got no commissions when there were so many unknown beginners eager
for them? Of what avail were all his ability and the most honest good-
will if no opportunity offered for his executing his work in noble
materials? With his own means he certainly was in no position to do so.
While he was talking to his parents Papias had opened his transactions
with the architect. Pontius explained to the sculptor what was required
and Papias listened attentively; he never interrupted the speaker, but
only stroked his face from time to time, as if to make it smoother than
it was already, though it was shaved with peculiar care and formed and
colored like a warm mask; meanwhile draping the front of his rich blue
toga, which he wore in the fashion of a Roman senator, into fresh folds.
But when Pontius showed him, at the end of the rooms destined for the
Emperor, the last of the statues to be restored, and which needed a new
grin, Papias said decisively:
"It cannot be done."
"That is a rash verdict," replied the architect. "Do you not know the
proverb, which, being such a good one, is said to have been first uttered
by more than one sage: 'That it shows more ill-judgment to pronounce a
thing impossible than to boast that we can achieve a task however much it
may seem to transcend our powers.'"
Papias smiled and looked down at his gold-embroidered shoes as he said:
"It is more difficult to us sculptors to imagine ourselves waging Titanic
warfare against the impossible, than it is to you who work with enormous
masses. I do not yet see the means which would give me courage to begin
the attack."
"I will tell you," replied Pontius quickly and decidedly. "On your side
good-will, plenty of assistants and night-watchers; on ours, the Caesar's
approval and plenty of gold."
After this the transaction came to a prompt and favorable issue, and the
architect could but express his entire approbation, in most cases, of the
sculptor's judicious and well-considered suggestions.
"Now I must go home," concluded Papias. "My assistants will proceed at
once with the necessary preparations. The work must be carried on behind
screens, so that no one may disturb us or hinder us with remarks."
Half an hour later a scaffolding was already erected in the middle of the
hall where the Urania was to stand.
It was concealed from; public gaze by thick linen stretched on tall
wooden frames, and behind these screens Pollux was busied in framing a
small model in wax, while his master had returned home to make
arrangements for the labors of the following day.
It wanted only an hour of midnight, and still the supper sent to the
palace for the architect by the prefect remained untouched. Pontius was
hungry enough, but before attacking the meal that a slave had set out on
a marble table--the roast meat which looked so inviting, the orange-red
crayfish, the golden-brown pasty and the many-hued fruits--he conceived
it his duty to inspect the rooms to be restored. It was needful to see
whether the slaves who had been set, in the first place to clean out all
the rooms, were being intelligently directed by the men set over them,
whether they were doing their duty and had all that they required; they
had got some hours to work, then they were to rest and to begin again at
sunrise, reinforced by other laborers both slave and free.
More and better lighting was universally demanded, and when, in the hall
of the Muses, the men who were cleaning the pavement and scraping the
columns loudly clamored for torches and lamps, a young man's head peered
over the screen which shut in the place reserved for the restoration of
the Urania, and a lamentable voice cried out:
"My Muse, with her celestial sphere, is the guardian of star-gazers and
is happiest in the dark--but not till she is finished. To form her we
must have light and more light--and when it is lighter here the voice of
the people down there, which does not sound very delightful up in this
hollow space, will diminish somewhat also. Give light, then, O, men!
Light for my goddess, and for your scrubbers and scourers."
Pontius looked up smiling at Pollux, who had uttered this appeal, and
answered:
Your cry of distress is fully justified, my friend. But do you really
believe in the power of light to diminish noise?"
"At any rate," replied Pollux, "where it is absent, that is to say in
the dark, every noise seems redoubled."
"That is true, but there are other reasons for that," answered the
architect. "To-morrow in an interval of work we will discuss these
matters. Now I will go to provide you with lamps and lights."
"Urania, the protectress of the fine arts, will be beholden to you,"
cried Pollux as the architect went away.
Pontius meanwhile sought his chief foreman to ask him whether he had
delivered his orders to Keraunus, the palace-steward, to come to him,
and to put the cressets and lamps commonly used for the external
illuminations, at the service of his workmen.
"Three times," was the answer "have I been myself to the man, but each
time he puffed himself out like a frog and answered me not a word, but
only sent me into a little room with his daughter--whom you must see, for
she is charming--and a miserable black slave, and there I found these few
wretched lamps that are now burning."
"Did you order him to come to me?"
"Three hours ago, and again a second time, when you were talking with
Papias."
The architect turned his back upon the foreman in angry haste,
unrolled the plan of the palace, quickly found upon it the abode of the
recalcitrant steward, seized a small red-clay lamp that was standing near
him, and being quite accustomed to guide himself by a plan, went straight
through the rooms, which were not a few, and by a long corridor from the
hall of the Muses, to the lodging of the negligent official. An unclosed
door led him into a dark ante-chamber followed by another room, and
finally into a large, well-furnished apartment. All these door-ways,
into what seemed to be at once the dining and sitting-room of the
steward, were bereft of doors, and could only be closed by stuff
curtains, just now drawn wide open. Pontius could therefore look in,
unhindered and unperceived, at the table on which a three-branched bronze
lamp was standing between a dish and some plates. The stout man was
sitting with his rubicund moon-face towards the architect, who, indignant
as he was, would have gone straight up to him with swift decision, if,
before entering the second room, a low but pitiful sob had not fallen on
his ear.
The sob proceeded from a slight young girl who came forward from a door
beyond the sitting-room, and who now placed a platter with a loaf on the
table by the steward.
"Come, do not cry, Selene," said the steward, breaking the bread slowly
and with an evident desire to soothe his child.
"How can I help crying," said the girl. "But tomorrow morning let me buy
a piece of meat for you; the physician forbade you to eat bread."
"Man must be filled," replied the fat man, "and meat is dear. I have
nine mouths to fill, not counting the slaves. And where am I to get the
money to fill us all with meat?"
"We need none, but for you it is necessary."
"It is of no use, child. The butcher will not trust us any more, the
other creditors press us, and at the end of the month we shall have just
ten drachmae left us."
The girl turned pale, and asked in anxiety:
"But, father, it was only to-day that you showed me the three gold pieces
which you said had been given you as a present out of the money
distributed on the arrival of the Empress."
The steward absently rolled a piece of bread-crumb between his fingers
and said:
"I spent that on this fibula with an incised onyx--and as cheap as dirt,
I can tell you. If Caesar comes he must see who and what I am; and if I
die any one will give you twice as much for it as I paid. I tell you the
Empress's money was well laid out on the thing." Selene made no answer,
but she sighed deeply, and her eye glanced at a quantity of useless
things which her father had acquired and brought home because they were
cheap, while she and her seven sisters wanted the most necessary things.
"Father," the girl began again after a short silence, "I ought not to go
on about it, but even if it vexes you, I must--the architect, who is
settling all the work out there, has sent for you twice already."
"Be silent!" shouted the fat man, striking his hand on the table. "Who
is this Pontius, and who am I!"
"You are of a noble Macedonian family, related perhaps even to the
Ptolemies; you have your seat in the Council of the Citizens--but do,
this time, be condescending and kind. The man has his hands full, he is
tired out."
"Nor have I been able to sit still the whole day, and what is fitting, is
fitting. I am Keraunus the son of Ptolemy, whose father came into Egypt
with Alexander the Great, and helped to found this city, and every one
knows it. Our possessions were diminished; but it is for that very
reason that I insist on our illustrious blood being recognized. Pontius
sends to command the presence of Keraunus! If it were not infuriating it
would be laughable--for who is this man, who? I have told you his father
was a freedman of the former prefect Claudius Balbillus, and by the favor
of the Roman his father rose and grew rich. He is the descendant of
slaves, and you expect that I shall be his obedient humble servant,
whenever he chooses to call me?"
But father, my dear father, it is not the son of Ptolemy, but the palace-
steward that he desires shall go to hire."
"Mere chop-logic!--you have nothing to say, not a step do I take to go to
him."
The girl clasped her hands over her face, and sobbed loudly and
pitifully. Keraunus started up and cried out, beside himself.
"By great Serapis. I can bear this no longer. What are you whimpering
about?"
The girl plucked up courage and going up to the indignant man she said,
though more than once interrupted by tears.
"You must go father--indeed you must. I spoke to the foreman, and he
told me coolly and decidedly that the architect was placed here in
Caesar's name, and that if you do not obey him you will at once be
superseded in your office. And if that were to happen, if that--
O father, father, only think of blind Helios and poor Berenice! Arsinoe
and I could earn our bread, but the little ones--the little ones."
With these words the girl fell on her knees lifting her hands in entreaty
to her obstinate parent. The blood had mounted to the man's face and
eyes, and pressing his hand to his purple forehead he sank back in his
chair as if stricken with apoplexy. His daughter sprang up and offered
him the cup full of wine and water which was standing on the table; but
Keraunus pushed it aside with his hands, and panted out, while he
struggled for breath:
"Supersede me--in my place--turn me out of this palace! Why there, in
that ebony trunk, lies the rescript of Euergetes which confers the
stewardship of this residence on my ancestor Philip, and as a hereditary
dignity in his family. Now Philip's wife had the honor of being the
king's mistress--or, as some say, his daughter. There lies the document,
drawn up in red and black ink on yellow papyrus and ratified with the
seal and signature of Euergetes the Second. All the princes of the
Lagides have confirmed it, all the Roman prefects have respected it, and
now--now."
"But father" said the girl interrupting her father, and wringing her
hands in despair, "you still hold the place and if you will only give
in."
"Give in, give in," shrieked the corpulent steward shaking his fat hands
above his blood-shot face. "I will give in--I will not bring you all to
misery--for my children's sake I will allow myself to be ill-treated and
down-trodden, I will go--I will go directly. Like the pelican I will
feed my children with my heart's blood. But you ought to know what it
costs me, to humiliate myself thus; it is intolerable to me, and my heart
is breaking--for the architect, the architect has trampled upon me as if
I were his servant; he wished--I heard him with these ears--he shrieked
after me a villanous hope that I might be smothered in my own fat--and
the physician has told me I may die of apoplexy! Leave me, leave me.
I know those Romans are capable of anything. Well--here I am; fetch me
my saffron-colored pallium, that I wear in the council, fetch me my gold
fillet for my head. I will deck myself like a beast for sacrifice, and I
will show him--"
Not a word of this harangue had escaped the ears of the architect who had
been at first indignant and then moved to laughter, and withal it had
touched his heart. A sluggish and torpid character was repugnant to his
vigorous nature, and the deliberate and indifferent demeanor of the stout
steward, on an occasion which had prompted him and all concerned to act
as quickly and energetically as possible, had brought words to his lips
which he now wished that he had never spoken. It is true that the
steward's false pride had roused his indignation, and who can listen
calmly to any comment on a stain on his birth? But the appeal of this
miserable father's daughter had gone to his heart. He pitied the fatuous
simpleton whom, with a turn of his hand, he could reduce to beggary, and
who had evidently been far more deeply hurt by his words than Pontius had
been by what he had overheard, and so he followed the kindly impulse of a
noble nature to spare the unfortunate.
He rapped loudly with his knuckles on the inside of the door-post of the
ante-room, coughed loudly, and then said, bowing deeply to the steward on
the threshold of the sitting-room:
"Noble Keraunus--I have come, as beseems me, to pay you my respests.
Excuse the lateness of the hour, but you can scarcely imagine how busy
I have been since we parted."
Keraunus had at first started at the late visitor, then he stared at him
in consternation. He now went towards him, stretched out both hands as
if suddenly relieved of a nightmare, and a bright expression of such warm
and sincere satisfaction overspread his countenance that Pontius wondered
how he could have failed to observe what a well-cut face this fat
original had.
"Take a seat at our humble table," said Keraunus. "Go Selene and call
the slaves. Perhaps there is yet a pheasant in the house, a roast fowl
or something of the kind--but the hour, it is true, is late."
"I am deeply obliged to you," replied the architect, smiling. "My supper
is waiting for me in the hall of the Muses, and I must return to my work-
people. I should be grateful to you if you would accompany me. We must
consult together as to the lighting of the rooms, and such matters are
best discussed over a succulent roast and a flask of wine."
"I am quite at your service," said Keraunus with a bow.
"I will go on ahead," said the architect, "but first will you have the
goodness to give all that you have in the way of cressets, lights and
lamps to the slaves, who, in a few minutes, shall await your orders at
your door."
When Pontius had departed, Selene exclaimed with a deep sigh
"Oh! what a fright I have had! I will go now and find the lamps. How
terribly it might have ended."
"It is well that he should have come," murmured Keraunus. "Considering
his birth and origin, the architect is certainly a well-bred man."
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Facts are differently reflected in different minds
Have not yet learned not to be astonished
Ill-judgment to pronounce a thing impossible
Years are the foe of beauty