“As you are leaving us to-morrow, I will sing the song which you honored with a place in your heroic tale.”

He turned to Melissa, and, as she owned to having read the work of the philosopher, he went on “You know, then, that I was the model for his Achilles.  The departed spirit of the hero is enjoying in the island of Leuke, in the Pontus, the rest which he so richly deserves, after a life full of heroic deeds.  Now he finds time to sing to the lyre, and Philostratus put the following verses—­but they are mine—­into his mouth.—­I am about to play, Adventus!  Open the door!”

The freedman obeyed, and the emperor peered into the antechamber to see for himself who was waiting there.

He required an audience when he sang.  The Circus had accustomed him to louder applause than his beloved and one skilled musician could award him.  At last he swept the strings, and began singing in a well-trained tenor, whose sharp, hard quality, however, offended the girl’s critical ear, the song to the echo on the shores of Pontus: 

                    Echo, by the rolling waters
                    Bathing Pontus’ rocky shore,
                    Wake, and answer to the lyre
                    Swept by my inspired hand!

                    Wake, and raise thy voice in numbers
                    Sing to Homer, to the bard
                    Who has given life immortal
                    To the heroes of his lay.

                    He it was from death who snatched me;
                    He who gave Patroclus life;
                    Rescued, in perennial glory,
                    Godlike Ajax from the dead!

                    His the lute to whose sweet accents,
                    Ilion owes undying fame,
                    And the triumph and the praises
                    Which surround her deathless name.

The “Sword of Persia” seemed peculiarly affected by his master’s song, which he accompanied by a long-drawn howl of woe; and, before the imperial virtuoso had concluded, a discordant cry sounded for a short time from the street, in imitation of the squeaking of young pigs.  It arose from the crowd who were waiting round the Serapeum to see Caesar drive to the Circus; and Caracalla must have noticed it, for, when it waxed louder, he gave a sidelong glance toward the place from which it came, and an ominous frown gathered upon his brow.

But it soon vanished, for scarcely had he finished when stormy shouts of applause rose from the antechamber.  They proceeded from the friends of Caesar, and the deep voices of the Germanic bodyguard, who, joining in with the cries they had learned in the Circus, lent such impetuous force to the applause, as even to satisfy this artist in the purple.

Therefore, when Philostratus spoke words of praise, and Melissa thanked him with a blush, he answered with a smile:  “There is something frank and untrammeled in their manner of expressing their feelings outside.  Forced applause sounds differently.  There must be something in my singing that carries the hearers away.  My Alexandrian hosts, however, are overready to show me what they think.  It did not escape me, and I shall add it to the rest.”