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GEORG EBERS'S BOOKS. 
 
 ROMANCES. ' 
 
 Cleopatra. Translated from the German by Mary J. 
 
 Safford. 2 volumes. 
 A Thorny Path. (Per Aspera.) Translated by Clara 
 
 Bell. 2 volumes. 
 An Egyptian Princess. Translated by Eleanor Grove. 
 
 2 volumes. 
 Uarda. Translated by Clara Bell. 2 volumes. 
 Homo Sum, Translated by Clara Bell, i volume. 
 The Sisters. Translated by Clara Bell, i volume. 
 A Question. Translated by Mary J. Safford. i volume. 
 The Emperor. Translated by Clara Bf.ll. 2 volumes. 
 The Burgomaster's 'Wife. Translated by Mary J. 
 
 Safford. i volume. 
 A "Word, only a "Word. Translated by Mary J. Saf- 
 ford. I volume. 
 Serapis. Translated by Clara Bell, i volume. 
 The Bride of the Nile. Translated by Clara Bell. 
 
 2 volumes. 
 Margery, (Gred.) Translated by Clara Bell. 2 volumes. 
 Joshua. Translated by Mary J. Safford. i volume. 
 The Elixir, and Other Tales. Translated by Mrs. 
 
 Edward H. Bell. "With Portrait of the Author, i 
 
 volume. 
 
 Each of the above, i6mo, paper cover, 40 cents per volume ; 
 cloth, 75 cents. Set of 22 volumes, cloth, in box, $16.50. 
 
 Also, i2mo edition of the above (except *' A Question," 
 "The Elixir," "Cleopatra," and "A Thorny Path"), in 
 8 volumes, cloth, $1.00 each. 
 
 OTHER WORKS. 
 The Story of My Life. Translated by Mary J. Saf- 
 ford. "With Portraits. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Lorenz Alma Tadema : His Life and "Works. Trans- 
 lated by Mart J. Safford. i volume. i2mo. Paper, 
 40 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 Richard Lepsius : A Biography. Translated by Zoe 
 Dana Underhill. i volume. i2mo. Paper, 60 cents ; 
 cloth, $1.25. 
 
C LEOPAT R A 
 
 A ROMANi 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORG EBERS 
 
 AUTHOR OF UARDA, AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS, SERAPIS, JOSHUA, 
 A THORNY PATH, THE STORY OF MY LIFE, ETC. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 By MARY J. SAFFORD 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. II 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1894 
 
Copyright, 1894, 
 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
 7/5/3 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed 
 AT THE Appleton Press, U. S. A. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 During these hours of rest Iras and Charmian 
 had watched in turn beside Cleopatra. When she 
 rose, the younger attendant rendered her the neces- 
 sary services. She was to devote herself to her 
 mistress until the evening ; for her companion, who 
 now stood in her way, was not to return earlier. 
 Before Charmian left, she had seen that her apart- 
 ments — in which Barine, since the Queen had 
 placed her in her charge, had been a welcome 
 guest — were carefully watched. The commander 
 of the Macedonian guard, who years before had 
 vainly sought her favour, and finally had become 
 the most loyal of her friends, had promised to keep 
 them closely. 
 
 Yet Iras knew how to profit by her mistress's 
 sleep and the absence of her aunt. She had learned 
 that she would be shut out of her apartments, and 
 therefore from Barine also. Ere any step could be 
 taken against the prisoner, she must first arrange 
 
2 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 the necessary preliminaries with Alexas. The fail- 
 ure of her expectation of seeing her rival trampled 
 in the dust had transformed her jealous resentment 
 into hatred, and though she was her niece, she even 
 transferred a portion of it to Charmian, who had 
 placed herself between her and her victim. 
 
 She had sent for the Syrian, but he, too, had 
 gone to rest at a late hour and kept her waiting a 
 long time. The reception which the impatient girl 
 bestowed was therefore by no means cordial, but 
 her manner soon grew more friendly. 
 
 First Alexas boasted of having induced the 
 Queen to commit Barine's fate to him. If he 
 should try her at noon and find her guilty, there 
 was nothing to prevent him from compelling her 
 to drink the poisoned cup or having her strangled 
 before evening. But the matter would be danger- 
 ous, because the singer's friends were numerous 
 and by no means powerless. Yet, in the depths of 
 her heart, Cleopatra desired nothing more ardently 
 than to rid herself of her dangerous rival. But 
 he knew the great ones of the earth. If he acted 
 energetically and brought matters to a speedy 
 close, the Queen, to avoid evil gossip, would bur- 
 den him with her own act. Antony's mood could 
 not be predicted, and the Syrian's weal or woe de- 
 pended on his favour. Besides, the execution of 
 the singer at the last Adonis festival might have a 
 dangerous effect upon the people of Alexandria. 
 They were already greatly excited, and his brother, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 3 
 
 who knew them, said that some were overwhelmed 
 with sorrow, and others ready, in their fury, to rise 
 in a bloody rebellion. Everything was to be feared 
 from this rabble, but Philostratus understood how 
 to persuade them to many things, and Alexas had 
 just secured his aid. 
 
 Alexas had really succeeded in the work of 
 reconciliation. ^ During the orator's married life 
 with Barine she had forbidden her brother-in-law 
 the house, and her husband had quarrelled with the 
 brother who sought his wife. But after the latter 
 had risen to a high place in Antony's favour, and 
 been loaded with gold by his lavish hand, Philos- 
 tratus had again approached him to claim his share 
 of the new wealth. And the source from which 
 Alexas drew flowed so abundantly that his favour- 
 ite did not find it difficult to give. Both men were 
 as unprincipled as they were lavish, and experi- 
 ence taught them that base natures always have 
 at their disposal a plank with which to bridge 
 chasms. If it is of gold, it will be crossed the 
 more speedily. Such was the case here, and of 
 late it had become specially firm ; for each needed 
 the other's aid. 
 
 Alexas loved Barine, while Philostratus no 
 longer cared for her. On the other hand, he hated 
 Dion with so ardent a thirst for revenge that, to 
 obtain it, he would have resigned even the hope of 
 fresh gains. The humiliation inflicted upon him by 
 the arrogant Macedonian noble, and the derision 
 
4 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 which through his efforts had been heaped upon 
 him, haunted him like importunate pursuers; and 
 he felt that he could only rid himself of them with 
 the source of his disgrace. Without his brother's 
 aid, he would have been content to assail Dion 
 wuth his slandering tongue ; with his powerful as- 
 sistance he could inflict a heavier injury upon him, 
 perhaps even rob him of liberty and life. They 
 had just made an agreement by which Philostratus 
 pledged himself to reconcile the populace to any 
 punishment that might be inflicted upon Barine, 
 and Alexas promised to help his brother take a 
 bloody vengeance upon Dion the Macedonian. 
 
 Barine's death could be of no service to Alexas. 
 The sight of her beauty had fired his heart a sec- 
 ond time, and he was resolved to make her his 
 own. In the dungeon, perhaps by torture, she 
 should be forced to grasp his helping hand. All 
 this would permit no delay. Everything must be 
 done before the return of Antony, who was daily 
 expected. Alexas's lavish patron had made him 
 so rich that he could bear to lose his favour for the 
 sake of this object. Even without it, he could 
 maintain a household with royal magnificence in 
 some city of his Syrian home. 
 
 On receiving the favourite's assurance that he 
 would remove Barine from Charmian's protection 
 on the morrow, Iras became more gracious. She 
 could make no serious objection to his statement 
 that the new trial might not, it is true, end in a 
 
CLEOPATRA. 5 
 
 sentence of death, but the verdict would probably 
 be transportation to the mines, or something of the 
 sort. 
 
 Then Alexas cautiously tested Iras's feelings 
 towards his brother's mortal foe. They were hostile ; 
 yet when the favourite intimated that he, too, ought 
 to be given up to justice, she showed so much hesi- 
 tation, that Alexas stopped abruptly and turned 
 the conversation upon Barine. Here she promised 
 assistance with her former eager zeal, and it was 
 settled that the arrest should be made the follow- 
 ing morning during the hours of Charmian's at- 
 tendance upon the Queen. 
 
 Iras had valuable counsel to offer. She was 
 familiar with one of the prisons, whose doors she 
 had opened to many a hapless mortal whose dis- 
 appearance, in her opinion, might be of service to 
 the Queen. She had deemed it a duty, aided by 
 the Keeper of the Seal, to anticipate her mistress 
 in cases where her kind heart would have found it 
 difficult to pronounce a severe sentence, and Cleo- 
 patra had permitted it, though without commenda- 
 tion or praise. What happened within its walls — 
 thanks to the silence of the warder — never passed 
 beyond the portals. If Barine cursed her life 
 there, she would still fare better than she, Iras, 
 who during the past few nights had been on the 
 brink of despair whenever she thought of the man 
 who had disdained her love and abandoned her for 
 another. 
 
6 , CLEOPATRA. 
 
 As the Syrian held out his hand to take leave, 
 she asked bluntly : 
 
 " And Dion ? " 
 
 " He cannot be set free," was the reply, " for 
 he loves Barine ; nay, the fool was on the eve of 
 leading her home to his beautiful palace as its 
 mistress." 
 
 " Is that true, really true ? " asked Iras, whose 
 cheeks and lips lost every tinge of colour, 
 though she succeeded in maintaining her com- 
 posure. 
 
 " He confessed it yesterday in a letter to his 
 uncle, the Keeper of the Seal, in which he en- 
 treated him to do his utmost for his chosen bride, 
 whom he would never resign. But Zeno has no 
 liking for this niece. Do you wish to see the 
 letter?" 
 
 " Then, of course, he cannot be set at liberty," 
 replied Iras, and there was additional shrillness in 
 her voice. " He will do everything in his power 
 for the woman he loves, and that is much — far 
 more than you, who are half a stranger here, sus- 
 pect. The Macedonian families stand by each 
 other. He is a member of the council. The bands 
 of the Ephebi will support him to a man. And 
 the populace ? — He lately spoiled the game of 
 your brother, who was acting for me, in a way. — 
 He was finally dragged out of the basin of the 
 fountain, dripping with water and overwhelmed 
 with shame." 
 
CLEOPATRA. 7 
 
 " For that very reason his mouth must be 
 closed." 
 
 Iras nodded assent, but after a short pause she 
 exclaimed angrily : " I will help you to silence 
 him, but not forever. Do you hear ? Theodotus's 
 saying about the dead dogs which do not bite 
 brought no blessing to any one who followed it. 
 There are other ways of getting rid of this man." 
 
 "A bird sang that you were not unfriendly to 
 him." 
 
 " A bird ? Then it was probably an owl, which 
 cannot see in the daylight. His worst enemy, your 
 brother, would probably sacrifice himself for his 
 welfare sooner than I." 
 
 " Then I shall begin to feel sympathy for this 
 Dion." 
 
 " I saw recently that your compassion sur- 
 passed mine. Death is not the hardest punish- 
 ment." 
 
 " Is that the cause of this gracious respite ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so. But there are other matters to 
 be considered here. First, the condition of the 
 times. Everything is tottermg, even the royal 
 power, which a short time ago was a wall which 
 concealed many things and afforded shelter from 
 every assault. Then Dion himself. I have already 
 numbered those who will support him. Since the 
 defeat at Actium, the Queen can no longer ex- 
 claim to that many-headed monster, the people, 
 *You must,' but *I entreat.' The others " 
 
8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " The first Considerations are enough ; but may 
 I be permitted to know what my wise friend has 
 awarded to the hapless wight from whom she with- 
 drew her favour ?" 
 
 ^^ First, imprisonment here at Lochias. He has 
 stained his hands with the blood of Caesarion, the 
 King of kings. That is high treason, even in the 
 eyes of the people. Try to obtain the order for 
 the arrest this very day." 
 
 " Whenever I can disturb the Queen with such 
 matters." 
 
 " Not for my sake, but to save her from injury. 
 Away with everything which can cloud her intel- 
 lect in these decisive days ! First, away with 
 Barine, who spoiled her return home ; and then let 
 us take care of the man who would be capable, 
 for this woman's sake, of causing an insurrection 
 in Alexandria. The great cares associated w4th 
 the state and the throne are hers ; for the minor 
 ones of the toilet and the heart I will provide." 
 
 Here she was interrupted by one of Cleopatra's 
 waiting-maids. The Queen had awakened, and 
 Iras hastened to her post. 
 
 As she passed Charmian's apartments and saw 
 two handsome soldiers, belonging to the Mace- 
 donian body-guard, pacing to and fro on duty 
 before them, her face darkened. It was against 
 her alone that Charmian was protecting Barine. 
 She had been harshly reproved by the older woman 
 on account of the artist's daughter, who had been 
 

 i^m 
 
 ^^ivY'"' 
 
 CLEOPATRA. V ^. ^-I^' O 
 
 the source of so many incidents which had caused 
 her pain, and Iras regretted that she had ever con- 
 fided to her aunt her love for Dion. But, no mat- 
 ter what might happen, the upas-tree whence ema- 
 nated all these tortures, anxieties, and vexations, 
 must be rooted out — stricken from the ranks of the 
 living. 
 
 Ere she entered the Queen's anteroom she 
 had mentally pronounced sentence of death on 
 her enemy. Her inventive brain was now busy in 
 devising means to induce the Syrian to undertake 
 its execution. If this stone of offence was re- 
 moved it would again be possible to live in har- 
 mony with Charmian. Dion would be free, and 
 then, much as he had wounded her, she would de- 
 fend him from the hatred of Philostratus and his 
 brother. 
 
 She entered the Queen's presence with a lighter 
 heart. The death of a condemned person had long 
 since ceased to move her deeply. While render- 
 ing the first services to her mistress, who had been 
 much refreshed by her sleep, her face grew brighter 
 and brighter ; for Cleopatra voluntarily told her 
 that she was glad to have her attendance, and not 
 be constantly annoyed by the same disagreeable 
 matter, which must soon be settled. 
 
 In fact, Charmian, conscious that no one else 
 at court would have ventured to do so, had never 
 grown weary, spite of many a rebuff, of pleading 
 Barine's cause until, the day before, Cleopatra, in 
 
lO CLEOPATRA. 
 
 a sudden fit of anger, had commanded her not to 
 mention the mischief-maker again. 
 
 When Charmian soon after requested permis- 
 sion to let Iras take her place the following day, 
 the Queen already regretted the harsh reproof she 
 had given her friend, and, while cordially granting 
 the desired leave, begged her to attribute her angry 
 impatience to the cares which burdened her. " And 
 when you show me your kind, faithful face again," 
 she concluded, " you will have remembered that a 
 true friend withholds from an unhappy woman 
 whom she loves whatever will shadow more deeply 
 her already clouded life. This Barine's very name 
 sounds like a jeer at the composure I maintain 
 with so much difficulty. I do not wish to hear it 
 again." 
 
 The words were uttered in a tone so affection- 
 ate and winning, that Charmian's vexation melted 
 like ice in the sun. Yet she left the Queen's pres- 
 ence anxious and troubled ; for ere she quitted the 
 room Cleopatra remarked that she had committed 
 the singer's affairs to Alexas. She was now doubly 
 eager to obtain a day's freedom, for she knew the 
 unprincipled favourite's feelings towards the young 
 beauty, and longed to discuss with Archibius the 
 best means of guarding her from the worst perils. 
 
 When at a late hour she went to rest, she was 
 served by the Nubian maid, who had accompanied 
 her to the court from her parents' home. She came 
 from the Cataract, where she had been bought when 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 1 
 
 the family of Alypius accompanied the child Cleo- 
 patra to the island of Philse. Anukis was given 
 to Charmian, who at the time was just entering 
 womanhood, as the first servant who was her sole 
 property, and she had proved so clever, skilful, 
 apt to learn, and faithful, that her mistress took 
 her, as her personal attendant, to the palace. 
 
 Charmian's warm, unselfish love for the Queen 
 was equalled by Anukis's devotion to the mistress 
 who had long since made her free, and had become 
 so strongly attached to her that the Nubian's in- 
 terests were little less regarded than her own. 
 Her sound, keen judgment and natural wit had 
 gained a certain renown in the palace, and as Cleo- 
 patra often condescended to rouse her to an apt 
 answer, Antony had done so, too ; and since the 
 slight crook in the back, which she had from child- 
 hood, had grown into a hump, he gave her the 
 name of Aisopion — the female ^sop. All the 
 Queen's attendants now used it, and though 
 others of lower rank did the same, she permitted 
 it, though her ready wit would have supplied her 
 tongue with a retort sharp enough to respond to 
 any word which displeased her. 
 
 But she knew the life and fables of ^sop, who 
 had also once been a slave, and deemed it an 
 honour to be compared with him. 
 
 When Charmian had left Cleopatra and sought 
 her chamber, she found Barine sound asleep, but 
 Anukis was awaiting her, and her mistress told her 
 
12 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 with what deep anxiety for Barine she had quitted 
 the presence of the Queen. She knew that the 
 Nubian was fond of the young matron, whom in 
 her childhood she had carried in her arms, and 
 whose father, Leonax, had often jested with her. 
 The maid had watched her career with much in- 
 terest, and while Barine had been her mistress's 
 guest her efforts to amuse and soothe her were un- 
 ceasing. 
 
 She had gone every morning to Berenike to ask 
 tidings of Dion's health, and always brought fa- 
 vourable news. Anukis knew Philostratus and his 
 brother, too, and as she liked Antony, who jested 
 with her so kindly, she grieved to see an unprin- 
 cipled fellow like Alexas his chief confidant. She 
 knew the plots with which the Syrian had perse- 
 cuted Barine, and when Charmian told her that the 
 Queen had committed the young beauty's fate to 
 this man's keeping her dark face grew fairly livid; 
 but she forced herself to conceal the terror which 
 the news inspired. Her mistress was also aware 
 what this choice meant to Barine. But Anukis 
 would have thought it wrong to disturb Charmian's 
 sleep by revealing her own distress. It was for- 
 tunate that she was going early the next morning 
 to seek the aid of Archibius, whom Anukis believed 
 to be the wisest of men ; but this by no means 
 soothed her. She knew the fable of the lion and 
 the mouse, which had been told in her home long 
 before the time of the author for whom she was 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 3 
 
 nicknamed, and already more than once she had 
 been in a position to render far greater and more 
 powerful persons an important service. To soothe 
 Charmian to sleep and turn her thoughts in another 
 direction, she told her about Dion, whom she had 
 found much better that day, how tenderly he seemed 
 to love Barine, and how touchingly patient and 
 worthy of her father the daughter of Leonax had 
 been. 
 
 After her mistress had fallen asleep she went to 
 the hall where, spite of the late hour, she expected 
 to meet some of the servants — sure of being greeted 
 as a welcome guest. When, a short time later, Alex- 
 as's body-slave appeared, she filled his wine cup, 
 sat down by his side, and tried with all the powers 
 at her command to win his confidence. And so well 
 did the elderly Nubian succeed that Marsyas, a 
 handsome young Ligurian, after she had gone, de- 
 clared that Aisopion's jokes and stories were 
 enough to bring the dead to life, and it was as 
 pleasant to talk seriously with the brown-skinned 
 monster as to dally with a fair-haired sweetheart. 
 
 After Charmian had left the palace the follow- 
 ing morning, Anukis again sought Marsyas and 
 learned from him for what purpose and at what 
 hour Iras had summoned Alexas. His master was 
 continually whispering with the languishing Mace- 
 donian. 
 
 When Anukis returned, Barine seemed troubled 
 because she brought no tidings from her mother 
 
14 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 and Dion ; but the Nubian entreated her to have 
 patience, and gave her some books and a spindle, 
 that she might have occupation in her solitude. 
 She, Anukis, must go to the kitchen, because 
 she had heard yesterday that the cook had bought 
 some mushrooms, which might be poisonous; she 
 knew the fungi and wanted to see them. 
 
 Then, passing into Charmian's chamber, she 
 glided through the corridor which connected the 
 apartments of Cleopatra's confidential attendants, 
 and slipped into Iras's room. When Alexas en- 
 tered she was concealed behind one of the hang- 
 ings which covered the walls of the reception-room. 
 
 After the Syrian had retired and Iras had been 
 called away, Anukis returned to Barine and said 
 that the mushrooms had really been poisonous, and 
 of the deadliest species. They had been cooked, 
 and she must go out to seek an antidote. Since a 
 precious human life might be at stake, Barine 
 would not wish to keep her. 
 
 '' Go," said the latter, kindly. "But if you are 
 the old obliging Aisopion, you won't object to go- 
 ing a little farther." 
 
 "And inquiring at the house near the Paneum 
 garden," added Anukis. " That was already set- 
 tled. Longing is also a poison for a loving heart, 
 and its antidote is good news." 
 
 With these laughing words she left her favour- 
 ite; but as soon as she was out of doors her black 
 brow became lined with earnest thought, and she 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 IS 
 
 Stood pondering a long time. At last she went to 
 the Bruchiiim to hire a donkey to ride to Kanopus, 
 where she hoped to find Archibius. It was difficult 
 to reach the nearest stand ; for a great crowd had 
 assembled on the quay between the Lochias and 
 the Corner of the Muses, and groups of the com- 
 mon people, sailors, and slaves were constantly 
 flocking hither. But she at last forced her way to 
 the spot and, while the driver was helping her to 
 mount the animal she had chosen, she asked what 
 had attracted the throng, and he answered : 
 
 " They are tearing down the house of the old 
 Museum fungus, Didymus." 
 
 " How can that be ? " cried the startled woman. 
 " The good old man! " 
 
 "Good?" repeated the driver, scornfully. 
 " He's a traitor, who has caused all the trouble. 
 Philostratus, the brother of the great Alexas, a 
 friend of Mark Antony, told us so. He wanted to 
 prove it, so it must be true. Hear the shouts, and 
 how the stones are flying ! Yes, yes. His grand- 
 daughter and her lover set an ambush for the 
 King Caesarion. They would have killed him, but 
 the watch interfered, and now he lies wounded on 
 his couch. If mighty Isis does not lend her aid, 
 the young prince's life will soon be over." 
 
 Then, turning to the donkey, he dealt him two 
 severe blows on the right and left haunches, shout- 
 ing: "Hi, Grey! It does one good to hear that 
 royal backs have room for the cudgel too." 
 
1 6 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Nubian was hesitating whether 
 she should not first turn the donkey to the right 
 and seek Didymus ; but Barine was threatened by 
 greater peril, and her life was of more value than 
 the welfare of the aged pair. This decided the 
 question, and she rode forward. 
 
 The donkey and his driver did their best, but 
 they came too late ; for in the little palace at Kano- 
 pus, Anukis learned from the porter that Archibius 
 had gone to the city with his old friend Timagenes, 
 the historian, who lived in Rome, and seemed to 
 have come to Alexandria as an envoy. 
 
 Charmian, too, had been here, but also failed 
 to find the master of the house, and followed him. 
 Evil tidings — which, owing to the loss of time in- 
 volved, might prove fatal. If the donkey had 
 only been swifter ! True, Archibius's stable was 
 full of fine animals, but who was she that she 
 should presume to use them ? Yet she had gained 
 something which rendered her the equal of many 
 who were born free and occupied a higher station — 
 the reputation for trustworthiness and wisdom ; and 
 relying upon this, she told the faithful old steward, 
 as far as possible, what was at stake, and soon 
 after he himself took her, both mounted on swift 
 mules, to the city and the Paneum garden. 
 
 He chose the nearest road thither through the 
 Gate of the Sun and the Kanopic Way. Usually 
 at this hour it was crowded with people, but to-day 
 few persons were astir. All the idlers had thronged 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 7 
 
 to the Bruchium and the harbour to see the return- 
 ing ships of the vanquished fleet, hear something 
 new, witness the demonstrations of joy, the sacri- 
 fices and processions, and — if Fortune favoured — 
 meet the Queen and relieve their overflowing 
 hearts by acclamations. 
 
 When the carriage turned towards the left and 
 approached the Paneum, progress for the first time 
 became difficult. A dense crowd had gathered 
 around the hill on whose summit the sanctuary 
 of Pan dominated the spacious garden. Anukis's 
 eye perceived the tall figure of Philostratus. Was 
 the mischief-maker everywhere ? This time he 
 seemed to encounter opposition, for loud shouts 
 interrupted his words. Just as the carriage passed 
 he pointed to the row of houses in which the widow 
 of Leonax lived, but violent resistance followed the 
 gesture. 
 
 Anukis perceived what restrained the crowd; 
 for, as the equipage approached its destination, a 
 body of armed youths stopped it. Their finely- 
 formed limbs, steeled by the training of the Palaes- 
 tra, and the raven, chestnut, and golden locks 
 floating around their well-shaped heads, were in- 
 deed beautiful. They were a band of the Ephebi, 
 formerly commanded by Archibius, and to whose 
 leadership more recently Dion had been elected. 
 The youths had heard what had occurred — that 
 imprisonment, perhaps even worse disaster, threat- 
 ened him. At any other time it would scarcely 
 
1 8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 have been possible to oppose the decree of the 
 Government and guard their imperilled friend, but 
 in these dark days the rulers must deal with them. 
 Though they were loyal to the Queen, and had re- 
 solved, spite of her defeat, to support her cause, 
 as soon as she needed them, they would not suffer 
 Dion to be punished for a crime which, in their 
 eyes, was an honour. Their determination to pro- 
 tect him grew more eager with every vexatious 
 delay on the part of the city council to deal with 
 a matter which concerned one of their own body. 
 They had not yet decided whether to demand a 
 full pardon or only a mild sentence for the man 
 who had wounded the "King of kings," the son of 
 the sovereign. Moreover, the quiet Caesarion, still 
 subject to his tutor, had not understood how to 
 win the favour of the Ephebi. The weakling 
 never appeared in the Palaestra, which even the 
 great Mark Antony did not disdain to visit. The 
 latter had more than once given the youths assem- 
 bled there proofs of his giant strength, and his son 
 Antyllus also frequently shared their exercises. 
 Dion had merely dealt Caesarion with his clenched 
 fist one of the blows which every one must encoun- 
 ter in the arena. 
 
 Philotas of Amphissa, the pupil of Didymus, 
 had been the first to inform them of the attack 
 and, with fiery zeal, had used his utmost power to 
 atone for the wrong done to his master's grand- 
 daughter. His appeal had roused the most eager 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 19 
 
 sympathy. The Ephebi believed themselves strong 
 enough to defend their friend against any one and, 
 if the worst should come, they knew they would be 
 sustained by the council, the Exegetus, the captain 
 of the guard — a brave Macedonian, who had once 
 been an ornament of their own band — and the nu- 
 merous clients of Dion and his family. There was 
 not a single weakling among them. They had 
 already found an opportunity to prove this ; for, 
 though they had arrived too late to protect Didy- 
 mus's property from injury, they had checked the 
 fury of the mob whose passions Philostratus had 
 aroused, and forced back the crowd whom the 
 Syrian led to Barine's dwelling to devote it to the 
 same fate. 
 
 Another equipage was already standing before 
 the door of Berenike's house — one of the car- 
 riages which were always at the disposal of the 
 Queen's officials — when Anukis left Archibius's 
 vehicle. Had some of Alexas's myrmidons ar- 
 rived, or was he himself on the way to examine 
 Dion, or even arrest him ? The driver, like all the 
 palace servants, knew Anukis, and she learned from 
 him that he had brought Gorgias, the architect. 
 
 Anukis had never met the latter, though, dur- 
 ing the rebuilding of Csesarion's apartments, she 
 had often seen him, and heard much of him ; among 
 other things, that Dion's beautiful palace was his 
 work. He was a friend of the wounded man, so 
 she need not fear him. 
 
20 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 When she entered the atrium she heard that 
 Berenike had gone out to drive with Archibius 
 and his Roman friend. The leech had forbidden 
 his patient to see many visitors. No one had been 
 admitted except Gorgias and one of Dion's freed- 
 men. 
 
 But time pressed ; people of the same rank 
 and disposition understand one another ; the old 
 porter and the Nubian were both loyal to their 
 employers, and, moreover, were natives of the 
 same country ; so it required only a few words to 
 persuade the door-keeper to conduct her without 
 delay to the bedside of the wounded man. 
 
 The freedman, a tall, weather-beaten grey- 
 beard, simply clad, who looked like a pilot, was 
 waiting outside the sick-room. He had not yet 
 been admitted to Dion's presence, but this did not 
 appear to vex him, for he stood leaning quietly 
 against the wall beside the door, gazing at the 
 broad-brimmed sailor's hat which he was slowly 
 turning in his hands. 
 
 Scarcely had Dion heard Anukis's name, when 
 an eager ^' Let her come in " reached her ears 
 through the half-open door. 
 
 The Nubian waited to be summoned, but her 
 dark face must have showed distinctly that some- 
 thing important and urgent had brought her here, 
 for the wounded man added to his first words of 
 greeting the expression of a fear that she had no 
 good news. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 21 
 
 Her reply was an eager nod of assent, accom- 
 panied by a doubtful glance at Gorgias; and Dion 
 now curtly told the architect the name of the new- 
 comer, and assured her that his friend might hear 
 everything, even the greatest secret. 
 
 Anukis uttered a sigh of relief and then, in a 
 tone of the most earnest warning, poured forth 
 the story of the impending danger. She would 
 not be satisfied when he spoke of the Ephebi, who 
 were ready to defend him, and the council, which 
 would make the cause of one of its members its 
 own, but entreated him to seek some safe place 
 of refuge, no matter where ; for powers against 
 whom no resistance would avail were stretching 
 their hands towards him. Even this statement, 
 however, proved useless, for Dion was convinced 
 that the influence of his uncle, the Keeper of the 
 Seal, would guard him from any serious danger. 
 Then Anukis resolved to confess what she had 
 overheard ; but she told the story without men- 
 tioning Barine, and the peril threatening her also. 
 Finally, with all the warmth of a really anxious 
 heart, she entreated him to heed her warning. 
 
 Even while she was still speaking, the friends 
 exchanged significant glances; but scarcely had 
 the last words fallen from her lips when the giant 
 figure of the freedman passed through the door, 
 which had remained open. 
 
 " You here, Pyrrhus.^ " cried the wounded man 
 kindly. 
 
22 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 "Yes, master, it is I," replied the stalwart 
 fellow, twirling his sailor hat still faster. " Lis- 
 tening isn't exactly my trade, and I don't usually 
 enter your presence uninvited ; but I couldn't 
 help hearing what came through the door, and 
 the croaking of the old raven drew me in." 
 
 " I wish you had heard more cheerful things," 
 replied Dion ; " but the brown-skinned bird of ill 
 omen usually sings pleasant songs, and they all 
 come from a faithful heart. But when my silent 
 Pyrrhus opens his mouth so far, something im- 
 portant must surely follow, and you can speak 
 freely in her presence." 
 
 The sailor cleared his throat, gripped his 
 coarse felt hat in his sinewy hands, and said, in 
 such a tremulous, embarrassed tone that his heavy 
 chin quivered and his voice sometimes faltered : 
 " If the woman is to be trusted, you must leave 
 here, master, and seek some safe hiding-place. 
 I came to offer one. On my way I heard your 
 name. It was said that you had wounded the 
 Queen's son, and it might cost you your life. 
 Then I thought : * No, no, not that, so long as 
 Pyrrhus lives, who taught his young master Dion 
 to use the oars and to set his first sail — Pyrrhus 
 and his family.' Why repeat what we both know 
 well enough ? From my first boat and the land on 
 our island to the liberty you bestowed upon us, we 
 owe everything to your father and to you, and a 
 blessing has rested upon your gift and our labour, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 23 
 
 and what is mine is yours. No more words are 
 needed. You know our cliff beyond the Alveus 
 Steganus, north of the great harbour — the Isle of 
 Serpents. It is quickly gained by any one who 
 knows the course through the water, but is as in- 
 accessible to others as the moon and stars. Peo- 
 ple are afraid of the mere name, though we rid 
 the island of the vermin long ago. My boys 
 Dionysus, Dionichus, and Dionikus — they all have 
 * Dion ' in their name — are waiting in the fish- 
 market, and when it grows dusk " Here the 
 
 wounded man interrupted the speaker by holding 
 out his hand and thanking him warmly for his 
 fidelity and kindness, though he refused the well- 
 meant invitation. He admitted that he ^new no 
 safer hiding-place than the cliff surrounded by 
 fluttering sea-gulls, where Pyrrhus lived with his 
 family and earned abundant support by fishing 
 and serving as pilot. But anxiety concerning his 
 future wife prevented his leaving the city. 
 
 The freedman however gave him no rest. He 
 represented how quickly the harbour could be 
 reached from his island, that fish were brought 
 thence from it daily, and he would therefore always 
 have news of what was passing. His sons were like 
 him, and never used any unnecessary words; talk- 
 ing did not suit them. The women of the house- 
 hold rarely left the island. So long as it sheltered 
 their beloved guest, they should not set foot 
 away from it. If occasion should require, the 
 
24 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 master could be in Alexandria again quickly 
 enough to put anything right. 
 
 This suggestion pleased the architect, who 
 joined in the conversation to urge the freedman's 
 request. But Dion, for Barine's sake, obstinately 
 refused, until Anukis, who had long been anxious 
 to go in pursuit of Archibius, thought it time to 
 give her opinion. 
 
 " Go with the man, my lord ! " she cried. " I 
 know what I know. I will tell our Barine of your 
 faithful resolution ; but how can she show her 
 gratitude for it if you are a dead man ? " 
 
 This question and the information which fol- 
 lowed it turned the scale ; and, as soon as Dion 
 had consented to accompany the freedman, the 
 Nubian prepared to continue her errands, but the 
 wounded man detained her to give many messages 
 for Barine, and then she was stopped by the archi- 
 tect, who thought he had found in her the right 
 assistant for numerous plans he had in his mind. 
 
 He had returned early that morning from Her- 
 oonpolis, where, with other members of his profes- 
 sion, he had inspected the newly constructed water- 
 w^ay. The result of the first investigation had been 
 unfavourable to the verge of discouragement ; and, 
 in behalf of the others, he had gone to the Queen 
 to persuade her to give up the enterprise which, 
 though so full of promise, was impracticable in the 
 short time at their disposal. 
 
 He had travelled all night, and was received as 
 
CLEOPATRA. 25 
 
 soon as Cleopatra rose from her couch. He had 
 driven from the Lochias in the carriage placed at 
 his disposal because he had business at the arsenal 
 and various points where building was going on, 
 in order to inspect the wall erected for Antony on 
 the Choma, and the Temple of Isis at the Corner 
 of the Muses, to which Cleopatra desired to add a 
 new building. But scarcely had he quitted the 
 Bruchium when he was detained by the crowd as- 
 sailing the house of Didymus with beams and rams, 
 and at the same time keeping off the Ephebi who 
 had attacked them. 
 
 He had forced his way through the raging mob 
 to aid the old couple and their granddaughter. 
 The slave Phryx had been busily preparing the 
 boats which lay moored in the harbour of the sea- 
 washed estate, but Gorgias had found it difficult to 
 persuadei the grey-haired philosopher to go with 
 him and his family to the shore. He was ready to 
 face the enraged rioters and — though it should 
 cost his life — cry out that they were shamefully 
 deceived and were staining themselves with a dis- 
 graceful crime. Not until the architect repre- 
 sented that it was unworthy of a Didymus to ex- 
 pose to bestial violence a life on which helpless 
 women and the whole world — to whom his writings 
 were guide-posts to the realms of truth — possessed 
 a claim, could he be induced to yield. Neverthe- 
 less, the sage and his relatives almost fell into the 
 hands of the furious rabble, for Didymus would 
 
26 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 not depart until he had saved this, that, and the 
 other precious book, till the number reached twenty 
 or thirty. Besides, his old deaf wife, who usually 
 submitted quietly when her defective hearing pre- 
 vented her comprehension of many things, insisted 
 upon knowing what was occurring. She ordered 
 everybody who came near her to explain what had 
 happened, thus detaining her granddaughter He- 
 lena, who was trying to save the most valuable 
 articles in the dwelling. So the departure was 
 delayed, and only the brave defence of young 
 Philotas, Didymus's assistant, and some of the 
 Ephebi, who joined him, enabled them to escape 
 unharmed. 
 
 The Scythian guards, which at last put a stop 
 to the frantic rage of the deluded populace, ar- 
 rived too late to prevent the destruction of the 
 house, but they saved Philotas and the other 
 youths from the fists and stones of the rabble. 
 
 When the boats had gone farther out into the 
 harbour the question of finding a home for the 
 philosopher and his family was discussed. Bere- 
 nike's house was also threatened, and the rules of 
 the museum prevented the reception of women. 
 Five servants had accompanied the family, and 
 none of Didymus's learned friends had room for 
 so many guests. When the old man and Helena 
 began to enumerate the lodgings of which they 
 could think, Gorgias interposed with an entreaty 
 that they would come to his house. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 27 
 
 He had inherited the dwelling from his father. 
 It was very large and spacious, almost empty, and 
 they could reach it speedily, as it stood on the sea- 
 shore, north of the Forum. The fugitives would 
 be entirely at liberty there, since he had work on 
 hand which would permit him to spend no time 
 under his own roof except at night. He soon 
 overcame the trivial objections made by the phi- 
 losopher and, fifteen minutes after they had left 
 the Corner of the Muses, he was permitted to open 
 the door of his house to his guests, and he did so 
 with genuine pleasure. The old housekeeper and 
 the grey-haired steward, who had been in his 
 father's service, looked surprised, but worked zeal- 
 ously after Gorgias had confided the visitors to 
 their charge. The pressure of business forbade 
 his fulfilling the duties of host in his own person. 
 
 Didymus and his family had reason to be grate- 
 ful ; and when the old sage found in the large 
 library which the architect placed at his disposal 
 many excellent books and among them some of 
 his own, he ceased his restless pacing to and fro 
 and forced himself to settle down. Then he re- 
 membered that, by the advice of a friend, he had 
 placed his property in the keeping of a reliable 
 banker and, though life still seemed dark grey, it 
 no longer looked as black as before. 
 
 Gorgias briefly related all this to the Nubian, 
 and Dion added that she would find Archibius 
 with his Roman friend at the house of Berenike's 
 
28 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 brother, the philosopher Arius. Like himself, the 
 latter was suffering from an injury inflicted by a 
 reckless trick of Antyllus. Barine's mother was 
 there also, so Anukis could inform them of the 
 fate of Didymus and his brother, and tell them that 
 he, Dion, intended to leave her house and the city 
 an hour after sunset. 
 
 "But," interrupted Gorgias, "no one, not even 
 your hostess Berenike and her brother, must know 
 your destination. — You look as if you could keep 
 a secret, woman." 
 
 " Though she owes her nickname Aisopion to 
 her nimble tongue," replied Dion. 
 
 " But this tongue is like the little silver fish 
 with scarlet spots in the palace garden," said 
 Anukis. " They dart to and fro nimbly enough ; 
 but as soon as danger threatens they keep as quiet 
 in the water as though they were nailed fast. And 
 — by mighty Isis ! — we have no lack of peril in 
 these trying times. Would you like to see the lady 
 Berenike and the others before your departure ? " 
 
 " Berenike, yes ; but the sons of Arius — they 
 are fine fellows — would be wise to keep aloof from 
 this house to-day." 
 
 " Yes indeed ! " the architect chimed in. " It 
 will be prudent for their father, too, to seek some 
 hiding-place. He is too closely connected with 
 Octavianus. It may indeed happen that the Queen 
 will desire to make use of him. In that case he 
 may be able to aid Barine, who is his sister's child. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 29 
 
 Timagenes, too, who comes from Rome as a medi- 
 ator, may have some influence." 
 
 "The same thoughts entered my poor brain 
 also," said Anukis. ** I am now going to show the 
 gentlemen the danger which threatens her, and if 
 
 I succeed Yet what could a serving-woman 
 
 of my appearance accomplish ? Still — my house is 
 nearer to the brink of the stream than the dwelling 
 of most others, and if I fling in a loaf, perhaps the 
 current will bear it to the majestic sea." 
 
 " Wise Aisopion ! " cried Dion ; but the worthy 
 maid-servant shrugged her crooked shoulders, say- 
 ing : "We needn't be free-born to find pleasure in 
 what is right ; and if being wise means using one's 
 brains to think, with the intention of promoting 
 right and justice, you can always call me so. Then 
 you will start after sundown ? " 
 
 With these words she was about to leave the 
 room, but the architect, who had watched her every 
 movement, had formed a plan and begged her to 
 follow him. 
 
 When they reached the next room he asked for 
 a faithful account of Barine and the dangers 
 threatening her. After consulting her as if she 
 were an equal, he held out his hand in farewell, say- 
 ing: " If it is possible to bring her to the Temple 
 of Isis unseen, these clouds may scatter. I shall 
 be in the sanctuary of the goddess from the first 
 hour after sunset. I have some measurements to 
 take there. When you say you know that the im- 
 23 
 
30 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 mortals will have pity on the innocent woman 
 whom they have led to the verge of the abyss, per- 
 haps you may be right. It seems as if matters 
 here were combining in a way whioh would be apt 
 to rob the story-teller of his listener's faith." 
 
 After Aisopion had gone, Gorgias returned to 
 Dion's room and asked the freedman to be ready 
 with his boat at a place on the shore which he care- 
 fully described. 
 
 The friends were again alone. Gorgias had his 
 hands full of work, but he could not help express- 
 ing his surprise at the calm bearing which Dion 
 maintained. " You behave as if you were going 
 to an oyster supper at Kanopus," he said, shaking 
 his head as though perplexed by some incompre- 
 hensible problem. 
 
 "What else would you have me do ?" asked the 
 Macedonian. " The vivid imagination of you artists 
 shows you the future according to your own vary- 
 ing moods. If you hope, you transform a pleasant 
 garden into the Elysian fields ; if you fear anything 
 you behold in a burning roof the conflagration of 
 a world. We, from whose cradle the Muse was 
 absent, who use only sober reason to provide for 
 the welfare of the household and the state, as well 
 as for our own, see facts as they are and treat them 
 like figures in a sum. I know that Barine is in 
 danger. That might drive me frantic ; but beyond 
 her I see Archibius and Charmian spreading their 
 protecting wings over her head ; I perceive the fear 
 
CLEOPATRA. 3 1 
 
 of my faction, including the museum, of the coun- 
 cil of which I am a member, of my clients and the 
 conditions of the times, which precludes arousing 
 the wrath of the citizens. The product which re- 
 sults from the correct addition of all these known 
 quantities " 
 
 "Will be correct," interrupted his friend, "so 
 long as the most incalculable of all factors, pas- 
 sion, does not blend with them — the passion of a 
 woman — and the Queen belongs to the sex which 
 is certainly more powerful in that domain." 
 
 " Granted ! But as soon as Mark Antony re- 
 turns it will be proved that her jealousy was need- 
 less." 
 
 "We will hope so. It is only the misled, de- 
 ceived, abused Cleopatra whom I fear; for she 
 herself is matchless in divine goodness. The 
 charm by which she ensnares hearts is indescrib- 
 able, and the iron power of her intellect ! I tell you, 
 Dion " 
 
 " Friend, friend," was the laughing interruption. 
 " How high your wishes soar ! For three years I 
 have kept an account of the conflagrations in your 
 heart. I believe we had reached seventeen; but 
 this last one is equal to two." 
 
 " Folly ! " cried Gorgias in an irritated tone- 
 " May not a man admire what is magnificent, won- 
 derful, unique ? She is all these things ! Just now 
 — how long ago is it ? — she appeared before me in 
 a radiance of beauty " 
 
32 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 "Which should have made you shade both eyes. 
 Yet you have been speaking so warmly of your 
 young guest, her loving caution, her gentle calm- 
 ness in the midst of peril " 
 
 " Do you suppose I wish to recall a single syl- 
 lable ? " the architect indignantly broke in. " He- 
 lena has no peer among the maidens of Alexandria 
 — but the other — Cleopatra — is elevated in her 
 divine majesty above all ordinary mortals. You 
 might spare me and yourself that scornful curl of 
 the lip. Had she gazed into your face with those 
 tearful, sorrowful eyes, as she did into mine, and 
 spoken of her misery, you would have gone through 
 fire and water, hand in hand with me, for her 
 sake. I am not a man who is easily moved, and 
 since my father's death the only tears I have seen 
 have been shed by others ; but when she talked of 
 the mausoleum I was to build for her because 
 Fate, she knew not how soon, might force her to 
 seek refuge in the arms of death, my calmness van- 
 ished. Then, when she numbered me among the 
 friends on whom she could rely and held out her 
 hand — a matchless hand — oh ! laugii if you choose — 
 I felt I know not how, and kneeling at her feet I 
 kissed it ; it was wet with my tears. I am not 
 ashamed of this emotion, and my lips seem conse- 
 crated since they touched the little white hand 
 which spoke a language of its own and stands be- 
 fore my eyes wherever I gaze." 
 
 Pushing back his thick locks from his brow as 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 33 
 
 he spoke, he shook his head as though dissatisfied 
 with himself and, in an altered tone, hurriedly 
 continued : " But this is a time ill-suited for such 
 ebullitions of feeling. I mentioned the mausoleum, 
 whose erection the Queen desires. She will see 
 the first hasty sketch to-morrow. It is already 
 before my mind's eye. She wished to have it adjoin 
 
 the Temple of Isis, her goddess I proposed 
 
 the great sanctuary in the Rhakotis quarter, but 
 she objected — she wished to have it close to the 
 palace at Lochias. She had thought of the temple 
 at the Corner of the Muses, but the house occupied 
 by Didymus stood in the way of a larger struc- 
 ture. If this were removed it would be possible 
 to carry the street through the old man's garden, 
 perhaps even to the sea-shore, and we should have 
 had space for a gigantic edifice and still left room 
 for a fine garden. But we had learned how the 
 philosopher loved his family estate. The Queen is 
 
 unwilling to use violence towards the old man 
 
 She is just, and perhaps other reasons, of which I 
 am ignorant, influence her. So I promised to look 
 for another site, though I saw how much she de- 
 sired to have her tomb connected with the sanc- 
 tuary of her favourite goddess Then — I have 
 
 already told the clever brown witch — then the 
 immortals, Divinity, Fate, or whatever we call the 
 power which guides the world and our lives ac- 
 cording to eternal laws and its own mysterious, 
 omnipotent will, permitted a rascally deed, from 
 
34 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 which I think may come deliverance for you and a 
 source of pleasure to the Queen in these days of 
 trial." 
 
 " Man, man ! Where will this new passion lead 
 you ? The horses are stamping impatiently out- 
 side ; duty summons the most faithful of men, and 
 he stands like a prophet, indulging in mysterious 
 sayings ! " 
 
 " Whose meaning and purport, spite of your 
 calm calculations of existing circumstances, will 
 soon seem no less wonderful to you than to me, 
 whose unruly artist nature, according to your 
 opinion, is playing me a trick," retorted the archi- 
 tect. " Now listen to this explanation : Didymus's 
 house will be occupied at once by my workmen, 
 but I shall examine the lower rooms of the Temple 
 of Isis. I have with me a document requiring 
 obedience to my orders. Cleopatra herself laid the 
 plans before me, even the secret portion showing 
 the course of the subterranean chambers. It will 
 cast some light upon my mysterious sayings if I 
 bear you away from the enemy through one of the 
 secret corridors. They were right in concealing 
 from you by how slender a thread, spite of the 
 power of your example in mathematics, the sword 
 hangs above your head. Now that I see a pos- 
 sibility of removing it, I can show it to you. To- 
 morrow you would have fallen, without hope of 
 rescue, into the hands of cruel foes and been shame- 
 fully abandoned by your own weak uncle, had not 
 
CLEOPATRA. 35 
 
 * 
 
 the most implacable of all your enemies permitted 
 himself the infamous pleasure of laying hands on 
 an old man's house, and the Queen, in consequence 
 of an agitating message, had the idea suggested of 
 building her own mausoleum. The corridor " — here 
 he lowered his voice — " of which I spoke leads to 
 the sea at a spot close beside Didymus's garden, 
 and through it I will guide you, and, if possible, 
 Barine also, to the shore. This could be accom- 
 plished in the usual way only by the greatest risk. 
 If we use the passage we can reach a dark place 
 on the strand unseen, and unless some special mis- 
 fortune pursues us our flight will be unnoticed. 
 The litters and your tottering gait would betray 
 everything if we were to enter the boat anywhere 
 else in the great harbour.*' 
 
 "And we, sensible folk, refuse to believe in 
 miracles!" cried Dion, holding out his wan hand to 
 the architect. " How shall I thank you, you dear, 
 clever, most loyal of friends to your male friends, 
 though your heart is so faithless to fair ones ? Add 
 that malicious speech to the former ones, for which 
 I now crave your pardon. What you intend to ac- 
 complish for Barine and me gives you a right to 
 do and say to me whatever ill you choose all the 
 rest of my life. Anxiety for her would surely have 
 bound me to this house and the city when the time 
 came to make the escape, for without her my life 
 would now be valueless. But when I think that 
 she might follow me to Pyrrhus's cliff " 
 
36 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself with this hope," plead- 
 ed Gorgias. ** Serious obstacles may interpose. I 
 am to have another talk with the Nubian later. 
 With no offence to others, I believe her advice 
 will be the best. She knows how matters stand 
 with the lofty, and yet herself belongs to the low- 
 ly. Besides, through Charmian the way to the 
 Queen lies open, and nothing which happens at 
 court escapes her notice. She showed me that we 
 must consider Barine's delivery to Alexas a piece 
 of good fortune. How easily jealousy might have 
 led to a fatal crime one whose wish promptly be- 
 comes action, unless she curbs the undue zeal of 
 her living tools! Those on whom Fate inflicts so 
 many blows rarely are in haste to spare others. 
 Would the anxieties which weigh upon her like 
 mountains interpose between the Queen and the 
 jealous rancour which is too petty for her great 
 soul?" 
 
 "What is great or petty to the heart of a lov- 
 ing woman ? " asked Dion. " In any case you will 
 do what you can to remove Barine from the power 
 of the enraged princess — I know." 
 
 Gorgias pressed his friend's hand closely, then, 
 yielding to a sudden impulse, kissed him on the 
 forehead and hurried to the door. 
 
 On the threshold a faint moan from the wounded 
 man stopped him. Would he be strong enough to 
 follow the long passage leading to the sea ? 
 
 Dion protested that he confidently expected to 
 
CLEOPATRA..^ ^== 37 
 
 do so, but his deeply flushed face betrayed that 
 the fever which had once been conquered had re- 
 turned. 
 
 Gorgias's eyes sought the floor in deep thought. 
 Many sick persons were borne to the temple in the 
 hope of cure ; so Dion's appearance would cause 
 no special surprise. On the other hand, to have 
 strangers carry him through the passage seemed 
 perilous. He himself was strong, but even the 
 strongest person would have found it impossible 
 to support the heavy burden of a grown man to 
 the sea, for the gallery was low and of considera- 
 ble length. Still, if necessary, he would try. With 
 the comforting exclamation, " If your strength 
 does not suffice, another way will be found," he 
 took his leave, gave Barine's maid and the wounded 
 man's body-slave the necessary directions, com- 
 manded the door-keeper to admit no one save the 
 physician, and stepped into the open air. 
 
 A little band of Ephebi were pacing to and fro 
 before the house. Others had flung themselves 
 down in an open space surrounded by shrubbery 
 in the Paneum garden, and were drinking the 
 choice wine which Dion's cellarer, by his orders, 
 had brought and was pouring out for the crowd. 
 
 It was an animated scene, for the clients of 
 the sufferer, who, after expressing their sympathy, 
 had been dismissed by the porter, and bedizened 
 girls had joined the youths. There was no lack 
 of jests and laughter, and when some pretty young 
 
38 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 mother or female slave passed by leading children, 
 with whom the garden was a favourite play- 
 ground, many a merry word was exchanged. 
 
 Gorgias waved his hands gaily to the youths, 
 pleased with the cheerfulness with which the brave 
 fellows transformed duty into a festival, and many 
 raised their wine-cups, shouting a joyous "lo" and 
 ** Evoe," to drink the health of the famous artist 
 who not long ago had been one of themselves. 
 
 The others were led by a slender youth, the 
 student Philotas, from Amphissa, Didymus's assist- 
 ant, whom the architect, a few days before, had 
 helped to liberate from the demons of wine. 
 Even while Gorgias was beckoning to him from 
 the two-wheeled chariot, the thought entered his 
 mind that yonder handsome youth, who had so 
 deeply wronged Barine and Dion, would be the 
 very person to help carry his friend through the 
 low-roofed passage to the sea. If Philotas was 
 the person Gorgias believed him to be, he would 
 deem it a special favour to make amends for his 
 crime to those whom he had injured, and he was 
 not mistaken ; for, after the youth had taken a 
 solemn oath not to betray the secret to any one, 
 the architect asked him to aid in Dion's rescue. 
 Philotas, overflowing with joyful gratitude, pro- 
 tested his willingness to do so, and promised to 
 wait at the appointed spot in the Temple of Isis at 
 the time mentioned. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 While Gorgias was examining the subterra- 
 nean chambers in the Temple of Isis, Charmian 
 returned to Lochias earlier than she herself had 
 expected. She had met her brother, whom she 
 did not find at Kanopus, at Berenike's, and after 
 greeting Dion on his couch of pain, she told 
 Archibius of her anxiety. She confided to him 
 alone that the Queen had committed Barine's fate 
 to Alexas, for the news might easily have led the 
 mother of the endangered woman to some desper- 
 ate venture; but even Archibius's composure, so 
 difficult to disturb, was not proof against it. He 
 would have sought the Queen's presence at once — 
 if necessary, forced his way to it ; but the historian 
 Timagenes, who had just come from Rome, was 
 expecting him, and he had not returned to his 
 birthplace as a private citizen, but commissioned 
 h^ Octavianus to act as mediator in putting an 
 end to the struggle which had really been decided 
 in his favour at the battle of Actium. The choice 
 of this mediator was a happy one ; for he had 
 taught Cleopatra in her childhood, and was the self- 
 
40 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 same quick-witted man who had so often roused 
 her to argument. His share in a popular insurrec- 
 tion against the Roman rule had led to his being 
 carried as a slave to the Tiber. There he soon 
 purchased his freedom, and attained such distinc- 
 tion that Octavianus entrusted this important 
 mission to the man who was so well known in 
 Alexandria. Archibius was to meet him at the 
 house of Arius, who was still suffering from the 
 wounds inflicted by the chariot-wheels of Antyllus, 
 and Berenike had accompanied Timagenes to her 
 brother. 
 
 Charmian did not venture to go there ; a visit 
 to Octavianus's former teacher would have been 
 misinterpreted, and it was repugnant to her own 
 delicacy of feeling to hold intercourse at this time 
 with the foe and conqueror of her royal mistress. 
 
 She therefore let her brother drive with Bere- 
 nike to the injured man's ; but before his departure 
 Archibius had promised, if the worst came, to dare 
 everything to open the eyes of the Queen, who 
 had forbidden her, Charmian, to speak in behalf of 
 Barine and thwart the plans of Alexas. 
 
 From the Pan6um garden she was carried to 
 the Kanopic Way and the Jewish quarter, where 
 she had many important purchases to make Jpr 
 Cleopatra. It was long after noon when the litter 
 was again borne to Lochias. 
 
 On the way she had severely felt her own 
 powerlessness. Without having accomplished any- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 4I 
 
 thing herself, she was forced to wait for the suc- 
 cess of others ; and she had scarcely crossed the 
 threshold of the palace ere fresh cares were added 
 to those which already burdened her soul. 
 
 She understood how to read the faces of court- 
 iers, and the door-keeper's had taught her that 
 since her departure something momentous had oc- 
 curred. She disliked to question the slaves and 
 lower officials, so she refrained, though the in- 
 terior of the palace was crowded with guards, 
 officials of every grade, attendants, and slaves. 
 Many who saw her gazed at her with the timidity 
 inspired by those over whom some disaster is im- 
 ■ pending. Others, whose relations were more inti- 
 mate, pressed forward to enjoy the mournful satis- 
 faction of being the first messengers of evil tidings. 
 But she passed swiftly on, keeping them back with 
 grave words and gestures, until, before the door 
 of the great anteroom thronged with Greek and 
 Egyptian petitioners, she met Zeno, the Keeper of 
 the Seal. Charmian stopped him and inquired 
 what had happened. 
 
 " Since when ? " asked the old courtier. " Every 
 moment has brought some fresh tidings and all 
 are mournful. What terrible times, Charmian, what 
 disasters ! " 
 
 " No messenger had arrived when I left the 
 Lochias," replied Charmian. *' Now it seems as 
 though the old monster of a palace, accustomed to 
 so many horrors, is holding its breath in dread. 
 
42 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Tell me the main thing, at least, before I meet the 
 Queen.'* 
 
 " The main thing ? Pestilence or famine — 
 which shall we call the worse ? " 
 
 " Quick, Zeno ! I am expected." 
 
 " I, too, am in haste, and really there is nothing 
 to relate over which the tongue would care to 
 dwell. Candidus arrived first. Came himself 
 straight from Actium. The fellow is bold enough." 
 
 " Is the army defeated also ? " 
 
 " Defeated, dispersed, deserted to the foe — King 
 Herod with his legions in the van." 
 
 Charmian covered her face with her hands and 
 groaned aloud, but Zeno continued : 
 
 " You were with her in the flight. When Mark 
 Antony left you, he sailed with the ships which 
 joined him for Parsetonium. A large body of 
 troops on which the Queen and Mardion had fixed 
 their hopes was encamped there. Reinforcements 
 could easily be gained and we should once more 
 have a fine army at our disposal." 
 
 " Pinarius Scarpus, a cautious soldier, was in 
 command ; and I, too, believed " 
 
 " The more you trusted him, the greater would 
 be your error. The shameless rascal — he owes 
 everything to Antony — had received tidings of 
 Actium ere the ships arrived, and had already 
 made overtures to Octavianus when the Imperator 
 came. The veterans who opposed the treachery 
 were hewn down by the wretch's orders, but the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 43 
 
 brave garrison of the city could not be won over to 
 the monstrous crime. It is due to these men that 
 Mark Antony still lives and did not come to a 
 miserable end at the hands of his own troops. The 
 twice-defeated general — a courier brought the 
 news — will arrive to-night. Strangely enough, he 
 will not come to Lochias, but to the little palace 
 on the Choma.'* 
 
 " Poor, poor Queen ! " cried Charmian ; "how 
 did she bear all this ? " 
 
 " In the presence of the defeated Candidus and 
 Antony's messenger like a heroine. But afterwards 
 
 Her raving did not last long ; but the mute, 
 
 despairing silence ! Ere she had fully recovered 
 
 her self-command she sent us all away, and I have 
 not seen her since. But all the thoughts and feelings 
 which dwell here" — he pointed to his brow and breast 
 — " have left their abode and linger with her. I totter 
 from place to place like a soulless body. O Char- 
 mian ! what has befallen us ? Where are the days 
 when care and trouble lay buried with the other dead 
 — the days and nights when my brain united with 
 that of the Queen to transform this desolate earth 
 into the beautiful Elysian Fields, every-day life to 
 a festival, festivals to the very air of Olympus ? 
 What unprecedented scenes of splendour had I not 
 devised for the celebration of the victory, the tri- 
 umph — nay, even the entry into Rome ! Whole 
 chests are filled with the sketches, programmes, 
 drawings, and verses. All who handle brush and 
 
44 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 chisel, compose and execute music, would have 
 lent their aid, and — you may believe me — the result 
 would have been something which future genera- 
 tions would have discussed, lauded,- and extolled in 
 song. And now — now ? " 
 
 *' Now we will double our efforts to save what 
 is yet to be rescued ! " 
 
 " Rescued ? " repeated the courtier in a hollow 
 tone. " The Queen, too, still clings to this fine 
 word. When I saw her at work yesterday, it 
 seemed as if I beheld her drawing water with 
 the bottomless vessel of the Danaides. True, to- 
 day, when I left her, her arms had fallen — and in 
 this attitude she now stands before me with her 
 tearful eyes. And besides, I can't get my nephew 
 Dion out of my mind. Cares — nothing but cares 
 concerning him ! And my intentions towards him 
 were so kind ! My will gives him my entire for- 
 tune ; but now he actually wants to marry the 
 singer, the daughter of the artist Leonax. You 
 have taken her under your protection, but surely 
 your own niece, Iras, is dearer to you, so you will 
 approve of my destroying the will if Dion insists 
 upon his own way. He shall not have a solidus of 
 my property if he does not give up the woman 
 who is a thorn in the Queen's flesh. And his choice 
 does not suit our ancient race. Iras, on the con- 
 trary, was Dion's playfellow, and I have long des- 
 tined her for his wife. No better match, nor one 
 more acceptable to the Queen, could be found 
 
CLEOPATRA. 45 
 
 for him. He cared for her until the singer be- 
 witched him. Bring them together, and they shall 
 be like my own children. If the fool resists his 
 uncle, whose sole desire is to benefit him, I will 
 withdraw my aid. Whatever intrigues his foes may 
 weave, I shall fold my arms and not interfere. I 
 stand in the place of his father, my dead brother, 
 and demand obedience. The Queen is my universe, 
 and her favour is of more value than twenty refrac- 
 tory nephews." 
 
 " You will retain her Majesty's favour, even if 
 you intercede for your brother's son." 
 
 " And Iras ? When she finds herself deceived — 
 and she will soon discover it — she will not rest " 
 
 " Until she has brought ruin upon him," inter- 
 rupted Charmian, in a tone of sorrow rather than 
 reproach as though she already beheld the impend- 
 ing disaster. "But Iras has no greater influence 
 with the Queen than I, and if you and I unite to 
 protect the brave young fellow, who is of your own 
 blood " 
 
 "Then, of course — no doubt, on account of 
 your longer period of service, you have more in- 
 fluence with her Majesty than Iras — however — 
 such matters must be considered — and I have al- 
 ready said — my mind leaves its abode to follow 
 the Queen like her shadow. It heeds only what 
 concerns her. Let everything else go as it will. 
 The fleet the same as destroyed, Candidus defeated, 
 Herod a deserter, treason on treason — the African 
 24 
 
46 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 legions lost ! What in the name of the god who 
 tried to roll back the wheel dashing down the 
 mountain-side ! And yet ! Let us offer sacri- 
 fices, my friend, and hope for better days ! " 
 
 Zeno retired as he spoke, but Charmian moved 
 forward with a drooping head to find Barine and 
 her faithful Anukis, and weep her fill ere she went 
 to perform the duty of consoling and sustaining 
 her beloved mistress. Yet she herself so sorely 
 needed comfort. Wherever she turned her eyes 
 she beheld disaster, peril, treachery, and base in- 
 trigues. She felt as if she had lived long enough, 
 and that her day was over. Hitherto her gentle 
 nature, her intellect, which yearned to expand, 
 gather new riches, and exchange what it had gained 
 with others, had possessed much to offer to the 
 Queen. She had not only been Cleopatra's confi- 
 dante, but necessary to her to discuss questions far 
 in advance of the demands of the times, which oc- 
 cupied her restless mind. Now the Queen's atten- 
 tion was wholly absorbed by events — hard, cruel 
 facts — which she must resist or turn to her own 
 advantage. Her life had become a conflict, and 
 Charmian felt that she was by no means combative. 
 The hard, supple, keenly polished intellect of Iras 
 now asserted its value, and the elderly woman told 
 herself that she was in danger of being held in less 
 regard than her younger companion. To resign 
 her office would have given her peace of mind, but 
 she repelled the thought. For the very reason 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 47 
 
 that these days were so full of misery and perhaps 
 drawing nearer to the end, she must remain, first 
 for the sake of the Queen, but also to watch over 
 Barine. 
 
 Now she longed to go to Cleopatra. Her mere 
 presence, she knew, would do her sore heart good. 
 
 The silvery laugh of a child reached her ears 
 through the open gate of the garden which she 
 was rapidly approaching. Little six-year-old Alex- 
 ander ran towards her with open arms, hugged her 
 closely, pressed his curly head against her, and 
 gazed into her face with his large clear eyes. 
 
 Charmian's heart swelled; and as she raised 
 the child in her arms and kissed him, she thought 
 of the sad fate impending, and the composure 
 maintained with so much difficulty gave way ; 
 tears streamed from her eyes and, sobbing violent- 
 ly, she pressed the boy closer to her breast. 
 
 The prince, accustomed to bright faces and 
 tender caresses, broke away from her in terror to 
 run back to his brother and sisters. But he had a 
 kind little heart, and, knowing that no one weeps 
 and sobs unless in pain, Alexander pitied Char- 
 mian, whom he loved, and hurried to her again. 
 
 What he meant to show her had pleased his 
 mother, too, and dried the tears in her eyes. So 
 he took Charmian by the hana and drew her along, 
 saying that he wanted her to see the prettiest 
 thing. She willingly allowed herself to be led over 
 the paths, strewn with red sand, of the little garden 
 
48 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 which Antony had had laid out for his children in 
 the magnificent style which pleased his love of 
 splendour, and filled with rare and beautiful things. 
 
 There was a pond with tiny gold and silver 
 fish, where the rare lotus flowers with pink blos- 
 soms arose from amid their smooth green leaves, 
 and another where dwarf ducks of every colour, 
 which seemed as if they had been created for chil- 
 dren, swam to and fro. A bit of the sea which 
 washed its shore had been enclosed by a gilded lat- 
 tice-work, and on its surface floated a number of 
 snow-white swans and black ones with scarlet bills. 
 Native and Indian flowers of every hue adorned 
 the beds, and the narrow paths were shaded by 
 arbours made of gold wire, over which ran climb- 
 ing vines filled with bright blossoms. 
 
 A grotto of stalactites behind the dense foliage 
 of an Indian tree offered a resting-place, and be- 
 side it was a little house where the children could 
 stay. The interior lacked none of the requisites 
 of living, not even the cooking utensils in the 
 kitchen, and the family portraits in the tablinum, 
 delicately painted by an artist on small ivory slabs. 
 Everything was made to suit the size of children, 
 but of the most costly material and careful work- 
 manship. 
 
 Behind the house was a little stable where four 
 tiny horses with spotted skins, the rarest and pret- 
 tiest creatures imaginable — a gift from the King 
 of Media — were stamping the ground. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 49 
 
 In another place was an enclosure containing 
 gazelles, ostriches, young giraffes, and other grass- 
 eating animals. Bright-plumaged birds and mon- 
 keys filled the tops of the trees, gay balls rose and 
 fell on the jets of the fountains, and child genii 
 and images of the gods in bronze and marble 
 peered from the foliage. This whole enchanted 
 world was comprised within a narrow space, and, 
 with its radiance of colour and wealth of form, its 
 perfume, songs, and warbling, exerted a bewilder- 
 ing influence upon the excited imaginations of 
 grown people as well as children. 
 
 Little Alexander, without even casting a glance 
 at all this, drew Charmian forward. He did not 
 pause until he reached the shore of the lotus 
 pond; then, putting his fingers on his lips, he said : 
 " There, now, I'll show you. Look here ! " 
 
 Rising cautiously upon tip-toe as he spoke, he 
 pointed to the hollow in the trunk of a tree. A 
 pair of finches had built their nest in it, and five 
 young ones with big yellow beaks stretched their 
 ugly little heads hungrily upward. 
 
 " That's so pretty ! " cried the prince. " And 
 you must see the old ones come to feed them." 
 
 The beautiful boy's sweet face fairly beamed 
 with delight, and Charmian kissed him tenderly. 
 Yet, even as she did so, she thought of the young 
 swallows hacked to death in his mother's galley, 
 and a chill ran through her veins. 
 
 Just at that moment voices were heard calling 
 
50 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Alexander from a neglected spot behind the dainty 
 little house built for the children, and the boy ex- 
 claimed peevishly : 
 
 " There, now, I showed you the little nest, so I 
 forgot. Agatha fell asleep and Smerdis went away, 
 so we were alone. Then they sent me to Horus, 
 the gate-keeper, to get some of his spelt bread. 
 He never says no to anything, and it does taste 
 so good. We're peasants, and have been using 
 the axe and the hoe, so we want something to eat. 
 Have you seen our house ? We built it ourselves. 
 Selene, Helios, Jotape, my future wife, and I — yes, 
 I ! They let me help, and we finished it alone, all 
 alone ! Everything is here. We shall build the 
 shed for the cow to-morrow. The others mustn't 
 see it, but I may show it to you." 
 
 While speaking, he drew her forward again, 
 and Charmian obediently followed. The twins 
 and little Jotape, who had been chosen for the 
 future bride of the six-year-old Prince Alexander — 
 a pretty, delicate, fair-haired child of his own age, 
 the daughter of the Median king, who had been 
 betrothed to the boy after the Parthian war, and 
 now remained as a hostage at Cleopatra's court — 
 welcomed her with joyous shouts. With the ex- 
 ception of the little Median princess, Charmian 
 had witnessed their birth, and they all loved her 
 dearly. 
 
 The little royal labourers showed their work 
 with proud delight, and it really was well done. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 5 1 
 
 They had toiled at it for weeks, paying no heed to 
 the garden and all its costly rarities. They pointed 
 with special pride to the two planks which Helios, 
 aided by Alexander, had fished out of the sea after 
 the last storm, when they were left alone, and to 
 the lock on the door which they had secretly 
 managed to wrench from an old gate. Selene 
 herself had woven the curtain in front of the door. 
 Now they were going to build a hearth too. 
 
 Charmian praised their skill, while they — all 
 talking merrily together — told her how they had 
 conquered the greatest difficulties. Their bright 
 eyes sparkled with pleasure while describing the 
 work of their own hands, and they were so ab- 
 sorbed in eager delight that they did not notice 
 the approach of a man until startled by his words: 
 " Enough of this idle sport now, your Highnesses. 
 Too much time has already been wasted on it." 
 
 Then, turning to the Queen, who had accom- 
 panied him, he continued in a tone of apology : 
 " This amusement might seem somewhat hazard- 
 ous, yet there is much to be said in its favour. 
 Besides, it appeared to afford the royal children so 
 much pleasure that I permitted it for a short time. 
 But if your Majesty commands " 
 
 " Let them have their pleasure," the Queen in- 
 terrupted kindly ; and as soon as the children saw 
 their mother they rushed forward, crowded around 
 her with fearless love, thanked her, and eagerly 
 assured her that nothing in the whole garden was 
 
52 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 half so dear to them as their little house. They 
 meant to build a stable too. 
 
 " That might be too much," said the tutor 
 Euphronion, a grey-haired man with a shrewd, 
 kindly face. " We must remember how many 
 things are yet to be learned, that we may reach 
 the goal fixed for your Majesty's birthday and 
 pass the examination." 
 
 But all the children now joined in the entreaty 
 to be allowed to build the stable too, and it was 
 granted. 
 
 When the tutor at last began to lead them 
 away, the royal mother stopped them, asking : 
 
 " Suppose, instead of this garden, I should give 
 you a bit of bare land, such as the peasants till, 
 where, after your lessons, you might dig and build 
 as much as you please ? " 
 
 Loud shouts of joy from the children answered 
 the question ; but the little Median girl, Jotape, 
 said hesitatingly : 
 
 " Could I take my doll too — only the oldest, 
 Atossa ? She has lost one arm, yet I love her the 
 best." 
 
 " Deprive us of anything you choose ! " cried 
 Helios, drawing little Alexander towards him, 
 to show that they, the men, were of the same 
 mind, " only give us some ground and let us 
 build." 
 
 " We will consider whether it can be done," 
 replied Cleopatra. " Perhaps, Euphronion, you 
 
CLEOPATRA. 53 
 
 would be the right person But we will discuss 
 
 the matter at a more quiet hour." 
 
 The tutor withdrew and the children, who fol- 
 lowed, looked back, waving their hands and calling 
 to their mother for a long time. 
 
 When they had disappeared behind the shrub- 
 bery in the garden Charmian exclaimed, " How- 
 ever dark the sky may be, so long as you possess 
 these little ones you can never lack sunshine." 
 
 " If," replied Cleopatra, gazing pensively at 
 the ground, " with a thought of them another did 
 not blend which makes the gloom become deeper 
 still. You know the tidings this terrible day has 
 brought ? " 
 
 " All," replied Charmian, sighing heavily. 
 
 " Then you know the abyss on whose verge we 
 are walking ; and to see them — them also dragged 
 into the yawning gulf by their unhappy mother — 
 O Charmian, Charmian ! " 
 
 She sobbed aloud, threw her arms around the 
 neck of her friend and playfellow, and laid her 
 head upon her bosom like a child seeking consola- 
 tion. Cleopatra wept for several minutes, and 
 when she again raised her tear-stained face she* 
 said softly : 
 
 " That did me good ! O, Charmian ! no one 
 needs love as I do. On your warm heart my own 
 has already grown calmer." 
 
 " Use it, nestle there whenever you need it, to 
 the end," cried Charmian, deeply moved. 
 
54 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " To the end," repeated Cleopatra, wiping her 
 eyes. " It began to-day, I think. I have just spent 
 an hour alone. I meant to commit a crime, and 
 you know how impatiently passion sweeps me along. 
 But what misfortunes have assailed me ! The army 
 destroyed; the desertion of Herod and Pinarius; 
 Antony's generous, trusting heart torn by base 
 treachery, his soul darkened ; the reconstruction of 
 the canal, the last hope — Gorgias brought the news 
 — the same as destroyed. Just then little Alexander 
 came to show me his bird's nest. Everything else 
 in the garden seemed to him worthless by compari- 
 son. This awakened new thoughts, and now here 
 is the little house which the children have built 
 with their own hands. All these things forced me 
 by some mysterious power to look back along the 
 course of my life to the distant days in your 
 
 father's house — I These children ! Upon 
 
 what different foundations our lives have been 
 built ! I made them begin at the point I had gained 
 when youth lay behind me. My childhood com- 
 menced among the disorders of the government, 
 clouded by my father's exile and my mother's death, 
 .on the brink of ruin. That of the twins — they are 
 ten years old — will soon be over — and now, after 
 enjoying pleasures not one of which was bestowed 
 on me, they must endure the same sorrow. But 
 did not we have better ones? What they daily 
 possessed we only dreamed of in our simple gar- 
 den. How often I let you share the radiant vis- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 55 
 
 ions which my soul revealed to me ! You willingly 
 accompanied me into the splendid fairy world of 
 my dreams. All that my imagination conjured up 
 during the years of quiet and repose accompanied 
 me into my after-life. Again and again I have 
 beheld them, rich and powerful, upon the throne. 
 The nieans of rendering the vision a verity were 
 at hand ; and when I met the man whose own life 
 resembled the realization of a dream, I recalled 
 those childish fancies and made them facts. The 
 marvels with which I adorned my lover's existence 
 were childish dreams to which I gave tangible 
 form. This garden is an image of the life to which 
 I intended to rise; in reality, fell. We collected 
 within the limits of this bit of earth everything 
 which can delight the senses ; not a single one is 
 omitted in this narrow space, whose crowded maze 
 of pleasures fairly impede freedom of movement. 
 Yet in your home, and guided by your wise father, 
 I had learned to be content with so little, and 
 commenced the struggle to attain peace. That 
 painless peace— our chief good — whence came it ? 
 
 Through me it was lost to you both But 
 
 the children — I made them begin their lives in 
 an arena of every disturbing influence; and now 
 I see how their own healthy natures yearn to 
 escape from the dazzling wealth of colour, the 
 stupefying fragrance, the bewildering songs and 
 twittering. They long to return to the untilled 
 earth, where the life of struggling mortals began. 
 
56 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The boy casts away the baubles, to test his own 
 creative powers. The girl follows his example, 
 and clings fast only to the doll in which she sees 
 the living child, in order to do justice to the ma- 
 ternal instinct, the token of her sex. But what they 
 so eagerly desire is right, and shall be granted. 
 When I was ten years old, like the twins, my life 
 and efforts were already directed towards one fixed 
 goal. They are still blindly following the objects 
 set before them. Let them return to the place 
 whence their mother started, where she received 
 everything good which is still hers. They shall go 
 to the garden of Epicurus, no matter whether it 
 is the old one in Kanopus or elsewhere. All that 
 their mother beheld in vivid dreams, which she often 
 strove with wanton extravagance to realize, has 
 surrounded them from their birth and early satiated 
 them. When they enter life, they will scorn what 
 merely stirs and dazzles the senses, and cling to 
 the aspiration for painless peace of mind, if a wise 
 guide directs them and protects them from the 
 dangers which the teachings of Epicurus contain 
 for youth. I have found this guide, and you, too, 
 will trust him — I mean your brother Archibius." 
 
 " Archibius ? " asked Charmian in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, he who grew up in the garden of Epi- 
 curus, and in life and philosophy found the sup- 
 port which has preserved his peace of mind during 
 all the conflicts of existence — he who loves the 
 mother, and to whom the children are also dear — 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 57 
 
 he to whom the boys and girls cling with affection- 
 ate confidence. I wish to place the children under 
 his protection and, if he will consent to grant this 
 desire of the most hapless of women, I shall look 
 forward calmly to the end. It is approaching ! I 
 feel, I know it ! Gorgias is already at work upon 
 the plan for my tomb." 
 
 " O my Queen ! " cried Charmian sorrowfully. 
 "Whatever may happen, your illustrious life can- 
 not be in danger ! The generous heart of Mark 
 Antony does not throb in Octavianus's breast, but 
 he is not cruel, and for the very reason that cool 
 calculation curbs ambition he will spare you. He 
 knows that you are the idol of the city, the whole 
 country ; and if he really succeeds in adding fresh 
 victories to this first conquest, if the immortals 
 permit your throne and — may they avert it ! — your 
 sacred person, too, to fall into his power " 
 
 " Then," cried Cleopatra, her clear eyes flash- 
 ing, " then he shall learn which of us two is the 
 greater — then I shall know how to maintain the 
 right to despise him, though blind Fate should 
 make the whole power of the world subject to him 
 who robbed my son and Caesar's of his heritage ! " 
 
 Her eyes had blazed with anger as she uttered 
 the words; then, letting her little clenched hand 
 fall, she went on in an altered tone : 
 
 " Months may pass before he is strong enough 
 to risk the attack, and the immortals themselves 
 approved the erection of the monument. The only 
 
58 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 obstacle in the way, the house of the old philoso- 
 pher Didymus, was destroyed. A messenger from 
 Gorgias brought the news. It is to be the second 
 monument in Alexandria worthy of notice. The 
 other contains the body of the great Alexander, to 
 whom the city owes its origin and name. He who 
 subjected half the world to his power and the 
 genius of the Greeks, was younger than I when he 
 died. Whence do I, by whose miserable weakness 
 the battle of Actium was lost, derive the right to 
 walk longer beneath the sun ? Perhaps Mark An- 
 tony will arrive in a few hours." 
 
 " And will you meet the disheartened hero in 
 this mood ? " interrupted Charmian. 
 
 " He does not wish to be received," answered 
 Cleopatra bitterly. " He even refused to let me 
 greet him, and I understand the denial. But what 
 must have overwhelmed this joyous nature, so 
 friendly to all mankind, that he longs for solitude 
 and avoids meeting those who are nearest and 
 dearest ? Iras is now at the Choma — whither he 
 wishes to retire — to see that everything is in order. 
 She will also provide a supply of the flowers he 
 loves. It is hard, cruelly hard, not to welcome 
 him as usual. O Charmian, what joy it was 
 when, with open arms and overflowing heart, he 
 swung his mighty figure ashore like a youth, while 
 his handsome, heroic face beamed with ardent love 
 for me ! And then — you do not forget it either — 
 when he raised his deep voice to shout the first 
 
CLEOPATRA. 5g 
 
 greeting, why, it seemed as if the very fish in the 
 water must join in, and the palm-trees on the 
 shore wave their feathery tops in joyous sym- 
 pathy. And here ! The dreams of my childhood, 
 which I made reality for him, received us, and our 
 existence, wreathed with love and roses, became a 
 fairy tale. Since the day he rode towards us at 
 Kanopus and offered me the first bouquet, with 
 his sunny glance wooing my love, his image has 
 stood before my soul as the embodiment of the 
 virile strength which conquers everything, and the 
 bright, undimmed joy which renders the whole 
 world happy. And now — now ? Do you remember 
 the dull dreamer whom we left ere he set forth for 
 Paraetonium? But no, no, a thousand times no, 
 he must not remain so ! Not with bowed head, 
 but erect as in the days of happiness, must he 
 cross the threshold of Hades, hand in hand with 
 her whom he loved. And he does love me still. 
 Else would he have followed me hither, though no 
 magic goblet drew him after me ? And I ? The 
 heart which, in the breast of the child, gave him 
 its first young love, is still his, and will be forever. 
 Might I not go to the harbour and await him 
 there? Look me in the- face, Charmian, and an- 
 swer me as fearlessly as a mirror : did Olympus, 
 really succeed in effacing the wrinkles ? " 
 
 " They were scarcely visible before," was the 
 reply, " and even the keenest eye could no long- 
 er discover them. I have brought the pomade, 
 
6o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 too, and the prescription Olympus gave me 
 for " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " interrupted Cleopatra softly. 
 " There are many living creatures in this garden, 
 and they say that even the birds are good lis- 
 teners." 
 
 A roguish smile deepened the dimples in her 
 cheeks as she spoke, and delight in her bewitching 
 grace forced from Charmian's lips the exclamation : 
 
 " If Mark Antony could only see you now ! " 
 
 ** Flatterer ! " replied the Queen with a grate- 
 ful smile. But Charmian felt that the time had 
 now come to plead once more for Barine, and she 
 began eagerly : 
 
 " No, I certainly do not flatter. No one in 
 Alexandria, no matter what name she bears, could 
 venture to vie even remotely with your charms. 
 So cease the persecution of the unfortunate woman 
 whom you confided to my care. It is an insult to 
 Cleopatra " 
 
 But here an indignant " Again ! " interrupted 
 her. 
 
 Cleopatra's face, which during the conversa- 
 tion had mirrored every emotion of a woman's 
 soul, from the deepest sorrow to the most mis- 
 chievous mirth, assumed an expression of repel- 
 lent harshness, and, with the curt remark, " You 
 are forgetting what I had good reason to forbid — 
 I must go to my work," she turned her back upon 
 the companion of her youth. 
 

 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Charmian went towards her own apartments. 
 How often she had had a similar experience ! In 
 the midst of the warmest admiration for this rare 
 woman's depth of feeling, masculme strength of 
 intellect, tireless industry, watchful care for her 
 native land, steadfast loyalty, and maternal devo- 
 tion, she had been sobered in the most pitiable 
 way. 
 
 She had been forced to see Cleopatra, for the 
 sake of realizing a childish dream, and impressing 
 her lover, squander vast sums, which diminished 
 the prosperity of her subjects; place great and 
 important matters below the vain, punctilious care 
 of her own person ; forget, in petty jealousy, the 
 justice and kindness which were marked traits in 
 her character; and, though the most kindly and 
 womanly of sovereigns, suffer herself to be urged 
 by angry excitement to inflict outrage on a sub- 
 ject whose acts had awakened her displeasure. 
 The lofty ambition which had inspired her no- 
 blest and most praiseworthy deeds had more than 
 once been the source of acts which she herself 
 25 
 
62 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 regretted. When a child, she could not endure to 
 be surpassed in difficult tasks, and still deemed it 
 a necessity to be first and peerless. Hence the 
 unfortunate circumstance that Antony had given 
 Barine the counterpart of an armlet which she her- 
 self wore as a gift from her lover, was perhaps 
 the principal cause of her bitter resentment against 
 the hapless woman. 
 
 Charmian had seen Cleopatra forgive freely 
 and generously many a wrong, nay, many an af- 
 front, inflicted upon her ; but to see herself placed 
 by her husband on the same plane as a Barine, 
 even in the most trivial matter, might easily seem 
 to her an unbearable insult; and the mishap which 
 had befallen Csesarion, in consequence of his fool- 
 ish passion for the young beauty, gave her a right 
 to punish her rival. 
 
 Deeply anxious concerning the fate of the 
 woman in her care — greatly agitated, moreover, 
 and exhausted physically and mentally — Charmian 
 sought her own apartments. 
 
 Here she hoped to find solace in Barine's cheer- 
 ful and equable nature ; here the helpful hands of 
 her dark-skinned maid and confidante awaited her. 
 
 The sun was low in the western horizon when 
 she entered the anteroom. The members of the 
 body-guard who were on duty told her that noth- 
 ing unusual had occurred, and with a sigh of re- 
 lief she passed into the sitting-room. 
 
 But the Ethiopian, who usually came to meet 
 
CLEOPATRA. 63 
 
 her with words of welcome, took her veil and 
 wraps, and removed her shoes, was absent. To- 
 day no one greeted her. Not until she entered 
 the second room, which she had assigned to her 
 guest, did she find Barine, who was weeping bit- 
 terly. 
 
 During Charmian's absence the latter had 
 received a letter from Alexas, in which he in- 
 formed her that he was ordered by the Queen to 
 subject her to an examination the next morning. 
 Her cause looked dark but, if she did not render 
 his duty harder by the harshness which had for- 
 merly caused him much pain, he would do his 
 utmost to protect her from imprisonment, forced 
 labour in the mines, or even worse misfortunes. 
 The imprudent game which she had played with 
 King Caesarion had unfortunately roused the peo- 
 ple against her. The depth of their indignation 
 was shown by the fury with which they had as- 
 sailed the house of her grandfather, Didymus. 
 Nothing could save Dion, who had audaciously 
 attacked the illustrious son of their beloved 
 Queen, from the rage of the populace. He, 
 Alexas, knew that in this Dion she would lose a 
 friend and protector, but he would be disposed to 
 take his place if her conduct did not render it im- 
 possible for him to unite mercy with justice. 
 
 This shameful letter, which promised Barine 
 clemency in return for her favour without un- 
 masking him in his character of judge, explained 
 
64 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 to Charmian the agitation in which she found her 
 friend's daughter. 
 
 It was doubtless a little relief to Barine to ex- 
 press her loathing and abhorrence of Alexas as 
 eagerly as her gentle nature would permit, but 
 fear, grief, and indignation continued to struggle 
 for the mastery in her oppressed soul. 
 
 It would have been expected that the keen- 
 witted woman would have eagerly inquired what 
 Charmian had accomplished with the Queen and 
 Archibius, and what new events had happened to 
 affect Cleopatra, the state, and the city ; but she 
 questioned her with far deeper interest concerning 
 the welfare of her lover, desiring information in 
 regard to many things of which her friend could 
 give no tidings. In her brief visit to Dion's couch 
 she had not learned how he bore his own misfor- 
 tunes and Barine's, what view he took of the fu- 
 ture, or what he expected from the woman he loved. 
 
 Charmian's ignorance and silence in regard to 
 these very matters increased the anxiety of the 
 endangered woman, who saw not only her own 
 life, but those dearest to her, seriously threatened. 
 So she entreated her hostess to relieve her from 
 the uncertainty which was harder to endure than 
 the most terrible reality; but the latter either 
 could not or would not give her any further de- 
 tails of Cleopatra's intentions, or the fate and 
 present abode of her grandparents and Helena. 
 This increased her anxiety, for if Alexas's infor- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 65 
 
 mation was correct, her family must be homeless. 
 When Charmian at last admitted that she had seen 
 Dion only a few minutes, the tortured Barine's 
 power of quiet endurance gave way. 
 
 She, whose nature was so hopeful that, when 
 the glow of the sunset faded, she already antici- 
 pated with delight the rosy dawn of the next day, 
 now beheld in Cleopatra's hand the reed which 
 was to sign the death-sentence of Dion and her- 
 self. Her mental vision conjured up her relatives 
 wounded by the falling house or bleeding under 
 the stones hurled by the raging populace. She 
 heard Alexas command the executioner to subject 
 her to the rack, and fancied that Anukis had not 
 returned because she had failed to find Dion. 
 The Queen's soldiers had probably carried him to 
 prison, loaded with chains, if Philostratus had not 
 already instigated the mob to drag him through 
 the streets. 
 
 With feverish impetuosity, which alarmed Char- 
 mian the more because it was so unlike her old 
 friend's daughter, Barine described all the spectres 
 with which her imagination — agitated by terror, 
 longing, love, and loathing — terrified her ; but the 
 former exerted all the power of eloquence she 
 possessed, by turns reproving her and loading her 
 with caresses, in order to soothe her and rouse her 
 from her despair. But nothing availed. At last 
 she succeeded in persuading the unhappy woman to 
 go with her to the window, which afforded a most 
 
66 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 beautiful view. Westward, beyond the Heptasta- 
 dium, the sun was sinking below the forests of masts 
 in the harbour of the Eunostus; and Charmian, who 
 had learned from her intercourse with the royal 
 children how to soothe a troubled young heart, to 
 divert Barine's thoughts, directed her attention to 
 the crimson glow in the western sky, and told her 
 how her father, the artist, had showed her the 
 superb brilliancy which colours gained at this hour 
 of the day, even when the west was less radiant 
 than now. But Barine, who usually could never 
 gaze her fill at such a spectacle, did not thank her, 
 for this sunset reminded her of another which she 
 had lately watched at Dion's side, and she again 
 broke into convulsive sobs. 
 
 Charmian, not knowing what to do, passed her 
 arm around her. Just at that moment the door was 
 hurriedly thrown open, and Anukis, the Nubian, 
 entered. 
 
 Her mistress knew that something unusual 
 must have happened to detain her so long from 
 her post at Barine's side, and her appearance 
 showed that she had been attending to important 
 matters which had severely taxed her strength. 
 Her shining dark skin looked ashen grey, her high 
 forehead, surrounded by tangled woolly locks, was 
 dripping with perspiration, and her thick lips were 
 pale. Although she must have undergone great 
 fatigue, she did not seem in need of rest ; for, 
 after greeting the ladies, apologizing for her long 
 
CLEOPATRA. 67 
 
 absence, and telling Barine that this time Dion had 
 seemed to her half on the way to recovery, a rapid 
 side glance at her mistress conveyed an entreaty 
 that she would follow her into the next room. 
 
 But the language of the Nubian's eyes had not 
 escaped the suspicious watchfulness of the anxious 
 Barine and, overwhelmed with fresh terror, she 
 begged that she might hear all. 
 
 Charmian ordered her maid to speak openly; 
 but Anukis, ere she began, assured them that she 
 had received the news she brought from a most 
 trustworthy source — only it would make a heavy 
 demand upon the resolution and courage of Barine, 
 whom she had hoped to find in a very different 
 mood. There was no time to lose. She was ex- 
 pected at the appointed place an hour after 
 sunset. 
 
 Here Charmian interrupted the maid with the 
 exclamation " Impossible ! " and reminded her of 
 the guards which Alexas, aided by Iras, who was 
 thoroughly familiar with the palace, had stationed 
 the day before in the anteroom, at all the doors — 
 nay, even beneath the windows. 
 
 The Nubian replied that everything had been 
 considered ; but, to gain time, she must beg Barine 
 to let her colour her skin and curl her hair while 
 she was talking. 
 
 The surprise visible in the young beauty's face 
 caused her to exclaim : " Only act with entire 
 confidence. You shall learn everything directly. 
 
68 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 There is so much to tell ! On the way here I 
 had planned how to relate the whole story in 
 regular order, but it can't be done now. No, no! 
 Whoever wants to save a flock of sheep from a 
 burning shed must lead out the bell-wether first 
 — the main thing, I mean — so I will begin with 
 that, though it really comes last. The explanation 
 of how all this " 
 
 Here, like a cry of joy, Barine's exclamation 
 interrupted her : 
 
 ** I am to fly, and Dion knows it and will follow 
 me ! I see it in your face." 
 
 In fact, every feature of the dusky maid-serv- 
 ant's ugly face betrayed that pleasant thoughts 
 were agitating her mind. Her black eyes flashed 
 with fearless daring, and a smile beautified her big 
 mouth and thick lips as she replied : 
 
 " A loving heart like yours understands the art 
 of prophecy better than the chief priest of the 
 great Serapis. Yes, my young mistress, he of 
 whom you speak must disappear from this wicked 
 city where so much evil threatens you both. He 
 will certainly escape and, if the immortals aid us 
 and we are wise and brave, you also. Whence the 
 help comes can be told later. Now, the first thing 
 is to transform you — don't be reluctant — into the 
 ugliest woman in the world — black Anukis. You 
 must escape from the palace in this disguise. — Now 
 you know the whole plan, and while I get what is 
 necessary from my chest of clothes, I beg you. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 69 
 
 mistress, to consider how we are to obtain the 
 black stains for that ivory skin and golden 
 hair." 
 
 With these words she left the room, but Barine 
 flung herself into her friend's arms, exclaiming, 
 amid tears and laughter: "Though I should be 
 forced to remain forever as black and crooked as 
 faithful Aisopion, if he did not withdraw his love, 
 though I were obliged to go through fire and 
 
 water — I would O Charmian ! what changes 
 
 so quickly as joy and sorrow ? I would fain show 
 some kindness to every one in the world, even to 
 your Queen, who has brought all these troubles 
 upon me." 
 
 The new-born hope had transformed the de- 
 spairing woman into a happy one, and Charmian 
 perceived it with grateful joy, secretly wishing that 
 Cleopatra had listened to her appeal. 
 
 While examining the hair-dyes used by the 
 Queen she saw, lurking in the background of what 
 was still unexplained, and therefore confused her 
 mind, fresh and serious perils. Barine, on the con- 
 trary, gazed across them to the anticipated meet- 
 ing with her lover, and was full of the gayest ex- 
 pectation until the maid-servant's return. 
 
 The work of disfigurement began without de- 
 lay. Anukis moved her lips as busily as her hands, 
 and described in regular order all that had befallen 
 her during the eventful day. 
 
 Barine listened with rising excitement, and her 
 
yo CLEOPATRA. 
 
 joy increased as she beheld the path which had 
 been smoothed for her by the care and wisdom of 
 her friends. Charmian, on the contrary, became 
 graver and more quiet the more distinctly she per- 
 ceived the danger her favourite must encounter. 
 Yet she could not help admitting that it would be a 
 sin against Barine's safety, perhaps her very life, 
 to withhold her from this well-considered plan of 
 escape. 
 
 That it must be tried was certain ; but as the 
 moment which was to endanger the woman she 
 loved drew nearer, and she could not help saying 
 to herself that she was aiding an enterprise in op- 
 position to the express command of the Queen and 
 helping to execute a plan which threatened to rouse 
 the indignation, perhaps the fury, of Cleopatra, a 
 feeling of sorrow overpowered her. She feared 
 nothing for herself. Not for a single instant did 
 she think of the unpleasant consequences which 
 Barine's escape might draw upon her. The burden 
 on her soul was due only to the consciousness of 
 having, for the first time, opposed the will of the 
 sovereign, to fulfil whose desires and to promote 
 whose aims had been the beloved duty of her life. 
 Doubtless the thought crossed her mind that, by 
 aiding Barine's escape, she was guarding Cleopatra 
 from future repentance ; probably she felt sure 
 that it was her duty to help rescue this beautiful 
 young life, whose bloom had been so cruelly as- 
 sailed by tempest and hoar-frost, and which now 
 
CLEOPATRA. 71 
 
 had a prospect of the purest happiness ; yet, though 
 in itself commendable, the deed brought her into 
 sharp conflict with the loftiest aims and aspirations 
 of her life. And how much nearer than the other 
 was the woman — she shrank from the word — whom 
 she was about to betray, how much greater was 
 Cleopatra's claim to her love and gratitude ! Could 
 she have any other emotion than thankfulness if 
 the plan of escape succeeded ? Yet she was reluc- 
 tant to perform the task of making Barine's beauti- 
 ful, symmetrical figure resemble the hunch-backed 
 Nubian'^s, or to dip her fingers into the pomade 
 intended for Cleopatra ; and it grieved her to mar 
 the beauty of Barine's luxuriant tresses by cutting 
 off part of her thick fair braids. 
 
 True, these things could not be avoided, if the 
 flight was to succeed, and the further Anukis ad- 
 vanced in her story, the fewer became her mistress's 
 objections to the plan. 
 
 The conversation between Iras and Alexas, 
 which had been overheard by the maid, already 
 made it appear necessary to withdraw Barine and 
 her lover from the power of such foes. The faith- 
 ful man whom Anukis had found with Dion, whose 
 name she did not mention and of whose home she 
 said only that no safer hiding-place could be found, 
 even by the mole which burrowed in the earth, 
 really seemed to have been sent with Gorgias to 
 Dion's couch 'by Fate itself. The control of the 
 subterranean chambers in the Temple of Isis which 
 
72 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 had been bestowed on the architect, also appeared 
 like a miracle. 
 
 Upon a small tablet, which the wise Aisopion 
 had intentionally delayed handing to her mistress 
 until now, were the lines : 
 
 " Archibius greets his sister Charmian. If I 
 know your heart, it will be as hard for you as for 
 me to share this plot, yet it must be done for the 
 sake of her father, to save the life and happiness 
 of his child. So it must fall to your lot to bring 
 Barine to the Temple of Isis at the Corner of the 
 Muses. She will find her lover there and^ if pos- 
 sible, be wedded to him. As the sanctuary is so 
 near, you need leave the palace only a short time. 
 Do not tell Barine what we have planned. The 
 disappointment would be too great if it should 
 prove impracticable." 
 
 This letter and the arrangement it proposed 
 transformed the serious scruples which shadowed 
 Charmian's good-will into a joyous, nay, enthusi- 
 astic desire to render assistance. Barine's mar- 
 riage to the man who possessed her heart was 
 close at hand, and she was the daughter of 
 Leonax, who had once been dear to her. Fear 
 and doubt vanished as if scattered to the four 
 winds, and when Aisopion's work of transforma- 
 tion was completed and Barine stood before her 
 as the high-shouldered, dark-visaged, wrinkled 
 maid, she could not help admitting that it would 
 be easy to escape from the palace in that disguise. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 73 
 
 She now told Barine that she intended to ac- 
 company her herself; and though the former's 
 •Stained face forced her to refrain from kissing her 
 friend, she plainly expressed to her and the faith- 
 ful freedwoman the overflowing gratitude which 
 filled her heart. 
 
 Anukis was left alone. After carefully re- 
 moving all the traces of her occupation, as habit 
 dictated, she raised her arms in prayer, beseeching 
 the gods of her native land to protect the beauti- 
 ful woman to whom she had loaned her own mis- 
 shapen form, which had now been of genuine serv- 
 ice, and who had gone forth to meet so many dan- 
 gers, but also a happiness whose very hope had 
 been denied to her. 
 
 Charmian had told her maid that if the Queen 
 should inquire for her before Iras returned from 
 the Choma to say that she had been obliged to 
 leave the palace, and to supply her place. During 
 their absence, when Charmian had been attacked 
 by sickness, Cleopatra had often entrusted the care 
 of her toilet to Aisopion, and had praised her skill. 
 
 The Queen's confidential attendant was fol- 
 lowed as usual when she went out by a dark- 
 skinned maid. Lanterns and lamps had already 
 been lighted in the corridors of the spacious pal- 
 ace, and the court-yards were ablaze with torches 
 and pitch-pans; but, brilliantly as they burned in 
 many places, and numerous as were the guards, 
 officers, eunuchs, clerks, so4diers, cooks, attend- 
 
74 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ants, slaves, door-keepers, and messengers whom 
 they passed, not one gave them more than a care- 
 less glance. 
 
 So they reached the last court-yard, and then 
 came a moment when the hearts of both women 
 seemed to stop beating — for the man whom they 
 had most cause to dread, Alexas the Syrian, ap- 
 proached. 
 
 And he did not pass the fugitives, but stopped 
 Charmian, and courteously, even obsequiously, in- 
 formed her that he wished to get rid of the trou- 
 blesome affair of her favourite, which had been 
 assigned to him against his will, and therefore 
 had determined to bring Barine to trial early the 
 following morning. 
 
 The Syrian's body-servant attended his master, 
 and while the former was talking with Charmian 
 the latter turned to the supposed Nubian, tapped 
 her lightly on the shoulder, and whispered: ^'Come 
 this evening, as you did yesterday. You haven't 
 finished the story of Prince Setnau." 
 
 The fugitive felt as if she had grown dumb 
 and could never more regain the power of speech. 
 Yet she managed to nod, and directly after the 
 favourite bowed a farewell to Charmian. The 
 Ligurian was obliged to follow his master, while 
 Charmian and Barine passed through the gateway 
 between the last pylons into the open air. 
 
 Here the sea-breeze seemed to waft her a joy- 
 ous greeting from the realm of liberty and hap- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 75 
 
 piness, and the timid woman, amid all the perils 
 which surrounded her, regained sufficient presence 
 of mind to tell her friend what Alexas's slave had 
 whispered — that Aisopion might remind him of it 
 the same evening, and thus strengthen his belief 
 that the Nubian had accompanied the Queen's 
 confidante. 
 
 The way to the Temple of Isis was short. The 
 stars showed that they would reach their destina- 
 tion in time; but a second delay unexpectedly oc- 
 curred. From the steps leading to the cella of 
 the sanctuary a procession, whose length seemed 
 endless, came towards them. At the head of the 
 train marched eight pastophori, bearing the image 
 of Isis. Then came the basket-bearers of the god- 
 dess with several other priestesses, followed by the 
 reader with an open book-roll. Behind him ap- 
 peared the quaternary number of prophets, whose 
 head, the chief priest, moved with stately dignity 
 beneath a canopy. The rest of the priestly train 
 bore in their hands manuscripts, sacred vessels, 
 standards, and wreaths. The priestesses — some of 
 whom, with garlands on their flowing hair, were 
 already shaking the sistrum of Isis — mingled with 
 the line of priests, their high voices blending with 
 the deep notes of the men. Neokori, or temple 
 servants, and a large number of worshippers of 
 Isis, closed the procession, all wearing wreaths 
 and carrying flowers. Torch and lantern bearers 
 lighted the way, and the perfume of the incense 
 
76 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 rising from the little pan of charcoal in the hand 
 of a bronze arm, which the pastophori waved to 
 and fro, surrounded and floated after the pro- 
 cession. 
 
 The two women waiting for the train to pass 
 saw it turn towards Lochias, and the conversation 
 of the bystanders informed them that its object 
 was to convey to "the new Isis," the Queen, the 
 greeting of the goddess, and assure the sovereign 
 of the divinity's remembrance of her in the hour 
 of peril. 
 
 Cleopatra could not help accepting this friendly 
 homage, and it was incumbent upon her to receive 
 it wearing on her head the crown of Upper and 
 Lower Egypt, and robed in all the ecclesiastical 
 vestments which only her two most trusted at- 
 tendants knew how to put on with the attention 
 to details that custom required. This had never 
 been entrusted to maids of inferior position like 
 the Nubian ; so Cleopatra would miss Charmian. 
 
 The thought filled her with fresh uneasiness 
 and, when the steps were at last free, she asked 
 herself anxiously how all this would end. 
 
 It seemed as if the fugitive and her companion 
 had exposed themselves to this great peril in vain; 
 for some of the temple servants were forcing back 
 those who wished to enter the sanctuary, shouting 
 that it would be closed until the return of the pro- 
 cession. Barine gazed timidly into Charmian's 
 face; but, ere she could express her opinion, the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 77 
 
 tall figure of a man appeared on the temple steps. 
 It was Archibius, who with grave composure bade 
 them follow him, and silently led them around the 
 sanctuary to a side door, through which, a short 
 time before, a litter had passed, accompanied by 
 several attendants. 
 
 Ascending a flight of steps within the long 
 building, they reached the dimly lighted cella. 
 
 As in the Temple of Osiris at Abydos seven 
 corridors, here three led to the same number of 
 apartments, the holy place of the sanctuary. The 
 central one was dedicated to Isis, that on the left 
 to her husband Osiris, and that on the right to 
 Horus, the son of the great goddess. Before it, 
 scarcely visible in the dim light, stood the altars, 
 loaded with sacrifices by Archibius. 
 
 Beside that of Horus was the litter which had 
 been borne into the temple before the arrival of 
 the women. From it, supported by two friends, 
 descended a slender young man. 
 
 A hollow sound echoed through the pillared hall. 
 The iron door at the main entrance of the temple 
 had been closed. The shrill rattle that followed 
 proceeded from the metal bolts which an old serv- 
 ant of the sanctuary had shot into the sockets. 
 
 Barine started, but neither inquired the cause of 
 the noise nor perceived the wealth of objects here 
 presented to the senses ; for the man who, leaning 
 on another's arm, approached the altar, was Dion, 
 the lover who had perilled his life for her sake. Her 
 26 
 
78 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 eyes rested intently on his figure, her whole heart 
 yearned towards him and, unable to control her- 
 self, she called his name aloud. 
 
 Charmian gazed anxiously around the group, 
 but soon uttered a sigh of relief; for the tall man 
 whose arm supported Dion was Gorgias, the worthy 
 architect, his best friend, and the other, still taller 
 and stronger, her own brother Archibius. Yonder 
 figure, emerging from the disguise of wraps, was 
 Berenike, Barine's mother. All trustworthy con- 
 fidants ! The only person whom she did not know 
 was the handsome young man standing at her 
 brother's side. 
 
 Barine, whose arm she still held, had struggled 
 to escape to rush to her mother and lover ; but 
 Archibius had approached, and in a whisper warned 
 her to be patient and to refrain from any greeting 
 or question, ** supposing," he added, " that you are 
 willing to be married at this altar to Dion, the son 
 of Eumenes." 
 
 Charmian felt Barine's arm tremble in hers at 
 this suggestion, but the young beauty obeyed her 
 friend's directions. She did not know what had be- 
 fallen her, or whether, in the excess of happiness 
 which overwhelmed her, to shout aloud in her ex- 
 ultant joy, or melt into silent tears of gratitude 
 and emotion. 
 
 No one spoke. Archibius took a roll of manu- 
 script from Dion's hand, presented himself before 
 the assembled company as the bride's kyrios, or 
 
CLEOPATRA. 79 
 
 guardian, and asked Barine whether she so recog- 
 nized him. Then he returned to Dion the mar- 
 riage contract, whose contents he knew and ap- 
 proved, and informed those present that, in the 
 marriage about to be solemnized, they must con- 
 sider him the paranymphos, or best man, and 
 Berenike as the bridesmaid, and they instantly 
 lighted a torch at the fires burning on one of the 
 altars. Archibius, as kyrios, joined the lovers' 
 hands in the Egyptian — Barine's mother, as brides- 
 maid, in the Greek — manner, and Dion gave his 
 bride a plain iron ring. It was the same one which 
 his father had bestowed at his own wedding, and 
 he whispered : " My mother valued it ; now it is 
 your turn to honour the ancient treasure." 
 
 After stating that the necessary sacrifices had 
 been offered to Isis and Serapis, Zeus, Hera, and 
 Artemis, and that the marriage between Dion, son 
 of Eumenes, and Barine, daughter of Leonax, was 
 concluded, Archibius shook hands with both. 
 
 Haste seemed necessary, for he permitted Bere- 
 nike and his sister only time for a brief embrace, 
 and Gorgias to clasp her hand and Dion's. Then 
 he beckoned, and the newly made bride's mother 
 followed him in tears, Charmian bewildered and 
 almost stupefied. She did not fully realize the 
 meaning of the event she had just witnessed until 
 an old neokori had guided her and the others into 
 the open air. 
 
 Barine felt as if every moment might rouse 
 
8o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 her from a blissful dream, and yet she gladly told 
 herself that she was awake, for the man walking 
 before her, leaning on the arm of a friend, was 
 Dion. True, she saw, even in the faint light of the 
 dim temple corridor, that he was suffering. Walking 
 appeared to be so difficult that she rejoiced when, 
 yielding to Gorgias's entreaties, he entered the 
 litter. 
 
 But where were the bearers ? 
 
 She was soon to learn ; for, even while she 
 looked for them, the architect and the youth, in 
 whom she had long since recognized Philotas, her 
 grandfather's assistant, seized the poles. 
 
 " Follow us," said Gorgias, under his breath, 
 and she obeyed, keeping close behind the litter, 
 which was borne first down a broad and then 
 a narrow staircase, and finally along a passage. 
 Here a door stopped the fugitives ; but the archi- 
 tect opened it and helped his friend out of the lit- 
 ter, which before prcceeding farther he placed in a 
 room filled with various articles discovered during 
 his investigation of the subterranean temple cham- 
 bers. 
 
 Hitherto not a word had been spoken. Now 
 Gorgias called to Barine : " This passage is low — 
 you must stoop. Cover your head, and don't be 
 afraid if you meet bats. They have long been 
 undisturbed. We might have taken you from the 
 temple to the sea, and waited there, but it would 
 probably have attracted attention and been danger- 
 
CLEOPATRA. gl 
 
 ous. Courage, young wife of Dion ! The corridor 
 is long, and walking through it is difficult ; but 
 compared with the road to the mines, it is as smooth 
 and easy as the Street of the King. If you think 
 of your destination, the bats will seem like the 
 swallows which announce the approach of spring." 
 
 Barine nodded gratefully to him ; but she kissed 
 the hand of Dion, who was moving forward pain- 
 fully, leaning on the arm of his friend. The light 
 of the torch carried by Gorgias's faithful foreman, 
 who led the way, had fallen on her blackened arm, 
 and when the little party advanced she kept be- 
 hind the others. She thought it might be unpleas- 
 ant for her lover to see her thus disfigured, and 
 spared him, though she would gladly have re- 
 mained nearer. As soon as the passage grew 
 lower, the wounded man's friends took him in their 
 arms, and their task was a hard one, for they were 
 not only obliged to move onward bending low 
 under the heavy burden, but also to beat off the 
 bats which, frightened by the foreman's torch, flew 
 up in hosts. 
 
 Barine's hair was covered, it is true, but at any 
 other time the hideous creatures, which often 
 brushed against her head and arms, would have 
 filled her with horror and loathing. Now she 
 scarcely heeded them ; her eyes were fixed on the 
 recumbent figure in the bearers' arms, the man 
 to whom she belonged, body and soul, and whose 
 patient suffering pierced her inmost heart. His 
 
82 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 head rested on the breast of Gorgias, who walked 
 directly in front of her; the architect's stooping 
 posture concealed his face, but his feet were visi- 
 ble and, whenever they twitched, she fancied he 
 was in pain. Then she longed to press forward 
 to his side, wipe the perspiration from his brow in 
 the hot, low corridor, and whisper words of love 
 and encouragement. 
 
 This she was sometimes permitted to do when 
 the friends put down their heavy burden. True, 
 they allowed themselves only brief intervals of 
 rest, but they were long enough to show her how 
 the sufferer's strength was failing. When they at 
 last reached their destination, Philotas was forced 
 to exert all his strength to support the exhausted 
 man, while Gorgias cautiously opened the door. 
 It led to a flight of sea-washed steps close to the 
 garden of Didymus, which as a child she had often 
 used with her brother to float a little boat upon the 
 water. 
 
 The architect opened the door only a short dis- 
 tance ; he was expected, for Barine soon heard him 
 whisper, and suddenly the door was flung wide. A 
 tall man raised Dion and bore him into the open 
 air. While she was still gazing after him, a second 
 figure of equal size approached her and, hastily 
 begging her permission, lifted her in his arms like a 
 child, and as she inhaled the cool night air and felt 
 the water through which her bearer waded splash 
 up and wet her feet, her eyes sought her new-made 
 
CLEOPATRA. 83 
 
 husband — but in vain ; the night was very dark, 
 and the lights on the shore did not reach this spot 
 so far below the walls of the quay. 
 
 Barine was frightened ; but a few minutes after 
 the outlines of a large fishing boat loomed through 
 the darkness, dimly illummed by the harbour 
 lights, and the next instant the giant who carried 
 her placed her on the deck, and a deep voice whis- 
 pered : "All's well. I'll bring some wine at once." 
 
 Then Barine saw her husband lying motionless 
 on a couch which had been prepared for him in the 
 prow of the boat. Bending over him, she perceived 
 that he had fainted, and while rubbing his forehead 
 with the wine, raising his head on her lap, cheering 
 him, and afterwards by the light of a small lantern 
 carefully renewing the bandage on his shoulder, 
 she did not notice that the vessel was moving 
 through the water until the boatman set the tri- 
 angular sail. 
 
 She had not been told where the boat was 
 bearing her, and she did not ask. Any spot that 
 she could share with Dion was welcome. The 
 more lonely the place, the more she could be to 
 him. How her heart swelled with gratitude and 
 love ! When she bent over him, kissed his fore- 
 head, and felt how feverishly it burned, she 
 thought, " I will nurse you back to health," and 
 raised her eyes and soul to her favourite god, to 
 whom she owed the gift of song, and who under- 
 stood everything beautiful and pure, to thank 
 
84 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Phoebus Apollo and beseech him to pour his rays 
 the next morning on a convalescent man. While 
 she was still engaged in prayer the boat touched 
 the shore. Again strong arms bore her and Dion 
 to the land, and when her foot touched the solid 
 earth, her rescuer, the freedman Pyrrhus, broke 
 the silence, saying :" Welcome, wife of Dion, to 
 our island ! True, you must be satisfied to take us 
 as we are. But if you are as content with us as 
 we are glad to serve you and your lord, who is 
 ours also, the hour of leave-taking will be far dis- 
 tant." 
 
 Then, leading the way to the house, he showed 
 her as her future apartments two large white- 
 washed rooms, whose sole ornament was their ex- 
 quisite neatness. 
 
 On the threshold stood Pyrrhus's grey-haired 
 wife, a young woman, and a girl scarcely beyond 
 childhood ; but the older one modestly welcomed 
 Barine, and also begged her to accept their hos- 
 pitality. Recovery was rapid in the pure air of 
 the Serpent Isle. She herself, and — she pointed to 
 the others — her oldest son's wife, and her own 
 daughter, Dione, would be ready to render her any 
 service. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Brothers and sisters are rarely talkative when 
 they are together. As Charmian went to Lochias 
 with Archibius, it was difficult for her to find 
 words, the events of the past few hours had agi- 
 tated her so deeply. Archibius, too, could not 
 succeed in turning his thoughts in any other direc- 
 tion, though important and far more momentous 
 things claimed his attention. 
 
 They walked on silently side by side. In reply 
 to his sister's inquiry where the newly wedded pair 
 were to be concealed, he had answered that, spite 
 of her trustworthiness, this must remain a secret. 
 To her second query, how had it been possible to 
 use the interior of the Temple of Isis without in- 
 terruption, he also made a guarded reply. 
 
 In fact, it was the control of the subterranean 
 corridors of the sanctuary which had suggested to 
 Gorgias the idea of carrying Dion through them 
 to Pyrrhus's fishing-boat. To accomplish this it 
 was only necessary to have the Temple of Isis, 
 which usually remained open day and night, left 
 to the fugitive's friends for a short time ; and this 
 was successfully managed. 
 
86 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The historian Timagenes, who had come from 
 Rome as ambassador and claimed the hospitality 
 of his former pupil Archibius, had been empowered 
 to offer Cleopatra recognition of her own and her 
 children's right to the throne, and a full pardon, if 
 she would deliver Mark Antony into the hands of 
 Octavianus, or have him put to death. 
 
 The Alexandrian Timagenes considered this 
 demand both just and desirable, because it prom- 
 ised to deliver his native city from the man whose 
 despotic arrogance menaced its freedom, and whose 
 lavish generosity and boundless love of splendour 
 diminished its wealth. To Rome, as whose repre- 
 sentative the historian appeared, this man's mere 
 existence meant constant turmoil and civil war. 
 At the restoration of the flute-player by Gabinius 
 and Mark Antony, Timagenes had been carried 
 into slavery. Later, when, after his freedom had 
 been purchased by the son of Sulla, he succeeded 
 in attaining great influence in Rome, he still re- 
 mained hostile to Mark Antony, and it had been a 
 welcome charge to work against him in Alexan- 
 dria. He hoped to find an ally in Archibius, whose 
 loyal devotion to the Queen he knew. Arius, Ba- 
 rine's uncle and Octavianus's former tutor, would 
 also aid him. The most powerful support of his 
 mission, however, could be rendered by the ven- 
 erable chief priest, the head of the whole Egyptian 
 hierarchy. He had shown the latter that Antony, 
 in any case, was a lost man, and Egypt was in the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 87 
 
 act of dropping like a ripe fruit into the lap of 
 Octavianus. It would soon be in his power to 
 give the country whatever degree of liberty anS 
 independence he might choose. The Caesar had 
 the sole disposal of the Queen's fate also, and who- 
 ever desired to see her remain on the throne must 
 strive to gain the good-will of Octavianus. 
 
 The wise Anubis had considered all these things, 
 but he owed to Timagenes the hint that Arius was 
 the man whom Octavianus most trusted. So the 
 august prelate secretly entered into communica- 
 tion with Barine's uncle. But the dignity of his 
 high office, and the feebleness of extreme age, for- 
 bade Anubis to seek the man who was suspected 
 of friendship for the Romans. He had therefore 
 sent his trusted secretary, the young Serapion, to 
 make a compact as his representative with the 
 friend of Octavianus, whose severe injuries pre- 
 vented his leaving the house to go to the chief 
 priest. 
 
 During Timagenes's negotiations with the sec- 
 retary and Arius, Archibius came to entreat Ba- 
 rine's uncle to do everything in his power to save 
 his niece ; and, as all the Queen's friends were 
 anxious to prevent an act which, in these times of 
 excitement, could not fail, on account of its con- 
 nection with Dion, a member of the Council, to 
 rouse a large number of the citizens against her, 
 Serapion, as soon as he was made aware of the 
 matter, eagerly protested his readiness to do his 
 
88 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 best to save the imperilled lovers. He cared noth- 
 ing for Barine or Dion as individuals, but he doubt- 
 less would have been ready to make a still greater 
 sacrifice to win the influential Archibius, and espe- 
 cially Arius, who would have great power through 
 Octavianus, the rising sun. 
 
 The men had just begun to discuss plans for 
 saving Barine, when the Nubian appeared and told 
 Archibius what had been arranged beside Dion's 
 sick-bed by the freedman and Gorgias. The es- 
 cape of the fugitives depended solely upon their 
 reaching the boat unseen, and the surest way to 
 accomplish this was to use the subterranean pas- 
 sage which the architect had again opened. 
 
 Archibius, to whom the representative of the 
 chief priest had offered his aid, now took the 
 others into his confidence, and Arius proposed that 
 Barine should marry Dion in the Temple of Isis, 
 and the couple should afterwards be guided through 
 the secret passage to the boat. This proposal was 
 approved, and Serapion promised to reserve the 
 sanctuary for the wedding of the fugitives for a 
 short time after the departure of the procession, 
 which was to take place at sunset. In return for 
 this service another might perhaps soon be re- 
 quested from the friend of Octavianus, who greet- 
 ed his promise with grateful warmth. 
 
 " The priesthood,'* said Serapion, " takes sides 
 with all who are unjustly persecuted, and in this 
 case bestows aid the more willingly on account of 
 
CLEOPATRA. 89 
 
 its great anxiety to guard the Queen from an act 
 which would be difficult to approve." As for the 
 fugitives, so far as he could see, only two possi- 
 bilities were open to them : Cleopatra would cleave 
 to Mark Antony and go — would that the immor- 
 tals might avert it ! — to ruin, or she would sacri- 
 fice him and save her throne and life. In both 
 cases the endangered lovers could soon return 
 uninjured — the Queen had a merciful heart, and 
 never retained anger long if no guilt existed. 
 
 The details of the plan were then settled by 
 Archibius, Anukis, and Berenike, who was with 
 the family of Arius, and the decision was commu- 
 nicated to the architect. Archibius had main- 
 tained the same silence concerning the destination 
 of the fugitives towards the men composing the 
 council and Barine's mother as to his sister. With 
 regard to the mission of Timagenes and the polit- 
 ical questions which occupied his mind, he gave 
 Charmian only the degree of information neces- 
 sary to explain the plan she so lovingly promoted; 
 but she had no desire to know more. On the way 
 home her mind was wholly absorbed by the fear 
 that Cleopatra had missed her services and dis- 
 covered Barine's flight. True, she mentioned the 
 Queen's desire to place her children in Archibius's 
 charge, but she could not give him full particulars 
 until she reached her own apartments. 
 
 Her absence had not been noticed. The Re- 
 gent Mardion had received the procession in the 
 
90 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Queen's name, for Cleopatra had driven into the 
 city, na one knew where. 
 
 Charmian entered her apartments with a lighter 
 heart. Anukis opened the door to them. She had 
 remained undisturbed, and it was a pleasure to Ar- 
 chibius to give the faithful, clever freedwoman an 
 account of the matter with his own lips. He could 
 have bestowed no richer reward upon the modest 
 servant, who listened to his words as if they were 
 a revelation. When she disclaimed the thanks 
 with which he concluded, protesting that she was 
 the person under obligation, the expression was 
 sincere. Her keen intellect instantly recognized 
 the aristocrat's manner of addressing an equal or 
 an inferior ; and he who, in her eyes, was the first 
 of men, had described the course of events as 
 though she had stood on the same level. The 
 Queen herself might have been satisfied with the 
 report. 
 
 When she left Charmian's rooms to join the 
 other servants, she told herself that she was an 
 especially favoured mortal ; and when a young 
 cook teased her about her head being sunk be- 
 tween her shoulders, she answered, laughing : 
 *^ My shoulders have grown so high because I 
 shrug them so often at the fools who jeer at me 
 and yet are not half so happy and grateful." 
 
 Charmian, sorely wearied, had flung herself 
 into an arm-chair, and Archibius took his place 
 opposite to her. They were happy in each other's 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 91 
 
 society, even when silent ; but to-day the hearts 
 of both were so full that they fared like those 
 who are so worn out by fatigue that they cannot 
 sleep. How much they had to tell each other ! — yet 
 it was long ere Charmian broke the silence and 
 returned to the subject of the Queen's wish, de- 
 scribing to her brother Cleopatra's visit to the 
 house which the children had built, how kind and 
 cordial she had been ; yet, a few minutes later, in- 
 censed by the mere mention of Barine's name, she 
 had dismissed her so ungraciously. 
 
 " I do not know what you intend," she said in 
 conclusion, " but, notwithstanding my love for her, 
 I must perhaps decide in favour of what is most 
 difficult, for — when she learns that it was I who 
 withdrew the daughter of Leonax from her and 
 the base Alexas — what treatment can I expect, 
 especially as Iras no longer gives me the same 
 affection, and shows that she has forgotten my 
 love and care ? This will increase, and the worst of 
 the matter is, that if the Queen begins to favour her, 
 I cannot justly reproach her, for Iras is keener- 
 witted, and has a more active brain. Statecraft 
 was always odious to me. Iras, on the contrary, 
 is delighted with the opportunity to speak on 
 subjects connected with the government of the 
 country, and especially the ceaseless, momentous 
 game with Rome and the men who guide her 
 destiny." 
 
 " That game is lost," Archibius broke in with 
 
92 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 SO much earnestness that Charmian started, repeat- 
 ing in a low, timid tone : 
 
 " Lost ? " 
 
 " Forever," said Archibius, " unless " 
 
 " The Olympians be praised — that there is still 
 a doubt." 
 
 ^' Unless Cleopatra can decide to commit an act 
 which will force her to be faithless to herself, and 
 destroy her noble image through all future gen- 
 erations." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Whenever you learn it, will be too soon." 
 
 " And suppose she should do it, Archibius ? 
 You are her most trusted confidant. She will 
 place in your charge what she loves more than she 
 does herself." 
 
 " More ? You mean, I suppose, the children ? " 
 
 "The children! Yes, a hundred times yes. 
 She loves them better than aught else on earth. 
 For them, believe me, she would be ready to go to 
 her death." 
 
 " Let us hope so." 
 
 " And you — were she to commit the horrible 
 deed — I can only suspect what it is. But should 
 she descend from the height which she has hitherto 
 occupied — would you still be ready " 
 
 " With me," he interrupted quietly, " what she 
 does or does not do matters nothing. She is 
 unhappy and will be plunged deeper and deeper 
 into misery. I know this, and it constrains me to 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 93 
 
 exert my utmost powers in her service. I am hers 
 as the hermit consecrated to Serapis belongs to 
 the god. His every thought must be devoted to 
 him. To the deity who created him he dedicates 
 body and soul until the death to which he dooms 
 him. The bonds which unite me to this woman — 
 you know their origin — are not less indestructible. 
 Whatever she desires whose fulfilment will not 
 force me to despise myself is granted in advance.'* 
 
 " She will never require such things from the 
 friend of her childhood," cried Charmian. Then, 
 approaching him with both arms extended joyfully, 
 she exclaimed : " Thus you ought to speak and feel, 
 and therein is the answer to the question which has 
 agitated my soul since yesterday. Barine's flight, 
 the favour and disfavour of Cleopatra, Iras, my 
 poor head, which abhors politics, while at this time 
 the Queen needs keen-sighted confidants " 
 
 ** By no means," her brother interrupted. " It 
 is for men alone to give counsel in these matters. 
 Accursed be women's gossip over their toilet 
 tables ! It has already scattered to the four winds 
 many a well-considered plan of the wisest heads, 
 and an Iras could never be more fatal to statecraft 
 than just at the present moment, had not Fate 
 already uttered the final verdict." 
 
 " Then hence with these scruples," cried Char- 
 mian eagerly ; " my doubts are at an end ! As usual, 
 you point out the right path. I had thought of 
 returning to the country estate we call Irenia — the 
 27 
 
94 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 abode of peace— or to our beloved little palace 
 at Kanopus, to spend the years which may still 
 be allotted to me, and return to everything that . 
 made my childhood beautiful. The philosophers, 
 the flowers in the garden, the poets — even the new 
 Roman ones, of whose works Timagenes sent us 
 such charming specimens — would enliven the soli- 
 tude. The child, the daughter of the man whose 
 love I renounced, and afterwards perhaps her sons 
 and daughters, would fill the place of my own. As 
 they would have been dear to Leonax, I, too, would 
 have loved them! This is the guise in which the 
 future has appeared to me in many a quiet hour. 
 But shall Charmian — who, when her heart throbbed 
 still more warmly and life lay fair before her, laid 
 her first love upon the altar of sacrifice for her 
 royal playfellow — abandon Cleopatra in misfortune 
 from mere selfish scruples ? No, no ! — Like you, I 
 too belong — come what may — to the Queen." 
 
 She gazed into her brother's face, sure of his 
 approval but, waving his uplifted hand, he answered 
 gravely : " No, Charmian ! What I, a man, can 
 assume, might be fatal to you, a woman. The 
 present is not sweet enough for me to embitter it 
 
 with wormwood from the future. And yet 
 
 You must cast one glance into its gloomy domain, 
 in order to understand me. You can be silent, 
 and what you now learn will be a secret between 
 us. Only one thing " — here he lowered the loud 
 tones of his deep voice — ** only one thing can save 
 
CLEOPATRA. gj 
 
 her : the murder of Antony, or an act of shameless 
 treachery which would deliver him into Octavi- 
 anus's power. This is the proposal Timagenes 
 brought." 
 
 " This ? '* she asked in a hollow tone, her grey 
 head drooping. 
 
 " This," he repeated firmly. '* And if she suc- 
 cumbs to the temptation, she will be faithless to 
 the love which has coursed through her whole life 
 as the Nile flows through the land of her ancestors. 
 Then, Charmian, stay, stay under any circumstances, 
 cling to her more firmly than ever, for then, then, 
 my sister, she will be more wretched — ten, a hun- 
 dred fold more wretched than if Octavianus de- 
 prives her of everything, perhaps even life itself." 
 
 " Nor will I leave her, come what may. I will 
 remain at her side until the end," cried Charmian 
 eagerly. But Archibius, without noticing the en- 
 thusiastic ardor, so unusual to his sister's quiet 
 nature, calmly continued : " She won your heart 
 also, and it seems impossible for you to desert her. 
 Many have shared our feelings ; and it is no dis- 
 grace to any one. Misfortune is a weapon which 
 cleaves base natures like a sword, yet like a ham- 
 mer welds noble ones more closely. To you, there- 
 fore, it now seems doubly difficult to leave her, but 
 you need love. The right to live and guard your- 
 self from the most pitiable retrogression is your 
 due, as much as that of the rare woman on the 
 throne. So long as you are sure of her love, remain 
 
g6 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 with her, and show your devotion in every situa- 
 tion until the end. But the motives which were 
 drawing you away to books, flowers, and children, 
 weigh heavily in the balance, and if you lack the 
 anchor of her favour and love, I shall see you perish 
 miserably. The frost emanating from Cleopatra, 
 if her heart grew cold to you, the pin-pricks with 
 which Iras would assail you, were you defenceless, 
 would kill you. This must not be, sister; we will 
 
 guard against it Do not interrupt me. The 
 
 counsel I advise you to follow has been duly 
 weighed. If you see that the Queen still loves you 
 as in former days, clmg to her; but should you 
 learn the contrary, bid her farewell to-morrow. 
 My Irenia is yours " 
 
 " But she does love me, and even should she no 
 longer " 
 
 *' The test is at hand. We will leave the de- 
 cision to her. You shall confess that you were 
 the culprit who aided Barine to escape her power 
 to punish." 
 
 " Archibius ! " 
 
 " If you did not, a series of falsehoods must 
 ensue. Try whether the petty qualities in her 
 nature, which urged her to commit the fate of 
 Leonax's daughter to unworthy hands, are more 
 powerful than the nobler ones. Try whether she 
 is worthy of the self-sacrificing fidelity which you 
 have given her all your life. If she remains the 
 same as before, spite of this admission " 
 
CLEOPATRA. 97 
 
 Here he was interrupted by Anukis, who asked 
 if her mistress would see Iras at this late hour. 
 
 "Admit her," replied Archibius, after hastily 
 exchanging glances with his sister, whose face had 
 paled at his demand. He perceived it and, as the 
 servant withdrew, he clasped her hand, saying with 
 earnest affection : " I gave you my opinion, but at 
 our age we must take counsel with ourselves, and 
 you will find the right path." 
 
 " I have already found it," she answered softly 
 with downcast eyes. ** This visitor brought a 
 speedy decision. I must not feel ashamed in 
 Iras's presence." 
 
 She had scarcely finished speaking when the 
 Queen's younger confidante entered. She was ex- 
 cited and, after casting a searching glance around 
 the familiar room, she asked, after a curt greeting : 
 " No one knows where the Queen has gone. Mar- 
 dion received the procession in her place. Did 
 she take you into her confidence ? " 
 
 Charmian answered in the negative, and in- 
 quired whether Antony had arrived, and how she 
 had found him. 
 
 " In a pitiable state," was the reply. " I has- 
 tened hither to prevent the Queen from visiting 
 him, if possible. She would have received a re- 
 buff. It is horrible." 
 
 " The disappointment of Paraetonium is added 
 to the other burdens," observed Archibius. 
 
 '^ A feather compared with the rest," cried Iras 
 
98 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 indignantly. " What a spectacle ! A shrivelled 
 soul, never too large, in the body of a powerful 
 giant. Disaster crushes the courage of the de- 
 scendant of Herakles. The weakling will drag 
 the Queen's splendid courage with him into the 
 dust." 
 
 " We will do our best to prevent it," replied 
 Archibius firmly. " The immortals have placed 
 you and Charmian at her side to sustain her, if her 
 own strength fails. The time to test your powers 
 has arrived." 
 
 " I know my duty," replied Iras austerely. 
 
 " Prove it ! " said Archibius earnestly. " You 
 think you have cause for anger against Charmian." 
 
 " Whoever treats my foes so tenderly can 
 doubtless dispense with my affection. Where is 
 your ward ? " 
 
 " That you shall learn later," replied Charmian 
 advancing. " But when you do know, you will 
 have still better reason to doubt my love ; yet it 
 was only to save one dear to me from misery, cer- 
 tainly not to grieve you, that I stepped between 
 you and Barine. And now let me say — had you 
 wounded me to the quick, and everything dear to 
 the Greek heart called to me for vengeance — I 
 should impose upon myself whatever constraint 
 might be necessary to deny the impulse, because 
 this breast contains a love stronger, more power- 
 ful, than the fiercest hate. And this love we both 
 share. Hate me, strive to wound and injure one at 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 99 
 
 whose side you have hitherto stood like a daugh- 
 ter, but beware of robbing me of the strength and 
 freedom which I need, to be and to offer to my 
 royal mistress all the assistance in my power. I 
 have just been consulting my brother about leav- 
 ing Cleopatra's service." 
 
 " Now ? " Iras broke in vehemently. " No, no ! 
 Not that ! It must not be ! She cannot spare you 
 now." 
 
 " More easily, perhaps, than you," replied Char- 
 mian ; " yet in many things my services might be 
 hard to replace." 
 
 " Nothing under the sun could do it," cried Iras 
 eagerly. " If, in these days of trouble, she should 
 lose you too " 
 
 " Still darker ones are approaching," inter- 
 rupted Archibius positively. " Perhaps you will 
 learn all to-morrow. Whether Charmian yields 
 to her desire for rest, or continues in the service 
 of the Queen, depends on you. If you wish her to 
 remain you must not render it too hard for her to 
 do so. ^We three, my child, are perhaps the only 
 persons at this court to whom the Queen's happi- 
 ness is more than their own, and therefore we 
 should permit no incident, whatever name it may 
 bear, to cloud our harmony." 
 
 Iras threw back her head with angry pride, 
 exclaiming passionately: " Was it I who injured 
 you ? I do not know in what respect. But you 
 and Charmian — though you have so long been 
 
lOO CLEOPATRA. 
 
 aware that this heart was closed against every 
 love save one — stepped between me and the man 
 for whom I have yearned since childhood, and 
 built the bridge which united Dion and Barine. I 
 held the woman I hated in my grasp, and thanked 
 the immortals for the boon ; but you two — it is 
 not difficult to guess the secret you are still trying 
 to keep from me — you aided her to escape. You 
 have robbed me of my revenge ; you have again 
 placed the singer in the path where she must find 
 the man to whom I have a better and older claim, 
 and who perhaps may still be considering which of 
 us two will be the better mistress of his house, if 
 Alexas and his worthy brother do not arrange mat- 
 ters so that we must both content ourselves with 
 thinking tenderly of a dead man. That is why I 
 believe that I am no longer indebted to you, that 
 Charmian has more than repaid herself for all the 
 kindness she has ever showed me." 
 
 With these words she hurried to the door, but 
 paused on the threshold, exclaiming : " This is the 
 state of affairs ; yet I am ready to serve the Queen 
 hand in hand with you as before ; for you two — 
 as I have said — are necessary to her. In other re- 
 spects — I shall follow my own path." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Cleopatra had sought the venerable Anubis, 
 who now, as the priest of Alexander, at the age of 
 eighty, ruled the whole hierarchy of the country. 
 It was difficult for him to leave his arm-chair, but 
 he had been carried to the observatory to examine 
 the adverse result of the observation made by the 
 Queen herself. The position of the stars, how- 
 ever, had been so unfavourable that the more 
 deeply Cleopatra entered into these matters, the 
 less easy he found it to urge the mitigating in- 
 fluences of distant planets, which he had at first 
 pointed out. 
 
 In his reception-hall, however, the chief priest 
 had assured her that the independence of Egypt 
 and the safety of her own person lay in her hands ; 
 only — the planets showed this — a terrible sacrifice 
 was required — a sacrifice of which his dignity, his 
 eighty years, and his love for her alike forbade 
 him to speak. Cleopatra was accustomed to hear 
 these mysterious sayings from his lips, and inter- 
 preted them in her own way. Many motives had 
 induced her to seek the venerable prelate at this 
 
I02 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 late hour. In difficult situations he had often aided 
 her with good counsel ; but this time she was not 
 led to him by the magic cup of Nektanebus, which 
 the eight pastophori who accompanied it had that 
 day restored to the temple, for since the battle of 
 Actium the superb vessel had been a source of 
 constant anxiety to her. 
 
 Cleopatra had now asked the teacher of her 
 childhood the direct question whether the cup — a 
 wide, shallow vessel, with a flat, polished bottom — 
 could really have induced Antony to leave the bat- 
 tle and follow her ere the victory was decided. 
 She had used it just before the conflict between 
 the galleys, and this circumstance led Anubis to 
 answer positively in the affirmative. 
 
 Long ago the marvellous chalice had been ex- 
 hibited to her among the temple treasures, and she 
 was told that every one who induced another per- 
 son to be reflected from its shining surface ob- 
 tained the mastery over his will. Her wish to pos- 
 sess it, however, was not gratified, and she did not 
 ask for it again until the limitless devotion and 
 ardent love of Antony had seemed less fervent 
 than of yore. From that time she had never 
 ceased to urge her aged friend to place the won- 
 drous cup in her keeping. At first he had abso- 
 lutely refused, predicting that its use would bring 
 misfortune upon her; but when her request was 
 followed by an imperative command, and the gob- 
 let was entrusted to her, Anubis himself believed 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 103 
 
 that this one vessel did possess the magic power 
 attributed to it. He deemed that the drinking- 
 cup afforded the strongest proof of the magic art, 
 far transcending human ability, of the great god- 
 dess by whose aid King Nektanebus — who, accord- 
 ing to tradition, was the father of Alexander the 
 Great — was said to have made the vessel in the 
 Isis island of Philae. 
 
 Anubis had intended to remind Cleopatra of 
 his refusal, and show her the great danger in- 
 curred by mortals who strove to use powers be- 
 yond their sphere. It had been his purpose to bid 
 her remember Phaeton, who had almost kindled a 
 conflagration in the world when he attempted, in the 
 chariot of his father, Phoebus Apollo, to guide the 
 horses of the sun. But this was unnecessary, for 
 he had scarcely assented to the question ere, with 
 passionate vehemence, she ordered him to destroy 
 before her eyes the cup which had brought so 
 much misfortune. 
 
 The priest feigned that her desire harmonized 
 with a resolution which he had himself formed. 
 
 In fact, before her arrival, he had feared that 
 the goblet might be used in some fatal manner if 
 Octavianus should take possession of the city and 
 country, and the wonder-working vessel should 
 fall into his hands. Nektanebus had made the 
 cup for Egypt. To wrest it from the foreign ruler 
 was acting in the spirit of the last king in whose 
 veins had flowed the blood of the Pharaohs, and 
 
I04 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 who had toiled with enthusiastic devotion for the 
 independence and liberty of his people. To de- 
 stroy this man's marvellous work rather than de- 
 liver it to the Roman conqueror seemed to the 
 chief priest, after the Queen's command, a sacred 
 duty, and as such he represented it to be when he 
 commanded the smelting furnace to be fired and 
 the cup transformed into a shapeless mass before 
 the eyes of Cleopatra. 
 
 While the metal was melting he eagerly told 
 the Queen how easily she could dispense with the 
 vessel which owed its magic power to the mighty 
 Isis. 
 
 The spell of woman's charms was also a gift of 
 the goddess. It would suffice to render Antony's 
 heart soft and yielding as the fire melted the gold. 
 Perhaps the Imperator had forfeited, with the 
 Queen's respect, her love — the most priceless of 
 blessings. He, Anubis, would regard this as a 
 great boon of the Deity ; " for," he concluded, 
 " Mark Antony is the cliff which will shatter every 
 effort to secure to my royal mistress undiminished 
 the heritage which has come to her and her chil- 
 dren from their ancestors, and preserve the inde- 
 pendence and prosperity of this beloved land. 
 This cup was a costly treasure. The throne and 
 prosperity of Egypt are worthy of greater sacri- 
 fices. But I know that there is none harder for a 
 woman to make than her love." 
 
 The meaning of the old man's words Cleopatra 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 los 
 
 learned the following morning, when she granted 
 the first interview to Timagenes, Octavianus's 
 envoy. 
 
 The keen-witted, brilliant man, who had been 
 one of her best teachers and with whom, when a 
 pupil, she had had many an argument, was kindly 
 received, and fulfilled his commission with consum- 
 mate skill. 
 
 The Queen listened attentively to his represen- 
 tations, showed him that her own intellect had not 
 lost in flexibility, though it had gained power; and 
 when she dismissed him, with rich gifts and gra- 
 cious words, she knew that she could preserve the 
 independence of her beloved native land and re- 
 tain the throne for herself and her children if she 
 would surrender Antony to the conqueror or to 
 him, as ** the person acting," or — these were Tima- 
 genes's own words — " remove him forever from the 
 play whose end she had the power to render either 
 brilliant or fateful." 
 
 When she was again alone her heart throbbed 
 so passionately and her soul was in such a tumult 
 of agitation that she felt unable to attend the ap- 
 pointed meeting of the Council of the crown. She 
 deferred the session until the following day, and 
 resolved to go out upon the sea, to endeavour to 
 regain her composure. 
 
 Antony had refused to see her. This wounded 
 her. The thought of the goblet and its evil influ- 
 ences had by no means passed from her memory 
 
Io6 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 with the destruction of the vessel caused by one of 
 those outbursts of passion to which, in these days 
 of disaster, she yielded more frequently than usual. 
 On the contrary, she felt the necessity of being 
 alone, to collect her thoughts and strive to dispel 
 the clouds from her troubled soul. 
 
 The beaker had been one of the treasures of 
 Isis, and the memory of it recalled hours during 
 which, in former days, she had often found com- 
 posure in the temple of the goddess. She wished 
 to seek the sanctuary unnoticed and, accompanied 
 only by Iras and the chief Introducer,* went, 
 closely veiled, to the neighbouring temple at the 
 Corner of the Muses. 
 
 But she failed to find the object of her pilgrim- 
 age. The throng which filled it to pray and offer 
 sacrifices, and the fear of being recognized, de- 
 stroyed her calmness. 
 
 She was in the act of retiring, when Gorgias, the 
 architect, followed by an assistant carrying sur- 
 veying instruments, advanced towards her. She 
 instantly called him to her side, and he informed 
 her how wonderfully Fate itself seemed to favour 
 her plan of building. The mob had destroyed the 
 -house of the old philosopher Didymus, and the 
 grey-haired sage, to whom he had offered the shel- 
 ter of his home, was now ready to transfer the 
 property inherited from his ancestors, if her Majes- 
 
 * Marshal of the court. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 107 
 
 ty would assure him and his family of her protec- 
 tion. 
 
 Then she asked to see the architect's plan for 
 joining the museum to the sanctuary, and became 
 absorbed in the first sketch, to which he had de- 
 voted part of the night and morning. He showed 
 it, and with eager urgency Cleopatra commanded 
 him to begin the building as soon as possible and 
 pursue the work night and day. What usually re- 
 quired months must be completed in weeks. 
 
 Iras and the ** Introducer," clad in plain gar- 
 ments, had waited for her in the temple court and, 
 joined by the architect, accompanied her to the un- 
 pretending litter standing at one of the side gates 
 but, instead of entering it, she ordered Gorgias to 
 attend her to the garden. 
 
 The inspection proved that the architect was 
 right and, even if the mausoleum occupied a por- 
 tion of it, and the street which separated it from 
 the Temple of Isis were continued along the shore 
 of the sea, the remainder would still be twice as 
 large as the one belonging to the palace at Lochias. 
 
 Cleopatra's thorough examination showed Gor- 
 gias that she had some definite purpose in view. 
 Her inquiry whether it would be possible to con- 
 nect it with the promontory of Lochias indicated 
 what she had in mind, and the architect answered 
 in the affirmative. It was only necessary to tear 
 down some small buildings belonging to the Crown 
 and a little temple of Berenike at the southern part 
 
I08 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 of the royal harbour. The arm of the Agathodae- 
 mon Canal which entered here had been bridged 
 long ago. 
 
 The new scene which would result from this 
 change had been conjured before the Queen's men- 
 tal vision with marvellous celerity, and she described 
 it in brief, vivid language to the architect. The 
 garden should remain, but must be enlarged from 
 the Lochias to the bridge. Thence a covered col- 
 onnade would lead to the palace. After Gorgias 
 had assured her that all this could easily be ar- 
 ranged, she gazed thoughtfully at the ground for 
 a time, and then gave orders that the work should 
 be commenced at once, and requested him to spare 
 neither means nor men. 
 
 Gorgias foresaw a period of feverish toil, but it 
 did not daunt him. With such a master builder he 
 was ready to roof the whole city. Besides, the 
 commission delighted him because it proved that 
 the woman whose mausoleum was to rise from the 
 earth so swiftly still thought of enhancing the 
 pleasures of existence ; for, though she wished the 
 garden to remain unchanged, she desired to see 
 the colonnade and the remainder of the work con- 
 structed of costly materials and in beautiful forms. 
 When she bade him farewell, Gorgias kissed her 
 robe with ardent enthusiasm. 
 
 What a woman ! True, she had not even raised 
 her veil, and was attired in plain dark clothing, but 
 every gesture revealed the most perfect grace. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 109 
 
 The arm and hand with which she pointed now 
 here, now there, again seemed to him fairly in- 
 stinct with life ; and he, who deemed perfection of 
 form of so much value, found it difficult to avert 
 his eyes from her marvellous symmetry. And her 
 whole figure ! What lines, what genuine aristo- 
 cratic elegance, and warm, throbbing life ! 
 
 That morning when Helena, now an inmate of 
 his own home, greeted him, he had essayed to com- 
 pare her, mentally, with Cleopatra, but speedily 
 desisted. The man to whom Hebe proffers nectar 
 does not ask for even the best wine of Byblus. A 
 feeling of grateful, cheerful satisfaction, difficult 
 to describe, stole over him when the reserved, quiet 
 Helena addressed him so warmly and cordially; 
 but the image of Cleopatra constantly thrust itself 
 between them, and it was difficult for him to under- 
 stand himself. He had loved many women in suc- 
 cession, and now his heart throbbed for two at 
 once, and the Queen was the brighter of the two 
 stars whose light entranced him. Therefore his 
 honest soul would have considered it a crime to 
 woo Helena now. 
 
 Cleopatra knew what an ardent admirer she 
 had won in the able architect, and the knowledge 
 pleased her. She had used no goblet to gain him. 
 Doubtless he would begin to build the mausoleum 
 the next morning. The vault must have space for 
 several coffins. Antony had more than once ex- 
 pressed the desire to be buried beside her, wher- 
 28 
 
no CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ever he might die, and this had occurred ere she 
 possessed the beaker. She must in any case grant 
 him the same favour, no matter in. what place or 
 by whose hand he met death, and the bedimmed 
 light of his existence was but too evidently near- 
 ing extinction. If she spared him, Octavianus 
 would strike him from the ranks of the living, and 
 she Again she was overpowered by the ter- 
 rible, feverish restlessness which had induced her 
 to command the destruction of the goblet, and 
 had brought her to the temple. She could not re- 
 turn in this mood to meet her councillors, receive 
 visitors, greet her children. This was the birth- 
 day of the twins ; Charmian had reminded her of 
 it and undertaken to provide the gifts. How could 
 she have found time and thought for such affairs? 
 She had returned from the chief priest late in 
 the evening, yet had asked for a minute descrip- 
 tion of the condition in which they found Mark 
 Antony. The report made by Iras harmonized 
 with the state in which she had herself seen him 
 during and after the battle. Ay, his brooding 
 gloom seemed to have deepened. Charmian had 
 helped her dress in the morning, and had been on 
 the point of making her difficult confession, and 
 owning that she had aided Barine to escape the 
 punishment of her royal mistress; but ere she 
 could begin, Timagenes was announced, for Cleo- 
 patra had not risen from her couch until a late 
 hour. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 1 1 
 
 The object for which the Queen had sought 
 the temple had not been gained ; but the consul- 
 tation with Gorgias had diverted her mind, and 
 the emotions which the thought of her last rest- 
 ing-place had evoked now drowned everything 
 else, as the roar of the surf dominates the twitter- 
 ing of the swallows on the rocky shore. 
 
 Ay, she needed calmness! She must weigh and 
 ponder over many things in absolute quietude, 
 and this she could not obtain at Lochias. Then 
 her glance rested upon the little sanctuary of 
 Berenike, which she had ordered removed to make 
 room for a garden near at hand, where the chil- 
 dren could indulge their love of creative work. It 
 was empty. She need fear no interruption there. 
 The interior contained only a single, quiet, pleas- 
 ant chamber, with the image of Berenike. The 
 " Introducer " commanded the guard to admit no 
 other visitors, and soon the little white marble, 
 circular room with its vaulted roof received the 
 Queen. She sank down on one of the bronze 
 benches opposite to the statue. All was still ; in 
 this cool silence her mind, trained to thought, 
 could find that for which it longed — clearness of 
 vision, a plain understanding of her own feelings 
 and position in the presence of the impending de- 
 cision. 
 
 At first her thoughts wandered to and fro like 
 a dove ere it chooses the direction of its flight ; but 
 after the question why she was having a tomb 
 
112 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 built so hurriedly, when she would be permitted to 
 live, her mind found the right track. Among the 
 Scythian guards, the Mauritanians, a.nd Blemmyes 
 in the army there were plenty of savage fellows 
 whom a word from her lips and a handful of gold 
 would have set upon the vanquished Antony, as 
 the huntsman's "Seize him!" urges the hounds. 
 A hint, and among the wretched magicians and 
 Magians in the Rhakotis, the Egyptian quarter of 
 the city, twenty men would have assassinated him 
 by poison or wily snares; one command to the 
 Macedonians in the guard of the Mellakes or 
 youths, and he would be a captive that very day, 
 and to-morrow, if she so ordered, on the way to 
 Asia, whither Octavianus, as Timagenes told her, 
 had gone. 
 
 What prevented her from grasping the gold, 
 giving the hint, issuing the command ? 
 
 Doubtless she thought of the magic goblet, 
 now melted, which had constrained him to cast 
 aside honour, fame, and power, as worthless rub- 
 bish, in order to obey her behest not to leave her; 
 but though this remembrance burdened her soul, 
 it had no decisive influence. It was no one thing 
 which prisoned her hand and lips, but every fibre 
 of her being, every pulsation of her heart, every 
 glance back into the past to the confines of child- 
 hood. 
 
 Yet she listened to other thoughts also. They 
 reminded her of her children, the elation of power, 
 
CLEOPATRA. II3 
 
 love for the land of her ancestors, and the peril 
 which menaced it without her, the bliss of seeing 
 the light, and the darkness, the silence, the dull 
 rigidity of death, the destruction of the body 
 and the mind cherished and developed with so 
 much care and toil, the horrible torture which 
 might be associated with the transition from life to 
 death — the act of dying. And what lay before her 
 in the existence which lasted an eternity ? When 
 she no longer breathed beneath the sun, even if 
 the death hour was deferred, and she found that 
 not Epicurus, who believed that with death all 
 things ended, had been right, but the ancient 
 teachings of the Egyptians, what would await her 
 in that world beyond the grave if she purchased a 
 few more years of life by the murder or betrayal 
 of her lover, her husband ? 
 
 Yet perhaps the punishments inflicted upon the 
 condemned were but bugbears invented by the 
 priesthood, which guarded the regulation of the 
 state in order to curb the unruly conduct of the 
 populace and terrify the turbulent transgressors of 
 the law. And, whispered the daring Greek spirit, 
 in the abode of the condemned, not in the Gar- 
 den of Aalu, the Elysian Fields of the Egyptians, 
 she would meet her father and mother and all her 
 wicked ancestors down to Euergetes I, who was 
 succeeded by the infamous Philopater. Thus the 
 thought of the other world became an antecedent 
 so uncertain as to permit no definite inference, and 
 
114 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 might therefore be left out of the account. How 
 would — this must be the form of the question — 
 the years purchased by the murder or betrayal of 
 one whom she loved shape themselves for her ? 
 
 During the night the image of the murdered 
 man would drive sleep from her couch, and the 
 Furies, the Dirae, as the Roman Antony called 
 them, who pursue murderers with the serpent 
 scourge, were no idle creations of poetic fancy, but 
 fully symbolized the restlessness of the criminal, 
 driven to and fro by the pangs of conscience. The 
 chief good, the painless happiness of the Epicu- 
 reans, was forever lost to those burdened by such 
 guilt. 
 
 And during the hours of the day and evening ? 
 . Ay, then she would be free to heap pleasure on 
 pleasure. But for whom were the festivals to be 
 celebrated ; with whom could she share them ? 
 For many a long year no banquet, no entertain- 
 ment had given her enjoyment without Mark An- 
 tony. For whom did she adorn herself or strive 
 to stay the vanishing charm ? And how soon 
 would anguish of soul utterly destroy the spell, 
 which was slowly, slowly, yet steadily diminishing, 
 and, when the mirror revealed wrinkles which the 
 
 skill of no Olympus could efface, when she No, 
 
 she was not created to grow old ! Did the few 
 years of life which must contain so much misery 
 really possess a value great enough to surrender 
 the right of being called by present and future 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 115 
 
 generations the bewitching Cleopatra, the most 
 irresistible of women ? 
 
 And the children ? 
 
 Yes, it would have been delightful to see them 
 grow up and occupy the throne, but serious, deci- 
 sive doubts soon blended even with an idea so rich 
 in joy. 
 
 How glorious to greet Csesarion as sovereign 
 of the world in Octavianus's place ! But how could 
 the dreamer, whose first love affair had caused the 
 total sacrifice of dignity and violation of the law, 
 and who now seemed to have once more relapsed 
 into the old state of torpor, attain the position ? 
 
 The other children inspired fair hopes, and 
 how beautiful it appeared to the mother's heart 
 to see Antonius Helios as King of Egypt ; Cleo- 
 patra Selene with her first child in her arms ; and 
 little Alexander a noble statesman and hero, rich 
 in virtue and talents ! Yet, what would they, An- 
 tony's children, whose education she hoped Ar- 
 chibius would direct, feel for the mother who had 
 been their father's murderess ? 
 
 She shuddered at the thought, remembering the 
 hours when her childish heart had shed tears of 
 blood over the infamous mother whom her father 
 had execrated. And Queen Tryphoena, whom his- 
 tory recorded as a monster, had not killed her hus- 
 band, but merely thrust him from the throne. 
 
 Arsinoe's execrations of her mother and sister 
 came back to her memory, and the thought that 
 
Il6 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 the rosy lips of the twins and her darling Alex- 
 ander could ever open to curse her, the idea that 
 the children would ever raise their beloved hands 
 to point at her, the wicked murderess of their 
 
 father, with horror and scorn No, no, and 
 
 again no ! She would not purchase a few more 
 years of valueless life at the cost of this humilia- 
 tion and shame. 
 
 Purchase of whom ? 
 
 Of that Octavianus who had robbed her son 
 of the heritage of his father, Caesar, and whose 
 mention in the will was like an imputation on 
 her fidelity — the cold-hearted, calculating upstart, 
 whose nature from their first meeting in Rome 
 had repelled, rebuffed, chilled her ; of the man 
 by whose cajolery and power her husband — for in 
 her own eyes and those of the Egyptians Antony 
 held this position — had been induced to wed his 
 sister, Octavia, and thereby stamp her, Cleopatra, 
 as merely his love, cast a doubt upon the legiti- 
 mate birth of her children ; of the false friend of 
 the trusting Antony who, before the battle of 
 Actium, had most deeply humiliated and insulted 
 both! 
 
 On the contrary, her royal pride rebelled 
 against obeying the command of such a man to 
 commit the most atrocious deed ; and from child- 
 hood this pride had been as much a part of her 
 nature as her breath and the pulsation of her 
 heart. And yet, for her children's sake, she 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 might perhaps have incurred this disg 
 not been at the same time the grave of the best 
 and noblest things which she desired to implant in 
 the young souls of the twins and Alexander. 
 
 While thinking of the children's curses she had 
 risen from her seat. Why should she reflect and 
 consider longer ? She had found the clear percep- 
 tion she sought. Let Gorgias hasten the building 
 of the tomb. Should Fate demand her life, she 
 would not resist if she were permitted to preserve 
 it only at the cost of murder or base treachery. 
 Her lover's was already forfeited. At his side she 
 had enjoyed a radiant, glowing, peerless bliss, of 
 which the world still talked with envious amaze- 
 ment. At his side, when all was over, she would 
 rest in the grave, and compel the world to remem- 
 ber with respectful sympathy the royal lovers, 
 Antony and Cleopatra. Her children should be 
 able to think of her with untroubled hearts, and 
 not even the shadow of a bitter feeling, a warning 
 thought, should deter them from adorning their 
 parents' grave with flowers, weeping at its foot, 
 invoking and offering sacrifices to their spirits. 
 
 Then she glanced at the statue of Berenike, who 
 had also once worn on her brow the double crown 
 of Egypt. She, too, had early died a violent 
 death ; she, too, had known how to love. The 
 vow to sacrifice her beautiful hair to Aphrodite if 
 her husband returned uninjured from the Syrian 
 war had rendered her name illustrious. " Bere- 
 
Il8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 nike's Hair ** was still to be seen as a constellation 
 in the night heavens. 
 
 Though this woman had sinned often and 
 heavily, one act of loyal love had made her an 
 honoured, worshipped princess. She — Cleopatra — 
 would do something still greater. The sacrifice 
 which she intended to impose upon herself would 
 weigh far more heavily in the balance than a 
 handful of beautiful tresses, and would comprise 
 sovereignty and life. 
 
 With head erect and a sense of proud self-reli- 
 ance she gazed at the noble marble countenance 
 of the Cyrenian queen. Ere entering the sanc- 
 tuary she had imagined that she knew how the 
 criminals whom she had sentenced to death must 
 feel. Now that she herself had done with life, she 
 felt as if she were relieved from a heavy burden, 
 and yet her heart ached, and — especially when she 
 thought of her children — she was overwhelmed 
 with the emotion which is the most painful of all 
 forms of compassion — pity for herself. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 When Cleopatra left the temple, Iras marvelled 
 at the change in her appearance. The severe ten- 
 sion which had given her beautiful face a shade of 
 harshness had yielded to an expression of gentle 
 sadness that enhanced its charm, yet her features 
 quickly brightened as her attendant pointed to the 
 procession which was just entering the forecourt 
 of the palace. 
 
 In Alexandria and throughout Egypt birthdays 
 were celebrated as far as possible. Therefore, to 
 do honour to the twins, the children of the city 
 had been sent to offer their congratulations, and 
 at the same time to assure their royal mother of 
 the love and devotion of the citizens. 
 
 The return to the palace occupied only a few 
 minutes, and as Cleopatra, hastily donning festal 
 garments, gazed down at the bands of children, it 
 seemed as if Fate by this fair spectacle had given 
 her a sign of approval of her design. 
 
 She was soon standing hand in hand with the 
 twins upon the balcony before which the proces- 
 sion had halted. Hundreds of boys and girls of 
 
I20 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 the same age as the prince and princess had 
 flocked thither, the former bearing bouquets, the 
 latter small baskets filled with lilies and roses. 
 Every head was crowned with a wreath, and many 
 of the girls wore garlands of flowers. A chorus of 
 youths and maidens sang a festal hymn, beseech- 
 ing the gods to grant the royal mother and chil- 
 dren every happiness ; the leader of the chorus of 
 girls made a short address in the name of the city, 
 and during this speech the children formed in 
 ranks, the tallest in the rear, the smallest in the 
 front, and the others between according to their 
 height. The scene resembled a living garden, in 
 which rosy faces were the beautiful flowers. 
 
 Cleopatra thanked the citizens for the charming 
 greeting sent to her by those whom they held 
 dearest, and assured them that she returned their 
 love. Her eyes grew dim with tears as she went 
 with her three children to the throng who offered 
 their congratulations, and an unusually pretty 
 little girl whom she kissed threw her arms around 
 her as tenderly as if she were her own mother. 
 And how beautiful was the scene when the girls 
 strewed the contents of their little baskets on the 
 ground before her, and the boys, with many a ring- 
 ing shout and loving wish, offered the bouquets to 
 her and the twins ! 
 
 Charmian had not forgotten to provide the 
 gifts; and when the chamberlains and waiting- 
 women led the children into a large hall to offer 
 
CLEOPATRA. 121 
 
 them refreshments, the Queen's eyes sparkled so 
 brightly that the companion of her childhood ven- 
 tured to make her difficult confession. 
 
 And, as so often happens, the event we most 
 dread shows, when it actually occurs, a friendly or 
 indifferent aspect ; this was the case now. Noth- 
 ing in life is either great or small — the one may be 
 transformed to the other, according to the things 
 with which it is compared. The tallest man be- 
 comes a dwarf beside a rocky giant of the moun- 
 tain chain, the smallest is a Titan to the swarming 
 ants in the forest. The beggar seizes as a treasure 
 what the rich man scornfully casts aside. That 
 which the day before yesterday seemed to Cleo- 
 patra unendurable, roused her keenest anxiety, 
 robbed her of part of her night's repose, and in- 
 duced her to adopt strenuous measures, now ap- 
 peared trivial, and scarcely worthy of consideration. 
 
 Yesterday and to-day had brought events and 
 called up questions which forced Barine's disap- 
 pearance into the realm of unimportant matters. 
 
 Charmian's confession was preceded by the 
 statement that she longed for rest yet, neverthe- 
 less, was ready to remain with her royal friend, in 
 every situation, until she no longer desired her 
 services and sent her away. But she feared that 
 this moment had come. 
 
 Cleopatra interrupted her with the assurance 
 that she was speaking of something utterly impos- 
 sible ; and when Charmian disclosed Barine's es- 
 
122 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 cape, and admitted that it was she who had aided 
 the flight of the innocent and sorely threatened 
 granddaughter of Didymus, the Queen started up 
 angrily and frowned, but it was only for a moment. 
 Then, with a smile, she shook her finger at her 
 friend, embraced her, and gravely but kindly as- 
 sured her that, of all vices, ingratitude was most 
 alien to her nature. The companion of her child- 
 hood had bestowed so many proofs of faithfulness, 
 love, self-sacrifice, and laborious service in her be- 
 half that they could not be long outweighed by 
 a single act of wilful disobedience. An abundant 
 supply would still remain, by virtue of which she 
 might continue to sin without fearing that Cleo- 
 patra would ever part from her Charmian. 
 
 The latter again perceived that nothing on 
 earth could be hostile or sharp enough to sever the 
 bond which united her to this woman. When her 
 lips overflowed with the gratitude which filled her 
 heart, Cleopatra admitted that it seemed as if, in 
 aiding Barine's escape, she had rendered her a 
 service. The caution with which Charmian had 
 concealed Barine's refuge had not escaped her no- 
 tice, and she did not ask to learn it. It was enough 
 for her that the dangerous beauty was out of Cae- 
 sarion's reach. As for Antony, a wall now sepa- 
 rated him from the world, and consequently from 
 the woman who, spite of Alexas*s accusations, had 
 probably never stood closer to his heart. 
 
 Charmian now eagerly strove to show the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 23 
 
 Queen what had induced the Syrian to pursue Ba- 
 rine so vindictively. It was evident — and scarce- 
 ly needed proof — that Mark Antony's whole ac- 
 quaintanceship with the old scholar's granddaugh- 
 ter had been far from leading to any tender rela- 
 tion. But Cleopatra gave only partial attention. 
 The man whom she had loved with every pulsation 
 of her heart already seemed to her only a dear 
 memory. She did not forget the happiness en- 
 joyed with and through him, or the wrong she had 
 done by the use of the magic goblet ; yet with the 
 wall on the Choma, which divided him from her 
 and the rest of the world, and her command to 
 have the mausoleum built, she imagined that the 
 season of love was over. Any new additions to 
 this chapter of the life of her heart were but the 
 close. Even the jealousy which had clouded the 
 happiness of her love like a fleeting, rapidly chang- 
 ing shadow, she believed she had now renounced 
 forever. 
 
 While Charmian protested that no one save 
 Dion had ever been heard with favour by Barine, 
 and related many incidents of her former life, 
 Cleopatra's thoughts were with Antony. Like the 
 image of the beloved dead, the towering figure of 
 the Roman hero rose before her mind, but she re- 
 called him only as he was prior to the battle of 
 Actium. She desired and expected nothing more 
 from the broken-spirited man, whose condition was 
 perhaps her own fault. But she had resolved to 
 
124 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 atone for her guilt, and would do so at the cost of 
 throne and life. This settled the account. What- 
 ever her remaining span of existence might add or 
 subtract, was part of the bargain. 
 
 The entrance of Alexas interrupted her. ^ With 
 fiery passion he expressed his regret that he had 
 been defrauded by base intrigues of the right 
 bestowed upon him to pass sentence upon a guilty 
 woman. This was the more difficult to bear be- 
 cause he was deprived of the possibility of pro- 
 viding for the pursuit of the fugitive. Antony had 
 honoured him with the commission to win Herod 
 back to his cause. He was to leave Alexandria 
 that very night. As nothing could be expected in 
 this matter from the misanthropic Imperator, he 
 hoped that the Queen would avenge such an 
 offence to her dignity, and adopt severe measures 
 towards the singer and her last lover, Dion, who 
 with sacrilegious hands had wounded the son of 
 Caesar. 
 
 But Cleopatra, with royal dignity, kept him 
 within the limits of his position, commanded him 
 not to mention the affair to her again, and then, 
 with a sorrowful smile, wished him success with 
 Herod, in whose return to the lost cause of An- 
 tony, however, much as she prized the skill of the 
 mediator, she did not believe. 
 
 When he had retired, she exclaimed to Char- 
 mian : " Was I blind ? This man is a traitor ! We 
 shall discover it. Wherever Dion has taken his 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 25 
 
 young wife, let her be carefully concealed, not 
 from me, but from this Syrian. It is easier to de- 
 fend one's self against the lion than the scorpion. 
 You, my friend, will see that Archibius seeks me 
 this very day. I must talk with him, and — you 
 no longer have any thought of a parting? An- 
 other will come soon enough, which will for- 
 ever forbid these lips from kissing your dear 
 face." 
 
 As she spoke, she again clasped the compan- 
 ion of her childhood in her arms, and when Iras 
 entered to request an audience for Lucilius, An- 
 tony's most faithful friend, Cleopatra, who had 
 noticed the younger woman's envious glance at 
 the embrace, said : " Was I mistaken in fancying 
 that you imagined yourself slighted for Charmian, 
 who is an older friend ? That would be wrong ; 
 for I love and need you both. You are her niece, 
 and indebted to her for much kindness from your 
 earliest childhood. So, even though you will lose 
 the joy of revenge upon a hated enemy, forget 
 what has happened, as I did, and maintain your 
 former affectionate companionship. I will reward 
 you for it with the only thing that the daughter 
 of the wealthy Krates cannot purchase, yet which 
 she probably rates at no low value — the love of 
 her royal friend." 
 
 With these words she clasped Iras also in a 
 close embrace, and when the latter left the room 
 to summon Lucilius, she thought : " No woman 
 29 
 
126 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 has ever won so much love; perhaps that is 
 why she possesses so great a treasure of it, and 
 can afford such unspeakable happiness by its be- 
 stowal. Or is she so much beloved because she 
 entered the world full of its wealth, and dispenses 
 it as the sun diffuses light ? Surely that must be 
 the case. I have reason to believe it, for whom 
 did I ever love save the Queen ? No one, not 
 even myself, and I know no one in whose love for 
 me I can believe. But why did Dion, whom I 
 loved so fervently, disdain me ? Fool ! Why did 
 Mark Antony prefer Cleopatra to Octavia, who 
 was not less fair, whose heart was his, and whose 
 hand held the sovereignty of half the world ? " 
 
 Passing on as she spoke, she soon returned, 
 ushering the Roman Lucilius into the presence of 
 the Queen. A gallant deed had bound this man to 
 Antony. After the battle of Philippi, when the 
 army of the republicans fled, Brutus had been on 
 the point of being seized by the enemy's horse- 
 men ; but Lucilius, at the risk of being cut down, 
 had personated him, and thereby, though but for a 
 short time, rescued him. This had seemed to An- 
 tony unusual and noble and, in his generous man- 
 ner, he had not only forgiven him, but bestowed 
 his favour upon him. Lucilius was grateful, and 
 gave him the same fidelity he had showed to Bru- 
 tus. At Actium he had risked Antony's favour to 
 prevent his deserting Cleopatra after the battle, 
 and then accompanied him in his flight. Now he 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 127 
 
 was bearing him company in his seclusion on the 
 Choma. 
 
 The grey-haired man who, but a short time be- 
 fore, had retained all the vigour of youth, ap- 
 proached the Queen with bowed head and sad- 
 dened heart. His face, so regular in its contours, 
 had undergone a marked change within the past 
 few weeks. The cheeks were sunken, the features 
 had grown sharper, and there was a sorrowful 
 expression in the eyes, which, when informing 
 Cleopatra of his friend's condition, glittered with 
 tears. 
 
 Before the hapless battle he was one of Cleo- 
 patra's most enthusiastic admirers ; but since he 
 had been forced to see his friend and benefactor 
 risk fame, happiness, and honour to follow the 
 Queen, he had cherished a feeling of bitter resent- 
 ment towards her. He would certainly have 
 spared himself this mission, iiad he not been sure 
 that she who had brought her lover to ruin was 
 the only person who could rouse him from spirit- 
 less languor to fresh energy and interest in 
 life. 
 
 From motives of friendship, urged by no one, he 
 came unbidden to the woman whom he had former- 
 ly so sincerely admired, to entreat her to cheer the 
 unfortunate man, rouse him, and remind him of his 
 duty. He had little news to impart; for on the 
 voyage she had herself witnessed long enough the 
 pitiable condition of her husband. Now Antony 
 
128 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 was beginning to be content in it, and this was 
 what most sorely troubled the faithful friend. 
 
 The Imperator had called the little palace which 
 he occupied on the Choma his Timonium, because 
 he compared himself with the famous Athenian 
 misanthrope who, after fortune abandoned him, had 
 also been betrayed by many of his former friends. 
 Even at Tsenarum he had thought of returning to 
 the Choma, and by means of a wall, which would 
 separate it from the mainland, rendering it as in- 
 accessible as — according to rumour — the grave of 
 Timon at Halae near Athens. Gorgias had erected 
 it, and whoever wished to visit the hermit was 
 forced to go by sea and request admittance, which 
 was granted to few. 
 
 Cleopatra listened to Lucilius with sympathy, 
 and then asked whether there was no way of cheer- 
 ing or comforting the wretched man. 
 
 " No, your Majesty^" he replied. " His favourite 
 occupation is to recall what he once possessed, but 
 only to show the uselessness of these memories. 
 * What joys has life not offered me ? ' he asks, and 
 then adds : * But they were repeated again and 
 again, and after being enjoyed for the tenth time 
 they became monotonous and lost their charm. 
 Then they caused satiety to the verge of loathing.* 
 Only necessary things, such as bread and water, he 
 says, possess real value ; but he desires neither, be- 
 cause he has even less taste for them than for the 
 dainties which spoil a man's morrow. Yesterday, 
 
CLEOPATRA. • 1 29 
 
 in a specially gloomy hour, he spoke of gold. This 
 was perhaps most worthy of desire. The mere 
 sight of it awakened pleasant hopes, because it 
 might afford so many gratifications. Then he 
 laughed bitterly, exclaiming that those joys were 
 the very ones which produced the most disagree- 
 able satiety. Even gold was not worth the trouble 
 of stretching out one's hand. 
 
 " He is fond of enlarging upon such fancies, 
 and finds images to make his meaning clear. 
 
 " * In the snow upon the highest mountain-peak 
 the feet grow cold,' he said. * In the mire they 
 are warm, but the dark mud is ugly and clings to 
 them.' 
 
 " Then I remarked that between the morass and 
 the mountain-snows lie sunny valleys where life 
 would be pleasant ; but he flew into a rage, vehe- 
 mently protesting that he would never be content 
 with the pitiable middle course of Horace. Then 
 he exclaimed : * Ay, I am vanquished. Octavi- 
 anus and his Agrippa are the conquerors; but if a 
 rock mutilates or an elephant's clumsy foot crushes 
 me, I am nevertheless of a higher quality than 
 either.' " 
 
 " There spoke the old Mark Antony ! " cried 
 Cleopatra ; but again Lucilius's loyal heart throbbed 
 with resentment against the woman who had fos- 
 tered the recklessness which had brought his power- 
 ful friend to ruin, and he continued : 
 
 " But he often sees himself in a different light. 
 
I30 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 * No writer could invent a more unworthy life than 
 mine,' he exclaimed recently. * A farce ending in 
 a tragedy.' " 
 
 Lucilius might have added still harsher sayings, 
 but the sorrowful expression in the tearful eyes of 
 the afflicted Queen silenced them upon his lips. 
 
 Yet Cleopatra's name blended with most of the 
 words uttered by the broken-spirited man. Some- 
 times it was associated with the most furious re- 
 proaches, but more frequently with expressions of 
 boundless delight and wild outbursts of fervent 
 longing, and this was what inspired Lucilius with 
 the hope that the Queen's influence would be effec- 
 tual with his friend. Therefore he repeated some 
 especially ardent words, to which Cleopatra listened 
 with grateful joy. 
 
 Yet, when Lucilius paused, she remarked that 
 doubtless the misanthropist had spoken of her, and 
 probably of Octavia also, in quite a different way. 
 She was prepared for the worst, for she was one 
 of the rocks against which his greatness had been 
 shattered. 
 
 This reminded Lucilius of the comment Antony 
 had made upon the three women whom he had 
 wedded, and he answered reluctantly : " Fulvia, the 
 wife of his youth — I knew the bold, hot-blooded 
 woman, the former wife of Clodius — he called the 
 tempest which swelled his sails." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" cried Cleopatra. "So she did. 
 He owes her much ; but I, too, am indebted to the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 131 
 
 dead Fulvia. She taught him to recognize and 
 yield to woman's power." 
 
 " Not always to his advantage," retorted Lu- 
 cilius, whose resentment was revived by the last 
 sentence and, without heeding the faint flush on 
 the Queen's cheek, he added : " Of Octavia he said 
 that she was the straight path which leads to hap- 
 piness, and those who are content to walk in it are 
 acceptable to gods and men." 
 
 " Then why did he not suffer it to content 
 him ? " cried Cleopatra wrathfully. 
 
 "Fulvia's school," replied the Roman, "was 
 probably the last where he would learn the mod- 
 eration which — as you know — is so alien to his 
 nature. His opinion of the quiet valleys and mid- 
 dle course you have just heard." 
 
 * * But I, what have / been to him ? " urged the 
 Queen. 
 
 Lucilius bent his gaze for a short time on the 
 floor, then answered hesitatingly : 
 
 "You asked to hear, and the Queen's command 
 must be obeyed. He compared your Majesty to a 
 delicious banquet given to celebrate a victory, at 
 which the guests, crowned with garlands, revel be- 
 fore the battle " 
 
 "Which is lost," said the Queen hurriedly, in 
 a muffled voice. " The comparison is apt. Now, 
 after the defeat, it would be absurd to prepare 
 another feast. The tragedy is closing, so the play 
 (doubtless he said so) which preceded it would be 
 
132 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 but a wearisome repetition if performed a second 
 time. One thing, it is true, seems desirable — a 
 closing act of reconciliation. If you think it is in 
 my power to recall my husband to active life, rely 
 upon me. The banquet of which he spoke occu- 
 pied long years. The dessert will consume little 
 time, but I am ready to serve it. When I asked 
 permission to visit him he refused. What plan of 
 meeting have you arranged ? " 
 
 " That I will leave to your feminine delicacy 
 of feeling," replied Lucilius. "Yet I have come 
 with a request whose fulfilment will perhaps con- 
 tain the answer. Eros, Mark Antony's faithful 
 body-slave, humbly petitions your Majesty to grant 
 him a few minutes' audience. You know the 
 worthy fellow. He would die for you and his 
 master, and he — I once heard from your lips the 
 remark of King Antiochus, that no man was great 
 to his body-slave — thus Eros sees his master's 
 weaknesses and lofty qualities from a nearer 
 point of view than we, and he is shrewd. Antony 
 gave him his freedom long ago, and if your Majes- 
 ty does not object to receiving a man so low in 
 station " 
 
 "Let him come," replied Cleopatra. "Your 
 demand upon me is just. Unhappily, I am but too 
 well aware of the atonement due your friend. Be- 
 fore you came, I was engaged in making prepa- 
 rations for the fulfilment of one of his warmest 
 wishes." 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 33 
 
 With these words she dismissed the Roman. 
 Her feelings as she watched his departure were 
 of very mingled character. The yearning for the 
 happiness of which she had been so long deprived 
 had again awaked, while the unkind words which 
 he had applied to her still rankled in her heart. 
 But the door had scarcely closed behind Lucilius 
 when the usher announced a deputation of the 
 members of the museum. 
 
 The learned gentlemen came to complain of 
 the wrong which had been done to their colleague, 
 Didymus, and also to express their loyalty during 
 these trying times. Cleopatra assured them of 
 her favour, and said that she had already offered 
 ample compensation to the old philosopher. In a 
 certain sense she was one of themselves. They 
 all knew that, from early youth, she had honoured 
 and shared their labours. In proof of this, she 
 would present to the library of the museum the 
 two hundred thousand volumes from Pergamus, 
 one of the most valuable gifts Mark Antony had 
 ever bestowed upon her, and which she had hitherto 
 regarded merely as a loan. This she hoped would 
 repay Didymus for the injury which, to her deep 
 regret, had been inflicted upon him, and at least 
 partially repair the loss sustained by the former 
 library of the museum during the conflagration in 
 the Bruchium. 
 
 The sages, eagerly assuring her of their grati- 
 tude and devotion, retired. Most of them were 
 
134 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 personally known to Cleopatra who, to their mu- 
 tual pleasure and advantage, had measured her 
 intellectual powers with the most brilliant minds 
 of their body. 
 
 The sun had already set, when a procession of 
 the priests of Serapis, the chief god of the city, 
 whose coming had been announced the day before, 
 appeared at Lochias. Accompanied by torch and 
 lantern bearers, it moved forward with slow and 
 solemn majesty. In harmony with the nature of 
 Serapis, there were many reminders of death. 
 
 The meaning of every image, every standard, 
 every shrine, every peculiarity of the music and 
 singing, was familiar to the Queen. Even the 
 changing colours of the lights referred to the course 
 of growth and decay in the universe and in human 
 life, and the magnificent close of the chant of hom- 
 age which represented the reception of the royal 
 soul into the essence of the deity, the apotheosis of 
 the sovereign, was well suited to stir the heart; 
 for a sea of light unexpectedly flooded the whole 
 procession and, while its glow irradiated the huge 
 pile of the palace, the sea with its forest of ships 
 and masts, and the shore with its temples, pylons, 
 obelisks, and superb buildings, all the choruses, 
 accompanied by the music of sackbuts, cymbals, 
 and lutes, blended in a mighty hymn, whose waves 
 of sound rose to the star-strewn sky and reached 
 the open sea beyond the Pharos. 
 
 Many a symbolical image suggested death and 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 135 
 
 the resurrection, defeat and a victory following it 
 by the aid of great Serapis ; and when the torches 
 retired, vanishing in the darkness, with the last 
 notes of the chanting of the priests, Cleopatra 
 raised her head, feeling as if the vow she had made 
 during the gloomy singing of the aged men and 
 the extinguishing of the torches had received the 
 approval of the deity brought by her forefathers 
 to Alexandria and enthroned there to unite in his 
 own person the nature of the Greek and the Egyp- 
 tian gods. 
 
 Her tomb was to be built and, if destiny was 
 fulfilled, to receive her lover and herself. She 
 had perceived from Antony's bitter words, as well 
 as the looks and tones of Lucilius, that he, as 
 well as the man to whom her heart still clung with 
 indissoluble bonds, held her responsible for Actium 
 and the fall of his greatness. 
 
 The world, she knew, would imitate them, but it 
 should learn that if love had robbed the greatest 
 man of his day of fame and sovereignty, that love 
 had been worthy of the highest price. 
 
 The belief which had just been symbolically 
 represented to her — that it was allotted to the 
 vanishing light to rise again in new and radiant 
 splendour — she would maintain for the present, 
 though the best success could scarcely lead to 
 anything more than merely fanning the glimmer- 
 ing spark and deferring its extinction. 
 
 For herself there was no longer any great vie- 
 
136 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 tory to win which would be worth the conflict. 
 Yet the weapons must not rest until the end. An- 
 tony must not perish, growling, like a second 
 Timon, or a wild beast caught in a snare. She 
 would rekindle, though but for the last blaze, the 
 fire of his hero-nature, which blind love for her 
 and the magic spell that had enabled her to bind 
 his will had covered for a time with ashes. 
 
 While listening to the resurrection hymn of the 
 priests of Serapis, she had asked herself if it might 
 not be possible to give Antony, when he had been 
 roused to fresh energy, the son of Caesar as a com- 
 panion in arms. True, she had found the boy in a 
 mood far different from the one for which she had 
 hoped. If he had once been carried on to a bold 
 deed, it seemed to have exhausted his energy ; for 
 he remained absorbed in the most pitiable love- 
 sickness. Yet he had not recovered from his ill- 
 ness. When he was better he would surely wake 
 to active interest in the events which threatened 
 to exert so great an influence on his own existence 
 and, like the humblest slave, lament the defeat of 
 Actium. Hitherto he had listened to the tidings 
 of battle which had reached his ears with an indif- 
 ference that seemed intelligible and pardonable 
 only when attributed to his wound. 
 
 His tutor Rhodon had just requested a leave 
 of absence, remarking that Caesarion would not 
 lack companions, since he was expecting Antyllus 
 and other youths of his own age. A flood of light 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 37 
 
 Streamed from the windows of the reception hall 
 of the *^ King of kings." There was still time to 
 seek him and make him understand what was at 
 stake. Ah ! if she could but succeed in awaking 
 his father's spirit ! If that culpable attack should 
 prove the harbinger of future deeds of manly 
 daring ! 
 
 No interview with him as yet had encouraged 
 this expectation, but a mother's heart easily sees, 
 even in disappointment, a step which leads to a 
 new hope. When Charmian entered to announce 
 Antony's body-slave, she sent word to him to wait, 
 and requested her friend to accompany her to her 
 son. 
 
 As they approached the apartments occupied 
 by Caesarion, Antyllus's loud voice reached them 
 through the open door, whose curtain was only 
 half drawn, The first word which the Queen dis- 
 tinguished was her own name ; so, motioning to 
 her companion, she stood still. Barine was again 
 the subject of conversation. 
 
 Antony's son was relating what Alexas had told 
 him. Cleopatra, the Syrian had asserted, intend- 
 ed to send the young beauty to the mines or into 
 exile, and severely punish Dion; but both had 
 made their escape. The Ephebi had behaved 
 treacherously by taking sides with their foe. But 
 this was because they were not yet invested with 
 their robes. He hoped to induce his father to do 
 this as soon as he shook off his pitiable misan- 
 
138 ' CLEOPATRA. 
 
 thropy. And he must also be persuaded to direct 
 the pursuit of the fugitives. " This will not be 
 difficult," he cried insolently, ** for the old man 
 appreciates beauty, and has himself cast an eye on 
 the singer. If they capture her, I'll guarantee 
 nothing, you * King of kings ! ' for, spite of his grey 
 beard, he can cut us all out with the women, and 
 Barine — as we have heard — doesn't think a man of 
 much importance until his locks begin to grow thin. 
 I gave Derketseus orders to send all his men in 
 pursuit. He's as cunning as a fox, and the police 
 are compelled to obey him." 
 
 " If I were not forced to lie here like a dead 
 donkey, I would soon find her," sighed Caesarion. 
 " Night or day, she is never out of my mind. I 
 have already spent everything I possessed in the 
 search. Yesterday I sent for the steward Seleukus. 
 What is the use of being my mother's son, and the 
 fat little fellow isn't specially scrupulous ! He will 
 do nothing, yet there must be gold enough. The 
 Queen has sunk millions in the sand on the Syrian 
 frontier of the Delta. There is to be a square hole 
 or something of the sort dug there to hide the 
 fleet. I only half understand the absurd plan. 
 The money might have paid hundreds of spies. 
 So talents are thrown away, and the strong-box is 
 locked against the son. But I'll find one that will 
 open to me. I must have her, though I risk the 
 crown. It always sounds like a jeer when they 
 call me the King of kings. I am not fit for sov- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 139 
 
 ereignty. Besides, the throne will be seized ere I 
 really ascend it. We are conquered, and if we 
 succeed in concluding a peace, which will secure 
 us life and a little more, we must be content. For 
 my part, I shall be satisfied with a country estate 
 6n the water, a sufficient supply of money and, 
 above all, Barine. What do I care for Egypt ? 
 As Caesar's son I ought to have ruled Rgme ; but 
 the immortals knew what they were doing when 
 they prompted my father to disinherit me. To 
 govern the world one must have less need of sleep. 
 Really — you know it — I always feel tired, even 
 when I am well. People must let me alone ! Your 
 father, too, Antyllus, is Laying down his arms and 
 letting things go as they will." 
 
 " Ah, so he is I " cried Antony's son indig- 
 nantly. "But just wait! The sleeping lion will 
 wake again, and, when he uses his teeth and 
 paws " 
 
 " My mother will run away, and your father 
 will follow her," replied Caesarion with a melan- 
 choly smile, wholly untinged by scorn. " All is 
 lost. But conquered kings and queens are per- 
 mitted to live. Caesar's son will not be exhibited 
 to the Quirites in the triumphal procession. Rho- 
 don says that there would be an insurrection if I 
 appeared in the Forum. If I go there again, it 
 certainly will not be in Octavianus's train. I am 
 not suited for that kind of ignominy. It would 
 stifle me and, ere I would grant any man the 
 
I40 
 
 GLEOPATRA. 
 
 pleasure of dragging the son of Caesar behind him 
 to increase his own renown, I would put an end 
 ten, nay, a hundred times over, in the good old Ro- 
 man fashion, to my life, which is by no means es- 
 pecially attractive. What is sweeter than sound 
 sleep, and who will disturb and rouse me wherf 
 Death has lowered his torch before me ? But 
 now I thkik I shall be spared this extreme. What- 
 ever else they may inflict upon me will scarcely 
 exceed my powers of endurance. If any one has 
 learned contentment it is I. The King of kings 
 and Co-Regent of the Great Queen has been 
 trained persistently, and with excellent success, to 
 be content. What should I be, and what am I ? 
 Yet I do not complain, and wish to accuse no one. 
 We need not summon Octavianus, and when he is 
 here let him take what he will if he only spares 
 the lives of my mother, the twins, and little Alex- 
 ander, whom I love, and bestows on me the estate 
 — the main thing is that it must be full of fish- 
 ponds — of which I spoke. The private citizen 
 Caesarion, who devotes his time to fishing and the 
 books he likes to read, will gladly be allowed to 
 choose a wife to suit his own taste. The more 
 humble her origin, the more easily I shall win the 
 consent of the Roman guardian." 
 
 " Do you know, Caesarion," interrupted An- 
 tony's unruly son, leaning back on the cushions 
 and stretching his feet farther in front of him, " if 
 you were not the King of kings I should be in- 
 
CLEOPATRA. I4I 
 
 dined to call you a base, mean-natured fellow ! 
 One who has the good fortune to be the son of 
 Julius Caesar ought not to forget it so disgrace- 
 fully. My gall overflows at your whimpering. 
 By the dog! It was one of my most senseless 
 pranks to take you to the singer. I should think 
 there would be other things to occupy the mind of 
 the King of kings. Besides, Barine cares no more 
 for you than the last fish you caught. She showed 
 that plainly enough. I say once more, if Derke- 
 taeus's men succeed in capturing the beauty who 
 has robbed you of your senses, she won't go with 
 you to your miserable estate to cook the fish you 
 catch, for if we have her again, and my father 
 holds out his hand to her, all your labour will be in 
 vain. He saw the fair enchantress only twice, and 
 had no time to become better acquainted, but she 
 captured his fancy and, if I remind him of her, 
 who knows what will happen ? '* 
 
 Here Cleopatra beckoned to her companion 
 and returned to her apartments with drooping 
 head. On reaching them, she broke the silence, 
 saying: "Listening, Charmian, is unworthy of a 
 Queen ; but if all listeners heard things so pain- 
 ful, one need no longer guard keyholes and chinks 
 of doors. I must recover my calmness ere I re- 
 ceive Eros. One thing more. Is Barine's hiding- 
 place secure ?" 
 
 " I don't know — Archibius says so.** 
 " Very well. They are searching for her zeal- 
 30 
 
142 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ously enough, as you heard, and she must not be 
 found. I am glad that she did not -set a snare for 
 the boy. How a jealous heart leads us astray ! 
 Were she here, I would grant her anything to 
 make amends for my unjust suspicion of her and 
 Antony. And to think that Alexas — but for your 
 interposition he would have succeeded— meant to 
 send her to the mines ! It is a terrible warning to 
 be on my guard. Against whom ? First of all, 
 my own weakness. This is a day of recognition. 
 A noble aim, but on the way the feet bleed, and 
 the heart — ah ! Charmian, the poor, weak, disap- 
 pointed heart ! " 
 
 She sighed heavily, and supported her head on 
 the arm resting upon the table at her side. The 
 polished, exquisitely grained surface of thya-wood 
 was worth a large estate ; the gems in the rings 
 and bracelets which glittered on her hand and arm 
 would have purchased a principality. This thought 
 entered her mind and, overpowered by a feeling of 
 angry disgust, she would fain have cast all the 
 costly rubbish into the sea or the destroying 
 flames. 
 
 She would gladly have been a beggar, content 
 with the barley bread of Epicurus, she said to her- 
 self, if in return she could but have inspired her 
 son even with the views of the reckless blusterer 
 Antyllus. Her worst fears had not pictured Caesa- 
 rion so weak, so insignificant. She could no longer 
 rest upon her cushions; and while, with drooping 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 143 
 
 head, she gazed backward over the past, the accus- 
 ing voice in her own breast cried out that she was 
 reaping what she had sowed. She had repressed, 
 curbed the boy's awakening will to secure his obe- 
 dience ; understood how to prevent any exercise of 
 his ability or efforts in wider circles. 
 
 True, it had been done on many a pretext. 
 Why should not her son taste the quiet happiness 
 which she had enjoyed in the garden of Epicurus ? 
 And was not the requirement that whoever is to 
 command must first learn to obey, based upon old 
 experiences ? 
 
 But this was a day of reckoning and insight, and 
 for the first time she found courage to confess 
 that her own burning ambition had marked out 
 the course of Caesarion's education. She had not 
 repressed his talents from cool calculation, but it 
 had been pleasant to her to see him grow up free 
 from aspirations. She had granted the dreamer 
 repose without arousing him. How often she had 
 rejoiced over the certainty that this son, on whom 
 Antony, after his victory over the Parthians, had 
 bestowed the title of Co-Regent, would never rebel 
 against his mother's guardianship ! The welfare 
 of the state had doubtless been better secured 
 in her trained hands than in those of an inex- 
 perienced boy. And the proud consciousness of 
 power! Her heart swelled. So long as she lived 
 she would remain Queen. To transfer the sover- 
 eignty to another, whatever name he might bear, had 
 
144 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 seemed to her impossible. Now she knew how little 
 her son yearned for lofty things. Her heart con- 
 tracted. The saying " You reap what you sowed " 
 gave her no peace, and wherever she turned in 
 her past life she perceived the fruit of the seeds 
 which she had buried m the ground. The field was 
 sinking under the burden of the ears of misfortune. 
 The harvest was ripe for the reaper ; but, ere he 
 raised the sickle, the owner's claim must be pre- 
 served. Gorgias must hasten the building of the 
 tomb; the end could not be long deferred. How 
 to shape this worthily, if the victor left her no other 
 choice, had just been pointed out by the son of 
 whom she was ashamed. His father's noble blood 
 forbade him to bear the deepest ignominy with the 
 patience his mother had inculcated. 
 
 It had grown late ere she admitted Antony's 
 body-slave, but for her the business of the night 
 was just commencing. After he had gone she 
 would be engaged for hours with the commanders 
 of the army, the fleet, the fortifications. The so- 
 liciting of allies, too. must be carried on by means 
 of letters containing the most stirring appeals to 
 the heart. 
 
 Eros, Antony's body-slave, appeared. His kind 
 eyes filled with tears at the sight of the Queen. 
 Grief had not lessened the roundness of his hand- 
 some face, but the expression of mischievous, often 
 insolent, gaiety had given place to a sorrowful droop 
 of the lips, and his fair hair had begun to turn grey. 
 
CLEOPATRA. I45 
 
 Lucilius's information that Cleopatra had con- 
 sented to make advances to Antony had seemed 
 like the rising of the sun after a long period of 
 darkness. In his eyes, not only his master, but 
 everything else, must yield to the power of the 
 Queen. He had heard Antony at Tarsus inveigh 
 against "the Egyptian serpent," protesting that 
 he would make her pay so dearly for her question- 
 able conduct towards himself and the cause of 
 Caesar that the treasure-houses on the Nile should 
 be like an empty wine-skin ; yet, a few hours after, 
 body and soul had been in her toils. So it had 
 continued till the battle of Actium. Now there 
 was nothing more to lose ; but what might not 
 Cleopatra bestow upon his master ? He thought of 
 the delightful years during which his face had 
 grown so round, and every day fresh pleasures and 
 spectacles, such as the world would never again 
 witness, had satiated eye and ear, palate and nostril, 
 — nay, even curiosity. If they could be repeated, 
 even in a simpler form, so much the better. His 
 main — nay, almost his sole — desire was to release 
 his lord from this wretched solitude, this horrible 
 misanthropy, so ill suited to his nature. 
 
 Cleopatra had kept him waiting two hours, but 
 he would willingly have loitered in the anteroom 
 thrice as long if she only determined to follow his 
 counsel. It was worth considering, and Eros did 
 not hesitate to give it. No one could foresee how 
 Antony would greet Cleopatra herself, so he pro- 
 
146 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 posed that she should send Charmian — not alone, 
 but with her clever hunch-backed maid, to whom 
 the Imperator himself had given the name " Aiso- 
 pion." He liked Charmian, and could never see 
 the dusky maid without jesting with her. If his 
 master could once be induced to show a cheerful 
 face to others besides himself, Eros, and perceived 
 how much better it was to laugh than to lapse into 
 sullen reverie and anger, much would be gained, 
 and Charmian would do the rest, if she brought a 
 loving message from her royal mistress. 
 
 Hitherto Cleopatra had not interrupted him; 
 but when she expressed the opinion that a slave's 
 nimble tongue would have little power to change 
 the deep despondency of a man overwhelmed by 
 the most terrible disaster, Eros waved his short, 
 broad hand, saying: » 
 
 "I trust your Majesty will pardon the frank- 
 ness of a man so humble in degree, but those in 
 high station often permit us to see what they hide 
 from one another. Only the loftiest and the low- 
 liest, the gods and the slaves, behold the great 
 without disguise. May my ears be cropped if the 
 Imperator's melancholy and misanthropy are so 
 intense ! All this is a disguise which pleases him. 
 You know how, in better days, he enjoyed appear- 
 ing as Dionysus, and with what wanton gaiety he 
 played the part of the god. Now he is hiding his 
 real, cheerful face behind the mask of unsocial 
 melancholy, because he thinks the former does not 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 147 
 
 suit this time of misfortune. True, he often says 
 things which make your skin creep, and frequently 
 broods mournfully over his own thoughts. But 
 this never lasts long when w^e are alone. If I come 
 in with a very funny story, and he doesn't silence 
 me at once, you can rely on his surpassing it with 
 a still more comical one. A short time ago I re- 
 minded him of the fishing party when your Majesty 
 had a diver fasten a salted herring on his hook. 
 You ought to have heard him laugh, and exclaim 
 what happy days those were. The lady Charmian 
 need only remind him of them, and Aisopion spice 
 the allusion with a jest. I'll give my nose — true, 
 it's only a small one, but everybody values that 
 feature most — if they don't persuade him to leave 
 that horrible crow's nest in the middle of the sea. 
 They must remind him of the twins and little 
 Alexander; for when he permits me to talk about 
 them his brow smooths most speedily. He still 
 speaks very often to Lucilius and his other friends 
 of his great plans of forming a powerful empire 
 in the East, with Alexandria as its principal city. 
 His warrior blood is not yet calm. A short time 
 ago I was even ordered to sharpen the curved 
 Persian scimitar he likes to wield. One could not 
 know what service it might be, he said. Then he 
 swung his mighty arm. By the dog ! The grey- 
 haired giant still has the strength of three youths. 
 When he is once more with you, among warriors 
 and battle chargers, all will be well." 
 
148 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Let us hope so," replied Cleopatra kindly, 
 and promised to follow his advice. 
 
 When Iras, who had taken Charmian's place, 
 accompanied the Queen to her chamber after sev- 
 eral hours of toil, she found her silent and sad. 
 Lost in thought, she accepted her attendant's aid, 
 breaking her silence only after she had gone to her 
 couch. " This has been a hard day, Iras,'* she 
 said ; " it brought nothing save the confirmation of 
 an old saying, perhaps the most ancient in the 
 world : * Every one will reap only what he sows. 
 The plant which grows from the seed you place in 
 the earth may be crushed, but no power in the 
 world will compel the seed to develop differently 
 or produce fruit unlike what Nature has assigned 
 to it.* My seed was evil. This now appears in 
 the time of harvest. But we will yet bring 
 a handful of good wheat to the storehouses. 
 We will provide for that while there is time. I 
 will talk with Gorgias early to-morrow morning. 
 While we were building, you showed good taste 
 and often suggested new ideas. When Gorgias 
 brings the plans for the mausoleum you shall 
 examine them with me. You have a right to 
 do so, for, if I am not mistaken, few will visit 
 the finished structure m.ore frequently than my 
 Iras." 
 
 The girl started up and, raising her hand 
 as if taking" a vow, exclaimed : ^' Your tomb 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 149 
 
 will vainly wait my visit ; your end will be mine 
 also. 
 
 " May the gods preserve your youth from it ! " 
 replied the Queen in a tone of grave remonstrance. 
 " We still live and will do battle.'* 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Night brought little sleep to Cleopatra. Mem- 
 ory followed memory, plan was added to plan. 
 The resolve made the day before was the right one. 
 To-day she would begin its execution. Whatever 
 might happen, she was prepared for every con- 
 tingency. 
 
 Ere she went to her work she granted a second 
 audience to the Roman envoy. Timagenes exerted 
 all his powers of eloquence, skill in persuasion, 
 wit, and ingenuity. He again promised to Cleo- 
 patra life and liberty, and to her children the 
 throne ; but when he insisted upon the surrender 
 or death of Mark Antony as the first condition of 
 any further negotiations, Cleopatra remained stead- 
 fast, and the ambassador set forth on his way home 
 without any pledge. 
 
 After he had gone, the Queen and Iras looked 
 over the plans for the tomb brought by Gorgias, 
 but the intense agitation of her soul distracted 
 Cleopatra's attention, and she begged him to come 
 again at a later hour. When she was alone, she 
 took out the letters w^hich Caesar and Antony had 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 151 
 
 written to her. How acute, subtle, and tender 
 were those of the former ; how ardent, impassioned, 
 yet sincere were those of the mighty and fiery ora- 
 tor, whose eloquence swept the listening multitudes 
 with him, yet whom her little hand had drawn 
 wherever she desired ! 
 
 Her heart throbbed faster when she thought of 
 the meeting with Antony, now close at hand ; for 
 Charmian had gone with the Nubian to invite him 
 to join her again. They had started several hours 
 ago, and she awaited their return with increasing 
 impatience. She had summoned him for their last 
 mutual battle. That he would come she did not 
 doubt. But could she succeed in rekindling his 
 courage ? Two persons so closely allied should 
 sink and perish, still firmly united, in the final bat- 
 tle, if victory was denied. 
 
 Archibius was now announced. 
 
 It soothed her merely to gaze into the faithful 
 countenance, which recalled so many of her hap- 
 piest memories. 
 
 She opened her whole soul to him without re- 
 serve, and he drew himself up to his full height, as 
 if restored to youth ; while when she told him that 
 she would never sully herself by treachery to her 
 lover and husband, and had resolved to die worthy 
 of her name, the expression of his eyes revealed 
 that she had chosen the right path. 
 
 Ere she had" made the request that he should 
 undertake the education and guidance of the chil- 
 
152 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 dren, he voluntarily proposed to devote his best 
 powers to them. The plan of uniting Didymus's 
 garden with the Lochias and giving it to the little 
 ones also met with his approval. His sister had 
 already told him that Cleopatra had determined to 
 build her tomb. He hoped, he added, that its doors 
 would not open to her for many years. 
 
 She shook her head sorrowfully, exclaiming: 
 " Would that I could read every face as I do yours ! 
 My friend Archibius wishes me a long life, if any 
 one does; but he is as wise as he is faithful, and 
 therefore will consider that earthly life is by no 
 means a boon in every case. Besides, he says to 
 himself : ^ Events are impending over this Queen 
 and woman, my friend, which will perhaps render 
 it advisable to make use of the great privilege 
 which the immortals bestow on human beings when 
 it becomes desirable for them to leave the stage of 
 life. So let her build her tomb.' Have I read the 
 old familiar book aright?" 
 
 " On the whole, yes," he answered gravely. " But 
 it is inscribed upon its pages that a great princess 
 and faithful mother can be permitted to set forth 
 on the last journey, whence there is no return, only 
 when " 
 
 "When," she interrupted, "a shameful end 
 threatens to fall upon the fair beginning and bril- 
 liant middle period, as a swarm of locusts darkens 
 the air and devours and devastates the fields. I 
 know it, and will act accordingly." 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 53 
 
 " And," added Archibius, " this end also (faith- 
 ful to your nature) you will shape regally. On 
 my way here I met my sister near the Choma. You 
 sent her to your husband. He will grasp the prof- 
 fered hand. Now that it is necessary to stake 
 everything or surrender, the grandson of Herakles 
 will again display his former heroic power. Per- 
 haps, stimulated and encouraged by the example 
 of the woman he loves, he will even force hostile 
 Fate to show him fresh favour.'* 
 
 " Destiny will pursue its course," interrupted 
 Cleopatra firmly. " But Antony must help me to 
 heap fresh obstacles in the pathway, and when he 
 wishes to use his giant strength, what masses of 
 rock his mighty arm can hurl ! " 
 
 ** And if your lofty spirit smooths the path for 
 him, then, my royal mistress " 
 
 " Even then the close of the tragedy will be 
 death, and every scene a disappointment. Was not 
 the plan of bringing the fleet across the isthmus 
 bold and full of promise ? Even the professional 
 engineers greeted it with applause, and yet it proved 
 impracticable. Destiny dug its grave. And the 
 terrible omens before and after Actium, and the 
 stars — the stars ! Everything points to speedy de- 
 struction, everything ! Every hour brings news of 
 the desertion of some prince or general. As if from 
 a watch-tower, I now overlook what is growing 
 from the seed I sowed. Sterile ears or poisonous 
 vegetation, wherever I turn my eyes. And yet ! 
 
154 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 You, who know my life from its beginning, tell 
 me — must I veil my head in shame when the ques- 
 tion is asked, what powers of intellect, what talents^ 
 industry, and desire for good Cleopatra displayed ?" 
 " No, my royal mistress, a thousand times no ! " 
 "Yet the fruit of every tree I planted degen- 
 erated and decayed. Csesarion is withering in the 
 flower of his youth — by whose fault I know only 
 too well. You will now take charge of the educa- 
 tion of the other children. So it is for you to con- 
 sider what brought me where I now stand, and how 
 to guard their life-bark from wandering and ship- 
 wreck." 
 
 '' Let me train them to be human beings," re- 
 plied Archibius gravely, " and preserve them from 
 the desire to enter the lists with the gods. From 
 the simple Cleopatra in the garden of Epicurus, 
 who was a delight to the good and wise, you be- 
 came the *new Isis,' to whom the multitude raised 
 hearts, eyes, and hands, dazzled and blinded. We 
 will transfer the twins, Helios and Selene, the sun 
 and the moon, from heaven to earth ; they must 
 become mortals — Greeks. I will not transplant 
 them to the garden of Epicurus, but to another, 
 where the air is more bracing. The inscription on 
 its portals shall not be, ^ Here pleasure is the chief 
 good,' but * This is an arena for character.' He 
 who leaves this garden shall not owe to it the 
 yearning for happiness and comfort, but an immov- 
 ably steadfast moral discipline. Your children, like 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 155 
 
 yourself, were born in the East, which loves what is 
 monstrous, superhuman, exaggerated. If you en- 
 trust them to me, they must learn to govern them- 
 selves. At the helm stands moral earnestness, 
 which, however, does not exclude the joyous cheer- 
 fulness natural to our people ; the sails will be 
 trimmed by moderation, the noblest quality of the 
 Greek nation." 
 
 " I understand," Cleopatra interrupted, with 
 drooping head. "Interwoven with the means of 
 securing the children's welfare, you set before the 
 mother's eyes the qualities she has lacked. I 
 know that long ago you abandoned the teachings 
 of Epicurus and the Stoa, and with an earnest aim 
 before your eyes sought your own paths. The 
 tempest of life swept me far away from the quiet 
 garden where we sought the purest delight. Now 
 I have learned to know the perils which threaten 
 those who see the chief good in happiness. It 
 stands too high for mortals, for in the changeful 
 stir of life it remains unattainable, and yet it is 
 too low an aim for their struggles, for there are 
 worthier objects. Yet one saying of Epicurus 
 we both believed, and it has always stood us in 
 good stead : * Wisdom can obtain no more precious 
 contribution to the happiness of mortal life than 
 the possession of friendship.' " 
 
 She held out her hand as she spoke, and while, 
 deeply agitated, he raised it to his lips, she went 
 on: "You know I am on the eve of the last des- 
 
156 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 perate battle — if the gods will — shoulder to shoul- 
 der with Antony. Therefore I shall not be per- 
 mitted to watch your work of education ; yet I 
 will aid it. When the children question you about 
 their mother, you will be obliged to restrain your- 
 self from saying: * Instead of striving for the 
 painless peace of mind, the noble pleasure of 
 Epicurus, which once seemed to her the highest 
 good, she constantly pursued fleeting amusements. 
 The Oriental recklessly squandered her once noble 
 gifts of intellect and the wealth of her people, 
 yielded to the hasty impulses of her passionate 
 nature.' But you shall also say to them: ^Your 
 mother's heart was full of ardent love, she scorned 
 what was base, strove for the highest goal, and when 
 she fell, preferred death to treachery and disgrace.' " 
 Here she paused, for she thought she heard 
 footsteps approaching, and then exclaimed anx- 
 iously : " I am waiting — expecting. Perhaps An- 
 tony cannot escape from the paralyzing grasp of 
 despair. To fight the last battle without him, and 
 yet under the gaze of his wrathful, gloomy eyes, 
 once so full of sunshine, would be the greatest 
 sorrow of my life. Archibius, I may confess this 
 to you, the friend who saw love for this man de- 
 velop in the breast of the child But what 
 
 does this mean ? An uproar ! Have the people 
 rebelled ? Yesterday the representatives of the 
 priesthood, the members of the museum, and the 
 leaders of the army assured me of their change- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 57 
 
 less fidelity and love. Dion belonged to the Mace- 
 donian men of the Council ; yet I have already 
 declared, in accordance with the truth, that I never 
 intended to persecute him on Csesarion's account. 
 I do not even know — and do not desire to know — 
 the refuge of the lately wedded pair. Or has the 
 new tax levied, the command to seize the treasures 
 of the temple, driven them to extremities ? What 
 am I to do ? We need gold to bid the foe defi- 
 ance, to preserve the independence of the throne, 
 the country, and the people. Or have tidings from 
 
 Rome ? It is becoming serious — and the noise 
 
 is growing louder." 
 
 " Let me see what they want," Archibius 
 anxiously interrupted, hastening to the door; but 
 just at that moment the Introducer opened it, cry- 
 ing, " Mark Antony is approaching the Lochias, 
 attended by half Alexandria ! " 
 
 " The noble Imperator is returning ! " fell from 
 the bearded lips of the commander of the guard, 
 ere the courtier's words had died away ; and even 
 while he spoke Iras pressed past him, shrieking as 
 if half frantic : " He is coming ! He is here ! I 
 knew he would come ! How they are shouting and 
 cheering ! Out with you, men ! If you are will- 
 ing, my royal mistress, we will greet him from the 
 balcony of Berenike. If we only had " 
 
 " The twins — little Alexander ! " interrupted 
 Cleopatra, with blanched face and faltering voice. 
 " Put on their festal garments.'* 
 31 
 
158 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Quick — the children, Zoe ! " cried Iras, com- 
 pleting the order and clapping her hands. Then 
 she turned to the Queen with the 'entreaty : "Be 
 calm, my royal mistress, be calm, I beseech you. 
 We have ample time. Here is the vulture crown 
 of Isis, and here the other. Antony's slave, Eros, 
 has just come in, panting for breath. The Im- 
 perator, he says, will appear as the new Dionysus. 
 It would certainly please his master — though he 
 had not commissioned him to request it — if you 
 greeted him as the new Isis. — Help me, Hathor. 
 Nephoris, tell the usher to see that the fan-bearers 
 and the other attendants, women and men, are in 
 their places. — Here are the pearl and diamond 
 necklaces for your throat and bosom. Take care 
 of the robe. The transparent bombyx is as delicate 
 
 as a cobweb, and if you tear it No, you 
 
 must not refuse. We all know how it pleases him 
 to see his goddess in divine majesty and beauty.'* 
 
 Cleopatra, with glowing cheeks and throbbing 
 heart, made no further objection to donning the 
 superb festal robe, strewn with glimmering pearls 
 and glittering gems. It would have been more in 
 harmony with her feelings to meet the returning 
 Antony in the plain, dark garb which, since her 
 arrival at home, she had exchanged for a richer 
 one only on festal occasions; but Antony was 
 coming as the new Dionysus, and Eros knew what 
 would please his master. 
 
 Eight nimble hands, which were often aided by 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 159 
 
 Iras's skilful fingers, toiled busily, and soon the 
 latter could hold up the mirror before Cleopatra, 
 exclaiming from the very depths of her heart, 
 " Like the foam-born Aphrodite and the golden 
 Hathor ! " 
 
 Then Iras, who, in adorning her beloved mis- 
 tress, had forgotten love, hate, and envy, and amid 
 her eager haste barely found time for a brief, fer- 
 vent prayer for a happy issue of this meeting, 
 threw the broad folding-doors as wide as if she 
 were about to reveal to the worshippers in the 
 temple the image of the god in the innermost sanc- 
 tuary. 
 
 A long, echoing shout of surprise and delight 
 greeted the Queen, for the courtiers, hastily sum- 
 moned, were already awaiting her without, from 
 the grey-haired epistolograph to the youngest 
 page. Regally attired women in her service raised 
 the floating train of her cloak ; others, in sacer- 
 dotal robes, were testing the ease of movement of 
 the rings on the sistrum rods, men and boys were 
 forming into lines according to the rank of each 
 individual, and the chief fan-bearer gave the sig- 
 nal for departure. After a short walk through 
 several halls and corridors, the train reached the 
 first court-yard of the palace, and there ascended 
 the few steps leading to the broad platform at the 
 entrance-gate which overlooked the whole Bruchi- 
 um and the Street of the King, down which the 
 expected hero would approach. 
 
l6o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The distant uproar of the multitude had 
 sounded threatening, but now, amid the deafening 
 din, they could distinguish every -shout of wel- 
 come, every joyous greeting, every expression of 
 delight, surprise, applause, admiration, and homage, 
 known to the Greek and Egyptian tongues. 
 
 Only the centre and end of the procession were 
 visible. The head had reached the Corner of the 
 Muses, where, concealed by the old trees in the 
 garden, it moved on between the Temple of Isis 
 and the land owned by Didymus. The end still 
 extended to the Choma, w^hence it had started. 
 
 All Alexandria seemed to have joined it. 
 
 Men large and small, of high and low degree, 
 old and young, the lame and the crippled, min- 
 gled with the throng, sweeping onward among 
 horses and carriages, carts and beasts of burden, 
 like a mountain torrent dashing wildly down to 
 the valley. Here a loud shriek rang from an 
 overturned Htter, whose bearers had fallen. Yon- 
 der a child thrown to the ground screamed shrilly, 
 there a dog trodden under the feet of the crowd 
 howled piteously. So clear and resonant were the 
 shouts of joy that they rose high above the flutes 
 and tambourines, the cymbals and lutes of the 
 musicians, who followed the man approaching in 
 the robes of a god. 
 
 The head of the procession now passed be- 
 yond the Corner of the Muses and came within 
 view of the platform. 
 
CLEOPATRA. l6l 
 
 There could be no doubt to whom this ovation 
 was given, for the returning hero was in the van, 
 high above all the other figures. From the golden 
 throne borne on the shoulders of twelve black 
 slaves he waved his long thyrsus in greeting to 
 the exulting multitude. Before the bacchanalian 
 train which accompanied him, and behind the mu- 
 sicians who followed, moved two elephants bear- 
 ing between them, as a light burden, some unrec- 
 ognizable object covered with a purple cloth. 
 Now the column had passed between the pylons 
 through the lofty gateway which separated the 
 palace from the Street of the King, and stopped 
 opposite to the platform. 
 
 While officials, Scythians, and body-guards of 
 all shades of complexion, on foot and on horse- 
 back, kept back the throng by force where friendly 
 warning did not avail, Cleopatra saw her lover 
 descend from the throne and give a signal to the 
 Indian slave who guided the elephants. The cloth 
 was flung aside, revealing to the astonished eyes 
 of the spectators a bouquet of flowers such as no 
 Alexandrian had ever beheld. It consisted en- 
 tirely of blossoming rose-bushes. The red flow- 
 ers formed a circle in the centre, surrounded by a 
 broad light garland of white ones. The whole 
 gigantic work rested like an egg in its cup in a 
 holder of palm fronds which, as it were, framed 
 it in graceful curving outlines. More than a thou- 
 sand blossoms were united in this peerless bouquet, 
 
1 62 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 and the singular gigantic gift was characteristic 
 of its giver. 
 
 He advanced on foot to the platform, his figure 
 towering above the brown, light-hued, and black 
 freedmen and slaves who followed as, on the 
 monuments of the Pharaohs, the image of the 
 sovereign dominates those of the subjects and 
 foes. 
 
 He could look down upon the tallest men, and 
 the width of his shoulders was as remarkable as 
 his colossal height. A long, gold-broidered pur- 
 ple mantle, floating to his ancles, increased his ap- 
 parent stature. Powerful arms, with the swelling 
 muscles of an athlete, were extended from his 
 sleeveless robe towards the beloved Queen. 
 
 The well-formed head, thick dark hair, and 
 magnificent beard corresponded with the powerful 
 figure. Formerly these locks had adorned the 
 head of the youth with the blue-black hue of the 
 raven's plumage ; now the threads of grey scattered 
 abundantly through them were concealed by the 
 aid of dye. A thick wreath of vine leaves rested 
 on the Imperator's brow, and leafy vine branches, 
 to which clung several dark bunches of grapes, fell 
 over his broad shoulders and down his back, which 
 was covered like a cloak, not by a leopard-skin, 
 but that of a royal Indian tiger of great size — he 
 had slain ij: himself in the arena. The head and 
 paws of the animal were gold, the eyes two mag- 
 nificent sparkling sapphires. The clasp of the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 chain, by which the skin was suspended, as wejl^»s.^> 
 that of the gold belt which circled the Imperator*s 
 body above the hips, was covered with rubies and 
 emeralds. The wide armlets above his elbows, 
 the ornaments on his broad breast, nay, even his 
 red morocco boots, glittered and flashed with 
 gems. 
 
 Radiant as his former fortunes seemed the 
 magnificent attire of this mighty fallen hero, who 
 but yesterday had shrunk timidly and sadly from 
 the eyes of his fellows-men. His features, too, were 
 large, noble, and beautiful in outline; but, though 
 his pale cheeks were adorned with the borrowed 
 crimson of youth, half a century of the maddest 
 pursuit of pleasure and the torturing excitement of 
 the last few weeks had left traces only too visible; 
 for the skin hung in loose bags beneath the large 
 eyes; wrinkles furrowed his brow and radiated in 
 slanting lines from the corners of his eyes across 
 his temples. 
 
 Yet not one of those whom this bedizened man 
 of fifty was approaching thought of seeing in him 
 an aged, bedecked dandy ; it was an instinct of his 
 nature to surround himself with pomp and splen- 
 dour and, moreover, his whole appearance was so 
 instinct with power that scorn and mockery shrank 
 abashed before it. 
 
 How frank, gracious, and kindly was this man's 
 face, how sincere the heart-felt emotion which 
 sparkled in his eyes, still glowing with the fire of 
 
164 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 youth, at the sight of the woman from whom he 
 had been so long parted ! Every f-eature beamed 
 with the most ardent tenderness for the royal 
 wife whom he was approaching, and the expres- 
 sion on the lips of the giant varied so swiftly from 
 humble, sorrowful anguish of mind to gratitude 
 and delight, that even the hearts of his foes were 
 touched. But when, pressing his hand on his 
 broad breast, he advanced towards the Queen, bend- 
 ing so low that it seemed as if he would fain kiss 
 her feet, when in fact the colossal figure did sink 
 kneeling before her, and the powerful arms were 
 outstretched with fervent devotion like a child 
 beseeching help, the woman who had loved him 
 throughout her whole life with all the ardour of her 
 passionate soul was overpowered by the feeling 
 that everything which stood between them, all their 
 mutual offences, had vanished. He saw the sunny 
 smile that brightened her beloved, ever-beautiful 
 face, and then — then his own name reached his ears 
 from the lips to which he owed the greatest bliss 
 love had ever offered. At last, as if intoxicated by 
 the tones of her voice, which seemed to him more 
 musical than the songs of the Muses ; half smil- 
 ing at the jest which, even in the most serious 
 earnest, he could not abandon ; half moved to the 
 depths of his soul by the power of his newly 
 awakening happiness after such sore sorrow, he 
 pointed to the gigantic bouquet, which three slaves 
 had lifted down from the elephant and were bear- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 65 
 
 ing to the Queen. Cleopatra, too, was over- 
 whelmed with emotion. 
 
 This floral gift imitated, on an immense scale, 
 the little bouquet which the famous young general 
 had taken from her father's hand before the gate 
 of the garden of Epicurus to present to her as his 
 first gift. That had also been composed of red 
 roses, surrounded by white ones. Instead of palm 
 fronds, it had been encircled only by fern leaves. 
 This was one of the beautiful offerings which An- 
 tony's gracious nature so well understood how to 
 choose. The bouquet was a symbol of the un- 
 precedented generosity natural to this large-minded 
 man. No magic goblet had compelled him to ap- 
 proach her thus and with such homage. Nothing 
 had constrained him, save his overflowing heart, 
 his constant, fadeless love. 
 
 As if restored to youth, transported by some 
 magic spell to the happy days of early girlhood, 
 she forgot her royal dignity and the hundreds of 
 eyes which rested upon him as if spell-bound ; and, 
 obedient to an irresistible impulse of the heart, 
 she sank upon the broad, heaving breast of the 
 kneeling hero. Laughing joyously in the clear, 
 silvery tones which are usually heard only in 
 youth, he clasped her in his strong arms, raised her 
 slender figure in its floating royal mantle from the 
 ground, kissed her lips and eyes, held her aloft in 
 the soaring attitude of the Goddess of Victory, as 
 if to display his happiness to the eyes of all, and 
 
1 66 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 at last placed her carefully on her feet again like 
 some treasured jewel. 
 
 Then, turning to the children, who were wait- 
 ing at their mother's side, he lifted first little 
 Alexander, then the twins, to kiss them ; and, while 
 holding Helios and Selene in his arms, as if the 
 joy of seeing them again had banished their 
 weight, the shouts which had arisen when the 
 Queen sank on his breast again burst forth. 
 
 The ancient walls of the Lochias palace had 
 never heard such acclamations. They passed from 
 lip to lip, from hundreds to hundreds and, though 
 those more distant did not know the cause, they 
 joined in the shouts. Along the whole vast stretch 
 from the Lochias to the Choma the cheers rang 
 out like a single, heart-stirring, inseparable cry, 
 echoing across the harbour, the ships lying at 
 anchor, the towering masts, to the cliff amid the 
 sea where Barine was nursing her new-made hus- 
 band. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The property of the freedman Pyrrhus was a 
 flat rock in the northern part of the harbour, 
 scarcely larger than the garden of Didymus at the 
 Corner of the Muses, a desolate spot where neither 
 tree nor blade of grass grew. It was called the 
 Serpent Island, though the inhabitants had long 
 since rid it of these dangerous guests, which lived 
 in great numbers in the neighbouring cliffs. Not 
 even the poorest crops would grow in soil so hos- 
 tile to life, and those who chose it for a home were 
 compelled to bring even the drinking-water from 
 the continent. 
 
 This desert, around which hovered gulls, sea- 
 swallows, and sea-eagles, had been for several 
 weeks the abode of the fugitives, Dion and Barine. 
 They still occupied the two rooms which had been 
 assigned to them on their arrival. During the day 
 the sun beat fiercely down upon the yellow chalky 
 rock. There was no shade save in the house and 
 at the foot of a towering cliff in the southern part 
 of the island, the fishermen's watch-tower. 
 
 There were no works of human hands save a 
 
l68 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 little Temple of Poseidon, an altar of Isis, the large 
 house owned by Pyrrhus, solidly .constructed by 
 Alexandrian masons, and a smaller one for the 
 freedman's married sons and their families. A 
 long wooden frame, on which nets were strung to 
 dry, rose on the shore. Near it, towards the north, 
 in the open sea, was the anchorage of the larger 
 sea-going ships and the various skiffs and boats 
 of the fisher folk. Dionikos, Pyrrhus's youngest 
 son, who was still unmarried, built new boats and 
 repaired the old ones. 
 
 His two strong, taciturn brothers, with their 
 wuves and children, his father Pyrrhus, his wife 
 and their youngest child, a daughter, Dione, a few 
 dogs, cats, and chickens, composed the population 
 of the Serpent Island. 
 
 Such were the surroundings of the newly 
 wedded pair, who had been reared in the capital. 
 At first many things were strange to them, but they 
 accommodated themselves to circumstances with a 
 good grace, and both had admitted to each other, 
 long before, that life had never been so equable 
 and peaceful. 
 
 During the first week Dion's wound and fever 
 still harassed him, but the prediction of Pyrrhus 
 that the pure, fresh sea-air would benefit the suf- 
 ferer had been fulfilled, and the monotonous days 
 had passed swiftly enough to the young bride in 
 caring for the invalid. 
 
 The wife of Pyrrhus — '^mother," as they all 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 69 
 
 called her — had proved to be a skilful nurse, and her 
 daughters-in-law and young Dione were faithful 
 and nimble assistants. During the time of anxiety 
 and nursing, Barine had formed a warm friendship 
 for them. If the taciturn men avoided using a 
 single unnecessary word, the women were all the 
 more ready to gossip ; and it was a pleasure to talk 
 to pretty Dione, who had grown up on the island 
 and was eager to hear about the outside world. 
 
 Dion had long since left his couch and the 
 house, and each day looked happier, more content 
 with himself and his surroundings. At first his 
 feverish visions had shown him his dead mother, 
 pointing anxiously at his new-made wife, as if to 
 warn him against her. During his convalescence 
 he remembered them and they conjured up the 
 doubt whether Barine could endure the solitude of 
 this desolate cliff, whether she would not lose the 
 bright serenity of soul whose charm constantly in- 
 creased. Would it be any marvel if she should 
 pine with longing in this solitude, and even suffer 
 physically from their severe privations ? 
 
 The perception that love now supplied the place 
 of all which she had lost pleased him, but he for- 
 bade himself to expect that this condition of affairs 
 could be lasting. Nothing save exaggerated self- 
 conceit would induce the hope. But he must have 
 undervalued his own power of attraction — or Ba- 
 rine's love — for with each passing week the cheer- 
 ful serenity of her disposition gained fresh stead- 
 
170 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 fastness and charm. He, too, had the same ex- 
 perience ; it was long since he had felt so vigorous, 
 untrammelled, and free from care. His sole re- 
 gret was the impossibility of sharing the political 
 life of the city at this critical period; and at times 
 he felt some little anxiety concerning the fate and 
 management of his property, though, even if his 
 estates were confiscated, he would still retain a 
 competence which he had left in the hands of a 
 trustworthy money-changer. Barine shared every- 
 thing that concerned him, even these moods, and 
 this led him to tell her about the affairs of the city 
 and the state, in which she had formerly taken 
 little interest, his property in Alexandria and the 
 provinces. With what glad appreciation she lis- 
 tened, when she went out with him from the north- 
 ern anchorage on the open sea, or sat during long 
 winter evenings making nets, an art which she had 
 learned from Dione ! 
 
 Her lute had been sent to her from the city, 
 and what pleasure her singing afforded her husband 
 and herself; how joyously their hosts, old and 
 young, listened to the melody ! 
 
 A few book-rolls had also come, and Dion en- 
 joyed discussing their contents with Barine. He 
 himself read very little, for he was rarely indoors 
 during the day. The fourth week after his ar- 
 rival he was able to aid, with arms whose muscles 
 had been steeled in the palaestra, the men in their 
 fishing, and Dionikos in his boat-building. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 171 
 
 The close, constant, uninterrupted companion- 
 ship of the married pair revealed to each unex- 
 pected treasures in the other, which, perhaps, 
 might have remained forever concealed in city life. 
 Here each was everything to the other, and this 
 undisturbed mutual life soon inspired that blissful 
 consciousness of inseparable union which usually 
 appears only after years, as the fairest fruit of a 
 marriage founded on love. 
 
 Doubtless there were hours when Barine longed 
 to see her mother and others who were dear to her, 
 but the letters which arrived from time to time 
 prevented this yearning from becoming a source of 
 actual pain. 
 
 Prudence required them to restrict their inter- 
 course with the city. But, whenever Pyrrhus went 
 to market, letters reached the island delivered at 
 the fish auction in the harbour byAnukis, Charmi- 
 an's Nubian maid, to the old freedman, who had 
 become her close friend. 
 
 So the time came when Dion could say without 
 self-deception that Barine was content in this soli- 
 tude, and that his love and companionship supplied 
 the place of the exciting, changeful life of the 
 capital. Though letters came from her mother, 
 sister, or Charmian, her grandfather, Gorgias, or 
 Archibius, not one transformed the wish to leave 
 her desolate hiding-place into actual home- 
 sickness, but each brought fresh subjects for 
 conversation, and among them many which, by 
 
1/2 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 arousing the interest of both, united them more 
 firmly. 
 
 The second month of their flight- a letter arrived 
 from Archibius, in which he informed them that 
 they might soon form plans for their return, for 
 Alexas, the Syrian, had proved a malicious traitor. 
 He had not performed the commission entrusted 
 to him of winning Herod to Antony's cause, but 
 treacherously deserted his patron and remained 
 with the King of the Jews. When, with unprece- 
 dented shamelessness, he sought Octavianus to sell 
 the secrets of his Egyptian benefactor, he was ar- 
 rested and executed in his own home, Laodicea. 
 
 Now, their friend continued, Cleopatra's eyes 
 as well as her husband's were opened to the true 
 character of Barine's most virulent accuser. The 
 influence of Philostratus, too, was of course de- 
 stroyed by his brother's infamous deed. Yet they 
 must wait a little longer ; for Caesarion had joined 
 the Ephebi, and Antyllus had been invested with 
 the toga virilis. They could now undertake many 
 things independently, and Caesarion often made re- 
 marks which showed that he would not cease to 
 lay plots for Barine. 
 
 Dion feared nothing from the royal boy on his 
 own account, but for his wife's sake he dared not 
 disregard his friend's warning. This was hard ; 
 for though he still felt happy on the island, he 
 longed to install the woman he loved in his own 
 house, and every impulse of his nature urged him 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 73 
 
 to be present at the meetings of the Council in these 
 fateful times. Therefore he was more than ready 
 to risk returning to the city, but Barine entreated 
 him so earnestly not to exchange the secure hap- 
 piness they enjoyed here for a greater one, behind 
 which might lurk the heaviest misfortune, that he 
 yielded. Another letter from Charmian soon proved 
 the absolute necessity of continuing to exercise 
 caution. 
 
 Even from the island they could perceive that 
 everything known as festal pleasure was rife in 
 Alexandria, and bore along in its mad revelry the 
 court and the citizens. When the wind blew from 
 the south, it brought single notes of inspiring music 
 or indistinct sounds of the wildest popular rejoic- 
 ing. 
 
 The fisherman's daughter, Dione, often called 
 them to the strand to admire the galleys adorned 
 with fabulous splendour, garlanded with flowers, 
 and echoing with the music of lutes and the melody 
 of songs. Sails of purple embroidered silk bore 
 the vessels over the smooth tide. Once the watch- 
 ers even distmguished, upon a barge richly adorned 
 with gilded carving, young female slaves who, with 
 floating hair and transparent sea-green robes, han- 
 dled, in the guise of Nereids, light sandal- wood oars 
 with golden blades. Often the breeze bore to the 
 island the perfumes which surrounded the galleys, 
 and on calm nights the magnificent ships, surround- 
 ed by the magical illumination of many-hued lamps, 
 32 
 
174 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 swept across the mirror-like surface of the waves. 
 Among the voyagers were gods, goddesses, and 
 heroes who, standing or reclining in beautiful 
 groups, represented scenes from the myths and 
 history. On the deck of the Queen's superb vessel 
 guests crowned with wreaths lay on purple couches, 
 under garlands of flowers, eating choice viands and 
 draining golden wine-cups. 
 
 On other nights the illumination of the shore 
 of the Bruchium rendered it as bright as day. 
 The huge dome of the Serapeum on the Rhakotis, 
 covered with lamps, towered above the flat roofs 
 of the city like the starry firmament of a smaller 
 world which had descended to earth. Every tem- 
 ple and palace was transformed into a giant can- 
 delabrum, and the rows of lamps on the quay 
 stretched like tendrils of light from the dazzlingly 
 illuminated marble Temple of Poseidon to the 
 palace at Lochias, steeped in radiance. 
 
 When Pyrrhus or one of his sons returned from 
 market they described the festivals and shows, 
 banquets, races, and endless pleasure excursions 
 arranged by the court, which made the citizens 
 fairly hold their breath. It was a prosperous time 
 for the fishermen ; the Queen's cooks took all their 
 wares and paid a liberal price. 
 
 January had come, when another letter arrived 
 from Charmian. Dion and Barine had watched in 
 vain for any unusual events on Cleopatra's birth- 
 day, but on Antony's, a few days later, there was 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 75 
 
 plenty of music and shouting, and in the evening 
 an unusually magnificent illumination. 
 
 Two days after, this letter was delivered to 
 Pyrrhus by his dusky friend Anukis. 
 
 Her inquiry whether he thought it prudent to 
 convey visitors to his guests was answered in the 
 negative, for since Octavianus had been in Asia, 
 the harbour swarmed with the boats of spies, and 
 a single act of imprudence might bring ruin. 
 
 Charmian's letter, too, was even better calcu- 
 lated to curb Dion's increasing desire to return 
 home than the fisherman's warning. 
 
 True, the beginning contained good news of 
 Barine's relatives, and then informed Dion that 
 his uncle, the Keeper of the Seal, was fairly revel- 
 ling in bliss. His inventive gifts were taxed more 
 than ever. Every day brought a festival, every 
 night magnificent banquets. One spectacle, ex- 
 cursion, or hunting party followed another. In 
 the theatres, the Odeum, the Hippodrome, no more 
 brilliant performances, races, naval battles, gladi- 
 atorial struggles, and combats between beasts had 
 been given, even before Actium. Dion himself 
 had formerly attended the entertainments of those 
 who belonged to the court circle, the society of 
 " Inimitable Livers." It had been revived again, 
 but Antony called them the " Comrades of Death." 
 
 This was significant. Every one knows that 
 the end is drawing near, and imitates the Pharaoh 
 to whom the oracle promised six years of life, and 
 
176 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 who convicted it of falsehood and made them 
 twelve by carousing during the night also. 
 
 The Queen's meeting with her husband, which 
 she had previously reported, had been magnificent. 
 "At that time," she wrote, "we hoped that a more 
 noble life would begin, and Mark Antony, awak- 
 ened and elevated by his rekindled love, would re- 
 gain his former heroic power ; but we were mis- 
 taken ; Cleopatra, it is true, toiled unceasingly, but 
 her lover with his enormous bunch of roses gave 
 the signal for the maddest revelry which the 
 imagination of the wildest devotee of pleasure 
 could conceive. The performances of the Inimi- 
 table Livers were far surpassed by those of the 
 " Comrades of Death." 
 
 " Antony is at their head, and he, whose giant 
 frame resists even the most unprecedented de- 
 mands, succeeds in stupefying himself and for- 
 getting the impending ruin. When he comes to us 
 after a night of revelry his eyes sparkle as brightly, 
 his deep voice has as clear a ring, as at the be- 
 ginning of the banquet. The Queen is his god- 
 dess; and who could remain unmoved when the 
 giant bows obediently to the nod of his delicate 
 sovereign, and devises and offers the most unpre- 
 cedented things to win a smile from her lips ? The 
 changeful, impetuous wooing of youth lies far be- 
 hind him, but his homage, which the Ephebi of to- 
 day would perhaps term antiquated, has always 
 seemed to me as if a mountain were bending be- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 177 
 
 fore a star. The stranger who sees her in his com- 
 pany believes her a happy woman. Amid the 
 fabulous radiar%e of the festal array, when all who 
 surround her admire, worship, and strew flowers in 
 her path, one might believe that the old sunny 
 days had returned; but when we are alone, how 
 rarely I see her smile! Then she plans for the 
 tomb which, under Gorgias's direction, is rapidly 
 rising, and considers with him the best method of 
 rendering it an inaccessible place of retreat. 
 
 " She decided everything, down to the carving 
 on the stone sarcophagi. In addition, there are to 
 be rooms and chambers in the lower story for the 
 reception of her treasures. Beneath them she has 
 had corridors made for the pitch and straw which, 
 if the worst should come, are to be lighted. She 
 will then give to the flames the gold and silver, 
 gems and jewels, ebony and ivory, the costly 
 spices — in short, all her valuables. The pearls 
 alone are worth many kingdoms. Who can blame 
 her if she prefers to destroy them rather than leave 
 them for the foe ** 
 
 " The garden in which you grew up, Barine, is 
 now the scene of the happy, busy life led by Alex- 
 ander and the twins. There, under my brother's 
 guidance, they frolic, build, and dig. Cleopatra 
 goes to it whenever she longs for repose after the 
 pursuit of pleasures which have lost their zest. 
 
 " When, the day before yesterday, Antony, 
 crowned with ivy as the new Dionysus, drove up 
 
178 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 the Street of the King in the golden chariot drawn 
 by tamed lions, to bring her, the new Isis, from 
 the Lochias in a lotus flower ma'#e of silver and 
 white paste, drawn by four snow-white steeds, she 
 pointed to the glittering train and said : * Be- 
 tween the quiet of the philosopher's garden, where 
 I began my life and still feel most at ease, and 
 the grave, where nothing disturbs my last re- 
 pose, stretches the Street of the King, with this 
 deafening tumult, this empty splendour. It is 
 mine.' 
 
 " O child, it was very different in former days ! 
 She loved Mark Antony with passionate ardour. 
 He was the first man in the world, and yet he 
 bowed before the supremacy of her will. The 
 longing of the awakening heart, the burning ambi- 
 tion which already kindled the soul of the child, 
 had alike found satisfaction, and the world beheld 
 how the mortal woman, Cleopatra, for her lover 
 and herself, could steep this meagre life with the 
 joys of the immortals. He was grateful for them, 
 and the most generous of men laid at the feet of 
 the ' Great Queen of the East ' the might of Rome 
 and the kings of two quarters of the globe. 
 
 " These years were spent by both in one long 
 revel. His marriage with Octavia brought the 
 first aw^akening. It was hard and painful. He 
 had not deserted Cleopatra for a woman's sake, 
 but on account of his endangered power and sov- 
 ereignty. But the unloved Octavia constrained 
 
CLEOPATRA. lyg 
 
 him to look up to her with respectful admiration — 
 nay, she became dear to him. 
 
 " A fierce battle for him and his heart arose 
 between the two. It was fought with very differ- 
 ent weapons, and Cleopatra conquered. The revel, 
 the dream began again. Then came Actium, the 
 disenchantment, the awakening, the fall, the flight 
 from the world. Our object was not to let him re- 
 lapse into intoxication, to rouse the hero's strength 
 and courage from their slumber, render him for 
 love's sake a fellow-combatant in the common 
 cause. 
 
 ** But he had become accustomed to ^ee in her 
 the giver of ecstasy. The only thing that he still 
 desired was to drain the cup of pleasure in her 
 society till all was over. She sees this, grieves 
 over it, and leaves no means of rousing him to 
 fresh energy untried ; yet how rarely he rallies 
 his powers to earnest labour ! 
 
 " While she is fortifying the mouths of the 
 Nile and the frontiers of the country, building 
 ship after ship, arming and negotiating, she can 
 not resist him when he summons her to new 
 pleasures. 
 
 " Though so many of the traits which rendered 
 him great and noble have vanished, she can not 
 give up the old love and clings steadfastly to him 
 because, because — I know not why. A woman's 
 loving heart does not question motives and laws. 
 Besides, he is the father of her children and, in 
 
l8o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 playing with them, he regains the old joyousness 
 of mood so enthralling to the heart. 
 
 " Since Archibius has taken charge of them, 
 they can dispense with Euphronion, their tutor. 
 TRe clever man knows Rome, Octavianus, and 
 those who surround him, so he was chosen as an 
 envoy. His object was to induce the conqueror 
 to transfer the sovereignty of Egypt to the boys 
 Antonius Helios, and Alexander, but Caesar vouch- 
 safed no answer to the mediator in Antony's affairs 
 — nay, did not even grant him an audience. 
 
 " To Cleopatra Octavianus promised friendly 
 treatment, and the fulfilment of her wish concern- 
 ing the boys if — and now came the repetition of 
 the old demand — she would put Antony out of the 
 world or deliver him into his hands. 
 
 " This demand, which contains base treachery, 
 was impossible for her noble soul. Since she had 
 resolved to build the tomb, granting it became 
 impossible, yet Octavianus made every effort to 
 tempt her to the base deed. True, the death of 
 this one man would have spared much bloodshed. 
 The Caesar knows how to choose his tools. He 
 sent here as negotiator a clever young man, who 
 possessed great charms of mind and person. No 
 plan to prejudice the Queen against her husband 
 and persuade her to commit the treachery was left 
 untried. He went so far as to assure Cleopatra 
 that in former years she had won the Caesar's 
 heart, and that he still loved her. She accepted 
 
CLEOPATRA. l8i 
 
 these assurances at their true value and remained 
 steadfast. 
 
 " Antony at first paid no heed to the intriguer. 
 But when he learned what means he employed, and 
 especially how he made use of the surrender of one 
 of Caesar's murderers, which he himself had long 
 regretted, to brand him as an ungrateful traitor, 
 he would not have been Mark Antony if he had 
 accepted it quietly. He was completely his old 
 self when he ordered the smooth fellow — who, how- 
 ever, had come as the ambassador of the mighty 
 victor — to be scourged, sent him back to Rome, and 
 wrote a letter to Octavianus, in which he com- 
 plained of the man's arrogance and presumption, 
 adding — spite of my heavy heart I can not help 
 smiling when I think of it — that misfortune had 
 rendered him unusually irritable ; yet if his action 
 perhaps displeased Caesar, he might treat his freed- 
 man Hipparchus, who was m his power, as he had 
 served Thyrsus ! 
 
 " You see that his gay arrogance has not de- 
 serted him. Trouble slips away from him as rain 
 is shaken from the coarse military cloak which he 
 wore in the Parthian war, and therefore it cannot 
 exert its purifying power. 
 
 "When we consider that, a few years ago, this 
 man, as it were, doubled himself when peril was 
 most threatening, his conduct now, on the eve of 
 the decisive struggle, is intelligible only to those 
 who know him as we do. If he fights, he will no 
 
l82 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 longer do so to save himself, or even to conquer, 
 but to die an honourable death. If he still enjoys 
 the pleasures offered, he believes that he can thus 
 mitigate for himself the burden of defeat, and di- 
 minish the grandeur of the conqueror's victory. In 
 the eyes of the world, at least, a man who can still 
 revel like Antony is only half vanquished. Yet 
 the lofty tone of his mind was lowered. The sur- 
 render of the murderer of Caesar — his name was 
 Turullius — proves it. 
 
 " And this, Barine — tell your husband so — this 
 is what fills me with anxiety and compels me to 
 entreat you not to think of returning home yet. 
 
 " Antony is now the jovial companion of his son, 
 and permits Antyllus to share all his own pleas- 
 ures. Of course, he heard of Csesarion's passion, and 
 is disposed to help the poor fellow. He has often 
 said that nothing would better serve to rouse the 
 dreamer from torpor than your charming vivacity. 
 As the earth could scarcely have swallowed you up, 
 you would be found ; he, too, should be glad to 
 hear you sing again. I know that search will be 
 made for you. 
 
 " How imperiously this state of affairs requires 
 you to exercise caution needs no explanation. On 
 the other hand, you may find comfort in the tidings 
 that Cleopatra intends to send Csesarion with his 
 tutor Rhodon to Ethiopia, by way of the island of 
 Philae. Archibius heard through Timagenes that 
 Octavianus considers the son of Caesar, whose face 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 •83 
 
 SO wonderfully resembles his father's, a dangerous 
 person, and this opinion is the boy's death-warrant. 
 Antyllus, too, is going on a journey. His destina- 
 tion is Asia, where he is to seek to propitiate Oc- 
 tavianus and make him new offers. As you know, 
 he was betrothed to his daughter Julia. The 
 Queen ceased long ago to believe in the possibility 
 of victory, yet, spite of all the demands of the 
 " Comrades of Death " and her own cares, she toils 
 unweariedly in preparing for the defence of the 
 country. She is doubtless the only member of that 
 society who thinks seriously of the approaching 
 end. 
 
 " Now that the tomb is rising, she ponders con- 
 stantly upon death. She, who was taught by Epi- 
 curus to strive for freedom from pain and is so sensi- 
 tive to the slightest bodily suffering, is still seeking 
 a path which, with the least agony, will lead to the 
 eternal rest for which she longs. Iras and the 
 younger pupils of Olympus are aiding her. The 
 old man furnishes all sorts of poisons, which she 
 tries upon various animals — nay, recently even on 
 criminals sentenced to death. All these experiments 
 seem to prove that the bite of the urseus serpent, 
 whose image on the Egyptian crown symbolizes the 
 sovereign's instant power over life and death, stills 
 the heart most swiftly and with the least suffering. 
 
 " How terrible these things are ! What pain it 
 causes to see the being one loves most, the mother 
 of the fairest children, so cruelly heighten the an- 
 
1 84 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 guish of parting, choose death, as it were, for a 
 constant companion, amid the whirl of the gayest 
 amusements ! She daily looks all his terrors in the 
 face, yet with proud contempt turns her back upon 
 the bridge which might perhaps enable her for a 
 time to escape the monster. This is grand, worthy 
 of her, and never have I loved her more tenderly. 
 
 " You, too, must think of her kindly. She de- 
 serves it. A noble heart which sees itself forced 
 to pity a foe, easily forgives; and was she ever 
 your enemy ? 
 
 " I have written a long, lorig letter to solace 
 your seclusion from the world and relieve my own 
 heart. Have patience a little while longer. The 
 time is not far distant when Fate itself will release 
 you from exile. How often your relatives, Ar- 
 chibius and Gorgias, whom I now see frequently in 
 the presence of the Queen, long to visit you ! — but 
 they, too, believe that it might prove a source of 
 danger." 
 
 The warnings in this letter were confirmed by 
 another from Archibius, and soon after they heard 
 that Caesarion had really sailed up the Nile for 
 Ethiopia with his tutor Rhodon, and Antyllus had 
 been sent to Asia to visit Octavianus. The latter 
 had received him, it is true ; but sent him home 
 without making any pledges. 
 
 These tidings were not brought by letter, but 
 by Gorgias himself, whose visit surprised them one 
 evening late in March. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 85 
 
 Rarely had a guest received a more joyous wel- 
 come. When he entered the bare room, Barine was 
 making a net and telling the fisherman's daughter 
 Dione the story of the wanderings of Ulysses. 
 Dion, too, listened attentively, now and then cor- 
 recting or explaining her descriptions, while carv- 
 ing a head of Poseidon for the prow of a newly 
 built boat. 
 
 As Gorgias unexpectedly crossed the thresh- 
 old, the dim light of the lamp fed by kiki-oil 
 seemed transformed into sunshine. How brightly 
 their eyes sparkled, how joyous were their ex- 
 clamations of welcome and surprise ! Then came 
 questions, answers, news ! Gorgias was obliged to 
 share the family supper, which had only waited the 
 return of the father who had brought the guest. 
 
 The fresh oysters, langustae, and other dishes 
 served tasted more delicious to the denizen of the 
 city than the most delicious banquets of the ** Com- 
 rades of Death " to which he was now frequently 
 invited by the Queen. 
 
 All that Pyrrhus said voluntarily and told his 
 sons in reply to their questions was so sensible 
 and related to matters which, because they were 
 new to Gorgias, seemed so fascinating that, when 
 Dion's good wine was served, he declared that if 
 Pyrrhus would receive him he, too, would search 
 for pursuers and be banished here. 
 
 When the three again sat alone before the 
 plain clay mixing vessel it seemed to the lonely 
 
1 86 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 young couple as if the best part of the city life 
 which they had left behind had found its way to 
 them, and what did they not have to say to one 
 another ! Dion and Barine talked of their hermit 
 life, Gorgias of the Queen and the tomb, which 
 was at the same time a treasure chamber. The 
 slanting walls were built as firmly as if they were 
 intended to last for centuries and defy a violent 
 assault. The centre of the lower story was formed 
 by a lofty hall of vast dimensions, in whose midst 
 were the large marble sarcophagi. Men were 
 working busily upon the figures in relief intended 
 for the decoration of the sides and lids. This hall, 
 whose low arched ceiling was supported by three 
 pairs of heavy columns, was furnished like a re- 
 ception-room. The couches, candelabra, and altars 
 were already being made. Charmian had kept the 
 fugitives well informed. In the subterranean 
 chambers at the side of the hall, and in the second 
 story, which could not be commenced until the ceil- 
 ing was completed, store-rooms were to be made, 
 and below and beside them were passages for ven- 
 tilation and the storage of combustible materials. 
 
 Gorgias regretted that he could not show his 
 friend the hall, which was perhaps the handsomest 
 and most costly he had ever created. The noblest 
 material — brown porphyry, emerald-green serpen- 
 tine, and the dark varieties of marble — had been 
 used, and the mosaic and brass doors, which were 
 nearing completion, were masterpieces of Alexan- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 87 
 
 drian art. To have all this destroyed was a ter- 
 rible thought, but even more unbearable was 
 that of its object — to receive the body of the 
 Queen. 
 
 Again rapturous admiration of this greatest 
 and noblest of women led Gorgias to enthusiastic 
 rhapsodies, until Dion exercised his office of so- 
 berer, and Barine asked tidings of her mother, her 
 grandparents, and her sister. There was nothing 
 but good news to be told. True, the architect had 
 to wage a daily battle with the old philosopher, 
 who termed it an abuse of hospitality to remain so 
 long at his friend's with his whole family ; but thus 
 far Gorgias had won the victory, even against 
 Berenike, who wished to take her father and his 
 household to her own home. 
 
 Cleopatra had purchased the house and garden 
 of Didymus at thrice their value, the architect 
 added. He was now a wealthy man, and had com- 
 missioned him to build a new mansion. The land 
 facing the sea and near the museum had been 
 found, but the handsome residence would not be 
 completed until summer. The dry Egyptian air 
 would have permitted him to roof it sooner, but 
 there were many of Helena's wishes — most of them 
 very sensible ones — to be executed. 
 
 Barine and Dion glanced significantly at each 
 other ; but the architect, perceiving it, exclaimed : 
 **Your mute language is intelligible enough, and I 
 confess that for five months Helena has seemed to 
 
1 88 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 me the most attractive of maidens. I see, too, 
 that she has some regard for me. But as soon as 
 I stand before her — the Queen, I mean — and hear 
 her voice, it seems as if a tempest swept away every 
 thought of Helena, and it is not in my nature to 
 deceive any one. How can I woo a girl whom I so 
 deeply honour — your sister, Barine — when the im- 
 age of another rules my soul ? " 
 
 Dion reminded him of his own words that the 
 Queen was loved only as a goddess and, without 
 waiting for his reply, turned the conversation to 
 other topics. 
 
 It was three hours after midnight when Pyrrhus 
 warned Gorgias that it was time for departure. 
 When the fisherman's fleetest boat was at last 
 bearing him back to the city he wondered whether 
 girls who, before marriage, lived like Helena in 
 undisturbed seclusion, would really be better wives 
 and more content with every lot than the much- 
 courted Barine, whom Dion had led from the gay- 
 est whirl of life in the capital to the most desolate 
 solitude. 
 
 This delightful evening was followed by a day 
 of excitement and grave anxiety. It had been 
 necessary to conceal the young couple from the 
 collector's officials, who took from Pyrrhus part of 
 his last year's savings, and the large new boat 
 which he used to go out on the open sea. The 
 preparations for war required large sums; all ves- 
 sels suitable for the purpose were seized for the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 89 
 
 fleet, and all residents of the city and country 
 shared the same fate as Pyrrhus. 
 
 Even the temple treasures were confiscated, and 
 yet no one could help saying to himself that the 
 vast sums which, through these pitiless extortions, 
 flowed into the treasury, were used for the pleas- 
 ures of the court as well as for the equipment of 
 the fleet and the army. 
 
 Yet so great was the people's love for the 
 Queen, so high their regard for the independence 
 of Egypt, so bitter their hate of Rome, that there 
 was no rebellion. 
 
 How earnestly Cleopatra, amid all the extrava- 
 gant revels, from which she could not too fre- 
 quently absent herself, toiled to advance the mili- 
 tary preparations, could be seen even by the exiles 
 from their cliff ; for work in two dock-yards was 
 continued day and night, and the harbour was 
 filled with vessels. Ships of war were continually 
 moving to and fro, and from the Serpent Island 
 they witnessed constantly, often by starlight, the 
 drilling of the oarsmen and of whole squadrons 
 upon the open sea. Sometimes a magnificent 
 state galley appeared, on whose deck was Antony, 
 who inspected the hastily equipped fleet to make 
 the newly recruited sailors one of those kindling 
 speeches in which he was a master hard to surpass. 
 Two sons of Pyrrhus were now numbered in the 
 crews of the recently built war ships. They had 
 been impressed into the service in April, and 
 33 
 
igo 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 though Dion had placed a large sum at their 
 father's disposal to secure their release, the at- 
 tempt was unsuccessful. 
 
 So there had been sorrow and tears in the con- 
 tented little colony of human beings on the lonely- 
 cliff, and when Dionysus and Dionichos had a 
 day's leave of absence to visit their relatives, they 
 complained of the cruel haste with which the young 
 men were drilled and wearied to exhaustion, and 
 spoke of the sons of citizens and peasants who had 
 been dragged from their villages, their parents, and 
 their business to be trained for seamen. There 
 was great indignation among them, and they lis- 
 tened only too readily to the agitators who whis- 
 pered how much better they would have fared on 
 the galleys of Octavianus. 
 
 Pyrrhus entreated his sons not to join any 
 attempt at mutiny ; the women, on the contrary, 
 would have approved anything which promised to 
 release the youths from their severe service, and 
 their bright cheerfulness was transformed into 
 anxious depression. Barine, too, was no longer 
 the same. She had lost her joyous activity, her 
 eyes were often wet with tears, and she moved with 
 drooping head as if some heavy care oppressed 
 her. 
 
 Was it the heat of April, with its desert winds, 
 which had brought the transformation ? Had long- 
 ing for the changeful, exciting life of former days 
 at last overpowered her ? Was solitude becoming 
 
CLEOPATRA. I9I 
 
 unendurable ? Was her husband's love no longer 
 sufficient to replace the many pleasures she had 
 sacrificed ? — No ! It could not be that ; never had 
 she gazed with more devoted tenderness into 
 Dion's face than when entirely alone with him in 
 shady nooks. She who in such hours looked the 
 very embodiment of happiness and contentment, 
 certainly was neither ill nor sorrowful. 
 
 Dion, on the contrary, held his head high early 
 and late, and appeared as proud and self-conscious 
 as though life was showing him its fairest face. Yet 
 he had heard that his estates had been seques- 
 trated, and that he owed it solely to the influence of 
 Archibius and his uncle, that his property, like that 
 of so many others, had not been added to the royal 
 treasures. But what disaster could he not have 
 speedily vanquished in these days ? 
 
 A great joy — the greatest which the immortals 
 can bestow upon human beings — was dawning for 
 him and his young wife, and in May the women on 
 the island shared her blissful hope. 
 
 Pyrrhus brought from the city an altar and a 
 marble statue of Ilythyia, the Goddess of Birth, 
 called by the Romans Lucina, which his friend 
 Anukis had given him, in Charmian's name, for the 
 young wife. She had again spoken of the ser- 
 pents which lived in such numbers in the neigh- 
 bouring islands, and her question whether it would 
 be difficult to capture one alive was answered by 
 the freedman in the negative. 
 
192 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The image of the goddess and the altar were 
 erected beside the other sanctuaries, and how often 
 the stone was anointed by Barine'and the women 
 of the fisherman's family ! 
 
 Dion vowed to the goddess a beautiful temple 
 on the cliff and in the city if she would be gracious 
 to his beloved young wife. 
 
 When, in June, the noonday sun blazed most 
 fiercely, the fisherman brought to the cliff Helena, 
 Barine's sister, and Chloris, Dion's nurse, who had 
 been a faithful assistant of his mother, and after- 
 wards managed the female slaves of the house- 
 hold. 
 
 How joyously and gratefully Barine held out 
 her arms to her sister ! Her mother had been pre- 
 veited from coming only by the warning that her 
 disappearance would surely attract the attention of 
 the spies. And the latter were very alert ; for 
 Mark Antony had not yet given up the pursuit of 
 the singer, nor had the attorney Philostratus re- 
 called the proclamation offering two talents for 
 the capture of Dion, and both the latter's palace 
 and Berenike's house were constantly watched. 
 
 It seemed more difficult for the quiet Helena to 
 accommodate herself to this solitude than for her 
 gayer-natured sister. Plainly as she showed her 
 love for Barine, she often lapsed into reverie, and 
 every evening she went to the southern side of the 
 cliff and gazed towards the city, where her grand- 
 parents doubtless sorely missed her, spite of the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 193 
 
 careful attention bestowed upon them in Gorgias*s 
 house. 
 
 Eight days had passed since her arrival, and 
 life in this wilderness seemed more distasteful than 
 on the first and the second ; the longing for her 
 grandparents, too, appeared to increase ; for that 
 day she had gone to the shore, even under the 
 burning rays of the noonday sun, to gaze towards 
 the city. 
 
 How dearly she loved the old people ! 
 
 But Dion's conjecture that the tears sparkling 
 in Helena's eyes when she entered their room at 
 .dusk were connected with another resident of the 
 capital, spite of his wife's indignant denial, ap- 
 peared to be correct ; for, a short time after, clear 
 voices were heard in front of the house, and when 
 a deep, hearty laugh rang out, Dion started up, ex- 
 claiming, " Gorgias never laughs in that way, ex- 
 cept when he has had some unusual piece of good 
 fortune ! " 
 
 He hurried out as he spoke, and gazed around ; 
 but, notwithstanding the bright moonlight, he could 
 see nothing except Father Pyrrhusonhis way back 
 to the anchorage. 
 
 But Dion's ears were keen, and he fancied he 
 heard subdued voices on the other side of the 
 dwelling. He followed the sound without delay 
 and, when he turned the corner of the building, 
 stopped short in astonishment, exclaiming as a lov/ 
 cry rose close before him : 
 
194 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 "Good-evening, Gorgias ! I'll see you later. 
 I won't interrupt you.'* 
 
 A few rapid steps took him back to Barine, and 
 as he whispered, '^ I saw Helena out in the moon- 
 light, soothing her longing for her grandparents 
 in Gorgias's arms," she clapped her hands and 
 said, smiling: 
 
 ** That's the way one loses good manners in this 
 solitude. To disturb the first meeting of a pair 
 of lovers ! But Gorgias treated us in the same 
 way in Alexandria, so he is now paid in his own 
 coin." 
 
 The architect soon entered the room, with 
 Helena leaning on his arm. Hour by hour he had 
 missed her more and more painfully, and on the 
 eighth day found it impossible to endure life's bur- 
 den longer without her. He now protested that 
 he could approach her mother and grandparents as 
 a suitor with a clear conscience; for on the third 
 day after Helena's departure the relation between 
 him and the Queen had changed. In Cleopatra's 
 presence the image of the granddaughter of Didy- 
 mus became even more vivid than that of the peer- 
 less sovereign had formerly been in Helena's. 
 Outside of the pages of poetry he had never ex- 
 perienced longing like that which had tortured him 
 during the past few days. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 This time the architect could spend only a few 
 hours on the Serpent Island, for affairs in the city- 
 were beginning to wear a very serious aspect, and 
 the building of the monument was pushed forward 
 even during the night. The interior of the first 
 story was nearly completed and the rough portion 
 of the second was progressing. The mosaic work- 
 ers, who were making the floor of the great hall, 
 had surpassed themselves. It was impossible to 
 wait longer for the sculptures which were to adorn 
 the walls. At present slabs of polished black mar- 
 ble were to occupy the places mtended for bronze 
 reliefs ; the utmost haste was necessary. 
 
 Octavianus had already reached Pelusium ; even 
 if Seleukus, the commander of the garrison, held 
 the strong fortress a long time, a part of the hos- 
 tile army might appear before Alexandria the fol- 
 lowing week. 
 
 A considerable force, however, was ready to 
 meet him. The fleet seemed equal to that of the 
 enemy ; the horsemen whom Antony had led before 
 the Queen would delight the eye of any one versed 
 
196 CLEOPATRA. ^ 
 
 in military affairs ; and the Imperator hoped much 
 from the veterans who had served under him in 
 former times, learned to know his generosity and 
 open hand in the hour of prosperity, and probably 
 had scarcely forgotten the eventful days when he 
 had cheerfully and gaily shared their perils and 
 privations. 
 
 Helena remained on the cliff, and her longing 
 for the old couple had materially diminished. Her 
 hands moved nimbly, and her cheerful glance 
 showed that the lonely life on the island was be- 
 ginning to unfold its charms to her. 
 
 The young husband, however, had grown very 
 uneasy. He concealed it before the women, but 
 old Pyrrhus often had much difficulty in prevent- 
 ing his making a trip to the city which might 
 imperil, on the eve of the final decision, the result 
 of their long endurance and privation. Dion had 
 often wished to set sail with his wife for a great 
 city in Syria or Greece, but fresh and mighty ob- 
 stacles had deterred him. A special danger lay in 
 the fact that every large vessel was thoroughly 
 searched before it left the harbour, and it was 
 impossible to escape from it without passing 
 through the narrow straits east of the Pharos or 
 the opening in the Heptastadium, both of which 
 were easily guarded. The calm moderation that 
 usually distinguished the young counsellor had 
 been transformed into feverish restlessness, and 
 the heart of his faithful old monitor had also lost 
 
CLEOPATRA. 1 97 
 
 its poise; for an encounter between the fleet in 
 which his sons served and that of Octavianus was 
 speedily expected. 
 
 One day he returned from the city greatly 
 excited. Pelusium was said to have fallen. 
 
 When he ascended the cliff he found everything 
 quiet. No one, not even Dione, came to meet 
 him. 
 
 What had happened here ? 
 
 Had the fugitives been discovered and dragged 
 with his family to the city to be thrown into pris- 
 on, perhaps sent to the stone quarries ? 
 
 Deadly pale, but erect and composed, he walked 
 towards the house. He owed to Dion and his 
 father the greatest blessing in life, liberty, and the 
 foundation of everything else he possessed. But 
 if his fears were verified, if he was bereft of friends 
 and property, even as a lonely beggar he might 
 continue to enjoy his freedom. If, for the sake of 
 those to whom he owed his best possession, he 
 must surrender the rest, it was his duty to bear 
 fate patiently. 
 
 It was still light. 
 
 Even when he had approached very near the 
 house he heard no sound save the joyous barking 
 of his wolf-hound, Argus, which leaped upon him. 
 
 He now laid his hand upon the lock of the 
 door — but it was flung open from the inside. 
 
 Dion had seen him coming and, enraptured by 
 the new happiness with which this day had blessed 
 
198 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 him, he flung himself impetuously on the breast of 
 his faithful friend, exclaiming : " A boy, a splendid 
 boy! We will call him Pyrrhus." - 
 
 Bright tears of joy streamed down the freed- 
 man's face and fell on his grey beard ; and when 
 his wife came towards him with her finger on her 
 lips, he whispered in a tremulous voice : " When I 
 brought them here you were afraid that the city 
 people would drag us into ruin, but nevertheless 
 you received them as they deserved to be, and — 
 he's going to name him Pyrrhus — and now ! — 
 What has a poor fellow like me done to have such 
 great and beautiful blessings fall to my lot ?" 
 
 *' And I — I ? " sobbed his wife. " And the child, 
 the darling little creature ! " 
 
 This day of sunny happiness was followed by 
 others of quiet joy, of the purest pleasure, yet 
 mingled with the deepest anxiety. They also 
 brought many an hour in which Helena found an 
 opportunity to show her prudence, while old 
 Chloris and the fisherman's wife aided her by their 
 experience. 
 
 Every one, down to the greybeard whose name 
 the little one bore, declared that there had never 
 been a lovelier young mother than Barine or a 
 handsomer child than the infant Pyrrhus; but 
 Dion could no longer endure to remain on the 
 cliff. 
 
 A thousand things which he had hitherto 
 deemed insignificant and allowed to pass unheeded 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 199 
 
 now seemed important and imperatively in need 
 of iiis personal attention. He was a father, and 
 any negligence might be harmful to his son. 
 
 With his bronzed complexion and long hair 
 and beard he required little aid to disguise him 
 from his friends. In the garments shabby by long 
 use, and with his delicate hands calloused by work 
 in the dock-yard, any one would have taken him 
 for a real fisherman. 
 
 Perhaps it was foolish, but the desire to show 
 himself in the character of a father to Barine's 
 mother and grandparents and to Gorgias seemed 
 worth risking a slight danger ; so, without inform- 
 ing Barine, who was now able to walk about her 
 room, he set out for the city after sunset on the 
 last day of July. 
 
 He knew that Octavianus was encamped in the 
 Hippodrome east of Alexandria. The white mounds 
 which had risen there had been recognized as tents, 
 even from the Serpent Island. Pyrrhus had re- 
 turned in the afternoon with tidings that Antony's 
 mounted troops had defeated those of Octavianus. 
 This time the news of victory could be trusted, 
 for the palace at Lochias was illuminated for a 
 festival and when Dion landed there was a great 
 bustle on the quay. One shouted to another that 
 all would be well. Mark Antony was his old self 
 again. He had fought like a hero. 
 
 Many who yesterday had cursed him, to-day 
 mingled their voices in the shouts of ^' Evoe ! " which 
 
200 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 rang out for the new Dionysus, who had again 
 proved his claim to godship. 
 
 The late visitor found the grandparents alone 
 in the house of Gorgias. They had been informed 
 of Barine's new happiness long before. Now they 
 rejoiced with Dion, and wanted to send at once for 
 their host and future son-in-law, who was in the 
 city attending a meeting of the Ephebi, although 
 he had ceased some time ago to be a member of 
 their company. But Dion wished to greet him 
 among the youths who had invited the architect 
 to give them his aid in deciding the question of 
 the course they were to pursue in the impending 
 battle. 
 
 Yet he did not leave the old couple immediate- 
 ly ; he was expecting two visitors — Barine's mother 
 and Charmian's Nubian maid who, since the birth 
 of little Pyrrhus, had come to the philosopher's 
 every evening. The former's errand was to ask 
 whether any news of the mother and child had been 
 received during the day ; the latter, to get the let- 
 ters which she delivered the next morning at the 
 fish-market to her friend Pyrrhus or his sons. 
 
 Anukis was the first to appear. She relieved 
 her sympathizing heart by a brief expression of 
 congratulations ; but, gladly as she would have 
 listened to the most minute details concerning the 
 beloved young mother from the lips of Dion him- 
 self, she repressed her own wishes for her mistress's 
 sake, and returned to Charmian as quickly as pos- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 20I 
 
 sible to inform her of the arrival of the unexpected 
 guest. 
 
 Berenike bore her new dignity of grandmother 
 with grateful joy, yet to-night she came oppressed 
 by a grave anxiety, which was not solely due to her 
 power of imagining gloomy events. Her brother 
 Arius and his sons were concealed in the house of 
 a friend, for they seemed threatened by a serious 
 peril. Hitherto Antony had generously borne the 
 philosopher no ill-will on the score of his intimate 
 relations with Octavianus; but now that Octavianus 
 was encamped outside the city, the house of the 
 man who, during the latter*s years of education, had 
 been his mentor and counsellor, and later a greatly 
 valued friend, was watched, by Mardion's orders, 
 by the Scythian guard. He and his family were 
 forbidden to enter the city, and his escape to his 
 friend had been effected under cover of the dark- 
 ness and with great danger. 
 
 The anxious woman feared the worst for her 
 brother if Mark Antony should conquer, and yet, 
 with her whole heart, she wished the Queen to gain 
 the victory. She, who always feared the worst, 
 saw in imagination the fortunes of war change — 
 and there was reason for the belief. The bold gen- 
 eral who had gained so many victories, and whom 
 the defeat of Actium had only humbled, was said 
 to have regained his former elasticity. He had 
 dashed forward at the head of his men with the 
 heroic courage of former days — nay, with reckless 
 
202 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 impetuosity. Rumour reported that, with the huge 
 sword he wielded, he had dealt from his powerful 
 charger blows as terrible as those inflicted five-and- 
 twenty years before when, not far from the same 
 spot, he struck Archelaus on the head. The state- 
 ment that, in his golden armour, with the gold hel- 
 met framing his bearded face, he resembled his an- 
 cestor Herakles, was confirmed by Charmian, who 
 had been borne quickly hither by a pair of the 
 Queen's swift horses. Cleopatra might need her 
 soon, yet she had left the Lochias to question the 
 father about many things concerning the young 
 mother and her boy, who was already dear to her 
 as the first grandson of the man whose suit, it is 
 true, she had rejected, but to whom she owed the 
 delicious consciousness of having loved and been 
 loved in the springtime of life. 
 
 Dion found her changed. The trying months 
 which she had described in her letters to Barine 
 had completely blanched her grey hair, her cheeks 
 were sunken, and a deep line between her mouth 
 and nose gave her pleasant face a sorrowful ex- 
 pression. Besides, she seemed to have been weep- 
 ing and, in fact, heart-rending events had just oc- 
 curred. 
 
 She had stolen away from Lochias in the midst 
 of a revel. 
 
 Antony's victory was being celebrated. He 
 himself presided at the banquet. Again his head 
 and breast were wreathed with a wealth of fresh 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 203 
 
 leaves and superb flowers. At his side reclined 
 Cleopatra, robed in light-blue garments adorned 
 with lotus-flowers which, like the little coronet 
 on her head, glittered with sapphires and pearls. 
 Charmian said she had rarely looked more beauti- 
 ful. But she did not add that the Queen had been 
 obliged to have rouge applied to her pale, bloodless 
 cheeks. 
 
 It was touching to see Antony after his return 
 from the battle, still in his suit of mail, clasp her 
 in his arms as joyously as if he had won her back, 
 a prize of victory, and with his vanished heroic 
 power regained her and their mutual love. Her 
 eyes, too, had been radiant with joy and, in the 
 elation of her heart, she had given the horseman 
 who, for a deed of special daring, was present- 
 ed to her, a helmet and coat of mail of solid 
 gold. 
 
 Yet, even before the revel began, she had been 
 forced to acknowledge to herself that the com- 
 mencement of the end was approaching ; fbr, a few 
 hours after she had so generously rewarded the 
 man, he had deserted to the foe. Then Antony had 
 challenged Octavianus to a duel, and received the 
 unfeeling reply that he would find many roads to 
 death open. 
 
 This was the language of the cold-hearted foe, 
 secure of superior power. How sadly, too, she had 
 been disappointed in the hope that the veterans 
 who had served under Antony would desert their 
 
204 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 new commander at the first summons and flock to 
 his standard ! — for all her husband's efforts in this 
 direction, spite of the bewitching power of his elo- 
 quence, failed, while every hour brought tidings of 
 the treacherous desertion from his army of in- 
 dividual warriors and whole maniples. His foe 
 deemed his cause so weak that he did not even 
 resist Mark Antony's attempts to win the soldiers 
 by promises. 
 
 From all these signs Cleopatra now saw plainly, 
 in her lover's victory, only the last flicker of a dy- 
 ing fire ; but so long as it burned he should see her 
 follow its light. 
 
 Therefore she had entered the festal hall with 
 the victor of the day. She had witnessed a strange 
 festival. It began with tears and reminded Cleo- 
 patra of the saying that she herself resembled a 
 banquet served to celebrate a victory before the 
 battle was won. The cup-bearers had scarcely ad- 
 vanced to the guests with their golden vessels 
 when Antony turned to them, exclaiming : " Pour 
 generously, men ; perhaps to-morrow you will serve 
 another master ! " 
 
 Then, unlike his usual self, he grew thoughtful 
 and murmured under his breath, "And I shall 
 probably be lying outside a corpse, a miserable 
 nothing." 
 
 Loud sobs from the cup-bearers and servants 
 followed these words; but he addressed them 
 calmly, assuring them that he would not take them 
 
CLEOPATRA. 205 
 
 into a battle from which he expected an honour- 
 able death rather than rescue and victory. 
 
 At this Cleopatra's tears flowed also. If this 
 reckless man of pleasure, this notorious spend- 
 thrift and disturber of the public peace, with his 
 insatiate desires, had inspired bitter hostility, few 
 had gained the warm love of so many hearts. One 
 glance at his heroic figure ; one memory of the 
 days when even his foes conceded that he was 
 never greater than in the presence of the most im- 
 minent peril, never more capable of awakening in 
 others the hope of brighter times than amid the 
 sorest privations; one tone of the orator's deep, 
 resonant voice, which so often came from the 
 heart and therefore gained hearts with such resist- 
 less power ; the recollection of numberless instances 
 of the bright cheerfulness of his nature and his 
 boundless generosity sufficiently explained the 
 lamentations which burst forth at that banquet, 
 the tears which flowed — tears of genuine feeling. 
 They were also shed for the beautiful Queen who, 
 unmindful of the spectators, rested her noble brow, 
 with its coronal of pearls, upon his mighty shoulder. 
 
 But the grief did not last long, for Mark Anto- 
 ny, shouted: " Hence with melancholy! We do not 
 need the larva ! * We know, without its aid, that 
 
 * At the banquets of the Egyptians a small figure in the 
 
 shape of a mummy was passed around to remind the guests that 
 
 they, too, would soon be in the same condition, and have no 
 
 more time to enjoy life and its pleasures. The Romans imi- 
 
 34 
 
206 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 pleasure will soon be over ! — Xuthus, a joyous 
 festal song ! — And you, Metrodor, lead the dancers ! 
 The first beaker to the fairest, the -best, the wisest, 
 the most cherished, the most fervently beloved of 
 women ! " As he spoke he waved his goblet aloft, 
 the flute-player, Xuthus, beckoned to the chorus, 
 and the dancer Metrodor, in the guise of a butter- 
 fly, led forth a bevy of beautiful girls, who, in 
 the cloud of ample robes of transparent coloured 
 bombyx which floated around them, executed the 
 most graceful figures and now hovered like mists, 
 now flitted to and fro as if borne on wings, afford- 
 ing the most charming variety to the delighted 
 spectators. 
 
 The " Comrades of Death " had again become 
 companions in pleasure ; and when Charmian, who 
 did not lose sight of her mistress, noticed the sor- 
 rowful quiver of her lips and glided out of the cir- 
 cle of guests, the faithful Nubian had approached 
 to inform her of Dion's arrival. 
 
 Then — but this she concealed from her friends 
 — she hastened to her own apartments to prepare 
 to go out, and when Iras opened the door to enter 
 her rooms she went to speak to her about the night 
 attendance upon the Queen. But her niece had 
 not perceived her ; shaken by convulsive sobs, she 
 
 tated this . custom by sending the larva, a statuette in the form 
 of a skeleton, to make the round of the revellers. The Greek 
 love of beauty converted this ugly scarecrow into a winged 
 genius. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 20/ 
 
 had pressed her face among the cushions of a 
 couch, and there suffered the fierce anguish which 
 had stirred the inmost depths of her being to rave 
 itself out with the full vehemence of her passionate 
 nature. Charmian called her name and, weeping 
 herself, opened her arms to her, and for the first 
 time since her return from Actium her sister's 
 daughter again sank upon her breast, and they 
 held each other in a close embrace until Charmian's 
 exclamation, ^' With her, for her unto death ! " 
 was answered by Iras's " To the tomb ! '* 
 
 This was a word which, in many an hour of the 
 silent night, had stirred the soul of the woman who 
 had been the youthful playmate of the Queen who, 
 with bleeding heart, sat below among the revellers 
 at the noisy banquet and forced her to ask the 
 question : " Is not your fate bound to hers ? What 
 can life offer you without her?" 
 
 Now, this word was spoken by other lips, and, 
 like an echo of Iras's exclamation, came the an- 
 swer : " Unto death, like you, if she precedes us to 
 the other world. Whatever may follow dying, 
 nowhere shall she lack Charmian's hand and 
 heart." 
 
 " Nor the love and service of Iras," was the 
 answering assurance. 
 
 So they had parted, and the agitation of this 
 fateful moment was still visible in the features of 
 the woman who had formerly sacrificed to her royal 
 playfellow her love, and now offered her life. 
 
2o8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 When, ere leaving Gorgias's house, she bade 
 her friend farewell, she pressed Dion's hand with 
 affectionate warmth and, as he accompanied her to 
 the carriage, she informed him that, before the 
 first encounter of the troops, Archibius had taken 
 the royal children to his estate of Irenia, where 
 they were at present. 
 
 " Rarely has it been my fate to experience a 
 more sorrowful hour than when I beheld the 
 Queen, her heart torn with anguish, bid them fare- 
 well. What fate is impending over the dear ones, 
 who are so worthy of the greatest happiness ? To 
 see the twins and little Alexander recognized and 
 saved from death and insult, and your boy in 
 Barine's arms, is the last wish which I still 
 cherish." 
 
 On returning to Lochias, Charmian had a long 
 time to wait ere the Queen retired. She dreaded 
 the mood in which she would leave the banquet. 
 For months past Cleopatra had returned from the 
 revels of the " Comrades of Death " saddened to 
 tears, or in a blaze of indignation. How must 
 this last banquet, which began so mournfully 
 apd continued with such reckless mirth, affect 
 her? 
 
 At last, the second hour after midnight, Cleo- 
 patra appeared. 
 
 Charmian believed that she must be the sport 
 of some delusion, for the Queen's eyes which, 
 when she had left her, were full of tears, now 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 209 
 
 sparkled with the radiant light of joy and, as her 
 friend took the crown from her head, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Why did you depart from the banquet so 
 early ? Perhaps it was the last, but I remember 
 no festival more brilliant. It was like the spring- 
 time of my love. Mark Antony would have 
 touched the heart of a stone statue by that blend- 
 ing of nianly daring and humble devotion which 
 no woman can resist. As in former days, hours 
 shrivelled into moments. We were again young, 
 once more united. We were together here at 
 Lochias to-night, and yet in distant years and 
 other places. The notes of the singers, the melo- 
 dies of the musicians, the figures executed by the 
 dancers, were lost upon us. We soared back, hand 
 in hand, to a magic world, and the fairy drama in 
 the realms of the blessed, which passed before us 
 in dazzling splendour and blissful joy, was the 
 dream which I loved best when a child, and at the 
 same time the happiest portion of the life of the 
 Queen of Egypt. 
 
 " It began before the gate of the garden of 
 Epicurus, and continued on the river Cydnus. I 
 again beheld myself on the golden barge, gar- 
 landed with wreaths of flowers, reclining on the 
 purple couch with roses strewn around me and 
 beneath my jewelled sandals. A gentle breeze 
 swelled the silken sails ; my female companions 
 raised their clear voices in song to the accompa- 
 
2IO CLEOPATRA. 
 
 niment of lutes ; the perfumes floating around us 
 were borne by the wind to the shore, conveying 
 the tidings that the bliss believed by mortals to be 
 reserved for the gods alone was drawing near. 
 And even as his heart and his enraptured senses 
 yielded to my sway, his mind, as he himself con- 
 fessed, was under the thrall of mine. We both 
 felt happy, united by ties which nothing, not even 
 misfortune, could sever. He, the ruler of the 
 world, was conquered, and delighted to obey the 
 behests of the victor, because he felt that she be- 
 fore whom he bowed was his own obedient slave. 
 And no magic goblet effected all this. I breathed 
 more freely, as if relieved from the oppressive de- 
 lusion — the fire had consumed it also — which had 
 burdened my soul until a few hours ago. No 
 magic spell, only the gifts of mind and soul which 
 the vanquished victor, the woman Cleopatra, owed 
 to the favour of the immortals, had compelled his 
 lofty manhood to yield. 
 
 " From the Cydnus he brought me hither to the 
 blissful days which we were permitted to pass in 
 my city of Alexandria. A thousand sunny hours, 
 musical, echoing surges which long since dashed 
 down the stream of Time, he recalled to life, and I 
 — I did the same, and our memories blended into 
 one. What never-to-be-forgotten moments we ex- 
 perienced when, with reckless mirth, we mingled 
 unrecognized among the joyous throng ! What 
 Olympic delight elated our hearts when the plaud- 
 
CLEOPATRA 211 
 
 its of thousands greeted us ! What joys satiated 
 our minds and senses in our own apartments! 
 What pure, unalloyed nectar of the soul was be- 
 stowed upon us by our children — bliss which we 
 shared with and imparted to each other until 
 neither knew which was the giver and which the 
 receiver ! Everything sad and painful seemed to 
 be effaced from the book of memory ; and the 
 child's dream, the fairy-tale woven by the power 
 of imagination, stood before my soul as a reality — 
 the same reality, I repeat, which I call my past 
 life. 
 
 "And, Charmian, if death comes to-morrow, 
 should I say that he appeared too early — summoned 
 me ere he permitted life to bestow all its best gifts 
 upon me ? No, no, and again no ! Whoever, in 
 the last hour of existence, can say that the fairest 
 dreams of childhood were surpassed by a long por- 
 tion of actual life, may consider himself happy, 
 even in the deepest need and on the verge of the 
 grave. 
 
 " The aspiration to be first and highest among 
 the women of her own time, which had already 
 thrilled the young girl's heart, was fulfilled. The 
 ardent longing for love which, even at that period, 
 pervaded my whole being, was satisfied when I be- 
 came a loving wife, mother, and Queen, and friend- 
 ship, through the favour of Destiny, also bestowed 
 upon me its greatest blessings by the hands of 
 Archibius, Charmian, and Iras. 
 
212 . CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Now I care not what may happen. This even- 
 ing taught me that life had fulfilled its pledges. 
 But others, too, must be enabled to remember the 
 most brilliant of queens, who was also the most 
 fervently beloved of women. For this I will pro- 
 vide : the mausoleum which Gorgias is erecting 
 for me will stand like an indestructible wall be- 
 tween the Cleopatra who to-day still proudly wears 
 the crown and her approaching humiliation and 
 disgrace. 
 
 " Now I will go to sleep. If my awakening 
 brings defeat, sorrow, and death, I have no reason 
 to accuse my fate. It denied me one thing only : 
 the painless peace which the child and the young 
 girl recognized as the chief good ; yet Cleopatra 
 will possess that also. The domain of death, which, 
 as the Egyptians say, loves silence, is opening its 
 doors to me. The most absolute peace begins 
 upon its threshold — who knows where it ends ? 
 The vision of the intellect does not extend far 
 enough to discover the boundary where, at the 
 end of eternity — which in truth is endless — it is 
 replaced by something else." 
 
 While speaking, the Queen had motioned to her 
 friend to accompany her into her chamber, from 
 which a door led into the children's room. An ir- 
 resistible impulse constrained her to open it and 
 gaze into the dark, empty apartment. 
 
 She felt an icy chill run through her veins. Tak- 
 ing a light from the hand of one of the maids who 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 213 
 
 attended her, she went to little Alexander's couch. 
 Like the others, it was empty, deserted. Her head 
 sank on her breast, the courageous calmness with 
 which she had surveyed her whole past life failed 
 and, like the luxuriant riot in the sky of the most 
 brilliant hues, ere the glow of sunset suddenly 
 yields to darkness, Cleopatra's soul, after the 
 lofty elation of the last few hours, underwent a 
 sudden transition and, overwhelmed by deep, sor- 
 rowful depression, she threw herself down before 
 the twins' bed, where she lay weeping softly until 
 Charmian, as day began to dawn, urged her to re- 
 tire to rest. Cleopatra slowly rose, dried her eyes, 
 and said : " My past life seemed to me just now 
 like a magnificent garden, but how many serpents 
 suddenly stretched out their flat heads with glit- 
 tering eyes and forked tongues ! Who tore away 
 the flowers beneath which they lay concealed ? I 
 think, Charmian, it was a mysterious power which 
 here, in the children's apartment, rules so strongly 
 the most trivial as well as the strongest emotions, 
 it was — when did I last hear that ominous word ? — 
 it was conscience. Here, in this abode of inno- 
 cence and purity, whatever resembles a spot stands 
 forth distinctly before the eyes. Here, O Char- 
 mian ! — if the children were but here ! If I could 
 only — yet, no, no ! It is fortunate, very fortunate 
 that they have gone. I must be strong; and their 
 sweet grace would rob me of my energy. But the 
 light grows brighter and brighter. Dress me for 
 
214 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 the day. It would be easier for me to sleep in 
 a falling house than with such a tumult in my 
 heart." 
 
 While she was being attired in the dark robes 
 she had ordered, loud shouts arose from the royal 
 harbour below, blended with the blasts of the tuba 
 and other signals directing the movements of the 
 fleet and the army, a large body of troops having 
 been marched during the night to the neighbour- 
 ing hills overlooking the sea. 
 
 The notes sounded bold and warlike. The 
 well-armed galleys presented a stately appearance. 
 How often Cleopatra had seen unexpected events 
 occur, apparent impossibilities become possible! 
 Had not the victory of Octavianus at Actium been 
 a miracle ? What if Fate, like a capricious ruler, 
 now changed from frowns to smiles ? What if 
 Antony proved himself the hero of yesterday, the 
 general he had been in days of yore ? 
 
 She had refused to see him again before the 
 battle, that she might not divert his thoughts from 
 the great task approaching. But now, as she be- 
 held him, clad in glittering armour like the god of 
 war himself, ride before the troops on his fiery 
 Barbary charger, greeting them with the gay salu- 
 tation whose warmth sprung from the heart and 
 which had so often kindled the warriors to glowing 
 enthusiasm, she was forced to do violence to her 
 own feelings to avoid calling him and saying that 
 her thoughts would follow his course. But she 
 
CLEOPATRA. 2 1 5 
 
 refrained, and when his purple cloak vanished 
 from her sight her head drooped again. How- 
 different in former days were the cheers of the 
 troops when he showed himself to them! This 
 lukewarm response to his gay, glad greeting was 
 no omen of victory. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Dion, too, witnessed the departure of the 
 troops. Gorgias, whom he had found among the 
 Ephebi, accompanied him and, like the Queen, they 
 saw, in the cautious manner with which the army 
 greeted the general, a bad omen for the result of 
 the battle. The architect had presented Dion to 
 the youths as the ghost of a dead man, who, as 
 soon as he was asked whence he came or whither 
 he was going, would be compelled to vanish in the 
 form of a fly. He could venture to do this ; he 
 knew the Ephebi — there was no traitor in their 
 ranks. 
 
 Dion, the former head of the society, had been 
 welcomed like a beloved brother risen from the 
 dead, and he had the gratification, after so long a 
 time, of turning the scale as speaker in a debate. 
 True, he had encountered very little opposition, 
 for the resolve to hold aloof from the battle against 
 the Romans had been urged upon the Ephebi by 
 the Queen herself through Antyllus, who, how- 
 ever, had already left the meeting when Dion 
 joined it. It had seemed to Cleopatra a crime to 
 
CLEOPATRA. 21/ 
 
 claim the blood of the noblest sons of the city for 
 a cause which she herself deemed lost. She knew 
 the parents of many, and feared that Octavianus 
 would inflict a terrible punishment upon them if, 
 not being enrolled in the army, they fell into his 
 power with arms in their hands. 
 
 The stars were already setting when the Ephe- 
 bi accompanied their friend, singing in chorus the 
 Hymenseus, which they had been unable to chant 
 on his wedding day. The melody of lutes ac- 
 companied the voices, and this nocturnal music 
 was the source of the rumour that the god Diony- 
 sus, to whom Mark Antony felt specially akin, 
 and in whose form he had so often appeared to 
 the people, had abandoned him amid songs and 
 music. ♦ 
 
 The youths left Dion in front of the Temple of 
 Isis. Gorgias alone remained with him. The ar- 
 chitect led his friend to the Queen's mausoleum 
 near the sanctuary, where men were toiling busily 
 by torchlight. Alight scaffolding still surrounded 
 it, but the lofty first story, containing the real 
 tomb, was completed, and Dion admired the art 
 with which the exterior of the edifice suggested 
 its purpose. Huge blocks of dark-grey granite 
 formed the walls. The broad front — solemn, almost 
 gloomy in aspect — rose, sloping slightly, above the 
 massive lofty door, surmounted by a moulding 
 bearing the winged disk of the sun. On either side 
 were niches containing statues of Antony and 
 
2l8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Cleopatra cast in dark bronze, and above the 
 cornice were brazen figures of Love and Death, 
 Fame and Silence, ennobling the Egyptian forms 
 with exquisite works of Hellenic art. 
 
 The massive door, adorned with brass figures 
 in relief, would have resisted a battering-ram. On 
 the side of the steps leading to it lay Sphinxes of 
 dark-green diorite. Everything connected with 
 this building, dedicated to death, was grave and 
 massive, suggesting by its indestructibility the idea 
 of eternity. 
 
 The second story was not yet finished ; masons 
 and stone-cutters were engaged in covering the 
 strong walls with dark serpentine and black mar- 
 ble. The huge windlass stood ready to raise a 
 masterpiece of Alexandrian art. This was intend- 
 ed for the pediment, and represented Venus Victrix 
 with helmet, shield, and lance, leading a band of 
 winged gods of love, little archers at whose head 
 Eros himself was discharging arrows, and vic- 
 toriously fighting against the three-headed Cer- 
 berus, death, already bleeding from many wounds. 
 
 There was no time to see the interior of the 
 building, for Pyrrhus expected his guest to join 
 him at the harbour at sunrise, and the eastern 
 sky was already brightening with the approach of 
 dawn. 
 
 As the friends reached the landing-place the 
 brass dome of the Serapeum, which towered above 
 everything, was glittering with dazzling splendour. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 219 
 
 The pennons and masts of the fleet which was 
 about to set sail from the harbour seemed steeped 
 in a sea of golden light. Tremulous reflections of 
 the brazen and gilded figures on the prows of the 
 vessels were mirrored in the undulating surface 
 of the sea, and the long shadows of the banks of 
 oars united galley after galley on the surface of 
 the water like the meshes of a net. 
 
 Here the friends parted, and Dion walked down 
 the quay alone to meet the freedman, who must 
 have found it difficult to guide his boat out of this 
 labyrinth of vessels. The inspection of the mau- 
 soleum had detained the young father too long 
 and, though disguised beyond recognition, he re- 
 proached himself for having recklessly incurred a 
 danger whose consequences — he felt this to-day for 
 the first time — would not injure himself alone. 
 The whole fleet was awaiting the signal for de- 
 parture. The vessels which did not belong to it 
 had been obliged to moor in front of the Temple 
 of Poseidon, and all were strictly forbidden to 
 leave the anchorage. 
 
 Pyrrhus's fishing-boat was in the midst, and 
 return to the Serpent Island was impossible at 
 present. 
 
 How vexatious! Barine was ignorant of his 
 trip to the city, and to be compelled to leave her 
 alone while a naval battle was in progress directly 
 before her eyes distressed him as much as it could 
 not fail to alarm her. 
 
220^ CLEOPATRA. 
 
 In fact, the young mother had waited from 
 early dawn with increasing anxiety for her hus- 
 band. As the sun rose higher, and the strokes of 
 the oars propelling two hundred galleys, the shrill 
 whistle of the flutes marking the time, the deep 
 voices of the captains shouting orders, and the 
 blasts of the trumpets filling the air, were heard far 
 and near around the island, she became so over- 
 whelmed with uneasiness that she insisted upon 
 going to the shore, though hitherto she had not 
 been permitted to take the air except under the 
 awning stretched for the purpose on the shady side 
 of the house. 
 
 In vain the women urged her not to let her 
 fears gain the mastery and to have patience. But 
 she would have resisted even force in order to look 
 for him who, with her child, now comprised her 
 world. 
 
 When, leaning on Helena's arm, she reached 
 the shore, no boat was in sight. The sea was cov- 
 ered with ships of war, floating fortresses, moving 
 onward like dragons with a thousand legs whose 
 feet were the countless rowers arranged in three 
 or five sets. Each of the larger galleys was sur- 
 rounded by smaller ones, from most of which 
 darted dazzling flashes of light, for they were 
 crowded with armed men, and from the prows of 
 the strong boarding vessels the sunbeams glittered 
 on the large shining metal points whose office was 
 to pierce the wooden sides of the foe. The gilded 
 
CLEOPATRA. 221 
 
 statues in the prows of the large galleys shone and 
 sparkled in the broad radiance of the day-star, and 
 flashes of light also came from the low hills on the 
 shore. Here Mark Antony's soldiers were sta- 
 tioned, and the sunbeams reflected from the hel- 
 mets, coats of mail, and lance-heads of the infan- 
 try, and the armour of the horsemen quivered with 
 dazzling brilliancy in the hot air of the first day of 
 an Egyptian August. 
 
 Amid this blazing, flashing, and sparkling in the 
 morning air, so steeped in warmth and radiance, the 
 sounds of warlike preparations from the land and 
 fleet constantly grew louder. Barine, exhausted, 
 had just sunk into a chair which Dione, the fisher- 
 man's daughter, had placed in the shade of the 
 highest rock on the northwestern shore of the 
 flat island, when a crashing blast of the tuba sud- 
 denly echoed from all the galleys in the Egyptian 
 fleet, and the whole array of vessels filed past the 
 Pharos at the opening of the harbour into the 
 open sea. 
 
 There the narrow ranks of the wooden giants 
 separated and moved onward in broader lines. 
 This was done quietly and in the same faultless 
 order as a few days before, when a similar ma- 
 noeuvre had been executed under the eyes of Mark 
 Antony. 
 
 The longing for combat seemed to urge them 
 steadily forward. 
 
 The hostile fleet, lying motionless, awaited the 
 35 
 
222 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 attack. But the Egyptian assailants had advanced 
 majestically only a few ships' lengths towards the 
 Roman foe when another signal rent the air. The 
 women whose ears caught the waves of sound said 
 afterwards that it seemed like a cry of agony — it 
 had given the signal for a deed of unequalled 
 treachery. The slaves, criminals, and the basest 
 of the mercenaries on the rowers' benches in the 
 hold had doubtless long listened intently for it, 
 and, when it finally came, the men on the upper 
 benches raised their long oars and held them aloft, 
 which stopped the work of those below, and every 
 galley paused, pointing at the next with the wooden 
 oars outstretched like fingers, as if seized with hor- 
 ror. The celerity and faultless order with which 
 the raising of the oars was executed and vessel 
 after vessel brought to a stand would have been 
 a credit to an honourable captain, but the ma- 
 noeuvre introduced one of the basest acts ever 
 recorded in history ; and the women, who had 
 witnessed many a naumachia and understood its 
 meaning, exclaimed as if with a single voice : 
 " Treachery ! They are going over to the 
 enemy ! " 
 
 Maik Antony's fleet, created for him by Cleo- 
 patra, surrendered, down to the last galley, to 
 Caesar's heir, the victor of Actium; and the man to 
 whom the sailors had vowed allegiance, who had 
 drilled them, and only yesterday had urged them 
 to offer a gallant resistance, saw from one of the 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 223 
 
 downs on the shore the strong weapons on which 
 he had based the fairest hopes, not shattered, but 
 delivered into the hands of the enemy ! 
 
 The surrender of the fleet to the foe — he knew 
 it — sealed his destruction ; and the women on the 
 shore of the Serpent Island, who were so closely 
 connected with those on whom this misfortune 
 fell, suspected the same thing. The hearts of both 
 were stirred, and their^eyes grew dim with tears of 
 indignation and sorrow. They were Alexandrians, 
 and did not desire to be ruled by Rome. 
 
 Cleopatra, daughter of the Macedonian house 
 of the Ptolemies, had the sole right to govern the 
 city of her ancestors, founded by the great Mace- 
 donian. The sorrow they had themselves endured 
 through her sank into insignificance beside the tre- 
 mendous blow of Fate which in this hour reached 
 the Queen. 
 
 The Roman and Egyptian fleet returned to the 
 harbour as one vast squadron under the same com- 
 mander, and anchored in the roadstead of the city, 
 which was now its precious booty. 
 
 Barine had seen enough, and returned to the 
 house with drooping head. Her heart was heavy, 
 and her anxiety for the man she loved hourly in- 
 creased. 
 
 It seemed as if the very day-star shrank from 
 illuminating so infamous a deed with friendly 
 light ; for the dazzling, searching sun of the first 
 of August veiled its radiant face with a greyish- 
 
224 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 white mist, and the desecrated sea wrinkled its 
 brow, changed its pure azure robe to yellowish 
 grey and blackish green, while the white foam 
 hissed on the crests of the angry waves. 
 
 As twilight began to approach, the anxiety of 
 the deserted wife became unendurable. Not only 
 Helena's wise words of caution, but the sight of 
 her child, failed to exert their usual influence; and 
 Barine had already summoned the son of Pyrrhus 
 to persuade him to take her in his boat to the city, 
 when Dione saw a boat approaching the Serpent 
 Island from the direction of the sea. 
 
 A short time after, Dion sprang on shore and 
 kissed from his young wife's lips the reproaches 
 with which she greeted him. 
 
 He had heard of the treachery of the fleet 
 while entering a hired boat with the freedman in 
 the harbour of Eunostus, Pyrrhus's having been 
 detained with the other craft before the Temple 
 of Poseidon. 
 
 The experienced pilot had been obliged to steer 
 the boat in a wider curve against the wind through 
 the open sea, and was delayed a long time by a 
 number of the war vessels of the fleet. 
 
 Danger and separation were now passed, and 
 they rejoiced in the happiness of meeting, yet 
 could not feel genuine joy. Their souls were op- 
 pressed by anxiety concerning the fate of the 
 Queen and their native city. 
 
 As night closed in the dogs barked violently, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 225 
 
 and they heard loud voices on the shore. Dion, 
 with a presentiment that misfortune was threat- 
 ening himself and his dear ones, obeyed the 
 summons. 
 
 No star illumined the darkness. Only the wa- 
 vering light of a lantern on the strand and another 
 on the nearest island illumined the immediate vicin- 
 ity, while southward the lights in the city shone as 
 brightly as ever. 
 
 Pyrrhus and his youngest son were just push- 
 ing a boat into the water to release from the sands 
 another which had run aground in a shallow near 
 the neighbouring island. 
 
 Dion sprang in with them, and soon recog- 
 nized in the hail the voice of the architect 
 Gorgias. 
 
 The young father shouted a joyous greeting to 
 his friend, but there was no reply. 
 
 Soon after, Pyrrhus landed his belated guest on 
 the shore. He had escaped — as the fisherman ex- 
 plained — a great danger ; for had he gone to the 
 other island, which swarmed with venomous ser- 
 pents, he might easily have fallen a victim to the 
 bite of one of the reptiles. 
 
 Gorgias grasped Dion's hand but, in reply to 
 his gay invitation to accompany him to the house 
 at once, he begged him to listen to his story before 
 joining the ladies. 
 
 Dion was startled. He knew his friend. When 
 his deep voice had such a tone of gloomy discour- 
 
226 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 agement, and his head drooped so mournfully, some 
 terrible event had befallen him. 
 
 His foreboding had been correct. The first 
 tidings pierced his own soul deeply. 
 
 He was not surprised to learn that the Romans 
 ruled Alexandria ; but a small band of the con- 
 querors, who had been ordered to conduct them- 
 selves as if they were in a friendly country, had 
 forced their way into the architect's large house to 
 occupy the quarters assigned to them. The deaf 
 grandmother of Helena and Barine, who had but 
 half comprehended what threatened the citizens, 
 terrified by the noisy entrance of the soldiers, had 
 had another attack of apoplexy, and closed her 
 eyes in death before Gorgias set out for the 
 island. 
 
 But it was not only this sad event, which must 
 grieve the hearts of the two sisters, that had 
 brought the architect in a stranger's boat to the 
 Serpent Island at so late an hour. His soul was 
 so agitated by the horrible incidents of the day 
 that he needed to seek consolation among those 
 from whom he was sure to find sympathy. 
 
 Nor was it wholly the terrible things Fate had 
 compelled him to witness which induced him to 
 venture out upon the sea so recklessly, but still 
 more the desire to bring to the fugitives the happy 
 news that they might return with safety to their 
 native city. 
 
 Deeply agitated — nay, confused and overpow- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 227 
 
 ered by all he had seen and experienced — the 
 architect, usually so clear and, with all his mental 
 vivacity, so circumspect, began his story. A re- 
 monstrance from Dion induced him to collect his 
 thoughts and describe events in the order in which 
 they had befallen him. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 After accompanying Dion to the harbour, the 
 architect had gone to the Forum to converse with 
 the men he met there, and learn what they feared 
 and expected in regard to the future fate of the 
 city. 
 
 All news reached this meeting-place first, and 
 he found a large number of Macedonian citizens 
 who, like himself, wished to discuss passing events 
 in these decisive hours. 
 
 The scene was very animated, for the most con- 
 tradictory messages were constantly arriving from 
 the fleet and the army. 
 
 At first they were very favourable ; then came 
 the news of the treason, and soon after of the de- 
 sertion of the cavalry and foot soldiers. 
 
 A distinguished citizen had seen Mark Antony, 
 accompanied by several friends, dashing down the 
 quay. The goal of their flight was the little palace 
 on the Choma. 
 
 Grave men, whose opinion met with little op- 
 position, thought that it was the duty of the Im- 
 perator — now that Fate had decided against him, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 229 
 
 and nothing remained save a life sullied by dis- 
 grace — to put himself to death with his own hand, 
 like Brutus and so many other noble Romans. 
 Tidings soon came that he had attempted to do 
 what the best citizens expected. 
 
 Gorgias could not endure to remain longer in 
 the Forum, but hastened to the Choma, though it 
 was difficult to force his way to the wall, where a 
 breach had been made. He had found the portion 
 of the shore from which the promontory ran densely 
 crowded with people — from whom he learned that 
 Antony was no longer in the palace — and the sea 
 filled with boats. 
 
 A corpse was just being borne out of the little 
 palace on the Street of the King and, among those 
 who followed, Gorgias recognized one of Antony's 
 slaves. The man's eyes were red with weeping. 
 He readily obeyed the architect's sign and, sob- 
 bing bitterly, told him that the hapless general, 
 after his army had betrayed him, fled hither. 
 When he heard in the palace that Cleopatra had 
 preceded him to Hades, he ordered his body- 
 slave Eros to put an end to his life also. The 
 worthy man drew back, pierced his own breast with 
 his sword, and sank dying at his master's feet ; but 
 Antony, exclaiming that Eros's example had taught 
 him his duty, thrust the short sword into his breast 
 with his own hand. Yet deep and severe as was 
 the wound, it did not destroy the tremendous 
 vitality of the gigantic Roman. With touching 
 
230 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 entreaties he implored the bystanders to kill him, 
 but no one could bring himself to commit the deed. 
 Meanwhile Cleopatra's name, cpupled with the 
 wish to follow her, was constantly on the lips of 
 the Imperator. 
 
 At last Diomedes, the Queen's private secre- 
 tary, appeared, to bring him, by her orders, to the 
 mausoleum where she had taken refuge. 
 
 Antony, as if animated with fresh vigour, as- 
 sented, and while being carried thither gave orders 
 that Eros should have a worthy burial. Even 
 though dying, it would have been impossible for 
 the most generous of masters to permit any kind- 
 ness rendered to pass unrequited. 
 
 The slave again wept aloud as he uttered the 
 words, but Gorgias hastened at once to the tomb. 
 
 The nearest way, the Street of the King, had 
 become so crowded with people who had been 
 forced back by Roman soldiers, between the The- 
 atre of Dionysus and the Corner of the Muses, 
 that he had been compelled to reach the building 
 through a side street. 
 
 The quay was already unrecognizable, and even 
 in the other streets the populace showed a foreign 
 aspect. Instead of peaceful citizens, Roman sol- 
 diers in full armour were met everywhere. Instead 
 of Greek, Egyptian, and Syrian faces, fair and dark 
 visages of alien appearance were seen. 
 
 The city seemed transformed into a camp. 
 Here he met a cohort of fair-haired Germans ; 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 231 
 
 yonder another with locks of red whose home he 
 did not know ; and again a vexil of Numidian or 
 Pannonian horsemen. 
 
 At the Temple of the Dioscuri he was stopped. 
 A Hispanian maniple had just seized Antony's 
 son Antyllus and, after a hasty court-martial, killed 
 him. His tutor, Theodotus, had betrayed him to 
 the Romans, but the infamous fellow was being led 
 with bound hands after the corpse of the hapless 
 youth, because he was caught in the act of hiding 
 in his girdle a costly jewel which he had taken 
 from his neck. Before his departure for the island 
 Gorgias heard that the scoundrel had been sen- 
 tenced to crucifixion. 
 
 At last he succeeded in forcing a passage to the 
 tomb, which he found surrounded on all sides by 
 Roman lictors and the Scythian guards of the city, 
 who, however, permitted him, as the architect, to 
 pass. 
 
 The numerous obstacles by which he had been 
 delayed spared him from becoming an eye-witness 
 of the most terrible scenes of the tragedy which 
 had just ended ; but he received a minute descrip- 
 tion from the Queen's private secretary, a well- 
 disposed Macedonian, who had accompanied the 
 wounded Antony, and with whom Gorgias had be- 
 come intimately acquainted during the building of 
 the mausoleum. 
 
 Cleopatra had fled to the tomb as soon as the 
 fortune of war turned in favour of Octavianus. No 
 
232 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 one was permitted to accompany her except Char- 
 mian and Iras, who had helped her close the heavy- 
 brazen door of the massive building. The false 
 report of her death, which had induced Antony 
 to put an end to his life, had perhaps arisen from 
 the fact that the Queen was literally in the tomb. 
 
 When, borne in the arms of his faithful servants, 
 he reached the mausoleum, mortally wounded, the 
 Queen and her attendants vainly endeavoured to 
 open the heavy brazen portal. But Cleopatra ar- 
 dently longed to see her dying lover. She wished 
 to have him near to render the last services, assure 
 him once more of her devotion, close his eyes, and, 
 if it was so ordered, die with him. 
 
 So she and her attendants had searched the 
 place, and when Iras spoke of the windlass which 
 stood on the scaffold to raise the heavy brass plate 
 bearing the bas-relief of Love conquering Death, 
 the Queen and her friends hastened up the stairs, 
 the bearer below fastened the wounded ma^ to 
 the rope, and Cleopatra herself stood at the wind- 
 lass to raise him, aided by her faithful compan- 
 ions. 
 
 Diomedes averred that he had never beheld a 
 more piteous spectacle than the gigantic man hov- 
 ering between heaven and earth in the agonies of 
 death and, while suffering the most terrible torture, 
 extending his arms longingly towards the woman he 
 loved. Though scarcely able to speak, he tenderly 
 called her name, but she made no reply ; like Iras 
 
CLEOPATRA. 233 
 
 and Charmian, she was exerting her whole strength 
 at the windlass in the most passionate effort to 
 raise him. The rope running over the pulley cut 
 her tender hands ; her beautiful face was terribly 
 distorted ; but she did not pause until they had 
 succeeded in lifting the burden of the dying man 
 higher and higher till he reached the floor of the 
 s'caffolding. The frantic exertion by which the 
 three women had succeeded in accomplishing an 
 act far beyond their strength, though it was doubled 
 by the power of the most earnest will and ardent 
 longing, would nevertheless have failed in attaining 
 its object had not Diomedes, at the last moment, 
 come to their assistance. He was a strong man, 
 and by his aid the dying Roman was seized, drawn 
 upon the scaffolding, and carried down the staircase 
 to the tomb in the first story. 
 
 When the wounded general had been laid on 
 one of the couches with which the great hall was 
 already furnished, the private secretary retired, but 
 remained on the staircase, an unnoticed spectator, 
 in order to be at hand in case the Queen again 
 needed his assistance. Flushed from the terrible 
 exertion which she had just made, with tangled, 
 dishevelled locks, gasping and moaning, Cleopatra, 
 as if out of her senses, tore open her robe, beat 
 her breast, and lacerated it with her nails. Then, 
 pressing her own beautiful face on her lover's 
 wound to stanch the flowing blood, she lavished 
 upon him all the endearing names which she had 
 
234 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 bestowed on the dying man in the springtime of 
 their love. 
 
 His terrible suffering made her forget her own 
 and the sad fate impending. Tears of pity fell 
 like the refreshing drops of a shower upon the still 
 unwithered blossoms of their love, and brought 
 those which, during the preceding night, had re- 
 vived anew, to their last magnificent unfolding. 
 
 Boundless, limitless as her former passion for 
 this man, was now the grief with which his agoniz- 
 ing death filled her heart. 
 
 All that Mark Antony had been to her in the 
 heyday of life, all their mutual experiences, all 
 that each had received from the other, had re- 
 turned to her memory in clear and vivid hues dur- 
 ing the banquet which had closed a few hours ago. 
 Now these scenes, condensed into a narrow com- 
 pass, again passed before her mental vision, but 
 only to reveal more distinctly the depth of misery 
 of this hour. At last anguish forced even the 
 clearest memories into oblivion : she saw nothing 
 save the tortures of her lover ; her brain, still 
 active, revealed solely the gulf at her feet, and the 
 tomb which yawned not only for Antony, but for 
 herself. 
 
 Unable to. think of the happiness enjoyed in 
 the past or to hope for it in the future, she gave 
 herself up to uncontrolled despair, and no woman 
 of the people could have yielded more absolutely 
 to the consuming grief which rent her heart, or ex- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 235 
 
 pressed it in wilder, more frantic language, than 
 did this great Queen, this woman who as a child 
 had been so sensitive to the slightest suffering, and 
 whose after-life had certainly not taught her to 
 bear sorrow with patience. After Charmian, at 
 the dying man's request, had given him some wine, 
 he found strength to speak coherently, instead of 
 moaning and sighing. 
 
 He tenderly urged Cleopatra to secure her own 
 safety, if it could be done without dishonour, and 
 mentioned Proculejus as the man most worthy of 
 her confidence among the friends of Octavianus. 
 Then he entreated her not to mourn for him, but 
 to consider him happy; for he had enjoyed the 
 richest favours of Fortune. He owed his brightest 
 hours to her love; but he had also been the first 
 and most powerful man on earth. Now he was 
 dying in the arms of Love, honourable as a Roman 
 who succumbed to Romans. 
 
 In this conviction he died after a short strug- 
 gle. 
 
 Cleopatra had watched his last breath, closed 
 his eyes, and then thrown herself tearlessly on her 
 lover's body. At last she fainted, and lay uncon- 
 scious with her head upon his marble breast. 
 
 The private secretary had witnessed all this, 
 and then returned with tearful eyes to the second 
 story. There he met Gorgias, who had climbed 
 the scaffolding, and told him what he had seen and 
 heard from the stairs. But his story was scarcely 
 
236 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ended when a carriage stopped at the Corner of 
 the Muses and an aristocratic Roman alighted. 
 
 This was the very Proculejus whom the dying 
 Antony had recommended to the woman he loved 
 as worthy of her confidence. 
 
 ** In fact," Gojgias continued, '' he seemed in 
 form and features one of the noblest of his haughty 
 race. He came commissioned by Octavianus, and 
 is said to be warmly devoted to the Caesar, and a 
 well-disposed man. We have also heard him men- 
 tioned as a poet and a brother-in-law of Maecenas. 
 A wealthy aristocrat, he is a generous patron of 
 literature, and also holds art and science in high 
 esteem. Timagenes lauds his culture and noble 
 nature. Perhaps the historian was right; but 
 where the object in question is the state and its ad- 
 vantage, what we here regard as worthy of a free 
 man appears to be considered of little moment at 
 the court of Octavianus. The lord to whom he 
 gives his services intrusted him with a difficult 
 task, and Proculejus doubtless considered it his 
 duty to make every effort to perform it — and 
 
 yet If I see aright, a day will come when he 
 
 will curse this, and the obedience with which he, 
 a free man, aided Caesar But listen. 
 
 " Erect and haughty in his splendid suit of 
 armour, he knocked at the door of the tomb. 
 Cleopatra had regained consciousness and asked — 
 she must have known him in Rome — what he de- 
 sired. 
 
CLEOPATRA. , 237 
 
 " He had come, he answered courteously, by 
 the command of Octavianus, to negotiate with her, 
 and the Queen expressed her willingness to listen, 
 but refused to admit him into the mausoleum. 
 
 " So they talked with each other through the 
 door. With dignified composure, she asked to have 
 the sons whom she had given to Antony — not Cae- 
 sarion — acknowledged as Kings of Egypt. 
 
 "Proculejus instantly promised to convey her 
 wishes to Caesar, and gave hopes of their fulfil- 
 ment. 
 
 " While she was speaking of the children and 
 their claims — she did not mention her own future 
 — the Roman questioned her about Mark Antony's 
 death, and then described the destruction of the 
 dead man's army and other matters of trivial im- 
 portance. Proculejus did not look like a babbler, 
 but I felt a suspicion that he was intentionally 
 trying to hold the attention of the Queen. This 
 proved to be his design ; he had been merely wait- 
 ing for Cornelius Gallus, the commander of the 
 fleet, of whom you have heard. He, too, ranks 
 among the chief men in Rome, and yet he made 
 himself the accomplice of Proculejus. 
 
 " The latter retired as soon as he had presented 
 the new-comer to the hapless woman. 
 
 " I remained at my post and now heard Gallus 
 
 assure Cleopatra of his master's sympathy. With 
 
 the most bombastic exaggeration he described how 
 
 bitterly Octavianus mourned in Mark Antony the 
 
 36 
 
238 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 friend, the brother-in-law, the co-ruler and sharer 
 in so many important enterprises. He had shed 
 burning tears over the tidings of. his death. Never 
 had more sincere ones coursed down any man's 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Gallus, too, seemed to me to be intentionally 
 prolonging the conversation. 
 
 " Then, while I was listening intently to under- 
 stand Cleopatra's brief replies, my foreman, who, 
 when the workmen were driven away by the Ro- 
 mans, had concealed himself between two blocks 
 of granite, came to me and said that Proculejus 
 had just climbed a ladder to the scaffold in the 
 rear of the monument. Two servants followed, 
 and they had all stolen down into the hall. 
 
 " I hastily started up. I had been lying on the 
 floor with my head outstretched to listen. 
 
 " Cost what it might, the Queen must be warned. 
 Treachery was certainly at work here. 
 
 " But I came too late. 
 
 " O Dion ! If I had only been informed a few 
 minutes before, perhaps something still more ter- 
 rible might have happened, but the Queen would 
 have been spared what now threatens her. What 
 can she expect from the conqueror who, in order 
 to seize her alive, condescends to outwit a noble, 
 defenceless woman, who has succumbed to superior 
 power ? 
 
 " Death would have released the unhappy Queen 
 from sore trouble and horrible shame. And she 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 239 
 
 had already raised the dagger against her life. 
 Before my eyes she flung aloft her beautiful arm 
 with the flashing steel, which glittered in the light 
 of the candles in the many-branched candelabra 
 beside the sarcophagi. But I will try to remain 
 calm ! You shall hear what happened in regular 
 order. My thoughts grow confused as the terrible 
 scene recurs to my memory. To describe it as I 
 saw it, I should need to be a poet, an artist in 
 words ; for what passed before me happened on a 
 stage — you know, it was a tomb. The walls were 
 of dark stone — dark, too, were the pillars and ceil- 
 ing — all dark and glittering; most portions were 
 smoothly polished stone, shining like a mirror. 
 Near the sarcophagi, and around the candelabra as 
 far as the vicinity of the door, where the rascally 
 trick was played, the light was brilliant as in a 
 festal hall. Every blood-stain on the hand, every 
 scratch, every wound which the desperate woman 
 had torn with her own nails on her bosom, which 
 gleamed snow-white from her black robes, was dis- 
 tinctly visible. Farther away, on the right and 
 left, the light was dim, and near the side walls the 
 darkness was as intense as in a real tomb. On 
 the smooth porphyry columns, the glittering black 
 marble and serpentine — here, there, and everywhere 
 — flickered the wavering reflection of the candle- 
 light. The draught kept it continually in motion, 
 and it wavered to and fro in the hall, like the rest- 
 less souls of the damned. Wherever the eye turned 
 
240 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 it met darkness. The end of the hall seemed 
 black — black as the anteroom of Hades — yet 
 through it pierced a brilliant moving bar ; sun- 
 beams which streamed from the stairway into the 
 tomb and amid which danced tiny motes. How 
 the scene impressed the eye ! The home of gloomy 
 Hecate ! And the Queen and her impending fate ! 
 A picture flooded with light, standing forth in 
 radiant relief against the darkness of the heavy, 
 majestic forms surrounding it in a wide circle. 
 This tomb in this light would be a palace meet for 
 the gloomy rule of the king of the troop of demons 
 conjured up by the power of a magician — if they 
 have a ruler. But where am I wandering ? ^The 
 artist ! ' I hear you exclaim again, * the artist ! 
 Instead of rushing forward and interposing, he 
 stands studying the light and its effects in the 
 royal tomb.' Yes, yes ; I had come too late, too 
 late — far too late ! On the stairs leading to the 
 lower story of the building I saw it, but I was not 
 to blame for the delay — not in the least ! 
 
 " At first I had been unable to see the men — or 
 even a shadow ; but I beheld plainly in the bright- 
 est glare of the light the body of Mark Antony on 
 the couch and, in the dusk farther towards the 
 right, Iras and Charmian trying to raise a trap- 
 door. It was the one which closed the passage 
 leading to the combustible materials stored in the 
 cellar. A sign from the Queen had commanded 
 them to fire it. The first steps of the staircase, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 24 1 
 
 down which I was hastening, were already behind 
 me — then — then Proculejus, with two men, sud- 
 denly dashed from the intense darkness on the 
 other side. Scarcely able to control myself, I 
 sprang down the remaining steps, and while Iras's 
 shrill cry, * Poor Cleopatra, they will capture you!' 
 still rang in my ears, I saw the betrayed Queen 
 turn from the door through which, resolved on 
 death, she was saying something to Gallus, per- 
 ceive Proculejus close behind her, thrust her hand 
 into her girdle, and with the speed of lightning — 
 you have already heard so — throw up her arm with 
 the little dagger to bury the sharp blade in her 
 breast. What a picture ! In the full radiance of 
 the brilliant light, she resembled a statue of tri- 
 umphant victory or of noble pride in great deeds 
 accomplished ; and then, then, only an instant later, 
 what an outrage was inflicted ! 
 
 " Like a robber, an assassin, Proculejus rushed 
 upon her, seized her arm, and wrested the weapon 
 from her grasp. His tall figure concealed her from 
 me. But when, struggling to escape from the 
 ruffian's clutch, she again turned her face towards 
 the hall, what a transformation had occurred ! Her 
 eyes — you know how large they are — were twice 
 their usual size, and blazed with scorn, fury, and ha- 
 tred for the traitor. The cheering light had become 
 a consuming fire. So I imagine the vengeance, 
 the curse which calls down ruin upon the head of 
 a foe. And Proculejus, the great lord, the poet 
 
242 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 whose noble nature is praised by the authors on 
 the banks of the Tiber, held the defenceless woman, 
 the worthy daughter of a brilliant line of kings, in 
 a firm grasp, as if it required the exertion of all 
 his strength to master this delicate embodiment of 
 charming womanhood. True, the proud blood of 
 the outwitted lioness urged her to resist this prof- 
 anation, and Proculejus — an enviable honour — 
 made her feel the superior strength of his arm. I 
 am no prophet, but Dion, I repeat, this shameful 
 struggle and the glances which flashed upon him 
 will be remembered to his dying hour. Had they 
 been darted at me, I should have cursed my life. 
 They blanched even the Roman's cheeks. He was 
 lividly pale as he completed what he deemed his 
 duty. His own aristocratic hands were degraded 
 to the menial task of searching the garments of a 
 woman, the Queen, for forbidden wares, poisons 
 or weapons. He was aided by one of Caesar's 
 freedmen, Epaphroditus, who is said to stand so 
 high in the favour of Octavianus. 
 
 " The scoundrel also searched Iras and Char- 
 mian, yet all the time both Romans constantly 
 spoke in cajoling terms of Caesar's favour, and his 
 desire to grant Cleopatra everything which was 
 due a Queen. 
 
 " At last she was taken back to Lochias, but I 
 felt like a madman ; for the image of the unfortu- 
 nate woman pursued me like my shadow. It was 
 no longer a vision of the bewitching sovereign — 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 243 
 
 nay, it resembled the incarnation of despair, tear- 
 less anguish, wrath demanding vengeance. I will 
 not describe it; but those eyes, those flashing, 
 threatening eyes, and the tangled hair on which 
 Antony's blood had flowed — terrible, horrible! 
 My heart grew chill, as if I had seen upon Athene's 
 shield the head of the Medusa with its serpent 
 locks. 
 
 " It had been impossible for me to warn her in 
 time, or even to seize the traitor's arm — I have 
 already said so — and yet, yet her shining image 
 gazed reproachfully at me for my cowardly delay. 
 Her glance still haunts me, robbing me of calmness 
 and peace. Not until I gaze into Helena's pure, 
 calm eyes will that terrible vision of the face, 
 flooded by light in the midst of the tomb, cease to 
 haunt me." 
 
 His friend laid his hand on his arm, spoke 
 soothingly to him, and reminded him of the bless- 
 ings which this terrible day — he had said so him- 
 self — had brought. 
 
 Dion was right to give this warning ; for Gor- 
 gias's bearing and the very tone of his voice 
 changed as he eagerly declared that the frightful 
 events had been followed by more than happy 
 ones for the city, his friend, and Barine. 
 
 Then, with a sigh of relief, he continued : " I 
 pursued my way home like a drunken man. Every 
 attempt to approach the Queen or her attendants 
 was baflied, but I learned from Charmian's clever 
 
244 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Nubian that Cleopatra had been permitted, in 
 Caesar's name, to choose the palace she desired to 
 occupy, and had selected the one. at Lochias. 
 
 " I did not make much progress towards my 
 house ; the crowd in front of the great gymnasium 
 stopped me. Octavianus had gone into the city, 
 and the people, I heard, had greeted him with ac- 
 clamations and flung themselves on their knees 
 before him. Our stiff-necked Alexandrians in the 
 dust before the victor ! It enraged me, but my 
 resentment was diminished. 
 
 *' The members of the gymnasium all knew me. 
 They made way and, ere I was aware of it, I had 
 passed through the door. Tall Phryxus had drawn 
 my arm through his. He appears and vanishes at 
 will, is as alert as he is rich, sees and hears every- 
 thing, and manages to secure the best places. 
 This time he had again succeeded ; for when he 
 released me we were standing opposite to a newly 
 erected tribune. 
 
 " They were waiting for Octavianus, who was 
 still in the hypostyle of Euergetes receiving the 
 homage of the epitrop, the members of the Council, 
 the gymnasiarch, and I know not how many others. 
 
 " Phryxus said that on Caesar's entry he had 
 held out his hand to his former tutor, bade him 
 accompany him, and commanded that his sons 
 should be presented. The philosopher had been 
 distinguished above every one else, and this will 
 benefit you and yours ; for he is Berenike's brother, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 245 
 
 and therefore your wife's uncle. What he desires 
 is sure to be granted. You will hear at once how 
 studiously the Caesar distinguishes him. I do not 
 grudge it to the man ; he interceded boldly for 
 Barine ; he is lauded as an able scholar, and he 
 does not lack courage. In spite of Actium and the 
 only disgraceful deed with which, to my knowledge, 
 Mark Antony could be reproached — I mean the sur- 
 render of Turullius — Arius remained here, though 
 the Imperator might have held the friend of Julius 
 Caesar's nephew as a hostage as easily as he gave 
 up the Emperor's assassin. 
 
 " Since Octavianus encamped before the city, 
 your uncle has been in serious danger, and his 
 sons shared his peril. Surely you must know the 
 handsome, vigorous young Ephebi. 
 
 " We were not obliged to wait long in the gym- 
 nasium ere the Caesar appeared on the platform ; 
 and now — if your hand clenches, it is only what I 
 expect — now all fell on their knees. Our turbu- 
 lent, rebellious rabble raised their hands like plead- 
 ing beggars, and grave, dignified men followed 
 their example. W^hoever saw me and Phryxus will 
 number us among the kneeling lickspittles ; for 
 had we remained standing we should certainly 
 have been dragged down. So we followed the ex- 
 ample of the others." 
 
 " And Octavianus ? " asked Dion eagerly. 
 
 " A man of regal bearing and youthful aspect ; 
 a beardless face of the finest chiselling, a profile 
 
246 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 as beautiful as if created for the coin-maker ; all 
 the lines sharp and yet pleasing ; every inch an 
 aristocrat ; but the very mirror of a cold nature, 
 incapable of any lofty aspiration, any warm emo- 
 tion, any tenderness of feeling. All in all, a hand- 
 some, haughty, calculating man, whose friendship 
 would hardly benefit the heart, but from whose 
 enmity may the immortals guard all we love ! ' 
 
 " Again he led Arius by the hand. The philos- 
 opher's sons followed the pair. When he stood on 
 the stage, looking down upon the thousands kneel- 
 ing before him, not a muscle of his noble face — it 
 is certainly that — betrayed the slightest emotion. 
 He gazed at us like a farmer surveying his flocks 
 and, after a long silence, said curtly in excellent 
 Greek that he absolved the Alexandrians from all 
 guilt towards him : first — he counted as if he were 
 summoning individual veterans to reward them — 
 from respect for the illustrious founder of our 
 city, Alexander, the conqueror of the world ; sec- 
 ondly, because the greatness and beauty of Alex- 
 andria filled him with admiration ; and, thirdly — he 
 turned to Arius as he spoke — to give pleasure to 
 his admirable and beloved friend. 
 
 ** Then shouts of joy burst forth. 
 
 " Every one, from the humblest to the greatest, 
 had had a heavy burden removed from his mind, 
 and the throng had scarcely left the gymnasium 
 when they were again laughing saucily enough, 
 and there was no lack of biting and innocent jests. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 247 
 
 The fat carpenter, Memnon — who furnished the 
 wood- work for your palace — exclaimed close beside 
 me that formerly a dolphin had saved Arius from 
 the pirates; now Arius was saving marine Alex- 
 andria from the robbers. So the sport went on. 
 Philostratus, Barine's first husband, offered the 
 best butt for jests. The agitator had good reason 
 to fear the worst ; and now, clad in black mourning 
 robes, ran after Arius, whom but a few months 
 ago he persecuted with the most vindictive hatred, 
 continually repeating this shallow bit of verse : 
 
 ** *If he is a wise man, let the wise aid the wise.' 
 
 " Reaching home was not easy. The street 
 was swarming with Roman soldiers. They fared 
 well enough ; for in the joy of their hearts many 
 a prosperous citizen who saw his property saved 
 invited individual warriors, or even a whole mani- 
 ple, to the taverns or cook-shops, and the stock of 
 wine in Alexandrian cellars will be considerably 
 diminished to-night. 
 
 " Many, as I have already said, had been quar- 
 tered in the houses, with orders to spare the prop- 
 erty of the citizens ; and it was in this way that the 
 misfortune with which I commenced my narrative 
 befell the grandmother. She died before my de- 
 parture. 
 
 " All the gates of the city will now stand open 
 to you, and the niece of Arius and her husband 
 will be received with ovations. 1 don't grudge 
 
248 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Barine the good fortune; for the way in which 
 your noble wife, who had cast her spell over me 
 too, flung aside what is always dear to the admired 
 city beauty and found on the loneliest of islands a 
 new world in love, is worthy of all admiration and 
 praise. For yourself, I dread new happiness and 
 honours; if they are added to those which Fate 
 bestowed upon you in such a wife and your son 
 Pyrrhus, the gods would not be themselves if they 
 did not pursue you with their envy. I have less 
 reason to fear them." 
 
 " Ungrateful fellow ! " interrupted his friend. 
 " There will be numerous mortals to grudge you 
 Helena. As for me, I have already felt many a 
 slight foreboding; but we have already paid by 
 no means a small tribute to the divine ones. The 
 lamp is still burning in the sitting-room. Inform 
 the sisters of their grandmother's death, and tell 
 them the pleasant tidings you have brought us, 
 but reserve until the morning a description of the 
 terrible scenes you witnessed. We will not spoil 
 their sleep. Mark my words ! Helena's silent 
 grief and her joy at our escape will lighten your 
 heart." 
 
 And so it proved. True, Gorgias lived over 
 again in his dreams the frightful spectacle wit- 
 nessed the day before ; but when the sun of the 
 2d day of August rose in full radiance over Alex- 
 andria and, early in the morning, boat after boat 
 .reached the Serpent Island, landing first Berenike 
 
CLEOPATRA. 249 
 
 and her nephews, the sons of the honoured philos- 
 opher Arius, then clients, officials, and friends of 
 Dion, and former favourite guests of Barine, to 
 greet the young pair and escort them from the 
 refuge which had so long sheltered them back to 
 the city and their midst, new and pleasant impres- 
 sions robbed the gloomy picture of a large portion 
 of its terrors. 
 
 " Tall Phryxus " had rapidly spread the news 
 of the place where Dion and Barine had vanished, 
 and that they had long been happily wedded. 
 Many deemed it well worth a short voyage -to see 
 the actors in so strange an adventure and be the 
 first to greet them. Besides, those who knew Ba- 
 rine and her husband were curious to learn how 
 two persons accustomed to the life of a great capi- 
 tal had endured for months such complete soli- 
 tude. Many feared or expected to see them ema- 
 ciated and careworn, haggard or sunk in melan- 
 choly, and hence there were a number of astonished 
 faces among those whose boats the freedman Pyr- 
 rhus guided as pilot through the shallows which 
 protected his island. 
 
 The return of this rare couple to their home 
 would have afforded an excellent opportunity for 
 gay festivities. Sincerely as the majority of the 
 populace mourned the fate of the Queen, and 
 gravely as the more thoughtful feared for Alexan- 
 dria's freedom under Roman rule, all rejoiced over 
 the lenient treatment of the city. Their lives and 
 
250 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 property were safe, and the celebration of fes- 
 tivals had become a life habit with all classes. 
 But the news of the death of Didymus's wife and 
 the illness of the old man, who could not bear 
 up under the loss of his faithful companion, gave 
 Dion a right to refuse any gay welcome at his 
 home. 
 
 Barine's sorrow was his also, and Didymus died 
 a few days after his wife, with whom he had lived 
 in the bonds of love for more than half a century 
 — people said, "of a broken heart." 
 
 So Dion and his young wife entered his beauti- 
 ful palace with no noisy festivities. Instead of 
 the jubilant hymenaeus, the voice of his own child 
 greeted him on the threshold. 
 
 The mourning garments in which Barine wel- 
 comed him in the women's apartment reminded 
 him of the envy of the gods which his friend had 
 feared for him. But he often fancied that his 
 mother's statue in the tablinum looked specially 
 happy when the young mistress of the house en- 
 tered it. 
 
 Barine, too, felt that her happiness as wife and 
 mother in her magnificent home would have been 
 overwhelming had not a wise destiny imposed 
 upon her, just at this time, grief for those whom 
 she loved. 
 
 Dion instantly devoted himself again to the 
 affairs of the city and his own business. He and 
 the woman he loved, who had first become really 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 251 
 
 his own during a time of sore privation, had run 
 into the harbour and gazed quietly at the storms 
 of life. The anchor of love, which moored their 
 ship to the solid earth, had been tested in the soli- 
 tude of the Serpent Island. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The fisherman and his family had watched the 
 departure of their beloved guests with sorrowful 
 hearts, and the women had shed many tears, al- 
 though the sons of Pyrrhus had been dismissed 
 from the fleet and were again helping their father 
 at home, as in former times. 
 
 Besides, Dion had made the faithful freedman a 
 prosperous man, and given his daughter, Dione, a 
 marriage dowry. She was soon to become the 
 wife of the captain of the Epicurus, x\rchibius's 
 swift galley, whose acquaintance she had made 
 when the vessel, on several occasions, brought 
 Charmian's Nubian maid to the island. Anukis's 
 object in making these visits was not only to see 
 her friend, but to induce him to catch one of the 
 poisonous serpents in the neighbouring island and 
 keep it ready for the Queen. 
 
 Since Cleopatra had ascertained that no poison 
 caused a less painful death than the fangs of the 
 asp, she had resolved that the bite of one of these 
 reptiles should release her from the burden of life. 
 The clever Ethiopian had thought of inducing her 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 253 
 
 friend Pyrrhus to procure the adder, but it had re- 
 quired all Aisopion's skill in persuasion, and the 
 touching manner in which she understood how to 
 describe the Queen's terrible situation and severe 
 suffering, to conquer the reluctance of the upright 
 man. At last she succeeded in persuading him to 
 measure a queen by a different standard from a 
 woman of the people, and inducing him to arrange 
 the manner and time of conveying the serpent into 
 the well-guarded palace. A signal was to inform 
 him when the decisive hour arrived. After that 
 he was to be ready with the asp in the fish-market 
 every day. Probably his service would soon be 
 claimed ; for Octavianus's delay was scarcely an 
 indication of a favourable decision of Cleopatra's 
 fate. 
 
 True, she was permitted to live in royal state at 
 Lochias, and had even been allowed to have the 
 children, the twins, and little Alexander sent back 
 to her with the promise that life and liberty would 
 be granted them ; but Caesarion — whose treacher- 
 ous tutor Rhodon lured him from the journey 
 southward back to Alexandria by all sorts of rep- 
 resentations, among them the return of Barine — 
 was held prisoner in his father's temple, where he 
 had sought refuge. This news, and the fact that 
 Octavianus had condemned to death the youth 
 who bore so striking a resemblance to Caesar, had 
 not remained concealed from the unhappy mother. 
 She was also informed of the words in which the 
 37 
 
254 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 philosopher Arius had encouraged Caesar's desire 
 to rid himself of the son of his famous uncle. 
 They referred to the Homeric saying concerning 
 the disadvantage of having many rulers. , 
 
 Everything which Cleopatra desired to know 
 concerning events in the city reached her ears; 
 for she was allowed much liberty — only she was 
 closely watched day and night, and all the serv- 
 ants and officials to whom she granted an audience 
 were carefully searched to keep from her all means 
 of self-destruction. 
 
 True, it was very evident that she had closed 
 her account with life. Her attempt to take no 
 food and die of starvation must have been no- 
 ticed. Threats directed against the children, 
 through whom she could be most easily influenced, 
 finally induced her to eat again. Octavianus was 
 informed of all these things, and his conduct 
 proved his anxiety to keep her from suicide. 
 
 Several Asiatic princes vied with each other in 
 the desire to honour Mark Antony by a magnificent 
 funeral, but Octavianus had allowed Cleopatra to 
 provide the most superb obsequies. In the time 
 of her deepest anguish it afforded her comfort and 
 satisfaction to arrange everything herself, and even 
 perform some offices with her own hands. The 
 funeral had been as gorgeous as the dead man's 
 love of splendour could have desired. 
 
 Iras and Charmian were often unable to under- 
 stand how the Queen — who, since Antony's death, 
 
CLEOPATRA 255 
 
 had suffered not only from the wounds she had in- 
 flicted upon herself in her despair, but also after 
 her baffled attempt at starvation from a slow 
 fever — had succeeded in resisting the severe exer- 
 tions and mental agitation to which she had been 
 subjected by Antony's funeral. 
 
 The return of Archibius with the children, how- 
 ever, had visibly reanimated her flagging energy. 
 
 She often went to Didymus's garden, which 
 was now connected with the palace at Lochias, to 
 watch their work and share whatever interested 
 their young hearts. 
 
 But the gayest of mothers, who had understood 
 how to enter so thoroughly into her children's 
 pursuits, had now become a sorrowful, grave mon- 
 itor. Though the lessons she urged upon them 
 were often beautiful and wise, they were little 
 suited to the ages of Archibius's pupils, for they 
 usually referred to death and to questions of phi- 
 losophy not easily understood by children. 
 
 She herself felt that she no longer struck the 
 right key ; but whenever she tried to change it 
 and jest with them as usual, she could endure the 
 forced gaiety only a short time ; a painful revul- 
 sion, frequently accompanied by tears, followed, 
 and she was obliged to leave her darlings. 
 
 The life her foe granted her seemed like an 
 intrusive gift, an oppressive debt, which we desire 
 to pay a troublesome creditor as soon as possible. 
 
 She seemed calmer and apparently content only 
 
256 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 when permitted to talk with the companions of her 
 youth concerning bygone days, or with them and 
 Iras of death, and how it would be possible to put 
 an end to an unwelcome existence. 
 
 After such conversations Iras and Charmian 
 left her with bleeding hearts. They had long 
 since resolved to share the fate of their royal mis- 
 tress, whatever it might be. Their common suffer- 
 ing was the bond which again united them in affec- 
 tion. Iras had provided poisoned pins which had 
 speedily destroyed the animals upon which they 
 had been tried. Cleopatra knew of their existence, 
 but she herself preferred the painless death be- 
 stowed by the serpent's bite, and it was long since 
 her friends had seen the eyes of their beloved sov- 
 ereign sparkle so brightly as when Charmian told 
 her that a way had been found to obtain the uraeus 
 serpent as soon as it was needed. But it was not 
 yet imperative to adopt the last expedient. Octa- 
 vianus wished to be considered lenient, and per- 
 haps might still be prevailed upon to grant the 
 Queen and her children a future meet for their 
 royal birth. 
 
 Cleopatra's reply was an incredulous smile, yet 
 a faint hope which saved her from despair began 
 to bud in her soul. 
 
 Dolabella, an aristocratic Roman, a scion of the 
 noble Cornelius family, was in the Caesar's train, 
 and had been presented to the Egyptian Queen. In 
 former years his father was a friend of Cleopatra ; 
 
CLEOPATRA. 257 
 
 nay, she had placed him under obligations by sending 
 him, after the murder of Julius Caesar, the military 
 force at her command to be used against Cassius. 
 True, her legions, by messengers from Dolabella 
 himself, were despatched in another direction; but 
 Cleopatra had not withdrawn her favour from Dola- 
 bella's father on that account. The latter had 
 known her in Rome before the death of Caesar, and 
 had enthusiastically described the charms of the be- 
 witching Egyptian sovereign. Though the youth 
 found her only a mourning widow, ill in body and 
 mind, he was so strongly attracted and deeply 
 moved by her beauty, her brilliant intellect, her 
 grace of bearing, her misfortunes and sufferings, 
 that he devoted many hours to her, and would 
 have considered it a happiness to render her 
 greater services than circumstances permitted. He 
 often accompanied her to the children, whose hearts 
 had been completely won by his frank, cheerful 
 nature ; and so it happened that he soon became 
 one of the most welcome guests at Lochias. He 
 confided without reserve every feeling that stirred 
 his soul to the warm-hearted woman who was so 
 many years his senior, and through him she learned 
 many things connected with Octavianus and his 
 surroundings. Without permitting himself to be 
 used as a tool, he became an advocate for the un- 
 fortunate woman whom he so deeply esteemed. 
 
 In intercourse with her he made every effort 
 to inspire confidence in Octavianus, who favoured 
 
^58 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 him, enjoyed his society, and in whose magna- 
 nimity the youth firmly believed. 
 
 He anticipated the best results from an inter- 
 view between the Queen and the Caesar ; for he 
 deemed it impossible that the successful conqueror 
 could part untouched, and with no desire to miti- 
 gate her sad fate, from the woman who, in earlier 
 years, had so fascinated his father, and whom he 
 himself, though she might almost have been his 
 mother, deemed peerless in her bewitching and 
 gracious charm. 
 
 Cleopatra, on the contrary, shrank from meet- 
 ing the man who had brought so much misfortune 
 upon Mark Antony and herself, and inflicted upon 
 her insults which were only too well calculated to 
 make her doubt his clemency and truth. On the 
 other hand, she could not deny Dolabella's asser- 
 tion that it would be far less easy for Octavianus 
 to refuse her in person the wishes she cherished 
 for her children's future than through mediators. 
 Proculejus had learned that Antony had named 
 him to the Queen as the person most worthy of 
 her confidence, and more keenly felt the wrong 
 which, as the tool and obedient friend of Octavi- 
 anus, he had inflicted upon the hapless woman. 
 The memory of his unworthy deed, which history 
 would chronicle, had robbed the sensitive man, the 
 author and patron of budding Roman poetry, of 
 many an hour's sleep, and therefore he also now 
 laboured zealously to oblige the Queen and miti- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 259 
 
 gate her hard fate. He, like the freedman Epaph- 
 roditus, who by Caesar's orders watched carefully 
 to prevent any attempt upon her life, seemed to 
 base great hopes on such an interview, and endeav- 
 oured to persuade her to request an audience from 
 the Caesar. 
 
 Archibius said that, even in the worst case, it 
 could not render the present state of affairs darker. 
 Experience, he said to Charmian, proved that no 
 man of any feeling could wholly resist the charm 
 of her nature, and to him at least she had never 
 seemed more winning than now. Who could have 
 gazed unmoved into the beautiful face, so eloquent 
 in its silent suffering, whose soul would not have 
 been deeply touched by the sorrowful tones of her 
 sweet voice ? Besides, her sable mourning robes 
 were so well suited to the slight tinge of melan- 
 choly which pervaded her whole aspect. When the 
 fever flushed her cheeks, Archibius, spite of the 
 ravages which grief, anxiety, and fear had made 
 upon her charms, thought that he had never seen 
 her look more beautiful. He knew her thoroughly, 
 and was aware that her desire to follow the man 
 she loved into the realm of death was sincere; 
 nay, that it dominated her whole being. She clung 
 to life only to die as soon as possible. The decision 
 which, after her resolve to build the monument, 
 she had recognized in the temple of Berenike as 
 the right one, had become the rule of conduct of 
 her life. Every thought, every conversation, led 
 
26o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 her back to the past. The future seemed to exist 
 no longer. If Archibius succeeded in directing 
 her thoughts to approaching days she occupied 
 herself wholly with her children's fate. For her- 
 self she expected nothing, felt absolved from every 
 duty except the one of protecting herself and her 
 name from dishonour and humiliation. 
 
 The fact that Octavianus, when he doomed 
 Caesarion to death, permitted the other children 
 to return to her with the assurance that no harm 
 should befall them, proved that he made a distinc- 
 tion between them and his uncle's son, and had no 
 fears that tliey threatened his own safety. She 
 might expect important results in their favour 
 from an interview with Octavianus, so she at last 
 authorized Proculejus to request an audience. 
 
 The Imperator's answer came the very same 
 day. It was his place to seek her — so ran the 
 Caesar's message. This meeting must decide her 
 fate. Cleopatra was aware of this, and begged 
 Charmian to remember the asp. 
 
 Her attendants had been forbidden to leave 
 Lochias, but Epaphroditus permitted them to re- 
 ceive visitors. The Nubian's merry, amusing talk 
 had made friends for her among the Roman guards, 
 who allowed her to pass in and out unmolested. 
 On her return, of course, she was searched with 
 the utmost care, like every one who entered 
 Lochias. 
 
 The decisive hour was close at hand. Char- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 26 1 
 
 mian knew what she must do in any event, but 
 there was still one desire for whose fulfilment she 
 longed. She wished to greet Barine and see her 
 boy. 
 
 To spare Iras, she had hitherto refrained from 
 sending for Dion's wife. The sight of the mother 
 and child might have reopened wounds still un- 
 healed, and she would not inflict this sorrow upon 
 her niece, who for a long time had once more been 
 loyally devoted to her. 
 
 Octavianus did not hasten to fulfil his assurance. 
 But, at the end of a week, Proculejus brought the 
 news that he could promise a visit fr^m the Caesar 
 that afternoon. The Queen was deeply agitated, 
 and desired before the interview to pay a visit to 
 her tomb. Iras offered to accompany her, and as 
 Cleopatra intended to remain an hour or longer, 
 Charmian thought it a favourable opportunity to 
 see Barine and her boy. 
 
 Dion's wife had been informed of her friend's 
 wish, and Anukis, who was to take her to Lochias, 
 did not wait long for the mother and child. 
 
 Didymus's garden — now the property of the 
 royal children — was the scene of the meeting. In 
 the shade of the familiar trees the young mother 
 sank upon the breast of her faithful friend, and 
 Charmian could not gaze her fill at the boy, or 
 weary of tracing in his features a resemblance to 
 his grandfather Leonax. 
 
 How much these two women, to whom Fate had 
 
262 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 allotted lives so widely different, found to tell each 
 other ! The older felt transported to the past, the 
 younger seemed to have naught save a present 
 rich in blessing and a future green with hope. 
 She had good news to tell of her sister also. 
 Helena had long been the happy wife of Gorgias 
 who, however, spite of the love with which he sur- 
 rounded the young mistress of his house, num- 
 bered among his most blissful hours those which 
 were devoted to overseeing the progress of the 
 work on the mausoleum, where he met Cleo- 
 patra. 
 
 Time flew swiftly to the two women, and it was 
 a painful surprise when one of the eunuchs on 
 guard announced that the Queen had returned. 
 Again Charmian embraced her lover's grandson, 
 blessed him and the young mother, sent messages 
 of remembrance to Dion, begged Barine to think 
 of her affectionately when she had passed from 
 earth and, if her heart prompted her to the act, to 
 anoint or adorn with a ribbon or flower the tomb- 
 stone of the woman who had no friend to render 
 her such a service. 
 
 Deeply moved by the firmness with which Char- 
 mian witnessed the approach of death, Barine lis- 
 tened in silence, but suddenly started as the sharp 
 tones of a well-known voice called her friend's 
 name and, as she turned, Iras stood before her. 
 Pallid and emaciated, she looked in her long, float- 
 ing black robes the very incarnation of misery. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 263 
 
 The sight pierced the heart of the happy wife 
 and mother. She felt as if much of the joy which 
 Iras lacked had fallen to her own lot, and all the 
 grief and woe she had ever endured had been trans- 
 ferred to her foe. She would fain have approached 
 humbly and said something very kind and friend- 
 ly ; but when she saw the tall, haggard woman 
 gazing at her child, and noticed the disagreeable 
 expression which had formerly induced her to com- 
 pare her to a sharp thorn, a terrible dread of this 
 woman's evil eye which might harm her boy seized 
 the mother's heart and, overwhelmed by an impulse 
 beyond control, she covered his face with her own 
 veil. 
 
 Iras saw it, and after Barine had answered her 
 question, " Dion's child?" in the affirmative, with 
 a glance beseeching forbearance, the girl drew up 
 her slender figure, saying with arrogant coldness : 
 " What do I care for the child ? We have more im- 
 portant matters on our hearts." 
 
 Then she turned to Charmian to inform her, in 
 the tone of an official announcement, that during 
 the approaching interview the Queen desired her 
 attendance also. 
 
 Octavianus had appointed sunset for the inter- 
 view, and it still lacked several hours of the time. 
 The suffering Queen felt wearied by her visit to the 
 mausoleum, where she had implored the spirit of 
 Antony, if he had any power over the conqueror's 
 heart, to induce him to release her from this tor- 
 
264 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 turing uncertainty and promise the children a 
 happy fate. 
 
 To Dolabella, who had accompanied her from 
 the tomb to the palace, she said that she expected 
 only one thing from this meeting, and then won 
 from him a promise which strengthened her cour- 
 age and seemed the most precious boon which 
 could be granted at this time. 
 
 She had expressed the fear that Octavianus 
 would still leave her in doubt. The youth spoke 
 vehemently in Caesar's defence, and closed with the 
 exclamation, " If he should still keep you in sus- 
 pense, he would be not only cool and circum- 
 spect " 
 
 " Then," Cleopatra interrupted, " be nobler, be 
 less cruel, and release your father's friend from 
 these tortures. If he does not reveal to me what 
 awaits me and you learn it, then — you will not say 
 no, you cannot refuse me — then you, yes, you will 
 inform me ? " 
 
 Promptly and firmly came the reply : " What 
 have I been able to do for you until now? But 
 I will release you from this torture, if possible." 
 Then he hastily turned his back, that he might not 
 be compelled to see the eunuchs stationed at the 
 palace gate search the garments of the royal cap- 
 tive. 
 
 His promise sustained the failing courage of 
 the wearied, anxious Queen, and she reclined upon 
 the cushions of a lounge to recover from the ex- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 265 
 
 hausting expedition ; but she had scarcely closed 
 her eyes when the pavement of the court-yard rang 
 under the hoofs of the four horses which bore the 
 Caesar to Lochias. Cleopatra had not expected 
 the visit so early. 
 
 She had just been consulting with her attend- 
 ants about the best mode of receiving him. At 
 first she had been disposed to do so on the throne, 
 clad in her royal attire, but she afterwards thought 
 that she was too ill and weak to bear the heavy 
 ornaments. Besides, the man and successful con- 
 queror would show himself more indulgent and gra- 
 cious to the suffering woman than to the princess. 
 
 There was much to palliate the course which 
 she had pursued in former days, and she had care- 
 fully planned the defence by which she hoped to 
 influence his calm but not unjust nature. Many 
 things in her favour were contained in the letters 
 from Caesar and Antony which, after her husband's 
 death, she had read again and again during so 
 many wakeful nights, and they had just been 
 brought to her. 
 
 Both Archibius and the Roman Proculejus had 
 counselled her not to receive him entirely alone. 
 The latter did not express his opinion in words, 
 but he knew that Octavianus was more readily in- 
 duced to noble and lenient deeds when there was 
 no lack of witnesses to report them to the world. 
 It was advisable to provide spectators for the most 
 consummate actor of his day. 
 
266 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Therefore the Queen had retained Iras, Char- 
 mian, and some of the officials nearest to her per- 
 son, among them the steward Seleukus, who could 
 give information if any question arose concerning 
 the delivery of the treasure. 
 
 She had also intended, after she had somewhat 
 recovered from the visit to the tomb, to be robed 
 in fresh garments. This was prevented by the 
 Caesar's unexpected arrival. Now, even had time 
 permitted, she would have been unable to have her 
 hair arranged, she felt so weak and yet so fever- 
 ishly excited. 
 
 The blood coursed hotly through her veins and 
 flushed her cheeks. When told that the Caesar was 
 close at hand, she had only time to raise herself a 
 little higher on her cushions, push back her hair, 
 and let Iras, with a few hasty touches, adjust the 
 folds of her mourning robes. Had she attempted 
 to advance to meet him, her limbs would have 
 failed to support her. 
 
 When the Caesar at last entered, she could 
 greet him only by a wave of her hand ; but Oc- 
 tavianus, who had uttered the usual salutations 
 from the threshold, quickly broke the painful 
 silence, saying with a courteous bow: 
 
 " You summoned me — I came. Every one is 
 subject to beauty — even the victor." 
 
 Cleopatra's head drooped in shame as she an- 
 swered distinctly, yet in a tone of modest denial : 
 
 " I only asked the favour of an audience. I did 
 
CLEOPATRA. 267 
 
 not summon. I thank you for granting the request. 
 If it is dangerous for man to bow to woman's 
 charms, no peril threatens you here. Beauty can- 
 not withstand tortures such as those which have 
 been imposed on me — barely can life remain. But 
 you prevented my casting it from me. If you are 
 just, you will grant to the woman whom you would 
 not permit to die an existence whose burden will 
 not exceed her power to endure." 
 
 The Caesar again bowed silently and answered 
 courteously : 
 
 " I intend to make it worthy of you." 
 
 " Then," cried Cleopatra impetuously, " release 
 me from this torturing uncertainty. You are not 
 one of the men who never look beyond to-day and 
 to-morrow." 
 
 ** You are thinking," said Octavianus harshly, 
 " of one who perhaps would still be among us, if 
 with wiser caution " 
 
 Cleopatra's eyes, which hitherto had met the 
 victor's cold gaze with modest entreaty, flashed 
 angrily, and a majestic : " Let the past rest ! " in- 
 terrupted him. 
 
 But she soon mastered the indignation which 
 had stirred her passionate blood, and in a totally 
 different tone, not wholly free from gentle per- 
 suasion, she continued : 
 
 " The provident intellect of the man whose nod 
 the universe obeys grasps the future as well as the 
 present. Must not he, therefore, have decided the 
 
268 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 children's fate ere he consented to see their mother ? 
 The only obstacle in your path, the son of your 
 great uncle " 
 
 " His doom was a necessity," interrupted the 
 conqueror in a tone of sincere regret. " As I 
 mourned Antony, I grieve for the unfortunate 
 boy." 
 
 " If that is true," replied Cleopatra eagerly, " it 
 does honour to the kindness of your heart. When 
 Proculejus wrested the dagger from my grasp he 
 blamed me because I attributed to the most clem- 
 ent of conquerors harshness and implacability." 
 
 " Two qualities," the Caesar protested, " which 
 are wholly alien to my nature." 
 
 " And which — even if you possessed them — you 
 neither could nor ought to use," cried Cleopatra, 
 "if you really mean the beautiful words you so 
 often utter that, as the nephew and heir of the 
 great Julius Caesar, you intend to walk in his 
 footsteps. Caesarion — there is his bust — was the 
 image in every feature of his father, your illus- 
 trious model. To me, the hapless woman now 
 awaiting my sentence from his nephew's lips, the 
 gods granted, as the most precious of all gifts, the 
 love of your divine uncle. And what love ! The 
 world knew not what I was to his great heart, but 
 my wish to defend myself from misconception bids 
 me show it to you, his heir. From you I expect 
 my sentence. You are the judge. These letters 
 are my strongest defence. I rely upon them to 
 
CLEOPATRA. 269 
 
 show myself to you as I was and am, not as envy 
 and slander describe me. — The little ivory casket, 
 Iras ! It contains the precious proofs of Caesar's 
 love, his letters to me." 
 
 She raised the lid with trembling hands and, as 
 these mementoes carried her back to the past, she 
 continued in lower tones : 
 
 "Among all my treasures this simple little 
 coffer has been for half a lifetime my most valued 
 jewel. He gave it to me. It was in the midst of 
 the fierce contest here at the Bruchium." 
 
 Then, while unfolding the first roll, she directed 
 Octavianus's attention to it and the remainder of 
 the contents of the little casket, exclaiming : 
 
 " Silent pages, yet how eloquent I Each one a 
 peerless picture, the powerful thinker, the man of 
 action, who permits his restless intellect to repose, 
 and suffers his heart to overflow with the love of 
 youth ! Were I vain, Octavianus, I might call 
 each one of these letters a trophy of victory, an 
 Olympic garland. The woman to whom Julius 
 Caesar owned his subjugation might well hold her 
 head higher than the unhappy, vanquished Queen 
 who, save the permission to die " 
 
 " Do not part with the letters," said Octavianus 
 kindly. " Who can doubt that they are a precious 
 treasure '* 
 
 " The most precious and at the same time the ad- 
 vocate of the accused," replied Cleopatra eagerly ; 
 ** on them — as you have already heard — rests my 
 38 
 
2/0 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 vindication. I will commence with their contents. 
 How terrible it is to make what is sacred to us and 
 intended only to elevate our own hearts serve a 
 purpose, to do what has always been repugnant to 
 us ! But I need an advocate and, Octavianus, these 
 letters will restore to the wretched, suffering beg- 
 gar the dignity and majesty of the Queen. The 
 world knows but two powers to which^Julius Caesar 
 bowed — the thrall of the pitiable woman on this 
 couch, and of all-conquering death. An unpleasant 
 fellowship — but I do not shrink from it ; for death 
 
 robbed him of life, and from my hand I ask 
 
 only a brief moment. How gladly I would spare 
 myself my own praises, and you the necessity of 
 listening to them ! Yes, here it is : ^ Through you, 
 you irresistible woman,* he writes, * I learned for 
 the first time, after youth was over, how beautiful 
 life can be.' " 
 
 Cleopatra, as she spoke, handed Caesar the let- 
 ter. But while she was still searching hastily for 
 another he returned the first, saying : 
 
 " I understand only too well your reluctance to 
 allow such confidential effusions to play the part 
 of defender. I can imagine their purport, and 
 they shall influence me as if I had read them all. 
 However eloquent they may be, they are need- 
 less witnesses. Is any written testimony re- 
 quired in behalf of charms whose magic is still 
 potent ? " 
 
 A bewitching smile, which seemed like a con- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 27 1 
 
 firmation of the haughty young conqueror's flatter- 
 ing words, flitted over Cleopatra's face. 
 
 Octavianus noticed it. This woman indeed pos- 
 sessed enthralling charms, and he felt the slight 
 flush that suffused his cheeks. 
 
 This unhappy captive, this suffering supplicant, 
 could still draw into her net any man who did not 
 possess the cool watchfulness which panoplied his 
 soul. Was it the marvellous melody of her voice, 
 the changeful lustre of her tearful eyes, the aristo- 
 cratic grace of the noble figure, the exquisite sym- 
 metry of the hands and feet, the weakness of the 
 prostrate sufferer, strangely blended with truly 
 royal majesty, or the thought that love for her had 
 bound earth's greatest and loftiest men with indis- 
 soluble fetters, which lent this fragile woman, who 
 had long since passed the boundaries of youth, so 
 powerful a spell of attraction ? 
 
 At any rate, however certain of himself he 
 might be, he must guard his feelings. He under- 
 stood how to bridle passion far better than the 
 uncle who was so greatly his superior. 
 
 Yet it was of the utmost importance to keep 
 her alive, and therefore to maintain her belief in 
 his admiration. He wished to show the world and 
 the Great Queen of the East, who had just boasted 
 of conquering, like death, even the most mighty, 
 his own supremacy as man and victor. But he 
 must also be gentle, in order not to endanger the 
 object for which he wanted her. She must accom- 
 
272 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 pany him to Rome. She and her children promised 
 to render his triumph the most brilliant and mem- 
 orable one which any conqueror had ever displayed 
 to the senate and the people. In a light tone 
 which, however, revealed the emotion of his soul, 
 he answered : " My illustrious uncle w^as known as 
 a friend of fair women. His stern life was crowned 
 with flowers by many hands, and he acknowledged 
 these favours verbally and perhaps — as he did to 
 you in all these letters — with the reed. His genius 
 was greater, at any rate more many-sided and mo- 
 bile, than mine. He succeeded, too, in pursuing 
 different objects at the same time with equal de- 
 votion. I am wholly absorbed in the cares of 
 state, of government, and war. I feel grateful 
 when I can permit our poets to adorn my leisure 
 for a brief space. Overburdened with toil, I have 
 no time to yield myself captive, as my uncle did in 
 these very rooms, to the most charming of women. 
 If I could follow my own will, you would be the 
 first from whom I would seek the gifts of Eros. — 
 But it may not be! We Romans learn to curb 
 even the most ardent wishes when duty and mo- 
 rality command. There is no city in the world 
 where half so many gods are worshipped as here; 
 and what strange deities are numbered among 
 them ! It needs a special effort of the intellect to 
 understand them. But the simple duties of the 
 domestic hearth! — they are too prosaic for you 
 Alexandrians, who imbibe philosophy with your 
 
CLEOPATRA. 2/3 
 
 mothers' milk. What marvel, if I looked for them 
 in vain ? True, they would find little satisfaction 
 — our household gods I mean — here, where the 
 rigid demands of Hymen are mute before the 
 ardent pleadings of Eros. Marriage is scarcely 
 reckoned among the sacred things of life. But this 
 opinion seems to displease you." 
 
 " Because it is false," cried Cleopatra, repress- 
 ing with difficulty a fresh outburst of indignation. 
 " Yet, if I see aright, your reproach is aimed only at 
 the bond which united me to the man who was called 
 
 your sister's husband. But I will I would 
 
 gladly remain silent, but you force me to speak, 
 and I will do so, though your own friend, Procu- 
 lejus, is signing to me to be cautious. I — I, Cleo- 
 patra, was the wife of Mark Antony according to 
 the customs of this country, when you wedded him 
 to the widow of Marcellus, who had scarcely closed 
 his eyes. Not she, but I, was the deserted wife — I 
 to whom his heart belonged until the hour of his 
 
 death, not the unloved consort wedded " Here 
 
 her voice fell. She had yielded to the passionate 
 impulse which urged her to express her feelings in 
 the matter, and now continued in a tone of gentle 
 explanation : " I know that you proposed this 
 alliance solely for the peace and welfare of 
 Rome " 
 
 " To guard both, and to spare the blood of tens 
 of thousands," Octavianus added with proud de- 
 cision. " Your clear brain perceived the true state 
 
274 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 of affairs. If, spite of the grave importance of 
 
 these motives, you But what voices would not 
 
 that of the heart silence with you women I The 
 man, the Roman, succeeded in closing his ears to 
 its siren song. Were it otherwise, I would never 
 have chosen for my sister a husband by whom I 
 knew her happiness would be so ill-guarded — I 
 would, as I have already said, be unable to mas- 
 ter my own admiration of the loveliest of women. 
 But I ought scarcely to boast of that. I fear that a 
 heart like yours opens less quickly to the modest 
 Octavianus than to a Julius Caesar or the brilliant 
 Mark Antony. Yet I may be permitted to confess 
 that perhaps I might have avoided conducting this 
 unhappy war against my friend to the end under 
 my own guidance, and appearing myself in Egypt, 
 had I not been urged by the longing to see once 
 more the woman who had dazzled my boyish eyes. 
 Now, in my mature manhood, I desired to compre- 
 hend those marvellous gifts of mind, that match- 
 less sagacity " 
 
 " Sagacity ! " interrupted the Queen, shrugging 
 her shoulders mournfully. "You possess a far 
 greater share of what is commonly called by that 
 name. My fate proves it. The pliant intellect 
 which the gods bestowed on me would ill sustain 
 the test in this hour of anguish. But if you really 
 care to learn what mental power Cleopatra once 
 possessed, relieve me of this terrible burden of un- 
 certainty, and grant me a position in life which 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 275 
 
 will permit my paralyzed soul to move freely once 
 more/' 
 
 "It depends solely on yourself," Octavianus 
 eagerly responded, " to make your future life, not 
 only free from care, but beautiful." 
 
 " On me ? " asked Cleopatra in astonishment. 
 " Our weal and woe are in your hands alone. I am 
 modest and ask nothing save to know what you 
 intend for our future, what you mean by the lot 
 which you term beautiful." 
 
 " Nothing less," replied the Caesar quietly, 
 "than what seems to lie nearest to your own 
 heart — a life of that freedom of soul to which you 
 aspire." 
 
 The breath of the agitated Queen began to 
 come more quickly and, no longer able to control 
 the impatience which overpowered her, she ex- 
 claimed, " With the assurance of your favour on 
 your lips, you refuse to discuss the question which 
 interests, me beyond any other — for which, if any, 
 you must have been prepared when you came 
 here " 
 
 " Reproaches ? " asked Octavianus with well- 
 feigned surprise. "Would it not rather be my 
 place to complain ? It is precisely because I am so 
 thoroughly sincere in the friendly disposition 
 which you read aright from my words, that some 
 of your measures cannot fail to wound me. Your 
 treasures were to be committed to the flames. It 
 would be unfair to expect tokens of friendship 
 
276 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 from the vanquished ; but can you deny that even 
 the bitterest hatred could scarcely succeed in de- 
 vising anything more hostile ?" 
 
 " Let the past rest ! Who would not seek in 
 war to diminish the enemy's booty?" pleaded the 
 Queen in a soothing tone. But as Octavianus de- 
 layed his answer, she continued more eagerly : ^' It 
 is said that the ibex in the mountains, when in mor- 
 tal peril, rushes upon the hunter and hurls him 
 with it down the precipice. The same impulse is 
 natural to human beings, and praiseworthy, I think, 
 in both. Forget the past, as I will try to do, I re- 
 peat with uplifted hands. Say that you will per- 
 mit the sons whom I gave to Antony to ascend the 
 Egyptian throne, not under their mother's guard- 
 ianship, but that of Rome, and grant me freedom 
 wherever I may live, and I will gladly transfer to 
 you, down to the veriest trifles, all the property 
 and treasures I possess." 
 
 She clenched her little hand impatiently under 
 the folds of her robe as she spoke; but Octavianus 
 lowered his eyes, saying carelessly : " In war the 
 victor disposes of the property of the vanquished ; 
 but my heart restrains me from applying the uni- 
 versal law to you, who are so far above ordinary 
 mortals. Your wealth is said to be vast, though 
 the foolish war which Antony, with your aid, so 
 greatly prolonged, devoured vast sums. In this 
 country squandered gold seems like the grass 
 which, when mowed, springs up anew." 
 
CLEOPATRA. 277 
 
 "You speak/' replied Cleopatra, more and more 
 deeply incensed, with proud composure, "of the 
 treasures which my ancestors, the powerful mon- 
 archs of a wealthy country, amassed during three 
 hundred years for their noble race and for the 
 adornment of the women of their line. Parsimony 
 did not accord with the generosity and lofty nature 
 of an Antony, yet avarice itself would not deem the 
 portion still remaining insignificant. Every article 
 is registered." 
 
 While speaking, she took a manuscript from the 
 hand of Seleukus and passed it to Octavianus who, 
 with a slight bend of the head, received it in silence. 
 But he had scarcely begun to read it when the stew- 
 ard, a little corpulent man with twinkling eyes half 
 buried in his fat cheeks, raised his short forefinger, 
 pointed insolently at the Queen, and asserted that 
 she was trying to conceal some things, and had 
 ordered him not to place them on the list. Every 
 tinge of colour faded from the lips and cheeks of the 
 agitated and passionate woman ; tortured by fever- 
 ish impatience and no longer able to control her 
 emotions, she raised herself and, with her own 
 dainty hand, struck the accuser — whom she had 
 lifted from poverty and obscurity to his present 
 high position — again and again in the face, till 
 Octavianus, with a smile of superiority, begged 
 her, much as the man deserved his punishment, to 
 desist. 
 
 The unfortunate woman, thus thrown off her 
 
2/8 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 guard, flung herself back on her couch and, pant- 
 ing for breath, with tears streaming from her eyes, 
 sobbed aloud, declaring that in the presence of 
 such unendurable insult, such contemptible base- 
 ness, she fairly loathed herself. Then pressing her 
 clenched hands upon her temples, she exclaimed : 
 " Before the eyes of the foe my royal dignity, which 
 I have maintained all my life, falls from me like a 
 borrowed mantle. Yet what am I ? What shall I 
 be to-morrow, what later ? But who beneath the 
 sun who has warm blood in his veins can preserve 
 his composure when juicy grapes are held before 
 his thirsting lips to be withdrawn, as from Tantalus, 
 ere he can taste them ? You came hither with the 
 assurance of your favour; but the flattering words 
 of promise which you bestowed upon the unhappy 
 woman were probably only the drops of poppy- 
 juice given to soothe the ravings of fever. Was 
 the favour which you permitted me to see and an- 
 ticipate for the future merely intended to delude a 
 
 miserable " 
 
 But she went no further ; Octavianus, with dig- 
 nified bearing and loud, clear tones, interrupted: 
 " Whoever believes the heir of Caesar capable of 
 shamefully deceiving a noble woman, a queen, the 
 object of his illustrious uncle's love, insults and 
 wounds him ; but the just anger which overmas- 
 tered you may serve as your apology. Ay," he 
 added in a totally different tone, " I might even 
 have cause to be grateful for this indignation, and 
 
CLEOPATRA. - 279 
 
 to wish for another opportunity to witness the out- 
 break of passion though in its unbridled fierceness 
 — the royal lioness is scarcely aware of her own 
 beauty when the tempest of wrath sweeps her 
 away. What must she be when it is love that con- 
 strains the flame of her glowing soul to burst into 
 a blaze ? " 
 
 " Her glowing soul ! " Cleopatra eagerly re- 
 peated, and the desire awoke to subjugate this 
 man who had so confidently boasted of his power 
 of resistance. Though he might be stronger than 
 many others, he certainly was not invincible. And 
 aware of her still unbroken sway over the hearts 
 of men, her eyes sparkled with the alluring ra- 
 diance of love, and a bewitching smile brightened 
 her face. 
 
 The young Imperator's heart began to chafe 
 under the curb and to beat more quickly, his cheeks 
 flushed and paled by turns. How she gazed at him ! 
 What if she loved the nephew as she had once loved 
 the uncle who, through her, had learned what bliss 
 life can offer ? Ay, it must be happiness to kiss 
 those lips, to be clasped in those exquisite arms, to 
 hear one's own name tenderly spoken by those 
 musical tones. Even the magnificent marble statue 
 of Ariadne, which he had seen in Athens, had not 
 displayed to his gaze line? more beautiful than 
 those of the woman reclining on yonder pillows. 
 Who could venture to speak in her presence of 
 vanished charms ? Ah, no ! The spell which had 
 
28o CLEOPATRA. 
 
 conquered Julius Caesar was as vivid, as potent as 
 ever. He himself felt its power ; he was young, 
 and after such unremitting exertions he too yearned 
 to quaff the nectar of the noblest joys, to steep 
 body and soul in peerless bliss. 
 
 So, with a hasty movement, he took one step 
 towards her couch, resolved to grasp her hands and 
 raise them to his lips. His ardent gaze answered 
 hers ; but surprised by the power which, though so 
 heavily burdened with physical and mental suffer- 
 ing, she still possessed over the strongest and cold- 
 est of men, she perceived what was passing in his 
 soul, and a smile of triumph, blended with the most 
 bitter contempt, hovered around her beautiful lips. 
 Should she dupe him into granting her wishes by 
 feigning love for the first time ? Should she yield 
 to the man who had insulted her, in order to induce 
 him to accord the children their rights ? Should 
 she, to gratify her lover's foe, relinquish the sacred 
 grief which was drawing her after him, give pos- 
 terity and her children the right to call her, instead 
 of the most loyal of the loyal, a dishonoured wom- 
 an, who sold herself for power ? 
 
 To all these questions came a prompt denial. 
 The single stride which Octavianus had made 
 towards her, his eyes aflame with love, gave her 
 the right to feel that she had vanquished the victor, 
 and the proud delight of triumph was too plainly 
 reflected in her mobile features to escape the pene- 
 trating, distrustful gaze of the subjugated Caesar. 
 
ff OF TEE • 
 
 CLEOPATRA. \ ''^^IVl^aSIT 
 
 But he had scarcely perceived what threatened him, 
 and remembered her words concerning his famous 
 uncle's surrender only to her and to death, when he 
 succeeded in conquering his quickly kindled senses. 
 Blushing at his own weakness, he averted his eyes 
 from the Queen, and when he met those of Procu- 
 lejus and the other witnesses of the scene, he real- 
 ized the abyss on whose verge he stood. He had 
 half succumbed to the danger of losing, by a mo- 
 ment's weakness, the fruit of great sacrifices and 
 severe exertions. 
 
 His expressive eyes, which had just rested 
 rapturously upon a beautiful woman, now scanned 
 the spectators with the stern glance of a monarch 
 and, apparently wishing to moderate an excess of 
 flattering recognition which might be misinter- 
 preted, he said in an almost pedagogical tone : 
 
 " Yet we would rather see the noble lioness in 
 the majestic repose which best suits all sovereigns. 
 It is difficult for a calm, deliberate nature like mine 
 to understand an ardent, quickly kindling heart." 
 
 Cleopatra had watched this sudden transition 
 with more surprise than disappointment. Octa- 
 vianus had half surrendered to her, but recovered 
 his self-command in time, and a man of his tem- 
 perament does not readily succumb twice to a dan- 
 ger which he barely escaped. And this was well! 
 He should learn that he had misunderstood the 
 glance which fired his heart ; so she answered dis- 
 tantly, with majestic dignity : 
 
282 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 "Misery such as mine quenches all ardour: 
 And love ? Woman's heart is ever open to it, save 
 where it has lost the desire for power and pleas- 
 ure. You are young and happy, therefore your 
 soul still yearns for love — I know that — though 
 not for mine. To me, on the contrary, one suitor 
 only is welcome, he with the lowered torch, whom 
 you keep aloof from me. With him alone is to be 
 found the boon for which this soul has longed 
 from childhood — painless peace ! You smile. My 
 past gives you the right to do so. 1 will not 
 lessen it. Each individual lives his or her own 
 life. Few understand the changes of their own 
 existence, far less those of a stranger's. The 
 world has witnessed how Peace fled from my path, 
 or I from hers, and yet I see the possibility of 
 finding the way. I am safe from the only things 
 which would debar me from those joys — humilia- 
 tion and disgrace." Here she hesitated ; then, as 
 if in explanation, continued in the sweetest tones 
 at her command : " Your generosity, I think, will 
 guard from these two foes the woman whom 
 just now — I did not fail to see it — you considered 
 worthy of a more than gracious glance. I shall 
 treasure it among memories which will never fade. 
 But now, illustrious Imperator ! tell me, what is 
 your decision concerning me and the children? 
 What may we hope from your favour ? " 
 
 " That Octavianus will be more and more 
 warmly animated by the desire to accord you and 
 
CLEOPATRA. 283 
 
 yours a worthy destiny, the more firmly you ex- 
 pect that he will attest his generosity." 
 
 */ And if I fulfil this desire and expect from you 
 everything that is great and noble — the condition 
 is not difficult — what proofs of your graciousness 
 will then await us?" 
 
 " Paint them with all the fervour of that vivid 
 power of imagination which interpreted even my 
 glance in your favour, and devised the marvels by 
 which you rendered the greatest and most brilliant 
 man in Rome the happiest of mortals. But — by 
 Zeus !— it is the fourth hour after noonday ! " 
 
 A glance from the window had caused the ex- 
 clamation. Then, pressing his hand upon his heart, 
 he continued in a tone of the most sincere regret : 
 " How gladly I would prolong this fascinating con- 
 versation, but important matters which, unfortu- 
 nately, cannot be deferred, summon me " 
 
 " And your answer ? " cried Cleopatra, panting 
 for breath and gazing at him with eyes full of ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 " Must I repeat it ? " he asked with impatient 
 haste. "Very well, then. In return for implicit 
 confidence on your part, favour, forgiveness, cor- 
 diality, every consideration which you can justly 
 desire. Your heart is so rich in warmth of feeling, 
 grant me but a small share of it and ask tangible 
 gifts in return. They are already bestowed." Then 
 greeting her like a friend who is reluctant to say 
 farewell, he hastily left the apartment. 
 
284 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Gone — gone ! " cried Iras as the door closed 
 behind him. "An eel that slips from the hand 
 which strives to hold him." 
 
 ** Northern ice," added Cleopatra gloomily as 
 Charmian aided her to find a more comfortable 
 position. " As smooth as it is cold ; there is noth- 
 ing more to hope." 
 
 " Yes, my royal mistress, yes," Iras eagerly pro- 
 tested. "Dolabella is waiting for him in the 
 Philadelphus court-yard. From him — you have his 
 promise — we shall learn what Octavianus has in 
 store for you." 
 
 In truth, the Caesar did find the youth at the 
 first gate of the palace, inspecting his superb Cy- 
 renean horses. 
 
 " Magnificent animals ! " cried Octavianus ; "a 
 gift from the city ! Will you drive with me ? — A 
 remarkable, a very remarkable woman ! " 
 
 " Isn't she ? " asked Dolabella eagerly. 
 
 ** Undoubtedly," replied the Caesar. "But 
 though she might almost be your mother, an un- 
 commonly dangerous one for youths of your age. 
 What a melting voice, what versatility, what fer- 
 vour ! And yet such regal grace in every move- 
 ment ! But I wish to stifle, not to fan, the spark 
 which perhaps has already fallen mto your heart. 
 And the play, the farce which she just enacted be- 
 fore me in the midst of most serious matters! " 
 
 He uttered a low, short laugh; but Dolabella 
 exclaimed expectantly: "You rarely laugh, but 
 
CLEOPATRA. 285 
 
 this conversation — apparently — excites your mirth. 
 So the result was satisfactory ? " 
 
 *' Let us hope so. I was as gracious to her as 
 possible." 
 
 " That is delightful. May I know in what 
 manner your kindness and wisdom have shaped 
 her future ? Or, rather, what did you promise the 
 vanquished Queen ? " 
 
 ^* My favour, if she will trust me." 
 
 " Proculejus and I will continue to strengthen 
 her confidence. And if we succeed ? " 
 
 " Then, as I have said, she will have my favour 
 — a generous abundance of favour." 
 
 " But her future destiny ? What fate will you 
 bestow on her and her children ?" 
 
 "Whatever the degree of her confidence de- 
 serves." 
 
 Here he hesitated, for he met Dolabella's ear- 
 nest, troubled gaze, which was blended with a shade 
 of reproach. 
 
 Octavianus desired to retain the enthusiastic 
 admiration of the youth, who perhaps was destined 
 to lofty achievements, so he continued in a con- 
 fidential tone : " To you, my young friend, I can 
 venture to speak more frankly. I will gladly 
 grant the most aspiring wishes of this fasci- 
 nating and, I repeat, very remarkable woman, but 
 first I need her for my triumph. The Romans 
 would have cause to reproach me if I deprived 
 them of the sight of this Queen, this peerless wom- 
 39 
 
286 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 an, in many respects the first of her time. We 
 shall soon set out for Syria. The Queen and her 
 children I shall send in three days to Rome. If, 
 in the triumphal procession there, she creates the 
 sensation I anticipate from a spectacle so worthy 
 of admiration, she shall learn how I reward those 
 who oblige me." 
 
 Dolabella had listened in silence. When the 
 Caesar entered the carriage, he requested permis- 
 sion to remain behind. 
 
 Octavianus drove alone eastward to the camp 
 where, in the vicinity of the Hippodrome, men were 
 surveying the ground on which the suburb of Ni- 
 kopolis — city of victory — was to be built to com- 
 memorate for future generations the victory of the 
 first Emperor over Antony and Cleopatra. It grew, 
 but never attained any great importance. 
 
 The noble Cornelius gazed indignantly after 
 his sovereign's fiery steeds ; then, drawing up his 
 stately figure to its full height, he entered the 
 palace with a firm step. The act might cost him 
 his life, but he would do what he believed to be 
 his duty to the noble woman who had honoured 
 him with her friendship. This rare sovereign was 
 too good to feast the ^yes of the rabble. 
 
 A few minutes later Cleopatra knew her im- 
 pending ignominy. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The next morning the Queen had many whis- 
 pered conversations with Charmian, and the latter 
 with Anukis. The day before, Archibius's garden- 
 er had -brought to his master's sister some unusu- 
 ally fine figs, which grew in the old garden of 
 Epicurus. This fruit was also mentioned, and 
 Anukis went to Kanopus, and thence, in the stew- 
 ard's carriage, with a basket of the very best ones 
 to the fish-market. There she had a great deal to 
 say to Pyrrhus, and the freedman went to his boat 
 with the figs. 
 
 Shortly after the Nubian's return the Queen 
 came back to the palace from the mausoleum. 
 Her features bore an impress of resolution usually 
 alien to them ; nay, the firmly compressed lips gave 
 them an expression of actual sternness. She knew 
 what duty required, and regarded her approaching 
 end as an inevitable necessity. Death seemed to 
 her like a journey which she must take in order 
 to escape the most terrible disgrace. Besides, life 
 after the death of Antony was no longer the same; 
 it had been only a tiresome delay and waiting for 
 the children's sake. 
 
288 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 The visit to the tomb had been intended, as it 
 were, to announce her coming to her husband. 
 She had remained a long time in the silent hall, 
 where she had garlanded the coffin with flowers, 
 kissed it, talked to the dead man as if he were still 
 alive, and told him that the day had come when 
 what he had mentioned in his will as the warmest 
 desire of his heart — to rest beside her in the same 
 tomb — would be fulfilled. Among the thousand 
 forms of suffering which had assailed her, nothing 
 had seemed so hard to bear as to be deprived of 
 his society and love. 
 
 Then she had gone into the garden, embraced 
 and kissed the children, and entreated them to re- 
 member her tenderly. Her purpose had not been 
 concealed from Archibius, but Charmian had told 
 him the menace of the future, and he approved her 
 decision. By the exertion of all his innate strength 
 of will, he succeeded in concealing the grief which 
 rent his faithful heart. She must die. The thought 
 of seeing her adorn the triumphal procession of 
 Octavianus was unbearable to him also. Her 
 thanks and entreaties to be an affectionate guard- 
 ian to the children were received with an external 
 calmness which afterwards seemed to him utterly 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 When she spoke of her approaching meeting 
 with her lover, he asked whether she had entirely 
 abandoned the teachings of Epicurus, who be- 
 lieved that death absolutely ended existence. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 289 
 
 Cleopatra eagerly assented, saying: "Absence 
 of pain has ceased to appear to me the chief earth- 
 ly blessing, since I have known that love does not 
 bring pleasure only, since I have learned that pain 
 is the inseparable companion of love. I will not 
 give it up, nor will I part from my lover. Who- 
 ever experiences what fate has allotted to me has 
 learned to know other gods than those whom the 
 master described as dwelling happily in undis- 
 turbed repose. Rather eternal torture in another 
 world, united to the man I love, than painless, joy- 
 less mere existence in a desolate, incomprehensible, 
 unknown region ! You will be the last to teach 
 the children to yearn for freedom from pain " 
 
 "Because, like you," cried Archibius, "I have 
 learned how great a blessing is love, and that love 
 is pain." 
 
 As he spoke he bent over her hand to kiss it, 
 but she took his temples between her hands and, 
 bending hastily, pressed her lips on his broad 
 brow. 
 
 Then his self-control vanished, and, sobbing 
 aloud, he hurried back to the children. 
 
 Cleopatra gazed after him with a sorrowful 
 smile, and leaning on Charmian's arm, she entered 
 the palace. 
 
 There she was bathed and, robed in costly mourn- 
 ing garments, reclined among her cushions to take 
 breakfast, which was usually served at this hour. 
 
 Iras and Charmian shared it. 
 
290 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 When dessert was carried in, the Nubian brought 
 a basket filled with delicious figs. A peasant, she 
 told Epaphroditus, who was watching the meal, 
 had given them to her because they were so re- 
 markably fine. Some had already been snatched 
 by the guards. 
 
 The Queen and her companions ate a little of 
 the fruit, and Proculejus, who had come to greet 
 Cleopatra, was also persuaded to taste one of the 
 finest figs. 
 
 At the end of the meal Cleopatra wished to rest. 
 
 The Roman gentlemen and the guards retired. 
 
 At last the women were alone, and gazed at each 
 other silently. 
 
 Charmian timidly lifted the upper layer of the 
 fruit, but the Queen said mournfully : 
 
 " The wife of Antony dragged through the 
 streets of Rome behind the victor's chariot, a 
 spectacle for the populace and envious matrons!" 
 Then, starting up, she exclaimed : " What a 
 thought ! Was it too great for Octavianus, or 
 too petty ? He who so loudly boasts his knowl- 
 edge of mankind expects this impossibility from 
 the woman who revealed her inmost soul to him 
 as fully as he concealed his from her. We will 
 show him how small is his comprehension of hu- 
 man nature, and teach him modesty." 
 
 A contemptuous smile flitted over her beautiful 
 lips as, with rapid movements, she flung handful 
 after handful of figs on the table, till she saw some- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 291 
 
 thing stirring under the fruit, and with a sigh of 
 relief exclaimed under her breath : 
 
 " There it is ! " as with hasty resolution she 
 held out her arm towards the asp, which hissed 
 at her. 
 
 While gazing intently at the movements of the 
 viper, which seemed afraid to fulfil the dread office, 
 she said to her attendants : 
 
 *' I thank you — thank you for everything. Be 
 calm. You know, Iras, it will cause no pain. They 
 say it is like falling asleep." Then she shuddered 
 slightly, adding: " Death is a solemn thing; yet it 
 must be. Why does the serpent delay ? There — 
 there ; I will keep firm. Ambition and love were 
 the moving forces of my life. Men shall praise my 
 memory. — I follow you, Mark Antony ! " 
 
 Charmian bent over the left arm of her royal 
 mistress, which hung loosely at her side, and, weep- 
 ing aloud, covered it with kisses, while Cleopatra, 
 watching the motions of the asp still more closely, 
 added : 
 
 " The peace of our garden of Epicurus will be- 
 gin to-day. Whether it will be painless, who can 
 tell ? Yet — there I agree with Archibius — life's 
 greatest joy — love — is blended with pain, as yonder 
 branch of exquisite roses from Dolabella, the last 
 gift of friendship, has its sharp thorns. I think you 
 have both experienced this. The twins and my 
 
 little darling When they think of their mother 
 
 and her end, will not the children '* 
 
292 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Here she uttered a low cry. The asp had struck 
 its fangs into the upper part of her arm like an icy 
 flash of lightning, and a few instants later Cleopatra 
 sank back upon her pillows lifeless. 
 
 Iras, pale but calm, pointed to her, saying: 
 " Like a sleeping child. Bewitching even in death. 
 Fate itself was constrained to do her will and fulfil 
 the last desire of the great Queen, the victorious 
 woman, whom no heart resisted. Its decree shat- 
 ters the presumptuous plan of Octavianus. The 
 victor will show himself to the Romans without 
 thee, thou dear one." 
 
 Sobbing violently, she bent over the inanimate 
 form, closed the eyes, and kissed the lips and 
 brow. The weeping Charmian did the same. 
 
 Then the footsteps of men were heard in the 
 anteroom, and Iras, who was the first to notice 
 them, cried eagerly : 
 
 *^ The moment is approaching! I am glad it is 
 close at hand. Does it not seem to you also as if 
 the very sun in the heavens was darkened ? " 
 
 Charmian nodded assent, and whispered, "The 
 poison ? " 
 
 " Here ! " replied Iras calmly, holding out a 
 plain pin. " One little prick, and the deed will be 
 done. Look ! But no. You once inflicted the 
 deepest suffering upon me. You know — Dion, the 
 
 playmate of my childhood It is forgiven. But 
 
 now — you will do me a kindness. You will spare 
 my using the pin myself. Will you not ? I will 
 
CLEOPATRA. 
 
 293 
 
 repay you. If you wish, my hand shall render you 
 the same service." 
 
 Charmian clasped her niece to her heart, kissed 
 her, pricked her arm lightly, and gave her the other 
 pin, saying : 
 
 " Now it is your turn. Our hearts were filled 
 with love for one who understood how to bestow 
 it as none other ever did, and our love was re- 
 turned. What matters all else that we sacrificed ? 
 Those on whom the sun shines need no other light. 
 Love is pain," she said in dying, "but this pain — 
 especially that of renunciation for love's sake — 
 bears with it a joy, an exquisite joy, which renders 
 death easy. To me it seems as if it were merely 
 following the Queen to Oh, that hurt ! " 
 
 Iras's pin had pricked her. 
 
 The poison did its work quickly. Iras was 
 seized with giddiness, and could scarcely stand. 
 Charmian had just sunk on her knees, when some 
 one knocked loudly at the closed door, and the 
 voices of Epaphroditus and Proculejus imperiously 
 demanded admittance. 
 
 When no answer followed, the lock was hastily 
 burst open. 
 
 Charmian was found lying pale and distorted 
 at the feet of her royal mistress; but Iras, tottering 
 and half stupefied by the poison, was adjusting 
 the diadem, which had slipped from its place. To 
 keep from her beloved Queen everything that could 
 detract from her beauty had been her last care. 
 
294 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Enraged, fairly frantic with wrath, the Romans 
 rushed towards the women. Epaphroditus had 
 seen Iras still occupied in arranging Cleopatra's 
 ornaments. Now he endeavoured to raise her 
 companion, saying reproachfully, ^'Charmian, was 
 this well done?" Summoning her last strength, 
 she answered in a faltering voice, '* Perfectly well, 
 and worthy a descendant of Egyptian kings." 
 Her eyes closed, but Proculejus, the author, who 
 had gazed long with deep emotion into the beauti- 
 ful proud face of the Queen whom he had so great- 
 ly wronged, said : ^' No other woman on earth was 
 ever so admired by the greatest, so loved by the 
 loftiest. Her fame echoed from nation to nation 
 throughout the world. It will continue to resound 
 from generation to generation; but however loudly 
 men may extol the bewitching charm, the fervour 
 of the love which survived death, her intellect, her 
 knowledge, the heroic courage with which she 
 preferred the tomb to ignominy — the praise of 
 these two must not be forgotten. Their fidelity 
 deserves it. By their marvellous end they uncon- 
 sciously erected the most beautiful monument to 
 their mistress; for what genuine goodness and 
 lovableness must have been possessed by the wom- 
 an who, after the greatest reverses, made it seem 
 more desirable to those nearest to her person to 
 die than to live without her ! " * 
 
 * The Roman's exclamation and the answer of the loyal 
 dying Charmian are taken literally from Plutarch's narrative. 
 
CLEOPATRA. 295 
 
 The news of the death of their beloved, ad- 
 mired sovereign transformed Alexandria into a 
 house of mourning. Obsequies of unprecedented 
 magnificence and solemnity, at which many tears 
 of sincere grief flowed, honoured her memory. 
 One of Octavianus's most brilliant plans was frus- 
 trated by her death, and he had raved furiously 
 when he read the letter in which Cleopatra, with 
 her own hand, informed him of her intention to die. 
 But he owed it to his reputation for generosity to 
 grant her a funeral worthy of her rank. To the 
 dead, who had ceased to be dangerous, he was 
 ready to show an excess of magnanimity. 
 
 The treatment which he accorded to Cleo- 
 patra's children also won the world's admiration. 
 His sister Octavia received them into her own 
 house and intrusted their education to Archibius. 
 
 When the order to destroy the statues of An- 
 tony and Cleopatra was issued, Octavianus gave 
 his contemporaries another proof of his dispo- 
 sition to be lenient, for he ordered that the nu- 
 merous statues of the Queen in Alexandria and 
 Egypt should be preserved. True, he had been 
 influenced by the large sum of two thousand 
 talents paid by an Alexandrian to secure this act 
 of generosity. Archibius was the name of the 
 rare friend who had impoverished himself to ren- 
 der this service to the memory of the beloved 
 dead. 
 
 In later times the statues of the unfortunate 
 
296 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Queen adorned the places where they had been 
 erected. 
 
 The sarcophagi of Cleopatra and Mark Antony, 
 by whose side rested Iras and Charmian, were con- 
 stantly heaped with flowers and offerings to the 
 dead. The women of Alexandria, especially, went 
 to the tomb of their beloved Queen as if it were 
 a pilgrimage ; but in after-days faithful mourners 
 also came from a distance to visit it, among them 
 the children of the famous lovers whom death 
 here united — Cleopatra Selene, now the wife of 
 the learned Numidian Prince Juba, Helios Antony, 
 and Alexander, who had reached manhood. Their 
 friend and teacher, Archibius,. accompanied them. 
 He taught them to hold their mother's memory 
 dear, and had so reared them that, in their matu- 
 rity, he could lead them with head erect to the 
 sarcophagus of the friend who had confided them 
 to his charge. 
 
 THE END, 
 
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 by Lady Dufferin to her friends (her mother chiefly) while her husband 
 was Governor-General of Canada; and describes her experiences in the 
 same chatty and charming style with which readers were before made 
 familiar. ' ' — Cincinnati Commercial- Gazette. 
 
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