Nevertheless, I think supernatural things interested Gallio, for he liked talking about them occasionally. What Roman is wholly free of superstition? But to change the subject, he invited me to drink wine with him, called in his wife to join us and began to read to us a play he had written and worked on in Latin from a Greek original. He also read some Greek verses in comparison to show how well, given the right touch, our language accommodates itself to the Greek rhythms.
The play was about the Trojan war. It should have interested me, for the Trojans, through Aeneas, were the forefathers of the Romans. But after drinking some wine, I happened to say, “Written Greek is beautiful, but today it rings strangely dead in my ears. Paul spoke the living language of the people.”
Gallio looked at me with compassion.
“One can only write the crudest kind of satire in the people’s language,” he said, “and then the language itself has a comic effect. Just as the Ostian actors in Rome use the language of the marketplace. Philosophy in spoken language! You must be out of your mind, Minutus.”
Suddenly he turned scarlet in the face and firmly rolled up his manuscript.
“It’s time those Jewish fumes were blown out of your head,” he said. “You’ve not been to Athens yet. There’s a border dispute in Delphi which needs someone on the spot. And there’s trouble in Olympia over the program for the Games. You can go here and now. My lecturer at the chancery will give you all the information you need and also a letter of attorney.”
The lovely Helvia stroked Gallio’s forehead and fat cheek with the tips of her fingers and intervened.
“Why do you send such a talented youth on such a strenuous journey?” she said. “The Greeks will bring their disputes to you in time. This is Corinth. Friendship with a mature woman would develop the boy more than riding unnecessarily all over the place.”
She looked past Gallio at me with smiling eyes and pulled up her mantle, which had slipped down from her white shoulder. Had I been more experienced, I could have described the artistic folds of her mantle, her elaborate hair style and the rare Indian jewelry she was wearing. I did not stop to stare but leaped to my feet, stood to attention and replied, “As you command, Proconsul.”
In this way, Paul sowed dissension between me and Gallio, too. I left my house in Hierex’s hands and rode from Corinth with a few soldiers from the cohort and a Greek guide.
There are far too many excellent descriptions of Delphi, Olympia and Athens for there to be any need for me to go into their incomparable sights. Not even Rome had hitherto succeeded in plundering them of more than a fraction of their art treasures, though it must be admitted that we have done our best ever since Sulla to enrich Rome at the expense of Greek treasures.
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But however much I strained my body by looking at all the sights, the beauty I saw seemed to mean nothing to me. Neither the painted marble, nor the ivories, nor the gold in the loveliest sculpture in existence seemed to touch my heart.
I found out all about the boundary dispute in Delphi. For reasons of justice, I accepted invitations from both sides. In Delphi, I was able to see Pythia in her delirium with my own eyes. Her priests made out from her incomprehensible words one or two flattering personal predictions for me. I cannot even repeat them here.
Near Olympia lies some votive lands, and a temple which Commantler Xenophon more than four hundred years ago dedicated to Artemis. A tenth of the harvest from the area was once used for the inhabitants’ harvest festival. Anyone who cared te could pick fruit from the ancient groves of fruit trees.
But over the years, many landmarks had gone and the temple was sadly decayed. In the time of the Pompeians, even the goddess statue itself was taken back to Rome. The people who lived there were complaining that the man who had taken the votive lands into his possession no longer fulfilled the conditions demantled. They had carefully kept a stone carving on which one could still read:
This place is dedicated to Artemis. He who enjoys possession of it must every year offer a tenth. From the residue, the maintenance of the temple must he found. Should anyone neglect this, the goddess will remember it.
At the meeting of the people, some old men told of their memories from times gone by, when wine, flour and sweetmeats were distributed at the Artemis feast. Everyone had the hunting rights on the sacred land. I let them speak to a finish. The owner of the land finally promised that he would preserve the custom of the harvest festival but the maintenance of the temple was beyond his capacity. So I pronounced my judgment.
“This is not for Rome to decide,” I said. “This you must settle with the goddess, as it is written here on this stone tablet.”
The verdict pleased no one. While I was in Olympia, I heard that the owner had fallen down a crevasse while deer hunting, so I suppose Artemis was collecting her dues. He had no direct heirs, so the inhabitants of the district harmoniously shared out the votive land among themselves. I put this incident in the back of my mind to tell Claudius if I ever met him again. The Emperor liked old memorial tablets and could easily have the temple repaired.
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