Part 4

Gangs of armed men ran along the shores of the Tiber, waving batons surmounted by skull-caps, the Roman symbol of liberty. They paused under the windows of the royal palace. Fierce cries rang out on the air of that fair spring morning.

"Down with the Egyptian woman! Put her to death! Put her to death!" They were the same voices that spring up the world over, in every age, at the sign of revolution. Some attendants gathered around the Queen, eager to defend her; but they were too distracted to afford any certainty of protection.

Apollodorus, alone, whose stern commonsense never deserted him in the most critical moments, spoke quickly, and with authority:

"Your Majesty must quit this bloody town without delay!"

But it was not in Cleopatra's nature to yield to threats, and she rebelled. Her instinct was to resist this mob. Perhaps all was not yet lost. Cæsar would surely have avengers. A party had already formed, with Antony at its head. He had loved the dead Cæsar, and would be likely to respect his wishes, to recognize the young Cæsarion as his lawful son, the proper heir to....

This was only an illusion; an illusion which, if persisted in, would be disastrous. In the prevailing tumults neither the child nor his mother would be safe. The cries grew louder. There was nothing to do but heed the counsel of Apollodorus. With his ingenuity and affection he had already made all necessary preparations for flight.

Through the same gardens, along dangerous paths, surrounded by spies, the scene of four years ago--when she had come, a persecuted girl, to Cæsar for protection--was repeated, and Cleopatra, heavily veiled, slipped out of the hostile city of Rome.

As she journeyed on she felt sometimes almost overwhelmed by the racking anguish of her heart. It seemed as though the earth were giving way under her feet. Horror! Desolation! To be alone, when so short a while before she had had the Master of the World for her companion! The thought made her dizzy. But at her breast was the tiny head bearing the features of that master. She pressed the child closer and kissed his smiling mouth. No! All was not lost. Hope was born anew and courage came to bear her company.

II

ALEXANDRIA

Two years had passed. From her capital, whither she had returned crushed by the disaster of the Ides of March, Cleopatra was still watching the civil war which was destroying the Roman world. That violent struggle, which was led alternately by the murderers and the avengers of Cæsar, was a series of brutal reverses. The feeling that it roused in her was not merely one of sentiment. Grief for the great man who had loved her so passionately, the desire to see his vile assassins punished, were mixed with grave political anxiety.

For nearly a century Egypt had been impossible to govern. Restless, corrupt, sanguinary, it had become a prey to the various pretenders to the throne. To hold it together in any way, to utilize the magnificent resources of its rich soil, to get rid of the bands of pirates, deserters, and outlaws which made up the larger part of its army, required a stronger power than the Lagidæ possessed. Too indolent to make any exertion, these dilettante sovereigns had formed the habit of appealing to Rome for aid whenever a new insurrection broke out. Ptolemy the Piper, Cleopatra's father, had only been able to secure his crown by bribing the Roman Senators; and as to Cleopatra, we know what means she had used to regain her sceptre!

If the peace that she had restored seemed desirable, if she had been given credit for the temporary prosperity of the country, there was also much discontent that these things had been accomplished at the price of a scandal, and by an alliance which, at any time, might change the ruling power and put it in foreign hands.

Feeling herself deserted, surrounded by opposition, by plots, deprived of the troops, which, owing to military reasons, had been removed to other parts, the Queen had days of deep depression. She was overwhelmed by her responsibilities, especially when her ministers came with various accounts: of a pest so terrible that the embalmers were unable to care for the bodies of the dead; with sickening tales of the corpses which lined the public highways; again of famine, which for two successive seasons had ravished the land; of the wasteful extravagance of dishonest officials in charge of government affairs; of the difficulties of administration which each and every day brought forth. She was weary and often went back in imagination to the days when the passion of a mighty conqueror had taken all care away, and she had only to wave her ivory sceptre to have any desire fulfilled.

What remained to-day of that ancient alliance? It was Rome now that stood in need of aid. Moreover, she was invoking it, and in the present state of discord each faction was, in turn, begging the support of Egypt's fleet. If Cleopatra did not respond to this appeal it was because she was uncertain which side would win. To which party would the Republic belong to-morrow? If the conspirators who had murdered Cæsar were victorious, it was probable that, shorn of power as it was, the kingdom of Egypt, together with those of Greece, Syria, Gaul, and Spain, as well as Mauritania, would become merely colonies of Rome. If the other party, that was loyal to Cæsar's memory, were the winner, then she could look for the consideration due her. Was it not likely that the friends of Cæsar, desirous of carrying on the work that he had planned, would guard the interests of the woman whom he had named as his wife? Would they not protect the child who bore his image? But who would be the conquerors? Cleopatra was tormented with the perpetual question; and the report of Cassius' success in Macedonia filled her with apprehension.

That was in the early autumn. Then came winter, with its fogs and storms; navigation was suspended and there was no further news from the battle-fields.

The sight of Alexandria, filled as that city was for her with memories and with forebodings, plunged her into endless reveries. There the brimming cup of joy had been handed her and she had drunk her fill. Often at sunset, when the magic purple light bathed the landscape, she would climb to one of the terraces looking toward the Bruchium and gaze upon the façades of shimmering gold. How lovely it was, stretched under the fiery sky, at the edge of the tawny beach; or lighted at night by the giant torches of its watch-towers! How much more beautiful it had grown in the decades since its founder had drawn the first plans and shaped its boundaries, which lay around it like the folds of a military cloak. The Queen of such a city might well be proud. In whichever direction she looked were many-coloured marbles, enamelled domes of porcelain, triumphal arches, façades exquisitely carved. On the crest of a small hill stood the Pantheon, called in jest the Cage of the Muses. It was here, according to ancient tradition which the Lagidæ held in deepest reverence, that poets, sculptors, musicians, and artists of all nations were accorded a warm welcome, always provided they had excelled in their art and were faithful worshippers of Apollo.

Here, in the middle of the colonnade, stood the famous Library--rich, even after the terrible fire, in the possession of seven hundred thousand volumes, and which held, among other precious treasures, the Septimus, that first translation of the Bible into Greek, made by seventy-two learned Egyptian Jews, under Ptolemy Philadelphus. Not far distant, as though to seek the fountain of spiritual nourishment, clustered the group of temples of Serapis. This centre of learning, home of history, philosophy, medicine, and mathematics, as well as guardian of previous manuscripts, was in very truth the light of the world. To-day, after two thousand years, we are indebted to it for the preservation of the life of Greek literature.

The instruction given there, the names of the savants who taught, the methods employed, the accuracy of the instruments, the very quality of the papyrus furnished the students, all these were so justly famous that wealthy people of all countries, Rome, Athens, even distant Asia, who had some especially gifted son desired to send him there, that he might bear the illustrious seal of having been a student at Alexandria.

Across the distance, to the wide avenues where chariots, litters, cavalcades were thronging the broad streets, Cleopatra was still gazing. She saw the circuses, the theatres; the gymnasium, with the crowd at its doors, reading the announcements; the stadium, with its circling race-course; she looked at the gigantic hippodrome, which twenty thousand spectators could barely fill; at the widely scattered temples which over-topped the houses, dominating the other buildings by their mysterious grandeur, and farther on, she saw, with a thrill of awe, the Soma, that mausoleum where, in a crystal sarcophagus, rested the repatriated body of her heroic ancestor.

Of these precious stones, of all this magnificence, the Queen reckoned the worth, and with a fearful pride asked herself: "Will all this be mine to-morrow?" Her mind revelled in the vastness of her heritage; she regarded the inexhaustible valley, watered by the divine river; she thought of the thirty thousand towns which from north to south reared their noble ramparts; of Bubastos, where the goddess of love reigned; of Memphis, sleeping at the base of her pyramids; of Thebes, the Holy City; of Hermonthis, called the glory of two heavens; of Edfu, rich in antique treasures. Farther on, she saw, in imagination, those southern regions which produce granite and spices; the legendary vineyards, where each cluster of grapes was so heavy that two men were needed to carry it to the wine-press. She went back to that enchanted island whose perfumed paths bore the traces of her footsteps, near to those of her lover. Her old-time confidence returned and she cried: "No, my Egypt! sacred land of Osiris and of Ra, you who fill the granaries of the earth and reverently protect your dead! Garden of palms and of vines! Shore where the holy ibis seeks cooling drink, never shall you be a slave!"

And Cleopatra was right. Success was in sight. A decisive victory had just been gained by Cæsar's avengers. Pirates, escaped from Naxos, had brought the good tidings. Brutus, then Cassius, had been defeated in the plains of Philippi, and each had taken his life with the blade which their treacherous hands had plunged in the blood of their benefactor; thus was justice done.

Cleopatra took fresh courage. New light came into her life, overshadowed since that fatal morning in March. Although still wrapped in mist, the future was no longer an opaque and indistinguishable mass of blackness. A certain harmony prevailed between it and the past. Rome emerged from the gloom. Freed from the conspirators, she might once more become a valuable ally.

Meanwhile, the Queen, faithful to the tradition of her ancestors, who had squandered fortunes in amusing the populace, ordered elaborate entertainments, beginning with religious ceremonies, accompanied by sacrifices. Was it not fitting to give thank-offerings to the gods who had just punished the hateful perpetrators of that deadly crime?

The people of Alexandria welcomed every opportunity for a festival. If their city was famous for its university, for the learned men who came there daily to give lectures, it was also a centre of dissipation; rich in every variety of entertainment, vibrating with the sheer joy of living. The enormous fortunes which were made there had produced unlimited luxury. For gaiety of all kinds, banquets, dances, races, theatres, orgies of love and wine, it was without a rival.

The fame of the Alexandrian festivals was far-spread. Wherever they were announced, at Bubastos, or at Pelusium, along the Syrian or Cilician coasts, eager throngs came to mingle with the populace. From day-break, along the broad promenades of the modern quarters, as well as in the overgrown alleys of the old Rhakotis, there were swarms of noisy people.

The many-coloured costumes, the variety of complexions, dark and fair, olive and amber, indicated the hurly-burly of the cosmopolitan town. The active life of its harbour, filled with all sorts of beauty and splendour, from the Pillars of Hercules to the entrance of the Indus; the various spectacles, the museums, the fabulous Nile, where flower-laden barges went up and down day and night; the primitive debauchery, to which Greek culture had added every possible refinement, all these whetted curiosity and made the diversions of the metropolis inexhaustible.

On one hand a high-shouldered native, his loins girded with bright-coloured cloths, led an ass laden with leathern bottles; another was driving a wheat-cart; there, a sunburned, withered sailor dragged his net; yonder soldiers marched, whose imposing appearance attracted the crowd. Men from all countries and of all races were gathered together there.

Greeks predominated, recognizable, under their palliums, by their athletic suppleness; there were Romans with their bronze masks, and Gauls, whose blue eyes and close-fitting woollen tunics contrasted strangely with the heavy lidded Asiatics, whose flowing, embroidered robes swept the dust.

The different nationalities of the women were even more conspicuous, owing to their curious coiffures; some wore the hair loose, others made it into curls on either side of their cheeks; and still others, as the girls from Ephesus, fastened it with golden pins, intertwined with flowers and leaves.

Vast numbers of nomads, usually restricted to the suburbs, added to the throngs in the streets, for the police were ordered to be tolerant on the fête days. Save on the Royal Way, which was reserved exclusively for the official cortèges, Arabs were allowed to wander at will, leading, by a cord passed through a nose-ring, one or more camels, whose air of indescribable dignity dominated the crowd. There were Jews, who carried bags of money hidden in their shabby, black caftans; Ethiopians and Kaffirs, with baskets of figs and citrons balanced on their crimped heads.

Mingling in this mob, strolling about in couples, were lazy little working-girls, attracted by the clap-trap inducements of fortune-tellers, watching the acrobats who, standing on their heads, swallowed swords; or pausing to gaze at the light and wiry jugglers leaping in and out of the encircling flames. There were loafers everywhere, seeking amusement; children in danger of being crushed by the crowd; even ladies of rank, who, diverted by the street-shows, had left their litters, and were closely followed by their slaves to protect them from being jostled.

But everyone had to contend with the general disorder and each was in danger of being hustled or even beaten down. Theocritus has left us a vivid sketch describing a scene at one of these popular festivals between two young women from Syracuse. One of them, Gorga, is visiting her friend. She arrives all out of breath.

"O Praxinoa! give me a chair, quick! Put a cushion in it. How my heart is thumping! I thought I never should find you. You live so far away, and what a crowd there is to get through!"

Praxinoa listened while she finished dressing. Her maid, Eunoe, brought her water, soap, and the key of her big chest. She took out a hat and dress and added the last touches to her costume.

Gorga: "How becoming the long, plaited effect of that dress is! Was it very expensive?"

Praxinoa: "Ah! don't speak of it! It cost more than two mines of pure silver, to say nothing of the time it took to make it up."

After some grumbling about their husbands, and instructions to the Phrygian attendant to look after the baby and to keep the dog shut up, the two women leave the house. As soon as the door is closed Praxinoa cried: "Ye gods, what a rabble! What shall we do? How can we walk? And here come the soldiers! Look at the cavalry! Nothing frightens me so much as horses. Gorga! Look at that chestnut mare kicking!"

Gorga: "Never mind, it's going back in line now!"

They push ahead through the surging crowd. But the sensitive Praxinoa is all confused. "Give me your hand," she calls to Gorga. "And Eunoe, you hold on to Eutyclus. Let us keep close together lest we lose each other."

In spite of these precautions they were soon forced apart by the mob. "How unlucky I am!" exclaimed Praxinoa; her pretty plaited dress had been trodden under foot by a passing man. She called angrily after him: "By Jupiter, be careful if you don't want me to...."

But the offender was a gallant man. Instead of being rude he apologized and helped Praxinoa to arrange her disordered gown. "Take courage, lady, you are out of danger now!" Praxinoa thanked him, with the gratitude of a person who has just been rescued: "Kindly stranger, how can I express my appreciation of your help and protection?" Just here she caught sight of Gorga, and the two friends fell into each other's arms.

"I have been looking everywhere for you, Gorga!"

"And I for you, Praxinoa!" they proceeded to discuss their mishaps.

Praxinoa: "See, my dress is all torn!"

Gorga: "So is my cloak. What will my husband say?"

Arm in arm they walked along the road to the edge of the Bruchium where the banquet is being prepared.

"Is it much farther?" they demanded of an old woman.

"Alas, yes, my children!"

"At least it will be an easy matter to get in?"

The old woman, who knew her Homer, teased them: "'With strenuous efforts the Greeks entered Troy.' If you take enough trouble, my fair maids, you may reach your goal!"

* * *

There was a sudden flourish of trumpets. It was the signal for the procession to start. It filed by, solemn, unending, with the musicians at its head, half-naked cymbal players clanging their shining disks; cithern players, who sounded rings strung on metal threads; men, striking with sycamore sticks the wild asses' skins stretched over round drums hanging from their necks.

At a certain distance, intended to indicate the difference between them and what was merely human, the cortège of priests appeared. The trumpet players had already commanded silence and with reverent interest the spectators gazed at the horoscope casters, who could reveal the future; the hieroglyphic readers; prophets with long beards, who burned incense in little brass boxes; priests, whose duty it was to offer to faithful worshippers the images of the gods. Raising their gilded staffs, some would balance the standards by their painted ends; others, accompanied them in chariots; amid the general exultation, and before the staring eyes of the crowd, filed the mysterious figures of Apis, Hathor, the Bull; of the grimacing Toth, of Horus, in his sparrow-hawk mask, of Anubis, the god of Death, all expressing unknown power. There were great shoutings and cries as these images passed, for all believed in the might of this blind matter, all believed in its power of conferring an infinite degree of strength on the suppliant.

Between two rows of soldiers the High Priest at last was seen advancing. He was a very old man and leaned on a cane. A long, hyacinth-coloured veil covered his hands and his face, which no profane glance was allowed to desecrate. He alone was admitted to private conference with the god, who presently, through his mouth, would reveal the oracle. After him came the priestesses, young, pure, dressed entirely in white, their pointed fingers balancing the stems of lotus-flowers. Then followed the conjurers, with their quivering torches; the bell ringers; the bird catchers, who, on their batons daubed with glue, held the sacred fowls. Then came the beggars, exposing their infirmities; the vendors of sacred images, of scarabs, of amulets; the inevitable commercial tail that always drags behind wherever man raises up a god to be adored. And all this tide of incongruous beings, this turbulent collection of races, of passions, of divers interests, advanced in order, marching with even step toward the fascinating goal, which yonder against the azure sky, resplendent and sacred, called to them all alike to come: the temple of Serapis.

Built on the model of the old temples of the gods, this sanctuary, uniting all forms of worship, was the most noted in Egypt. The princely sums with which it was endowed served continually to augment its power, and only the most famous monuments of the Roman Capitol could compare with its mighty structure. One hundred steps led up to the entrance. Its portal was guarded by a line of sphinxes of imposing majesty; and along its sides, from arches of yellow and vermilion, light streamers floated in the wind.

As they approached the entrance the students of the different colleges took their places along the portico, according to their rank. Some stood in the empty spaces between the rows of columns and, thus, little by little, the building was filled, peopled with human forms which, in their immobility, resembled groups of statues.

Suddenly there was a commotion. Everyone turned toward a light which shone above the crowd. A herald announced "The Queen!" Magnificent, surrounded by a glittering guard, on her way, one would have said, to a heavenly kingdom, Cleopatra appeared, borne on a shield. Seeing her thus, so innocent, in a sheath of silver which encircled her as though she were a graven image, with her knees bent, her elbows close to her sides, her eyes raised to the sky, it was not possible to believe the evil tales about her. She was no longer the woman, but the august daughter of kings; a priestess, who, in another moment, would be in the presence of a god. Four slaves waved immense fans of peacocks' feathers above her head, and at her feet, like a cushion, a panther lay.

While the temple slaves attended to the slaughter of the victims, whose warm entrails were smoking on the slope, a young poet-singer, his zither hanging from his shoulder, advanced and, after bowing to the multitude, began chanting the praises of the Queen. "_Thy hair is like a sweet-smelling plant. Thy hands are the palms of love. Thy brow is like a moon coming out from behind a cloud. Thine eyes, with their shining lashes, are two summer butterflies. Thy teeth have the brilliancy of a stream, running between two banks bordered with roses and peonies._" And after each verse, a chorus of virgins would take up the refrain: "_Hail to thee, O resplendent daughter of Amoun-Ra!_"