This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By Georg Ebers
The light in the town, which had attracted Paulus, was in Petrus' house,and burnt in Polykarp's room, which formed the whole of a small upper-story, which the senator had constructed for his son over the northernportion of the spacious flat roof of the main building. The young manhad arrived about noon with the slaves he had just procured, had learnedall that had happened in his absence, and had silently withdrawn into hisown room after supper was ended. Here he still lingered over his work.
A bed, a table on and under which lay a multitude of wax-tablets,papyrus-rolls, metal-points, and writing-reeds, with a small bench, onwhich stood a water-jar and basin, composed the furniture of this room;on its whitewashed walls hung several admirable carvings in relief, andfigures of men and animals stood near them in long rows. In one corner,near a stone water-jar, lay a large, damp, shining mass of clay.
Three lamps fastened to stands abundantly lighted this work-room, butchiefly a figure standing on a high trestle, which Polykarp's fingerswere industriously moulding.
Phoebicius had called the young sculptor a fop, and not altogetherunjustly, for he loved to be well dressed and was choice as to the cutand color of his simple garments, and he rarely neglected to arrange hisabundant hair with care, and to anoint it well; and yet it was almostindifferent to him, whether his appearance pleased other people or no,but he knew nothing nobler than the human form, and an instinct, which hedid not attempt to check, impelled him to keep his own person as nice ashe liked to see that of his neighbor.
Now at this hour of the night, he wore only a shirt of white woollenstuff, with a deep red border. His locks, usually so well-kept, seemedto stand out from his head separately, and instead of smoothing andconfining them, he added to their wild disorder, for, as be worked, hefrequently passed his hand through them with a hasty movement. A bat,attracted by the bright light, flew in at the open window—which wasscreened only at the bottom by a dark curtain—and fluttered round theceiling; but he did not observe it, for his work absorbed his whole souland mind. In this eager and passionate occupation, in which every nerveand vein in his being seemed to bear a part, no cry for help would havestruck his ear—even a flame breaking out close to him would not havecaught his eye. His cheeks glowed, a fine dew of glistening sweatcovered his brow, and his very gaze seemed to become more and more firmlyriveted to the sculpture as it took form under his hand. Now and againhe stepped back from it, and leaned backwards from his hips, raising hishands to the level of his temples, as if to narrow the field of vision;then he went up to the model, and clutched the plastic mass of clay, asthough it were the flesh of his enemy.
He was now at work on the flowing hair of the figure before him, whichhad already taken the outline of a female head, and he flung the bits ofclay, which he removed from the back of it, to the ground, as violentlyas though he were casting them at an antagonist at his feet. Again hisfinger-tips and modelling-tool were busy with the mouth, nose, cheeks,and eyes, and his own eyes took a softer expression, which gradually grewto be a g