The Emperor. Georg Ebers
and it seemed like a mockery of the man himself when Pontius unhesitatingly replied with decision:
“Good, then we can begin our re-examination here, at once.”
Keraunus did not contradict him, but, as he remembered the number of stairs to be climbed over again, he looked as if sentence of death had been passed upon him.
“Is it necessary that I should remain with you during the rest of your labors, which must be principally directed to details?” asked the prefect of the architect.
“No,” answered Pontius, “provided you will take the trouble to look at once at my plan, so as to inform yourself on the whole of what I propose, and to give me full powers to dispose of men and means in each case as it arises.”
“That is granted,” said Titianus. “I know that Pontius will not demand a man or a sesterce more or less than is needed for the purpose.”
The architect bowed in silence and Titianus went on.
“But above all things, do you think you can accomplish your task in eight days and nine nights?”
“Possibly, at a pinch; and if I could only have four days more at my disposal, most probably.”
“Then all that is needed is to delay Hadrian’s arrival by four days and nights.”
“Send some interesting people—say the astronomer Ptolemaeus, and Favorinus, the sophist, who await him here—to meet him at Pelusium. They will find some way of detaining him there.”
“Not a bad idea! We will see. But who can reckon on the Empress’s moods? At any rate, consider that you have only eight days to dispose of.”
“Good.”
“Where do you hope to be able to lodge Hadrian?”
“Well, a very small portion of the old building is, strictly speaking, fit to use.”
“Of that, I regret to say, I have fully convinced myself,” said the prefect emphatically, and turning to the steward, he went on in a tone less of stern reproof than of regret.
“It seems to me, Keraunus, that it would have been your duty to inform me earlier of the ruinous condition of the building.”
“I have already lodged a complaint,” replied the man, “but I was told in answer to my report that there were no means to apply to the purpose.”
“I know nothing of these things,” cried Titianus.
“When did you forward your petition to the prefect’s office?”
“Under your predecessor, Haterius Nepos.”
“Indeed,” said the prefect with a drawl.
“So long ago. Then, in your place, I should have repeated my application every year, without any reference to the appointment of a new prefect. However, we have now no time for talking. During the Emperor’s residence here, I shall very likely send one of my subordinates to assist you!”
Titianus turned his back on the steward, and asked the architect:
“Well, my good Pontius, what part of the palace have you your eye upon?”
“The inner halls and rooms are in the best repair.”
“But they are the last that can be thought of,” cried Titianus. “The Emperor is satisfied with everything in camp, but where fresh air and a distant prospect are to be had, he must have them.”
“Then let us choose the western suite; hold the plan my worthy friend.”
The steward slid as he was desired, the architect took his pencil and made a vigorous line in the air above the left side of the sketch, saying:
“This is the west front of the palace which you see from the harbor. From the south you first come into the lofty peristyle, which may be used as an antechamber; it is surrounded with rooms for the slaves and body-guard. The next smaller sitting-rooms by the side of the main corridor we may assign to the officers and scribes, in this spacious hypaethral hall—the one with the Muses—Hadrian may give audience and the guests may assemble there whom he may admit to eat at his table in this broad peristyle. The smaller and well-preserved rooms, along this long passage leading to the steward’s house, will do for the pages, secretaries and other attendants on Caesar’s person, and this long saloon, lined with fine porphyry and green marble, and adorned with the beautiful frieze in bronze will, I fancy, please Hadrian as a study and private sitting-room.”
“Admirable!” cried Titianus, “I should like to show your plan to the Empress.”
“In that case, instead of eight days I must have as many weeks,” said Pontius coolly.
“That is true,” answered the prefect laughing. “But tell me, Keraunus, how comes it that the doors are wanting to all the best rooms?”
“They were of fine thyra wood, and they were wanted in Rome.”
“I must have seen one or another of them there,” muttered the prefect.
“Your cabinet-workers will have a busy time, Pontius.”
“Nay, the hanging-makers may be glad; wherever we can we will close the door-ways with heavy curtains.”
“And what will you do with this damp abode of fogs, which, if I mistake not, must adjoin the dining-hall?”
“We will turn it into a garden filled with ornamental foliage.”
“That is quite admissable—and the broken statues?”
“We will get rid of the worst.”
“The Apollo and the nine Muses stand in the room you intend for an audience-hall—do they not?”
“Yes.”
“They are in fairly good condition, I think.”
“Urania is wanting entirely,” said the steward, who was still holding the plan out in front of him.
“And what became of her?” asked Titianus, not without excitement.
“Your predecessor, the prefect Haterius Nepos, took a particular fancy to it and carried it with him to Rome.”
“Why Urania of all others?” cried Titianus angrily. “She, above all, ought not to be missing from the hall of audience of Caesar the pontiff of heaven! What is to be done?”
“It will be difficult to find an Urania ready-made as tall as her sisters, and we have no time to search one out, a new one must be made.”
“In eight days?”
“And eight nights.”
“But my good friend, only to get the marble—”
“Who thinks of marble? Papias will make us one of straw, rags and gypsum—I know his magic hand—and in order that the others may not be too unlike their new-born sister they shall be whitewashed.”
“Capital—but why choose Papias when we have Harmodius?”
“Harmodius takes art in earnest, and we should have the Emperor here before he had completed his sketches. Papias works with thirty assistants at anything that is ordered of him, so long as it brings him money. His last things certainly amaze me, particularly the Hygyeia for Dositheus the Jew, and the bust of Plutarch put up in the Caesareum; they are full of grace and power. But who can distinguish what is his work and what that of his scholars? Enough, he knows how things should be done; and if a good sum is to be got by it he will hew you out a whole sea-fight in marble in five days.”
“Then give Papias the commission but the hapless mutilated pavements-what will you do with them?”
“Gypsum and paint must mend them,” said Pontius, “and where that will not do, we must lay carpets on the floor in the Eastern fashion. Merciful night! how dark it is growing; give