When Philostratus—­who was always free to enter Caesar’s presence—­made his appearance, Caracalla was seating himself on the throne which had been placed for him in the splendidly fitted audience-chamber.  He had come from his bath, and was wrapped in the comfortable white woolen robe which he wore on leaving it.  His “friends” as they were called, senators, and other men of mark, stood round in considerable numbers, among them the high-priest of Serapis.  Pandion, Caesar’s charioteer, was occupied, under the sovereign’s instructions, in fastening the lion’s chain to the ring fixed for the purpose in the floor by the side of the throne; and as the beast, whose collar had been drawn too tight, uttered a low, complaining growl, Caracalla scolded the favorite.  As soon as he caught sight of Philostratus, he signed to him to approach: 

“Do you see nothing strange in me?” he whispered.  “Your Phoebus Apollo appeared to me in a dream.  He laid his hand on my shoulder toward morning; indeed, I saw only horrible faces.”  Then he pointed out of the window, exclaiming: 

“The god hides his face to-day.  Gloomy days have often brought me good fortune; but this is a strange experience of the eternal sunshine of Egypt!  Men and sky have given me the same kind welcome; gray, gray, and always gray-without and within—­and my poor soldiers out on the square!  Macrinus tells me they are complaining.  But my father’s advice was sound:  “Keep them content, and never mind anything else.”  The heads of the town are waiting outside; they must give up their palaces to the bodyguard; if they murmur, let them try for themselves how they like sleeping on the soaking ground under dripping tents.  It may cool their hot blood, and perhaps dilute the salt of their wit.—­Show them in, Theocritus.”

He signed to the actor, and when he humbly asked whether Caesar had forgotten to exchange his morning wrapper for another dress, Caracalla laughed contemptuously, and replied: 

“Why, an empty corn-sack over my shoulders would be dress enough for this rabble of traders!” He stretched his small but muscular frame out at full length, resting his head on his hand, and his comely face, which had lost the suffering look it had worn the day before, suddenly changed in expression.  As was his habit when he wished to inspire awe or fear, he knit his brows in deep furrows, set his teeth tightly, and assumed a suspicious and sinister scowl.

The deputation entered, bowing low, headed by the exegetes, the head of the city, and Timotheus, the chief-priest of Serapis.  After these came the civic authorities, the members of the senate, and then, as representing the large Jewish colony in the city, their alabarch or head-man.  It was easy to see in each one as he came in, that the presence of the lion, who had raised his head at their approach, was far from encouraging; and a faint, scornful smile parted Caracalla’s lips as he noted the cowering