Cleopatra — Chapter 3 Part 2

As soon as the square began to empty, Barine left her post of observation.

It was long since her heart had throbbed so violently.

Not one of the many suitors for her favour had been so dear to her as Dion;

but she now felt that she loved him.

What he had just done for her and her grandfather was worthy of the deepest gratitude; it proved that he did not come to her house, like most of her guests, merely to while away the evening hours.

It had been no small matter for the young aristocrat, in the presence of the whole multitude, to enter into a debate with the infamous Philostratus, and how well he had succeeded in silencing the dreaded orator!

Besides, Dion had even taken her part against his own powerful uncle, and perhaps by his deed drawn upon himself the hostility of his enemy's brother, Alexas, Antony's powerful favourite.

Barine might assure herself that he, who was the peer of any Macedonian noble in the city, would have done this for no one else.

She felt as if the act had ransomed her.

When, after an unhappy marriage and many desolate days, she had regained her former bright cheerfulness and saw her house become the centre of the intellectual life of the city, she had striven until now to extend the same welcome to all her guests.

She had perceived that she ought not to give any one the power over her which is possessed by the man who knows that he is beloved, and even to Dion she had granted little more than to the others.

But now she saw plainly that she would resign the pleasure of being a universally admired woman, whose modest home attracted the most distinguished men in the city, for the far greater happiness which would be hers as Dion's beloved wife.

With him, cherished by his love, she believed that she could find far greater joy in solitude than in the gay course of her present life.

She knew now what she must do if Dion sought her, and the architect, for the first time, found her a silent companion.

He had willingly accompanied her back to her grandfather's house, where he had again met her sister Helena, while she had quitted it disappointed, because her brave defender had not returned there.

After the interruption of the debate Dion had been in a very cheerful mood.

The pleasant sensation of having championed a good cause, and the delightful consciousness of success were not new to him, but he had rarely felt so uplifted as now.

He most ardently longed for his next meeting with Barine, and imagined how he would describe what had happened and claim her gratitude for his friendly service.

The scene had risen clearly before his mind, but scarcely had the radiant vision of the future faded when the unusually bright expression of his manly face was clouded by a grave and troubled one.

The darkness of the night, illumined only by the flare of the pitch-pans, had surrounded him, yet it had seemed as if he were standing with Barine in the full light of noon in the blossoming garden of his own palace, and, after asking a reward for his sturdy championship, she had clung to him with deep emotion, and he had passionately kissed her tearful face.

The face had quickly vanished, yet it had been as distinct as the most vivid picture in a dream.

Was Barine more to him than he supposed?

Had he not been drawn to her, during the past few months, by the mere charm of her pliant intellect and her bright beauty?

Had a new, strong passion awakened within him?

Was he in danger of seeing the will which urged him to preserve his freedom conquered?

Had he cause to fear that some day, constrained by a mysterious, invincible power, in defiance of the opposition of calm reason, he might perhaps bind himself for life to this Barine, the woman who had once been the wife of a Philostratus, and who bestowed her smiles on all who found admittance to her house seeking a feast for the eye, a banquet for the ear, a pleasant entertainment?

Though her honor was as stainless as the breast of a swan--and he had no reason to doubt it--she would still be classed with Aspasia and other women whose guests sought more than songs and agreeable conversations.

The gifts with which the gods had so lavishly endowed her had already been shared with too many to permit him, the last scion of a noble Macedonian house, to think of leading her, as mistress, to the palace whose erection he had so carefully and successfully planned with Gorgias.

Surely it lacked nothing save the gracious rule of a mistress.

But if she should consent to become his without the blessing of Hymen?

No. He could not thus dishonor the granddaughter of Didymus, the man who had been his father's revered teacher, a woman whom he had always rejoiced that, spite of the gay freedom with which she received so many admirers, he could still esteem.

He would not do so, though his friends would have greeted such scruples with a smile of superiority.

Who revered the sacredness of marriage in a city whose queen was openly living for the second time with the husband of another?

Dion himself had formed many a brief connection, but for that very reason he could not place a woman like Barine on the same footing with those whose love he had perhaps owed solely to his wealth.

He had never lacked courage and resolution, but he felt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he had never coped.

That accursed face!

Again and again it rose before his mental vision, smiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the yearning to realize the dream would conquer all opposition.

If he remained near her he would inevitably do what he might afterwards regret, and therefore he would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho to induce her to enhance Archibius's powers of persuasion and induce Barine to leave Alexandria.

It would be hard for him to part from her, yet much would be gained if she went into the country.

Between the present and the distant period of a second meeting lay respite from peril, and perhaps the possibility of victory.

Dion did not recognize himself.

He seemed as unstable as a swaying reed, because he had conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's house and encourage him, and passed on to his own home.

But he would probably have found Barine still with her grandfather, and he would not meet her, though every fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice, and a word of gratitude from her beloved lips.

Instead of joy, he was filled with the sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing at a crossing in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be fully content with neither.

The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus.

The thought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to erect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately building.

He would divert his thoughts by examining the site which Gorgias had chosen.

The zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre, and the crowd began to disperse.

Every one was full of the joyful tidings of victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the favourite of the great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited in thrilling verse.

Many a joyous Io and loud Evoë to Cleopatra, the new Isis, and Antony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while bearded and smooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the shout, "To the Sebasteum!"

This was the royal palace, which faced the government building containing the Regent's residence.

The populace desired to have the delightful news confirmed, and to express, by a public demonstration, the grateful joy which filled every heart.

Dion, too, was eager to obtain certainty, and, though usually averse to mingling with the populace during such noisy outbursts of feeling, he was preparing to follow the crowd thronging towards the Sebasteum, when the shouts of runners clearing a passage for a closed litter fell upon his ear.

It was occupied by Iras, the Queen's trusted attendant.

If any one could give accurate information, it was she; yet it would hardly be possible to gain an opportunity of conversing with her in this throng.

But Iras must have had a different opinion; she had seen Dion, and now called him to her side.

There were hoarse tones in her voice, usually so clear and musical, which betrayed the emotion raging in her breast as she assailed the young Macedonian noble with a flood of questions.

Without giving him the usual greeting, she hastily desired to know what was exciting the people, who had brought the tidings of victory, and whither the multitude was flocking?

Dion had found it difficult not to be forced from the litter while answering.

Iris perceived this, and as they were just passing the Mæander, the labyrinth, which was closed after sunset, she ordered her bearers to carry the litter to the entrance, made herself known to the watchman, ordered the outer court to be opened, the litter to be placed there, and the bearers and runners to wait outside for her summons, which would soon be given.

This unusual haste and excitement filled Dion with just solicitude.

She refused his invitation to alight and walk up and down, declaring that life offered so many labyrinths that one need not seek them.

He, too, seemed to be following paths which were scarcely straight ones.

"Why," she concluded, thrusting her head far out of the opening in the litter, "are you rendering it so difficult for the Regent and your own uncle to execute their plans, making common cause with the populace, like a paid agitator?"

"Like Philostratus, you mean, on whom I bestowed a few blows in addition to the golden guerdon received from your hand?"

"Ay, like him, for aught I care.

Probably it was you, too, who had him flung into the water, after you had vented your wrath on him?

You managed your cause well.

What we do for love's sake is usually successful.

No matter, if only his brother Alexas does not rouse Antony against you.

For my part, I merely desire to know why and for whom all this was done."

"For whom save the good old man who was my father's preceptor, and his just claim?"

replied Dion frankly.

"Moreover--for no site more unsuitable could be found than his garden--in behalf of good taste."

Iras laughed a shrill, short laugh, and her narrow, regularly formed face, which might have been called beautiful, had not the bridge of the straight delicate nose been too long and the chin too small, darkened slightly, as she exclaimed, "That is frank at least."

"You ought to be accustomed to that from me," replied Dion calmly.

"In this case, however, the expert, Gorgias, fully shares my opinion."

"I heard that too.

You are both the most constant visitors of--what is the woman's name?

--the bewitching Barine."

"Barine?"

repeated Dion, as if the mention of the name surprised him.

"You take care, my friend, that our conversation does honour to its scene, the labyrinth.

I speak of works of the sculptor's art, and you pretend that I am referring to what is most certainly a very successful living work from the creative hands of the gods.

I was very far from thinking of the granddaughter of the old scholar for whom I interceded."

"Ay," she scornfully retorted, "young gentlemen in your position, and with your habits of life, always think of their fathers estimable teachers rather than of the women who, ever since Pandora opened her box, have brought all sorts of misfortunes into the world.

But," she added, pushing back her dark locks from her high forehead, "I don't understand myself, how, with the mountain of care that now burdens my soul, I can waste even a single word upon such trifles.

I care as little for the aged scholar as I do for his legion of commentaries and books, though they are not wholly unfamiliar to me.

For any concern of mine he might have as many grandchildren as there are evil tongues in Alexandria, were it not that just at this time it is of the utmost importance to remove everything which might cast a shadow on the Queen's pathway.

I have just come from the palace of the royal children at Lochias, and what I learned there.

But that--I will not, I cannot believe it.

It fairly stifles me!"

"Have you received bad news from the fleet?"

questioned Dion, with sincere anxiety; but she only bent her head in assent, laying her fan of ostrich-plumes on her lips to enjoin silence, at the same time shivering so violently that he perceived it, even in the dusk.

It was evident that speech was difficult, as she added in a muffled tone: "It must be kept secret--Rhodian sailors--thank the gods, it is still very doubtful--it cannot, must not be true--and yet--the prattle of that zither-player, which has filled the multitude with joyous anticipation, is abominable--the great ones of the earth are often most sorely injured by those who owe them the most gratitude.

I know you can be silent, Dion.

You could as a boy, if anything was to be hidden from our parents.

Would you still be ready to plunge into the water for me, as in those days?

Scarcely.

Yet you may be trusted, and, even in this labyrinth, I will do so.

My heart is heavy.

But not one word to any person.

I need no confidant and could maintain silence even towards you, but I am anxious that you should understand me, you who have just taken such a stand.

Before I entered my litter at Lochias, the boy returned, and I talked with him."

"Young Cæsarion loves Barine," replied Dion with grave earnestness.

"Then this horrible folly is known?"

asked Iras excitedly.

"A passion far deeper than I should ever have expected this dreamer to feel has taken possession of him.

And if the Queen should now return--perhaps less successful than we desire--if she looks to those from whom she still expects pleasure, satisfaction, lofty deeds, and learns what has befallen the boy--for what does not that sun-bright intellect learn and perceive?

He is dear to her, dearer than any of you imagine.

How it will increase her anxiety, perhaps her suffering!

With what good reason she will be angered against those whom duty and love should have commanded to guard the boy!"

"And therefore," added Dion, "the stone of offence must be removed.

Your first step to secure this object was the attack on Didymus."

He had judged correctly and perceived that, in her assault upon the old scholar, she had at first intended to play into the hands of the rulers, work against the old philosopher and his relatives, among whose number was Barine; for the Egyptian law permitted the relatives of those who were convicted of any crime against the sovereign or the government to be banished with the criminal.

This attack upon an innocent person was disgraceful, yet every word Iras uttered made Dion feel, every feature of her face betrayed, that it was not merely base jealousy, but a nobler emotion, that caused her to assail the guiltless sage--love for her mistress, the desire which dominated her whole being to guard Cleopatra from grief and trouble in these trying times.

He knew Iras's iron will and the want of consideration with which she had learned to pursue her purpose at the court.

His first object was to protect Barine from the danger which threatened her; but he also wished to relieve the anxiety of Iras, the daughter of Krates, his father's neighbour, with whom he had played in boyhood and for whom he had never ceased to feel a tender interest.

His remark surprised her.

She saw that her plot was detected by the man whose esteem she most valued, and a loving woman is glad to recognize the superiority of her lover.

Besides, from her earliest childhood--and she was only two years younger than Dion--she had belonged to circles where no quality was more highly prized than mental pliancy and keenness.

Her dark eyes, which at first had glittered distrustfully and questioningly and afterwards glowed with a gloomy light, now gained a new expression.

Her gaze sought her friend's with a tender, pleading look as, admitting his charge, she began: "Yes!

Dion, the philosopher's granddaughter must not stay here.

Or do you see any other way to protect the unhappy boy from incalculable misfortune?

You know me well enough to be aware that, like you, I am reluctant to infringe another's rights, that except in case of necessity I am not cruel.

I value your esteem.

No one is more truthful, and yesterday you averred that Eros had no part in your visits to the much-admired young woman, that you joined her guests merely because the society you found at her house afforded a pleasant stimulus to the mind.

I have ceased to believe in many things, but not in you and your words, and if hearing that you had taken sides with the grandfather, I fancied that you were secretly seeking the thanks and gratitude of the granddaughter, why--surely the atrocious maxim that Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers comes from you men--why, suspicion again reared its head.

Now you seem to share my opinion----" "Like you," Dion interrupted, "I believe that Barine ought to be withdrawn from the boy's pursuit, which cannot be more unpleasant to you than to her.

As Cæsarion neither can nor ought to leave Alexandria while affairs are so threatening, nothing is left except to remove the young woman--but, of course, in all kindness."

"In a golden chariot, garlanded with roses, if you so desire," cried Iras eagerly.

"That might attract attention," answered Dion, smiling and raising his hand as if to enjoin moderation.

"Your mode of action does not please me, even now that I know its purpose, but I will gladly aid you to attain your object.

Your crooked paths also lead to the goal, and perhaps one is less likely to stumble in them; but straight ways suit me better, and I think I have already found the right one.

A friend will invite Barine to an estate far away from here, perhaps in the lake regions."

"You?"

cried Iras, her narrow eyebrows suddenly contracting.

"Do you imagine that she would go with me?"

he asked, in a faintly reproachful tone.

"No. Fortunately, we have older friends, and at their head is one who happens to be your uncle and at the same time is wax in the hands of the Queen."

"Archibius?"

exclaimed Iras.

"Ah!

if he could persuade her to do so!"

"He will try.

He, too, is anxious about the lad.

While we are talking here, he is inviting Barine to his estate.

The country air will benefit her."

"May she bloom there like a young shepherdess!"

"You are right to wish her the best fortune; for if the Queen does not return victorious, the irritability of our Alexandrians will be doubled.

When you laid hands on Didymus's garden, you were so busily engaged in building the triumphal arch that you forgot----" "Who would have doubted the successful issue of this war?"

cried Iras.

"And they will, they will conquer.

The Rhodian said that the fleet was scattered.

The disaster happened on the Acharnanian coast.

How positive it sounded!

But he had it only at second and third hand.

And what are mere rumours?

The source of the false tidings is discovered later.

Besides, even if the naval battle were really lost, the powerful army, which is far superior to Octavianus's forces, still remains.

Which of the enemy's generals could cope with Antony on the land?

How he will fight when all is at stake--fame, honour, sovereignty, hate, and love!

Away with this fear, based on mere rumour!

After Dyrrachium Cæsar's cause was deemed lost, and how soon Pharsalus made him master of the world!

Is it worthy of a sensible person to suffer courage to be depressed by a sailor's gossip?

And yet--yet!

It began while I was ill.

And then the swallows on the Antonias, the admiral's ship.

We have already spoken of it.

Mardion and your uncle Zeno saw with their own eyes the strange swallows drive away those which had built their nest on the helm of the Antonias, and kill the young ones with their cruel beaks.

An evil omen!

I cannot forget it.

And my dream, while I lay ill with fever far away from my mistress!

But I have already lingered here too long.

No, Dion, no. I am grateful for the rest here--I can now feel at ease about Cæsarion.

Place the monument where you choose.

The people shall see and hear that we respect their opposition, that we are just and friendly.

Help me to turn this matter to the advantage of the Queen, and if Archibius succeeds in getting Barine away and keeping her in the country, then--if I had aught that seemed to you desirable it should be yours.

But what does the petted Dion care for his fading playfellow?"

"Fading?"

he repeated in a tone of indignant reproach.

"Say rather the fully developed flower has learned from her royal friend the secret of eternal youth."

With a swift impulse of gratitude Iras bent her face towards him in the dusk, extending the slender white hand--next to Cleopatra's famed as the most beautiful at court--for him to kiss, but when he merely pressed his lips lightly on it with no shadow of tenderness, she hastily withdrew it, exclaiming as if overwhelmed by sudden repentance: "This idle, hollow dalliance at such a time, with such a burden of anxiety oppressing the heart!

It is unworthy, shameful!

If Barine goes with Archibius, her time will scarcely hang heavy on his estates.

I think I know some one who will speedily follow to bear her company.

--Here, Sasis!

the bearers!

To the Tower of Nilus, before the Gate of the Sun!"

Dion gazed after her litter a short time, then passed his hand through his waving brown hair, walked swiftly to the shore and, without pausing long to choose, sprang into one of the boats which were rented for pleasure voyages.

Ordering the sailors who were preparing to accompany him to remain on shore, he stretched the sail with a practised hand, and ran out towards the mouth of the harbour.

He needed some strong excitement, and wished to go himself in search of news.