on Lochias, a merry troup came towards them.
At their head, among other acquaintances, came Teuker, the gem-cutter,
the younger brother of Pollux.  Crowned with ivy, and flourishing a
thyrsus he came dancing on, and behind him, leaping and shouting, a train
of men and women, all excited to the verge of folly, singing, hollooing,
and dancing.

Garlands of vine, ivy and asphodel fluttered from a hundred heads;
poplar, lotus, and laurel wreaths overhung their heated brows; panther-
skins, deer and goatskins hung from their bare shoulders and waved in the
wind as their bearers hurried onwards.  This procession had been first
formed by some artists and rich youths returning with some women from a
banquet, with a band of music; every one who met this festal party had
joined it or had been forced to enlist with it.  Respectable citizens and
their wives, laborers, maid-servants, slaves, soldiers and sailors,
officers, women flute-players, artisans, ship-captains, the whole chorus
of a theatre invited by a friend of art, excited women who dragged with
them a goat that was to be slaughtered to Dionysus--none had been able to
resist the temptation to join the procession.  It turned down the Moon-
street, keeping to the middle of the road which was planted with elms,
and had on each side of it a raised foot-way, which at this time of night
no one used.  How clear was the sound of the double-pipes, how bravely
the girls hit the calf-skin of the tambourines with their soft fists, how
saucily the wind tossed and tangled the dishevelled hair of the riotous
women and played with the smoke of the torches which were wielded in the
air by audacious youths, disguised as Pan or as Satyrs, and shouting as
they went.

Here a girl, holding her tambourine high in the air, rattled the little
bells on its hoop, as she flew along, as violently as though she wanted
to shake the hollow metal balls out of their frame, and send them
whistling through the air on their own account-there, side by side with
his comrades, who were excited almost to madness, a handsome lad came
skipping along in elaborately graceful leaps, but carrying over his arm,
with comic care, a long bull's-tail that he had tied on, and blowing
alternately up and down the short scale from the shortest to the longest
of the reeds composing his panpipes.  Through the noisy crowd as they
rushed by, sounded, now and again, a loud roar, that might as easily have
been caused by pain as joy; but it was each time hastily drowned in mad
laughter, extravagant singing and jubilant music.

Old and young, great and small, all in short that came near this rabble
train, were carried off with irresistible force to follow it with shouts
of triumph.  Even Pollux and Arsinoe had for some time ceased to walk
soberly side by side, but moved their feet, laughingly in time to the
merry measure.

"How nice it sounds," cried the artist.  "I could dance and be merry too
Arsinoe, dance and make merry with you like a madman!"

Before she could find time to say 'yes' or 'no,' he shouted a loud "To,
To, Dionysus," and flung her up in the air.  She too was caught by the
spirit of the thing, and waving her hand above her head she joined in his
shout of triumph, and let him drag her along to a corner of the Moon-
street where a seller of garlands offered her wares for sale.  There she
let him wreathe her with ivy, she stuck a laurel wreath on his head,
twisted a streamer of ivy round his neck and breast, and laughed loudly
as she flung a large silver coin into the flower-woman's lap and clung
tightly to his arm.  It was all done in swift haste without reflection,
as if in a fit of intoxication, and with trembling hands.

The procession was drawing to an end.  Six women and girls in wreaths
closed it, walking arm in arm with loud singing.  Pollux drew his
sweetheart behind this jovial crew, threw his arm around Arsinoe once
more, while she put hers round him, and then both of them stepped out in
a brisk dance-step flinging their arms left free, throwing back their
heads, shouting and singing loudly, and forgetting all that surrounded
them; they felt as though they were bound to each other by a glory of
sunbeams, while some god lifted them above the earth and bore them up
through a realm of delight and joy beyond the myriad stars and through
the translucent ether; thus they let themselves be led away through the
Moon-street into the Canopic way and so back to the sea, and as far as
the temple of Dionysus.

There they paused breathless and it suddenly struck them that he was
Pollux and she Arsinoe, and that she must get back again to her father
and the children.

"Come home," she said softly, and as she spoke she dropped her arm and
began to gather up her loosened hair.

"Yes, yes," he said as if in a dream.  He released her, struck his hand
against his brow, and turning to the open cella of the temple he said:

"Long have I known that thou art mighty O Dionysus, and that thou O
Aphrodite art lovely, and that thou art sweet O Eros!  but how
inestimable your gifts, that I have learnt to-day for the first time."

"We were indeed full of the deity," said Arsinoe.  "But here comes
another procession and I must go home."

"Then let us go by the Little Harbor," answered Pollux.

"Yes--I must pick the leaves out of my hair and no one will see us
there."

"I will help you--"

"No, you are not to touch me," said Arsinoe decidedly.  She grasped her
abundant soft and shiny hair, and cleared it of the leaves that had got
entangled in it, as tiny beetles do in a double flower.  Finally she hid
her hair under her veil, which had slipped off her head long since, but,
almost by a miracle, had caught and remained hanging on the brooch of her
peplum.  Pollux stood looking at her, and overmastered by the passion
that possessed him, he exclaimed:

"Eternal gods! how I love you!  Till now my soul has been like a careless
child, to-day it is grown to heroic stature.--Wait--only wait, it will
soon learn to use its weapons."

"And I will help it in the fight," she said happily, as she put her hand
through his arm again, and they hurried back to the old palace, dancing
rather than walking.

The late December sun was already giving warning of his approaching
rising by cold yellowish-grey streaks in the sky as Pollux and his
companion entered the gate, which had long since been opened for the
workmen.  In the hall of the Muses they took a first farewell, in the
passage leading to the steward's room, a second--sad and yet most happy;
but this was but a short one for the gleam of a lamp made them start
apart, and Arsinoe instantly fled.

The disturber was Antinous who was waiting here for the Emperor who was
still gazing at the stars from the watch-tower Pontius had erected for
him.  As she vanished he turned to Pollux and said gaily:

"I need your forgiveness for I have disturbed you in an interview with
your sweetheart."

"She will be my wife," said the sculptor proudly.

"So much the better!"  replied the favorite, and he drew a deep breath,
as though the artist's words had relieved his mind of a burden.

"Ah! so much the better.  Can you tell me where to find the fair
Arsinoe's sister?"

"To be sure," replied the artist, and he felt pleased that the young
Bithynian should cling to his arm.  Within the next hour, Pollux, from
whose lips there flowed a stream of eager and enthusiastic words, like
water from a spring, had completely won the heart of the Emperor's
favorite.

The girl found both her father and Helios, who no longer looked like a
sick patient--fast asleep.  The old slave-woman came in a few minutes
after her, and when at last, after unbinding her hair, Arsinoe threw
herself on her bed she fell asleep instantly, and in her dreams found
herself once more by the side of her Pollux, while they both were flying
to the sound of drums, flutes, and cymbals high above the dusty ways of
earth, like leaves swept on by the wind.




CHAPTER XXI.

The steward awoke soon after sunrise.  He had slept no less soundly, it
is true, in his arm-chair than in his bed, but he did not feel refreshed,
and his limbs ached.

In the living-room everything was in the same disorder as on the previous
evening, and this annoyed him, for he was accustomed to find his room in
order when he entered it in the morning.  On the table, surrounded by
flies, stood the remains of the children's supper, and among the bread
crusts and plates lay his own ornaments and his daughter's!  Wherever he
turned he saw articles of dress and other things out of their place.  The
old slave-woman came in yawning, her woolly grey hair hung in disorder
about her face, and her eyes seemed fixed, her feet carried her
unsteadily here and there.

"You are drunk," cried Keraunus; nor was he mistaken, for when the old
woman had waked up, sitting by the house of Pudeus, and had learned from
the gate keeper that Arsinoe had quitted the garden, she had gone into a
tavern with other slave-women.  When her master seized her arm and shook
her, she exclaimed with a stupid grin on her wet lips:

"It is the feast-day.  Every one is free, to-day is the feast."

"Roman nonsense!"  interrupted the steward.  "is my breakfast ready?"

While the old woman stood muttering some inaudible words, the slave came
into the room and said:

"To-day is a general holiday, may I go out too?"

"Oh that would suit me admirably!"  cried the steward.

"This monster drunk, Selene sick, and you running about the streets."

"But no one stops at home to-day," replied the slave timidly.

"Be off then!"  cried Keraunus.  "Walk about from now till midnight!  Do
as you please, only do not expect me to keep you any longer.  You are
still fit to turn the hand-mill, and I dare say I can find a fool to give
me a few drachmae for you."

"No, no, do not sell me," groaned the old man, raising his hands in
entreaty; Keraunus however would not hear him, but went on angrily:

"A dog at least remains faithful to his master, but you slaves eat him
out of house and home, and when he most needs you, you want to run about
the streets."

"But I will stay," howled the old man.

"Nay, do as you please.  You have long been like a lame horse which makes
its rider a butt for the laughter of children.  When, you go out with me
everyone looks round as if I had a stain on my pallium.  And then the
mangy dog wants to keep holiday, and stick himself up among the
citizens!"

"I will stay here, only do not sell me!"  whimpered the miserable old
man, and he tried to take his master's hand; but the steward shoved him
off, and desired him to go into the kitchen and light a fire, and throw
some water on the old woman's head to sober her.  The slave pushed his
companion out of the room, while Keraunus went into his daughter's
bedroom to rouse her.

There was no light in Arsinoe's room but that which could creep in
through a narrow opening just below the ceiling; the slanting rays fell
directly on the bed up to which Keraunus went.  There lay his daughter n
sound sleep; her pretty head rested on her uplifted right arm, her
unbound brown hair flowed like a stream over her soft round shoulders and
over the edge of the little bed.  He had never seen the child look so
pretty, and the sight of her really touched his heart, for Arsinoe
reminded him of his lost wife, and it was not vain pride merely, but a
movement of true paternal love, which involuntarily transformed his
earnest wish that the gods night leave him this child and let her be
happy, into an unspoken but fervent prayer.

He was not accustomed to waking his daughter who was always up and busy
before he was, and he could hardly bear to disturb his darling's sweet
sleep; but it had to be done, so he called Arsinoe by her name, shook her
arm and said, as at last she sat up and looked at him enquiringly:

"It is I, get up, remember what has to be done today."

"Yes--yes," she said yawning, "but it is so early yet!"

"Early," said Keraunus, smiling.  "My stomach says the contrary.  The sun
is already high, and I have not yet had my porridge."

"Make the old woman cook it."

"No, no, my child--you must get up.  Have you forgotten whom you are to
represent?  And my hair is to be curled, and the prefect's wife, and then
your dress."

"Very well--go; I do not care the least bit about Roxana and all the
dressing-up."

"Because you are not yet quite awake," laughed the steward.  "How did
this ivy-leaf get into your hair?"  Arsinoe colored, put her hand to the
spot indicated by her father, and said reluctantly:

"Out of some bough or another, but now go that I may get up."

"In a minute--tell me how did you find Selene?"

"Not so very bad--but I will tell you all about that afterwards.  Now I
want to be alone."

When, half an hour later, Arsinoe brought her father his porridge he
gazed at the child in astonishment.  Some extraordinary change seemed to
have come over his daughter.  Something shone in her eyes that he had
never observed before, and that gave her childlike features an importance
and significance that almost startled him.   While she was making the
porridge, Keraunus, with the slave's help, had taken the children
up and dressed them; now they were all sitting at breakfast; Helios among
them fresh and blooming.  Now, while Arsinoe told her father all about
Selene, and the nursing she was having at dame Hannah's hands, Keraunus
kept his eyes fixed on her, and when she noticed this and asked
impatiently what there was peculiar in her appearance to-day, he shook
his head and answered:

"What strange things are girls!  A great honor has been done you.  You
are to represent the bride of Alexander, and pride and delight have
changed you wonder fully in a single night--but I think to your
disadvantage."

"Folly," said Arsinoe reddening, and stretching herself with fatigue she
threw herself back on a couch.  She did not feel weary exactly, for the
lassitude she felt in every limb had a peculiar pleasure in it.  She felt
as if she had come out of a hot bath, and since her father had roused her
she seemed to hear, again and again, the sound of the inspiriting music
which she had followed arm in arm with Pollux.  Now and again she smiled,
now and again she gazed straight before her, and at the same time she
said to herself that if at this very moment her lover were to ask her,
she would not lack strength to fling herself at once, with him, once more
into the mad whirl.  Yes--she felt perfectly fresh!  only her eyes burned
a little; and if Keraunus fancied he saw anything new in his daughter it
must be the glowing light which now lurked in them along with the playful
sparkle he had always seen there.

When breakfast was over the slave took the children out, and Arsinoe had
begun to curl her father's hair, when Keraunus put on his most dignified
attitude and said ponderously.

"My child."

The girl dropped the heated tongs and calmly asked.  "Well"--fully
prepared to hear one of the wonderful propositions which Selene was wont
to oppose.

"Listen to me attentively."

Now, what Keraunus was about to say had only occurred to him an hour
since when he had spoiled his slave's desire to go out; but as he said it
he pressed his hand to his forehead assuming the expression of a
meditative philosopher.

"For a long time I have been considering a very important matter.  Now I
have come to a decision and I will confide it to you.  We must buy a new
manslave."

"But father!"  cried Arsinoe, "think what it will cost you.  If we have
another man to feed--"

"There is no question of that," replied Keraunus.  "I will exchange the
old one for a younger one that I need not be ashamed to be seen with.
Yesterday I told you that henceforth we shall attract greater attention
than hitherto, and really if we appear with that black scarecrow at our
heels in the streets or elsewhere--"

"Certainly we cannot make  much show Sebek," interrupted Arsinoe, "but we
can leave him at home for the future."

"Child, child!"  exclaimed Keraunus reproachfully, "will you never
remember who and what we are.  How would it beseem us to appear in the
streets without a slave?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, and put it to her father that Sebek was
an old piece of family property, that the little ones were fond of him
because he cared for them like a nurse, that a new slave would cost a
great deal and would only be driven by force to many services which the
old one was always ready and willing to fulfil.

But Arsinoe preached to deaf ears.  Selene was not there; secure from her
reproaches and as anxious as a spoiled boy for the thing that was denied
him, Keraunus adhered to his determination to exchange the faithful old
fellow for a new and more showy slave.  Not for a moment did he think of
the miserable fate that threatened the decrepit creature, who had grown
old in his house, if he were to sell him; but he still had a feeling that
it was not quite right to spend the last money that had chanced to come
into the house, on a thing that really and truly was not in any way
necessary.  The more justifiable Arsinoe's doubts seemed to be and the
more loudly did an inward voice warn him not to offer this fresh
sacrifice to his vain-gloriousness, the more firmly and desperately did
he defend his wish to do so; and as he fought for the thing he desired,
it acquired in his eyes a semblance of necessity and a number of reasons
suggested themselves which made it appear both justifiable and easy of
attainment.

There was money in hand; after Arsinoe's being chosen for the part of
Roxana he might expect to be able to borrow more; it was his duty to
appear with due dignity that he might not scare off the illustrious son-
in-law of whom he dreamed, and in the extremity of need he could still
fall back on his collection of rarities.  The only thing was to find the
right purchaser; for, if the sword of Antony had brought him so much,
what would not some amateur give him for the other, far more valuable,
objects.

Arsinoe turned red and white as her father referred again and again to
the bargain she had made; but she dared not confess the truth, and she
rued her falsehood all the more bitterly the more clearly she saw with
her own sound sense, that the Honor which had fallen upon her yesterday,
threatened to develop all her father's weaknesses in an absolutely fatal
manner.

To-day she would have been amply satisfied with pleasing Pollux, and she
would, without a regret have transferred to another her part with all the
applause and admiration it would procure her, and which, only yesterday,
had seemed to her so inestimably precious.  This she said; but Keraunus
would not take the assertion in earnest, laughed in her face, went off
into mysterious allusions to the wealth which could not fail to come into
the house and--since an obscure consciousness told him that it would be
becoming him to prove that it was not solely personal vanity and self-
esteem that influenced all his proceedings--he explained that he had made
up his mind to a great sacrifice and would be content on the coming
occasion to wear his gilt fillet and not buy a pure gold one.  By this
act of self-denial he fancied he had acquired a full right to devote a
very pretty little sum to the acquisition of a fine-looking slave.
Arsinoe's entreaties were unheeded, and when she began to cry with grief
at the prospect of losing her old house-mate he forbid her crossly to
shed a tear for such a cause, for it was very childish, and he would not
be pleased to conduct her with red eyes to meet the prefect's wife.

During the course of this argument his hair had got itself duly curled,
and he now desired Arsinoe to arrange her own hair nicely and then to
accompany him.

They would buy a new dress and peplum, go to see Selene, and then be
carried to the prefect's.

Only yesterday he had thought it too bold a step to use a litter, and
to-day he was already considering the propriety of hiring a chariot.

No sooner was he alone than a new idea occurred to him.  The insolent
architect should be taught that he was not the man to be insulted and
injured with impunity.  So he cut a clean strip of papyrus off a letter
that lay in his chest, and wrote upon it the following words:

"Keraunus, the Macedonian, to Claudius Venator, the architect, of Rome:"

"My eldest daughter, Selene, is by your fault, so severely hurt that
she is in great danger, is kept to her bed and suffers frightful pain.
My other children are no longer safe in their father's house, and I
therefore require you, once more, to chain up your dog.  If you refuse
to accede to this reasonable demand I will lay the matter before Caesar.
I can tell you that circumstances have occurred which will determine
Hadrian to punish any insolent person who may choose to neglect the
respect due to me and to my daughters."

When Keraunus had closed this letter with his seal he called the slave
and said coldly:

"Take this to the Roman architect, and then fetch two litters; make
haste, and while we are out take good care of the children.  To-morrow or
next day you will be sold.  To whom?  That must depend on how you behave
during the last hours that you belong to us."  The negro gave a loud cry
of grief that came from the depth of his heart, and flung himself on the
ground at the steward's feet.  His cry did indeed pierce his master's
soul--but Keraunus had made up his mind not to let himself be moved nor
to yield.  But the negro clung more closely to his knees, and when the
children, attracted to the spot by their poor old friend's lamentation,
cried loudly in unison, and little Helios began to pat and stroke the
little remains of the negro's woolly hair, the vain man felt uneasy about
the heart, and to protect himself against his own weakness he cried out
loudly and violently:

"Now, away with you, and do as you are ordered or I will find the whip."

With these words he tore himself loose from the miserable--old man who
left the room with his head hanging down, and who soon was standing at
the door of the Emperor's rooms with the letter in his hand.  Hadrian's
appearance and manner had filled him with terror and respect, and he
dared not knock at the door.  After he had waited for some time, still
with tears in his eyes, Mastor came into the passage with the remains of
his master's breakfast.  The negro called to him and held out the
steward's letter, stammering out lamentably:

"From Keraunus, for you master."

"Lay it here on the tray," said the Sarmatian.  "But what has happened to
you, my old friend?  you are wailing most pitifully and look miserable.
Have you been beaten?"

The negro shook his head and answered, whimpering: "Keraunus is going to
sell me."

"There are better masters than he."

"But Sebek is old, Sebek is weak--he can no longer lift and pull, and
with hard work he will certainly die."

"Has life been so easy and comfortable then at the steward's?"

"Very little wine, very little meat, very much hunger," said the old man.

"Then you must be glad to leave him."

"No, no," groaned Sebek.

"You foolish old owl," said Mastor.  "Why do you care then for that
grumpy niggard?"

The negro did not answer for some time, then his lean breast heaved and
fell, and, as if the dam were broken through that had choked his
utterance, he burst out with a mixture of loud sobs:

"The children, the little ones, our little ones.  They are so sweet; and
our little blind Helios stroked my hair because I was to go away, here--
just here he stroked it"--and he put his hand on a perfectly bald place
--"and now Sebek must go and never see them all again, just as if they
were all dead."

And the words rolled out and with difficulty, as if carried on in the
flood of his tears.  They went to Mastor's heart, rousing the memory of
his own lost children and a strong desire to comfort his unhappy comrade.

"Poor fellow!"  he said, compassionately.  "Aye, the children! they are
so small, and the door into one's heart is so narrow--and they dance in
at it a thousand times better and more easily than grown-up folks.
I, too, have lost dear children, and they were my own, too.  I can teach
any one what is meant by sorrow--but I know too now where comfort is to
be found."  With these words Mastor held the tray he was carrying on his
hip with his right hand, while he put the left on the negro's shoulder
and whispered to him:

"Have you ever heard of the Christians?"

Sebek nodded eagerly as if Mastor were speaking of a matter of which he
had heard great things and expected much, and Mastor went on in a low
voice "Come early to-morrow before sunrise to the pavement-workers in the
'court, and there you will hear of One who comforts the weary and heavy-
laden."

The Emperor's servant once more took his tray in both hands and hurried
away, but a faint gleam of hope had lighted up in the old slave's eyes.
He expected no happiness, but perhaps there might be some way of bearing
the sorrows of life more easily.

Mastor as soon he had given his tray to the kitchen slaves--who were now
busy again in the palace at Lochias--returned to his lord and gave him
the steward's letter.  It was an ill-chosen hour for Keraunus, for the
Emperor was in a gloomy mood.  He had sat up till morning, had rested
scarcely three hours, and now, with knitted brows, was comparing the
results of his night's observation of the starry sky with certain
astronomical tables which lay spread out before him.  Over this work he
frequently shook his head which was covered with crisp waves of hair;
nay--he once flung the pencil, with which he was working his
calculations, down on the table, leaned back in his seat and covered his
eyes with both hands.  Then again he began to write fresh numbers, but
his new results seemed to be no more satisfactory than the former one.

The steward's letter had been for a long time lying before him when at
last it again caught his attention as he put out his hand for another
document.  Needing some change of ideas he tore it open, read it and
flung it from him with annoyance.  At any other time he would have
expressed some sympathy with the suffering girl, have laughed at the
ridiculous man, and have thought out some trick to tease or to terrify;
but just now the steward's threats made him angry and increased his
dislike for him.

Tired of the silence around him he called to Antinous, who sat gazing
dreamily down on the harbor; the youth immediately approached his master.
Hadrian looked at him and said, shaking his head:

"Why you too look as if some danger were threatening you.  Is the sky
altogether overcast?"

"No my lord, it is blue over the sea, but towards the south the black
clouds are gathering."

"Towards the south?"  said Hadrian thoughtfully.  "Any thing serious can
hardly threaten us from that quarter.--But it comes, it is near, it is
upon us before we suspect it."

"You sat up too long, and that has put you out of tune."

"Out of tune?"  muttered Hadrian to himself.  "And what is tune?  That
subtle harmony or discord is a condition which masters all the emotions
of the soul at once; and not without reason--to-day my heart is paralyzed
with anxiety."

"Then you have seen evil signs in the heavens?"

"Direful signs!"

"You wise men believe in the stars," replied Antinous.  "No doubt you are
right, but my weak head cannot understand what their regular courses have
to do with my inconstant wanderings."

"Grow gray," replied the Emperor, "learn to comprehend the universe with
your intellect, and not till then speak of these things for not till then
will you discern that every atom of things created, and the greatest as
well as the least, is in the closest bonds with every other; that all
work together, and each depends on all.  All that is or ever will be in
nature, all that we men feel, think or do, all is dependent on eternal
and immutable causes; and these causes have each their Daimon who
interposes between us and the divinity and is symbolized in golden
characters on the vault of heaven.  The letters are the stars, whose
orbits are as unchanging and everlasting as are the first causes of all
that exists or happens."

"And are you quite sure that you never read wrongly in this great
record?"  asked Antinous.

"Even I may err," replied Hadrian.  "But this time I have not deceived
myself.  A heavy misfortune threatens me.  It is a strange, terrible and
extraordinary coincidence!"

"What?"

"From that accursed Antioch--whence nothing good has ever come to me--
I have received the saying of an oracle which foretells that, that--why
should I hide it from you--in the middle of the year now about to begin
some dreadful misfortune shall fall upon me, as lightning strikes the
traveller to the earth; and tonight--look here.  Here is the house of
Death, here are the planets--but what do you know of such things?  Last
night--the night in which once before such terrors were wrought, the
stars confirmed the fatal oracle with as much naked plainness, as much
unmistakable certainty as if they had tongues to shout the evil forecast
in my ear.  It is hard to walk on with such a goal in prospect.  What may
not the new year bring in its course?"

Hadrian sighed deeply, but Antinous went close up to him, fell on his
knees before him and asked in a tone of childlike humility:

"May I, a poor foolish lad, teach a great and wise man how to enrich his
life with six happy months?"  The Emperor smiled, as though he knew what
was coming, but his favorite felt encouraged to proceed.

"Leave the future to the future," he said.  "What must come will come,
for the gods themselves have no power against Fate.  When evil is
approaching it casts its black shadow before it; you fix your gaze on it
and let it darken the light of day.  I saunter dreamily on my way and
never see misfortune till it runs up against me and falls upon me
unawares--"

"And so you are spared many a gloomy day," interrupted Hadrian.

"That is just what I would have said."

"And your advice is excellent, for you and for every other loiterer
through the gay fair-time of an idle life," replied the Emperor, "but
the man whose task it is to bear millions in safety and over abysses,
must watch the signs around him, look out far and near, and never dare
close his eyes, even when such terrors loom as it was my fate to see
during the past night."

As he spoke, Phlegon, the Emperor's private secretary, came in with
letters just received from Rome, and approached his master.  He bowed
low, and taking up Hadrian's last words he said:

"The stars disquiet you, Caesar?"

"Well, they warn me to be on my guard," replied Hadrian.

"Let us hope that they be," cried the Greek, with cheerful vivacity.
"Cicero was not altogether wrong when he doubted the arts of Astrology."

"He was a mere talker!"  said the Emperor, with a frown.

"But," asked Phlegon, "would it not be fair that if the horoscopes cast
for Cneius or Caius, let us say, were alike, to expect that Cneius or
Caius must have the same temperament and the same destiny through life
if they had happened to be born in the same hour?"

"Always the old commonplaces, the old silly objections!"  interrupted
Hadrian, vexed to the verge of rage.  "Speak when you are spoken to, and
do not trouble yourself about things you do not understand and which do
not concern you.  Is there anything of importance among these papers?"

Antinous gazed at his sovereign in astonishment; why should Phlegon's
objections make him so furious when he had answered his so kindly?

Hadrian paid no farther heed to him, but read the despatches one after
another, hastily but attentively, wrote brief notes on the margins,
signed a decree with a firm hand, and, when his work was finished desired
the Greek to leave him.  Hardly was he alone with Antinous when the loud
cries and jovial shouting of a large multitude came to their ears through
the open window.

"What does this mean?"  he asked Mastor, and as soon as he had been
informed that the workmen and slaves had just been let out to give
themselves up to the pleasures of their holiday, he muttered to himself:

"These creatures can riot, shout, dress themselves with garlands, forget
themselves in a debauch--and I, I whom all envy--I spoil my brief span of
life with vain labors, let myself be tormented with consuming cares--I--"
here he broke off and cried in quite an altered tone:

"Ha! ha!  Antinous, you are wiser than I.  Let us leave the future to the
future.  The feast-day is ours too; let us take advantage of this day of
freedom.  We too will throw ourselves into the holiday whirlpool
disguised, I as a satyr, and you as a young faun or something of the
kind; we will drain cups, wander round the city and enjoy all that is
enjoyable."

"Oh!" exclaimed Antinous, joyfully clapping his hands.

"Evoe Bacche!" cried Hadrian, tossing up his cup that stood on his table.