in me and for me; a hundred times, face to face with my own finished works I have asked myself:  ’Is it possible that you—­Hadrian—­your mother’s son-can have achieved this?  What then is the mysterious power that aided you to do it?’ Now I also recognize it, and can see it work in others.  The man in whom it dwells soon excels his fellows, and it is most manifest in artists.  Or is it that mere common men become great artists simply because the Genius selects them as his temple to dwell in?  Do you follow me, boy?”

“Not altogether,” replied Antinous, and his large eyes which had sparkled brightly so long as he gazed with the Emperor on the city, were now cast down and fixed wearily on the ground.  “Do not be angry with me, my Lord, but I shall never understand such things as these, for there is no man with whom your Genius, as you term it, has less concern than with me.  Thoughts of my own have I none, and it is difficult to me to follow the thoughts of others; indeed I should like to know how I am ever to do anything right.  When I want to work, to work something out, no Daimon helps my soul; no—­it feels quite helpless, and drifts into dreaminess.  And if I ever do complete anything, I am obliged to own to myself that I certainly might have been able to do it better.”

“Self-knowledge,” laughed Hadrian, “is the climax of wisdom.  A man has done something if he has only added a ‘thing of beauty’ to the joys of a friend’s imagination; what others do by hard work you do by mere existence.  Be quiet, Argus!” For, while he was speaking, the hound had risen, and had gone snarling to the door.  In spite of his master’s orders he broke into a loud bark when he heard a steady knock at the door.  Hadrian looked round in bewilderment, and asked:  “Where is Mastor?”

Antinous shouted the slave’s name into the Emperor’s bedroom, which was next to the living-room, but in vain.  “He generally is always at hand, and as brisk as a lark, but to-day he looked as if in a dream, and while he was dressing me he first let my shoe fall out of his hand and then my brooch.”

“I read him yesterday a letter from Rome.  His young wife has gone away with a ship’s captain.”

“We may wish him joy of being free again.”

“It does not seem to afford him any satisfaction.”

“Oh! a handsome lad like my body-slave can find as many substitutes as he likes.”

“But he has not done so.  For the present he is still smarting under his loss.”

“How wise!  There, some one is knocking again.  Just see who ventures—­ but to be sure any one has a right to knock, for at Lochias I am not the Emperor, but a simple private gentleman.  Lie down Argus, are you crazy, old fellow?  Why the dog maintains my dignity better than I do, and he does not seem altogether to like the architect’s part I am playing.”