we need fear no foes."
He fancied he still felt on his brow and hair the kiss of the mighty man
of God who had clasped him to his breast in the presence of all the
people, and it was no small thing to master the excitement which the
close of this momentous day awakened in him.

A strong desire to regain perfect self-possession ere he again mingled in
the jubilant throng and met his father, who shared every lofty emotion
that stirred his own soul, detained him on the battle-field.

It was a scene where dread and horror reigned; for all save himself who
lingered there were held by death or severe wounds.

The ravens which had followed the wanderers hovered above the corpses and
already ventured to swoop nearer to the richly-spread banquet. The scent
of blood had lured the beasts of prey from the mountains and dens in the
rocks and their roaring and greedy growling were heard in all directions.

As darkness followed dusk lights began to flit over the blood-soaked
ground. These were to aid the slaves and those who missed a relative to
distinguish friend from foe, the wounded from the dead; and many a groan
from the breast of some sorely-wounded man mingled with the croaking of
the sable birds, and the howls of the hungry jackals and hyenas, foxes
and panthers.

But Joshua was familiar with the horrors of the battle-field and did not
heed them.

Leaning against a rock, he saw the same stars rise which had shone upon
him before the tent in the camp at Tanis, when in the sorest conflict
with himself he confronted the most difficult decision of his life.

A month had passed since then, yet that brief span of time had witnessed
an unprecedented transformation of his whole inner and outward life.

What had seemed to him grand, lofty, and worthy of the exertion of all
his strength on that night when he sat before the tent where lay the
delirious Ephraim, to-day lay far behind him as idle and worthless.

He no longer cared for the honors, dignities and riches which the will of
the whimsical, weak king of a foreign people could bestow upon him. What
to him was the well-ordered and disciplined army, among whose leaders be
had numbered himself with such joyous pride?

He could scarcely realize that there had been a time when he aspired to
nothing higher than to command more and still more thousands of
Egyptians, when his heart had swelled at the bestowal of a new title or
glittering badge of honor by those whom he held most unworthy of his
esteem.

From the Egyptians he had expected everything, from his own people
nothing.

That very night before his tent the great mass of the men of his own
blood had been repulsive to him as pitiful slaves languishing in
dishonorable, servile toil. Even the better classes he had arrogantly
patronized; for they were but shepherds and as such contemptible to the
Egyptians, whose opinions he shared.

His own father was also the owner of herds and, though he held him in
high esteem, it was in spite of his position and only because his whole
character commanded reverence; because the superb old man's fiery vigor
won love from every one, and above all from him, his grateful son.

He had never ceased to gladly acknowledge his kinship to him, but in
other respects he had striven to so bear himself among his
brothers-in-arms that they should forget his origin and regard him in
everything as one of themselves. His ancestress Asenath, the wife of
Joseph, had been an Egyptian and he had boasted of the fact.

And now,--to-day?

He would have made any one feel the weight of his wrath who reproached
him with being an Egyptian; and what at the last new moon he would only
too willingly have cast aside and concealed, as though it were a
disgrace, made him on the night of the next new moon whose stars were
just beginning to shine, raise his head with joyous pride.

What a lofty emotion it was to feel himself with just complacency the man
he really was!

His life and deeds as an Egyptian chief now seemed like a perpetual lie,
a constant desertion of his ideal.

His truthful nature exulted in the consciousness that the base denial and
concealment of his birth was at an end.

With joyous gratitude he felt that he was one of the people whom the Most
High preferred to all others, that he belonged to a community, whose
humblest members, nay even the children, could raise their hands in
prayer to the God whom the loftiest minds among the Egyptians surrounded
with the barriers of secrecy, because they considered their people too
feeble and dull of intellect to stand before His mighty grandeur and
comprehend it.

And this one sole God, before whom all the whole motley world of Egyptian
divinities sank into insignificance, had chosen him, the son of Nun, from
among the thousands of his race to be the champion and defender of His
chosen people and bestowed on him a name that assured him of His aid.

No man, he thought, had ever had a loftier aim than, obedient to his God
and under His protection, to devote his blood and life to the service of
his own people. His black eyes sparkled more brightly and joyously as he
thought of it. His heart seemed too small to contain all the love with
which he wished to make amends to his brothers for his sins against them
in former years.

True, he had lost to another a grand and noble woman whom he had hoped to
make his own; but this did not in the least sadden the joyous enthusiasm
of his soul; for he had long ceased to desire her as his wife, high as
her image still stood in his mind. He now thought of her with quiet
gratitude only; for he willingly admitted that his new life had begun on
the decisive night when Miriam set him the example of sacrificing
everything, even the dearest object of love, to God and the people.

Miriam's sins against him were effaced from his memory; for he was wont
to forget what he had forgiven. Now he felt only the grandeur of what he
owed her. Like a magnificent tree, towering skyward on the frontier of
two hostile countries, she stood between his past and his present life.
Though love was buried, he and Miriam could never cease to walk hand in
hand over the same road toward the same destination.

As he again surveyed the events of the past, he could truly say that
under his leadership pitiful bondmen had speedily become brave warriors
In the field they had been willing and obedient and, after the victory,
behaved with manliness. And they could not fail to improve with each
fresh success. To-day it seemed to him not only desirable, but quite
possible, to win in battle at their head a land which they could love and
where, in freedom and prosperity, they could become the able men he
desired to make them.

Amid the horrors of the battle-field in the moonless night joy as bright
as day entered his heart and with the low exclamation: "God and my
people!" and a grateful glance upward to the starry firmament he left the
corpse-strewn valley of death like a conqueror walking over palms and
flowers scattered by a grateful people on the path of victory.




CONCLUSION.

There was an active stir in the camp.

Fires surrounded by groups of happy human beings were burning in front of
the tents, and many a beast was slain, here as a thank-offering, yonder
for the festal supper.

Wherever Joshua appeared glad cheers greeted him; but he did not find his
father, for the latter had accepted an invitation from Hur, so it was
before the prince of Judah's tent that the son embraced the old man, who
was radiant with grateful joy.

Ere Joshua sat down Hur beckoned him aside, ordered a slave who had just
killed a calf to divide it into two pieces and pointing to it, said:

"You have accomplished great deeds for the people and for me, son of Nun,
and my life is too short for the gratitude which is your due from my wife
and myself. If you can forget the bitter words which clouded our peace at
Dophkah--and you say you have done so--let us in future keep together
like brothers and stand by each other in joy and grief, in need and
peril. The chief command henceforth belongs to you alone, Joshua, and to
no other, and this is a source of joy to the whole people, above all to
my wife and to me. So if you share my wish to form a brotherhood, walk
with me, according to the custom of our fathers, between the halves of
this slaughtered animal."

Joshua willingly accepted this invitation, and Miriam was the first to
join in the loud acclamations of approval commenced by the grey-haired
Nun. She did so with eager zeal; for it was she who had inspired her
husband, before whom she had humbled herself, and whose love she now once
more possessed, with the idea of inviting Joshua to the alliance both had
now concluded.

This had not been difficult for her; for the two vows she had made after
the son of Nun, whom she now gladly called "Joshua," had saved her from
the hand of the foe were already approaching fulfilment, and she felt
that she had resolved upon them in a happy hour.

The new and pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman,
lent her whole nature a gentleness hitherto foreign to it, and this
retained the love of the husband whose full value she had learned to know
during the sad time in which he had shut his heart against her.

In the self-same hour which made Hur and Joshua brothers, a pair of
faithful lovers who had been sundered by sacred duties were once more
united; for while the friends were still feasting before the tent of Hur,
three of the people asked permission to speak to Nun, their master. These
were the old freedwoman, who had remained in Tanis, her granddaughter
Hogla and Assir, the latter's betrothed husband, from whom the girl had
parted to nurse her grandparents.

Hoary Eliab had soon died, and the grandmother and Hogla--the former on
the old man's ass--had followed the Hebrews amid unspeakable
difficulties.

Nun welcomed the faithful couple with joy and gave Hogla to Assir for his
wife.

So this blood-stained day had brought blessings to many, yet it was to
end with a shrill discord.

While the fires in the camp were burning, loud voices were heard, and
during the whole journey not an evening had passed without strife and
sanguinary quarrels.

Wounds and fatal blows had often been given when an offended man revenged
himself on his enemy, or a dishonest one seized the property of others or
denied the obligations he had sworn to fulfil.

In such cases it had been difficult to restore peace and call the
criminals to account; for the refractory refused to recognize any one as
judge. Whoever felt himself injured banded with others, and strove to
obtain justice by force.

On that festal evening Hur and his guests at first failed to notice the
uproar to which every one was accustomed. But when close at hand, amid
the fiercest yells, a bright glare of light arose, the chiefs began to
fear for the safety of the camp, and rising to put an end to the
disturbance, they became witnesses of a scene which filled some with
wrath and horror, and the others with grief.

The rapture of victory had intoxicated the multitude.

They longed to express their gratitude to the deity, and in vivid
remembrance of the cruel worship of their home, a band of Phoenicians
among the strangers had kindled a huge fire to their Moloch and were in
the act of hurling into the flames several Amalekite captives as the most
welcome sacrifice to their god.

Close beside it the Israelites had erected on a tall wooden pillar a clay
image of the Egyptian god Seth, which one of his Hebrew worshippers had
brought with him to protect himself and his family.

Directly after their return to the camp Aaron had assembled the people to
sing hymns of praise and offer prayers of thanksgiving; but to many the
necessity of beholding, in the old-fashioned way, an image of the god to
whom they were to uplift their souls, had been so strong that the mere
sight of the clay idol had sufficed to bring them to their knees, and
turn them from the true God.

At the sight of the servants of Moloch, who were already binding the
human victims to hurl them into the flames, Joshua was seized with wrath
and, when the deluded men resisted, he ordered the trumpets to be sounded
and with his young men who blindly obeyed him and were by no means
friendly to the strangers, drove them back, without bloodshed, to their
quarters in the camp.

The impressive warnings of old Nun, Hur, and Naashon diverted the Hebrews
from the crime which ingratitude made doubly culpable. Yet many of the
latter found it hard to control themselves when the fiery old man
shattered the idol which was dear to them, and had it not been for the
love cherished for him, his son, and his grandson, and the respect due
his snow-white hair, many a hand would doubtless have been raised against
him.

Moses had retired to a solitary place, as was his wont after every great
danger from which the mercy of the Most High brought deliverance, and
tears filled Miriam's eyes as she thought of the grief which the tidings
of such apostasy and ingratitude would cause her noble brother.

A gloomy shadow had also darkened Joshua's joyous confidence. He lay
sleepless on the mat in his father's tent, reviewing the past.

His warrior-soul was elevated by the thought that a single, omnipotent,
never-erring Power guided the universe and the lives of men and exacted
implicit obedience from the whole creation. Every glance at nature and
life showed him that everything depended upon One infinitely great and
powerful Being, at whose sign all creatures rose, moved, or sank to rest.

To him, the chief of a little army, his God was the highest and most
far-sighted of rulers, the only One, who was always certain of victory.

What a crime it was to offend such a Lord and repay His benefits with
apostasy!

Yet the people had committed before his eyes this heinous sin and, as he
recalled to mind the events which had compelled him to interpose, the
question arose how they were to be protected from the wrath of the Most
High, how the eyes of the dull multitude could be opened to His wonderful
grandeur, which expanded the heart and the soul.

But he found no answer, saw no expedient, when he reflected upon the
lawlessness and rebellion in the camp, which threatened to be fatal to
his people.

He had succeeded in making his soldiers obedient. As soon as the trumpets
summoned them, and he himself in full armor appeared at the head of his
men, they yielded their own obstinate wills to his. Was there then
nothing that could keep them, during peaceful daily life, within the
bounds which in Egypt secured the existence of the meanest and weakest
human beings and protected them from the attacks of those who were bolder
and stronger?

Amid such reflections he remained awake until early morning; when the
stars set, he started up, ordered the trumpets to be sounded, and as on
the preceding days, the new-made troops assembled without opposition and
in full force.

He was soon marching at their head through the narrow, rocky valley, and
after moving silently an hour through the gloom the warriors enjoyed the
refreshing coolness which precedes the young day.

Then the grey light of early dawn glimmered in the east, the sky began to
brighten, and in the glowing splendor of the blushing morning rose
solemnly in giant majesty the form of the sacred mountain.

Close at hand and distinctly visible it towered before the Hebrews with
its brown masses of rock, cliffs, and chasms, while above the seven peaks
of its summit hovered a pair of eagles on whose broad pinions the young
day cast a shimmering golden glow.

A thrill of pious awe made the whole band halt as they had before Alush,
and every man, from the first rank to the last, in mute devotion raised
his hands to pray.

Then they moved on with hearts uplifted, and one shouted joyously to
another as some pretty dark birds flew twittering toward them, a sign of
the neighborhood of fresh water.

They had scarcely marched half an hour longer when they beheld the
bluish-green foliage of tamarisk bushes and the towering palm-trees; at
last, the most welcome of all sounds in the wilderness fell on their
listening ears--the ripple of flowing water.

This cheered their hearts, and the majestic spectacle of Mount Sinai,
whose heaven-touching summit was now concealed by a veil of blue mist,
filled with devout amazement the souls of the men who had grown up on the
flat plains of Goshen.

[The mountain known at the present day as Serbal, not the Sinai of
the monks which in our opinion was first declared in the reign of
Justinian to be the mount whence the laws were given. The detailed
reasons for our opinion that Serbal is the Sinai of the Scriptures,
which Lepsius expressed before its and others share with us may be
found in our works: "Durch Gosen zum Sinai, aus dem Wanderbuch and
der Bibliothek." 2 Aufl. Leipzig. 1882. Wilh. Engelmann.]

They pressed cautiously forward; for the remainder of the defeated
Amalekites might be lying in ambush. But no foe was seen or heard, and
the Hebrews found some tokens of the thirst for vengeance of the sons of
the wilderness in their ruined houses, the superb palm-trees felled, and
little gardens destroyed. It was necessary now to remove from the road
the slender trunks with their huge leafy crowns, that they might not
impede the progress of the people; and, when this work was done, Joshua
ascended through a ravine which led to the brook in the valley, up to the
first terrace of the mountain, that he might gaze around him far and near
for a view of the enemy.

The steep pathway led past masses of red granite, intersected by veins of
greenish diorite, until he reached a level plateau high above the oasis,
where, beside a clear spring, green bushes and delicate mountain flowers
adorned the barren wilderness.

Here he intended to rest and, as he gazed around him, he perceived in the
shadow of an overhanging cliff a man's tall figure.

It was Moses.

The flight of his thoughts had rapt him so far away from the present and
his surroundings, that he did not perceive Joshua's approach, and the
latter was restrained by respectful awe from approaching the man of God.

He waited patiently till the latter raised his bearded face and greeted
him with friendly dignity.

Then they gazed together at the oasis and the desolate stony valleys of
the mountain region at their feet. The emerald waters of a small portion
of the Red Sea, which washed the western slope of the mountain, also
glittered beneath them.

Meanwhile they talked of the people and the greatness and omnipotence of
the God who had so wonderfully guided them, and as they looked northward,
they beheld the endlessly long stream of Hebrews, which, following the
curves of the rocky valley, was surging slowly toward the oasis.

Then Joshua opened his heart to the man of God and told him the questions
he had asked himself during the past sleepless night, and to which he had
found no answer. The latter listened quietly, and in deep, faltering
tones answered in broken sentences:

"The lawlessness in the camp--ay, it is ruining the people! But the Lord
placed the power to destroy it in our hands. Woe betide him who resists.
They must feel this power, which is as sublime as yonder mountain, as
immovable as its solid rock."

Then Moses' wrathful words ceased.

After both had gazed silently into vacancy a long time, Joshua broke the
silence by asking:

"And what is the name of this power?"

Loudly and firmly from the bearded lips of the man of God rang the words;
"THE LAW!"

He pointed with his staff to the summit of the mountain.

Then, waving his hand to his companion, he left him. Joshua completed his
search for the foe and saw on the yellow sands of the valley dark figures
moving to and fro.

They were the remnants of the defeated Amalekite bands seeking new
abodes.

He watched them a short time and, after convincing himself that they were
quitting the oasis, he thoughtfully returned to the valley.

"The law!" he repeated again and again.

Ay, that was what the wandering tribes lacked. It was doubtless reserved
for its severity to transform the hordes which had escaped bondage into a
people worthy of the God who preferred them above the other nations of
the earth.

Here the chief's reflections were interrupted; for human voices, the
lowing and bleating of herds, the barking of dogs, and the heavy blows of
hammers rose to his ears from the oasis.

They were pitching the tents, a work of peace, for which no one needed
him.

Lying down in the shadow of a thick tamarisk bush, above which a tall
palm towered proudly, he stretched his limbs comfortably to rest in the
assurance that the people were now provided for, in war by his good
sword, in peace by the Law. This was much, it renewed his hopes; yet, no,
no--it was not all, could not be the final goal. The longer he reflected,
the more profoundly he felt that this was not enough to satisfy him
concerning those below, whom he cherished in his heart as if they were
brothers and sisters. His broad brow again clouded, and roused from his
repose by fresh doubts, he gently shook his head.

No, again no! The Law could not afford to those who were so dear to him
everything that he desired for them. Something else was needed to make
their future as dignified and beautiful as he had beheld it before his
mind's eye on his journey to the mines.

But what was it, what name did this other need bear?

He began to rack his brain to discover it, and while, with closed lids,
he permitted his thoughts to rove to the other nations whom he had known
in war and peace, in order to seek among them the one thing his own
people lacked, sleep overpowered him and a dream showed him Miriam and a
lovely girl, who looked like Kasana as she had so often rushed to meet
him when a sweet, innocent child, followed by the white lamb which Nun
had given to his favorite many years before.

Both figures offered him a gift and asked him to choose one or the other.
Miriam's hand held a heavy gold tablet, at whose top was written in
flaming letters: "The Law!" and which she offered with stern severity.
The child extended one of the beautifully-curved palm-leaves which he had
often waved as a messenger of peace.

The sight of the tablet filled him with pious awe, the palm-branch waved
a friendly greeting and he quickly grasped it. But scarcely was it in his
hand ere the figure of the prophetess melted into the air like mist,
which the morning breeze blows away. In painful astonishment he now gazed
at the spot where she had stood, and surprised and troubled by his
strange choice, though he felt that he had made the right one, he asked
the child what her gift imported to him and to the people.

She waved her hand to him, pointed into the distance, and uttered three
words whose gentle musical sound sank deep into his heart. Yet hard as he
strove to catch their purport, he did not succeed, and when he asked the
child to explain them the sound of his own voice roused him and he
returned to the camp, disappointed and thoughtful.

Afterwards he often tried to remember these words, but always in vain.
All his great powers, both mental and physical, he continued to devote to
the people; but his nephew Ephraim, as a powerful prince of his tribe,
who well deserved the high honors he enjoyed in after years,
founded a home of his own, where old Nun watched the growth of
great-grand-children, who promised a long perpetuation of his noble race.

Everyone is familiar with Joshua's later life, so rich in action, and how
he won in battle a new home for his people.

There in the Promised Land many centuries later was born, in Bethlehem,
another Jehoshua who bestowed on all mankind what the son of Nun had
vainly sought for the Hebrew nation.

The three words uttered by the child's lips which the chief had been
unable to comprehend were:

"Love, Mercy, Redemption!"



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian
Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust
Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman
Woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE JOSHUA:

A school where people learned modesty
Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian
Brief "eternity" of national covenants
But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others
Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow
Choose between too great or too small a recompense
Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed
Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified
I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave
Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust
Omnipotent God, who had preferred his race above all others
Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman
Precepts and lessons which only a mother can give
Regard the utterances and mandates of age as wisdom
Should I be a man, if I forgot vengeance?
Then hate came; but it did not last long
There is no 'never,' no surely
To the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death
Voice of the senses, which drew them together, will soon be mute
What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed shallow
When hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly
Who can prop another's house when his own is falling
Woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind




CLEOPATRA

By Georg Ebers

Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford




PREFACE.

If the author should be told that the sentimental love of our day was
unknown to the pagan world, he would not cite last the two lovers, Antony
and Cleopatra, and the will of the powerful Roman general, in which he
expressed the desire, wherever he might die, to be buried beside the
woman whom he loved to his latest hour. His wish was fulfilled, and the
love-life of these two distinguished mortals, which belongs to history,
has more than once afforded to art and poesy a welcome subject.

In regard to Cleopatra, especially, life was surrounded with an
atmosphere of romance bordering on the fabulous. Even her bitterest foes
admire her beauty and rare gifts of intellect. Her character, on the
contrary, presents one of the most difficult problems of psychology. The
servility of Roman poets and authors, who were unwilling frankly to
acknowledge the light emanating so brilliantly from the foe of the state
and the Imperator, solved it to her disadvantage. Everything that bore
the name of Egyptian was hateful or suspicious to the Roman, and it was
hard to forgive this woman, born on the banks of the Nile, for having
seen Julius Caesar at her feet and compelled Mark Antony to do her
bidding. Other historians, Plutarch at their head, explained the enigma
more justly, and in many respects in her favour.

It was a delightful task to the author to scan more closely the
personality of the hapless Queen, and from the wealth of existing
information shape for himself a creature in whom he could believe. Years
elapsed ere he succeeded; but now that he views the completed picture, he
thinks that many persons might be disposed to object to the brightness of
his colours. Yet it would not be difficult for the writer to justify
every shade which he has used. If, during his creative work, he learned
to love his heroine, it was because, the more distinctly he conjured
before his mind the image of this wonderful woman, the more keenly he
felt and the more distinctly he perceived how fully she merited not only
sympathy and admiration, but, in spite of all her sins and weaknesses,
the self-sacrificing affection which she inspired in so many hearts.

It was an author of no less importance than Horace who called Cleopatra
"non humilis mulier"--a woman capable of no baseness. But the phrase
gains its greatest importance from the fact that it adorns the hymn which
the poet dedicated to Octavianus and his victory over Antony and
Cleopatra. It was a bold act, in such an ode, to praise the victor's foe.
Yet he did it, and his words, which are equivalent to a deed, are among
this greatly misjudged woman's fairest claims to renown.

Unfortunately it proved less potent than the opinion of Dio, who often
distorted what Plutarch related, but probably followed most closely the
farce or the popular tales which, in Rome, did not venture to show the
Egyptian in a favourable light.

The Greek Plutarch, who lived much nearer the period of our heroine than
Dio, estimated her more justly than most of the Roman historians. His
grandfather had heard many tales of both Cleopatra and Antony from his
countryman Philotas, who, during the brilliant days when they revelled in
Alexandria, had lived there as a student. Of all the writers who describe
the Queen, Plutarch is the most trustworthy, but even his narrative must
be used with caution. We have closely followed the clear and
comprehensive description given by Plutarch of the last days of our
heroine. It bears the impress of truth, and to deviate widely from it
would be arbitrary.

Unluckily, Egyptian records contain nothing which could have much weight
in estimating the character of Cleopatra, though we have likenesses
representing the Queen alone, or with her son Caesarion. Very recently
(in 1892) the fragment of a colossal double statue was found in
Alexandria, which can scarcely be intended for any persons except
Cleopatra and Antony hand in hand. The upper part of the female figure is
in a state of tolerable preservation, and shows a young and attractive
face. The male figure was doubtless sacrificed to Octavianus's command to
destroy Antony's statues. We are indebted to Herr Dr. Walther, in
Alexandria, for an excellent photograph of this remarkable piece of
sculpture. Comparatively few other works of plastic art, in which we here
include coins, that could render us familiar with our heroine's
appearance, have been preserved.

Though the author must especially desire to render his creation a work of
art, it is also requisite to strive for fidelity. As the heroine's
portrait must reveal her true character, so the life represented here
must correspond in every line with the civilization of the period
described. For this purpose we placed Cleopatra in the centre of a larger
group of people, whom she influences, and who enable her personality to
be displayed in the various relations of life.

Should the author succeed in making the picture of the remarkable woman,
who was so differently judged, as "lifelike" and vivid as it stamped
itself upon his own imagination, he might remember with pleasure the
hours which he devoted to this book.

GEORG EBERS

TUTZING ON THE STARNBERGER SEE, October 5, 1893.




CLEOPATRA.




CHAPTER I.

Gorgias, the architect, had learned to bear the scorching sunbeams of the
Egyptian noonday. Though not yet thirty, he had directed--first as his
late father's assistant and afterwards as his successor--the construction
of the huge buildings erected by Cleopatra in Alexandria.

Now he was overwhelmed with commissions; yet he had come hither ere the
hours of work were over, merely to oblige a youth who had barely passed
the confines of boyhood.

True, the person for whom he made this sacrifice was Caesarion, the son
whom Cleopatra had given to Julius Caesar. Antony had honoured him with
the proud title of "King of kings"; yet he was permitted neither to rule
nor even to issue orders, for his mother kept him aloof from affairs of
state, and he himself had no desire to hold the sceptre.

Gorgias had granted his wish the more readily, because it was apparent
that he wanted to speak to him in private, though he had not the least
idea what Caesarion desired to confide, and, under any circumstances, he
could give him only a brief interview. The fleet, at whose head the Queen
had set sail, with Mark Antony, for Greece, must have already met