racking anguish of her heart. It seemed as though the earth were
giving way under her feet. Horror! Desolation! To be alone, when
so short a while before she had had the Master of the World for her
companion! The thought made her dizzy. But at her breast was the
tiny head bearing the features of that master. She pressed the child
closer and kissed his smiling mouth. No! All was not lost. Hope
was born anew and courage came to bear her company.
II
ALEXANDRIA
Two years had passed. From her capital, whither she had returned
crushed by the disaster of the Ides of March, Cleopatra was still
watching the civil war which was destroying the Roman world. That
violent struggle, which was led alternately by the murderers and the
avengers of Cæsar, was a series of brutal reverses. The feeling that
it roused in her was not merely one of sentiment. Grief for the
great man who had loved her so passionately, the desire to see his
vile assassins punished, were mixed with grave political anxiety.
For nearly a century Egypt had been impossible to govern. Restless,
corrupt, sanguinary, it had become a prey to the various pretenders
to the throne. To hold it together in any way, to utilize the
magnificent resources of its rich soil, to get rid of the bands of
pirates, deserters, and outlaws which made up the larger part of its
army, required a stronger power than the Lagidæ possessed. Too
indolent to make any exertion, these dilettante sovereigns had formed
the habit of appealing to Rome for aid whenever a new insurrection
broke out. Ptolemy the Piper, Cleopatra's father, had only been able
to secure his crown by bribing the Roman Senators; and as to
Cleopatra, we know what means she had used to regain her sceptre!
If the peace that she had restored seemed desirable, if she had been
given credit for the temporary prosperity of the country, there was
also much discontent that these things had been accomplished at the
price of a scandal, and by an alliance which, at any time, might
change the ruling power and put it in foreign hands.
Feeling herself deserted, surrounded by opposition, by plots,
deprived of the troops, which, owing to military reasons, had been
removed to other parts, the Queen had days of deep depression. She
was overwhelmed by her responsibilities, especially when her
ministers came with various accounts: of a pest so terrible that the
embalmers were unable to care for the bodies of the dead; with
sickening tales of the corpses which lined the public highways; again
of famine, which for two successive seasons had ravished the land; of
the wasteful extravagance of dishonest officials in charge of
government affairs; of the difficulties of administration which each
and every day brought forth. She was weary and often went back in
imagination to the days when the passion of a mighty conqueror had
taken all care away, and she had only to wave her ivory sceptre to
have any desire fulfilled.
What remained to-day of that ancient alliance? It was Rome now that
stood in need of aid. Moreover, she was invoking it, and in the
present state of discord each faction was, in turn, begging the
support of Egypt's fleet. If Cleopatra did not respond to this
appeal it was because she was uncertain which side would win. To
which party would the Republic belong to-morrow? If the conspirators
who had murdered Cæsar were victorious, it was probable that, shorn
of power as it was, the kingdom of Egypt, together with those of
Greece, Syria, Gaul, and Spain, as well as Mauritania, would become
merely colonies of Rome. If the other party, that was loyal to
Cæsar's memory, were the winner, then she could look for the
consideration due her. Was it not likely that the friends of Cæsar,
desirous of carrying on the work that he had planned, would guard the
interests of the woman whom he had named as his wife? Would they not
protect the child who bore his image? But who would be the
conquerors? Cleopatra was tormented with the perpetual question; and
the report of Cassius' success in Macedonia filled her with
apprehension.
That was in the early autumn. Then came winter, with its fogs and
storms; navigation was suspended and there was no further news from
the battle-fields.
The sight of Alexandria, filled as that city was for her with
memories and with forebodings, plunged her into endless reveries.
There the brimming cup of joy had been handed her and she had drunk
her fill. Often at sunset, when the magic purple light bathed the
landscape, she would climb to one of the terraces looking toward the
Bruchium and gaze upon the façades of shimmering gold. How lovely it
was, stretched under the fiery sky, at the edge of the tawny beach;
or lighted at night by the giant torches of its watch-towers! How
much more beautiful it had grown in the decades since its founder had
drawn the first plans and shaped its boundaries, which lay around it
like the folds of a military cloak. The Queen of such a city might
well be proud. In whichever direction she looked were many-coloured
marbles, enamelled domes of porcelain, triumphal arches, façades
exquisitely carved. On the crest of a small hill stood the Pantheon,
called in jest the Cage of the Muses. It was here, according to
ancient tradition which the Lagidæ held in deepest reverence, that
poets, sculptors, musicians, and artists of all nations were accorded
a warm welcome, always provided they had excelled in their art and
were faithful worshippers of Apollo.
Here, in the middle of the colonnade, stood the famous Library--rich,
even after the terrible fire, in the possession of seven hundred
thousand volumes, and which held, among other precious treasures, the
Septimus, that first translation of the Bible into Greek, made by
seventy-two learned Egyptian Jews, under Ptolemy Philadelphus. Not
far distant, as though to seek the fountain of spiritual nourishment,
clustered the group of temples of Serapis. This centre of learning,
home of history, philosophy, medicine, and mathematics, as well as
guardian of previous manuscripts, was in very truth the light of the
world. To-day, after two thousand years, we are indebted to it for
the preservation of the life of Greek literature.
The instruction given there, the names of the savants who taught, the
methods employed, the accuracy of the instruments, the very quality
of the papyrus furnished the students, all these were so justly
famous that wealthy people of all countries, Rome, Athens, even
distant Asia, who had some especially gifted son desired to send him
there, that he might bear the illustrious seal of having been a
student at Alexandria.
Across the distance, to the wide avenues where chariots, litters,
cavalcades were thronging the broad streets, Cleopatra was still
gazing. She saw the circuses, the theatres; the gymnasium, with the
crowd at its doors, reading the announcements; the stadium, with its
circling race-course; she looked at the gigantic hippodrome, which
twenty thousand spectators could barely fill; at the widely scattered
temples which over-topped the houses, dominating the other buildings
by their mysterious grandeur, and farther on, she saw, with a thrill
of awe, the Soma, that mausoleum where, in a crystal sarcophagus,
rested the repatriated body of her heroic ancestor.
Of these precious stones, of all this magnificence, the Queen
reckoned the worth, and with a fearful pride asked herself: "Will all
this be mine to-morrow?" Her mind revelled in the vastness of her
heritage; she regarded the inexhaustible valley, watered by the
divine river; she thought of the thirty thousand towns which from
north to south reared their noble ramparts; of Bubastos, where the
goddess of love reigned; of Memphis, sleeping at the base of her
pyramids; of Thebes, the Holy City; of Hermonthis, called the glory
of two heavens; of Edfu, rich in antique treasures. Farther on, she
saw, in imagination, those southern regions which produce granite and
spices; the legendary vineyards, where each cluster of grapes was so
heavy that two men were needed to carry it to the wine-press. She
went back to that enchanted island whose perfumed paths bore the
traces of her footsteps, near to those of her lover. Her old-time
confidence returned and she cried: "No, my Egypt! sacred land of
Osiris and of Ra, you who fill the granaries of the earth and
reverently protect your dead! Garden of palms and of vines! Shore
where the holy ibis seeks cooling drink, never shall you be a slave!"
And Cleopatra was right. Success was in sight. A decisive victory
had just been gained by Cæsar's avengers. Pirates, escaped from
Naxos, had brought the good tidings. Brutus, then Cassius, had been
defeated in the plains of Philippi, and each had taken his life with
the blade which their treacherous hands had plunged in the blood of
their benefactor; thus was justice done.
Cleopatra took fresh courage. New light came into her life,
overshadowed since that fatal morning in March. Although still
wrapped in mist, the future was no longer an opaque and
indistinguishable mass of blackness. A certain harmony prevailed
between it and the past. Rome emerged from the gloom. Freed from
the conspirators, she might once more become a valuable ally.
Meanwhile, the Queen, faithful to the tradition of her ancestors, who
had squandered fortunes in amusing the populace, ordered elaborate
entertainments, beginning with religious ceremonies, accompanied by
sacrifices. Was it not fitting to give thank-offerings to the gods
who had just punished the hateful perpetrators of that deadly crime?
The people of Alexandria welcomed every opportunity for a festival.
If their city was famous for its university, for the learned men who
came there daily to give lectures, it was also a centre of
dissipation; rich in every variety of entertainment, vibrating with
the sheer joy of living. The enormous fortunes which were made there
had produced unlimited luxury. For gaiety of all kinds, banquets,
dances, races, theatres, orgies of love and wine, it was without a
rival.
The fame of the Alexandrian festivals was far-spread. Wherever they
were announced, at Bubastos, or at Pelusium, along the Syrian or
Cilician coasts, eager throngs came to mingle with the populace.
From day-break, along the broad promenades of the modern quarters, as
well as in the overgrown alleys of the old Rhakotis, there were
swarms of noisy people.
The many-coloured costumes, the variety of complexions, dark and
fair, olive and amber, indicated the hurly-burly of the cosmopolitan
town. The active life of its harbour, filled with all sorts of
beauty and splendour, from the Pillars of Hercules to the entrance of
the Indus; the various spectacles, the museums, the fabulous Nile,
where flower-laden barges went up and down day and night; the
primitive debauchery, to which Greek culture had added every possible
refinement, all these whetted curiosity and made the diversions of
the metropolis inexhaustible.
On one hand a high-shouldered native, his loins girded with
bright-coloured cloths, led an ass laden with leathern bottles;
another was driving a wheat-cart; there, a sunburned, withered sailor
dragged his net; yonder soldiers marched, whose imposing appearance
attracted the crowd. Men from all countries and of all races were
gathered together there.
Greeks predominated, recognizable, under their palliums, by their
athletic suppleness; there were Romans with their bronze masks, and
Gauls, whose blue eyes and close-fitting woollen tunics contrasted
strangely with the heavy lidded Asiatics, whose flowing, embroidered
robes swept the dust.
The different nationalities of the women were even more conspicuous,
owing to their curious coiffures; some wore the hair loose, others
made it into curls on either side of their cheeks; and still others,
as the girls from Ephesus, fastened it with golden pins, intertwined
with flowers and leaves.
Vast numbers of nomads, usually restricted to the suburbs, added to
the throngs in the streets, for the police were ordered to be
tolerant on the fête days. Save on the Royal Way, which was reserved
exclusively for the official cortèges, Arabs were allowed to wander
at will, leading, by a cord passed through a nose-ring, one or more
camels, whose air of indescribable dignity dominated the crowd.
There were Jews, who carried bags of money hidden in their shabby,
black caftans; Ethiopians and Kaffirs, with baskets of figs and
citrons balanced on their crimped heads.
Mingling in this mob, strolling about in couples, were lazy little
working-girls, attracted by the clap-trap inducements of
fortune-tellers, watching the acrobats who, standing on their heads,
swallowed swords; or pausing to gaze at the light and wiry jugglers
leaping in and out of the encircling flames. There were loafers
everywhere, seeking amusement; children in danger of being crushed by
the crowd; even ladies of rank, who, diverted by the street-shows,
had left their litters, and were closely followed by their slaves to
protect them from being jostled.
But everyone had to contend with the general disorder and each was in
danger of being hustled or even beaten down. Theocritus has left us
a vivid sketch describing a scene at one of these popular festivals
between two young women from Syracuse. One of them, Gorga, is
visiting her friend. She arrives all out of breath.
"O Praxinoa! give me a chair, quick! Put a cushion in it. How my
heart is thumping! I thought I never should find you. You live so
far away, and what a crowd there is to get through!"
Praxinoa listened while she finished dressing. Her maid, Eunoe,
brought her water, soap, and the key of her big chest. She took out
a hat and dress and added the last touches to her costume.
Gorga: "How becoming the long, plaited effect of that dress is! Was
it very expensive?"
Praxinoa: "Ah! don't speak of it! It cost more than two mines of
pure silver, to say nothing of the time it took to make it up."
After some grumbling about their husbands, and instructions to the
Phrygian attendant to look after the baby and to keep the dog shut
up, the two women leave the house. As soon as the door is closed
Praxinoa cried: "Ye gods, what a rabble! What shall we do? How can
we walk? And here come the soldiers! Look at the cavalry! Nothing
frightens me so much as horses. Gorga! Look at that chestnut mare
kicking!"
Gorga: "Never mind, it's going back in line now!"
They push ahead through the surging crowd. But the sensitive
Praxinoa is all confused. "Give me your hand," she calls to Gorga.
"And Eunoe, you hold on to Eutyclus. Let us keep close together lest
we lose each other."
In spite of these precautions they were soon forced apart by the mob.
"How unlucky I am!" exclaimed Praxinoa; her pretty plaited dress had
been trodden under foot by a passing man. She called angrily after
him: "By Jupiter, be careful if you don't want me to...."
But the offender was a gallant man. Instead of being rude he
apologized and helped Praxinoa to arrange her disordered gown. "Take
courage, lady, you are out of danger now!" Praxinoa thanked him,
with the gratitude of a person who has just been rescued: "Kindly
stranger, how can I express my appreciation of your help and
protection?" Just here she caught sight of Gorga, and the two
friends fell into each other's arms.
"I have been looking everywhere for you, Gorga!"
"And I for you, Praxinoa!" they proceeded to discuss their mishaps.
Praxinoa: "See, my dress is all torn!"
Gorga: "So is my cloak. What will my husband say?"
Arm in arm they walked along the road to the edge of the Bruchium
where the banquet is being prepared.
"Is it much farther?" they demanded of an old woman.
"Alas, yes, my children!"
"At least it will be an easy matter to get in?"
The old woman, who knew her Homer, teased them: "'With strenuous
efforts the Greeks entered Troy.' If you take enough trouble, my
fair maids, you may reach your goal!"
* * *
There was a sudden flourish of trumpets. It was the signal for the
procession to start. It filed by, solemn, unending, with the
musicians at its head, half-naked cymbal players clanging their
shining disks; cithern players, who sounded rings strung on metal
threads; men, striking with sycamore sticks the wild asses' skins
stretched over round drums hanging from their necks.
At a certain distance, intended to indicate the difference between
them and what was merely human, the cortège of priests appeared. The
trumpet players had already commanded silence and with reverent
interest the spectators gazed at the horoscope casters, who could
reveal the future; the hieroglyphic readers; prophets with long
beards, who burned incense in little brass boxes; priests, whose duty
it was to offer to faithful worshippers the images of the gods.
Raising their gilded staffs, some would balance the standards by
their painted ends; others, accompanied them in chariots; amid the
general exultation, and before the staring eyes of the crowd, filed
the mysterious figures of Apis, Hathor, the Bull; of the grimacing
Toth, of Horus, in his sparrow-hawk mask, of Anubis, the god of
Death, all expressing unknown power. There were great shoutings and
cries as these images passed, for all believed in the might of this
blind matter, all believed in its power of conferring an infinite
degree of strength on the suppliant.
Between two rows of soldiers the High Priest at last was seen
advancing. He was a very old man and leaned on a cane. A long,
hyacinth-coloured veil covered his hands and his face, which no
profane glance was allowed to desecrate. He alone was admitted to
private conference with the god, who presently, through his mouth,
would reveal the oracle. After him came the priestesses, young,
pure, dressed entirely in white, their pointed fingers balancing the
stems of lotus-flowers. Then followed the conjurers, with their
quivering torches; the bell ringers; the bird catchers, who, on their
batons daubed with glue, held the sacred fowls. Then came the
beggars, exposing their infirmities; the vendors of sacred images, of
scarabs, of amulets; the inevitable commercial tail that always drags
behind wherever man raises up a god to be adored. And all this tide
of incongruous beings, this turbulent collection of races, of
passions, of divers interests, advanced in order, marching with even
step toward the fascinating goal, which yonder against the azure sky,
resplendent and sacred, called to them all alike to come: the temple
of Serapis.
Built on the model of the old temples of the gods, this sanctuary,
uniting all forms of worship, was the most noted in Egypt. The
princely sums with which it was endowed served continually to augment
its power, and only the most famous monuments of the Roman Capitol
could compare with its mighty structure. One hundred steps led up to
the entrance. Its portal was guarded by a line of sphinxes of
imposing majesty; and along its sides, from arches of yellow and
vermilion, light streamers floated in the wind.
As they approached the entrance the students of the different
colleges took their places along the portico, according to their
rank. Some stood in the empty spaces between the rows of columns
and, thus, little by little, the building was filled, peopled with
human forms which, in their immobility, resembled groups of statues.
Suddenly there was a commotion. Everyone turned toward a light which
shone above the crowd. A herald announced "The Queen!" Magnificent,
surrounded by a glittering guard, on her way, one would have said, to
a heavenly kingdom, Cleopatra appeared, borne on a shield. Seeing
her thus, so innocent, in a sheath of silver which encircled her as
though she were a graven image, with her knees bent, her elbows close
to her sides, her eyes raised to the sky, it was not possible to
believe the evil tales about her. She was no longer the woman, but
the august daughter of kings; a priestess, who, in another moment,
would be in the presence of a god. Four slaves waved immense fans of
peacocks' feathers above her head, and at her feet, like a cushion, a
panther lay.
While the temple slaves attended to the slaughter of the victims,
whose warm entrails were smoking on the slope, a young poet-singer,
his zither hanging from his shoulder, advanced and, after bowing to
the multitude, began chanting the praises of the Queen. "_Thy hair
is like a sweet-smelling plant. Thy hands are the palms of love.
Thy brow is like a moon coming out from behind a cloud. Thine eyes,
with their shining lashes, are two summer butterflies. Thy teeth
have the brilliancy of a stream, running between two banks bordered
with roses and peonies._" And after each verse, a chorus of virgins
would take up the refrain: "_Hail to thee, O resplendent daughter of
Amoun-Ra!_"
The moment for the burnt-offerings had come. Erect now, her
shoulders covered with the mantle of Isis, white as wheat, followed
by the priests and the chief dignitaries, Cleopatra stepped over the
sill of the temple, and the enormous door, behind which crouched the
terrifying watch-dog of granite, with his triple head of wolf,
jackal, and lion, was closed. In the farthest corner, behind great
columns, covered with hieroglyphics explaining the destiny of the
human soul, stood a Serapis of marble and of gold. Ruling deity in
whom was combined the antique Kronos, together with the Zeus of the
Greeks and the Jupiter of the Latins, Serapis was the national god.
He was believed to be omnipotent. It was to him that the Egyptians
looked for glory, health, and riches; from him came their faith in
the mighty powers of the waters of the Nile. His figure was three
times the height of man and serene majesty was written on his
features. His beard spread over his knees, abundant and shining; the
seal of kings was on his forehead; his hands were extended with a
gesture that seemed to embrace the whole world. By a skilful
arrangement the light, coming in from above, fell on his enamelled
lips, and this single ray produced the effect of a kiss from heaven,
and gave his worshippers the illusion that he was speaking.
Before this colossal statue the sacrificial table was spread. The
signs of the Zodiac were engraved on its huge circumference. In the
centre was burning oil, and side by side with the blood of the
victims were precious vases holding wine and wheat, the water of the
Nile, and the seven perfumes most agreeable to the god. While the
High Priest inclined toward the flame, pouring out the offerings that
the fire might devour them, the Queen prostrated herself before the
altar. She pleaded, she implored: "O mighty god, all-powerful god,
whom the winds obey, be favourable to my prayers. Liberate thy
healing waters, let their abundance flow over Egypt and make her
fertile. Let no sedition breed in her cities, nor alien enemy come
to destroy her troops. May her people be loyal to her and protect
her with foot-soldiers armed with arrows, and with horsemen in
shining armour."
Absorbed in the mysterious rites in the temple, all hearts were
beating furiously. It was the moment when the omens would become
visible; and, as though a single soul, a single voice, the multitude
united in the prayer of its sovereign. Moved by an unconquerable
faith she repeated the words of supplication: "O mighty god, god whom
the winds obey, liberate the still waters.'"
The smoke cleared away, the cedar doors of the temple reopened, and
the Queen reappeared. She was very pale. Under her sparkling
necklaces her bosom was heaving. Her large eyes were gazing far off,
beyond earthly things, into that region of prophecy whither her
prayer had ascended. What had she seen there? What had she heard?
What communication from the oracle did the High Priest have to bring?
Three blasts of the trumpet announced that the Queen was about to
speak. She came to the edge of the first step, and her voice, sweet
as a flute, pronounced these words:
"May the name of Serapis be praised! His mercy is upon us. He
promises glory and prosperity to Egypt. On your seed the Nile will
spread her blessed waters and will make your wheat to swell!"
A tremendous clamour arose. From the thousands of throats it swelled
like the roar of a hurricane. With enthusiasm, with an almost insane
gratitude, as though the miracle had already taken place, thanks
began to pour forth.