THE STUDIO OF CHIOS
The studio of Chios was very beautiful, and an artist is pretty well known by the place in which he paints, provided he has means to gratify his tastes. It was not a great room filled with materials, leaving him just a dozen square feet to walk about, but a studio of ample proportions, and kept as it should be with space to move around. Nothing of it could be seen from the road, for great clusters of myrtle-trees, gigantic rose-bushes, and crimson oleanders hid it most effectually; but those of his friends who went that way knew when they had passed through the quiet gateway and between the flower-trees that not far away was one of the sweetest little studios in Ephesus. Yes, there it was close to the pond of water-lilies, with the bees humming from blossom to blossom, and the birds singing cheerfully from the foliage which surrounded it; the birds were quite tame, for Chios was kind to them, and some would light upon his shoulders, and others on his arm.
A few steps led up to the marble portico, with its ceiling of blue decked with little silver stars and a crescent moon. At the entrance stood two small statues by Euphranor and Phidias.
Within all was beauty: the studio, circular in form, with alcoves lit with light which filtered in through the thinnest sheets of coloured marble; the furniture, simple, but choice; a kline or two of cedar-wood, enriched with gold, to recline on when weary; a few chairs of ebony, cypress, and rosewood were placed in the alcoves; a marble thronos for his sitters; a few small tables, three-legged and four-legged, beautifully carved, stood about to hold his brushes and palettes and the choicest flowers, which a good old servant brought him every morning.
These things, with his easels, made up the contents of his studio. It was not so famous for its furniture as for the beauty of its construction, with domed roof and circular opening to the sky, and its floor of marble enriched with precious stones. For Chios was wealthy, and could lavish money as he pleased in decorating his studio.
Behind this working-room were retiring-rooms, and a small but valuable library of choice manuscripts by Callinus, the Elegiac poet; Batalus, the musician; Dion, Andron, Delias, and Daphnus, the philosophers; with works by Phavorinus, Zenodotus, Menander, and many others.
It was a quiet afternoon; the winds were too lazy to stir and had fallen asleep.
Varro passed that way, and said: 'I will drop in and see Chios.'
The artist was outside, painting into his picture some apple-blossoms hanging gracefully from a tree which grew against a piece of old Greek wall. Looking up from his work with a smile, he welcomed the noble Roman.
'I am glad thou art come, for my hand is weary and my brain tired. It is so sultry within that I felt quite unfitted to work there, and sought refuge beneath those shading trees, whilst, as thou seest, a gleam of light comes down between the foliage and strikes upon those blossoms of the apple-tree.'
'I really hope I am not intruding too much, Chios?'
'Oh dear no; I am glad to see thee. Wilt thou sit? Make thyself at home.'
The two men talked of Ephesus and its people until the conversation was of the ladies, and soon the name of Nika was heard, for the Roman could not but speak of her.
'What thinkest thou of her?' said Chios. 'Thou hast seen her?'
'Well, truthfully, I may say, during the interview referred to, my mind was more concerned to think of Chios until I clearly perceived that he had the blank face given him by that beautiful girl. Then my heart grew hopeful, for, to tell thee all, I think I love that maid.'
'Think thou lovest—is that all? A man who loves is sure. A man has no such sure knowledge of anything else on this earth or in the beyond. I am afraid thy love is of the morning cloud thinness, and will soon pass away.'
'No, no. Believe me, it is not so. I spake not so freely, truthfully, as I should. I love her, and am certain of it; but tell me, Chios, that thou lovest her not.'
'Why asketh thou such a question? Did she not give me the cut direct in thy presence?'
'Because I am skilled in the ways of women, and know they frequently act directly opposite to that they mean. I saw her coldness to thee, and saw no reason for it, and at once, in my mind, questioned the proceeding. Say, dost thou love her—hast tried to win her? Is she sporting with thy manly heart? Speak, on the honour of a Greek, and, if such be the case, I leave the field.'
'I love her not.'
'Hast thou failed, and stifled the dawn of love?'
'No.'
'Is it, then, Nika loves Chios, and Chios is adamant?'
'I am not skilled in the mysteries to be able to read her thoughts.'
'Perhaps not; but, as a man, like myself, thou canst read actions, and they are the outcome of thoughts.'
'Thou forgettest, noble friend, but a moment or so ago thou saidst that frequently actions were contrary to what was really meant. How, then, can I divine her meaning more than thyself?'
'True, thou hast me rather firmly; and such skill in fencing demands my admiration and consideration. I will not press further on thee, Chios, and I have now naught to do but to make love, and make her love me more than ever she loved another.'
'That will be an easy matter, for I saw how satisfied she was with Varro when last we passed the evening together at the house of Lucius. An Ephesian painter would stand no chance against the Proconsul of Ephesus.'
'Come, come, Chios; thou art already jealous of thy rival!'
'No; thou art free to conquer and annex. I am a friend of Nika, and trust may remain so, but I am nothing more, or ever may be.'
'Then I may take thee to be a man callous to the beauty of women, if thou art not charmed with her loveliness, for there is no girl in Ephesus as beautiful as she.'
'That may be so, but thou must not take me to be indifferent to the charms of the fair sex because I do not admire Nika's loveliness and think it beyond compare. I may find loveliness in another form; it may be in the virtues of the soul, or spirit, whichever you may choose to name that awful thing. Behind a less lovely face than hers may be enshrined a splendid harmony of thinking, active life, which is building up its destiny, and will continue so to do through the great æons, down the grand vista of the future, when the face once so fair to look upon has passed into base mould, and been blown hither and thither, the sport of every breeze. To love beauty only is like plucking an apple of Sodom, which has a fair rind to look at, but when pressed sends out little clouds of dust and leaves you nothing but the broken shell.'
'Chios, my friend, I thought thou wert an artist, but lo, thou art a philosopher also! And, if thou art not in love, well, I have never been in Rome! I shall wait; it will develop. I shall know. Well, good-bye, Chios. I have too long kept thee from thy work. The world waits for thy beautiful picture—I must not hinder. Good-bye. We meet at the house of Lucius, where I know thou at least art ever welcome.'
When he had gone, Chios went within, and threw himself upon a seat, clasping his head with both hands. It seemed as if some great agony would rend his being.
'What am I,' he cried, 'to be made the sport of fate? Why this great conflict within me? Why this uprising of my nature to war? He was true—I love hopelessly, and would to the gods I could quench it! If it would lie peacefully in my heart like a loving child upon its mother's bosom I would not care; but it is not so. A year or so ago that love was like a summer wind, but now it rushes through me with the terrible roar of a mighty storm, and tosses me to and fro like a ship whirled in a hurricane. What raises this great tempest? It is not I, Saronia! It is not Chios! I could have loved thee deeply when thou wert a slave, and would have at all hazard plucked thee from thy low estate, and lived for thee; but now I know thou never canst be mine, and fain would let thee rest, and never trouble, but for this mighty power which forces me onwards to declare to thee a love as pure as angels ever knew, but which would be a sacrilege both damned and deep were I to whisper such into thy soul. No, no; it must not be so! I will rise above it: bring into the arena all the might of my manhood, and in this holy war will fight against my star, against my fate, and may the greatest God, whoever He be, look down on this unequal combat and assist the right.'
Chios sank back upon the couch of cedar-wood. The shadows fell upon the marble floor. The night crept on, and he slept.