When he vehemently denied it, Caracalla went on:  “And yet these epigrams show plainly enough how the Alexandrians feel toward me.  Melissa, too, is a daughter of this town, and when I remember that she could bring herself to pray for me, then—­My nurse, who was the best of women, was a Christian.  I learned from her the doctrine of loving our enemies and praying for those who despitefully treat us.  I always regarded it as impossible; but now—­your sister—­What I was saying just now about the hair and good health reminds me of another speech of the Crucified one which my nurse often repeated—­how long ago!—­’To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he hath.’  How cruel and yet how wise, how terribly striking and true!  A healthy man!  What more can he want, and what abundant gifts that best of all gifts will gain for him!  If he is visited by infirmity—­only look at me!—­how much misery I have suffered from this curse, terrible enough in itself, and tainting everything with the bitterness of wormwood!”

He laughed softly but scornfully, and continued:  “But I!  I am the sovereign of the universe.  I have so much—­oh yes, so much!—­and for that reason more shall be given to me, and my wildest wishes shall be satisfied!”

“Yes, my liege!” interrupted Alexander, eagerly.  “After pain comes pleasure!

              ’Live, love, drink, and rejoice,
               And wreath thyself with me!’

sings Sappho, and it is not a bad plan to follow Anakreon’s advice, even at the present day.  Think of the short suffering which now and then embitters for you the sweet cup of life, as being the ring of Polykrates, with which you appease the envy of the gods who have given you so much.  In your place, eternal gods! how I would enjoy the happy hours of health, and show the immortals and mortals alike how much true and real pleasure power and riches can procure!”

The emperor’s weary eyes brightened, and with the cry—­

“So will I!  I am still young, and I have the power!” he started suddenly to his feet.  But he sank back again directly on the couch, shaking his head as if to say, “There, you see what a state I am in!” The fate of this unhappy man touched Alexander’s heart even more deeply than before.

His youthful mind, which easily received fresh impressions, forgot the deeds of blood and shame which stained the soul of this pitiable wretch.  His artistic mind was accustomed to apprehend what he saw with his whole soul and without secondary considerations, as if it stood there to be painted; and the man that lay before him was to him at that moment only a victim whom a cruel fate had defrauded of the greatest pleasures in life.  He also remembered how shamelessly he and others had mocked at Caesar.  Perhaps Caracalla had really spilled most of the blood to serve the welfare and unity of the empire.

He, Alexander, was not his judge.