CHAPTER XII.
A lovely garden adjoined the Caesareum, the palace in which Sabina wasresiding. Balbilla was fond of lingering there, and as the morning ofthe twenty-ninth of December was particularly brilliant--the sky and itsinfinite mirror the sea, gleaming in indescribably deep blue, whilethe fragrance of a flowering shrub was wafted in at her window likean invitation to quit the house she had sought a certain bench which,though placed in a sunny spot, was slightly shaded by an acacia. Thisseat was screened from the more public paths by bushes; the promenaderswho did not seek Balbilla could not observe her here, but she couldcommand a view, through a gap in the foliage, of the path, which wasstrewn with small shells.
To-day, however, the young poetess was far from feeling any curiosity;instead of gazing at the shrubbery enlivened by birds, at the clearatmosphere or the sparkling sea, her eyes were fixed on a yellow roll ofpapyrus and she was impressing very dry details on her retentive memory.
She had determined to keep her word to learn to speak, write, andcompose verses in the Aeolian dialect of the Greek tongue. She hadchosen for her teacher Apollonius, the great grammarian, who was aptto call his scholars "the dullards;" and the work which was the presentobject of her studies was derived from the famous library of theSerapeum, which far exceeded in completeness that of the Museum sincethe siege of Julius Caesar in the Bruchiom, when the great Museumlibrary was burnt.
Any one observing Balbilla at her occupation could hardly have believedthat she was studying. There was no fixed effort in her eyes or on herbrow; still, she read line for line, not skipping a single word; onlyshe did it not like a man who climbs a mountain with sweat on his brow,but like a lounger who walks in the main street of some great city, andis charmed at every new and strange thing that meets his eye. Each timeshe came upon some form of structure in the book she was reading thathad been hitherto unknown to her, she was so delighted that she clappedher hands and laughed out softly. Her learned master had never beforemet with so cheerful a student, and it annoyed him, for to him sciencewas a serious matter while she seemed to make a joke of it, as she didof every thing, and so desecrated it in his eyes. After she had beensitting an hour on the bench, studying in her own way, she rolled up thebook and stood up to refresh herself a little. Feeling sure that no onecould see her, she stretched herself in all her limbs and then steppedup to the gap in the shrubbery in order to see who a man in boots mightbe who was pacing up and down in the broad path beyond.
It was the praetor--and yet it was not! Verus, under this aspect at anyrate, she had never seen till now. Where was the smile that was wontto twinkle in his merry eye like the sparkle of a diamond and to playsaucily about his lips--where the unwrinkled serenity of his brow andthe defiantly audacious demeanor of his whole handsome person? Hewas slowly striding up and down with a gloomy fire in his eye, adeeply-lined brow, and his head sunk on his breast: and yet it was notbowed with sorrow. If so, could he have snapped his fingers in the airas he did just as he passed in front of Balbilla, as much as to say:"Come what may! to-day I live and laugh the future in the face!"
But this vestige of his old reckless audacity did not last longer thanthe time it took to part his fingers again, and the next time Veruspassed Balbilla he looked, if possible, more gloomy than before.Something very unpleasant must have arisen to spoil the good humor ofher friend's husband; and the poetess was sincerely sorry; for, thoughshe herself had daily to suffer under the praetor's impertinence, shealways forgave it for the sake of the graceful form in which he knew howto clothe his incivilities.
Balbilla longed to see Verus content once more, and she thereforecame forth from her hiding place. As soon as he saw her he altered theexpression of his features and cried out as brightly as ever:
"Welcome, fairest of the fair!"
She made believe not to recognize him, but, as she passed him and bowedher curly head, she said gravely and in deep tones:
"Good day to you, Timon."
"Timon?" he asked, taking her hand.
"Ah! is it you, Verus?" she answered, as though surprised. "I thoughtthe Athenian misanthrope had quitted Hades and come to take the air inthis garden."
"You thought rightly," replied the praetor. "But when Orpheus sings thetrees dance, the Muse can turn dull, motionless stones into a Bacchante,and when Balbilla appears Timon is at once transformed into the happyVerus."
"The miracle does not astonish me," laughed the girl. "But is itpermitted to ask what dark spirit so effectually produced the contraryresult, and made a Timon of the fair Lucilla's happy husband?"
"I ought rather to beware of letting you see the monster, or our joyousmuse Balbilla might easily become the sinister Hecate. But the malicioussprite is close at hand, for he is hidden in this little roll."
"A document from Caesar?"
"Oh! no, only a letter from a Jew."
"Possibly the father of some fair daughter!"
"Wrongly guessed--as wrong as possible!"
"You excite my curiosity."
"Mine has already been satisfied by this roll. Horace is wise when hesays that man should never trouble himself about the future."
"An oracle!"
"Something of the kind."
"And can that darken this lovely morning to you? Did you ever see memelancholy? Yet my future is threatened by a prophecy--such a hideousprophecy."
"The fate of men is different to the destiny of women."
"Would you like to hear what was prophesied of me?"
"What a question!"
"Listen then; the saying I will repeat to you came to me from no less anoracle than the Delphic Pythia:
"'That which thou boldest most precious and dear Shall be torn from thy keeping, And from the heights of Olympus, Down shalt thou fall in the dust.'"
"Is that all?"
"Nay--two consolatory lines follow."
"And they are--?"
"Still the contemplative eye Discerns under mutable sand drifts Stable foundations of stone, Marble and natural rock."
"And you are inclined to complain of this oracle?"
"Is it so pleasant to have to wade through dust? We have enough ofthat intolerable nuisance here in Egypt--or am I to be delighted at theprospect of hurting my feet on hard stones?"
"And what do the interpreters say?"
"Only silly nonsense."
"You have never found the right one; but I--I see the meaning of theoracle."
"You?"
"Ay, I! The stern Balbilla will at last descend from the lofty Olympusof her high-anti-mightiness and no longer disdain that immutablefoundation-rock, the adoration of her faithful Verus."
"That foundation--that rock!" laughed the girl. "I should think it aswell advised to try to walk on the surface of the sea out there as onthat rock!"
"Only try."
"It is not necessary; Lucilla has made the experiment for me. Yourinterpretation is wrong; Caesar gave me a far better one."
"What was that?"
"That I should give up writing poetry and devote myself to strictscientific studies. He advised me to try astronomy."
"Astronomy," repeated Verus, growing graver. "Farewell, fair one; I mustgo to Caesar!"
"We were with him yesterday at Lochias. How everything is changed there!The pretty little gate house is gone, there is nothing more to be seenof all the cheerful bustle of builders and artists, and what were gayworkshops are turned into dull, commonplace halls. The screens inthe hall of the Muses had to go a week ago, and with them the youngscatter-brain who set himself against my curls with so much energy thatI was on the point of sacrificing them--"
"Without them you would no longer be Balbilla," cried Verus eagerly."The artist condemns all that is not permanently beautiful, but we areglad to see any thing that is graceful, and can find pleasure in it withthe other children of the time. The sculptor may dress his goddessesafter the fashion of graver days and the laws of his art, but mortalwomen--if he is wise--after the fashion o
f the day. However, I amheartily sorry for that clever, genial young fellow. He has offendedCaesar and was turned out of the palace, and now he is nowhere to befound."
"Oh!" cried Balbilla, full of regret, "poor man--and such a fine fellow!And my bust? we must seek him out. If the opportunity offers I willentreat Caesar--"
"Hadrian will hear nothing about him. Pollux has offended him deeply."
"From whom do you know that?"
"From Antinous."
"We saw him, too, only yesterday," cried Balbilla, eagerly.
"If ever a man was permitted to wear the form of a god among mortals, itis he."
"Romantic creature!"
"I know no one who could look upon him with indifference. He isa beautiful dreamer, and the trace of suffering which we observedyesterday in his countenance is probably nothing more than the outwardexpression of that obscure regret, felt by all that is perfect, for thejoy of development and conscious ripening into an incarnation of theideal in its own kind, of which he is an instance in himself."
The poetess spoke the last words in a rapt tone, as if the form of agod was then and there before her eyes. Verus had listened to her with asmile, but now he interrupted her, and, holding up a warning finger, hesaid:
"Poetess, philosopher, and sweetest maiden, beware of descending fromyour Olympus for the sake of this boy! When imagination and dreaminessmeet half-way they make a pair which float in the clouds and nevereven suspect the existence of that firmer ground of which your oraclespeaks."
"Nonsense," said Balbilla crossly. "Before we can fall in love with astatue, Prometheus must animate it with a soul and fire from heaven."
"But often," retorted the praetor, "Eros proves to be a substitute forthat unhappy friend of the gods."
"The true or the sham Eros," asked Balbilla testily.
"Certainly not the sham Eros," replied Verus. "On this occasion hemerely plays the part of a kindly monitor, taking the place of Pontius,the architect, of whom your worthy matron-companion is so much afraid.During the tumult of the Dionysiac festival you are reported to havecarried on as grave a discussion as any two gray-bearded philosopherswalking in the Stoa among attentive students."
"With intelligent men, no doubt, we talk with intelligence!"
"Aye, and with stupid ones gayly. How much reason have I to be thankfulthat I am one of the stupid ones. Farewell, till we meet again, fairBalbilla," and the praetor hurried off.
Outside the Caesareum he got into his chariot and set out for Lochias.The charioteer held the reins, while he himself gazed at the roll in hishand which contained the result of the calculations of the astrologer,Rabbi Simeon Ben Jochai; and this was certainly likely enough to disturbthe cheerfulness of the most reckless of men.
When, during the night which preceded the praetor's birthday, theEmperor should study the heavens with special reference to the positionof the stars at his birth, he would find that, as far as till the end ofthe second hour after midnight all the favorable planets promised Verusa happy lot, success and distinction. But, with the commencement ofthe third hour--so said Ben Jochai--misfortune and death would takepossession of his house of destiny; in the fourth hour his star wouldvanish, and anything further that might declare itself in the sky duringthat night would have nothing more to do with him, or his destiny. TheEmperor's star would triumph over his. Verus could make out but littleof the signs and calculations in the tables annexed by the Jew, but thatlittle confirmed what was told in the written statement.
The praetor's horses carried him swiftly along while he reflected onwhat remained for him to do under these unfavorable circumstances,in order not to be forced to give up entirely the highest goal of hisambition. If the Rabbi's observations were accurate--and of this Verusdid not for a moment doubt--all his hopes of adoption were at an endin spite of Sabina's support. How should Hadrian choose for his son andsuccessor a man who was destined to die before him? How could he, Verus,expect that Caesar should ally his fortunate star with the fatal star ofanother doomed to die?
These reflections did nothing to help him, and yet he could not escapefrom them, till suddenly his charioteer pulled up the horses abruptlyby the side of the footway to make room for a delegation of Egyptianpriests who were going in procession to Lochias. The powerful handwith which his servant had promptly controlled the fiery spirit of theanimals excited his approbation, and seemed to inspire him to put a clogboldly on the wheels of speeding fate. When they were no longer detainedby the Egyptian delegates he desired the charioteer to drive slowly, forhe wished to gain time for consideration.
"Until the third hour after midnight," said he to himself, "all is to gowell; it is not till the fourth hour that signs are to appear in the skywhich are of evil augury for me. Of course the sheep will play round thedead lion, and the ass will even spurn him with his hoof so long as heis merely sick. In the short space of time between the third and fourthhours all the signs of evil are crowded together. They must be visible;but"--and this "but" brought sudden illumination to the praetor's mind,"why should Caesar see them?"
The anxious aspirant's heart beat faster, his brain worked moreactively, and he desired the driver to make a short circuit, for hewanted to gain yet more time for the ideas that were germinating in hismind to grow and ripen.
Verus was no schemer; he walked in at the front door with a freeand careless step, and scorned to climb the backstairs. Only for thegreatest object and aim of his life was he prepared to sacrifice hisinclinations, his comfort and his pride, and to make unhesitating useof every means at hand. For the sake of that he had already done manythings which he regretted, and the man who steals one sheep out of theflock is followed by others without intending it. The first degradingaction that a man commits is sure to be followed by a second and athird. What Verus was now projecting he regarded as being a simple actof self-defence; and after all, it consisted merely in detaining Hadrianfor an hour, interrupting him in an idle occupation--the observation ofthe stars.
There were two men who might be helpful to him in this matter--Antinousand the slave Mastor. He first thought of Mastor; but the Sarmatianwas faithfully devoted to his master and could not be bribed. Andbesides!--No! it really was too far beneath him to make common causewith a slave. But he could count even less on support from Antinous.Sabina hated her husband's favorite, and for her sake Verus had nevermet the young Bithynian on particularly friendly terms. He fancied, too,that he had observed that the quiet, dreamy lad kept out of his way. Itwas only by intimidation, probably, that the favorite could be inducedto do him a service.
At any rate, the first thing to be done was to visit Lochias and thereto keep a lookout with his eyes wide open. If the Emperor were in ahappy frame of mind he might, perhaps, be induced to appear during thelatter part of the night at the banquet which Verus was giving on theeve of his birthday, and at which all that was beautiful to the eyeand ear was to be seen and heard; or a thousand favoring and helpfulaccidents might occur--and at any rate the Rabbi's forecast furnishedhim good fortune for the next few years.
As he dismounted from his chariot in the newly-paved forecourt and wasconducted to the Emperor's anteroom he looked as bright and free fromcare as if the future lay before him sunny and cloudless.
Hadrian now occupied the restored palace, not as an architect from Romebut as sovereign of the world; he had shown himself to the Alexandriansand had been received with rejoicings and an unheard-of display in hishonor. The satisfaction caused by the imperial visit was everywhereconspicuous and often found expression in exaggerated terms; indeedthe council had passed a resolution to the effect that the month ofDecember, being that in which the city had had the honor of welcomingthe 'Imperator,' should henceforth be called:
"Hadrianus." The Emperor had to receive one deputation after anotherand to hold audience after audience, and on the following morning thedramatic representations were to begin, the processions and games whichpromised to last through many days, or--as Hadrian himself expressedit--to rob him of a
t least a hundred good hours. Notwithstanding, themonarch found time to settle all the affairs of the state, and at nightto question the stars as to the fate which awaited him and his dominionsduring all the seasons of the new year now so close at hand.
The aspect of the palace at Lochias was entirely changed. In the placeof the gay little gate-house stood a large tent of gorgeous purplestuff, in which the Emperor's body-guard was quartered, and opposite toit another was pitched for lictors and messengers. The stables were fullof horses. Hadrian's own horse, Borysthenes, which had had too long arest, pawed and stamped impatiently in a separate stall, and close athand the Emperor's retrievers, boar-hounds and harriers were housed inhastily-contrived yards and kennels.
In the wide space of the first court soldiers were encamped, andclose under the walls squatted men and women--Egyptians, Greeks andHebrews--who desired to offer petitions to the sovereign. Chariots drovein and out, litters came and went, chamberlains and other officialshurried hither and thither. The anterooms were crowded with men of theupper classes of the citizens who hoped to be granted audience by theEmperor at the proper hour. Slaves, who offered refreshments to thosewho waited or stood idly looking on, were to be seen in every room, andofficial persons, with rolls of manuscript under their arms, bustledinto the inner rooms or out of the palace to carry into effect theorders of their superior.
The hall of the Muses had been turned into a grand banqueting-hall.Papias, who was now on his way to Italy by the Emperor's command, hadrestored the damaged shoulder of the Urania. Couches and divans stoodbetween the statues, and under a canopy at the upper end of the vastroom stood a throne on which Hadrian sat when he held audience. On theseoccasions he always appeared in the purple, but in his writing-room,which he had not changed for another, he laid aside the imperial mantleand was no more splendid in his garb than the architect Claudius Venatorhad been.
In the rooms that had belonged to the deceased Keraunus now dwelt anEgyptian without wife or children--a stern and prudent man who haddone good service as house-steward to the prefect Titianus, and theliving-room of the evicted family now looked dreary and uninhabited. Themosaic pavement which had indirectly caused the death of Keraunus, wasnow on its way to Rome, and the new steward had not thought it worthwhile to fill up the empty, dusty, broken-up place which had been leftin the floor of his room by the removal of the work of art, nor even tocover it over with mats. Not a single cheerful note was audible in theabandoned dwelling but the twitter of the birds which still came morningand evening to perch on the balcony, for Arsinoe and the children hadnever neglected to strew the parapet with crumbs for them at the end ofeach meal.
All that was gracious, all that was attractive in the old palace hadvanished at Sabina's visit, and even Hadrian himself was a differentman to what he had been a few days previously. The dignity with which heappeared in public was truly imperial and unapproachable, and even whenhe sat with his intimates in his favorite room he was grave, gloomy andtaciturn. The oracle, the stars, and other signs announced some terriblecatastrophe for the coming year with a certainty that he could notevade; and the few careless days that he had been permitted to enjoy atLochias had ended with unsatisfactory occurrences.
His wife, whose bitter nature struck him in all its repellent harshnesshere in Alexandria--where everything assumed sharper outlines and moreaccentuated movement than in Rome--had demanded of him boldly that heshould no longer defer the adoption of the praetor.
He was anxious and unsatisfied; the infinite void in his heart yawnedbefore him whenever he looked into his soul, and at every glance at thefuture of his external life a long course of petty trifles started upbefore him which could not fail to stand in the way of his unwearyingimpulse to work. Even the vegetative existence of his handsome favoriteAntinous, untroubled as it was by the sorrows or the joys of life, hadundergone a change. The youth was often moody, restless and sad. Someforeign influences seemed to have affected him, for he was no longercontent to hang about his person like a shadow; no, he yearned forliberty, had stolen into the city several times, seeking there thepleasures of his age which formerly he had avoided.
Nay, a change had even come over his cheerful and willing slave Mastor.Only his hound remained always the same in unaltered fidelity.
And he himself? He was the same to-day as ten years since: differentevery day and at every hour of the day.