point of Lochias which led into the eastern
landing-places. And then Hadrian could give him information as to every
building in the city about which his companion evinced any curiosity.
But when the Emperor had pointed out the Soma, under which rested the
remains of Alexander the Great, he became thoughtful, and said, as if to
himself:

"The Great--We may well envy the young Macedonian; not the mere name of
Great, for many of small worth have had it bestowed on them, but because
he really earned it!"

There was not a question put by the handsome Bithynian that Hadrian
could not answer; Antinous followed all his explanations with growing
astonishment, exclaiming at last:

"How perfectly well you know this place--and yet you never were here
before."

"It is one of the greatest pleasures of travelling," replied Hadrian,
"that on our journeys we come to know many things in their actuality of
which we have formed an idea from books and narratives. This requires us
to compare the reality with the pictures in our own minds, seen with
the inward eye, before we saw the reality. It is to me a far smaller
pleasure to be surprised by something new and unexpected than to
make myself more closely acquainted with something I know already
sufficiently to deem it worthy to be known better. Do you understand
what I mean?"

"To be sure I do. We hear of a thing, and when we afterwards see it
we ask ourselves whether we have conceived of it rightly. But I always
picture people or places which I hear much praised, as much more
beautiful than I ever find the reality."

"The balance of difference, which is to the disadvantage of reality,"
answered Hadrian, "stands not so much to its discredit, as to the credit
of the eager and beautifying power of your youthful imagination. I--I--"
and the Emperor stroked his beard and gazed out into the distance. "I
learn by experience that the older I grow, the more often I find it
possible so to imagine men, places, and things that I have not seen as
that when I meet them in real life for the first time, I feel justified
in fancying that I have known them long since, visited them, and beheld
them with my bodily eyes. Here, for instance, I feel as if I saw nothing
new, but only gazed once more at what has long been familiar. But that
is no wonder, for I know my Strabo, and have heard and read a hundred
accounts of this city. Still there are many things which are quite
strange to me, and yet as they c