ANDROMACHÉ
The next night Manasseh and Charidemus presented themselves at Barsiné’s
house. Both men were extremely anxious. Further delay, they felt, was
impossible. Any hour the unhappy lady might find whatever chance she
had irretrievably lost. They did not augur well for her decision that
she kept them waiting for nearly an hour after their coming had been
announced to her; nor from her first words when at last she appeared.
“The Macedonian has not yet come, has he?” she asked.
“Madam,” replied Charidemus, “the king arrived this afternoon.”
She wrung her hands in silence.
“And to-morrow the governor of the city will present him with the list of
the property and persons left here by King Darius. This will be compared
with the list already made by Parmenio.”
“But my name may not be in it,” she eagerly interposed.
“Madam,” said Manasseh, “do not flatter yourself with such a hope.
The widow of the man who commanded the Great King’s forces is far too
important a person to be forgotten. You may depend upon it that there is
no one in the whole kingdom, except, it may be, the wife and child of
Darius himself, whom the king is more bent on getting into his possession
than the widow of Memnon the Rhodian.”
“It is so, madam,” broke in Charidemus; “nay, I know that your name is
in Parmenio’s list, for Philotas his son showed it me. I entreat you to
act without delay. You should have seen the king on his first arrival.
To-night it is impossible. But go to-morrow, as early as may be, before
he sees the list—and he begins business betimes—that you may still seem
to have given yourself up of your own accord.”
Barsiné made no answer, but paced up and down the room in uncontrollable
agitation. At last she addressed the Macedonian.
“You know him; you do not speak by hearsay, or as courtiers who flatter a
king?”
“Madam,” replied Charidemus, “I have seen him at times when men show
their real selves—at the banquet and in the battle-field.”
“And he is merciful and generous? Strong he is and valiant, I know. My
Memnon used to say that he had not his match in the world, and he had
seen him fight. But he is one, you say, who can have compassion also, who
can pity the suppliant?”
“Madam,” said the young man, “I believe from my heart that he is.”
“Then I will go to him; I will throw myself at his feet; I will implore
his compassion for myself and my children.”
“There shall be no need for you to do so, lady,” said a voice from the
other end of the room.
At the same time the tapestry that covered another door was moved apart,
and Alexander himself stood before them. He was unarmed, except for a
light cuirass of richly gilded steel and a sword. His head was uncovered;
his hair, which he wore long after the fashion of the heroic age, fell
in golden curls about his neck. His face, with lustrous deep-blue eyes,
features chiselled after the purest Greek type, and fair complexion just
now flushed with a delicate rose, was of a beauty singularly attractive.
So unexpected, so startling was the sight that Manasseh and his young
companion could only stare in mute astonishment. Charidemus, as became
his soldierly instincts and habits, was the first to recover his
self-possession. He stood at attention, and saluted. Barsiné covered her
face with her hands.
Alexander gazed at the scene with a smile, enjoying, one may believe,
with a certain satisfaction the astonishment that his appearance had
caused. After a brief silence he spoke again. “I thank you, venerable
sir,” he began, addressing himself to Manasseh, “for the words of truth
that you have uttered, and the admirable advice that you have given to
the Lady Barsiné. It is true that there is no one in the whole kingdom of
Persia whom Alexander is more anxious to secure than the widow of Memnon
the Rhodian. Nor could you have given her better advice than that she
should surrender herself to me of her own free will. And you, my young
friend,” he went on, turning to Charidemus, “you I thank most heartily
for the praises that you have bestowed on my clemency. The gods grant
that I may always be not less worthy of them than I hope I am this day.
And now, lady, after that these gentlemen have spoken, as I trust, so
truly of me, let me speak for myself. But, first, will you permit me to
be seated?”
Barsiné murmured a half-audible assent, and the king took a chair
opposite to the couch on which she was reclining, and signed to the Jew
and Charidemus that they should seat themselves. They did so, first
respectfully withdrawing to the further end of the room.
The king went on: “Lady; you have never heard of me—save, it may be, from
Manasseh and Charidemus here—but as of an enemy, though I trust you have
heard no evil; let me now speak as a friend. Your husband fought against
me; it was not the will of the gods that he should succeed. Therefore
they first blinded the eyes of King Darius so that he could not see the
wisdom of his counsel; and then they shortened his days. Had he lived
I could not have been here to-day. But would it have been well that he
should succeed? He was a Greek, but he fought for Persia. Think you that
he wished in his heart that the Persian should triumph over Greece,
should be lord of Athens and Sparta, of Delphi and Olympia? I do not
forget, lady, that you are Persian by birth. Yes, but you are Greek in
soul, and you know in your heart that if one of the two must rule it must
be the Greek. But, believe me, I do not come to conquer, I come to unite.
Persians and Greeks are brothers, and, if the gods grant me my wish, they
shall be one nation of freemen with me for their chief. That your king
never could have been, nor, I may say, any Greek before me.
“This is my plan and hope; and now, lady, for the part that you can take
in completing and fulfilling it. I shall say it in a word. Be my wife.”
Barsiné was silent, and her face was still hidden in her hands; but her
neck flushed crimson.
“I am abrupt and hasty,” said Alexander, “kings must need be so when they
court. It were a happier lot for me, if I were one who could win for
himself, if it might be, by such means as lovers use, the heart of one so
beautiful and so wise. Still I would have you look on me as one who asks
rather than commands. What say you, most beautiful of women?”
“O, my lord,” stammered Barsiné, “I am not worthy.”
“Let that be my care,” said Alexander, “I know of none so worthy. It is
only you that have the right to question my choice.”
To say that Barsiné was overwhelmed by the situation in which she
found herself is to say but a small part of the truth. She had been so
much occupied with the thought of whether or no she should appeal to
Alexander’s compassion, that the idea of what might be the result of
her appeal had scarcely crossed her mind. If she had been conscious of
any definite hope, it was that she might be allowed to hide herself in
some retirement, where she might educate her son. And now what a destiny
was put at his feet! To be the wife of the conqueror of Asia! for who
could doubt that he would be this? She was confused, but it was not the
confusion of dismay. She was not a broken-hearted widow whose heart was
in her husband’s grave; and though she had really loved her Memnon, as
indeed he was worthy to be loved, life was not over for her. And what a
life seemed to be opening before her! And yet it was so sudden! And the
wooing was so imperious!
“My lord,” she began, “your commands——”
“Said I not,” broke in the king, “that I did not command, that I asked?
Now, listen to me. You are free; you shall do what you will. If you wish
to depart, depart you shall; and I will do my best to provide safely and
well for you and yours. But you must think of others. There is your son.
Though I come of the race of Neoptolemus, I am not of his temper; I could
not hurl a young Scamandrius from the wall,[48] however many the comrades
whom his father had slain. Not so; I will deal with him as it is fit that
I should deal with Memnon’s son. He shall learn to be like his father in
my camp. And your niece Clearista” (Alexander, as has been said before,
had the faculty of knowing everything), “we must find some more suitable
home for her. Perhaps our good friend Manasseh here can think of such.
And now, farewell; I shall come again, lady, and ask my answer.”
With a deep obeisance to Barsiné he left the room; and Manasseh and
Charidemus followed him.