CHAPTER X.
While anxiety and trouble were brooding over the steward's dwelling,while dismay and disappointment were clouding the souls of itsinhabitants, the hall of the Muses was merry with feasting and laughter.
Julia, the prefect's wife, had supplied the architect at Lochias witha carefully-prepared meal,--sufficient to fill six hungry maws, andPontius' slave--who had received it on its arrival and had unpacked itdish after dish, and set them out on the humblest possible table hadthen hastened to fetch his master to inspect all these marvels ofthe cook's art. The architect shook his head as he contemplated thesuperabundant blessing, and muttered to himself:
"Titianus must take me for a crocodile, or rather for two crocodiles,"and he went to the sculptor's little tabernacle, where Papias the masterwas also, to invite the two men to share his supper.
Besides them he asked two painters, and the chief mosaic worker of thecity, who all day long had been busied in restoring the old and fadedpictures on the ceilings and pavements, and under the influence ofgood wine and cheerful chat they soon emptied the dishes and bowls andtrenchers. A man who for several hours has been using his hands or hismind, or both together, waxes hungry, and all the artists whom Pontiushad brought together at Lochias had now been working for several daysalmost to the verge of exhaustion. Each had done his best, in the firstplace, no doubt, to give satisfaction to Pontius, whom all esteemed, andto himself; but also in the hope of giving proof of his powers to theEmperor and of showing him how things could be done in Alexandria. Whenthe dishes had been removed and the replete feasters had washed anddried their hands, they filled their cups out of a jar of mixed wine, ofwhich the dimensions answered worthily to the meal they had eaten.One of the painters then proposed that they should hold a regulardrinking-bout, and elect Papias, who was as well known as a good tableorator as he was as an artist, to be the leader of the feast. However,the master declared that he could not accept the honor, for that it wasdue to the worthiest of their company; to the man namely, who, onlya few days since, had entered this empty palace and like a secondDeucalion had raised up illustrious artists, such as he then saw aroundhim in great numbers, and skilled workmen by hundreds, not out ofplastic stone but out of nothing. And then--while declaring that heunderstood the use of the hammer and chisel better than that of thetongue, and that he had never studied the art of making speeches--heexpressed his wish that Pontius would lead the revel, in the mostapproved form.
But he was not allowed to get to the end of this evidence of his skill,for Euphorion the door-keeper of the palace, Euphorion the father ofPollux, ran hastily into the hall of the Muses with a letter in his handwhich he gave to the architect.
"To be read without an instant's delay," he added, bowing withtheatrical dignity to the assembled artists. "One of the prefect'slictors brought this letter, which, if my wishes be granted, bringsnothing that is unwelcome. Hold your noise you little blackguards or Iwill be the death of you."
These words, which so far as the tone was concerned, formed a somewhatinharmonious termination to a speech intended for the ears of greatartists, were addressed to his wife's four-footed Graces who hadfollowed him against his wish, and were leaping round the table barkingfor the slender remains of the consumed food.
Pontius was fond of animals and had made friends with the old woman'spets, so, as he opened the prefect's letter, he said:
"I invite the three little guests to the remains of our feast. Give themanything that is fit for them, Euphorion, and whatever seems to you mostsuitable to your own stomach you may put into it."
While the architect first rapidly glanced through the letter and thenread it carefully, the singer had collected a variety of good morselsfor his wife's favorites on a plate, and finally carried the lastremaining pasty, with the dish on which it reposed, to the vicinity ofhis own hooked nose.
"For men or for dogs?" he asked his son, as he pointed to it with arigid finger.
"For the gods!" replied Pollux. "Take it to mother; she will like to eatambrosia for once."
"A jolly evening to you!" cried the singer, bowing to the artists whowere emptying their cups, and he quitted the hall with his pasty and hisdogs. Before he had fairly left the hall with his long strides, Papias,whose speech had been interrupted, once more raised his wine-cup andbegan again:
"Our Deucalion, our more than Deucalion--"
"Pardon me," interrupted Pontius. "If I once more stop your discoursewhich began so promisingly; this letter contains important news and ourrevels must be over for the night. We must postpone our symposium andyour drinking-speech."
"It was not a drinking-speech, for if ever there was a moderate man--"Papias began. But Pontius stopped him again, saying:
"Titianus writes me word that he proposes coming to Lochias thisevening. He may arrive at any moment; and not alone, but with myfellow-artist, Claudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist me with hisadvice."
"I never even heard his name," said Papias, who was wont to troublehimself as little about the persons as about the works of other artists.
"I wonder at that," said Pontius, closing the double tablets whichannounced the Emperor's advent.
"Can he do anything?" asked Pollux.
"More than any one of us," replied Pontius. "He is a mighty man."
"That is splendid!" exclaimed Pollux. "I like to see great men. Whenone looks me in the eye I always feel as if some of his superabundanceoverflowed into me, and irresistibly I draw myself up and think how fineit would be if one day I might reach as high as that man's chin."
"Beware of morbid ambition," said Papias to his pupil in a warningvoice. "It is not the man who stands on tiptoe, but he who does his dutydiligently, that can attain anything great."
"He honestly does his," said the architect rising, and he laid his handon the young sculptor's shoulder. "We all do; to-morrow by sunrise eachmust be at his post again. For my colleague's sake it will be well thatyou should all be there in good time."
The artists rose, expressing their thanks and regrets. "You will notescape the continuation of this evening's entertainment," cried one ofthe painters, and Papias, as he parted from Pontius, said:
"When we next meet I will show you what I understand by adrinking-speech. It will do perhaps for your Roman guest. I am curiousto hear what he will say about our Urania. Pollux has done his shareof the work very well, and I have already devoted an hour's work to it,which has improved it. The more humble our material, the better I shallbe pleased if the work satisfies Caesar; he himself has tried his handat sculpture."
"If only Hadrian could hear that!" cried one of the painters. "He likesto think himself a great artist--one of the foremost of our time. It issaid that he caused the life of the great architect, Apollodorus--whocarried out such noble works for Trajan--to be extinguished--and why?because formerly that illustrious man had treated the imperial bungleras a mere dabbler, and would not accept his plan for the temple of Venusat Rome."
"Mere talk!" answered Pontius to this accusation. "Apollodorus died inprison, but his incarceration had little enough to do with the Emperor'sproductions--excuse me, gentlemen, I must once more look through thesketches and plans."
The architect went away, but Pollux continued the conversation that hadbeen begun by saying:
"Only I cannot understand how a man who practises so many arts at onceas Hadrian does, and at the same time looks after the state and itsgovernment, who is a passionate huntsman and who dabbles in every kindof miscellaneous learning, contrives, when he wants to practise oneparticular form of art, to recall all his five senses into the nest fromwhich he has let them fly, here, there, and everywhere. The insideof his head must be like that salad-bowl--which we have reduced toemptiness--in which Papias discovered three sorts of fish, brown andwhite meat, oysters and five other substances."
"And who can deny," added Papias, "that if talent is the father, andmeat the mother of all productiveness, practice must be the artist'steacher! Since Hadrian took to sculp
ture and painting it has become theuniversal fashion here to practise these arts, and among the wealthieryouth who come to my workroom, many have very good abilities; but notone of them brings anything to any good issue, because so much of theirtime is taken up by the gymnasium, the bath, the quail-fights, thesuppers, and I know not what besides, so that they do nothing by way ofpractice."
"True," said a painter. "Without the restraint and worry ofapprenticeship no one can ever rise to happy and independentcreativeness; and in the schools of rhetoric or in hunting or fightingno one can study drawing. It is not till a pupil has learned to sitsteady and worry himself over his work for six hours on end that I beginto believe he will ever do any good work. Have you any of you seen theEmperor's work?"
"I have," answered a mosaic worker. "Many years ago Hadrian sent apicture to me that he had painted; I was to make a mosaic from it. Itwas a fruit piece. Melons, gourds, apples, and green leaves. The drawingwas but so-so, and the color impossibly vivid, still the composition waspleasing from its solidity and richness. And after all, when one seesit, one cannot but feel that such superfluity is better than meagrenessand feebleness. The larger fruits, especially under the exuberant sappyfoliage, were so huge that they might have been grown in the garden ofluxury itself, still the whole had a look of reality. I mitigatedthe colors somewhat in my transcript; you may still see a copy of thepicture at my house, it hangs in the studio where my men draw. Nealkes,the rich hanging-maker, has had a tapestry woven from it which Pontiusproposes to use as a hanging for a wall of the work-room, but I havemade a fine frame on purpose for it."
"Say rather for its designer."
"Or yet rather," added the most loquacious of the painters, "for thevisit he may possibly pay your workshops."
"I only wish the Emperor may come to ours too! I should like to sell himmy picture of Alexander saluted by the priests in the temple of JupiterAmmon."
"I hope that when you agree about the price you will remember we arepartners," said his fellow-artist smugly.
"I will follow your example strictly," replied the other.
"Then you will certainly not be a loser," cried Papias, "for Eustorgiusis fully aware of the worth of his works. And if Hadrian is to orderworks from every master whose art he dabbles in, he will require a fleeton purpose to carry his purchases to Rome."
"It is said," continued Eustorgius, laughing, "that he is a painteramong poets, a sculptor among painters, an astronomer among musicians,and a sophist among artists--that is to say, that he pursues every artand science with some success as his secondary occupation."
As he spoke the last words Pontius returned to the table where theartists were standing round the winejar; he had heard the painter's lastremark and interrupted him by saying:
"But my friend you forget that he is a monarch among monarchs--and notmerely among those of today--in the fullest meaning of the word. Each ofus separately can produce something better and more perfect in his ownline; but how great is the man who by earnestness and skill can evenapprehend everything that the mind has ever been able to conceive of, orthe creative spirit of the artist to embody! I know him, and I knowthat he loves a really thorough master, and tries to encourage himwith princely liberality. But his ears are everywhere, and he promptlybecomes the implacable enemy of those who provoke his resentment. Sobridle your restive Alexandrian tongues, and let me tell you that mycolleague from Rome is in the closest intimacy with Hadrian. He is ofthe same age, resembles him greatly, and repeats to him everythingthat he hears said about him. So cease talking about Caesar and passno severer judgments on dilettanti in the purple than on your wealthypupils, who paint and chisel for the mere love of it, and for whom youfind it so easy to lisp out 'charming,' or 'wonderfully pretty,' or'remarkably nice.' Take my warning in good part, you know I mean itwell."
He spoke the last words with a cordial, manly feeling, of which hisvoice was peculiarly capable, and which was always certain to secure himthe confidence even of the recalcitrant.
The artists exchanged greetings and hand-shakings and left the hall; aslave carried away the wine-jar and wiped the table, on which Pontiusproceeded to lay out his sketches and plans. But he was not alone, forPollux was soon at his side, and with a comical expression of pathos andlaying his finger on his nose, he said:
"I have come out of my cage to say something more to you."
"Well?"
"The hour is approaching when I may hope to repay the beneficent deeds,which, at various times, you have done to my interior. My mother willto-morrow morning, set before you that dish of cabbage. It could not bedone sooner, because the only perfect sausage-maker, the very king ofhis trade, prepares these savory cylinders only once a week. A few hoursago he completed the making of the sausages, and to-morrow morning mymother will warm up for our breakfasts the noble mess, which she ispreparing for us this evening--for, as I have told you, it is in itswarmed-up state that it is the ideal of its kind. What will follow byway of sweets we shall owe again to my mother's art; but the cheeringand invigorating element--I mean the wine that I drives dull care away,we owe to my sister."
"I will come," said Pontius, "if my guest leaves me an hour free, and Ishall enjoy the excellent dish. But what does a gay bird like you knowof dull care?"
"The words fit into the metre," replied Pollux. "I inherit frommy father--who, when he is not gate-keeping, sings and recites--atroublesome tendency whenever anything incites me to drift into rhythm."
"But to-day you have been more silent than usual, and yet you seemedto me to be extraordinarily content. Not your face only, but your wholelength--a good measure--from the sole of your foot to the crown of yourhead was like a brimming cask of satisfaction."
"Well, there is much that is lovely in this world!" cried Pollux,stretching himself comfortably and lifting his arms with his handsclasped far above his head towards heaven.
"Has anything specially pleasant happened to you?"
"There is no need for that! Here I live in excellent company, thework progresses, and--well, why should I deny it? There was somethingspecially to mark to-day; I met an old acquaintance again."
"An old one?"
"I have already known her sixteen years; but when I first saw her shewas in swaddling clothes."
"Then this venerable damsel friend is more than sixteen, perhapsseventeen! Is Eros the friend of the happy, or does happiness onlyfollow in his train?" As the architect thoughtfully said these words tohimself, Pollux listened attentively to a noise outside, and said:
"Who can be passing out there at this hour? Do you not hear the bark ofa big dog mingle with the snapping of the three Graces?"
"It is Titianus conducting the architect from Rome," replied Pontiusexcitedly.
"I will go to meet him. But one thing more my friend, you too have anAlexandrian tongue. Beware of laughing at the Emperor's artistic effortsin the presence of this Roman. I repeat it: the man who is now coming issuperior to us all, and there is nothing more repellant to me than whena small man assumes a strutting air of importance because he fancies hehas discovered in some great man a weak spot where his own little bodyhappens to be sound. The artist I am expecting is a grand man, butthe Emperor Hadrian is a grander. Now retire behind your screens, andtomorrow morning I will be your guest."