The Emperor. Complete

“Folly!” cried Doris. “Avoid all useless anxiety. It is almost as injurious as remorse gnawing at your heart. Take a workshop of your own, do some great work in a joyful spirit, something to astonish the world, and I will wager anything that the old fool of a steward will only be vexed to think that he destroyed the first work of the celebrated Pollux, instead of treasuring it in his cabinet of curiosities. Just imagine that no such person exists in the world and enjoy your happiness.”

“I will stick to that.”

“One thing more my lad: take good care of Arsinoe. She is young and inexperienced and you must not persuade her to do anything you would advise her not to do if she were betrothed to your brother instead of to yourself.”

Doris had not done speaking when Antinous came into the gate-house and delivered the commands of the architect Claudius Venator, to escort him through the city. Pollux hesitated with his answer, for he had still much to do in the palace, and he hoped to see Arsinoe again in the course of the day. After such a morning what could noon and evening be to him without her? Dame Doris noticed his indecision and cried:

“Yes, go; the festival is for pleasure, besides, the architect can perhaps advise you on many points, and recommend you to his friends.”

“Your mother is right,” said Antinous. “Claudius Venator can be very touchy, but he can also be grateful, and I wish you sincerely well—”

“Good then, I will come,” Pollux interposed while the Bithynian was still speaking, for he felt himself strongly attracted by Hadrian’s imposing personality and considered that under the circumstances, it might be very desirable to revel with him for a while.

“I will come, but first I must let Pontius know that I am going to fly from the heat of the fray for a few hours to-day.”

“Leave that to Venator,” replied the favorite, “and you must find some amusing disguise and procure masks for him and for me and, if you like, for yourself too. He wants to join the revel as a satyr and I in some other disguise.”

“Good,” replied the sculptor. “I will go at once and order what is requisite. A quantity of dresses for the Dionysiac processions are lying in our workshop and in half an hour I will be back with the things.”

“But pray make haste,” Antinous begged him. “My master cannot bear to be kept waiting, and besides—one thing—”

At these words Antinous had grown embarrassed and had gone quite close up to the artist. He laid his hand on his shoulder and said in a low voice but impressively:

“Venator stands very near to Caesar. Beware of saying anything before him that is not in Hadrian’s favor.”

“Is your master Caesar’s spy?” asked Pollux, looking suspiciously at Antinous. “Pontius has already, given me a similar warning, and if that is the case—”

“No, no,” interrupted the lad hastily.

“Anything but that; but the two have no secrets from each other and Venator talks a good deal—cannot hold his tongue—”

“I thank you and will be on my guard.”

“Aye do so—I mean it honestly.” The Bithynian held out his hand to the artist with an expression of warm regard on his handsome features and with an indescribably graceful gesture. Pollux took it heartily, but dame Doris, whose old eyes had been fixed as if spellbound on Antinous, seized her son’s arm and quite excited by the sight of his beauty cried out:

“Oh! what a splendid creature! moulded by the gods! sacred to the gods! Pollux, boy! you might almost think one of the immortals had come down to earth.”

“Look at my old woman!” exclaimed Pollux laughing, “but in truth friend, she has good reasons for her ecstasies, I could follow her example.”

“Hold him fast, hold him fast!” cried Doris. “If he only will let you take his likeness you can show the world a thing worth seeing.”

“Will you?” interrupted Pollux turning to Hadrian’s favorite.

“I have never yet been able to keep still for any artist,” said Antinous. “But I will do any thing you wish to please you. It only vexes me that you too should join in the chorus with the rest of the world. Farewell for the present, I must go back to my master.”

As soon as the youth had left the house Doris exclaimed:

“Whether a work of art is good for any thing or not I can only guess at, but as to what is beautiful that I know as well as any other woman in Alexandria. If that boy will stand as your model you will produce something that will delight men and turn the heads of the women, and you will be sought after even in a workshop of your own. Eternal gods! such beauty as that is sublime. Why are there no means of preserving such a face and such a form from old age and wrinkles?”

“I know the means, mother,” said Pollux, as he went to the door. “It is called Art: to her it is given to bestow eternal youth on this mortal Adonis.”

The old woman glanced at her son with pardonable pride, and confirmed his words by an assenting nod. While she fed her birds, with many coaxing words, and made one which was a special favorite pick crumbs from her lips, the young sculptor was hurrying through the streets with long steps.

He was greeted as he went with many a cross word, and many exclamations rose from the crowd he left behind him, for he pushed his way by the weight of his tall person and his powerful arms, and saw and heard, as he went, little enough of what was going around him. He thought of Arsinoe, and between whiles of Antinous and of the attitude in which he best might represent him—whether as hero or god.

In the flower-market, near the Gymnasium, he was for a moment roused from his reverie by a picture which struck him as being unusual and which riveted his gaze, as did every thing exceptional that came under his eyes. On a very small dark-colored donkey sat a tall, well-dressed slave, who held in his right hand a nosegay of extraordinary size and beauty. By his side walked a smartly dressed-up man with a splendid wreath, and a comic mask over his face followed by two garden-gods of gigantic stature, and four graceful boys. In the slave, Pollux at once recognized the servant of Claudius Venator, and he fancied he must have seen the masked gentlemen too before now, but he could not remember where, and did not trouble himself to retrace him in his mind. At any rate, the rider of the donkey had just heard something he did not like, for he was looking anxiously at his bunch of flowers.

After Pollux had hurried past this strange party his thoughts reverted to other, and to him far nearer and dearer subjects. But Mastor’s anxious looks were not without a cause, for the gentleman who was talking to him was no less a person than Verus, the praetor, who was called by the Alexandrians the sham Eros. He had seen the Emperor’s body-slave a hundred times about his person; he therefore recognized him at once, and his presence here in Alexandria led him directly to the simple and correct inference that his master too must be in the city. The praetor’s curiosity was roused, and he at once proceeded to ply the poor fellow with bewildering cross-questions. When the donkey-rider shortly and sharply refused to answer, Verus thought it well to reveal himself to him, and the slave lost his confident demeanor when he recognized the grand gentleman, the Emperor’s particular friend.

He lost himself in contradictory statements, and although he did not directly admit it, he left his interrogator in the certainty that Hadrian was in Alexandria.

It was perfectly evident that the beautiful nosegay, which had attracted the praetor’s attention to Mastor could not belong to himself. What could be its destination? Verus recommenced his questioning, but the Sarmatian would betray nothing, till Verus tapped him lightly first on one cheek and then on the other, and said gaily:

“Mastor, my worthy friend Mastor, listen to me. I will make you certain proposals, and you shall nod your head, towards that of the estimable beast with two pairs of legs on which you are mounted, as soon as one of them takes your fancy.”

“Let me go on my way,” the slave implored, with growing anxiety.

“Go, by all means, but I go with you,” retorted Verus, “until I have hit on the thing that suits you. A great many plans dwell in my head, as you will see. First I must ask you, shall I go to your master and tell him that you have betrayed his presence in Alexandria?”

“Sir, you will never do that!” cried Mastor.

“To proceed then. Shall I and my following hang on to your skirts and stay with you till nightfall, when you and your steed must return home? You decline—with thanks! and very wisely, for the execution of this project would be equally unpleasant to you and to me, and would probably get you punished. Whisper to me then, softly, in my ear, where your master is lodging, and from whom and to whom you are carrying those flowers; as soon as you have agreed to that proposal I will let you go on alone, and will show you that I care no more for my gold pieces here, in Alexandria, than I do in Italy.”

“Not gold—certainly I will not take gold!” cried Mastor.

“You are an honest fellow,” replied Verus in an altered tone, “and you know of me that I treat my servants well and would rather be kind to folks than hard upon them. So satisfy my curiosity without any fear, and I will promise you in return, that not a soul, your master least of all, shall ever know from me what you tell me.” Mastor hesitated a little, but as he could not but own to himself that he would be obliged at last to yield to the stronger will of this imperious man, and as moreover he knew that the haughty and extravagant praetor was in fact one of the kindest of masters, he sighed deeply and whispered:

“You will not be the ruin of a poor wretch like me, that I know, so I will tell you, we are living at Lochias.”

“There,” exclaimed Verus clapping his hands. “And now as to the flowers?”

“Mere trifling.”

“Is Hadrian then in a merry mood?”

“Till to-day he was very gay—but since last night—”

“Well?”

“You know yourself what he is when he has seen lead signs in the sky.”

“Bad signs,” said Verus gravely.

“And yet he sends flowers?”

“Not he, can you not guess?”

“Antinous?”