While Gorgias was examining the subterranean 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 desperate 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 by 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-same
quick-witted man who had so often roused her to argument. His share in a
popular insurrection 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 distinction 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 Berenike 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 Paneum garden she was carried to the Kanopic Way and the Jewish
quarter, where she had many important purchases to make for 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 anything herself, she was forced to wait for the success 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 courtiers, and the door-keeper's
had taught her that since her departure something momentous had
occurred. She disliked to question the slaves and lower officials, so
she refrained, though the interior 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 impending. Others, whose relations were more intimate,
pressed forward to enjoy the mournful satisfaction 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. 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 Parætonium. 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 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 Charmian! 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 triumph--nay, even the entry into Rome! Whole chests are
filled with the sketches, programmes, drawings, and verses. All who
handle brush and chisel, compose and execute music, would have lent
their aid, and--you may believe me--the result would have been something
which future generations 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, today, 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 fortune; 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 contrary, was Dion's playfellow, and I
have long destined her for his wife. No better match, nor one more
acceptable to the Queen, could be found for him. He cared for her until
the singer bewitched 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 refractory
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," interrupted Charmian, in a tone
of sorrow rather than reproach as though she already beheld the
impending 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 influence with her Majesty than Iras--however--such
matters must be considered--and I have already 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
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
sacrifices, 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 intrigues. 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
confidante, but necessary to her to discuss questions far in advance of
the demands of the times, which occupied her restless mind. Now the
Queen's attention 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 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
Alexander 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 violently, 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 Charmian, 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 hand 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 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 blossoms arose from amid their smooth green leaves,
and another where dwarf ducks of every colour, which seemed as if they
had been created for children, swam to and fro. A bit of the sea which
washed its shore had been enclosed by a gilded latticework, 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
climbing vines filled with bright blossoms.
A grotto of stalactites behind the dense foliage of an Indian tree
offered a resting-place, and beside 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 workmanship.
Behind the house was a little stable where four tiny horses with spotted
skins, the rarest and prettiest creatures imaginable--a gift from the
King of Media--were stamping the ground.
In another place was an enclosure containing gazelles, ostriches, young
giraffes, and other grass-eating animals. Bright-plumaged birds and
monkeys 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 bewildering
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 Alexander from a neglected
spot behind the dainty little house built for the children, and the boy
exclaimed 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 exception 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. 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 absorbed 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 accompanied him, he continued in a
tone of apology: "This amusement might seem somewhat hazardous, 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 interrupted 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 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 would be the right person---- But we will discuss the
matter at a more quiet hour."
The tutor withdrew and the children, who followed, looked back, waving
their hands and calling to their mother for a long time.
When they had disappeared behind the shrubbery in the garden Charmian
exclaimed, "However 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
consolation. 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.
"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 comparison. 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 commenced 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 garden. How often I let
you share the radiant visions 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 means 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. 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 maternal 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 Epicurus, and in life and
philosophy found the support 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--he to whom the boys and girls cling
with affectionate 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 cannot 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 flashing, "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 Cæsar'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
obstacle in the way, the house of the old philosopher 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 Antony 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 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 sympathy. 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 Parætonium? 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 answer 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 longer discover them. I have brought the pomade,
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
listeners."
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 grateful 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 conversation had mirrored every
emotion of a woman's soul, from the deepest sorrow to the most
mischievous mirth, assumed an expression of repellent 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.