Outside
under the bright winter stars lay the modern Rome, the long, double
chain of the electric lamps, the brilliantly lighted cafes, the rushing
carriages, and the dense throng upon the footpaths. But inside, in the
sumptuous chamber of the rich young English archaeologist, there was
only old Rome to be seen. Cracked and timeworn friezes hung upon the
walls, grey old busts of senators and soldiers with their fighting
heads and their hard, cruel faces peered out from the corners. On the
centre table, amidst a litter of inscriptions, fragments, and
ornaments, there stood the famous reconstruction by Kennedy of the
Baths of Caracalla, which excited such interest and admiration when it
was exhibited in Berlin. Amphorae hung from the ceiling, and a litter
of curiosities strewed the rich red Turkey carpet. And of them all
there was not one which was not of the most unimpeachable authenticity,
and of the utmost rarity and value; for Kennedy, though little more
than thirty, had a European reputation in this particular branch of
research, and was, moreover, provided with that long purse which either
proves to be a fatal handicap to the student's energies, or, if his
mind is still true to its purpose, gives him an enormous advantage in
the race for fame. Kennedy had often been seduced by whim and pleasure
from his studies, but his mind was an incisive one, capable of long and
concentrated efforts which ended in sharp reactions of sensuous
languor. His handsome face, with its high, white forehead, its
aggressive nose, and its somewhat loose and sensual mouth, was a fair
index of the compromise between strength and weakness in his nature. Of a very different type was his companion, Julius Burger. He came of
a curious blend, a German father and an Italian mother, with the robust
qualities of the North mingling strangely with the softer graces of the
South. Blue Teutonic eyes lightened his sun-browned face, and above
them rose a square, massive forehead, with a fringe of close yellow
curls lying round it. His strong, firm jaw was clean-shaven, and his
companion had frequently remarked how much it suggested those old Roman
busts which peered out from the shadows in the corners of his chamber. Under its bluff German strength there lay always a suggestion of
Italian subtlety, but the smile was so honest, and the eyes so frank,
that one understood that this was only an indication of his ancestry,
with no actual bearing upon his character. In age and in reputation,
he was on the same level as his English companion, but his life and his
work had both been far more arduous. Twelve years before, he had come
as a poor student to Rome, and had lived ever since upon some small
endowment for research which had been awarded to him by the University
of Bonn. Painfully, slowly, and doggedly, with extraordinary tenacity
and single-mindedness, he had climbed from rung to rung of the ladder
of fame, until now he was a member of the Berlin Academy, and there was
every reason to believe that he would shortly be promoted to the Chair
of the greatest of German Universities. But the singleness of purpose
which had brought him to the same high level as the rich and brilliant
Englishman, had caused him in everything outside their work to stand
infinitely below him. He had never found a pause in his studies in
which to cultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke of his
own subject that his face was filled with life and soul. At other
times he was silent and embarrassed, too conscious of his own
limitations in larger subjects, and impatient of that small talk which
is the conventional refuge of those who have no thoughts to express. And yet for some years there had been an acquaintanceship which
appeared to be slowly ripening into a friendship between these two very
different rivals. The base and origin of this lay in the fact that in
their own studies each was the only one of the younger men who had
knowledge and enthusiasm enough to properly appreciate the other. Their common interests and pursuits had brought them together, and each
had been attracted by the other's knowledge. And then gradually
something had been added to this. Kennedy had been amused by the
frankness and simplicity of his rival, while Burger in turn had been
fascinated by the brilliancy and vivacity which had made Kennedy such a
favourite in Roman society. I say "had," because just at the moment
the young Englishman was somewhat under a cloud. A love-affair, the
details of which had never quite come out, had indicated a
heartlessness and callousness upon his part which shocked many of his
friends. But in the bachelor circles of students and artists in which
he preferred to move there is no very rigid code of honour in such
matters, and though a head might be shaken or a pair of shoulders
shrugged over the flight of two and the return of one, the general
sentiment was probably one of curiosity and perhaps of envy rather than
of reprobation. "Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, looking hard at the placid face of
his companion, "I do wish that you would confide in me." As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of a rug which lay upon
the floor. On the rug stood a long, shallow fruit-basket of the light
wicker-work which is used in the Campagna, and this was heaped with a
litter of objects, inscribed tiles, broken inscriptions, cracked
mosaics, torn papyri, rusty metal ornaments, which to the uninitiated
might have seemed to have come straight from a dustman's bin, but which
a specialist would have speedily recognized as unique of their kind. The pile of odds and ends in the flat wicker-work basket supplied
exactly one of those missing links of social development which are of
such interest to the student. It was the German who had brought them
in, and the Englishman's eyes were hungry as he looked at them. "I won't interfere with your treasure-trove, but I should very much
like to hear about it," he continued, while Burger very deliberately
lit a cigar. "It is evidently a discovery of the first importance. These inscriptions will make a sensation throughout Europe." "For every one here there are a million there!" said the German. "There are so many that a dozen savants might spend a lifetime over
them, and build up a reputation as solid as the Castle of St. Angelo." Kennedy sat thinking with his fine forehead wrinkled and his fingers
playing with his long, fair moustache. "You have given yourself away, Burger!" said he at last. "Your words
can only apply to one thing. You have discovered a new catacomb." "I had no doubt that you had already come to that conclusion from an
examination of these objects." "Well, they certainly appeared to indicate it, but your last remarks
make it certain. There is no place except a catacomb which could
contain so vast a store of relics as you describe." "Quite so. There is no mystery about that. I HAVE discovered a new
catacomb." "Where?" "Ah, that is my secret, my dear Kennedy.