and show the immortals and mortals alike how much true and real pleasure
power and riches can procure!"

The emperor's weary eyes brightened, and with the cry--

"So will I! I am still young, and I have the power!" he started
suddenly to his feet. But he sank back again directly on the couch,
shaking his head as if to say, "There, you see what a state I am
in!" The fate of this unhappy man touched Alexander's heart even more
deeply than before.

His youthful mind, which easily received fresh impressions, forgot the
deeds of blood and shame which stained the soul of this pitiable wretch.
His artistic mind was accustomed to apprehend what he saw with his whole
soul and without secondary considerations, as if it stood there to be
painted; and the man that lay before him was to him at that moment only a
victim whom a cruel fate had defrauded of the greatest pleasures in life.
He also remembered how shamelessly he and others had mocked at Caesar.
Perhaps Caracalla had really spilled most of the blood to serve the
welfare and unity of the empire.

He, Alexander, was not his judge.

If Glaukias had seen the object of his derision lying thus, it certainly
would never have occurred to him to represent him as a pygmy monster.
No, no! Alexander's artistic eye knew the difference well between the
beautiful and the ugly--and the exhausted man lying on the divan, was no
hideous dwarf. A dreamy languor spread over his nobly chiselled features
An expression of pain but rarely passed over them, and Caesar's whole
appearance reminded the painter of the fine Ephesian gladiator hallistos