The Emperor — Complete. Georg Ebers

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СКАЧАТЬ The leader, wrapped in his white mantle, seemed asleep, and the camel-drivers to be dreaming; the dull-colored eagles by the road-side did not stir at their approach. To the right of the stretch of flat coast along which the road ran from Syria to Egypt, lay the gloomy sea, overhung by grey clouds; to the left lay the desert, a strange and mysterious feature in the landscape, of which the eye could not see the end, either to the east or to the west, and which looked here like a stretch of snow, there like standing water, and again like a thicket of rushes.

      The eldest of our travellers gazed constantly towards heaven or into the distance; the second, a slave who carried rugs and cloaks on his broad shoulders, never took his eyes off his master; and the third, a young, free-man, looked wearily and dreamily down the road.

      A broad path, leading to a stately temple, crossed that which led from the summit of the mountain to the coast, and the bearded pedestrian turned up it; but he followed it only for a few steps, then he turned his head with a dissatisfied air, muttered a few unintelligible words into his beard, turned round and hastily retraced his steps to the narrow way, down which he went towards the valley. His young companion followed him without raising his head or interrupting his reverie, as if he were his shadow, but the slave lifted his cropped fair head and a stolen smile crossed his lips as on the left hand side of the Kasius road he caught sight of a black kid, and close beside it an old woman who, at the approach of the three men covered her wrinkled face in alarm with her dark blue veil.

      “That is the reason then!” said the slave to himself with a nod, and blowing a kiss into the air to a black-haired girl who crouched at the old woman’s feet. But she, for whom the greeting was intended, did not observe this mute courtship, for her eyes followed the travellers, and especially the young man, as if spellbound. As soon as the three were far enough off not to hear her, the girl asked with a shiver, as if some desert-spectre had passed by-and in a low voice “Grandmother, who was that?”

      The old woman raised her veil, laid her hand on her grandchild’s mouth, and whispered:

      “It was he.”

      “The Emperor?”

      The old woman answered with a significant nod, but the girl squeezed herself up, against her grandmother, with vehement curiosity stretching out her dusky head to see better, and asked softly: “The young one?”

      “Silly child! the one in front with a grey beard.”

      “He? Oh, I wish the young one was the Emperor!”

      It was in fact Hadrian, the Roman Emperor, who walked on in silence before his escort, and it seemed as though his advent had given life to the desert, for as he approached the reed-swamp, the kites flew up in the air, and from behind a sand-hill on the edge of the broader road which Hadrian had avoided, came two men in priestly robes. They both belonged to the temple of Baal of Kariotis, a small structure of solid stone, which faced the sea, and which the Emperor had yesterday visited.

      “Do you think he has lost his way?” said one to the other, in the Phoenician tongue.

      “Hardly,” was the answer. “Master said that he could always find a road again by which he had once gone, even in the dark.”

      “And yet he is gazing more at the clouds than at the road.”

      “Still, he promised us yesterday.”

      “He promised nothing for certain,” interrupted the other.

      “Indeed he did; at parting he called out—and I heard him distinctly: ‘Perhaps I shall return and consult your oracle.’ ”

      “Perhaps.”

      “I think he said ‘probably.’ ”

      “Who knows whether some sign he has seen up in the sky may not have turned him back; he is going to the camp by the sea.”

      “But the banquet is standing ready for him in our great hall.”

      “He will find what he needs down there. Come, it is a wretched morning, and I am being frozen.”

      “Wait a little longer-look there.”

      “What?”

      “He does not even wear a hat to cover his grey hair.”

      “He has never yet been seen to travel with anything on his head.”

      “And his grey cloak is not very imperial looking.”

      “He always wears the purple at a banquet.”

      “Do you know who his walk and appearance remind me of?”

      “Who?”

      “Of our late high-priest, Abibaal; he used to walk in that ponderous, meditative way, and wear a beard like the Emperor’s.”

      “Yes, yes—and had the same piercing grey eye.”

      “He too used often to gaze up at the sky. They have both the same broad forehead, too; but Abibaal’s nose was more aquiline, and his hair curled less closely.”

      “And our governor’s mouth was grave and dignified, while Hadrian’s lips twitch and curl at all he says and hears, as if he were laughing at it all.”

      “Look, he is speaking now to his favorite—Antonius I think they call the pretty boy.”

      “Antinous, not Antonius. He picked him up in Bithynia, they say.”

      “He is a beautiful youth.”

      “Incomparably beautiful! What a figure and what a face! Still, I cannot wish that he were my son.”

      “The Emperor’s favorite!”

      “For that very reason. Why, he looks already as if he had tried every pleasure, and could never know any farther enjoyment.”

      … … … … … … … … . …

      On a little level close to the sea-shore, and sheltered by crumbling cliffs from the east wind, stood a number of tents. Between them fires were burning, round which were gathered groups of Roman soldiers and imperial servants. Half-naked boys, the children of the fishermen and camel-drivers who dwelt in this wilderness, were running busily hither and thither, feeding the flames with dry stems of sea-grass and dead desert-shrubs; but though the blaze flew high, the smoke did not rise; but driven here and there by the squalls of wind, swirled about close to the ground in little clouds, like a flock of scattered sheep. It seemed as though it feared to rise in the grey, damp, uninviting atmosphere. The largest of the tents, in front of which Roman sentinels paced up and down, two and two, on guard, was wide open on the side towards the sea. The slaves who came out of the broad door-way with trays on their cropped heads-loaded with gold and silver vessels, plates, wine-jars, goblets, and the remains of a meal had to hold them tightly with both hands that they might not be blown over.

      The inside of the tent was absolutely unadorned. The Emperor lay on a couch near the right wall, which was blown in and bulged by the wind; his bloodless lips were tightly set, his arms crossed over his breast, and his eyes half closed. But he was not asleep, for he often opened his mouth and smacked his lips, as if tasting the flavor of some viand. СКАЧАТЬ