“What! I am in your way? That is your view of the matter; but it is you who are really the spoil-peace, the eternally restless storm who have so often come sweeping down on our idyllic calm. Of all the things, which remind us here of Rome, you are the most Roman. You have nothing but your little snub-nose to redeem you a little. But, by Hercules! when I see you bustling around here, I can picture to myself all the fevered turmoil of the great city[115] with its two million inhabitants. Well, I will taste the sea-breezes once more--once more, for a brief space, enjoy peace and quietness.” “How?” “I will wait for sunrise at the top of the hill, where the road turns down to Cumae. In Rome it rises through smoke and mist; while here--oh! how grandly and gloriously it mounts from behind the cone of Vesuvius....” “And rises there through smoke and mist!” laughed Lucilia. “Well, make haste and come back again, or we shall set off without you.” She turned once more to the slaves. Quintus wrapped himself in his ample lacerna,[116] waved his hand to her, and went out. The high-road was absolutely deserted; he drew a deep breath. It was a delicious morning. His wish to bid farewell, as it were, to the sun and air of Baiae was not affected; like all Romans he raved about the sea.[117] Its shore was to him the one real _Museion_--as Pliny the younger[118] had once expressed it--the true abode of the Muses, where the celestial powers seemed nearest to him; here, if anywhere, while watching the waves, he found time and opportunity for self-study and reflection. He had now been living with his family in their quiet villa ever since the end of April, and had spent many hours in serious meditation, in congenial literary pleasures and diligent study. He had once more learned the real value of retirement, which in Rome was so unattainable. A long winter of dissipation had left him satiated, and Baiae’s aromatic air, a simple existence in the bosom of his family, and the spirit of Greek poetry had combined to restore his palled senses and overexcited nerves. And now, as the moment of return approached, he was seized more and more with the old spirit of unrest. He felt that the omnipotent sway of that demon called Rome would drag him back again into the vortex of aimless tragi-comedy, and now a last glance at the smiling and slumbering sea was a positive craving of his heart.