sar's friends," a praetor, and
one of the great men of the empire. But he knows his business; and
what does Caracalla care for tradition or descent, for the murmurs and
discontent of high or low?

Pandion holds the reins with elegant composure, and urges the horses to
a frantic pace by a mere whistle, without ever using the whip. But why
is it that he whirls the mighty monarch of half a world, before whose
bloodthirsty power every one quakes, so swiftly past these eager
spectators? Sunk in the cushions on one side, Bassianus Antoninus is
reclining rather than sitting in the four-wheeled open chariot of Gallic
make which sweeps past. He does not vouchsafe a glance at the jubilant
crowd, but gazes down at the road, his well-shaped brow so deeply
furrowed with gloom that he might be meditating some evil deed.

It is easy to discern that he is of middle height; that his upper lip
and cheeks are unshaven, and his chin smooth; that his hair is already
thin, though he lacks two years of thirty; and that his complexion is
pale and sallow; indeed, his aspect is familiar from statues and coins,
many of which are of base metal.

Most of those who thus beheld the man who held in his hand the fate
of each individual he passed, as of the empire at large, involuntarily
asked themselves afterward what impression he had made on them; and
Caracalla himself would have rejoiced in the answer, for he aimed not at
being attractive or admired, but only at being feared. But, indeed,
they had long since learned that there was nothing too horrible to be
expected of him; and, now that they had seen him, they were of opinion
that his appearance answered to his deeds. It would be hard to picture
a more sinister and menacing looking man than this emperor, with his
averted looks and his haughty contempt for the world and mankind; and
yet there was something about him which made it difficult to take
him seriously, especially to an Alexandrian. There was a touch of
the grotesque in the Gallic robe with a red hood in which this
ominous-looking contemner of humanity was wrapped. It was called a
'Caracalla', and it was from this garment that Bassianus Antoninus had
gained his nickname.

The tyrant who wore this gaudy cloak was, no doubt, devoid alike of
truth and conscience; but, as to his being a philosopher, who knew the
worthlessness of earthly things and turned his back upon the world,
those who could might believe it! He was no more than an actor