“Hadrian to his friend Titianus, the Governor of Egypt.  The deepest secrecy—­Hadrian greets Titianus, as he has so often done for years at the beginning of disagreeable business letters, and only with half his heart.  But to-morrow he hopes to greet the dear friend of his youth, his prudent vicegerent, not merely with his whole soul, but with hand and tongue.  And now to be more explicit, as follows:  I come to-morrow morning, the fifteenth of December, towards evening, to Alexandria, with none but Antinous, the slave Mastor, and my private secretary, Phlegon.  We land at Lochias, in the little harbor, and you will know my ship by a large silver star at the prow.  If night should fall before I arrive there, three red lanterns at the end of the mast shall inform you of the friend that is approaching.  I have sent home the learned and witty men whom you sent to meet me, in order to detain me, and gain time for the restoration of the old nest in which I had a fancy to roost with Minerva’s birds—­which have not, I hope, all been driven out of it—­in order that Sabina and her following may not lack entertainment, nor the famous gentlemen themselves be unnecessarily disturbed in their labors.  I need them not.  If perchance it was not you who sent them, I ask your pardon.  An error in this matter would certainly involve some humiliation, for it is easier to explain what has happened than to foresee what is to come.  Or is the reverse the truth?  I will indemnify the learned men for their useless journey by disputing this question with them and their associates in the Museum.  The rapid movement to which the philologer was prompted on my account will prolong his existence; he bristles with learning at the tip of every hair, and he sits still more than is good for him.

“We shall arrive in modest disguise and will sleep at Lochias; you know that I have rested more than once on the bare earth, and, if need be, can sleep as well on a mat as on a couch.  My pillow follows at my heels—­my big dog, which you know; and some little room, where I can meditate undisturbed on my designs for next year, can no doubt be found.

“I entreat you to keep my secret strictly.  To none—­man nor woman—­and I beseech you as urgently as friend or Caesar ever besought a favor—­let the least suspicion of my arrival be known.  Nor must the smallest preparation betray whom it is you receive.  I cannot command so dear a friend as Titianus, but I appeal to his heart to carry out my wishes.

“I rejoice to see you again; what delight I shall find in the whirl of confusion that I hope to find at Lochias.  You shall take me to see the artists, who are, no doubt, swarming in the old castle, as the architect Claudius Venator from Rome, who is to assist Pontius with his advice.  But this Pontius, who carried out such fine works for Herodes Atticus, the rich Sophist, met me at his house, and will certainly recognize me.  Tell him, therefore, what I propose doing.  He is a serious and trustworthy man, not a chatterbox or scatter-brained simpleton who loses his head.  Thus you may take him into the secret, but not till my vessel is in sight.  May all be well with you.”