Cleopatra (Historical Novel). Georg Ebers
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who certainly could not keep to herself anything that was worth mentioning. The nimble maid had shown her skill that day.
“Any stranger would take her for nineteen,” thought her mother. “How becoming the white robe and blue-bordered peplum are to her; how softly the azure bombyx ribbon is wound around the thick waves of her hair! Who would believe that no curling-irons had touched the little golden locks that rest so gracefully on her brow, that no paint-brush had any share in producing the rose and white hues on her cheek, or the alabaster glimmer of her arms? Such beauty easily becomes a Danae dower; but it is a magnificent gift of the gods! Yet why did she put on the bracelet which Antony gave her after his last visit? Scarcely on my account. She can hardly expect Dion at so late an hour. Even while I am rejoicing in the sight of her beauty, some new misfortune may be impending.”
So ran the current of her thoughts while her daughter was gaily describing what she had witnessed at her grandfather’s. Meanwhile she had nestled comfortably among the cushions of a lounge; and when she mentioned Antyllus’s unseemly conduct, she spoke of it, with a carelessness that startled Berenike, as a vexatious piece of rudeness which must not occur again.
“But who is to prevent it?” asked the mother anxiously.
“Who, save ourselves?” replied Barine.
“He will not be admitted.”
“And if he forced his way in?”
Barine’s big blue eyes flashed angrily, and there was no lack of decision in her voice as she exclaimed, “Let him try it!”
“But what power have we to restrain the son of Antony?” asked Berenike. “I do not know.”
“I do,” replied her daughter. “I will be brief, for a visitor is coming.”
“So late?” asked the mother anxiously.
“Archibius wishes to discuss an important matter with us.”
The lines on the brow of the older woman smoothed, but it contracted again as she exclaimed inquiringly: “Important business at so unusual an hour! Ah, I have expected nothing good since early morning! On my way to my brother’s a raven flew up before me and fluttered towards the left into the garden.”
“But I,” replied Barine, after receiving, in reply to her inquiry, a favourable report concerning her uncle’s health—“I met seven—there were neither more nor less; for seven is the best of numbers—seven snow-white doves, which all flew swiftly towards the right. The fairest of all came first, bearing in its beak a little basket which contained the power that will keep Antony’s son away from us. Don’t look at me in such amazement, you dear receptacle of every terror.”
“But, child, you said that Archibius was coming so late to discuss an important matter,” rejoined the mother.
“He must be here soon.”
“Then cease this talking in riddles; I do not guess them quickly.”
“You will solve this one,” returned Barine; “but we really have no time to lose. So—my beautiful dove was a good, wise thought, and what it carried in its basket you shall hear presently. You see, mother, many will blame us, though here and there some one may pity; but this state of things must not continue. I feel it more and more plainly with each passing day; and several years must yet elapse ere this scruple becomes wholly needless. I am too young to welcome as a guest every one whom this or that man presents to me. True, our reception-hall was my father’s work-room and you, my own estimable, blameless mother, are the hostess here; but though superior to me in every respect, you are so modest that you shield yourself behind your daughter until the guests think of you only when you are absent. So those who seek us both merely say, ‘I am going to visit Barine’—and there are too many who say this—I can no longer choose, and this thought——”
“Child! child!” interrupted her mother joyfully, “what god met you as you went out this morning?”
“Surely you know,” she answered gaily; “it was seven doves, and, when I took the little basket from the bill of the first and prettiest one, it told me a story. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes, yes; but be quick, or we shall be interrupted.”
Then Barine leaned farther back among the cushions, lowered her long lashes, and began: “Once upon a time there was a woman who had a garden in the most aristocratic quarter of the city—here near the Paneum, if you please. In the autumn, when the fruit was ripening, she left the gate open, though all her neighbours did the opposite. To keep away unbidden lovers of her nice figs and dates, she fastened on the gate a tablet bearing the inscription: ‘All may enter and enjoy the sight of the garden; but the dogs will bite any one who breaks a flower, treads upon the grass, or steals the fruit.’
“The woman had nothing but a lap-dog, and that did not always obey her. But the tablet fulfilled its purpose; for at first none came except her neighbours in the aristocratic quarter. They read the threat, and probably without it would have respected the property of the woman who so kindly opened the door to them. Thus matters went on for a time, until first a beggar came, and then a Phœnician sailor, and a thievish Egyptian from the Rhakotis—neither of whom could read. So the tablet told them nothing; and as, moreover, they distinguished less carefully between mine and thine, one trampled the turf and another snatched from the boughs a flower or fruit. More and more of the rabble came, and you can imagine what followed. No one punished them for the crime, for they did not fear the barking of the lap-dog, and this gave even those who could read, courage not to heed the warning. So the woman’s pretty garden soon lost its peculiar charm; and the fruit, too, was stolen. When the rain at last washed the inscription from the tablet, and saucy boys scrawled on it, there was no harm done; for the garden no longer offered any attractions, and no one who looked into it cared to enter. Then the owner closed her gate like the neighbours, and the next year she again enjoyed the green grass and the bright hues of the flowers. She ate her fruit herself, and the lap-dog no longer disturbed her by its barking.”
“That is,” said her mother, “if everybody was as courteous and as well bred as Gorgias, Lysias, and the others, we would gladly continue to receive them. But since there are rude fellows like Antyllus——”
“You have understood the story correctly,” Barine interrupted. “We are certainly at liberty to invite to our house those who have learned to read our inscription. To-morrow visitors will be informed that we can no longer receive them as before.”
“Antyllus’s conduct affords an excellent pretext,” her mother added. “Every fair-minded person must understand——”
“Certainly,” said Barine, “and if you, shrewdest of women, will do your part——”
“Then for the first time we can act as we please in our own home. Believe me, child—if you only do not——”
“No ifs!—not this time!” cried the young beauty, raising her hand beseechingly. “It gives me such delight to think of the new life, and if matters come to pass as I hope and wish—then—do not you also believe, mother, that the gods owe me reparation?”
“For what?” asked the deep voice of Archibius, who had entered unannounced, and was now first noticed by the widow and her daughter.
Barine hastily rose and held out both hands to her old friend, exclaiming, “Since they bring you to us, they are already beginning the payment.”
CHAPTER V.
An artist, especially a great artist, finds it easy to give his house an attractive appearance. He desires comfort in it, and only the beautiful is comfortable to him. Whatever would disturb harmony offends his eye, and to secure the noblest ornament of his house he need not invite any stranger to cross its threshold. The Muse, the best of assistants, joins him unbidden.