The tempest swept howling from the north across the island of Pharos,
and the shallows of Diabathra in the great harbour of Alexandria. The
water, usually so placid, rose in high waves, and the beacon on the
lighthouse of Sastratus sent the rent abundance of its flames with
hostile impetuosity towards the city. The fires in the pitch-pans and
the torches on the shore sometimes seemed on the point of being
extinguished, at others burst with a doubly brilliant blaze through the
smoke which obscured them.
The royal harbour, a fine basin which surrounded in the form of a
semicircle the southern part of the Lochias and a portion of the
northern shore of the Bruchium, was brightly illuminated every night;
but this evening there seemed to be an unusual movement among the lights
on its western shore, the private anchorage of the royal fleet.
Was it the storm that stirred them? No. How could the wind have set one
torch in the place of another, and moved lights or lanterns in a
direction opposite to its violent course? Only a few persons, however,
perceived this; for, though joyous anticipation or anxious fears urged
many thither, who would venture upon the quay on such a tempestuous
night? Besides, no one would have found admittance to the royal port,
which was closed on all sides. Even the mole which, towards the west,
served as the string to the bow of land surrounding it, had but a single
opening and--as every one knew--that was closed by a chain in the same
way as the main entrance to the harbour between the Pharos and Alveus
Steganus.
About two hours before midnight, spite of the increasing fury of the
tempest, the singular movement of the lights diminished, but rarely had
the hearts of those for whom they burned throbbed so anxiously. These
were the dignitaries and court officials who stood nearest to
Cleopatra--about twenty men and a single woman, Iras. Mardion and she
had summoned them because the Queen's letter permitted those to whom she
had given authority to offer her a quiet reception. After a long
consultation they had not invited the commanders of the little Roman
garrison left behind. It was doubtful whether those whom they expected
would return that night, and the Roman soldiers who were loyal to Antony
had gone with him to the war.
The hall in the centre of the private roadstead of the royal harbour,
where they had assembled, was furnished with regal magnificence; for it
was a favourite resort of the Queen. The spacious apartment lacked no
requisite of comfort, and most of those who were waiting used the
well-cushioned couches, while others, harassed by mental anxiety, paced
to and fro.
As the room had remained unused for months, bats had made nests there,
and now that it was lighted, dazzled by the glare of the lamps and
candles, they darted to and fro above the heads of the assembly. Iras
had ordered the commander of the Mellakes, or youths, a body-guard
composed of the sons of aristocratic Macedonian families, to expel the
troublesome creatures, and it diverted the thoughts of these devoted
soldiers of the Queen to strike at them with their swords.
Others preferred to watch this futile battle rather than give themselves
up to the anxiety which filled their minds. The Regent was gazing mutely
at the ground; Iras, pale and absent-minded, was listening to Zeno's
statements; and Archibius had gone out of doors, and, unheeding the
storm, was looking across the tossing waves of the harbour for the
expected ships.
In a wooden shed, whose roof was supported by gaily painted pillars,
through which the wind whistled, the servants, from the porters to the
litter-bearers, had gathered in groups under the flickering light of the
lanterns. The Greeks sat on wooden stools, the Egyptians upon mats on
the floor. The largest circle contained the parties who attended to the
Queen's luggage and the upper servants, among whom were several maids.
They had been told that the Queen was expected that night, because it
was possible that the strong north wind would bear her ship home with
unexpected speed after the victory. But they were better informed:
palaces have chinks in doors and curtains, and are pervaded by a very
peculiar echo which bears even a whisper distinctly from ear to ear.
The body-slave of the commander-in-chief Seleukus was the principal
spokesman. His master had reached Alexandria but a few hours ago from
the frontier fortress of Pelusium, which he commanded. A mysterious
order from Lucilius, Antony's most faithful friend, brought from
Tænarum by a swift galley, had summoned him hither.
The freedman Beryllus, a loquacious Sicilian, who, as an actor, had seen
better days ere pirates robbed him of his liberty, had heard many new
things, and his hearers listened eagerly; for ships coming from the
north, which touched at Pelusium, had confirmed and completed the evil
tidings that had penetrated the Sebasteum.
According to his story, he was as well informed as if he had been an
eye-witness of the naval battle; for he had been present during his
master's conversation with many ship-captains and messengers from
Greece. He even assumed the air of a loyal, strictly silent servant, who
would only venture to confirm and deny what the Alexandrians had already
learned. Yet his knowledge consisted merely of a confused medley of
false and true occurrences. While the Egyptian fleet had been defeated
at Actium, and Antony, flying with Cleopatra, had gone first to Tænarum
at the end of the Peloponnesian coast, he asserted that the army and
fleet had met on the Peloponnesian coast and Octavianus was pursuing
Antony, who had turned towards Athens, while Cleopatra was on her way to
Alexandria.
His "trustworthy intelligence" had been patched together from a few
words caught from Seleukus at table, or while receiving and dismissing
messengers. In other matters his information was more accurate.
While for several days the harbour of Alexandria had been closed,
vessels were permitted to enter Pelusium, and all captains of newly
arrived ships and caravans were compelled to report to Beryllus's
master, the commandant of the important frontier fortress.
He had quitted Pelusium the night before. The strong wind had driven the
trireme before it so swiftly that it was difficult for even the sea
gulls to follow. It was easy for the listeners to believe this; for the
storm outside howled louder and louder, whistling through the open hall
where the servants had gathered. Most of the lamps and torches had been
blown out, the pitch-pans only sent forth still blacker clouds of smoke,
lit by red and yellow flames, and the closed lanterns alone continued to
diffuse a flickering light. So the wide space, dim with smoke, was
illumined only by a dull, varying glimmer.
One of the porters had furnished wine to shorten the hours of waiting;
but it could only be drunk in secret, so there were no goblets. The jars
wandered from mouth to mouth, and every sip was welcome, for the wind
blew keenly, and besides, the smoke irritated their throats.
The freedman, Beryllus, was often interrupted by paroxysms of coughing,
especially from the women, while relating the evil omens which were told
to his master in Pelusium. Each was well authenticated and surpassed its
predecessor in significance.
Here one of Iras's maids interrupted him to tell the story of the
swallows on the "Antonius," Cleopatra's admiral galley. He could
scarcely report from Pelusium an omen of darker presage.
But Beryllus gazed at her with a pitying smile, which so roused the
expectations of the others that the overseer of the litter and baggage
porters, who were talking loudly together, hoarsely shouted, "Silence!"
Soon no sound was heard in the open space save the shrill whistling of
the wind, a word of command to the harbour-guards, and the freedman's
voice, which he lowered to increase the charm of the mysterious events
he was describing.
He began with the most fulsome praise of Cleopatra and Antony, reminding
his hearers that the Imperator was a descendant of Herakles. The
Alexandrians especially were aware that their Queen and Antony claimed
and desired to be called "The new Isis" and "The new Dionysus." But
every one who beheld the Roman must admit that in face and figure he
resembled a god far more than a man.
The Imperator had appeared as Dionysus, especially to the Athenians. In
the proscenium of the theatre in that city was a huge bas-relief of the
Battle of the Giants, the famous work of an ancient sculptor--he,
Beryllus, had seen it--and from amid the numerous figures in this piece
of sculpture the tempest had torn but a single one--which? Dionysus, the
god as whose mortal image Antony had once caroused in a vine-clad arbour
in the presence of the Athenians. The storm to-night was at the utmost
like the breath of a child, compared with the hurricane which could
wrest from the hard marble the form of Dionysus. But Nature gathers all
her forces when she desires to announce to short-sighted mortals the
approach of events which are to shake the world.
The last words were quoted from his master who had studied in Athens.
They had escaped from his burdened soul when he heard of another
portent, of which a ship from Ostia had brought tidings. The flourishing
city Pisaura----
Here, however, he was interrupted, for several of those present had
learned, weeks before, that this place had sunk in the sea, but merely
pitied the unfortunate inhabitants.
Beryllus quietly permitted them to free themselves from the suspicion
that people in Alexandria had had tidings of so remarkable an event
later than those in Pelusium, and at first answered their query what
this had to do with the war merely by a shrug of the shoulders; but when
the overseer of the porters also put the question, he went on "The omen
made a specially deep impression upon our minds, for we know what
Pisaura is, or rather how it came into existence. The hapless city which
dark Hades ingulfed really belonged to Antony, for in the days of its
prosperity he was its founder."
He measured the group with a defiant glance, and there was no lack of
evidences of horror; nay, one of the maid-servants shrieked aloud, for
the storm had just snatched a torch from the iron rings in the wall and
hurled it on the floor close beside the listener.
Suspense seemed to have reached its height. Yet it was evident that
Beryllus had not yet drawn his last arrow from the quiver.
The maid-servant, whose scream had startled the others, had regained her
composure and seemed eager to hear some other new and terrible omen,
for, with a beseeching glance, she begged the freedman not to withhold
the other things he knew.
He pointed to the drops of perspiration which, spite of the wind
sweeping through the hall, covered her brow: "You must use your
handkerchief. Merely listening to my tale will dampen your skin. Stone
statues are made of harder material, but a soul dwells within them too.
Their natures may be harsher or more gentle; they bring us woe or heal
heavy sorrows, according to their mood. Every one learns this who raises
his hands to them in prayer. One of these statues stands in Alba. It
represents Mark Antony, in whose honour it was erected by the city. And
it foresaw what menaced the man whose stone double it is. Ay, open your
ears! About four days ago a ship's captain came to my master and in my
presence this man reported--he grew as pale as ashes while he
spoke--what he himself had witnessed. Drops of perspiration had oozed
from the statue of Antony in Alba. Horror seized all the citizens; men
and women came to wipe the brow and cheeks of the statue, but the drops
of perspiration did not cease to drip, and this continued several days
and nights. The stone image had felt what was impending over the living
Mark Antony. It was a horrible spectacle, the man said."
Here the speaker paused, and the group of listeners started, for the
clang of a gong was heard outside, and the next instant all were on
their feet hastening to their posts.
The officials in the magnificent hall had also risen. Here the silence
had been interrupted only by low whispers. The colour had faded from
most of the grave, anxious faces, and their timid glances shunned one
another.
Archibius had first perceived, by the flames of the Pharos, the red
glimmer which announced the approach of the royal galley. It had not
been expected so early, but was already passing the islands into the
great harbour. It was probably the Antonius, the ship on which the old
swallows had pecked the young ones to death.
Though the waves were running high, even in the sheltered harbour, they
scarcely rocked the massive vessel. An experienced pilot must have
steered it past the shallows and cliffs on the eastern side of the
roadstead, for instead of passing around the island of Antirrhodus as
usual, it kept between the island and the Lochias, steering straight
towards the entrance into the little royal harbour. The pitch-pans on
both sides had been filled with fresh resin and tow to light the way.
The watchers on the shore could now see its outlines distinctly.
It was the Antonius, and yet it was not.
Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who was standing beside Iras, wrapped his
cloak closer around his shivering limbs, pointed to it, and whispered,
"Like a woman who leaves her parents' house in the rich array of a
bride, and returns to it an impoverished widow."
Iras drew herself up, and with cutting harshness replied, "Like the sun
veiled by mists, but which will soon shine forth again more radiantly
than ever."
"Spoken from the depths of my soul," said the old courtier eagerly, "so
far as the Queen is concerned. Of course, I did not allude to her
Majesty, but to the ship. You were ill when it left the harbour,
garlanded with flowers and adorned with purple sails. And now! Even this
flickering light shows the wounds and rents. I am the last person whom
you need tell that our sun Cleopatra will soon regain its old radiance,
but at present it is very chilly and cold here by the water's edge in
this stormy air; and when I think of our first moment of meeting----"
"Would it were over!" murmured Iras, wrapping herself closer in her
cloak. Then she drew back shivering, for the rattle of the heavy chain,
which was drawn aside from the opening of the harbour, echoed with an
uncanny sound through the silence of the night. A mountain seemed to
weigh upon the watchers' breasts, for the wooden monster which now
entered the little harbour moved forward as slowly and silently as a
spectral ship. It seemed as if life were extinct on the huge galley
usually swarming with a numerous crew; as if a vessel were about to cast
anchor whose sailors had fallen victims to the plague. Nothing was heard
save an occasional word of command, and the signal whistles of the
fluteplayer who directed the rowers. A few lanterns burned with a
wavering light on the vast length of her decks. The brilliant
illumination which usually shone through the darkness would have
attracted the attention of the Alexandrians.
Now it was close to the landing. The group on shore watched every inch
of its majestic progress with breathless suspense, but when the first
rope was flung to the slaves on shore several men in Greek robes pressed
forward hurriedly among the courtiers.
They had come with a message, whose importance would permit no delay, to
the Regent Mardion, who stood between Zeno and Iras, gazing gloomily at
the ground with a frowning brow. He was pondering over the words in
which to address the Queen, and within a few minutes the ship would have
made her landing, and Cleopatra might cross the bridge. To disturb him
at that moment was an undertaking few who knew the irritable, uncertain
temper of the eunuch would care to risk. But the tall Macedonian, who
for a short time attracted the eyes of most of the spectators from the
galley, ventured to do so. It was the captain of the nightwatch, the
aristocratic commander of the police force of the city.
"Only a word, my lord," he whispered to the Regent, "though the time may
be inopportune."
"As inopportune as possible," replied the eunuch with repellent
harshness.
"We will say as inopportune as the degree of haste necessary for its
decision. The King Cæsarion, with Antyllus and several companions,
attacked a woman. Blackened faces. A fight. Cæsarion and the woman's
companion--an aristocrat, member of the Council--slightly wounded.
Lictors interfered just in time. The young gentlemen were arrested. At
first they refused to give their names----"
"Cæsarion slightly, _really_ only slightly wounded?" asked the eunuch
with eager haste.
"Really and positively. Olympus was summoned at once. A knock on the
head. The man who was attacked flung him on the pavement in the
struggle."
"Dion, the son of Eumenes, is the man," interrupted Iras, whose quick
ear had caught the officer's report. "The woman--is Barine, the daughter
of the artist Leonax."
"Then you know already?" asked the Macedonian in surprise.
"So it seems," answered Mardion, gazing into the girl's face with a
significant glance. Then, turning to her rather than to the Macedonian,
he added, "I think we will have the young rascals set free and brought
to Lochias with as little publicity as possible."
"To the palace?" asked the Macedonian.
"Of course," replied Iras firmly. "Each to his own apartments, where
they must remain until further orders."
"Everything else must be deferred until after the reception," added the
eunuch, and the Macedonian, with a slight, haughty nod, drew back.
"Another misfortune," sighed the eunuch.
"A boyish prank," Iras answered quickly, "but even a still greater
misfortune is less than nothing so long as we are not conscious of it.
This unpleasant occurrence must be concealed for the present from the
Queen. Up to this time it is a vexation, nothing more--and it can and
must remain so; for we have it in our power to uproot the poisonous tree
whence it emanates."
"You look as if no one could better perform the task," the Regent
interrupted, with a side glance at the galley, "so you shall have the
commission. It is the last one I shall give, during the Queen's absence,
in her name."
"I shall not fail," she answered firmly.
When Iras again looked towards the landing-place she saw Archibius
standing alone, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Impulse prompted
her to tell her uncle what had happened; but at the first step she
paused, and her thin lips uttered a firm "No."
Her friend had become a stone in her path. If necessary, she would find
means to thrust him also aside, spite of his sister Charmian and the old
tie which united him to Cleopatra. He had grown weak, Charmian had
always been so.
She would have had time enough now to consider what step to take first,
had not her heart ached so sorely.
After the huge galley lay moored, several minutes elapsed ere two
_pastophori_ of the goddess Isis, who guarded the goblet of Nektanebus,
taken from the temple treasures and borne along in a painted chest,
stepped upon the bridge, followed by Cleopatra's first chamberlain, who
in a low tone announced the approach of the Queen and commanded the
waiting groups to make way. A double line of torch-bearers had been
stationed from the landing to the gate leading into the Bruchium, and
the other on the north, which was the entrance to the palaces on the
Lochias, since it was not known where Cleopatra would desire to go. The
chamberlain, however, said that she would spend the night at Lochias,
where the children lived, and ordered all the flickering, smoking
torches, save a few, to be extinguished.
Mardion, the Keeper of the Seal, Archibius, and Iras were standing by
the bridge a little in advance of the others, when voices were heard on
the ship, and the Queen appeared, preceded by several lantern-bearers
and followed by a numerous train of court officials, pages, maids, and
female slaves. Cleopatra's little hand rested on Charmian's arm, as,
with a haughty carriage of the head, she moved towards the shore. A
thick veil covered her face, and a large, dark cloak concealed her
figure. How elastic her step was still! how proud yet graceful was the
gesture with which she waved a greeting to Mardion and Zeno!
Extending her hand to raise Iras, who had sunk prostrate before her, she
kissed her on the forehead, whispering, "The children?"
"All is well with them," replied the girl.
Then the returning sovereign greeted the others with a gracious gesture,
but vouchsafed a word to no one until the eunuch stepped before her to
deliver his address of welcome. She motioned him aside with a curt
"Later"; and when Zeno held open the door of the litter, she said in a
stifled tone: "I will walk. After the rocking of the galley in this
tempest, I feel reluctant to enter the litter. There are many things to
be considered to-day. An idea came to me on the way home. Summon the
captain of the harbour and his chief counsellors, the heads of the war
office, the superintendent of the fortifications on land and water,
especially the Aristarch and Gorgias--I want to see them. Time presses.
They must be here in two hours--no, in an hour and a half. I wish to
examine all their plans and charts of the eastern frontier, especially
the river channels and canals in the Delta."
Then she turned to Archibius, who had approached the litter, laid her
hand upon his arm, and though her veil prevented him from seeing her
sparkling eyes, he felt them shining deep into his heart, as the voice
whose melody had often enthralled his soul cried, "We will take it as a
favourable omen that it is again _you_ who lead me to this palace in a
time of trouble."
His overflowing heart found expression in the warm reply, "Whenever it
may be, forever and ever this arm and this life are yours!" And the
Queen answered in a tone of earnest belief, "I know it."
Then, with her hand still resting on his arm, she moved forward; but
when he began to ask whether she really had cause to speak of a time of
trouble, she cut him short with the entreaty "Not now. Let us say
nothing. It is worse than bad--as evil as possible. Yet no. Few are
permitted, in an hour of trouble, to lean on the arm of a faithful
friend."
The words were accompanied with a light pressure of her little hand, and
it seemed as if his old heart was growing young.
He dared not speak, for her wish was law; but while moving silently at
her side, first along the shore, then through the gate, and finally over
the marble flagstones which led to the palace portal, it seemed as if he
beheld, instead of the veiled head of the hapless Queen, the soft,
light-brown locks which floated around the face of a happy child. Before
his mental vision rose the little mistress of the garden of Epicurus. He
saw the sparkle of her large blue eyes, which never ceased to question,
yet appeared to contain the mystery of the world. He fancied he heard
once more the silvery cadence of her voice and the bewitching magic of
her pure, childlike laughter, and it was hard to remember what she had
become.
Snatched away from the present, yet conscious that Fate had granted him
a great boon in this sorrowful hour, he moved on at her side and led her
through the main entrance, the spacious inner court-yard of the palace.
At the rear was the great door opening into the Queen's apartments,
before which Mardion, Iras, and their companions had already stationed
themselves. At the left was a smaller one leading into the wing occupied
by the children.
Archibius was about to conduct Cleopatra across the lighted court-yard,
but she motioned towards the children's rooms, and he understood her.
At the threshold her hand fell from his arm, and when he bowed as if to
retire, she said kindly: "There is Charmian. You both deserve to
accompany me to the spot where childhood is dreaming and peace of mind
and painlessness have their abode. But respect for the Queen has
prevented the brother and sister from greeting each other after so long
a separation. Do so now! Then, follow me."
While speaking, she hastened with the swift step of youth into the
atrium and up the staircase which led to the sleeping-rooms of the
princes and princesses.
Archibius and Charmian obeyed her bidding; the brother clasped his
sister affectionately in his arms, and in hurried tones, with tears
streaming from her eyes, she informed him that to her all seemed lost.
Antony had behaved in a manner for which no words of condemnation or
regret were adequate. Probably he would follow Cleopatra; the fleet, and
perhaps the army also, were destroyed. Her fate lay in the hands of
Octavianus.
Then she preceded him towards the staircase, where Iras was standing
with a tall Syrian, who bore a striking resemblance to Philostratus,
Barine's former husband. It was his brother Alexas, the trusted
favourite of Mark Antony. His place should now have been with him, and
Archibius asked his sister with a hasty look how this man chanced to be
in the Queen's train.
"His skill in reading the stars," was the reply. "His flattering tongue.
He is a parasite of the worst kind, but he tells her many things, he
diverts her, and she tolerates him near her person."
As soon as Iras saw the direction in which Cleopatra had turned, she had
hastened after her to accompany her to the children. The Syrian Alexas
had stopped her to express his joy in meeting her again. Even before the
outbreak of the war he had devoted himself zealously to her, and he now
plainly showed that during the long period of separation his feelings
had by no means cooled. Like his brother, he had a head too small for
his body, but his well-formed features were animated by a pair of eyes
sparkling with a keen, covetous expression.
Iras, too, seemed glad to welcome the favourite, but ere the brother and
sister reached the staircase she left him to embrace Charmian, her aunt
and companion, with the affection of a daughter.
They found the Queen in the anteroom of the children's apartments.
Euphronion, their tutor, had awaited her there, and hurriedly gave, in
the most rapturous terms, his report of them and the wonderful gifts
which became more and more apparent in each, now as a heritage from
their mother, now from their father.
Cleopatra had interrupted the torrent of his enthusiastic speech with
many a question, meanwhile endeavouring to loose the veil wound about
her head; but the little hands, unaccustomed to the task, failed. Iras
noticed it from the stairs and, hastening up the last steps, skilfully
released her from the long web of lace.
The Queen acknowledged the service by a gracious nod, but when the chief
eunuch opened the door leading into the children's rooms, she called
joyously to the brother and sister, "Come!" The tutor, who was obliged
to leave the charge of his pupils' sleeping apartments to the eunuchs
and nurses, drew back, but Iras felt it a bitter affront to be excluded
from this visit. Her cheeks flushed and paled; her thin lips were more
firmly compressed, and she gazed intently at the basket of fruit in the
mosaic floor at her feet as if she were counting the cherries that
filled it. But she suddenly pushed the little curls back from her
forehead, darted swiftly down the stairs, and called to Alexas just as
he was about to leave the atrium.
The Syrian hastened towards her, extolling the good fortune that made
his sun rise for him a second time that night, but she cut him short
with the words: "Cease this foolish love-making. It would be far better
for us both to become allies in serious, bitter earnest. I am ready."
"So am I!" cried the Syrian rapturously, pressing his hand upon his
heart.
Meanwhile Cleopatra had entered the chamber where the children lay
sleeping. Deep silence pervaded the lofty hall hung with bright-hued
carpets, and softly lighted by three lamps with rose-colored globes. An
arch, supported by pillars of Libyan marble, divided the wide space. In
the first, near a window closely muffled with draperies, stood two ivory
beds, surmounted with crowns of gold and silver set with pearls and
turquoises. Around the edge, carved by the hands of a great artist, ran
a line of happy children dancing to the songs of birds in blossoming
bushes.
The couches were separated by a heavy curtain which the eunuchs had
raised at the approach of the Queen. Cleopatra could now see them all at
a single glance, and the picture was indeed one of exquisite charm; for
on these beautiful couches slept the twins, the ten-year-old children of
Cleopatra and Antony--Antonius Helios and Cleopatra Selene. The girl was
pink and white, fair and wonderfully lovely; the boy no less beautiful,
but with ebon-black hair, like his father. Both curly heads were turned
towards the side, and rested on a dimpled hand pressed upon the silken
pillow.
Upon a third bed, beyond the arch, was Alexander, the youngest prince, a
lovely boy of six, the Queen's darling.
After gazing a long while at the twins, and pressing a light kiss upon
cheeks flushed with slumber, she turned to the youngest child and sank
beside his couch as if forced to bend the knee before some apparition
which Heaven had vouchsafed to her. Tears streamed from her eyes as,
drawing the child carefully towards her, she kissed his mouth, eyes, and
cheeks, and then laid him gently back upon the pillows. The boy,
however, did not instantly relapse into slumber, but threw his little
plump arms around his mother's neck, murmuring incomprehensible words.
She joyously submitted to his caresses, till sleep again overpowered
him, and his little hands fell back upon the bed.
She lingered a short time longer, with her brow resting on the ivory of
the couch, praying for this child and his brother and sister. When she
rose again her cheeks were wet with tears, and she pressed her hand upon
her breast. Then, beckoning to Charmian and Archibius, she motioned
towards Alexander and the twins, saying, as she saw tears glittering in
the eyes of both: "I know you have lost this happiness for my sake. For
each one of these children a great empire would not be too high a price;
for them all---- What does earth contain that I would not bestow? Yet
what can I still call my own?"
Her smiling face clouded as she asked the question. The vision of the
lost battle again rose before her mind. Her own power was lost,
forfeited, and with it the independence of the native land which she
loved. Rome was already stretching out her hand to add it to the others
as a new province. But this should not be! Her twin children yonder,
sleeping beneath crowns, must _wear_ them! And the boy slumbering on the
pillows? How many kingdoms Antony had bestowed! What remained for her to
give?
Again she bent to the child. A beautiful dream must have hovered over
him, for he was smiling in his sleep. A flood of maternal love welled up
in her agitated heart, and, as she saw the companions of her childhood
also gazing tenderly at the little steeper, she remembered the days of
her own youth, and the quiet happiness which she had enjoyed in her
garden of Epicurus.
Power and splendour had begun for her beyond its confines, but the
greater the heights of worldly grandeur she attained, the more distant,
the more irrecoverable became the consciousness of the happiness which
she had once gratefully enjoyed, and for which she had never ceased to
long. And as she now gazed once more at the peaceful, smiling face,
whence all pain and anxiety seemed worlds away, and all the love which
her heart contained appeared to be pouring towards him, the question
arose in her mind whether this boy, for whom she possessed no crown,
might not be the only happy mortal of them all--happy in the sense of
the master. Deeply moved by this thought, she turned to Archibius and
Charmian, exclaiming in a subdued tone, in order not to rouse the
sleeper: "Whatever destiny may await us, I commend this child to your
special love and care. If Fate denies him the lustre of the crown and
the elation of power, teach him to enjoy that other happiness,
which--how long ago it is!--your father unfolded to his mother."
Archibius kissed her robe, and Charmian her hands; but Cleopatra,
drawing a long breath, said: "The mother has already taken too much time
from the Queen. I have ordered the news of my arrival to be kept from
Cæsarion. This was well. The most important matters will be settled
before our meeting. Everything relating to me and to the state must be
decided within an hour. But, first, I am something more than mother and
Queen. The woman also asserts her claim. I will find time for you, my
friend, to-morrow!--To my chamber first, Charmian. But you need rest
still more than I. Go with your brother. Send Iras to me. She will be
glad to use her skilful fingers again in her mistress's service."