r gesture for many hours. Below him the tawny river swept round
the town in a half circle; he could see the swirl of the yellow water,
its eddies and miniature whirlpools, as the tide poured up from the
south. And beyond the river the strong circuit of the walls, and within,
the city glittered like a charming piece of mosaic. He freed himself from
the obtuse modern view of towns as places where human beings live and
make money and rejoice or suffer, for from the standpoint of the moment
such facts were wholly impertinent. He knew perfectly well that for his
present purpose the tawny sheen and shimmer of the tide was the only fact
of importance about the river, and so he regarded the city as a curious
work in jewelry. Its radiant marble porticoes, the white walls of the
villas, a dome of burning copper, the flash and scintillation of tiled
roofs, the quiet red of brickwork, dark groves of ilex, and cypress, and
laurel, glowing rose-gardens, and here and there the silver of a
fountain, seemed arranged and contrasted with a wonderful art, and the
town appeared a delicious ornament, every cube of color owing its place
to the thought and inspiration of the artificer. Lucian, as he gazed from
his arbour amongst the trellised vines, lost none of the subtle pleasures
of the sight; noting every _nuance_ of color, he let his eyes dwell for a
moment on the scarlet flash of poppies, and then on a glazed roof which
in the glance of the sun seemed to spout white fire. A square of vines
was like some rare green stone; the grapes were massed so richly amongst
the vivid leaves, that even from far off there was a sense of irregular
flecks and stains of purple running through the green. The laurel garths
were like cool jade; the gardens, where red, yellow, blue and white
gleamed together in a mist of heat, had the radiance of opal; the river
was a band of dull gold. On every side, as if to enhance the preciousness
of the city, the woods hung dark on the hills; above, the sky was violet,
specked with minute feathery clouds, white as snowflakes. It reminded him
of a beautiful bowl in his villa; the ground was of that same brilliant
blue, and the artist had fused into the work, when it was hot, particles
of pure white glass.

For Lucian this was a spectacle that enchanted many hours; leaning on one
hand, he would gaze at the city glowing in the sunlight till the purple
shadows grew down the slopes and the long melodious trumpet sounded for
th