‘I will proceed to restore it to its original shape, if Caesar will permit.’
Receiving the customary nod, the potter took from his wallet a small block, slightly concave on one surface, together with a mallet and a piece of wood, which had one end fashioned like a wedge, and the other broad and round like a pestle. Placing the bowl on the hollow side of the block, he proceeded to distend the crushed glass with the thin end of the wedge, and, when sufficient space had been made, he inserted the blunt end, and so hammered the malleable glass to its original shape.
Springing up Masthlion once more passed the bowl for examination.
‘This virtue is my discovery, Caesar,’ said he with pride. ‘That frail glass is made well-nigh indestructible. That is my feat accomplished at last. To others who follow it will be easier to further develop the principle.’
The potter and his novel exhibition had now aroused very considerable curiosity in the spectators. Plautia’s interest was in the man rather than in his work, not only by reason of the [pg 317]relation he bore to the affair which absorbed her mind, but also by the natural inclination of her sex. The Prefect was genuinely interested, whilst Afer assumed an amused indifference. Tiberius himself betrayed evident attention to Masthlion’s work, and asked many questions in reference to its qualifications and fitness for further development, not omitting to draw from the inventor brief details concerning himself.
At length the potter received the signal to retire, and Zeno was instructed to retain him in the villa until further notice. One old man at table had kept his peace, watching all and hearing all, with knitted brows and pursed mouth. He was one of the philosophers whose company was so much affected by the Emperor, and his profession was the abstruse science of astrology, a pursuit whose attributes of mystery and superstition especially recommended it to his master’s favour.
‘Look how rapt in meditation is our worthy Thrasullus,’ remarked Sejanus, with ill-concealed raillery; ‘his mind is amid the stars. Say, learned sage of Chaldean mysteries, if this new birth of plastic glass pots has been recorded in the heavens?’
‘In the eternal stars are written all things, but few only of their inscrutable secrets fall within the narrow scope of the human understanding,’ responded the philosopher, in a low tone. ‘My own poor powers have been engaged in tracing weightier destinies than that of a wretched potter.’
‘Oh, for a lesson therein from your learned lips, Chaldean!’
‘Nothing is sacred to the ears of a scoffer,’ said the old man. ‘Thou wilt know well enough some day all that I could tell thee now, Prefect.’