The Emperor | Page 6

turned round to face the Emperor, and who with
wide eyes had not lost one word.
"You?" said Hadrian, and a smile, not absolutely free from mockery,
parted his lips. "From you I should no more have a secret than from the
Cupid by Praxiteles, in my study at Rome."
The blood mounted to the lad's cheeks and dyed them flaming crimson.
The Emperor observed this and said kindly:
"You are more to me than the statue, for the marble cannot blush. In the
time of the Athenians Beauty governed life, but in you I can see that
the gods are pleased to give it a bodily existence, even in our own days,
and to look at you reconciles me to the discords of existence. It does
me good. But how should I expect to find that you understand me; your
brow was never made to be furrowed by thought; or did you really

understand one word of all I said?"
Antinous propped himself on his left arm, and lifting his right hand, he
said emphatically:
"Yes."
"And which," asked Hadrian.
"I know what longing is."
"For what?"
"For many things."
"Tell me one."
"Some enjoyment that is not followed by depression. I do not know of
one."
"That is a desire you share with all the youth of Rome, only they are apt
to postpone the reaction. Well, and what next?"
"I cannot tell you."
"What prevents your speaking openly to me?"
"You, yourself did." "I?"
"Yes, you; for you forbid me to speak of my home, my mother, and my
people."
The Emperor's brow darkened, and he answered sternly:
"I am your father and your whole soul should be given to me."
"It is all yours," answered the youth, falling back on to the bear-skin,
and drawing the pallima closely over his shoulders, for a gust blew
coldly in at the side of the tent, through which Phlegon, the Emperor's

private secretary, now entered and approached his master. He was
followed by a slave with several sealed rolls under his arms.
"Will it be agreeable to you, Caesar, to consider the despatches and
letters that have just arrived?" asked the official, whose
carefully-arranged hair had been tossed by the sea-breeze.
"Yes, and then we can make a note of what I was able to observe in the
heavens last night. Have you the tablets ready?"
"I left them in the tent set up especially for the work, Caesar."
"The storm has become very violent."
"It seems to blow from the north and east both at once, and the sea is
very rough. The Empress will have a bad voyage."
"When did she set out?"
"The anchor was weighed towards midnight. The vessel which is to
fetch her to Alexandria is a fine ship, but rolls from side to side in a
very unpleasant manner."
Hadrian laughed loudly and sharply at this, and said:
"That will turn her heart and her stomach upside down. I wish I were
there to see--but no, by all the gods, no! for she will certainly forget to
paint this morning; and who will construct that edifice of hair if all her
ladies share her fate. We will stay here to-day, for if I meet her soon
after she has reached Alexandria she will be undiluted gall and
vinegar."
With these words Hadrian rose from his couch, and waving his hand to
Antinous, went out of the tent with his secretary.
A third person standing at the back of the tent had heard the Emperor's
conversation with his favorite; this was Mastor, a Sarmatian of the race
of the Taryges. He was a slave, and no more worthy of heed than the
dog which had followed Hadrian, or than the pillows on which the

Emperor had been reclining. The man, who was handsome and well
grown, stood for some time twisting the ends of his long red moustache,
and stroking his round, closely-cropped head with his bands; then he
drew the open chiton together over his broad breast, which seemed to
gleam from the remarkable whiteness of the skin. He never took his
eyes off Antinous, who had turned over, and covering his face with his
hands had buried them in the bear's hairy mane.
Mastor had something he wanted to say to him, but he dared not
address him for the young favorite's demeanor could not be reckoned
on. Often he was ready to listen to him and talk with him as a friend,
but often, too, he repulsed him more sharply than the haughtiest upstart
would repel the meanest of his servants. At last the slave took courage
and called the lad by his name, for it seemed less hard to submit to a
scolding than to smother the utterance of a strong, warm feeling,