And not for the moment alone. A half century later
Tertullian noted that the worship still endured, and subsequently
the Alexandrine Clement discovered consciences that Antinous had
reproached.
Antinous, deified, was presently forgot. A young Roman,
wonderfully beautiful, Dion says, yet singularly effeminate; a
youth who could barely carry a shield; who slept between rose-
leaves and lilies; who was an artist withal; a poet who had
written lines that Martial might have mistaken for his own,
Cejonius Verus by name, succeeded the Bithynian shepherd. Hadrian,
who would have adopted Antinous, adopted Verus in his stead. But
Hadrian was not happy in his choice. Verus died, and singularly
enough, Hadrian selected as future emperor the one ruler against
whom history has not a reproach, Pius Antonin.
Meanwhile the journey continued. The Thousand and One Nights were
realized then if ever. The beauty of the world was at its apogee,
the glory of Rome as well; and through secrets and marvels Hadrian
strolled, note-book in hand, his eyes unwearied, his curiosity
unsatiated still. To pleasure him the intervales took on a fairer
glow; cities decked themselves anew, the temples unveiled their
mysteries; and when he passed to the intervales liberty came; to
the cities, sovereignty; to the temples, shrines. The world rose
to him as a woman greets her lover. His travels were not fatigues;
they were delights, in which nations participated, and of which
the memories endure as though enchanted still.
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