--Son of Apollo, Apollo himself!"

When he heard these words, he smiled; but at moments a cloud, as it
were, passed over his face, for the Roman rabble was satirical and keen
in reckoning, and let itself criticise even great triumphators, even men
whom it loved and respected. It was known that on a time they shouted
during the entrance to Rome of Julius Caesar: "Citizens, hide your wives;
the old libertine is coming!" But Nero's monstrous vanity could not
endure the least blame or criticism; meanwhile in the throng, amid
shouts of applause were heard cries of "Ahenobarbus, Ahenobarbus! Where
hast thou put thy flaming beard? Dost thou fear that Rome might catch
fire from it?" And those who cried out in that fashion knew not that
their jest concealed a dreadful prophecy.

These voices did not anger Caesar overmuch, since he did not wear a
beard, for long before he had devoted it in a golden cylinder to Jupiter
Capitolinus. But other persons, hidden behind piles of stones and the
corners of temples, shouted: "Matricide! Nero! Orestes! Alcmaeon!" and
still others: "Where is Octavia?" "Surrender the purple!" At Poppaea, who
came directly after him, they shouted, "Flava coma (yellow hair)!!" with
which name they indicated a street-walker. Caesar's musical ear caught
these exclamations also, and he raised the polished emerald to his eyes
as if to see and remember those who uttered them. While looking thus,
his glance rested on the Apostle standing on the stone.

For a while those two men looked at each other. It occurred to no one
in that brilliant retinue, and to no one in that immense throng, that at
that moment two powers of the earth were looking at each other, one of
which would vanish quickly as a bloody dream, and the other, dressed
in simple garments, would seize in eternal possession the world and the
city.

Meanwhile Caesar had passed; and immediately after him eight Africans
bore a magnificent litter, in which sat Poppaea, who was detested by
the people. Arrayed, as was Nero, in amethyst color, with a thick
application of cosmetics on her face, immovable, thoughtful,
indifferent, she looked like some beautiful and wicked divinity carried
in procession. In her wake followed a whole court of servants, male and
female, next a line of wagons bearing materials of dress and use.
The sun had sunk sensibly from midday when the passage of Augustians
began,--a brilliant glittering line gleaming like an endless serpent.
Th