"What! No one to come to meet me?" asked the queen, as she reached the
foot of the last flight of porphyry steps that led into the ante-chamber
to the banqueting-hall, and, looking round, with an ominous glance, at
the chamberlains who had accompanied her, she clinched her small fist.
"I arrive and find no one here!"
The "No one" certainly was a figure of speech, since more than a hundred
body-guards-Macedonians in rich array of arms-and an equal number of
distinguished court-officials were standing on the marble flags of the
vast hall, which was surrounded by colonnades, while the star-spangled
night-sky was all its roof; and the court-attendants were all men of
rank, dignified by the titles of fathers, brothers, relatives, friends
and chief-friends of the king.
These all received the queen with a many-voiced "Hail!" but not one of
them seemed worthy of Cleopatra's notice. This crowd was less to her
than the air we breathe in order to live--a mere obnoxious vapor, a whirl
of dust which the traveller would gladly avoid, but which he must
nevertheless encounter in order to proceed on his way.
The queen had expected that the few guests, invited by her selection and
that of her brother Euergetes to the evening's feast, would have welcomed
her here at the steps; she thought they would have seen her--as she felt
herself--like a goddess borne aloft in her shell, and that she might have
exulted in the admiring astonishment of the Roman and of Lysias, the
Corinthian: and now the most critical instant in the part she meant to
play that evening had proved a failure, and it suggested itself to her
mind that she might be borne back to her roof-tent, and be floated down
once more when she was sure of the presence of the company. But there
was one thing she dreaded more even than pain and remorse, and that was
any appearance of the ridiculous; so she only commanded the bearers to
stand still, and while the master of the ceremonies, waiving his dignity,
hurried off to announce to her husband that she was approaching, she
signed to the nobles highest in rank to approach, that she might address
a few gracious words to them, with distant amiability. Only a few
however, for the doors of thyia wood leading into the banqueting hall
itself, presently opened, and the king with his friends came forward to
meet Cleopatra.
"How were we to expect you so early?" cried Philometor to his wife.
"Is it really still early?" asked the queen, "or have I only taken you
by surprise, because you had forgotten to expect me?"
"How unjust you are!" replied the king. "Must you now be told that,
come as early as you will, you always come too late for my desires."
"But for ours," cried Lysias, "neither too early nor too late, but at the
very right time--like returning health and happiness, or the victor's
crown."
"Health as taking the place of sickness?" asked Cleopatra, and her eyes
sparkled keenly and merrily. "I perfectly understand Lysias," said
Publius, intercepting the Greek. "Once, on the field of Mars, I was
flung from my horse, and had to lie for weeks on my couch, and I know
that there is no more delightful sensation than that of feeling our
departed strength returning as we recover. He means to say that in your
presence we must feel exceptionally well."
"Nay rather," interrupted Lysias, "our queen seems to come to us like
returning health, since so long as she was not in our midst we felt
suffering and sick for longing. Thy presence, Cleopatra, is the most
effectual remedy, and restores us to our lost health."
Cleopatra politely lowered her fan, as if in thanks, thus rapidly turning
the stick of it in her hand, so as to make the diamonds that were set in
it sparkle and flash. Then she turned to the friends, and said:
"Your words are most amiable, and your different ways of expressing your
meaning remind me of two gems set in a jewel, one of which sparkles
because it is skilfully cut, and reflects every light from its mirrorlike
facets, while the other shines by its genuine and intrinsic fire. The
genuine and the true are one, and the Egyptians have but one word for
both, and your kind speech, my Scipio--but I may surely venture to call
you Publius--your kind speech, my Publius seems to me to be truer than
that of your accomplished friend, which is better adapted to vainer ears
than mine. Pray, give me your hand."
The shell in which she was sitting was gently lowered, and, supported by
Publius and her husband, the queen alighted and entered the banqueting-
hall, accompanied by her guests.
As soon as the curtains were closed, and when Cleopatra had exchanged a
few whispered words with her husband, she turned again to the Roman, who
had just been joined by Eulaeus, and said:
"You have come from Athens, Publius, but you do not seem to have followed
very closely the courses of logic there, else how could it be that you,
who regard health as the highest good--that you, who declared that you
never felt so well as in my presence--should have quitted me so promptly
after the procession, and in spite of our appointment? May I be allowed
to ask what business--"
"Our noble friend," answered Eulaeus, bowing low, but not allowing the
queen to finish her speech, "would seem to have found some particular
charm in the bearded recluses of Serapis, and to be seeking among them
the key-stone of his studies at Athens."
"In that he is very right," said the queen. "For from them he can learn
to direct his attention to that third division of our existence,
concerning which least is taught in Athens--I mean the future--"
"That is in the hands of the gods," replied the Roman. "It will come
soon enough, and I did not discuss it with the anchorite. Eulaeus may be
informed that, on the contrary, everything I learned from that singular
man in the Serapeum bore reference to the things of the past."
"But how can it be possible," said Eulaeus, "that any one to whom
Cleopatra had offered her society should think so long of anything else
than the beautiful present?"
"You indeed have good reason," retorted Publius quickly, "to enter the
lists in behalf of the present, and never willingly to recall the past."
"It was full of anxiety and care," replied Eulaeus with perfect self-
possession. "That my sovereign lady must know from her illustrious
mother, and from her own experience; and she will also protect me from
the undeserved hatred with which certain powerful enemies seem minded to
pursue me. Permit me, your majesty, not to make my appearance at the
banquet until later. This noble gentleman kept me waiting for hours in
the Serapeum, and the proposals concerning the new building in the temple
of Isis at Philae must be drawn up and engrossed to-day, in order that
they may be brought to-morrow before your royal husband in council and
your illustrious brother Euergetes--"
"You have leave, interrupted Cleopatra."
As soon as Eulaeus had disappeared, the queen went closer up to Publius,
and said:
"You are annoyed with this man--well, he is not pleasant, but at any rate
he is useful and worthy. May I ask whether you only feel his personality
repugnant to you, or whether actual circumstances have given rise to your
aversion--nay, if I have judged rightly, to a very bitterly hostile
feeling against him?"
"Both," replied Publius. "In this unmanly man, from the very first,
I expected to find nothing good, and I now know that, if I erred at all,
it was in his favor. To-morrow I will ask you to spare me an hour when
I can communicate to your majesty something concerning him, but which is
too repulsive and sad to be suitable for telling in an evening devoted to
enjoyment. You need not be inquisitive, for they are matters that belong
to the past, and which concern neither you nor me."
The high-steward and the cup-bearer here interrupted this conversation by
calling them to table, and the royal pair were soon reclining with their
guests at the festal board.
Oriental splendor and Greek elegance were combined in the decorations of
the saloon of moderate size, in which Ptolemy Philometor was wont to
prefer to hold high-festival with a few chosen friends. Like the great
reception-hall and the men's hall-with its twenty doors and lofty
porphyry columns--in which the king's guests assembled, it was lighted
from above, since it was only at the sides that the walls--which had no
windows--and a row of graceful alabaster columns with Corinthian
acanthus-capitals supported a narrow roof; the centre of the hall was
quite uncovered. At this hour, when it was blazing with hundreds of
lights, the large opening, which by day admitted the bright sunshine, was
closed over by a gold net-work, decorated with stars and a crescent moon
of rock-crystal, and the meshes were close enough to exclude the bats and
moths which at night always fly to the light. But the illumination of
the king's banqueting-hall made it almost as light as day, consisting of
numerous lamps with many branches held up by lovely little figures of
children in bronze and marble. Every joint was plainly visible in the
mosaic of the pavement, which represented the reception of Heracles into
Olympus, the feast of the gods, and the astonishment of the amazed hero
at the splendor of the celestial banquet; and hundreds of torches were
reflected in the walls of polished yellow marble, brought from Hippo
Regius; these were inlaid by skilled artists with costly stones, such as
lapis lazuli and malachite, crystals, blood-stone, jasper, agates and
chalcedony, to represent fruit-pieces and magnificent groups of game or
of musical instruments; while the pilasters were decorated with masks of
the tragic and comic Muses, torches, thyrsi wreathed with ivy and vine,
and pan-pipes. These were wrought in silver and gold, and set with
costly marbles, and they stood out from the marble background like metal
work on a leather shield, or the rich ornamentation on a sword-sheath.
The figures of a Dionysiac procession, forming the frieze, looked down
upon the feasters--a fine relievo that had been designed and modelled for
Ptolemy Soter by the sculptor Bryaxis, and then executed in ivory and
gold.
Everything that met the eye in this hall was splendid, costly, and above
all of a genial aspect, even before Cleopatra had come to the throne; and
she--here as in her own apartments--had added the busts of the greatest
Greek philosophers and poets, from Thales of Miletus down to Strato, who
raised chance to fill the throne of God, and from Hesiod to Callimachus;
she too had placed the tragic mask side by side with the comic, for at
her table--she was wont to say--she desired to see no one who could not
enjoy grave and wise discourse more than eating, drinking, and laughter.
Instead of assisting at the banquet, as other ladies used, seated on a
chair or at the foot of her husband's couch, she reclined on a couch of
her own, behind which stood busts of Sappho the poetess, and Aspasia the
friend of Pericles.
Though she made no pretensions to be regarded as a philosopher nor even
as a poetess, she asserted her right to be considered a finished
connoisseur in the arts of poetry and music; and if she preferred
reclining to sitting how should she have done otherwise, since she was
fully aware how well it became her to extend herself in a picturesque
attitude on her cushions, and to support her head on her arm as it rested
on the back of her couch; for that arm, though not strictly speaking
beautiful, always displayed the finest specimens of Alexandrian
workmanship in gem-cutting and goldsmiths' work.
But, in fact, she selected a reclining posture particularly for the sake
of showing her feet; not a woman in Egypt or Greece had a smaller or more
finely formed foot than she. For this reason her sandals were so made
that when she stood or walked they protected only the soles of her feet,
and her slender white toes with the roseate nails and their polished
white half-moons were left uncovered.
At the banquet she put off her shoes altogether, as the men did; hiding
her feet at first however, and not displaying them till she thought the
marks left on her tender skin by the straps of the sandals had completely
disappeared.
Eulaeus was the greatest admirer of these feet; not, as he averred, on
account of their beauty, but because the play of the queen's toes showed
him exactly what was passing in her mind, when he was quite unable to
detect what was agitating her soul in the expression of her mouth and
eyes, well practised in the arts of dissimulation.
Nine couches, arranged three and three in a horseshoe, invited the guests
to repose, with their arms of ebony and cushions of dull olive-green
brocade, on which a delicate pattern of gold and silver seemed just to
have been breathed.
The queen, shrugging her shoulders, and, as it would seem, by no means
agreeably surprised at something, whispered to the chamberlain, who then
indicated to each guest the place he was to occupy. To the right of the
central group reclined the queen, and her husband took his place to the
left; the couch between the royal pair, destined for their brother
Euergetes, remained unoccupied.
On one of the three couches which formed the right-hand angle with those
of the royal family, Publius found a place next to Cleopatra; opposite to
him, and next the king, was Lysias the Corinthian. Two places next to
him remained vacant, while on the side by the Roman reclined the brave
and prudent Hierax, the friend of Ptolemy Euergetes and his most faithful
follower.
While the servants strewed the couches with rose leaves, sprinkled
perfumed waters, and placed by the couch of each guest a small table-made
of silver and of a slab of fine, reddish-brown porphyry, veined with
white-the king addressed a pleasant greeting to each guest, apologizing
for the smallness of the number.
"Eulaeus," he said, "has been forced to leave us on business, and our
royal brother is still sitting over his books with Aristarchus, who came
with him from Alexandria; but he promised certainly to come."
"The fewer we are," replied Lysias, bowing low, "the more honorable is
the distinction of belonging to so limited a number of your majesty's
most select associates."
"I certainly think we have chosen the best from among the good," said the
queen. "But even the small number of friends I had invited must have
seemed too large to my brother Euergetes, for he--who is accustomed to
command in other folks' houses as he does in his own--forbid the
chamberlain to invite our learned friends--among whom Agatharchides, my
brothers' and my own most worthy tutor, is known to you--as well as our
Jewish friends who were present yesterday at our table, and whom I had
set down on my list. I am very well satisfied however, for I like the
number of the Muses; and perhaps he desired to do you, Publius,
particular honor, since we are assembled here in the Roman fashion. It
is in your honor, and not in his, that we have no music this evening; you
said that you did not particularly like it at a banquet. Euergetes
himself plays the harp admirably. However, it is well that he is late in
coming as usual, for the day after tomorrow is his birthday, and he is to
spend it here with us and not in Alexandria; the priestly delegates
assembled in the Bruchion are to come from thence to Memphis to wish him
joy, and we must endeavor to get up some brilliant festival. You have no
love for Eulaeus, Publius, but he is extremely skilled in such matters,
and I hope he will presently return to give us his advice."
"For the morning we will have a grand procession," cried the king.
"Euergetes delights in a splendid spectacle, and I should be glad to show
him how much pleasure his visit has given us."
The king's fine features wore a most winning expression as he spoke these
words with heart-felt warmth, but his consort said thoughtfully: "Aye!
if only we were in Alexandria--but here, among all the Egyptian people--"