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Cleopatra — Complete

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Title: Cleopatra — Complete

Author: Georg Ebers

Translator: Mary J. Safford


        
Release date: November 15, 2004 [eBook #5482]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5482

Credits: Produced by David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLEOPATRA — COMPLETE ***



Produced by David Widger


CLEOPATRA


By Georg Ebers

Translated from the German by
Mary J. Safford



CONTENTS

PREFACE.
CLEOPATRA

CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.



PREFACE.

If the author should be told that the sentimental love of our day was
unknown to the pagan world, he would not cite last the two lovers,
Antony and Cleopatra, and the will of the powerful Roman general, in
which he expressed the desire, wherever he might die, to be buried
beside the woman whom he loved to his latest hour. His wish was
fulfilled, and the love-life of these two distinguished mortals, which
belongs to history, has more than once afforded to art and poesy a
welcome subject.

In regard to Cleopatra, especially, life was surrounded with an
atmosphere of romance bordering on the fabulous. Even her bitterest foes
admire her beauty and rare gifts of intellect. Her character, on the
contrary, presents one of the most difficult problems of psychology. The
servility of Roman poets and authors, who were unwilling frankly to
acknowledge the light emanating so brilliantly from the foe of the state
and the Imperator, solved it to her disadvantage. Everything that bore
the name of Egyptian was hateful or suspicious to the Roman, and it was
hard to forgive this woman, born on the banks of the Nile, for having
seen Julius Cæsar at her feet and compelled Mark Antony to do her
bidding. Other historians, Plutarch at their head, explained the enigma
more justly, and in many respects in her favour.

It was a delightful task to the author to scan more closely the
personality of the hapless Queen, and from the wealth of existing
information shape for himself a creature in whom he could believe. Years
elapsed ere he succeeded; but now that he views the completed picture,
he thinks that many persons might be disposed to object to the
brightness of his colours. Yet it would not be difficult for the writer
to justify every shade which he has used. If, during his creative work,
he learned to love his heroine, it was because, the more distinctly he
conjured before his mind the image of this wonderful woman, the more
keenly he felt and the more distinctly he perceived how fully she
merited not only sympathy and admiration, but, in spite of all her sins
and weaknesses, the self-sacrificing affection which she inspired in so
many hearts.

It was an author of no less importance than Horace who called Cleopatra
"_non humilis mulier_"--a woman capable of no baseness. But the phrase
gains its greatest importance from the fact that it adorns the hymn
which the poet dedicated to Octavianus and his victory over Antony and
Cleopatra. It was a bold act, in such an ode, to praise the victor's
foe. Yet he did it, and his words, which are equivalent to a deed, are
among this greatly misjudged woman's fairest claims to renown.

Unfortunately it proved less potent than the opinion of Dio, who often
distorted what Plutarch related, but probably followed most closely the
farce or the popular tales which, in Rome, did not venture to show the
Egyptian in a favourable light.

The Greek Plutarch, who lived much nearer the period of our heroine than
Dio, estimated her more justly than most of the Roman historians. His
grandfather had heard many tales of both Cleopatra and Antony from his
countryman Philotas, who, during the brilliant days when they revelled
in Alexandria, had lived there as a student. Of all the writers who
describe the Queen, Plutarch is the most trustworthy, but even his
narrative must be used with caution. We have closely followed the clear
and comprehensive description given by Plutarch of the last days of our
heroine. It bears the impress of truth, and to deviate widely from it
would be arbitrary.

Unluckily, Egyptian records contain nothing which could have much weight
in estimating the character of Cleopatra, though we have likenesses
representing the Queen alone, or with her son Cæsarion. Very recently
(in 1892) the fragment of a colossal double statue was found in
Alexandria, which can scarcely be intended for any persons except
Cleopatra and Antony hand in hand. The upper part of the female figure
is in a state of tolerable preservation, and shows a young and
attractive face. The male figure was doubtless sacrificed to
Octavianus's command to destroy Antony's statues. We are indebted to
Herr Dr. Walther, in Alexandria, for an excellent photograph of this
remarkable piece of sculpture. Comparatively few other works of plastic
art, in which we here include coins, that could render us familiar with
our heroine's appearance, have been preserved.

Though the author must especially desire to render his creation a work
of art, it is also requisite to strive for fidelity. As the heroine's
portrait must reveal her true character, so the life represented here
must correspond in every line with the civilization of the period
described. For this purpose we placed Cleopatra in the centre of a
larger group of people, whom she influences, and who enable her
personality to be displayed in the various relations of life.

Should the author succeed in making the picture of the remarkable woman,
who was so differently judged, as "lifelike" and vivid as it stamped
itself upon his own imagination, he might remember with pleasure the
hours which he devoted to this book.


Georg Ebers

Tützing on the Starnberger See, _October 5, 1893_.



CLEOPATRA.



CHAPTER I.

Gorgias, the architect, had learned to bear the scorching sunbeams of
the Egyptian noonday. Though not yet thirty, he had directed--first as
his late father's assistant and afterwards as his successor--the
construction of the huge buildings erected by Cleopatra in Alexandria.

Now he was overwhelmed with commissions; yet he had come hither ere the
hours of work were over, merely to oblige a youth who had barely passed
the confines of boyhood.

True, the person for whom he made this sacrifice was Cæsarion, the son
whom Cleopatra had given to Julius Cæsar. Antony had honoured him with
the proud title of "King of kings"; yet he was permitted neither to rule
nor even to issue orders, for his mother kept him aloof from affairs of
state, and he himself had no desire to hold the sceptre.

Gorgias had granted his wish the more readily, because it was apparent
that he wanted to speak to him in private, though he had not the least
idea what Cæsarion desired to confide, and, under any circumstances, he
could give him only a brief interview. The fleet, at whose head the
Queen had set sail, with Mark Antony, for Greece, must have already met
Octavianus's galleys, and doubtless a battle wherein the destiny of the
world was decided had also been fought upon the land, Gorgias believed
that the victory would fall to Antony and the Queen, and wished the
noble pair success with his whole heart. He was even obliged to act as
if the battle had been already determined in their favour, for the
architectural preparations for the reception of the conquerors were
entrusted to his charge, and that very day must witness the decision of
the location of the colossal statues which represented Antony hand in
hand with his royal love.

The epitrop Mardion, a eunuch, who as Regent, represented Cleopatra; and
Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who rarely opposed him, wished to have the
piece of sculpture erected in a different place from the one he
favoured. The principal objection to the choice made by the powerful
head of the government was that it had fallen on land owned by a private
individual. This might lead to difficulties, and Gorgias opposed it. As
an artist, too, he did not approve Mardion's plan; for though, on
Didymus's land, the statues would have faced the sea, which the Regent
and the Keeper of the Seal regarded as very important, no fitting
background could have been obtained.

At any rate, the architect could now avail himself of Cæsarion's
invitation to overlook from the appointed place of meeting--the lofty
steps of the Temple of Isis--the Bruchium, and seek the best site for
the twin statues. He was anxious to select the most suitable one; the
master who had created this work of art had been his friend, and had
closed his eyes in death shortly after its completion.

The sanctuary whence Gorgias commenced his survey was in one of the
fairest portions of the Bruchium, the Alexandrian quarter, where stood
the royal palace with its extensive annexes, the finest temples--except
the Serapeum, situated in another part of the city--and the largest
theatres; the Forum invited the council of Macedonian citizens to its
assemblies, and the Museum afforded a resort for the scholars.

The little square closed in the east by the Temple of Isis was called
the "Corner of the Muses," on account of the two marble statues of women
before the entrance of the house, which, with its large garden facing
the square northward and extending along the sea, belonged to Didymus,
an old and highly respected scholar and member of the Museum.

The day had been hot, and the shade of the Temple of Isis was very
welcome to the architect. This sanctuary rested upon a lofty foundation,
and a long flight of steps led to the cella. The spot afforded Gorgias a
wide prospect.

Most of the buildings within his vision belonged to the time of
Alexander and his successors in the house of the Ptolemies, but some,
and by no means the least stately, were the work of Gorgias himself or
of his father. The artist's heart swelled with enthusiastic delight at
the sight of this portion of his native city.

He had been in Rome, and visited many other places numbered among the
world's fairest and most populous cities; but not one contained so many
superb works of art crowded together in so small a space.

"If one of the immortals themselves," he murmured, "should strive to
erect for the inhabitants of Olympus a quarter meet for their grandeur
and beauty, it could scarcely be much more superb or better fitted to
satisfy the artistic needs which we possess as their gift, and it would
surely be placed on the shore of such a sea."

While speaking, he shaded his keen eyes with his hand. The architect,
who usually devoted his whole attention to the single object that
claimed his notice, now permitted himself the pleasure of enjoying the
entire picture in whose finishing touches he had himself borne a part;
and, as his practised eye perceived in every temple and colonnade the
studied and finished harmony of form, and the admirable grouping of the
various buildings and statues, he said to himself, with a sigh of
satisfaction, that his own art was the noblest and building the highest
of royal pleasures. No doubt this belief was shared by the princes who,
three centuries before, had endeavoured to obtain an environment for
their palaces which should correspond with their vast power and
overflowing wealth, and at the same time give tangible expression to
their reverence for the gods and their delight in art and beauty. No
royal race in the universe could boast of a more magnificent abode.
These thoughts passed through Gorgias's mind as the deep azure hue of
sea and sky blended with the sunlight to bring into the strongest relief
all that the skill and brains of man, aided by exhaustless resources,
had here created.

Waiting, usually a hard task for the busy architect, became a pleasure
in this spot; for the rays streaming lavishly in all directions from the
diadem of the sovereign sun flooded with dazzling radiance the thousands
of white marble statues on the temples and colonnades, and were
reflected from the surfaces of the polished granite of the obelisks and
the equally smooth walls of the white, yellow, and green marble, the
syenite, and the brown, speckled porphyry of sanctuaries and palaces.
They seemed to be striving to melt the bright mosaic pictures which
covered every foot of the ground, where no highway intersected and no
tree shaded it, and flashed back again from the glimmering metal or the
smooth glaze in the gay tiles on the roofs of the temples and houses.
Here they glittered on the metal ornaments, yonder they seemed to be
trying to rival the brilliancy of the gilded domes, to lend to the
superb green of the tarnished bronze surfaces the sparkling lustre of
the emerald, or to transform the blue and red lines of the white marble
temples into lapis-lazuli and coral and their gilded decorations into
topaz. The pictures in the mosaic pavement of the squares, and on the
inner walls of the colonnades, were doubly effective against the light
masses of marble surrounding them, which in their turn were indebted to
the pictures for affording the eye an attractive variety instead of
dazzling monotony.

Here the light of the weltering sun enhanced the brilliancy of colour in
the flags and streamers which fluttered beside the obelisks and Egyptian
pylons, over the triumphal arches and the gates of the temples and
palaces. Yet even the exquisite purplish blue of the banner waving above
the palace on the peninsula of Lochias, now occupied by Cleopatra's
children, was surpassed by the hue of the sea, whose deep azure near the
shore merged far away into bands of lighter and darker blue, blending
with dull or whitish green.

Gorgias was accustomed to grasp fully whatever he permitted to influence
him, and though still loyal to his custom of associating with his art
every remarkable work of the gods or man, he had not forgotten in his
enjoyment of the familiar scene the purpose of his presence in this
spot.

No, the garden of Didymus was _not_ the proper place for his friend's
last work.

While gazing at the lofty plane, sycamore, and mimosa trees which
surrounded the old scholar's home, the quiet square below him suddenly
became astir with noisy life, for all classes of the populace were
gathering in front of the sequestered house, as if some unusual
spectacle attracted them.

What could they want of the secluded philosopher?

Gorgias gazed earnestly at them, but soon turned away again; a gay voice
from below called his name.

A singular procession had approached the temple--a small body of armed
men, led by a short, stout fellow, whose big head, covered with bushy
curls, was crowned with a laurel wreath. He was talking eagerly to a
younger man, but had paused with the others in front of the sanctuary to
greet the architect. The latter shouted a few pleasant words in reply.
The laurel-crowned figure made a movement as if he intended to join him,
but his companion checked him, and, after a short parley, the older man
gave the younger one his hand, flung his heavy head back, and strutted
onward like a peacock, followed by his whole train.

The other looked after him, shrugging his shoulders; then called to
Gorgias, asking what boon he desired from the goddess.

"Your presence," replied the architect blithely.

"Then Isis will show herself gracious to you," was the answer, and the
next instant the two young men cordially grasped each other's hands.

Both were equally tall and well formed; the features bore witness to
their Greek origin; nay, they might have been taken for brothers, had
not the architect's whole appearance seemed sturdier and plainer than
that of his companion, whom he called "Dion" and friend. As the latter
heaped merry sarcasms upon the figure wearing the laurel wreath who had
just left him, Anaxenor, the famous zither-player, on whom Antony had
bestowed the revenues of four cities and permission to keep body-guard,
and Gorgias's deeper voice sometime assented, sometimes opposed with
sensible objections, the difference between these two men of the same
age and race became clearly apparent.

Both showed a degree of self-reliance unusual, at their age; but the
architect's was the assurance which a man gains by toil and his own
merit, Dion's that which is bestowed by large possession and a high
position in society. Those who were ignorant that the weight of Dion's
carefully prepared speech had more than once turned the scale in the
city councils would probably have been disposed to take him for one of
the careless worldlings who had no lack of representatives among the
gilded youth of Alexandria; while the architect's whole exterior, from
his keen eye to the stouter leather of his sandals, revealed earnest
purpose and unassuming ability.

Their friendship had commenced when Gorgias built a new palace for Dion.
During long business association people become well acquainted, even
though their conversations relate solely to direction and execution. But
in this case, he who gave the orders had been only the inspirer and
adviser, the architect the warm-hearted friend, eager to do his utmost
to realize what hovered before the other's mind as the highest
attainable excellence. So the two young men became first dear, and
finally almost indispensable to each other. As the architect discovered
in the wealthy man of the world many qualities whose existence he had
not suspected, the latter was agreeably surprised to find in the artist,
associated with his solidity of character, a jovial companion, who--this
first made him really beloved by his friend--had no lack of weaknesses.

When the palace was completed to Dion's satisfaction and became one of
the most lauded ornaments of the city, the young men's friendship
assumed a new form, and it would have been difficult to say which
received the most benefit.

Dion had just been stopped by the zither-player to ask for confirmation
of the tidings that the united forces of Antony and Cleopatra had gained
a great victory on sea and land.

In the eating-house at Kanopus, where he had breakfasted, everyone was
full of the joyful news, and rivers of wine had been drunk to the health
of the victors and the destruction of the malicious foe.

"In these days," cried Dion, "not only weak-brained fellows, like the
zither-player, believe me omniscient, but many sensible men also. And
why? Because, forsooth, I am the nephew of Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal,
who is on the brink of despair because he himself knows nothing, not
even the veriest trifle."

"Yet he stands nearest to the Regent," observed Gorgias, "and must
learn, if any one does, how the fleet fares."

"You too!" sighed his friend. "Had I been standing so far above the
ground as you, the architect--by the dog, I should not have failed to
note the quarter whence the wind blew! It has been southerly a whole
fortnight, and keeps back the galleys coming from the north. The Regent
knows nothing, absolutely nothing, and my uncle, of course, no more. But
if they do learn anything they will be shrewd enough not to enrich me
with it."

"True, there are other rumours afloat," said the architect thoughtfully.
"If I were in Mardion's place----"

"Thank the Olympians that you are not," laughed his companion. "He has
as many cares as a fish has scales. And one, the greatest.--That pert
young Antyllus was over-ready with his tongue yesterday at Barine's.
Poor fellow! He'll have to answer for it to his tutor at home."

"You mean the remark about the Queen's accompanying the fleet?"

"St!" said Dion, putting his finger on his lips, for many men and women
were now ascending the temple steps. Several carried flowers and cakes,
and the features of most expressed joyful emotion. The news of the
victory had reached their ears, and they wanted to offer sacrifices to
the goddess whom Cleopatra, "the new Isis," preferred to all others.

The first court-yard of the sanctuary was astir with life. They could
hear the ringing of the sistrum bells and the murmuring chant of the
priests. The quiet fore-court of the little temple of the goddess, which
here, in the Greek quarter of palaces, had as few visitors as the great
Temple of Isis in the Rhakotis was overcrowded, had now become the worst
possible rendezvous for men who stood so near the rulers of the
government. The remark made about the Queen the evening before by
Antyllus, Antony's nineteen-year-old son, at the house of Barine, a
beautiful young woman who attracted all the prominent men in Alexandria,
was the more imprudent because it coincided with the opinion of all the
wisest heads. The reckless youth enthusiastically reverenced his father,
but Cleopatra, the object of Antony's love, and--in the Egyptians'
eyes--his wife, was not Antyllus's mother. He was the son of Fulvia, his
father's first wife, and feeling himself a Roman, would have preferred a
thousand times to live on the banks of the Tiber. Besides, it was
certain--Antony's stanchest friends made no attempt to conceal the
fact--that the Queen's presence with the army exerted a disturbing
influence, and could not fail to curb the daring courage of the brave
general. Antyllus, with the reckless frankness inherited from his
father, had expressed this view in the presence of all Barine's guests,
and in a form which would be only too quickly spread throughout
Alexandria, whose inhabitants relished such speeches.

These remarks would be slow in reaching the plain people who were
attracted to the temple by the news of the victory, yet many doubtless
knew Cæsarion, whom the architect was awaiting here. It would be wiser
to meet the prince at the foot of the steps. Both men, therefore, went
down to the square, though the crowds seeking the temple and thronging
the space before Didymus's house made it more and more difficult to pace
to and fro.

They were anxious to learn whether the rumour that Didymus's garden was
to be taken for the twin statues had already spread abroad, and their
first questions revealed that this was the case. It was even stated that
the old sage's house was to be torn down, and within a few hours. This
was vehemently contradicted; but a tall, scrawny man seemed to have
undertaken to defend the ruler's violence.

The friends knew him well. It was the Syrian Philostratus, a clever
extempore speaker and agitator of the people, who placed his clever
tongue at the disposal of the highest bidder.

"The rascal is probably now in my uncle's employ," said Dion. "The
idea of putting the piece of sculpture there originated with him, and
it is difficult to turn him from such plans. There is some secret
object to be gained here. That is why they have brought Philostratus.
I wonder if the conspiracy is connected in any way with Barine, whose
husband--unfortunately for her--he was before he cast her off."

"Cast her off!" exclaimed Gorgias wrathfully. "How that sounds! True, he
did it, but to persuade him the poor woman sacrificed half the fortune
her father had earned by his brush. You know as well as I that life with
that scoundrel would be unbearable."

"Very true," replied Dion quietly. "But as all Alexandria melted into
admiration after her singing of the _yalemos_ at the Adonis festival,
she no longer needed her contemptible consort."

"How can you take pleasure, whenever it is possible, in casting such
slurs upon a woman, whom but yesterday you called blameless, charming,
peerless?"

"That the light she sheds may not dazzle your eyes. I know how sensitive
they are."

"Then spare, instead of irritating them. Besides, your suggestion gives
food for thought Barine is the granddaughter of the man whose garden
they want, and the advocate would probably be glad to injure both. But
I'll spoil his game. It is _my_ business to choose the site for the
statues."

"Yours?" replied Dion. "Unless some one who is more powerful opposes
you. I would try to win my uncle, but there are others superior to him.
The Queen has gone, it is true; but Iras, whose commands do not die away
in empty air, told me this morning that she had her own ideas about the
erection of the statue."

"Then you bring Philostratus here!" cried the architect.

"I?" asked the other in amazement.

"Ay, you," asserted Gorgias. "Did not you say that Iras, with whom you
played when a boy is now becoming troublesome by watching your every
step? And then--you visit Barine constantly and she so evidently prefers
you, that the fact might easily reach the ears of Iras."

"As Argus has a hundred, jealousy has a thousand eyes," interrupted
Dion, "yet I seek nothing from Barine, save two pleasant hours when the
day is drawing towards its close. No matter; Iras, I suppose, heard that
I was favoured by this much-admired woman. Iras herself has some little
regard for me, so she bought Philostratus. She is willing to pay
something for the sake of injuring the woman who stands between us, or
the old man who has the good or evil fortune of being her rival's
grandfather. No, no; that would be too base! And believe me, if Iras
desired to ruin Barine, she need not make so long a circuit. Besides,
she is not really a wicked woman. Or is she? All I know is that where
any advantage is to be gained for the Queen, she does not shrink even
from doubtful means, and also that the hours speed swiftly for any one
in her society. Yes, Iras, Iras--I like to utter the name. Yet I do not
love her, and she--loves only herself, and--a thing few can say--another
still more. What is the world, what am I to her, compared with the
Queen, the idol of her heart? Since Cleopatra's departure, Iras seems
like the forsaken Ariadne, or a young roe which has strayed from its
mother. But stop; she may have a hand in the game: the Queen trusted her
as if she were her sister, her daughter. No one knows what she and
Charmian are to her. They are called waiting-women, but are their
sovereign's dearest friends. When, on the departure of the fleet,
Cleopatra was compelled to leave Iras here--she was ill with a
fever--she gave her the charge of her children, even those whose beards
were beginning to grow, the 'King of kings' Cæsarion, whose tutor
punishes him for every act of disobedience; and the unruly lad Antyllus,
who has forced his way the last few evenings into our friend's house."

"Antony, his own father, introduced him to her."

"Very true, and Antyllus took Cæsarion there. This vexed Iras, like
everything which may disturb the Queen. Barine is troublesome on account
of Cleopatra, whom she wishes to spare every annoyance, and perhaps she
dislikes her a little for my sake. Now she wants to inflict on the old
man, Barine's grandfather, whom she loves, some injury which the
spoiled, imprudent woman will scarcely accept quietly, and which will
rouse her to commit some folly that can be used against her. Iras will
hardly seek her life, but she may have in mind exile or something of
that kind. She knows people as well as I know her, my neighbour and
playmate, whom many a time I was obliged to lift down from some tree
into which the child had climbed as nimbly as a kitten."

"I myself suggested this conjecture, yet I cannot credit her with such
unworthy intrigues," cried Gorgias.

"Credit her?" repeated Dion, shrugging his shoulders. "I only transport
myself in imagination to the court and to the soul of the woman who
helps make rain and sunshine there. You have columns rounded and beams
hewed that they may afterwards support the roof to which in due time you
wish to direct attention. She and all who have a voice in the management
of court affairs look first at the roof and then seek anything to raise
and support it, though it should be corpses, ruined lives, and broken
hearts. The point is that the roof shall stand until the architect, the
Queen, sees and approves it. As to the rest---- But there is the
carriage---- It doubtless brings---- You were----"

He paused, laid his hand on his friend's arm, and whispered hastily:
"Iras is undoubtedly at the bottom of this, and it is not Antyllus, but
yonder dreaming lad, for whom she is moving. When she spoke of the
statues just now, she asked in the same breath where I had seen him on
the evening of the day before yesterday, and that was the very time he
called on Barine. The plot was made by her, and Iras is doing all the
work. The mouse is not caught while the trap is closed, and she is just
raising her little hand to open it."

"If only she does not use some man's hand," replied the architect
wrathfully, and then turned towards the carriage and the elderly man who
had just left it, and was now approaching the two friends.



CHAPTER II.

When Cæsarion's companion reached Dion and Gorgias, the former modestly
made a movement to retire. But Archibius was acquainted with both, and
begged him to remain. There was an air of precision and clearness in the
voice and quiet movements of this big, broad-shouldered man, with his
robust frame and well-developed limbs. Though only a few years beyond
forty, not merely his grey hair but the calm, impressive dignity of his
whole manner indicated a more advanced age.

"The young King yonder," he began in a deep, musical voice, motioning
towards the equipage, "wished to speak to you here in person, Gorgias,
but by my advice he refrained from mingling with the crowd. I have
brought him hither in a closed carriage. If the plan suits you, enter it
and talk with him while I keep watch here. Strange things seem to be
occurring, and yonder--or am I mistaken? Has the monster dragged along
there any connection with the twin statues of the Queen and her friend?
Was it you who selected that place for them?"

"No," replied the architect. "The order was issued over my head and
against my will."

"I thought so," replied the other. "This is the very matter of which
Cæsarion wishes to speak. If you can prevent the erection of the
statues on Didymus's land, so much the better. I will do everything in
my power to aid you, but in the Queen's absence that is little."

"Then what can be said of _my_ influence?" asked the architect. "Who, in
these days, knows whether the sky will be blue or grey to-morrow? I can
guarantee one thing only: I will do my best to prevent this injury of an
estimable citizen, interference with the laws of our city, and violation
of good taste."

"Say so to the young King, but express yourself cautiously," replied
Archibius as the architect turned towards the carriage.

As soon as Dion and the older man were alone, the latter inquired the
cause of the increasing uproar, and as, like every well-disposed
Alexandrian, he esteemed Archibius, and knew that he was intimately
acquainted with the owner of the imperilled garden, and therefore with
his granddaughter Barine, he confided his anxiety to him without
reserve.

"Iras is your niece, it is true," he said in his open-hearted manner,
"but I know that you understand her character. It suits her now to fling
a golden apple into the path of a person whom she dislikes and believes
incautious, that she may pick it up and thus afford her an opportunity
to bring a charge of theft."

Noting the inquiring glance Archibius fixed upon him as he made this
comparison, he changed his tone and continued more earnestly: "Zeus is
great, but destiny is superior even to him. Zeus can accomplish much,
but when Iras and your sister Charmian, who unfortunately is now with
the Queen, wish to effect anything, he, like the Regent Mardion, must
give way. The more lovable Cleopatra is, the more surely every one
prizes a position near her person above aught else, especially such
trifles as law and justice."

"These are harsh words," responded Archibius, "and seem the more bitter
in proportion to the germ of truth which they contain. Our court shares
the fate of every other in the East, and those to whom Rome formerly set
the example of holding law and justice sacred----"

"Can now go there," interrupted Dion, "to learn how rudely both are
trampled under foot. The sovereigns here and there may smile at one
another like the augurs. They are like brothers----"

"But with the difference," Archibius broke in, "that the head of our
public affairs is the very embodiment of affability and grace; while in
Rome, on the contrary, harsh severity and bloody arrogance, or even
repulsive servility, guide the reins."

Here Archibius interrupted himself to point to the shouting throng
advancing towards them. "You are right," Dion answered. "Let us defer
this discussion till we can pursue it in the house of the charming
Barine. But I rarely meet you there, though by blood you are so nearly
allied to her father. I am her friend--at my age that might easily mean
her lover. But in our case the comparison would not suit. Yet perhaps
you will believe me, for you have the right to call yourself the friend
of the most bewitching of women."

A sorrowful smile flitted over the grave, set features of the older man,
who, raising his hand as if in protest, answered carelessly: "I grew up
with Cleopatra, but a private citizen loves a queen only as a divinity.
I believe in your friendship for Barine, though I deem it dangerous."

"If you mean that it might injure the lovely woman," replied Dion,
raising his head more proudly as if to intimate that he required no
warning, even from him, "perhaps you are right. Only I beg you not to
misunderstand me. I am not vain enough to suppose that I could win her
heart, but unfortunately there are many who cannot forgive the power of
attraction which she exerts over me as well as upon all. So many men
gladly visit Barine's house that there are an equal number of women who
would rejoice to close it. Among them, of course, is Iras. She dislikes
my friend; nay, I fear that what you witness yonder is the apple she
flung in order, if not to ruin, at least to drive her from the city, ere
the Queen--may the gods grant her victory!--ere Cleopatra returns. You
know your niece Iras. Like your sister Charmian, she will shrink from
nothing to remove an annoyance from her mistress's pathway, and it will
hardly please Cleopatra when she learns that the two youths whose
welfare lies nearest her heart--Antyllus and Cæsarion--seek Barine's
house, no matter how stainless the latter's reputation may be."

"I have just heard of it," replied Archibius, "and I, too, am anxious.
Antony's son has inherited much of his father's insatiable love of
pleasure. But Cæsarion! He has not yet ventured out of the dreamland
which surrounds him into actual life. What others scarcely perceive
deals him a serious blow. I fear Eros is sharpening arrows for him which
will pierce deep into his heart. While talking with me he seemed
strangely changed. His dreamy eyes glittered like a drunkard's when he
spoke of Barine. I fear, I fear----"

"Impossible!" cried Dion, in surprise, nay, almost terror. "If that is
the case, Iras is not wholly wrong, and we must deal with the matter
differently. But it is of the first importance to conceal the fact that
Cæsarion has any interest in the affairs of the old house-owner. To
seek to maintain the old man's right to his own property is a matter of
course, and I will undertake to do this and try to get yonder orator
home---- Just see how the braggart is swinging his arms in Iras's
service! As for Barine, it will be well to induce her to leave of her
own free will a city where it will be made unpleasant for her. Try to
persuade her to pursue this course. If I went to her with such a
suggestion, I, who yesterday---- No, no! Besides, she might hear that
Iras and I---- She would imagine all sorts of absurdities. You know what
jealousy means. To you, whom she esteems, she would surely listen, and
she need not go far from the city. If the heart of this enthusiastic
boy--who might some day desire to be 'King of kings' not only in
name--should really be fired with love for Barine, what serious
misfortune might follow! We must secure her from him. She could not go
to my country house among the papyrus plantations at Sebennys. It would
afford too much license for evil tongues. But you--your villa at Kanopus
is too near--but, if I am not mistaken, you have----"

"My estate in the lake region is remote enough, and will be at her
disposal," interrupted the other. "The house is always kept ready for my
reception. I will do my best to persuade her, for your advice is
prudent. She must be withdrawn from the boy's eyes."

"I shall learn the result of your mission tomorrow," cried Dion
eagerly--"nay, this evening. If she consents, I will tell Iras, as if by
accident, that Barine has gone to Upper Egypt to drink new milk, or
something of that kind. Iras is a shrewd woman, and will be glad if she
can keep aloof from such trifles during the time which will decide the
fate of Cleopatra and of the world."

"My thoughts, too, are always with the army," said Archibius. "How
trivial everything else seems compared with the result which will be
determined in the next few days! But life is made up of trifles. They
are food, drink, maintenance. Should the Queen return triumphant, and
find Cæsarion in wrong paths----"

"We must close them against him," exclaimed Dion.

"That the boy may not follow Barine?" asked Archibius, shaking his head.
"I think we need feel no anxiety on that score. He will doubtless
eagerly desire to do so, but with him there is a wide gulf between the
wish and its fulfilment. Antyllus is differently constituted. He would
be quite capable of ordering a horse to be saddled, or the sails of a
boat to be spread in order to pursue her--beyond the Cataract if
necessary. So we must maintain the utmost secrecy concerning the place
to which Barine voluntarily exiles herself."

"But she is not yet on her way," replied Dion with a faint sigh. "She is
bound to this city by many ties."

"I know it," answered Archibius, confirming his companion's fear. The
latter, pointing to the equipage, said in a rapid, earnest tone:
"Gorgias is beckoning. But, before we part, let me beseech you to do
everything to persuade Barine to leave here. She is in serious danger.
Conceal nothing from her, and say that her friends will not leave her
too long in solitude."

Archibius, with a significant glance, shook his finger at the young man
in playful menace, and then went up to the carriage.

Cæsarion's clear-cut but pallid face, whose every feature resembled
that of his father, the great Cæsar, bent towards them from the opening
above the door, as he greeted both with a formal bend of the head and a
patronizing glance. His eyes had sparkled with boyish glee when he first
caught sight of the friend from whom he had been separated several
weeks, but to the stranger he wished to assume the bearing which
beseemed a king. He desired to make him feel his superior position, for
he was ill-disposed towards him. He had seen him favoured by the woman
whom he imagined he loved, and whose possession he had been promised by
the secret science of the Egyptians, whose power to unveil the mysteries
of the future he firmly believed. Antyllus, Antony's son, had taken him
to Barine, and she had received him with the consideration due his rank.
Spite of her bright graciousness, boyish timidity had hitherto prevented
any word of love to the young beauty whom he saw surrounded by so many
distinguished men of mature years. Yet his beaming, expressive eyes must
have revealed his feelings to her. Doubtless his glances had not been
unobserved, for only a few hours before an Egyptian woman had stopped
him at the temple of his father, Cæsar, to which, according to the
fixed rules governing the routine of his life, he went daily at a
certain hour to pray, to offer sacrifices, to anoint the stone of the
altar, or to crown the statue of the departed emperor.

Cæsarion had instantly recognized her as the female slave whom he had
seen in Barine's atrium, and ordered his train to fall back.

Fortunately his tutor, Rhodon, had not fulfilled his duty of
accompanying him. So the youth had ventured to follow the slave woman,
and in the shadow of the mimosas, in the little grove beside the temple,
he found Barine's litter. His heart throbbed violently as, full of
anxious expectation, he obeyed her signal to draw nearer. Still, she had
granted him nothing save the favour of gratifying one of her wishes. But
his heart had swelled almost to bursting when, resting her beautiful
white arm on the door of her litter, she had told him that unjust men
were striving to rob her grandfather Didymus of his garden, and she
expected him, who bore the title of the "King of kings" to do his best
to prevent such a crime.

It had been difficult for him to grasp her meaning while she was
speaking. There was a roaring sound in his ears as if, instead of being
in the silent temple grove, he was standing on a stormy day upon the
surf-beaten promontory of Lochias. He had not ventured to raise his eyes
and look into her face. Not until she closed with the question whether
she might hope for his assistance did her gaze constrain him to glance
up. Ah, what had he not fancied he read in her imploring blue eyes! how
unspeakably beautiful she had appeared!

He had stood before her as if bereft of his senses. His sole knowledge
was that he had promised, with his hand on his heart, to do everything
in his power to prevent what threatened to cause her pain. Then her
little hand, with its sparkling rings, was again stretched towards him,
and he had resolved to kiss it; but while he glanced around at his
train, she had already waved him a farewell, and the litter was borne
away.

He stood motionless, like the figure of a man on one of his mother's
ancient vases, staring in bewilderment after the flying figure of
Happiness, whom he might easily have caught by her floating locks. How
he raged over the miserable indecision which had defrauded him of so
much joy! Yet nothing was really lost. If he succeeded in fulfilling her
wishes, she could not fail to be grateful; and then----

He pondered over the person to whom he should apply--Mardion, the
Regent, or the Keeper of the Seal? No, they had planned the erection of
the group of sculpture in the philosopher's garden. To Iras, his
mother's confidante? Nay, last of all to her. The cunning woman would
have perceived his purpose and betrayed it to the Regent. Ah, if
Charmian, his mother's other attendant, had been present! but she was
with the fleet, which perhaps was even now engaged in battle with the
enemy.

At this recollection his eyes again sought the ground--he had not been
permitted to take the place in the army to which his birth entitled him,
while his mother and Charmian---- But he did not pursue this painful
current of thought; for a serious reproach had forced itself upon him
and sent the blood to his cheeks. He wished to be considered a man, and
yet, in these fateful days, which would determine the destiny of his
mother, his native city, Egypt, and that Rome which he, the only son of
Cæsar, was taught to consider his heritage, he was visiting a beautiful
woman, thinking of her, and of her alone. His days and half the nights
were passed in forming plans for securing her love, forgetful of what
should have occupied his whole heart.

Only yesterday Iras had sharply admonished him that, in times like
these, it was the duty of every friend of Cleopatra, and every foe of
her foes, to be with the army at least in mind.

He had remembered this, but, instead of heeding the warning, the thought
of her had merely recalled her uncle, Archibius, who possessed great
influence, not merely on account of his wealth but because every one
also knew his high standing in the regard of the Queen. Besides, the
clever, kindly man had always been friendly to him from childhood, and
like a revelation came the idea of applying to him, and to the architect
Gorgias, who had a voice in the matter, and by whom he had been strongly
attracted during the period while he was rebuilding the wing assigned to
the prince in the palace at Lochias.

So one of the attendants was instantly despatched with the little tablet
which invited Gorgias to the interview at the Temple of Isis.

Then, in the afternoon, Cæsarion went secretly in a boat to the little
palace of Archibius, situated on the seashore at Kanopus, and now as the
latter, with his friend, stood beside the carriage door, he explained to
them that he was going with the architect to old Didymus to assure him
of his assistance.

This was unadvisable in every respect, but it required all the weight of
the older man's reasons to induce the prince to yield. The consequences
which might ensue, should the populace discover that he was taking sides
against the Regent, would be incalculable. But submission and withdrawal
were especially difficult to the young "King of kings." He longed to
pose as a man in Dion's presence, and as this could not be, he strove to
maintain the semblance of independence by yielding his resolve only on
the plea of not desiring to injure the aged scholar and his
granddaughter. Finally, he again entreated the architect to secure
Didymus in the possession of his property. When at last he drove away
with Archibius, twilight was already gathering, torches were lighted in
front of the temple and the little mausoleum adjoining the cella, and
pitch-pans were blazing in the square.



CHAPTER III.

"The lad is in an evil plight," said Gorgias, shaking his head
thoughtfully as the equipage rolled over the stone pavement of the
Street of the King.

"And over yonder," added Dion, "the prospect is equally unpleasing.
Philostratus is setting the people crazy. But the hired mischief-maker
will soon wish he had been less ready to seize Iras's gold coins."

"And to think," cried the architect, "that Barine was this scoundrel's
wife! How could it be----"

"She was but a child when they married her," interrupted Dion. "Who
consults a girl of fifteen in the choice of a husband? And
Philostratus--he was my classmate at Rhodus--at that time had the
fairest prospects. His brother Alexas, Antony's favourite, could easily
advance him. Barine's father was dead, her mother was accustomed to
follow Didymus's counsel, and the clever fellow had managed to strew
dust in the old man's eyes. Long and lank as he is, he is not
bad-looking even now. When he appeared as an orator he pleased his
hearers. This turned his head, and a spendthrift's blood runs in his
veins. To bring his fair young bride to a stately mansion, he undertook
the bad cause of the thievish tax-collector Pyrrhus, and cleared him."

"He bought a dozen false witnesses."

"There were sixteen. Afterwards they became as numerous as the open
mouths you see shouting yonder. It is time to silence them. Go to the
old man's house and soothe him--Barine also, if she is there. If you
find messengers from the Regent, raise objections to the unprecedented
decree. You know the portions of the law which can be turned to
Didymus's advantage."

"Since the reign of Euergetes II, registered landed property has been
unassailable, and his was recorded."

"So much the better. Tell the officials also, confidentially, that you
know of objections just discovered which may perhaps change the Regent's
views."

"And, above all, I shall insist upon my right to choose the place for
the twin statues. The Queen herself directed the others to heed my
opinion."

"That will cast the heaviest weight into the scale. We shall meet later.
You will prefer to keep away from Barine to-night. If you see her, tell
her that Archibius said he would visit her later--for an object I will
explain afterwards. I shall probably go to Iras to bring her to reason.
It will be better not to mention Cæsarion's wish."

"Certainly--and you will give nothing to yonder brawler."

"On the contrary. I feel very generous. If Peitho will aid me, the
insatiate fellow will get more than may be agreeable to him."

Then grasping the architect's hand, Dion forced his way through the
throng surrounding the high platform on wheels, upon which the closely
covered piece of sculpture had been rolled up. The gate of the scholar's
house stood open, for an officer in the Regent's service had really
entered a short time before, but the Scythian guards sent by the
exegetus Demetrius, one of Barine's friends, were keeping back the
throng of curious spectators.

Their commander knew Gorgias, and he was soon standing in the impluvium
of the scholar's house, an oblong, roofless space, with a fountain in
the centre, whose spray moistened the circular bed of flowers around it.
The old slave had just lighted some three-branched lamps which burned on
tall stands. The officers sent by the Regent to inform Didymus that his
garden would be converted into a public square had just arrived.

When Gorgias entered, these magistrates, their clerks, and the witnesses
accompanying them--a group of twenty men, at whose head was Apollonius,
a distinguished officer of the royal treasury--were in the house. The
slave who admitted the architect informed him of it.

In the atrium a young girl, doubtless a member of the household, stopped
him. He was not mistaken in supposing that she was Helena, Didymus's
younger granddaughter, of whom Barine had spoken. True, she resembled
her sister neither in face nor figure, for while the young matron's hair
was fair and waving, the young girl's thick black tresses were wound
around her head in a smooth braid. Very unlike Barine's voice, too, were
the deep, earnest tones trembling with emotion, in which she confronted
him with the brief question, concealing a faint reproach, "Another
demand?"

After first ascertaining that he was really speaking to Helena, his
friend's sister, he hastily told her his name, adding that, on the
contrary, he had come to protect her grandfather from a serious
misfortune.

When his glance first rested upon her in the dimly lighted room, the
impression she made upon him was by no means favourable. The pure brow,
which seemed to him too high for a woman's face, wore an indignant
frown; and though her mouth was beautiful in form, its outlines were
often marred by a passionate tremor that lent the exquisitely chiselled
features a harsh, nay, bitter expression. But she had scarcely heard the
motive of his presence ere, pressing her hand upon her bosom with a sigh
of relief, she eagerly exclaimed:

"Oh, do what you can to avert this terrible deed! No one knows how the
old man loves this house. And my grandmother! They will die if it is
taken from them."

Her large eyes rested upon him with a warm, imploring light; and the
stern, almost repellent voice thrilled with love for her relatives. He
must lend his aid here, and how gladly he would do so! He assured her of
this; and Helena, who had heard him mentioned as a man of ability, saw
in him a helper in need, and begged him, with touching fervour, to show
her grandfather, when he came before the officers, that all was not
lost.

The astonished architect asked if Didymus did not know what was
impending, and Helena hastily replied:

"He is working in the summer-house by the sea. Apollonius is a
kind-hearted man, and will wait until I have prepared my grandfather. I
must go to him. He has already sent Philotas--his pupil, who finds and
unrolls his books--a dozen times to inquire the cause of the tumult
outside; but I replied that the crowds were flocking to the harbour on
account of the Queen. There is often a mob shouting madly; but nothing
disturbs my grandfather when he is absorbed in his work; and his
pupil--a young student from Amphissa--loves him and does what I bid him.
My grandmother, too, knows nothing yet. She is deaf, and the female
slaves dare not tell her. After her recent attack of giddiness, the
doctor said that any sudden shock might injure her. If only I can find
the right words, that my grandfather may not be too sorely hurt!"

"Shall I accompany you?" asked Gorgias kindly.

"No," she answered hurriedly. "He needs time ere he will trust
strangers. Only, if Apollonius discloses the terrible truth, and his
grief threatens to overpower him, comfort him, and show him that we
still have friends who are ready to protect us from such disaster."

She waved her hand in token of gratitude, and hurried through the little
side gate into the garden.

Gorgias looked after her with sparkling eyes, and drew a long breath.
How good this girl must be, how wisely she cared for her relatives! How
energetically the young creature behaved! He had seen his new
acquaintance only in the dim light, but she must be beautiful. Her eyes,
lips, and hair certainly were. How his heart throbbed as he asked
himself the question whether this young girl, who was endowed with every
gift which constituted the true worth of womanhood, was not preferable
to her more attractive sister Barine!--when the thought darted through
his mind that he had cause to be grateful to the beard which covered his
chin and cheeks, for he felt that he, a sedate, mature man, must have
blushed. And he knew why. Only half an hour before he had felt and
admitted to Dion that he considered Barine the most desirable of women,
and now another's image cast a deep shadow over hers and filled his
heart with new, perhaps stronger emotions.

He had had similar experiences only too often, and his friends, Dion at
their head, had perceived his weakness and spoiled many an hour for him
by their biting jests. The series of tall and short, fair and dark
beauties who had fired his fancy was indeed of considerable length, and
every one on whom he had bestowed his quickly kindled affections had
seemed to him the one woman he must make his own, if he would be a happy
man. But ere he had reached the point of offering his hand, the question
had arisen in his mind whether he might not love another still more
ardently. So he had begun to persuade himself that his heart yearned for
no individual, but the whole sex--at least the portion which was young
and could feel love--and therefore he would scarcely be wise to bind
himself to any one. True, he knew that he was capable of fidelity, for
he clung to his friends with changeless loyalty, and was ready to make
any sacrifice in their behalf. With women, however, he dealt
differently. Was Helena's image, which now floated before him so
bewitchingly, destined to fade as swiftly? The contrary would have been
remarkable. Yet he firmly believed that this time Eros meant honestly by
him. The laughing loves who twined their rose garlands around him and
Helena's predecessors had nothing to do with this grave maiden.

These reflections darted through his brain with the speed of lightning,
and still stirred his heart when he was ushered into the impluvium,
where the magistrates were impatiently awaiting the owner of the house.
With the lucidity peculiar to him, he explained his reasons for hoping
that their errand would be vain, and Apollonius replied that no one
would rejoice more than he himself if the Regent should authorize him,
on the morrow, to countermand his mission. He would gladly wait there
longer to afford the old man's granddaughter an opportunity to soften
the tidings of the impending misfortune.

The kind-hearted man's patience, however, was not tested too long; for
when Helena entered the summer-house Didymus had already been informed
of the disaster which threatened him and his family. The philosopher
Euphranor, an elderly member of the Museum, had reached him through the
garden gate, and, spite of Philotas's warning sign, told him what was
occurring. But Didymus knew the old philosopher, who, a recluse from the
world like himself, was devoting the remainder of his life and strength
to the pursuit of science. So he only shook his head incredulously,
pushed back the thin locks of grey hair which hung down on his cheeks
over the barest part of his skull, and exclaimed reproachfully, though
as if the matter under discussion was of the most trivial importance:
"What have you been hearing? We'll see about it!"

He had risen as he spoke, and too abruptly surprised by the news to
remember the sandals on the mat and the upper robe which lay on a chest
of drawers at the end of the room, he was in the act of quitting it,
when his friend, who had silently watched his movements, stopped him,
and Helena entered.

The grey-haired sage turned to her, and, vexed by his friend's doubts,
begged her to convince her grandfather that even matters which do not
please us may nevertheless be of some importance. She did so as
considerately as possible, thinking meanwhile of the architect and his
hopes.

Didymus, with his eyes bent on the ground, shook his grey head again and
again. Then, suddenly raising it, he rushed to the door, and without
heeding the upper garment which Helena still held in her hand, tore it
open, shouting, "But things must and shall be changed!"

Euphranor and his granddaughter followed. Though his head was bowed, he
crossed the little garden with a swift, firm tread, and, without
noticing the questions and warnings of his companions, walked at once to
the impluvium. The bright light dazzled his weakened eyes, and his habit
of gazing into vacancy or on the ground compelled him to glance from
side to side for some time, ere he could accustom himself to it.
Apollonius approached, greeted him respectfully, and assured him that he
deeply regretted having interrupted him in the work for which the whole
world was waiting, but he had come on important business.

"I know, I know," the old scholar answered with a smile of superiority.
"What is all this ado about?"

As he spoke he looked around the group of spectators, among whom he knew
no one except Apollonius, who had charge of the museum accounts, and the
architect, for whom he had composed the inscription on the Odeum, which
he had recently built. But when his eyes met only unfamiliar faces, the
confidence which hitherto had sustained him began to waver, though still
convinced that a demand such as the philosopher suggested could not
possibly be made upon him, he continued: "It is stated that there is a
plan for turning my garden into a public square. And for what purpose?
To erect a piece of sculpture. But there can be nothing serious in the
rumour, for my property is recorded in the land register, and the
law----"

"Pardon me," Apollonius broke in, "if I interrupt you. We know the
ordinance to which you refer, but this case is an exceptional one. The
Regent desires to take nothing from you. On the contrary, he offers, in
the name of the Queen, any compensation you yourself may fix for the
piece of land which is to be honoured by the statues of the highest
personages in the country--Cleopatra and Antony, hand in hand. The piece
of sculpture has already been brought here. A work by the admirable
artist Lysander, who passed too early to the nether world, certainly
will not disfigure your house. The little summer-house by the sea must
be removed to-morrow, it is true; you know that our gracious Queen may
return any day--victorious if the immortals are just. This piece of
sculpture, which is created in her honour, to afford her pleasure, must
greet her on her arrival, so the Regent send me to-day to communicate
his wish, which, as he represents the Queen----"

"Yet," interrupted the architect, who had again warmly assured the old
man's granddaughter of his aid--"yet your friends will endeavour to
persuade the Regent to find another place for the statues."

"They are at liberty to do so," said the officer. "What will happen
later the future will show. My office merely requires me to induce the
worthy owner of this house and garden to submit to-day to the Queen's
command, which the Regent and my own heart bid me clothe in the form of
a request."

During this conversation the old man had at first listened silently to
the magistrate's words, gazing intently into his face. So it was true.
The demand to yield up his garden, and even the little house, for fifty
years the scene of his study and creative work, for the sake of a
statue, would be made. Since this had become a certainty, he had stood
with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Grief had paralyzed his tongue, and
Helena, who felt this, for the aged head seemed as if it were bending
under a heavy burden, had drawn close to his side.

The shouts and howls of the throng outside echoed through the open roof
of the impluvium, but the old man did not seem to hear them, and did not
even notice his granddaughter. Yet, no sooner did he feel her touch than
he hurriedly shrank away, flung back his drooping head, and gazed around
the circle of intruders.

The dull, questioning eyes of the old commentator and writer of many
books now blazed with the hot fire of youthful passion and, like a
wrestler who seeks the right grip, he measured Apollonius and his
companions with wrathful glances. The fragile recluse seemed transformed
into a warrior ready for battle. His lips and the nostrils of his
delicate nose quivered, and when Apollonius began to say that it would
be wise to remove the contents of the summer-house that day, as it would
be torn down early the next morning, Didymus raised his arms,
exclaiming:

"That will not be done. Not a single roll shall be removed! They will
find me at work as usual early to-morrow morning, and if it is still
your wish to rob me of my property you must use violence to attain your
purpose."

"Calm yourself," replied Apollonius. "Every one beneath the moon must
submit to a higher power; the gods bow to destiny, we mortals to the
sovereign. You are a sage; I, merely mindful of the behests of duty,
administer my office. But I know life, and if I may offer my counsel,
you will accept what cannot be averted, and I will wager ten to one that
you will have the best of it; that the Queen will place in your hands
means----"

"Sufficient to build a palace on the site of the little house of which I
was robbed," Didymus interrupted bitterly. Then rage burst forth afresh
"What do I care for your money? I want my rights, my good, guaranteed
rights. I insist upon them, and whoever assails the ground which my
grandfather and father bequeathed to me----"

He hesitated, for the throng outside had burst into a loud shout of joy;
and when it died away, and the old man began once more defiantly to
claim his rights, he was interrupted by a woman's clear tones,
addressing him with the Greek greeting, "Rejoice!"--a voice so gay and
musical that it seemed to dispel the depression which rested like a grey
fog on the whole company.

While Didymus was listening to the excited populace, and the new-comer
was gazing at the old man whose rigid obstinacy could scarcely be
conquered by kindness, the younger men were looking at the beautiful
woman who joined them. Her haste had flushed her cheeks, and from
beneath the turquoise-blue kerchief that covered her fair locks a
bewitching face smiled at her sister, the architect, and her
grandfather.

Apollonius and many of his companions felt as if happiness in person had
entered this imperilled house, and many an eye brightened when the
infuriated old man exclaimed in an altered tone, "You here, Barine?" and
she, without heeding the presence of the others, kissed his cheek with
tender affection.

Helena, Gorgias, and the old philosopher Euphranor, had approached her,
and when the latter asked with loving reproach, "Why, Barine, how did
you get through the howling mob?" she answered gaily: "That a learned
member of the Museum may receive me with the query whether I am here,
though from childhood a kind or--what do you think, grandfather?--a
malign fate has preserved me from being overlooked, and some one else
reprovingly asks how I passed through the shouting mob, as if it were a
crime to wade into the water to hold out a helping hand to those we love
best when it is up to their chins! But, oh! dear, this howling is too
hideous!"

While speaking, she pressed her little hands on the part of the kerchief
which concealed her ears, and said no more until the noise subsided,
although she declared that she was in a hurry, and had only come to
learn how matters were. Meanwhile it seemed as if she was so full of
quick, pulsing life, that it was impossible to leave even a moment
unused, if it were merely to bestow or answer a friendly glance.

The architect and her sister were obliged to return hurried answers to
hasty questions; and as soon as she ascertained what had brought the
strangers there she thanked Apollonius, and said that old friends would
do their best to spare her grandfather such a sorrow.

In reply to repeated inquiries from the two old men in regard to her
arrival there, she answered: "Nobody will believe it, because in this
hurry I could not keep my mouth shut; but I acted like a mute fish and
reached the water." Then, drawing her grandfather aside, she whispered
to him that, when she left her boat at the harbour, Archibius had seen
her from his carriage, and instantly stopped it to inform her of his
intended visit that evening. He was coming to discuss an important
matter. Therefore she must receive the worthy man, whom she sincerely
liked, so she could not stay. Then turning to the others--still with her
kerchief on her head ready for departure--she asked what the people
meant by their outcries. The architect replied that Philostratus had
endeavoured to make the crowd believe that the only appropriate site for
the statues of which she had heard was her grandfather's garden, and he
thought he knew in whose behalf the fellow was acting.

"Certainly not in the Regent's," said Apollonius, in a tone of sincere
conviction; but Barine, over whose sunny brow a shadow had flitted when
Gorgias uttered the orator's name, assented with a slight bend of the
head, and then whispered hurriedly, yet earnestly, that she would answer
for the old man's allowing himself to be persuaded, if he had only time
to collect his thoughts.

The next morning, when the market was crowded, the officer might
commence his negotiations afresh, if the Regent insisted on his plan.
Meanwhile she would do her best to persuade her grandfather to yield,
though he was not exactly one of the class who are easily guided.
Apollonius might remind the Regent that it would be advisable at this
time to avoid a public scandal, to remember Didymus's age, and the
validity of his claim.

While Apollonius was talking with his companions, Barine beckoned to the
architect, and hastily took leave of the others, protesting that she was
in no danger, since she would slip away again like a fish, only this
time she would use her tongue, and hoped by its means to win to the
support of Didymus's just cause a man who would already have ended all
the trouble had the Queen only been in Alexandria.

Until now the eyes and ears of the whole company had been fixed upon
Barine. No one had desired anything better than to gaze at and listen to
her.

Not until she had quitted the room with Gorgias did the officials
discuss the matter together, and soon after Apollonius went away with
his companions, to hold another conference with the Regent about this
unpleasant business. This time the architect had followed the young
beauty with very mingled feelings. Only an hour before he would have
rejoiced to be permitted to accompany and protect Barine; now he would
have gladly remained with her sister, who had returned his farewell
greeting so gratefully and yet with such maidenly modesty. But even the
most vacillating man cannot change one fancy for another as he would
replace a black piece on the draughtboard with a white one, and he still
found it delightful to be so near Barine. Only the thought that Helena
might believe that he stood on very intimate terms with her sister had
darted with a disquieting influence through his brain when the latter
invited him to accompany her.

In the garden Barine begged him, before they went to the landing-place
where the boat was moored, to help her ascend the narrow flight of steps
leading to the flat roof of the gatekeeper's little house.

Here they could watch unseen the tumult in the square below, for it was
surrounded by dense laurel bushes. Bright flames were blazing in the
pitch-pans before the two temples at the side of the Corner of the
Muses, and their light was increased by the torches held in the hands of
Scythians. Yet no individuals could be distinguished in the throng. The
marble walls of the temples shimmered, the statues at Didymus's gate,
and the hermæ along the street of the King which passed the threatened
house and connected the north of the Corner of the Muses with the
sea-shore, loomed from the darkness in the brilliancy of the reflected
light, but the smoke of the torches darkened the sky and dimmed the
starlight.

The only persons distinctly visible were Dion, who had stationed himself
on the lofty framework of the platform on which the muffled statues had
been drawn hither, and the attorney Philostratus, who stood on the
pedestal of one of the dolphins which surrounded the fountain between
the Temple of Isis and the street. The space, a dozen paces wide, which
divided them, permitted the antagonists to understand each other, and
the attention of the whole throng was fixed upon the wranglers.

These verbal battles were one of the greatest pleasures of the
Alexandrians, and they greeted every clever turn of speech with shouts
of applause, every word which displeased them with groans, hisses, and
cat-calls.

Barine could see and hear what was passing below. She had pushed aside
the foliage of the laurel bushes which concealed her, and, with her hand
raised to her ear, stood listening to the two disputants. When the
scoundrel whom she had called husband, and for whom her contempt had
become too deep for hate, sneeringly assailed her family as having been
fed from generation to generation from the corn-bin of the Museum, she
bit her lips. But they soon curled, as if what she heard aroused her
disgust, for the speaker now turned to Dion and accused him of
preventing the kindly disposed Regent from increasing the renown of the
great Queen and affording her noble heart a pleasure.

"My tongue," he cried, "is the tool which supports me. Why am I using it
here till it is weary and almost paralyzed? In honour of Cleopatra, our
illustrious Queen, and her generous friend, to whom we all owe a debt of
gratitude. Let all who love her and the divine Antony, the new Herakles
and Dionysus--both will soon make their entry among us crowned with the
laurels of victory--join the Regent and every well-disposed person in
seizing yonder bit of land so meanly withheld by base avarice and a
sentiment--a sentiment, do you hear?--which I do not name more plainly,
simply because wickedness is repulsive to me, and I do not stand here as
an accuser. Whoever upholds the word-monger who spouts forth books as
the dolphin at my side does water, may do so. I shall not envy him. But
first look at Didymus's ally and panegyrist. There he stands opposite to
me. It would have been better for him had the dolphin at his feet taught
him silence. Then he might have remained in the obscurity which befits
him. But whether willing or not, I must drag him forth, and I will show
you Dion, fellow-citizens, though I would far rather have you see things
which arouse less ire. The dim light prevents your distinguishing the
colour of his robe, but I know it, for I saw it in the glare of day. It
is hyacinthine purple. You know what that costs. It would support the
wives and children of many among you for ten long years. 'How heavy must
be the purse which can expose such a treasure to sun and rain!' is the
thought of every one who sees him strutting about as proudly as a
peacock. And his purse _is_ loaded with many talents. Only it is a pity
that, day after day, most of you must give your children a little less
bread and deprive yourselves of many a draught of wine to deck him out
so bravely. His father, Eumenes, was a tax-collector, and what the leech
extorted from you and your children, the son now uses to drive, clad in
hyacinthine purple, a four-horse chariot, which splashes the mire from
the street into your faces as it rolls onward. By the dog! the gentleman
does not weigh so very much, yet he needs four horses to drag him. And,
fellow-citizens, do you know why? I'll tell you. He's afraid of sticking
fast everywhere, even in his speech."

Here Philostratus lowered his voice, for the phrase "sticking fast" had
drawn a laugh from some of his hearers; but Dion, whose father had
really amassed, in the high position of a receiver of taxes, the
handsome fortune which his son possessed, did not delay his reply.

"Yes, yes," he retorted scornfully, "yonder Syrian babbler hit the mark
this time. He stands before me, and who does not easily stick fast when
marsh and mire are so near? As for the hyacinthine purple cloak, I wear
it because I like it. His crocus-yellow one is less to my taste, though
he certainly looks fine enough in it in the sunlight. It shines like a
buttercup in the grass. You know the plant. When it fades--and I ask
whether you think Philostratus looks like a bud--when it fades, it
leaves a hollow spiral ball which a child's breath could blow away.
Suppose in future we should call the round buttercup seed-vessels
'Philostratus heads'? You like the suggestion? I am glad,
fellow-citizens, and I thank you. It proves your good taste. Then we
will stick to the comparison. Every head contains a tongue, and
Philostratus says that his is the tool which supports him."

"Hear the money-bag, the despiser of the people!" interrupted
Philostratus furiously. "The honest toil by which a citizen earns a
livelihood is a disgrace in his eyes."

"_Honest_ toil, my good friend," replied Dion, "is scarcely in question
here. I spoke only of _your_ tongue.--You understand me,
fellow-citizens. Or, if any of you are not yet acquainted with this
worthy man, I will show him to you, for I know him well. He is my foe,
yet I can sincerely recommend him to many of you. If any one has a very
bad, shamefully corrupt cause to bring before the courts, I most
earnestly counsel him to apply to the buttercup man perched on yonder
fountain. He will thank me for it. Believe me, Didymus's cause is just,
precisely because this advocate so eagerly assails it. I told you just
now the matter under discussion. Which of you who owns a garden can say
in future, 'It is mine,' if, during the absence of the Queen, it is
allowable to take it away to be used for any other purpose? But this is
what threatens Didymus. If this is to be the custom here, let every one
beware of sowing a radish or planting a bush or a tree, for should the
wife of some great noble desire to dry her linen there, he may be
deprived of it ere the former can ripen or the latter give shade."

Loud applause followed this sentence, but Philostratus shouted in a
voice that echoed far and wide: "Hear me, fellow-citizens; do not allow
your selves to be deceived! No one is to be robbed here. The project is
to purchase, at a high price, the spot which the city needs for her
adornment, and to honour and please the Queen. Are the Regent and the
citizens to lose this opportunity of expressing the gratitude of years,
and the rejoicing over the greatest of victories, of which we shall soon
hear, because an evil-disposed person--the word must be uttered--a foe
to his country, opposes it?"

"Now the mire is coming too near me," Dion angrily responded, "and I
might really stick fast, as I was warned; for I do not envy the ready
presence of mind of any person whose tongue would not falter when the
basest slander scattered its venom over him. You all know,
fellow-citizens, through how many generations the Didymus family has
lived to the honour of this city, doing praiseworthy work in yonder
house. You know that the good old man who dwells there was one of the
teachers of the royal children."

"And yet," cried Philostratus, "only the day before yesterday he walked
arm in arm in the Paneum garden with Arius, the tutor of Octavianus, our
own and our Queen's most hated foe. In my presence, and before I know
not how many others, Didymus distinguished this Arius as his most
beloved pupil."

"To give you that title," retorted Dion, "would certainly fill any
teacher with shame and anger, no matter how far you had surpassed him in
wisdom and knowledge. Nay, had you been committed to the care of the
herring dealers, instead of the rhetoricians, every honest man among
them would disown you, for they sell only good wares for good money,
while you give the poorest in exchange for glittering gold. This time
you trample under foot the fair name of an honourable man. But I will
not suffer it; and you hear, fellow-citizens, I now challenge this
Syrian to prove that Didymus ever betrayed his native land, or I will
brand him in your presence a base slanderer, an infamous, venal
destroyer of character!"

"An insult from such lips is easily borne," replied Philostratus in a
tone of scornful superiority; but there was a pause ere he again turned
to the listening throng, and with all the warmth he could throw into his
voice continued: "What do I desire, then, fellow-citizens? What is the
sole object of my words? I stand here with clean hands, impelled solely
by the impulse of my heart, to plead for the Queen. In order to secure
the only suitable site for the statues to be erected to Cleopatra's
honour and fame, I enter into judgment with her foes, expose myself to
the insult with which boastful insolence is permitted to vent its wrath
upon me. But I am not dismayed, though, in pursuing this course, I am
acting against the law of Nature; for the infamous man against whom I
raise my voice was my teacher, too, and ere he turned from the path of
right and virtue--under influences which I will not mention here--he
numbered me also, in the presence of many witnesses, among his best
pupils. I was certainly one of the most grateful--I chose his
granddaughter--the truth must be spoken--for my wife. The
possession----"

"Possession!" interrupted Dion in a loud, excited tone. "The corpse cast
ashore by the waves might as well boast possession of the sea!"

The dim torchlight was sufficient to reveal Philostratus's pallor to the
bystanders. For a moment the orator seemed to lose his self-control, but
he quickly recovered himself, and shouted: "Fellow-citizens, dear
friends! I was about to make you witnesses of the misery which a woman,
whose wickedness is even greater than her beauty, brought upon an
inexperienced----"

But he went no further; for his hearers--many of whom knew the
brilliant, generous Dion, and Barine, the fair singer at the last Adonis
festival--gave the orator tokens of their indignation, which were all
the more pitiless because of the pleasure they felt in seeing an expert
vanquished by an untrained foe. The wordy war would not have ended so
quickly, however, had not restlessness and alarm taken possession of the
crowd. The shout, "Back! disperse!" ran through the multitude, and
directly after the trampling of hoofs and the commands of the leader of
a troop of Libyan cavalry were heard. The matter at stake was not
sufficiently important to induce the populace to offer an armed force
resistance which might have entailed serious danger. Besides, the
blustering war of tongues had reached a merry close, and loud laughter
blended with the shouts of fear and warning; for the surging throng had
swept with unexpected speed towards the fountain and plunged
Philostratus into the basin. Whether this was due to the wrath of some
enemy, or to mere accident, could not be learned; the vain efforts of
the luckless man to crawl out of the water up the smooth marble were so
comical, and his gestures, after helping hands had dragged him dripping
upon the pavement of the square, were so irresistibly funny, that more
laughing than angry voices were heard, especially when some one cried,
"His hands were soiled by blackening Didymus, so the washing will do him
good." "Some wise physicians flung him into the water," retorted an
other; "he needed the cold application after the blows Dion dealt him."

The Regent, who had sent the troop of horsemen to drive the crowd away
from Didymus's house, might well be pleased that the violent measure
encountered so little resistance.

The throng quickly scattered, and was speedily attracted by something
new at the Theatre of Dionysus--the zither-player Anaxenor had just
announced from its steps that Cleopatra and Antony had won the most
brilliant victory, and had sung to the accompaniment of his lute a hymn
which had deeply stirred all hearts. He had composed it long before, and
seized the first opportunity--the report had reached his ears while
breakfasting in Kanopus--to try its effect.

As soon as the square began to empty, Barine left her post of
observation. It was long since her heart had throbbed so violently. Not
one of the many suitors for her favour had been so dear to her as Dion;
but she now felt that she loved him. What he had just done for her and
her grandfather was worthy of the deepest gratitude; it proved that he
did not come to her house, like most of her guests, merely to while away
the evening hours.

It had been no small matter for the young aristocrat, in the presence of
the whole multitude, to enter into a debate with the infamous
Philostratus, and how well he had succeeded in silencing the dreaded
orator! Besides, Dion had even taken her part against his own powerful
uncle, and perhaps by his deed drawn upon himself the hostility of his
enemy's brother, Alexas, Antony's powerful favourite. Barine might
assure herself that he, who was the peer of any Macedonian noble in the
city, would have done this for no one else.

She felt as if the act had ransomed her.

When, after an unhappy marriage and many desolate days, she had regained
her former bright cheerfulness and saw her house become the centre of
the intellectual life of the city, she had striven until now to extend
the same welcome to all her guests. She had perceived that she ought not
to give any one the power over her which is possessed by the man who
knows that he is beloved, and even to Dion she had granted little more
than to the others. But now she saw plainly that she would resign the
pleasure of being a universally admired woman, whose modest home
attracted the most distinguished men in the city, for the far greater
happiness which would be hers as Dion's beloved wife. With him,
cherished by his love, she believed that she could find far greater joy
in solitude than in the gay course of her present life.

She knew now what she must do if Dion sought her, and the architect, for
the first time, found her a silent companion. He had willingly
accompanied her back to her grandfather's house, where he had again met
her sister Helena, while she had quitted it disappointed, because her
brave defender had not returned there.

After the interruption of the debate Dion had been in a very cheerful
mood. The pleasant sensation of having championed a good cause, and the
delightful consciousness of success were not new to him, but he had
rarely felt so uplifted as now. He most ardently longed for his next
meeting with Barine, and imagined how he would describe what had
happened and claim her gratitude for his friendly service. The scene had
risen clearly before his mind, but scarcely had the radiant vision of
the future faded when the unusually bright expression of his manly face
was clouded by a grave and troubled one.

The darkness of the night, illumined only by the flare of the
pitch-pans, had surrounded him, yet it had seemed as if he were standing
with Barine in the full light of noon in the blossoming garden of his
own palace, and, after asking a reward for his sturdy championship, she
had clung to him with deep emotion, and he had passionately kissed her
tearful face.

The face had quickly vanished, yet it had been as distinct as the most
vivid picture in a dream.

Was Barine more to him than he supposed? Had he not been drawn to her,
during the past few months, by the mere charm of her pliant intellect
and her bright beauty? Had a new, strong passion awakened within him?
Was he in danger of seeing the will which urged him to preserve his
freedom conquered? Had he cause to fear that some day, constrained by a
mysterious, invincible power, in defiance of the opposition of calm
reason, he might perhaps bind himself for life to this Barine, the woman
who had once been the wife of a Philostratus, and who bestowed her
smiles on all who found admittance to her house seeking a feast for the
eye, a banquet for the ear, a pleasant entertainment?

Though her honor was as stainless as the breast of a swan--and he had no
reason to doubt it--she would still be classed with Aspasia and other
women whose guests sought more than songs and agreeable conversations.
The gifts with which the gods had so lavishly endowed her had already
been shared with too many to permit him, the last scion of a noble
Macedonian house, to think of leading her, as mistress, to the palace
whose erection he had so carefully and successfully planned with
Gorgias.

Surely it lacked nothing save the gracious rule of a mistress.

But if she should consent to become his without the blessing of Hymen?
No.

He could not thus dishonor the granddaughter of Didymus, the man who had
been his father's revered teacher, a woman whom he had always rejoiced
that, spite of the gay freedom with which she received so many admirers,
he could still esteem. He would not do so, though his friends would have
greeted such scruples with a smile of superiority. Who revered the
sacredness of marriage in a city whose queen was openly living for the
second time with the husband of another? Dion himself had formed many a
brief connection, but for that very reason he could not place a woman
like Barine on the same footing with those whose love he had perhaps
owed solely to his wealth. He had never lacked courage and resolution,
but he felt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he
had never coped.

That accursed face! Again and again it rose before his mental vision,
smiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the
yearning to realize the dream would conquer all opposition. If he
remained near her he would inevitably do what he might afterwards
regret, and therefore he would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho
to induce her to enhance Archibius's powers of persuasion and induce
Barine to leave Alexandria. It would be hard for him to part from her,
yet much would be gained if she went into the country. Between the
present and the distant period of a second meeting lay respite from
peril, and perhaps the possibility of victory. Dion did not recognize
himself. He seemed as unstable as a swaying reed, because he had
conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's house and encourage him,
and passed on to his own home. But he would probably have found Barine
still with her grandfather, and he would not meet her, though every
fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice, and a word of
gratitude from her beloved lips. Instead of joy, he was filled with the
sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing at a crossing
in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be fully content
with neither.

The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by
the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus. The
thought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to
erect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately
building. He would divert his thoughts by examining the site which
Gorgias had chosen.

The zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre,
and the crowd began to disperse. Every one was full of the joyful
tidings of victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the
favourite of the great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited in
thrilling verse. Many a joyous Io and loud Evoë to Cleopatra, the new
Isis, and Antony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while
bearded and smooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the
shout, "To the Sebasteum!" This was the royal palace, which faced the
government building containing the Regent's residence. The populace
desired to have the delightful news confirmed, and to express, by a
public demonstration, the grateful joy which filled every heart.

Dion, too, was eager to obtain certainty, and, though usually averse to
mingling with the populace during such noisy outbursts of feeling, he
was preparing to follow the crowd thronging towards the Sebasteum, when
the shouts of runners clearing a passage for a closed litter fell upon
his ear.

It was occupied by Iras, the Queen's trusted attendant. If any one could
give accurate information, it was she; yet it would hardly be possible
to gain an opportunity of conversing with her in this throng. But Iras
must have had a different opinion; she had seen Dion, and now called him
to her side. There were hoarse tones in her voice, usually so clear and
musical, which betrayed the emotion raging in her breast as she assailed
the young Macedonian noble with a flood of questions. Without giving him
the usual greeting, she hastily desired to know what was exciting the
people, who had brought the tidings of victory, and whither the
multitude was flocking?

Dion had found it difficult not to be forced from the litter while
answering. Iris perceived this, and as they were just passing the
Mæander, the labyrinth, which was closed after sunset, she ordered her
bearers to carry the litter to the entrance, made herself known to the
watchman, ordered the outer court to be opened, the litter to be placed
there, and the bearers and runners to wait outside for her summons,
which would soon be given.

This unusual haste and excitement filled Dion with just solicitude. She
refused his invitation to alight and walk up and down, declaring that
life offered so many labyrinths that one need not seek them. He, too,
seemed to be following paths which were scarcely straight ones. "Why,"
she concluded, thrusting her head far out of the opening in the litter,
"are you rendering it so difficult for the Regent and your own uncle to
execute their plans, making common cause with the populace, like a paid
agitator?"

"Like Philostratus, you mean, on whom I bestowed a few blows in addition
to the golden guerdon received from your hand?"

"Ay, like him, for aught I care. Probably it was you, too, who had him
flung into the water, after you had vented your wrath on him? You
managed your cause well. What we do for love's sake is usually
successful. No matter, if only his brother Alexas does not rouse Antony
against you. For my part, I merely desire to know why and for whom all
this was done."

"For whom save the good old man who was my father's preceptor, and his
just claim?" replied Dion frankly. "Moreover--for no site more
unsuitable could be found than his garden--in behalf of good taste."

Iras laughed a shrill, short laugh, and her narrow, regularly formed
face, which might have been called beautiful, had not the bridge of the
straight delicate nose been too long and the chin too small, darkened
slightly, as she exclaimed, "That is frank at least."

"You ought to be accustomed to that from me," replied Dion calmly. "In
this case, however, the expert, Gorgias, fully shares my opinion."

"I heard that too. You are both the most constant visitors of--what is
the woman's name?--the bewitching Barine."

"Barine?" repeated Dion, as if the mention of the name surprised him.
"You take care, my friend, that our conversation does honour to its
scene, the labyrinth. I speak of works of the sculptor's art, and you
pretend that I am referring to what is most certainly a very successful
living work from the creative hands of the gods. I was very far from
thinking of the granddaughter of the old scholar for whom I interceded."

"Ay," she scornfully retorted, "young gentlemen in your position, and
with your habits of life, always think of their fathers estimable
teachers rather than of the women who, ever since Pandora opened her
box, have brought all sorts of misfortunes into the world. But," she
added, pushing back her dark locks from her high forehead, "I don't
understand myself, how, with the mountain of care that now burdens my
soul, I can waste even a single word upon such trifles. I care as little
for the aged scholar as I do for his legion of commentaries and books,
though they are not wholly unfamiliar to me. For any concern of mine he
might have as many grandchildren as there are evil tongues in
Alexandria, were it not that just at this time it is of the utmost
importance to remove everything which might cast a shadow on the Queen's
pathway. I have just come from the palace of the royal children at
Lochias, and what I learned there. But that--I will not, I cannot
believe it. It fairly stifles me!"

"Have you received bad news from the fleet?" questioned Dion, with
sincere anxiety; but she only bent her head in assent, laying her fan of
ostrich-plumes on her lips to enjoin silence, at the same time shivering
so violently that he perceived it, even in the dusk. It was evident that
speech was difficult, as she added in a muffled tone: "It must be kept
secret--Rhodian sailors--thank the gods, it is still very doubtful--it
cannot, must not be true--and yet--the prattle of that zither-player,
which has filled the multitude with joyous anticipation, is
abominable--the great ones of the earth are often most sorely injured by
those who owe them the most gratitude. I know you can be silent, Dion.
You could as a boy, if anything was to be hidden from our parents. Would
you still be ready to plunge into the water for me, as in those days?
Scarcely. Yet you may be trusted, and, even in this labyrinth, I will do
so. My heart is heavy. But not one word to any person. I need no
confidant and could maintain silence even towards you, but I am anxious
that you should understand me, you who have just taken such a stand.
Before I entered my litter at Lochias, the boy returned, and I talked
with him."

"Young Cæsarion loves Barine," replied Dion with grave earnestness.

"Then this horrible folly is known?" asked Iras excitedly. "A passion
far deeper than I should ever have expected this dreamer to feel has
taken possession of him. And if the Queen should now return--perhaps
less successful than we desire--if she looks to those from whom she
still expects pleasure, satisfaction, lofty deeds, and learns what has
befallen the boy--for what does not that sun-bright intellect learn and
perceive? He is dear to her, dearer than any of you imagine. How it will
increase her anxiety, perhaps her suffering! With what good reason she
will be angered against those whom duty and love should have commanded
to guard the boy!"

"And therefore," added Dion, "the stone of offence must be removed. Your
first step to secure this object was the attack on Didymus."

He had judged correctly and perceived that, in her assault upon the old
scholar, she had at first intended to play into the hands of the rulers,
work against the old philosopher and his relatives, among whose number
was Barine; for the Egyptian law permitted the relatives of those who
were convicted of any crime against the sovereign or the government to
be banished with the criminal. This attack upon an innocent person was
disgraceful, yet every word Iras uttered made Dion feel, every feature
of her face betrayed, that it was not merely base jealousy, but a nobler
emotion, that caused her to assail the guiltless sage--love for her
mistress, the desire which dominated her whole being to guard Cleopatra
from grief and trouble in these trying times. He knew Iras's iron will
and the want of consideration with which she had learned to pursue her
purpose at the court. His first object was to protect Barine from the
danger which threatened her; but he also wished to relieve the anxiety
of Iras, the daughter of Krates, his father's neighbour, with whom he
had played in boyhood and for whom he had never ceased to feel a tender
interest.

His remark surprised her. She saw that her plot was detected by the man
whose esteem she most valued, and a loving woman is glad to recognize
the superiority of her lover. Besides, from her earliest childhood--and
she was only two years younger than Dion--she had belonged to circles
where no quality was more highly prized than mental pliancy and
keenness. Her dark eyes, which at first had glittered distrustfully and
questioningly and afterwards glowed with a gloomy light, now gained a
new expression. Her gaze sought her friend's with a tender, pleading
look as, admitting his charge, she began: "Yes! Dion, the philosopher's
granddaughter must not stay here. Or do you see any other way to protect
the unhappy boy from incalculable misfortune? You know me well enough to
be aware that, like you, I am reluctant to infringe another's rights,
that except in case of necessity I am not cruel. I value your esteem. No
one is more truthful, and yesterday you averred that Eros had no part in
your visits to the much-admired young woman, that you joined her guests
merely because the society you found at her house afforded a pleasant
stimulus to the mind. I have ceased to believe in many things, but not
in you and your words, and if hearing that you had taken sides with the
grandfather, I fancied that you were secretly seeking the thanks and
gratitude of the granddaughter, why--surely the atrocious maxim that
Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers comes from you men--why, suspicion
again reared its head. Now you seem to share my opinion----"

"Like you," Dion interrupted, "I believe that Barine ought to be
withdrawn from the boy's pursuit, which cannot be more unpleasant to you
than to her. As Cæsarion neither can nor ought to leave Alexandria
while affairs are so threatening, nothing is left except to remove the
young woman--but, of course, in all kindness."

"In a golden chariot, garlanded with roses, if you so desire," cried
Iras eagerly.

"That might attract attention," answered Dion, smiling and raising his
hand as if to enjoin moderation. "Your mode of action does not please
me, even now that I know its purpose, but I will gladly aid you to
attain your object. Your crooked paths also lead to the goal, and
perhaps one is less likely to stumble in them; but straight ways suit me
better, and I think I have already found the right one. A friend will
invite Barine to an estate far away from here, perhaps in the lake
regions."

"You?" cried Iras, her narrow eyebrows suddenly contracting.

"Do you imagine that she would go with me?" he asked, in a faintly
reproachful tone. "No. Fortunately, we have older friends, and at their
head is one who happens to be your uncle and at the same time is wax in
the hands of the Queen."

"Archibius?" exclaimed Iras. "Ah! if he could persuade her to do so!"

"He will try. He, too, is anxious about the lad. While we are talking
here, he is inviting Barine to his estate. The country air will benefit
her."

"May she bloom there like a young shepherdess!"

"You are right to wish her the best fortune; for if the Queen does not
return victorious, the irritability of our Alexandrians will be doubled.
When you laid hands on Didymus's garden, you were so busily engaged in
building the triumphal arch that you forgot----"

"Who would have doubted the successful issue of this war?" cried Iras.
"And they will, they will conquer. The Rhodian said that the fleet was
scattered. The disaster happened on the Acharnanian coast. How positive
it sounded! But he had it only at second and third hand. And what are
mere rumours? The source of the false tidings is discovered later.
Besides, even if the naval battle were really lost, the powerful army,
which is far superior to Octavianus's forces, still remains. Which of
the enemy's generals could cope with Antony on the land? How he will
fight when all is at stake--fame, honour, sovereignty, hate, and love!
Away with this fear, based on mere rumour! After Dyrrachium Cæsar's
cause was deemed lost, and how soon Pharsalus made him master of the
world! Is it worthy of a sensible person to suffer courage to be
depressed by a sailor's gossip? And yet--yet! It began while I was ill.
And then the swallows on the Antonias, the admiral's ship. We have
already spoken of it. Mardion and your uncle Zeno saw with their own
eyes the strange swallows drive away those which had built their nest on
the helm of the Antonias, and kill the young ones with their cruel
beaks. An evil omen! I cannot forget it. And my dream, while I lay ill
with fever far away from my mistress! But I have already lingered here
too long. No, Dion, no. I am grateful for the rest here--I can now feel
at ease about Cæsarion. Place the monument where you choose. The people
shall see and hear that we respect their opposition, that we are just
and friendly. Help me to turn this matter to the advantage of the Queen,
and if Archibius succeeds in getting Barine away and keeping her in the
country, then--if I had aught that seemed to you desirable it should be
yours. But what does the petted Dion care for his fading playfellow?"

"Fading?" he repeated in a tone of indignant reproach. "Say rather the
fully developed flower has learned from her royal friend the secret of
eternal youth."

With a swift impulse of gratitude Iras bent her face towards him in the
dusk, extending the slender white hand--next to Cleopatra's famed as the
most beautiful at court--for him to kiss, but when he merely pressed his
lips lightly on it with no shadow of tenderness, she hastily withdrew
it, exclaiming as if overwhelmed by sudden repentance: "This idle,
hollow dalliance at such a time, with such a burden of anxiety
oppressing the heart! It is unworthy, shameful! If Barine goes with
Archibius, her time will scarcely hang heavy on his estates. I think I
know some one who will speedily follow to bear her company.--Here,
Sasis! the bearers! To the Tower of Nilus, before the Gate of the Sun!"

Dion gazed after her litter a short time, then passed his hand through
his waving brown hair, walked swiftly to the shore and, without pausing
long to choose, sprang into one of the boats which were rented for
pleasure voyages. Ordering the sailors who were preparing to accompany
him to remain on shore, he stretched the sail with a practised hand, and
ran out towards the mouth of the harbour. He needed some strong
excitement, and wished to go himself in search of news.



CHAPTER IV.

The house facing the garden of the Paneum, where Barine lived, was the
property of her mother, who had inherited it from her parents. The
artist Leonax, the young beauty's father, son of the old philosopher
Didymus, had died long before.

After Barine's unhappy marriage with Philostratus was dissolved, she had
returned to her mother, who managed the affairs of the household. She
too, belonged to a family of scholars and had a brother who had won high
repute as a philosopher, and had directed the studies of the young
Octavianus. This had occurred long before the commencement of the
hostility which separated the heirs of Cæsar and Mark Antony. But even
after the latter had deserted Octavia, the sister of Octavianus, to
return to Cleopatra, the object of his love, and there was an open
breach between the two rivals for the sovereignty of the world, Antony
had been friendly to Arius and borne him no grudge for his close
relations to his rival. The generous Roman had even given his enemy's
former tutor a fine house, to show him that he was glad to have him in
Alexandria and near his person.

The widow Berenike, Barine's mother, was warmly attached to her only
brother, who often joined her daughter's guests. She was a quiet, modest
woman whose happiest days had been passed in superintending the
education of her children, Barine, the fiery Hippias, and the quiet
Helena, who for several years had lived with her grandparents and, with
faithful devotion, assumed the duty of caring for them. She had been
more easily guided than the two older children; for the boy's aspiring
spirit had often drawn him beyond his mother's control, and the
beautiful, vivacious girl had early possessed charms so unusual that she
could not remain unnoticed.

Hippias had studied oratory, first in Alexandria and later in Athens and
Rhodes. Three years before, his uncle Arius had sent him with excellent
letters of introduction to Rome to become acquainted with the life of
the capital and try whether, in spite of his origin, his brilliant gifts
of eloquence would forward his fortunes there.

Two miserable years with an infamous, unloved husband had changed the
wild spirits of Barine's childhood into the sunny cheerfulness now one
of her special charms. Her mother was conscious of having desired only
her best good in uniting the girl of sixteen to Philostratus, whom the
grandfather Didymus then considered a very promising young man, and
whose advancement, in addition to his own talents, his brother Alexas,
Antony's favourite, promised to aid. She had believed that this step
would afford the gay, beautiful girl the best protection from the perils
of the corrupt capital; but the worthless husband had caused both mother
and daughter much care and sorrow, while his brother Alexas, who
constantly pursued his young sister-in-law with insulting attentions,
was the source of almost equal trouble. Berenike often gazed in silent
astonishment at the child, who, spite of such sore grief and
humiliation, had preserved the innocent light-heartedness which made her
seem as if life had offered her only thornless roses.

Her father, Leonax, had been one of the most distinguished artists of
the day, and Barine had inherited from him the elastic artist
temperament which speedily rebounds from the heaviest pressure. To him
also she owed the rare gift of song, which had been carefully cultivated
and had already secured her the first position in the woman's chorus at
the festival of the great goddesses of the city. Every one was full of
her praises, and after she had sung the Yalemos in the palace over the
waxen image of the favourite of the gods, slain by the boar, her name
was eagerly applauded. To have heard her was esteemed a privilege, for
she sang only in her own house or at religious ceremonials "for the
honour of the gods."

The Queen, too, had heard her, and, after the Adonis festival, her uncle
Arius had presented her to Antony, who expressed his admiration with all
the fervour of his frank nature, and afterwards came to her house a
second time, accompanied by his son Antyllus. Doubtless he would have
called on her frequently and tested upon her heart his peculiar power
over women, had he not been compelled to leave the city on the day after
his last visit.

Berenike had reproved her brother for bringing the Queen's lover to
Barine, for her anxiety was increased by the repeated visits of Antony's
son, and still more aroused by that of Cæsarion, who was presented by
Antyllus.

These youths were not numbered among the guests whose presence she
welcomed and whose conversation afforded her pleasure. It was flattering
that they should honour her simple home by their visits, but she knew
that Cæsarion came without his tutor's knowledge, and perceived, by the
expression of his eyes, what drew him to her daughter. Besides,
Berenike, in rearing the two children, who had been the source of so
much anxiety had lost the joyous confidence which had characterized her
own youth. Whenever life presented any new phase, she saw the dark side
first. If a burning candle stood before her, the shadow of the
candlestick caught her eye before the light. Her whole mental existence
became a chain of fears, but the kind-hearted woman loved her children
too tenderly to permit them to see it. Only it was a relief to her heart
when some of her evil forebodings were realized, to say that she had
foreseen it all.

No trace of this was legible in her face, a countenance still pretty and
pleasing in its unruffled placidity. She talked very little, but what
she did say was sensible, and proved how attentively she understood how
to listen. So she was welcome among Barine's guests. Even the most
distinguished received something from her, because he felt that the
quiet woman understood him.

Before Barine had returned that evening, something had occurred which
made her mother doubly regret the accident to her brother Arius the day
before. On his way home from his sister's he had been run over by a
chariot darting recklessly along the Street of the King, and was
carried, severely injured, to his home, where he now lay helpless and
fevered. Nor did it lessen his sufferings to hear his two sons threaten
to take vengeance on the reckless fellow who had wrought their father
this mischief, for he had reason to believe Antyllus the perpetrator of
the deed, and a collision between the youths and the son of Antony could
only result in fresh disaster to him and his, especially as the young
Roman seemed to have inherited little of his father's magnanimous
generosity. Yet Arius could not be vexed with his sons for stigmatizing,
in the harshest terms, the conduct of the man who had gone on without
heeding the accident. He had cautioned his sister against the utterly
unbridled youth whose father he had himself brought to her house. With
what good reason he had raised his voice in warning was now evident. At
sunset that very day several guests had arrived as usual, followed by
Antyllus, a youth of nineteen. When the door-keeper refused to admit
him, he had rudely demanded to see Barine, thrust aside the prudent old
porter, who endeavoured to detain him, and, in spite of his
protestations, forced his way into his dead master's work-room, where
the ladies usually received their visitors. Not until he found it empty
would he retire, and then he first fastened a bouquet of flowers he had
brought to a statue of Eros in burnt clay, which stood there. Both the
porter and Barine's waiting-maid declared that he was drunk; they saw it
when he staggered away with the companions who had waited for him in the
garden outside.

This unseemly and insulting conduct filled Berenike with the deepest
indignation. It must not remain unpunished, and, while waiting for her
daughter, she imagined what evil consequences might ensue if Antyllus
were forbidden the house and accused to his tutor, and how unbearable,
on the other hand, he might become if they omitted to do so.

She was full of sad presentiments, and as, with such good reason, she
feared the worst, she cherished a faint hope that her daughter might
perhaps bring home some pleasant tidings; for she had had the experience
that events which had filled her with the utmost anxiety sometimes
resulted in good fortune.

At last Barine appeared, and it was indeed long since she had clasped
her mother in her arms with such joyous cheerfulness.

The widow's troubled heart grew lighter. Her daughter must have met with
something unusually gratifying, she looked so happy, although she had
surely heard what had happened here; for her cloak was laid aside and
her hair newly arranged, so she must have been to her chamber, where she
was dressed by her loquacious Cyprian slave, who certainly could not
keep to herself anything that was worth mentioning. The nimble maid had
shown her skill that day.

"Any stranger would take her for nineteen," thought her mother. "How
becoming the white robe and blue-bordered peplum are to her; how softly
the azure bombyx ribbon is wound around the thick waves of her hair! Who
would believe that no curling-irons had touched the little golden locks
that rest so gracefully on her brow, that no paint-brush had any share
in producing the rose and white hues on her cheek, or the alabaster
glimmer of her arms? Such beauty easily becomes a Danae dower; but it is
a magnificent gift of the gods! Yet why did she put on the bracelet
which Antony gave her after his last visit? Scarcely on my account. She
can hardly expect Dion at so late an hour. Even while I am rejoicing in
the sight of her beauty, some new misfortune may be impending."

So ran the current of her thoughts while her daughter was gaily
describing what she had witnessed at her grandfather's. Meanwhile she
had nestled comfortably among the cushions of a lounge; and when she
mentioned Antyllus's unseemly conduct, she spoke of it, with a
carelessness that startled Berenike, as a vexatious piece of rudeness
which must not occur again.

"But who is to prevent it?" asked the mother anxiously.

"Who, save ourselves?" replied Barine.

"He will not be admitted."

"And if he forced his way in?"

Barine's big blue eyes flashed angrily, and there was no lack of
decision in her voice as she exclaimed, "Let him try it!"

"But what power have we to restrain the son of Antony?" asked Berenike.
"I do not know."

"I do," replied her daughter. "I will be brief, for a visitor is
coming."

"So late?" asked the mother anxiously.

"Archibius wishes to discuss an important matter with us."

The lines on the brow of the older woman smoothed, but it contracted
again as she exclaimed inquiringly: "Important business at so unusual an
hour! Ah, I have expected nothing good since early morning! On my way to
my brother's a raven flew up before me and fluttered towards the left
into the garden."

"But I," replied Barine, after receiving, in reply to her inquiry, a
favourable report concerning her uncle's health--"I met seven--there
were neither more nor less; for seven is the best of numbers--seven
snow-white doves, which all flew swiftly towards the right. The fairest
of all came first, bearing in its beak a little basket which contained
the power that will keep Antony's son away from us. Don't look at me in
such amazement, you dear receptacle of every terror."

"But, child, you said that Archibius was coming so late to discuss an
important matter," rejoined the mother.

"He must be here soon."

"Then cease this talking in riddles; I do not guess them quickly."

"You will solve this one," returned Barine; "but we really have no time
to lose. So--my beautiful dove was a good, wise thought, and what it
carried in its basket you shall hear presently. You see, mother, many
will blame us, though here and there some one may pity; but this state
of things must not continue. I feel it more and more plainly with each
passing day; and several years must yet elapse ere this scruple becomes
wholly needless. I am too young to welcome as a guest every one whom
this or that man presents to me. True, our reception-hall was my
father's work-room and you, my own estimable, blameless mother, are the
hostess here; but though superior to me in every respect, you are so
modest that you shield yourself behind your daughter until the guests
think of you only when you are absent. So those who seek us both merely
say, 'I am going to visit Barine'--and there are too many who say
this--I can no longer choose, and this thought----"

"Child! child!" interrupted her mother joyfully, "what god met you as
you went out this morning?"

"Surely you know," she answered gaily; "it was seven doves, and, when I
took the little basket from the bill of the first and prettiest one, it
told me a story. Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes, yes; but be quick, or we shall be interrupted."

Then Barine leaned farther back among the cushions, lowered her long
lashes, and began: "Once upon a time there was a woman who had a garden
in the most aristocratic quarter of the city--here near the Paneum, if
you please. In the autumn, when the fruit was ripening, she left the
gate open, though all her neighbours did the opposite. To keep away
unbidden lovers of her nice figs and dates, she fastened on the gate a
tablet bearing the inscription: 'All may enter and enjoy the sight of
the garden; but the dogs will bite any one who breaks a flower, treads
upon the grass, or steals the fruit.'

"The woman had nothing but a lap-dog, and that did not always obey her.
But the tablet fulfilled its purpose; for at first none came except her
neighbours in the aristocratic quarter. They read the threat, and
probably without it would have respected the property of the woman who
so kindly opened the door to them. Thus matters went on for a time,
until first a beggar came, and then a Phœnician sailor, and a thievish
Egyptian from the Rhakotis--neither of whom could read. So the tablet
told them nothing; and as, moreover, they distinguished less carefully
between mine and thine, one trampled the turf and another snatched from
the boughs a flower or fruit. More and more of the rabble came, and you
can imagine what followed. No one punished them for the crime, for they
did not fear the barking of the lap-dog, and this gave even those who
could read, courage not to heed the warning. So the woman's pretty
garden soon lost its peculiar charm; and the fruit, too, was stolen.
When the rain at last washed the inscription from the tablet, and saucy
boys scrawled on it, there was no harm done; for the garden no longer
offered any attractions, and no one who looked into it cared to enter.
Then the owner closed her gate like the neighbours, and the next year
she again enjoyed the green grass and the bright hues of the flowers.
She ate her fruit herself, and the lap-dog no longer disturbed her by
its barking."

"That is," said her mother, "if everybody was as courteous and as well
bred as Gorgias, Lysias, and the others, we would gladly continue to
receive them. But since there are rude fellows like Antyllus----"

"You have understood the story correctly," Barine interrupted. "We are
certainly at liberty to invite to our house those who have learned to
read our inscription. To-morrow visitors will be informed that we can no
longer receive them as before."

"Antyllus's conduct affords an excellent pretext," her mother added.
"Every fair-minded person must understand----"

"Certainly," said Barine, "and if you, shrewdest of women, will do your
part----"

"Then for the first time we can act as we please in our own home.
Believe me, child--if you only do not----"

"No ifs!--not this time!" cried the young beauty, raising her hand
beseechingly. "It gives me such delight to think of the new life, and if
matters come to pass as I hope and wish--then--do not you also believe,
mother, that the gods owe me reparation?"

"For what?" asked the deep voice of Archibius, who had entered
unannounced, and was now first noticed by the widow and her daughter.

Barine hastily rose and held out both hands to her old friend,
exclaiming, "Since they bring you to us, they are already beginning the
payment."



CHAPTER V.

An artist, especially a great artist, finds it easy to give his house an
attractive appearance. He desires comfort in it, and only the beautiful
_is_ comfortable to him. Whatever would disturb harmony offends his eye,
and to secure the noblest ornament of his house he need not invite any
stranger to cross its threshold. The Muse, the best of assistants, joins
him unbidden.

Leonax, Barine's father, had been thus aided to transform the interior
of his house into a very charming residence. He had painted on the walls
of his own work-room incidents in the life of Alexander the Great, the
founder of his native city, and on the frieze a procession of dancing
Cupids.

Here Barine now received her guests, and the renown of these paintings
was not one of the smallest inducements which had led Antony to visit
the young beauty and to take his son, in whom he wished to awaken at
least a fleeting pleasure in art. He also knew how to prize her beauty
and her singing, but the ardent passion which had taken possession of
him in his mature years was for Cleopatra alone. He whose easily won
heart and susceptible fancy had urged him from one commonplace love to
another had been bound by the Queen with chains of indestructible and
supernatural power. By her side a Barine seemed to him merely a work of
art endowed with life and a voice that charmed the ear. Yet he owed her
some pleasant hours, and he could not help bestowing gifts upon any one
to whom he was indebted for anything pleasant. He liked to be considered
the most generous spendthrift on earth, and the polished bracelet set
with a gem, on which was carved Apollo playing on his lyre, surrounded
by the listening Muses, looked very simple, but was really an ornament
of priceless value, for the artist who made it was deemed the best
stone-cutter in Alexandria in the time of Philadelphus, and each one of
the tiny figures sculptured on the bit of onyx scarcely three fingers
wide was a carefully executed masterpiece of the most exquisite beauty.
Antony had chosen it because he deemed it a fitting gift for the woman
whose song had pleased him. He had not thought of asking its value;
indeed, only a connoisseur would have perceived it; and as the circlet
was not showy and well became her beautiful arm, Barine liked to wear
it.

Had not the war taken him away, Antony's second visit would certainly
not have been his last. Besides the singing which enthralled him, the
conversation had been gay and brilliant, and in addition to Leonax's
paintings, he had seen other beautiful works of art which the former had
obtained by exchanging with many distinguished companions.

Nor was there any lack of plastic creations in the spacious apartment,
to which the flashing of the water poured by a powerful man from the
goatskin bottle on his shoulder into a shell lent a special charm.

The master who had carved this stooping Nubian had also created the
much-discussed statues of the royal lovers. The clay Eros, who with bent
knee was aiming at a victim visible to himself alone, was also his work.
Antony, when paying his second visit, had laughingly laid the garland he
wore before "the greatest of human conquerors," while a short time ago
his son Antyllus had rudely thrust his bouquet of flowers into the
opening of the curved right arm which was drawing the string. In doing
so the statue had been injured. Now the flowers lay unheeded upon the
little altar at the end of the large room, lighted only by a single
lamp; for the ladies had left it with their guest. They were in Barine's
favourite apartment, a small room, where there were several pictures by
her dead father.

Antyllus's bouquet, and the damage to the clay statue of Eros, had
played a prominent part in the conversation between the three, and
rendered Archibius's task easier.

Berenike had greeted the guest with a complaint of the young Roman's
recklessness and unseemly conduct, to which Barine added the declaration
that they had now sacrificed enough to Zeus Xenios, the god of
hospitality. She meant to devote her future life to the modest household
gods and to Apollo, to whom she owed the gift of song.

Archibius had listened silently in great surprise until she had finished
her explanation and declared that henceforth she intended to live alone
with her mother, instead of having her father's workshop filled with
guests.

The young beauty's vivid imagination transported her to this new and
quieter life. But, spite of the clear and glowing hues in which she
described her anticipations, her grey-haired listener could not have
believed in them fully. A subtle smile sometimes flitted over his grave,
somewhat melancholy face--that of a man who has ceased to wrestle in the
arena of life, and after severe conflict now preferred to stand among
the spectators and watch others win or lose the prize of victory.
Doubtless the wounds which he had received still ached, yet his
sorrowful experiences did not prevent his being an attentive observer.
The expression of his clear eyes showed that he mentally shared whatever
aroused his sympathy. Whoever understood how to listen thus, and,
moreover--the prominence of the brow above the nose showed it--was also
a trained thinker, could not fail to be a good counsellor, and as such
he was regarded by many, and first of all by the Queen.

The wise deliberation, which was one of his characteristic traits,
showed itself on this occasion; for though he had come to persuade
Barine try a country residence, he refrained from doing until she had
exhausted the story of her own affairs and inquired the important cause
of his visit.

In the principal matter his request was granted ere he made it. So he
could begin with the query whether the mother and daughter did not think
that the transition to the new mode of life could be effected more
easily if they were absent from the city a short time. It would awaken
comment they should close their house against guests on the morrow, and
as the true reason could not be given, many would be offended. If, on
the contrary, they could resolve to quit the capital for a few weeks,
many, it is true, would lament their decision, but what was alloted to
all alike could be resented by no one.

Berenike eagerly assented, but Barine grew thoughtful. Then Archibius
begged her to speak frankly, and after she had asked where they could,
he proposed his country estate.

His keen grey eyes had perceived that something, bound her so firmly to
the city that in the case of a true woman like Barine it must be an
affair of the heart. He had evidently judged correctly, for, at his
prediction that there would be no lack of visits from her dearest
friends, she raised her head, her blue eyes sparkled brightly, and when
Archibius paused she to her mother, exclaiming gaily:

"We will go!"

Again the vivid imagination daughter conjured the future before her in
distinct outlines. She alone knew whom she meant when she spoke of the
visitor she expected at Irenia, Archibius's estate. The name meant "The
place of peace," and it pleased her.

Archibius listened smilingly; but when she began to assign him also a
part in driving the little Sardinian horses and pursuing the birds, he
interrupted her with the statement that whether he could speedily allow
himself a pleasure which he should so keenly enjoy--that of breathing
the country air with such charming guests--would depend upon the fate of
another. Thank the gods, he had been able to come here with a lighter
heart, because, just before his departure, he had heard of a splendid
victory gained by the Queen. The ladies would perhaps permit him to
remain a little longer, as he was expecting confirmation of the news.

It was evident that he awaited it in great suspense, and that his heart
was by no means free from anxiety.

Berenike shared it, and her pleasant face, which had hitherto reflected
her delight at her daughter's sensible resolution, was now clouded with
care as Archibius began: "The object of my presence here? You are making
it very easy for me to attain it. If I deemed it honest, I could now
conceal the fact that I had sought you to induce you to leave the city.
I see no peril from the boyish insolence of the son of Antony. The point
in question, child, is merely to put yourself out of the reach of
Cæsarion."

"If you could place me in the moon, it would please me best, as far as
he is concerned," replied Barine eagerly. "That is just what induced me
to change our mode of life, since my door cannot be closed against the
boy who, though still under a tutor, uses his rank as a key to open it.
And just think of being compelled to address that dreamer, with eyes
pleading for help, by the title of 'king'!"

"Yet what mighty impulse might not be slumbering in the breast of a son
of Julius Cæsar and Cleopatra?" said Archibius. "And passion--I know,
my child, that it is no fault of yours--has now awakened within him.
Whatever the result may be, it must fill his mother's heart with
anxiety. That is why it is needful to hasten your departure, and to keep
your destination a secret. He will attempt no violence; but--he is the
child of his parents--and some unexpected act may be anticipated from
him."

"You startle me!" cried Barine. "You transform the cooing dove which
entered my house into a dangerous griffin."

"As such you may regard him," said the other, warningly. "You will be a
welcome guest, Barine, but I invited you, whom I have loved from your
earliest childhood, the daughter of my dearest friend, not merely to do
you a service at Irenia, but to save from grief or even annoyance the
person to whom--who is not aware of it--I owe everything."

The words conveyed to both ladies the knowledge that, though they were
dear to Archibius, he would sacrifice them, and with them, perhaps, all
the rest of the world, for the peace and happiness of the Queen.

Barine had expected nothing else. She knew that Cleopatra had made the
philosopher's son a wealthy man and the owner of extensive estates; but
she also felt that the source of his loyal devotion to the Queen, over
whom he watched like a tender father, was due to other causes. Cleopatra
prized him also. Had he been ambitious, he could have stood at the helm
of the ship of state, as Epitrop long ago, but--the whole city knew
it--he had more than once refused to accept a permanent office, because
he believed that he could serve his mistress better as an unassuming,
unnoticed counsellor. Berenike had told Barine that the relations
between Cleopatra and Archibius dated back to their childhood, but she
had learned no particulars. Various rumours were afloat which, in the
course of time, had been richly adorned and interwoven with anecdotes,
and Barine naturally lent the most ready credence to those which
asserted that the princess, in her earliest youth, had cherished a
childish love for the philosopher's son. Now her friend's conduct led
her to believe it.

When Archibius paused, the young beauty assured him that she understood
him; and as the alabaster hanging lamp and a three-branched light cast a
brilliant glow upon the portrait which her father had painted of the
nineteen-year-old Queen, and afterwards copied for his own household,
she pointed to it, and, pursuing the current of her own thoughts, asked
the question:

"Was she not marvellously beautiful at that time?"

"As your father's work represents her," was the reply. "Leonax painted
the portrait of Octavia, on the opposite side, the same year, and
perhaps the artist deemed the Roman the fairer woman." He pointed as he
spoke to a likeness of Octavianus's sister, whom Barine's father had
painted as the young wife of Marcellus, her first husband.

"Oh, no!" said Berenike. "I still remember perfectly how Leonax returned
in those days. What woman might not have been jealous of his enthusiasm
for the Roman Hera? At that time I had not seen the portrait, and when I
asked whether he thought Octavia more beautiful than the Queen, for whom
Eros had inflamed his heart, as in the case of most of the beautiful
women he painted, he exclaimed--you know his impetuous manner--'Octavia
stands foremost in the ranks of those who are called "beautiful" or
"less beautiful"; the other, Cleopatra, stands alone, and can be
compared with no one.'"

Archibius bent his head in assent, then said firmly, "But, as a child,
when I first saw her, she would have been the fairest even in the dance
of the young gods of love."

"How old was she then?" asked Barine, eagerly.

"Eight years," he answered. "How far in the past it is, yet I have not
forgotten a single hour!"

Barine now earnestly entreated him to tell them the story of those days,
but Archibius gazed thoughtfully at the floor for some time ere he
raised his head and answered: "Perhaps it will be well if you learn more
of the woman for whose sake I ask a sacrifice at your hands. Arius is
your brother and uncle. He stands near to Octavianus, for he was his
intellectual guide, and I know that he reveres the Roman's sister,
Octavia, as a goddess. Antony is now struggling with Octavianus for the
sovereignty of the world. Octavia succumbed in the conflict against the
woman of whom you desire to hear. It is not my place to judge her, but I
may instruct and warn. Roman nations burn incense to Octavia, and, when
Cleopatra's name is uttered, they veil their faces indignantly. Here in
Alexandria many imitate them. Whoever upholds shining purity may hope to
win a share of the radiance emanating from it. They call Octavia the
lawful wife, and Cleopatra the criminal who robbed her of her husband's
heart."

"Not I!" exclaimed Barine eagerly. "How often I have heard my uncle say
that Antony and Cleopatra were fired with the most ardent love for each
other! Never did the arrows of Eros pierce two hearts more deeply. Then
it became necessary to save the state from civil war and bloodshed.
Antony consented to form an alliance with his rival, and, as security
for the sincerity of the reconciliation, he gave his hand in marriage to
Octavia, whose first husband, Marcellus, had just died--his hand, I say,
only his hand, for his heart was captive to the Queen of Egypt. And if
Antony was faithless to the wife to whom statecraft had bound him, he
kept his pledge to the other, who had an earlier, better title. If
Cleopatra did not give up the man to whom she had sworn fidelity
forever, she was right--a thousand times right! In my eyes--no matter
how often my mother rebukes me--Cleopatra, in the eyes of the immortals,
is and always will be Antony's real wife; the other, though on her
marriage day no custom, no word, no stroke of the stylus, no gesture was
omitted, is the intruder in a bond of love which rejoices the gods,
however it may anger mortals, and--forgive me, mother--virtuous
matrons."

Berenike had listened with blushing cheeks to her vivacious daughter;
now with timid earnestness she interrupted: "I know that those are the
views of the new times; that Antony in the eyes of the Egyptians, and
probably also according to their customs, is the rightful husband of the
Queen. I know, too, that you are both against me. Yet Cleopatra is in
reality a Greek, and therefore--eternal gods!--I can sincerely pity her;
but the marriage has been solemnized, and I cannot blame Octavia. She
rears and cherishes, as if they were her own, the children of her
faithless husband and Fulvia, his first wife, who have no claim upon
her. It is more than human to take the stones from the path of the man
who became her foe, as she does. No woman in Alexandria can pray more
fervently than I that Cleopatra and her friend may conquer Octavianus.
His cold nature, highly as my brother esteems him, is repellent to me.
But when I gaze at Octavia's beautiful, chaste, queenly, noble
countenance, the mirror of true womanly purity----"

"You can rejoice," Archibius added, completing the sentence, and laying
his right hand soothingly on the arm of the excited woman, "only it
would be advisable at this time to put the portrait elsewhere, and rest
satisfied with confiding your opinion of Octavia to your brother and a
friend as reliable as myself. If we conquer, such things may pass; if
not-- The messenger tarries long--"

Here Barine again entreated him to use the time. She had only once had
the happiness of being noticed by the Queen--just after her song at the
Adonis festival. Then Cleopatra had advanced to thank her. She said only
a few kind words, but in a voice which seemed to penetrate the inmost
depths of her heart and bind her with invisible threads. Meanwhile
Barine's eyes met those of her sovereign, and at first they roused an
ardent desire to press her lips even on the hem of her robe, but
afterwards she felt as if a venomous serpent had crawled out of the most
beautiful flower.

Here Archibius interrupted her with the remark that he remembered
perfectly how, after the song, Antony had addressed her at the same time
as the Queen, and Cleopatra lacked no feminine weakness.

"Jealousy?" asked Barine, in astonishment. "I was not presumptuous
enough to admit it. I secretly feared that Alexas, the brother of
Philostratus, had prejudiced her. He is as ill-disposed towards me as
the man who was my husband. But everything connected with those two is
so base and shameful that I will not allow it to cloud this pleasant
hour. Yet the fear that Alexas might have slandered me to the Queen is
not groundless. He is as shrewd as his brother, and through Antony, into
whose favour he ingratiated himself, is always in communication with
Cleopatra. He went to the war with him."

"I learned that too late, and am utterly powerless against Antony,"
replied Archibius.

"But was it not natural that I should fear he had prejudiced the Queen?"
asked Barine. "At any rate, I imagined that I detected a hostile
expression in her eyes, and it repelled me, though at first I had been
so strongly attracted towards her."

"And had not that other stepped between you, you could not have turned
from her again!" said Archibius. "The first time I saw her I was but a
mere boy, and she--as I have already said--a child eight years old."

Barine nodded gratefully to Archibius, brought the distaff to her
mother, poured water into the wine in the mixing vessel, and after at
first leaning comfortably back among the cushions, she soon bent forward
in a listening attitude, with her elbow propped on her knee, and her
chin supported by her hand. Berenike drew the flax from the distaff, at
first slowly, then faster and faster.

"You know my country-house in the Kanopus," the guest began. "It was
originally a small summer palace belonging to the royal family, and
underwent little change after we moved into it. Even the garden is
unaltered. It was full of shady old trees. Olympus, the leech, had
chosen this place, that my father might complete within its walls the
work of education entrusted to him. You shall hear the story. At that
time Alexandria was in a state of turmoil, for Rome had not recognized
the King, and ruled over us like Fate, though it had not acknowledged
the will by which the miserable Alexander bequeathed Egypt to him like a
field or a slave.

"The King of Egypt, who called himself 'the new Dionysus,' was a weak
man, whose birth did not give him the full right to the sovereignty. You
know that the people called him the 'fluteplayer.' He really had no
greater pleasure than to hear music and listen to his own performances.
He played by no means badly on more than one instrument, and, moreover,
as a reveller did honour to the other name. Whoever kept sober at the
festival of Dionysus, whose incarnate second self he regarded himself,
incurred his deepest displeasure.

"The flute-player's wife, Queen Tryphœna, and her oldest daughter--she
bore your name, Berenike--ruined his life. Compared with them, the King
was worthy and virtuous. What had become of the heroes and the
high-minded princes of the house of Ptolemy? Every passion and crime had
found a home in their palaces!

"The flute-player, Cleopatra's father, was by no means the worst. He was
a slave to his own caprices; no one had taught him to bridle his
passions. Where it served his purpose, even death was summoned to his
aid; but this was a custom of the last sovereigns of his race. In one
respect he was certainly superior to most of them--he still possessed a
capacity to feel a loathing for the height of crime, to believe in
virtue and loftiness of soul, and the possibility of implanting them in
youthful hearts. When a boy, he had been under the influence of an
excellent teacher, whose precepts had lingered in his memory and led him
to determine to withdraw his favourite children--two girls--from their
mother's sway, at least as far as possible.

"I learned afterwards that it had been his desire to confide the
princesses wholly to my parents' care. But an invincible power opposed
this. Though Greeks might be permitted to instruct the royal children in
knowledge, the Egyptians would not yield the right to their religious
education. The leech Olympus--you know the good old man--had insisted
that the delicate Cleopatra must spend the coldest winter months in
Upper Egypt, where the sky was never clouded, and the summer near the
sea in a shady garden. The little palace at Kanopus was devoted to this
purpose.

"When we moved there it was entirely unoccupied, but the princesses were
soon to be brought to us. During the winter Olympus preferred the island
of Philæ, on the Nubian frontier, because the famous Temple of Isis was
there, and its priests willingly undertook to watch over the children.

"The Queen would not listen to any of these plans. Leaving Alexandria
and spending the winter on a lonely island in the tropics was an utterly
incomprehensible idea. So she let the King have his way, and no doubt
was glad to be relieved from the care of the children; for, even after
her royal husband's exile from the city, she never visited her
daughters. True, death allowed her only a short time to do so.

"Her oldest daughter, Berenike, who became her successor, followed her
example, and troubled herself very little about her sisters. I heard
afterwards that she was very glad to know that they were in charge of
persons who filled their minds with other thoughts than the desire to
rule. Her brothers were reared at Lochias by our countryman Theodotus,
under the eyes of their guardian, Pothinus.

"Our family life was of course wholly transformed by the reception of
the royal children. In the first place, we moved from our house in the
Museum Square into the little palace at Kanopus, and the big, shady
garden delighted us. I remember, as though it were but yesterday, the
morning--I was then a boy of fifteen--when my father told us that two of
the King's daughters would soon become members of the household. There
were three of us children--Charmian, who went to the war with the Queen,
because Iras, our niece, was ill; I myself; and Straton, who died long
ago. We were urged to treat the princesses with the utmost courtesy and
consideration, and we perceived that their reception really demanded
respect; for the palace, which we had found empty and desolate, was
refurnished from roof to foundation.

"The day before they were expected horses, chariots, and litters came,
while boats and a splendid state galley, fully manned, arrived by sea.
Then a train of male and female slaves appeared, among them two fat
eunuchs.

"I can still see the angry look with which my father surveyed all these
people. He drove at once to the city, and on his return his clear eyes
were as untroubled as ever. A court official accompanied him, and only
that portion of the useless amount of luggage and number of persons that
my father desired remained.

"The princesses were to come the next morning--it was at the end of
February--flowers were blooming in the grass and on the bushes, while
the foliage of the trees glittered with the fresh green which the rising
sap gives to the young leaves. I was sitting on a strong bough of a
sycamore-tree, which grew opposite to the house, watching for them.
Their arrival was delayed and, as I gazed meanwhile over the garden, I
thought it must surely please them, for not a palace in the city had one
so beautiful.

"At last the litters appeared; they had neither runners nor attendants,
as my father had requested, and when the princesses alighted--both at
the same moment--I knew not which way to turn my eyes first, for the
creature that fluttered like a dragon-fly rather than stepped from the
first litter, was not a girl like other mortals--she seemed like a wish,
a hope. When the dainty, beautiful creature turned her head hither and
thither, and at last gazed questioningly, as if beseeching help, into
the faces of my father and mother, who stood at the gate to receive her,
it seemed to me that such must have been the aspect of Psyche when she
stood pleading for mercy at the throne of Zeus.

"But it was worth while to look at the other also. Was that Cleopatra?
She might have been the elder, for she was as tall as her sister, but
how utterly unlike! From the waving hair to every movement of the hands
and body the former--it _was_ Cleopatra--had seemed to me as if she were
flying. Everything about the second figure, on the contrary, was solid,
nay, even seemed to offer positive resistance. She sprang from the
litter and alighted on the ground with both feet at once, clung firmly
to the door, and haughtily flung back her head, crowned with a wealth of
dark locks. Her complexion was pink and white, and her blue eyes
sparkled brightly enough; but the expression with which she gazed at my
parents was defiant rather than questioning, and as she glanced around
her red lips curled scornfully as though she deemed her surroundings
despicable and unworthy of her royal birth.

"This irritated me against the seven-year-old child, yet I said to
myself that, though it was very beautiful here--thanks to my father's
care--perhaps it appeared plain and simple when compared with the
marble, gold, and purple of the royal palace whence she came. Her
features, too, were regular and beautiful, and she would have attracted
attention by her loveliness among a multitude. When I soon heard her
issue imperious commands and defiantly insist upon the fulfilment of
every wish, I thought, in my boyish ignorance, that Arsinoë must be the
elder; for she was better suited to wield a sceptre than her sister. I
said so to my brother and Charmian; but we all soon saw which really
possessed queenly majesty; for Arsinoë, if her will were crossed, wept,
screamed, and raged like a lunatic, or, if that proved useless, begged
and teased; while if Cleopatra wanted anything she obtained it in a
different way. Even at that time she knew what weapons would give her
victory and, while using them, she still remained the child of a king.

"No artisan's daughter could have been further removed from airs of
majestic pathos than this embodiment of the most charming childlike
grace; but if anything for which her passionate nature ardently longed
was positively refused, she understood how to attain it by the melody of
her voice, the spell of her eyes, and in extreme cases by a silent tear.
When to such tears were added uplifted hands and a few sweet words, such
as, 'It would make me happy,' or, 'Don't you see how it hurts me?'
resistance was impossible; and in after-years also her silent tears and
the marvellous music of her voice won her a victory in the decisive
questions of life.

"We children were soon playmates and friends, for my parents did not
wish the princesses to begin their studies until after they felt at home
with us. This pleased Arsinoë, although she could already read and
write; but Cleopatra more than once asked to hear something from my
father's store of wisdom, of which she had been told.

"The King and her former teacher had cherished the highest expectations
from the brilliant intellect of this remarkable child, and Olympus once
laid his hand on my curls and bade me take care that the princess did
not outstrip the philosopher's son. I had always occupied one of the
foremost places, and laughingly escaped, assuring him that there was no
danger.

"But I soon learned that this warning was not groundless. You will think
that the old fool's heart has played him a trick, and in the magic
garden of childish memories the gifted young girl was transformed into a
goddess. That she certainly was not; for the immortals are free from the
faults and weaknesses of humanity."

"And what robbed Cleopatra of the renown of resembling the gods?" asked
Barine eagerly.

A subtle smile, not wholly free from reproach, accompanied Archibius's
reply: "Had I spoken of her virtues, you would hardly have thought of
asking further details. But why should I try to conceal what she has
displayed to the world openly enough throughout her whole life?
Falsehood and hypocrisy were as unfamiliar to her as fishing is to the
sons of the desert. The fundamental principles which have dominated this
rare creature's life and character to the present day are two ceaseless
desires: first, to surpass every one, even in the most difficult
achievements; and, secondly, to love and to be loved in return. From
them emanated what raised her above all other women. Ambition and love
will also sustain her like two mighty wings on the proud height to which
they have borne her, so long as they dwell harmoniously in her fiery
soul. Hitherto a rare favour of destiny has permitted this, and may the
Olympians grant that thus it may ever be!"

Here Archibius paused, wiped the perspiration from his brow, asked if
the messenger had arrived, and ordered him to be admitted as soon as he
appeared. Then he went on as calmly as before:

"The princesses were members of our household, and in the course of time
they seemed like sisters. During the first winter the King allowed them
to spend only the most inclement months at Philæ, for he was unwilling
to live without them. True, he saw them rarely enough; weeks often
elapsed without a visit; but, on the other hand, he often came day after
day to our garden, clad in plain garments, and borne in an unpretending
litter, for these visits were kept secret from every one save the leech
Olympus.

"I often saw the tall, strong man, with red, bloated face, playing with
his children like a mechanic who had just returned from work. But he
usually remained only a short time, seeming to be satisfied with having
seen them again. Perhaps he merely wished to assure himself that they
were comfortable with us. At any rate, no one was permitted to go near
the group of plane-trees where he talked with them.

"But it is easy to hide amid the dense foliage of these trees, so my
knowledge that he questioned them is not solely hearsay.

"Cleopatra was happy with us from the beginning; Arsinoë needed a
longer time; but the King valued only the opinion of his older child,
his darling, on whom he feasted his eyes and ears like a lover. He often
shook his heavy head at the sight of her, and when she gave him one of
her apt replies, he laughed so loudly that the sound of his deep,
resonant voice was heard as far as the house.

"Once I saw tear after tear course down his flushed cheeks, and yet his
visit was shorter than usual. The closed _harmamaxa_* in which he came
bore him from our house directly to the vessel which was to convey him
to Cyprus and Rome. The Alexandrians, headed by the Queen, had forced
him to leave the city and the country.

[* A closed Asiatic travelling-carriage with four wheels.]

"He was indeed unworthy of the crown, but he loved his little daughter
like a true father. Still, it was terrible, monstrous for him to invoke
curses upon the mother and sister of the children, in their presence,
and in the same breath command them to hate and execrate them, but to
love and never forget him.

"I was then seventeen and Cleopatra ten years old. I, who loved my
parents better than my life, felt an icy chill run through my veins and
then a touch upon my heart like balsam, as I heard little Arsinoë,
after her father had gone, whisper to her sister, 'We will hate
them--may the gods destroy them!' and when Cleopatra answered with
tearful eyes, 'Let us rather be better than they, very good indeed,
Arsinoë, that the immortals may love us and bring our father back.'

"'Because then he will make you Queen,' replied Arsinoë sneeringly,
still trembling with angry excitement.

"Cleopatra gazed at her with a troubled look. Her tense features showed
that she was weighing the meaning of the words, and I can still see her
as she suddenly drew up her small figure, and said proudly, 'Yes, I will
be Queen!'

"Then her manner changed, and in the sweetest tones of her soft voice,
she said beseechingly, 'You won't say such naughty things again, will
you?'

"This was at the time that my father's instruction began to take
possession of her mind. The prediction of Olympus was fulfilled. True, I
attended the school of oratory, but when my father set the royal maiden
a lesson, I was permitted to repeat mine on the same subject, and
frequently I could not help admitting that Cleopatra had succeeded
better than I.

"Soon there were difficult problems to master, for the intellect of this
wonderful child demanded stronger food, and she was introduced into
philosophy. My father himself belonged to the school of Epicurus, and
succeeded far beyond his expectations in rousing Cleopatra's interest in
his master's teachings. She had been made acquainted with the other
great philosophers also, but always returned to Epicurus, and induced
the rest of us to live with her as a true disciple of the noble Samian.

"Your father and brother have doubtless made you familiar with the
precepts of the Stoa; yet you have certainly heard that Epicurus spent
the latter part of his life with his friends and pupils in quiet
meditation and instructive conversation in his garden at Athens. We,
too--according to Cleopatra's wish--were to live thus and call ourselves
'disciples of Epicurus.'

"With the exception of Arsinoë, who preferred gayer pastimes, into
which she drew my brother Straton--at that time a giant in strength--we
all liked the plan. I was chosen master, but I perceived that Cleopatra
desired the position, so she took my place.

"During our next leisure afternoon we paced up and down the garden, and
the conversation about the chief good was so eager, Cleopatra directed
it with so much skill, and decided doubtful questions so happily, that
we reluctantly obeyed the brazen gong which summoned us to the house,
and spent the whole evening in anticipating the next afternoon.

"The following morning my father saw several country people assembled
before the secluded garden; but he did not have time to inquire what
they wanted; for Timagenes, who shared the instruction in history--you
know he was afterwards taken to Rome as a prisoner of war--rushed up to
him, holding out a tablet which bore the inscription Epicurus had
written on the gate of his garden: 'Stranger, here you will be happy;
here is the chief good, pleasure.'

"Cleopatra had written this notice in large letters on the top of a
small table before sunrise, and a slave had secretly fastened it on the
gate for her.

"This prank might have easily proved fatal to our beautiful
companionship, but it had been done merely to make our game exactly like
the model.

"My father did not forbid our continuing this pastime, but strictly
prohibited our calling ourselves 'Epicureans' outside of the garden, for
this noble name had since gained among the people a significance wholly
alien. Epicurus says that true pleasure is to be found only in peace of
mind and absence of pain."

"But every one," interrupted Barine, "believes that people like the
wealthy Isidorus, whose object in life is to take every pleasure which
his wealth can procure, are the real Epicureans. My mother would not
have confided me long to a teacher by whose associates 'pleasure' was
deemed the chief good."

"The daughter of a philosopher," replied Archibius, gently shaking his
head, "ought to understand what pleasure means in the sense of Epicurus,
and no doubt you do. True, those who are further removed from these
things cannot know that the master forbids yearning for individual
pleasure. Have you an idea of his teachings? No definite one? Then
permit me a few words of explanation. It happens only too often that
Epicurus is confounded with Aristippus, who places sensual pleasure
above intellectual enjoyment, as he holds that bodily pain is harder to
endure than mental anguish. Epicurus, on the contrary, considers
intellectual pleasure to be the higher one; for sensual enjoyment, which
he believes free to every one, can be experienced only in the present,
while intellectual delight extends to both the past and the future. To
the Epicureans the goal of life, as has already been mentioned, is to
attain the chief blessings, peace of mind, and freedom from pain. He is
to practise virtue only because it brings him pleasure; for who could
remain virtuous without being wise, noble, and just?--and whoever is all
these cannot have his peace of mind disturbed, and must be really happy
in the exact meaning of the master. I perceived long since the peril
lurking in this system of instruction, which takes no account of moral
excellence; but at that time it seemed to me also the chief good.

"How all this charmed the mind of the thoughtful child, still untouched
by passion! It was difficult to supply her wonderfully vigorous
intellect with sufficient sustenance, and she really felt that to enrich
it was the highest pleasure. And to her, who could scarcely endure to
have a rude hand touch her, though a small grief or trivial
disappointment could not be averted, the freedom from pain which the
master had named as the first condition for the existence of every
pleasure, and termed the chief good, seemed indeed the first condition
of a happy life.

"Yet this child, whom my father once compared to a thinking flower, bore
without complaint her sad destiny--her father's banishment, her mother's
death, her sister Berenike's profligacy. Even to me, in whom she found a
second brother and fully trusted, she spoke of these sorrowful things
only in guarded allusions. I know that she understood what was passing
fully and perfectly, and how deeply she felt it; but pain placed itself
between her and the 'chief good,' and she mastered it. And when she sat
at work, with what tenacious power the delicate creature struggled until
she had conquered the hardest task and outstripped Charmian and even me!

"In those days I understood why, among the gods, a maiden rules over
learning, and why she is armed with the weapons of war. You have heard
how many languages Cleopatra speaks. A remark of Timagenes had fallen
into her soul like a seed. 'With every language you learn,' he had said,
'you will gain a nation.' But there were many peoples in her father's
kingdom, and when she was Queen they must all love her. True, she began
with the tongue of the conquerors, not the conquered. So it happened
that we first learned Lucretius, who reproduces in verse the doctrines
of Epicurus. My father was our teacher, and the second year she read
Lucretius as if it were a Greek book. She had only half known Egyptian;
now she speedily acquired it. During our stay at Philæ she found a
troglodyte who was induced to teach her his language. There were Jews
enough here in Alexandria to instruct her in theirs, and she also
learned its kindred tongue, Arabic.

"When, many years later, she visited Antony at Tarsus, the warriors
imagined that some piece of Egyptian magic was at work, for she
addressed each commander in his own tongue, and talked with him as if
she were a native of the same country.

"It was the same with everything. She outstripped us in every branch of
study. To her burning ambition it would have been unbearable to lag
behind.

"The Roman Lucretius became her favourite poet, although she was no more
friendly to his nation than I, but the self-conscious power of the foe
pleased her, and once I heard her exclaim 'Ah! if the Egyptians were
Romans, I would give up our garden for Berenike's throne.'

"Lucretius constantly led her back to Epicurus, and awakened a severe
conflict in her unresting mind. You probably know that he teaches that
life in itself is not so great a blessing that it must be deemed a
misfortune _not to live_. It is only spoiled by having death appear to
us as the greatest of misfortunes. Only the soul which ceases to regard
death as a misfortune finds peace. Whoever knows that thought and
feeling end with life will not fear death; for, no matter how many dear
and precious things the dead have left here below, their yearning for
them has ceased with life. He declares that providing for the body is
the greatest folly, while the Egyptian religion, in which Anubis strove
to strengthen her faith, maintained precisely the opposite.

"To a certain degree he succeeded, for his personality exerted a
powerful influence over her; and besides, she naturally took great
pleasure in mystical, supernatural things, as my brother Straton did in
physical strength, and you, Barine, enjoy the gift of song. You know
Anubis by sight. What Alexandrian has not seen this remarkable man?--and
whoever has once met his eyes does not easily forget him. He does indeed
rule over mysterious powers, and he used them in his intercourse with
the young princess. It is his work if she cleaves to the religious
belief of her people, if she who is a Hellene to the last drop of blood
loves Egypt, and is ready to make any sacrifice for her independence and
grandeur. She is called 'the new Isis,' but Isis presides over the magic
arts of the Egyptians, and Anubis initiated Cleopatra into this secret
science, and even persuaded her to enter the observatory and the
laboratory----

"But all these things had their origin in our garden of Epicurus, and my
father did not venture to forbid it; for the King had sent a message
from Rome to say that he was glad to have Cleopatra find pleasure in her
own people and their secret knowledge.

"The flute-player, during his stay on the Tiber, had given his gold to
the right men or bound them as creditors to his interest. After Pompey,
Cæsar, and Crassus had concluded their alliance, they consented at
Lucca to the restoration of the Ptolemy. Millions upon millions would
not have seemed to him too large a price for this object. Pompey would
rather have gone to Egypt himself, but the jealousy of the others would
not permit it. Gabinius, the Governor of Syria, received the commission.

"But the occupants of the Egyptian throne were not disposed to resign it
without a struggle. You know that meanwhile Queen Berenike, Cleopatra's
sister, had been twice married. She had her miserable first husband
strangled--a more manly spouse had been chosen by the Alexandrians for
her second consort. He bravely defended his rights, and lost his life on
the field of battle.

"The senate learned speedily enough that Gabinius had brought the
Ptolemy back to his country; the news reached us more slowly. We watched
for every rumour with the same passionate anxiety as now.

"At that time Cleopatra was fourteen, and had developed magnificently.
Yonder portrait shows the perfect flower, but the bud possessed, if
possible, even more exquisite charm. How clear and earnest was the gaze
of her bright eyes! When she was gay they could shine like stars, and
then her little red mouth had an indescribably mischievous expression,
and in each cheek came one of the tiny dimples which still delight every
one. Her nose was more delicate than it is now, and the slight curve
which appears in the portrait, and which is far too prominent in the
coins, was not visible. Her hair did not grow dark until later in life.
My sister Charmian had no greater pleasure than to arrange its wavy
abundance. It was like silk, she often said, and she was right. I know
this, for when at the festival of Isis, Cleopatra, holding the sistrum,
followed the image of the goddess, she was obliged to wear it
unconfined. On her return home she often shook her head merrily, and her
hair fell about her like a cataract, veiling her face and figure. Then,
as now, she was not above middle height, but her form possessed the most
exquisite symmetry, only it was still more delicate and pliant.

"She had understood how to win all hearts. Yet, though she seemed to
esteem our father higher, trust me more fully, look up to Anubis with
greater reverence, and prefer to argue with the keen-witted Timagenes,
she still appeared to hold all who surrounded her in equal favour, while
Arsinoë left me in the lurch if Straton were present, and whenever the
handsome Melnodor, one of my father's pupils, came to us, she fairly
devoured him with her glowing eyes.

"As soon as it was rumoured that the Romans were bringing the King back,
Queen Berenike came to us to take the young girls to the city. When
Cleopatra entreated her to leave her in our parents' care and not
interrupt her studies, a scornful smile flitted over Berenike's face,
and turning to her husband Archelaus, she said scornfully, 'I think
books will prove to be the smallest danger.'

"Pothinus, the guardian of the two princesses' brothers, had formerly
permitted them at times to visit their sisters. Now they were no longer
allowed to leave Lochias, but neither Cleopatra nor Arsinoë made many
inquiries about them. The little boys always retreated from their
caresses, and the Egyptian locks on their temples, which marked the age
of childhood, and the Egyptian garments which Pothinus made them wear,
lent them an unfamiliar aspect.

"When it was reported that the Romans were advancing from Gaza, both
girls were overpowered by passionate excitement. Arsinoë's glittered in
every glance; Cleopatra understood how to conceal hers, but her colour
often varied, and her face, which was not pink and white like her
sister's, but--how shall I express it?----"

"I know what you mean," Barine interrupted. "When I saw her, nothing
seemed to me more charming than that pallid hue through which the
crimson of her cheeks shines like the flame through yonder alabaster
lamp, the tint of the peach through the down. I have seen it often in
convalescents. Aphrodite breathes this hue on the faces and figures of
her favourites only, as the god of time imparts the green tinge to the
bronze. Nothing is more beautiful than when such women blush."

"Your sight is keen," replied Archibius, smiling. "It seemed indeed as
if not Eos, but her faint reflection in the western horizon, was tinting
the sky, when joy or shame sent the colour to her cheeks, But when wrath
took possession of her--and ere the King's return this often
happened--she could look as if she were lifeless, like a marble statue,
with lips as colourless as those of a corpse.

"My father said that the blood of Physkon and other degenerate
ancestors, who had not learned to control their passions, was asserting
itself in her also. But I must continue my story, or the messenger will
interrupt me too soon.

"Gabinius was bringing back the King. But from the time of his approach
with the Roman army and the auxiliary troops of the Ethnarch of Judea,
nothing more was learned of him or of Antipater, who commanded the
forces of Hyrkanus; every one talked constantly of the Roman general
Antony. He had led the troops successfully through the deserts between
Syria and the Egyptian Delta without losing a single man on the
dangerous road by the Sirbonian Sea and Barathra, where many an army had
met destruction. Not to Antipater, but to him, had the Jewish garrison
of Pelusium surrendered their city without striking a blow. He had
conquered in two battles; and the second, where, as you know, Berenike's
husband fell after a brave resistance, had decided the destiny of the
country.

"From the time his name was first mentioned, neither of the girls could
hear enough about him. It was said that he was the most aristocratic of
aristocratic Romans, the most reckless of the daring, the wildest of the
riotous, and the handsomest of the handsome.

"The waiting-maid from Mantua, with whom Cleopatra practised speaking
the Roman language, had often seen him, and had heard of him still more
frequently--for his mode of life was the theme of gossip among all
classes of Roman men and women. His house was said to have descended in
a direct line from Hercules, and his figure and magnificent black beard
recalled his ancestor. You know him, and know that the things reported
of him are those which a young girl cannot hear with indifference, and
at that time he was nearly five lustra younger than he is to-day.

"How eagerly Arsinoë listened when his name was uttered! How Cleopatra
flushed and paled when Timagenes condemned him as an unprincipled
libertine! True, Antony was opening her father's path to his home.

"The flute-player had not forgotten his daughters. He had remained aloof
from the battle, but as soon as the victory was decided, he pressed on
into the city.

"The road led past our garden.

"The King had barely time to send a runner to his daughters, fifteen
minutes before his arrival, to say that he desired to greet them. They
were hurriedly attired in festal garments, and both presented an
appearance that might well gladden a father's heart.

"Cleopatra was not yet as tall as Arsinoë, but, though only fourteen,
she looked like a full-grown maiden, while her sister's face and figure
showed that in years she was still a child. But she was no longer one in
heart. Bouquets for the returning sovereign had been arranged as well as
haste permitted. Each one of the girls held one in her hand when the
train approached.

"My parents accompanied them to the garden gate. I could see what was
passing, but could hear distinctly only the voices of the men.

"The King alighted from the travelling chariot, which was drawn by eight
white Median steeds. The chamberlain who attended him was obliged to
support him. His face, reddened by his potations, fairly beamed as he
greeted his daughters. His joyful surprise at the sight of both, but
especially of Cleopatra, was evident. True, he kissed and embraced
Arsinoë, but after that he had eyes and ears solely for Cleopatra.

"Yet his younger daughter was very beautiful. Away from her sister, she
would have commanded the utmost admiration; but Cleopatra was like the
sun, beside which every other heavenly body pales. Yet, no; she should
not be compared to the sun. It was part of the fascination she exerted
that every one felt compelled to gaze at her, to discover the source of
the charm which emanated from her whole person.

"Antony, too, was enthralled by the spell as soon as he heard the first
words from her lips. He had dashed up to the King's chariot, and seeing
the two daughters by their father's side, he greeted them with a hasty
salute. When, in reply to the question whether he might hope for her
gratitude for bringing her father back to her so quickly, she said that
as a daughter she sincerely rejoiced, but as an Egyptian the task would
be harder, he gazed more keenly at her.

"I did not know her answer until later; but ere the last sound of her
voice had died away, I saw the Roman spring from his charger and fling
the bridle to Ammonius--the chamberlain who had assisted the King from
the chariot--as if he were his groom. The woman-hunter had met with rare
game in his pursuit of the fairest, and while he continued his
conversation with Cleopatra her father sometimes joined in, and his deep
laughter was often heard.

"No one would have recognized the earnest disciple of Epicurus. We had
often heard apt replies and original thoughts from Cleopatra's lips, but
she had rarely answered Timagenes's jests with another. Now she
found--one could see it by watching the speakers--a witty answer to many
of Antony's remarks. It seemed as if, for the first time, she had met
some one for whom she deemed it worth while to bring into the field
every gift of her deep and quick intelligence. Yet she did not lose for
a moment her womanly dignity; her eyes did not sparkle one whit more
brightly than during an animated conversation with me or our father.

"It was very different with Arsinoë. When Antony flung himself from his
horse, she had moved nearer to her sister, but, as the Roman continued
to overlook her, her face crimsoned, she bit her scarlet lips. Her whole
attitude betrayed the agitation that mastered her, and I, who knew her,
saw by the expression of her eyes and her quivering nostrils that she
was on the point of bursting into tears. Though Cleopatra stood so much
nearer to my heart, I felt sorry for her, and longed to touch the arm of
the haughty Roman, who indeed looked like the god of war, and whisper to
him to take some little notice of the poor child, who was also a
daughter of the King.

"But a still harder blow was destined to fall upon Arsinoë; for when
the King, who had been holding both bouquets, warned Antony that it was
time to depart, he took one, and I heard him say in his deep, loud
tones, 'Whoever calls such flowers his daughters does not need so many
others.' Then he gave Cleopatra the blossoms and, laying his hand upon
his heart, expressed the hope of seeing her in Alexandria, and swung
himself upon the charger which the chamberlain, pale with fury, was
still holding by the bridle.

"The flute-player was delighted with his oldest daughter, and told my
father he would have the young princess conveyed to the city on the day
after the morrow. The next day he had things to do of which he desired
her to have no knowledge. Our father, in token of his gratitude, should
retain for himself and his heirs the summer palace and the garden. He
would see that the change of owner was entered in the land register.
This was really done that very day. It was, indeed, his first act save
one--the execution of his daughter Berenike.

"This ruler, who would have seemed to any one who beheld his meeting
with his children a warm-hearted man and a tender father, at that time
would have put half Alexandria to the sword, had not Antony interposed.
He forbade the bloodshed, and honoured Berenike's dead husband by a
stately funeral.

"As the steed bore him away, he turned back towards Cleopatra; he could
not have saluted Arsinoë, for she had rushed into the garden, and her
swollen face betrayed that she had shed burning tears.

"From that hour she bitterly hated Cleopatra.

"On the day appointed, the King brought the princesses to the city with
regal splendour. The Alexandrians joyously greeted the royal sisters,
as, seated on a golden throne, over which waved ostrich-feathers, they
were borne in state down the Street of the King, surrounded by
dignitaries, army commanders, the body-guard, and the senate of the
city. Cleopatra received the adulation of the populace with gracious
majesty, as if she were already Queen. Whoever had seen her as, with
floods of tears, she bade us all farewell, assuring us of her gratitude
and faithful remembrance, the sisterly affection she showed me--I had
just been elected commander of the Ephebi--" Here Archibius was
interrupted by a slave, who announced the arrival of the messenger, and,
rising hurriedly, he went to Leonax's workshop, to which the man had
been conducted, that he might speak to him alone.



CHAPTER VI.

The men sent by Archibius to obtain news had brought back no definite
information; but a short time before, a royal runner had handed him a
tablet from Iras, requesting him to visit her the next day. Disquieting,
but fortunately as yet unverified tidings had arrived. The Regent was
doing everything in his power to ascertain the truth; but he (Archibius)
was aware of the distrust of the government, and everything connected
with it, felt by the sailors and all the seafaring folk at the harbour.
An independent person like himself could often learn more than the chief
of the harbour police, with all his ships and men.

The little tablet was accompanied by a second, which, in the Regent's
name, authorized the bearer to have the harbour chains raised anywhere,
to go out into the open sea and return without interference.

The messenger, the overseer of Archibius's galley slaves, was an
experienced man. He undertook to have the "Epicurus"--a swift vessel,
which Cleopatra had given to her friend--ready for a voyage to the open
sea within two hours. The carriage should be sent for his master, that
no time might be lost.

When Archibius had returned to the ladies and asked whether it would be
an abuse of their hospitality, if--it was now nearly midnight--he should
still delay his departure for a time, they expressed sincere pleasure,
and begged him to continue his narrative.

"I must hasten," he hurriedly began, after eating the lunch which
Berenike had ordered while he was talking with the messenger, "but the
events of the next few years are hardly worth mentioning. Besides, my
time was wholly occupied by my studies in the museum.

"As for Cleopatra and Arsinoë, they stood like queens at the head of
all the magnificence of the court. The day on which they left our house
was the last of their childhood.

"Who would venture to determine whether her father's restoration, or the
meeting with Antony, had wrought the great change which took place at
that time in Cleopatra?

"Just before she left us, my mother had lamented that she must give her
to a father like the flute-player, instead of to a worthy mother; for
the best could not help regarding herself happy in the possession of
such a daughter. Afterwards her character and conduct were better suited
to delight men than to please a mother. The yearning for peace of mind
seemed over. Only the noisy festivals, the singing and music, of which
there was never any cessation in the palace of the royal virtuoso,
seemed to weary her and at such times she appeared at our house and
spent several days beneath its roof. Arsinoë never accompanied her; her
heart was sometimes won by a golden-haired officer in the ranks of the
German horsemen whom Gabinius had left among the garrison of Alexandria,
sometimes by a Macedonian noble among the youths who, at that time,
performed the service of guarding the palace.

"Cleopatra lived apart from her, and Arsinoë openly showed her
hostility from the time that she entreated her to put an end to the
scandal caused by her love affairs.

"Cleopatra held aloof from such things.

"Though she had devoted much time to the magic arts of the Egyptians,
her clear intellect had rendered her so familiar with the philosophy of
the Hellenes that it was a pleasure to hear her converse or argue in the
museum--as she often did--with the leaders of the various schools. Her
self-confidence had become very strong. Though, while with us, she said
that she longed to return to the days of the peaceful Garden of
Epicurus, she devoted herself eagerly enough to the events occurring in
the world and to statecraft. She was familiar with everything in Rome,
the desires and struggles of the contending parties, as well as the
characters of the men who were directing affairs, their qualities,
views, and aims.

"She followed Antony's career with the interest of love, for she had
bestowed on him the first affection of her young heart. She had expected
the greatest achievements, but his subsequent course seemed to belie
these lofty hopes. A tinge of scorn coloured her remarks concerning him
at that time, but here also her heart had its share.

"Pompey, to whom her father owed his restoration to the throne, she
considered a lucky man, rather than a great and wise one. Of Julius
Cæsar, on the contrary, long before she met him, she spoke with ardent
enthusiasm, though she knew that he would gladly have made Egypt a Roman
province. The greatest deed which she expected from the energetic Julius
was that he would abolish the republic, which she hated, and soar upward
to tyrannize over the arrogant rulers of the world--only she would fain
have seen Antony in his place. How often in those days she used magic
art to assure herself of his future! Her father was interested in these
things, especially as, through them, and the power of the mighty Isis,
he expected to obtain relief from his many and severe sufferings.

"Cleopatra's brothers were still mere boys, completely dependent upon
their guardian, Pothinus, to whom the King left the care of the
government, and their tutor, Theodotus, a clever but unprincipled
rhetorician. These two men and Achillas, the commander of the troops,
would gladly have aided Dionysus, the King's oldest male heir, to obtain
the control of the state, in order afterwards to rule him, but the
flute-player baffled their plans. You know that in his last will he made
Cleopatra, his favourite child, his successor, but her brother Dionysus
was to share the throne as her husband. This caused much scandal in
Rome, though it was an old custom of the house of Ptolemy, and suited
the Egyptians.

"The flute-player died. Cleopatra became Queen, and at the same time the
wife of a husband ten years old, for whom she did not even possess the
natural gift of sisterly tenderness. But with the obstinate child who
had been told by his counsellors that the right to rule should be his
alone, she also married the former governors of the country.

"Then began a period of sore suffering. Her life was a perpetual battle
against notorious intrigues, the worst of which owed their origin to her
sister. Arsinoë had surrounded herself with a court of her own, managed
by the eunuch Ganymedes, an experienced commander, and at the same time
a shrewd adviser, wholly devoted to her interest. He understood how to
bring her into close relations with Pothinus and other rulers of the
state, and thus at last united all who possessed any power in the royal
palace in an endeavour to thrust Cleopatra from the throne. Pothinus,
Theodotus, and Achillas hated her because she saw their failings and
made them feel the superiority of her intellect. Their combined efforts
might have succeeded in overthrowing her before, had not the
Alexandrians, headed by the Ephebi, over whom I still had some
influence, stood by her so steadfastly. Whoever could still be classed
as a 'youth' glowed with enthusiasm for her, and most of the Macedonian
nobles in the body-guard would have gone to death for her sake, though
she had forced them to gaze hopelessly up to her as if she were some
unapproachable goddess.

"When her father died she was seventeen, but she knew how to resist
oppressors and foes as if she were a man. My sister, Charmian, whom she
had appointed to a place in her service, loyally aided her. At that time
she was a beautiful and lovable girl, but the spell exerted by the Queen
fettered her like chains and bonds. She voluntarily resigned the love of
a noble man--he afterwards became your husband, Berenike--in order not
to leave her royal friend at a time when she so urgently needed her.
Since then my sister has shut her heart against love. It belonged to
Cleopatra. She lives, thinks, cares for her alone. She is fond of you,
Barine, because your father was so dear to her. Iras, whose name is so
often associated with hers, is the daughter of my oldest sister, who was
already married when the King entrusted the princesses to our father's
care. She is thirteen years younger than Cleopatra, but her mistress
holds the first place in her heart also. Her father, the wealthy Krates,
made every effort to keep her from entering the service of the Queen,
but in vain. A single conversation with this marvellous woman had bound
her forever.

"But I must be brief. You have doubtless heard how completely Cleopatra
bewitched Pompey's son during his visit to Alexandria. She had not been
so gracious to any man since her meeting with Antony, and it was not
from affection, but to maintain the independence of her beloved native
land. At that time the father of Gnejus was the man who possessed the
most power, and statecraft commanded her to win him through his son. The
young Roman also took his leave 'full of her,' as the Egyptians say.
This pleased her, but the visit greatly aided her foes. There was no
slander which was not disseminated against her. The commanders of the
body-guard, whom she had always treated as a haughty Queen, had seen her
associate with Pompey's son in the theatre as if he were a friend of
equal rank; and on many other occasions the Alexandrians saw her repay
his courtesies in the same coin. But in those days hatred of Rome surged
high. The regents, leagued with Arsinoë, spread the rumour that
Cleopatra would deliver Egypt up to Pompey, if the senate would secure
to her the sole sovereignty of the new province, and leave her free to
rid herself of her royal brother and husband.

"She was compelled to fly, and went first to the Syrian frontier, to
gain friends for her cause among the Asiatic princes. My brother
Straton--you remember the noble youth who won the prize for wrestling at
Olympia, Berenike--and I were commissioned to carry the treasure to her.
We doubtless exposed ourselves to great peril, but we did so gladly, and
left Alexandria with a few camels, an ox-cart, and some trusted slaves.
We were to go to Gaza, where Cleopatra was already beginning to collect
an army, and had disguised ourselves as Nabatæan merchants. The
languages which I had learned, in order not to be distanced by
Cleopatra, were now of great service.

"Those were stirring times. The names of Cæsar and Pompey were in every
mouth. After the defeat at Dyrrachium the cause of Julius seemed lost,
but the Pharsalian battle again placed him uppermost, unless the East
rose in behalf of Pompey. Both seemed to be favourites of Fortune. The
question now was to which the goddess would prove most faithful.

"My sister Charmian was with the Queen, but through one of Arsinoë's
maids, who was devoted to her, we had learned from the palace that
Pompey's fate was decided. He had come a fugitive from the defeat of
Pharsalus, and begged the King of Egypt--that is, the men who were
acting in his name--for a hospitable reception. Pothinus and his
associates had rarely confronted a greater embarrassment. The troops and
ships of the victorious Cæsar were close at hand; many of Gabinius' men
were serving in the Egyptian army. To receive the vanquished Pompey
kindly was to make the victorious Cæsar a foe. I was to witness the
terrible solution of this dilemma. The infamous words of Theodotus,
'Dead dogs no longer bite,' had turned the scale.

"My brother and I reached Mount Casius with our precious freight, and
pitched our tents to await a messenger, when a large body of armed men
approached from the city. At first we feared that we were pursued; but a
spy reported that the King himself was among the soldiery, and at the
same time a large Roman galley drew near the coast. It must be Pompey's.
So they had changed their views, and the King was coming in person to
receive their guest. The troops encamped on the flat shore on which
stood the Temple of the Casian Amon.

"The September sun shone brightly, and was reflected from the weapons.
From the high bank of the dry bed of the river, where we had pitched our
tent, we saw something scarlet move to and fro. It was the King's
mantle. The waves, stirred by the autumn breeze, rippled lightly, blue
as cornflowers, over the yellow sand of the dunes; but the King stood
still, shading his eyes with his hand as he gazed at the galley.
Meanwhile, Achillas, the commander of the troops, and Septimius, the
tribune, who belonged to the Roman garrison in Alexandria, and who, I
knew, had served under Pompey and owed him many favours, had entered a
boat and put off to the vessel, which could not come nearer the land on
account of the shallow water.

"The conference now began, and Achillas's offer of hospitality must have
been very warm and well calculated to inspire confidence, for a tall
lady--it was Cornelia, the wife of the Imperator--waved her hand to him
in token of gratitude."

Here the speaker paused, drew a long breath, and, pressing his hand to
his brow, continued:

"What follows--alas, that it was my fate to witness the dreadful scene!
How often a garbled account has been given, and yet the whole was so
terribly simple!

"Fortune makes her favourites confiding. Pompey was also. Though more
than fifty years old--he lacked two years of sixty--he sprang into the
boat quickly enough, with merely a little assistance from a freedman. A
sailor--he was a negro--shoved the skiff off from the side of the huge
ship as violently as if the pole he used for the purpose was a spear,
and the galley his foe. The boat, urged by his companions' oars, had
already moved forward, and he stumbled, the brown cap falling from his
woolly head in the act. It seems as if I could still see him. Ere I
clearly realized that this was an evil omen, the boat stopped.

"The water was shallow. I saw Achillas point to the shore. It could be
reached by a single bound. Pompey looked towards the King. The freedman
put his hand under his arm to help him rise. Septimius also stood up. I
thought he intended to assist him. But no! What did this mean? Something
flashed by the Imperator's silver-grey hair as if a spark had fallen
from the sky. Would Pompey defend himself, or why did he raise his hand?
It was to draw around him the toga, with which he silently covered his
face. The tribune's arm was again raised high into the air, and
then--what confusion! Here, there, yonder, hands suddenly appeared
aloft, bright flashes darted through the clear air. Achillas, the
general, dealt blows with his dagger as if he were skilled in murder.
The Imperator's stalwart figure sank forward. The freedman supported
him.

"Then shouts arose, here a cry of fury, yonder a wail of grief, and,
rising above all, a woman's shriek of anguish. It came from the lips of
Cornelia, the murdered man's wife. Shouts of applause from the King's
camp followed, then the blast of a trumpet; the Egyptians drew back from
the shore. The scarlet cloak again appeared. Septimius, bearing in his
hand a bleeding head, went towards it and held the ghastly trophy aloft.
The royal boy gazed into the dull eyes of the victim, who had guided the
destinies of many a battlefield, of Rome, of two quarters of the globe.
The sight was probably too terrible for the child upon the throne, for
he averted his head. The ship moved away from the land, the Egyptians
formed into ranks and marched off. Achillas cleansed his blood-stained
hands in the sea-water. The freedman beside him washed his master's
headless trunk. The general shrugged his shoulders as the faithful
fellow heaped reproaches on him."

Here Archibius paused, drawing a long breath. Then he continued more
calmly:

"Achillas did not lead the troops back to Alexandria, but eastward,
towards Pelusium, as I learned later.

"My brother and I stood on the rocky edge of the ravine. It was long ere
either spoke. A cloud of dust concealed the King and his body-guard, the
sails of the galley disappeared. Twilight closed in, and Straton pointed
westward towards Alexandria. Then the sun set. Red! red! It seemed as if
a torrent of blood was pouring over the city.

"Night followed. A scanty fire was glimmering on the strand. Where had
the wood been gathered in this desert? How had it been kindled? A
wrecked, mouldering boat had lain close beside the scene of the murder.
The freedman and his companions had broken it up and fed the flames with
withered boughs, the torn garments of the murdered man, and dry
sea-weed. A blaze soon rose, and a body was carefully placed upon the
wretched funeral pyre. It was the corpse of the great Pompey. One of the
Imperator's veterans aided the faithful servant."

Here Archibius sank back again among the cushions, adding in
explanation:

"Cordus, the man's name was Servius Cordus. He fared well later. The
Queen provided for him. The others? Fate overtook them all soon enough.
Theodotus was condemned by Brutus to a torturing death. Amid his loud
shrieks of agony one of Pompey's veterans shouted, 'Dead dogs no longer
bite, but they howl when dying!'

"It was worthy of Cæsar that he averted his face in horror from the
head of his enemy, which Theodotus sent to him. Pothinus, too, vainly
awaited the reward of his infamous deed.

"Julius Cæsar had cast anchor before Alexandria shortly after the
King's return. Not until after his arrival in Egypt did he learn how
Pompey had been received there. You know that he remained nine months.
How often I have heard it said that Cleopatra understood how to chain
him here! This is both true and false. He was obliged to stay half a
year; the following three months he did indeed give to the woman whom he
loved. Ay, the heart of the man of fifty-four had again opened to a
great passion. Like all wounds, those inflicted by the arrows of Eros
heal more slowly when youth lies behind the stricken one. It was not
only the eyes and the senses which attracted a couple so widely
separated by years, but far more the mental characteristics of both. Two
winged intellects had met. The genius of one had recognized that of the
other. The highest type of manhood had met perfect womanhood. They could
not fail to attract each other. I expected it; for Cleopatra had long
watched breathlessly the flight of this eagle who soared so far above
the others, and she was strong enough to keep at his side.

"We succeeded in joining Cleopatra, and heard that, spite of the
hostility of our citizens, Cæsar had occupied the palace of the
Ptolemies and was engaged in restoring order.

"We knew in what way Pothinus, Achillas, and Arsinoë would seek to
influence him. Cleopatra had good reason to fear that her foes might
deliver Egypt unconditionally to Rome, if Cæsar should leave the reins
of government in their hands and shut her out. She had cause to dread
this, but she also had the courage to act in person in her own behalf.

"The point now was to bring her into the city, the palace--nay, into
direct communication with the dictator. Children tell the tale of the
strong man who bore Cleopatra in a sack through the palace portals. It
was not a sack which concealed her, but a Syrian carpet. The strong man
was my brother Straton. I went first, to secure a free passage.

"Julius Cæsar and she saw and found each other. Fate merely drew the
conclusion which must result from such premises. Never have I seen
Cleopatra happier, more exalted in mind and heart, yet she was menaced
on all sides by serious perils. It required all the military genius of
Cæsar to conquer the fierce hostility which he encountered here. It was
this, not the thrall of Cleopatra, I repeat, which first bound him to
Egypt. What would have prevented him--as he did later--from taking the
object of his love to Rome, had it been possible at that time? But this
was not the case. The Alexandrians provided for that.

"He had recognized the flute-player's will, nay, had granted more to the
royal house than could have been given to the former. Cleopatra and her
brother-husband, Dionysus, were to share the government, and he also
bestowed on Arsinoë and her youngest brother the island of Cyprus,
which had been wrested from their uncle Ptolemy by the republic. Rome
was, of course, to remain the guardian of the brothers and sisters.

"This arrangement was unendurable to Pothinus and the former rulers of
the state. Cleopatra as Queen, and Rome--that is Cæsar, the dictator,
her friend, as guardian--meant their removal from power, their
destruction, and they resisted violently.

"The Egyptians and even the Alexandrians supported them. The young King
hated nothing more than the yoke of the unloved sister, who was so
greatly his superior. Cæsar had come with a force by no means equal to
theirs, and it might be possible to draw the mighty general into a
snare. They fought with all the power at their command, with such
passionate eagerness, that the dictator had never been nearer succumbing
to peril. But Cleopatra certainly did not paralyze his strength and
cautious deliberation. No! He had never been greater; never proved the
power of his genius so magnificently. And against what superior power,
what hatred he contended! I myself saw the young King, when he heard
that Cleopatra had succeeded in entering the palace and meeting Cæsar,
rush into the street, fairly crazed by rage, tear the diadem from his
head, hurl it on the pavement, and shriek to the passers-by that he was
betrayed, until Cæsar's soldiers forced him back into the palace, and
dispersed the mob.

"Arsinoë had received more than she could venture to expect; but she
was again most deeply angered. After Cæsar's entry into the palace, she
had received him as Queen, and hoped everything from his favour. Then
her hated sister had come and, as so often happened, she was forgotten
for Cleopatra's sake.

"This was too much, and with the eunuch Ganymedes, her confidant,
and--as I have already said--an able warrior, she left the palace and
joined the dictator's foes.

"There were severe battles on land and sea; in the streets of the city,
for the drinkable water excavated by the foe; and against the
conflagration which destroyed part of the Bruchium and the library of
the museum. Yet, half dead with thirst, barely escaped from drowning,
threatened on all sides by fierce hatred, he stood firm, and remained
victor also in the open field, after the young King had placed himself
at the head of the Egyptians and collected an army.

"You know that the boy was drowned in the flight.

"In battle and mortal peril, amid blood and the clank of arms, Cæsar
and Cleopatra spent half a year ere they were permitted to pluck the
fruit of their common labour. The dictator now made her Queen of Egypt,
and gave her, as co-regent, her youngest brother, a boy not half her own
age. To Arsinoë he granted the life she had forfeited, but sent her to
Italy.

"Peace followed the victory. Now, it is true, grave duties must have
summoned the statesman back to Rome, but he tarried three full months
longer.

"Whoever knows the life of the ambitious Julius, and is aware what this
delay might have cost him, may well strike his brow with his hand, and
ask, 'Is it true and possible that he used this precious time to take a
trip with the woman he loved up the Nile, to the island of Isis, which
is so dear to the Queen, to the extreme southern frontier of the
country?' Yet it was so, and I myself went in the second ship, and not
only saw them together, but more than once shared their banquets and
their conversation. It was giving and taking, forcing down and
elevating, a succession of discords, not unpleasant to hear, because
experience taught that they would finally terminate in the most
beautiful harmony. It was a festal day for all the senses."

"I imagine the whole Nile journey," interrupted Barine, "to be like the
fairy voyage, when the purple silk sails of Cleopatra's galley bore
Antony along the Cydnus."

"No, no," replied Archibius, "she first learned from Antony the art of
filling this earthly existence with fleeting pleasures. Cæsar demanded
more. Her intellect offered him the highest enjoyment."

Here he hesitated.

"True, the skill with which, to please Antony, she daily offered him for
years fresh charms for every sense, was not a matter of accident."

"And this," cried Barine, "this was undertaken by the woman who had
recognized the chief good in peace of mind!"

"Ay," replied Archibius thoughtfully, "yet this was the inevitable
result. Pleasure had been the young girl's object in life. Ere passion
awoke in her soul, peace of mind was the chief good she knew. When the
hour arrived that this proved unattainable, the firmly rooted yearning
for happiness still remained the purpose of her existence. My father
would have been wiser to take her to the Stoa and impress it upon her
that, if life must have a goal, it should be only to live in accordance
with the sensibly arranged course of the world, and in harmony with
one's own nature. He should have ta

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