y his lion and followed by
the philosopher, who desired an attendant to bring in the picture.

In this room it was much lighter than in the audience-chamber, and while
Caracalla awaited, with Philostratus, the arrival of the painting,
his Indian body-slave, a gift from the Parthian king, silently and
skillfully dressed his thin hair. The sovereign sighed deeply, and
pressed his hand to his brow as though in pain. The philosopher ventured
to approach him, and there was warm sympathy in his tone as he asked:

"What ails you, Bassianus? Just now you bore all the appearance of a
healthy, nay, and of a terrible man!"

"It is better again already," replied the sovereign. "And yet--!"

He groaned again, and then confessed that only yesterday he had in the
same way been tortured with pain.

"The attack came on in the morning, as you know," he went on, "and
when it was past I went down into the court of sacrifice; my feet would
scarcely carry me. Curiosity--and they were waiting for me; and some
great sign might be shown! Besides, some excitement helps me through
this torment. But there was nothing--nothing! Heart, lungs, liver, all
in their right place.--And then, Galenus--What I like is bad for
me, what I loathe is wholesome. And again and again the same foolish
question, 'Do you wish to escape an early death?' And all with an air as
though Death were a slave at his command--He can, no doubt, do more than
others, and has preserved his own life I know not how long. Well, and it
is his duty to prolong mine.

"I am Caesar. I had a right to insist on his remaining here. I did so;
for he knows my malady, and describes it as if he felt it himself. I
ordered him--nay, I entreated him. But he adhered to his own way. He
went--he is gone!"

"But he may be of use to you, even at a distance," Philostratus said.

"Did he do anything for my father, or for me in Rome, where he saw me
every day?" retorted Caesar. "He can mitigate and relieve the suffering,
but that is all; and of all the others, is there one fit to hand him a
cup of water? Perhaps he would be willing to cure me, but he can not;
for I tell you, Philostratus, the gods will not have it so. You know
what sacrifices I have offered, what gifts I have brought. I have
prayed, I have abased myself before them, but none will hear. One or
another of the gods, indeed, appears to me not infrequently as Apollo
did last night. But is it because he favors me? First, he laid his hand