A loud laugh re-echoing from the marble walls of the state-room
interrupted the queen’s speech; at first she started, but then smiled
with pleasure as she recognized her brother Euergetes, who, pushing
aside the chamberlains, approached the company with an elderly Greek,
who walked by his side.
“By all the dwellers on Olympus! By the whole rabble of gods and beasts
that live in the temples by the Nile!” cried the new-comer, again
laughing so heartily that not only his fat cheeks but his whole
immensely stout young frame swayed and shook. “By your pretty little
feet, Cleopatra, which could so easily be hidden, and yet are always
to be seen--by all your gentle virtues, Philometor, I believe you are
trying to outdo the great Philadelphus or our Syrian uncle Antiochus,
and to get up a most unique procession; and in my honor! Just so! I
myself will take a part in the wonderful affair, and my sturdy person
shall represent Eros with his quiver and bow. Some Ethiopian dame
must play the part of my mother Aphrodite; she will look the part to
perfection, rising from the white sea-foam with her black skin. And what
do you think of a Pallas with short woolly hair; of the Charities
with broad, flat Ethiopian feet; and an Egyptian, with his shaven head
mirroring the sun, as Phoebus Apollo?”
With these words the young giant of twenty years threw himself on the
vacant couch between his brother and sister, and, after bowing, not
without dignity, to the Roman, whom his brother named to him, he called
one of the young Macedonians of noble birth who served at the feast as
cup-bearers, had his cup filled once and again and yet a third time,
drinking it off quickly and without setting it down; then he said in
a loud tone, while he pushed his hands through his tossed, light brown
hair, till it stood straight up in the air from his broad temples and
high brow:
“I must make up for what you have had before I came.--Another cup-full
Diocleides.”
“Wild boy!” said Cleopatra, holding up her finger at him half in jest
and half in grave warning. “How strange you look!”
“Like Silenus without the goat’s hoofs,” answered Euergetes. “Hand me a
mirror here, Diocleides; follow the eyes of her majesty the queen,
and you will be sure to find one. There is the thing! And in fact the
picture it shows me does not displease me. I see there a head on which
besides the two crowns of Egypt a third might well find room, and in
which there is so much brains that they might suffice to fill the skulls
of four kings to the brim. I see two vulture’s eyes which are always
keen of sight even when their owner is drunk, and that are in danger
of no peril save from the flesh of these jolly cheeks, which, if they
continue to increase so fast, must presently exclude the light, as the
growth of the wood encloses a piece of money stuck into a rift in a
tree-or as a shutter, when it is pushed to, closes up a window. With
these hands and arms the fellow I see in the mirror there could, at
need, choke a hippopotamus; the chain that is to deck this neck must be
twice as long as that worn by a well-fed Egyptian priest. In this mirror
I see a man, who is moulded out of a sturdy clay, baked out of more
unctuous and solid stuff than other folks; and if the fine creature
there on the bright surface wears a transparent robe, what have you to
say against it, Cleopatra? The Ptolemaic princes must protect the import
trade of Alexandria, that fact was patent even to the great son of
Lagus; and what would become of our commerce with Cos if I did not
purchase the finest bombyx stuffs, since those who sell it make no
profits out of you, the queen--and you cover yourself, like a vestal
virgin, in garments of tapestry. Give me a wreath for my head--aye and
another to that, and new wine in the cup! To the glory of Rome and
to your health, Publius Cornelius Scipio, and to our last critical
conjecture, my Aristarchus--to subtle thinking and deep drinking!”
“To deep thinking and subtle drinking!” retorted the person thus
addressed, while he raised the cup, looked into the wine with his
twinkling eyes and lifted it slowly to his nose--a long, well-formed and
slightly aquiline nose--and to his thin lips.
“Oh! Aristarchus,” exclaimed Euergetes, and he frowned. “You please me
better when you clear up the meaning of your poets and historians than
when you criticise the drinking-maxims of a king. Subtle drinking is
mere sipping, and sipping I leave to the bitterns and other birds that
live content among the reeds. Do you understand me? Among reeds, I
say--whether cut for writing, or no.”
“By subtle drinking,” replied the great critic with perfect
indifference, as he pushed the thin, gray hair from his high brow with
his slender hand. “By subtle drinking I mean the drinking of choice
wine, and did you ever taste anything more delicate than this juice of
the vines of Anthylla that your illustrious brother has set before us?
Your paradoxical axiom commends you at once as a powerful thinker and as
the benevolent giver of the best of drinks.”
“Happily turned,” exclaimed Cleopatra, clapping her hands, “you here
see, Publius, a proof of the promptness of an Alexandrian tongue.”
“Yes!” said Euergetes, “if men could go forth to battle with words
instead of spears the masters of the Museum in Alexander’s city, with
Aristarchus at their head, they might rout the united armies of Rome and
Carthage in a couple of hours.”
“But we are not now in the battle-field but at a peaceful meal,” said
the king, with suave amiability. “You did in fact overhear our secret
Euergetes, and mocked at my faithful Egyptians, in whose place I would
gladly set fair Greeks if only Alexandria still belonged to me instead
of to you.--However, a splendid procession shall not be wanting at your
birthday festival.”
“And do you really still take pleasure in these eternal goose-step
performances?” asked Euergetes, stretching himself out on his couch,
and folding his hands to support the back of his head. “Sooner could
I accustom myself to the delicate drinking of Aristarchus than sit
for hours watching these empty pageants. On two conditions only can
I declare myself ready and willing to remain quiet, and patiently to
dawdle through almost half a day, like an ape in a cage: First, if it
will give our Roman friend Publius Cornelius Scipio any pleasure to
witness such a performance--though, since our uncle Antiochus pillaged
our wealth, and since we brothers shared Egypt between us, our
processions are not to be even remotely compared to the triumphs of
Roman victors--or, secondly, if I am allowed to take an active part in
the affair.”
“On my account, Sire,” replied Publius, “no procession need be arranged,
particularly not such a one as I should here be obliged to look on at.”
“Well! I still enjoy such things,” said Cleopatra’s husband.
“Well-arranged groups, and the populace pleased and excited are a sight
I am never tired of.”
“As for me,” cried Cleopatra, “I often turn hot and cold, and the tears
even spring to my eyes, when the shouting is loudest. A great mass of
men all uniting in a common emotion always has a great effect. A drop, a
grain of sand, a block of stone are insignificant objects, but
millions of them together, forming the sea, the desert or the pyramids,
constitute a sublime whole. One man alone, shouting for joy, is like
a madman escaped from an asylum, but when thousands of men rejoice
together it must have a powerful effect on the coldest heart. How is
it that you, Publius Scipio, in whom a strong will seems to me to have
found a peculiarly happy development, can remain unmoved by a scene in
which the great collective will of a people finds its utterance?”
“Is there then any expression of will, think you,” said the Roman, “in
this popular rejoicing? It is just in such circumstances that each man
becomes the involuntary mimic and duplicate of his neighbor; while I
love to make my own way, and to be independent of everything but the
laws and duties laid upon me by the state to which I belong.”
“And I,” said Euergetes, “from my childhood have always looked on
at processions from the very best places, and so it is that fortune
punishes me now with indifference to them and to everything of the kind;
while the poor miserable devil who can never catch sight of anything
more than the nose or the tip of a hair or the broad back of those who
take part in them, always longs for fresh pageants. As you hear, I need
have no consideration for Publius Scipio in this, willing as I should be
to do so. Now what would you say, Cleopatra, if I myself took a part in
my procession--I say mine, since it is to be in my honor; that really
would be for once something new and amusing.”
“More new and amusing than creditable, I think,” replied Cleopatra
dryly.
“And yet even that ought to please you,” laughed Euergetes. “Since,
besides being your brother, I am your rival, and we would sooner see our
rivals lower themselves than rise.”
“Do not try to justify yourself by such words,” interrupted the king
evasively, and with a tone of regret in his soft voice. “We love you
truly; we are ready to yield you your dominion side by side with ours,
and I beg you to avoid such speeches even in jest, so that bygones may
be bygones.”
“And,” added Cleopatra, “not to detract from your dignity as a king and
your fame as a sage by any such fool’s pranks.”
“Madam teacher, do you know then what I had in my mind? I would
appear as Alcibiades, followed by a train of flute-playing women, with
Aristarchus to play the part of Socrates. I have often been told that
he and I resemble each other--in many points, say the more sincere; in
every point, say the more polite of my friends.”
At these words Publius measured with his eye the frame of the royal
young libertine, enveloped in transparent robes; and recalling to
himself, as he gazed, a glorious statue of that favorite of the
Athenians, which he had seen in the Ilissus, an ironical smile passed
over his lips. It was not unobserved by Euergetes and it offended him,
for there was nothing he liked better than to be compared to the nephew
of Pericles; but he suppressed his annoyance, for Publius Cornelius
Scipio was the nearest relative of the most influential men of Rome,
and, though he himself wielded royal power, Rome exercised over him the
sovereign will of a divinity.
Cleopatra noticed what was passing in her brother’s mind, and in
order to interrupt his further speech and to divert his mind to fresh
thoughts, she said cheerfully:
“Let us then give up the procession, and think of some other mode of
celebrating your birthday. You, Lysias, must be experienced in such
matters, for Publius tells me that you were the leader in all the games
of Corinth. What can we devise to entertain Euergetes and ourselves?”
The Corinthian looked for a moment into his cup, moving it slowly about
on the marble slab of the little table at his side, between an oyster
pasty and a dish of fresh asparagus; and then he said, glancing round to
win the suffrages of the company:
“At the great procession which took place under Ptolemy
Philadelphus--Agatharchides gave me the description of it, written by
the eye-witness Kallixenus, to read only yesterday--all kinds of scenes
from the lives of the gods were represented before the people. Suppose
we were to remain in this magnificent palace, and to represent ourselves
the beautiful groups which the great artists of the past have produced
in painting or sculpture; but let us choose those only that are least
known.”
“Splendid,” cried Cleopatra in great excitement, “who can be more like
Heracles than my mighty brother there--the very son of Alcmene, as
Lysippus has conceived and represented him? Let us then represent
the life of Heracles from grand models, and in every case assign to
Euergetes the part of the hero.”
“Oh! I will undertake it,” said the young king, feeling the mighty
muscles of his breast and arms, “and you may give me great credit for
assuming the part, for the demi-god who strangled the snakes was lacking
in the most important point, and it was not without due consideration
that Lysippus represented him with a small head on his mighty body; but
I shall not have to say anything.”
“If I play Omphale will you sit at my feet?” asked Cleopatra.
“Who would not be willing to sit at those feet?” answered Euergetes.
“Let us at once make further choice among the abundance of subjects
offered to us, but, like Lysias, I would warn you against those that are
too well-known.”
“There are no doubt things commonplace to the eye as well as to the
ear,” said Cleopatra. “But what is recognized as good is commonly
regarded as most beautiful.”
“Permit me,” said Lysias, “to direct your attention to a piece of
sculpture in marble of the noblest workmanship, which is both old and
beautiful, and yet which may be known to few among you. It exists on the
cistern of my father’s house at Corinth, and was executed many centuries
since by a great artist of the Peloponnesus. Publius was delighted
with the work, and it is in fact beautiful beyond description. It is an
exquisite representation of the marriage of Heracles and Hebe--of the
hero, raised to divinity, with sempiternal youth. Will Your Majesty
allow yourself to be led by Pallas Athene and your mother Alcmene to
your nuptials with Hebe?”
“Why not?” said Euergetes. “Only the Hebe must be beautiful. But one
thing must be considered; how are we to get the cistern from your
father’s house at Corinth to this place by to-morrow or next day? Such a
group cannot be posed from memory without the original to guide us; and
though the story runs that the statue of Serapis flew from Sinope to
Alexandria, and though there are magicians still at Memphis--”
“We shall not need them,” interrupted Publius, “while I was staying as
a guest in the house of my friend’s parents--which is altogether more
magnificent than the old castle of King Gyges at Sardis--I had some gems
engraved after this lovely group, as a wedding-present for my sister.
They are extremely successful, and I have them with me in my tent.”
“Have you a sister?” asked the queen, leaning over towards the Roman.
“You must tell me all about her.”
“She is a girl like all other girls,” replied Publius, looking down at
the ground, for it was most repugnant to his feelings to speak of his
sister in the presence of Euergetes.
“And you are unjust like all other brothers,” said Cleopatra smiling,
“and I must hear more about her, for”--and she whispered the words and
looked meaningly at Publius--“all that concerns you must interest me.”
During this dialogue the royal brothers had addressed themselves to
Lysias with questions as to the marriage of Heracles and Hebe, and all
the company were attentive to the Greek as he went on: “This fine work
does not represent the marriage properly speaking, but the moment when
the bridegroom is led to the bride. The hero, with his club on his
shoulder, and wearing the lion’s skin, is led by Pallas Athene, who, in
performing this office of peace, has dropped her spear and carries her
helmet in her hand; they are accompanied by his mother Alcmene, and
are advancing towards the bride’s train. This is headed by no less a
personage than Apollo himself, singing the praises of Hymenaeus to a
lute. With him walks his sister Artemis and behind them the mother of
Hebe, accompanied by Hermes, the messenger of the gods, as the envoy of
Zeus. Then follows the principal group, which is one of the most lovely
works of Greek art that I am acquainted with. Hebe comes forward to meet
her bridegroom, gently led on by Aphrodite, the queen of love.
Peitho, the goddess of persuasion, lays her hand on the bride’s arm,
imperceptibly urging her forward and turning away her face; for what she
had to say has been said, and she smiles to herself, for Hebe has not
turned a deaf ear to her voice, and he who has once listened to Peitho
must do what she desires.”
“And Hebe?” asked Cleopatra.
“She casts down her eyes, but lifts up the arm on which the hand of
Peitho rests with a warning movement of her fingers, in which she holds
an unopened rose, as though she would say; ‘Ah! let me be--I tremble at
the man’--or ask: ‘Would it not be better that I should remain as I am
and not yield to your temptations and to Aphrodite’s power?’ Oh! Hebe is
exquisite, and you, O Queen! must represent her!”
“I!” exclaimed Cleopatra. “But you said her eyes were cast down.”
“That is from modesty and timidity, and her gait must also be bashful
and maidenly. Her long robe falls to her feet in simple folds, while
Peitho holds hers up saucily, between her forefinger and thumb, as if
stealthily dancing with triumph over her recent victory. Indeed the
figure of Peitho would become you admirably.”
“I think I will represent Peitho,” said the queen interrupting the
Corinthian. “Hebe is but a bud, an unopened blossom, while I am a
mother, and I flatter myself I am something of a philosopher--”
“And can with justice assure yourself,” interrupted Aristarchus, “that
with every charm of youth you also possess the characters attributed to
Peitho, the goddess, who can work her spells not only on the heart but
on the intellect also. The maiden bud is as sweet to look upon as
the rose, but he who loves not merely color but perfume too--I mean
refreshment, emotion and edification of spirit--must turn to the
full-blown flower; as the rose--growers of lake Moeris twine only the
buds of their favorite flower into wreaths and bunches, but cannot use
them for extracting the oil of imperishable fragrance; for that they
need the expanded blossom. Represent Peitho, my Queen! the goddess
herself might be proud of such a representative.”
“And if she were so indeed,” cried Cleopatra, “how happy am I to hear
such words from the lips of Aristarchus. It is settled--I play Peitho.
My companion Zoe may take the part of Artemis, and her grave sister
that of Pallas Athene. For the mother’s part we have several matrons to
choose from; the eldest daughter of Epitropes appears to me fitted for
the part of Aphrodite; she is wonderfully lovely.”
“Is she stupid too?” asked Euergetes. “That is also an attribute of the
ever-smiling Cypria.”
“Enough so, I think, for our purpose,” laughed Cleopatra. “But where are
we to find such a Hebe as you have described, Lysias? The daughter of
Alimes the Arabarch is a charming child.”
“But she is brown, as brown as this excellent wine, and too thoroughly
Egyptian,” said the high-steward, who superintended the young Macedonian
cup-bearers; he bowed deeply as he spoke, and modestly drew the queen’s
attention to his own daughter, a maiden of sixteen. But Cleopatra
objected, that she was much taller than herself, and that she would have
to stand by the Hebe, and lay her hand on her arm.
Other maidens were rejected on various grounds, and Euergetes had
already proposed to send off a carrier-pigeon to Alexandria to command
that some fair Greek girl should be sent by an express quadriga to
Memphis--where the dark Egyptian gods and men flourish, and are more
numerous than the fair race of Greeks--when Lysias exclaimed:
“I saw to-day the very girl we want, a Hebe that might have stepped out
from the marble group at my father’s, and have been endued with life and
warmth and color by some god. Young, modest, rose and white, and just
about as tall as Your Majesty. If you will allow me, I will not tell you
who she is, till after I have been to our tent to fetch the gems with
the copies of the marble.”
“You will find them in an ivory casket at the bottom of my
clothes-chest,” said Publius; “here is the key.”
“Make haste,” cried the queen, “for we are all curious to hear where in
Memphis you discovered your modest, rose and white Hebe.”