Cleopatra | Page 4

of dazzling monotony.
Here the light of the weltering sun enhanced the brilliancy of colour in
the flags and streamers which fluttered beside the obelisks and
Egyptian pylons, over the triumphal arches and the gates of the temples
and palaces. Yet even the exquisite purplish blue of the banner waving
above the palace on the peninsula of Lochias, now occupied by
Cleopatra's children, was surpassed by the hue of the sea, whose deep
azure near the shore merged far away into bands of lighter and darker
blue, blending with dull or whitish green.
Gorgias was accustomed to grasp fully whatever he permitted to
influence him, and though still loyal to his custom of associating with
his art every remarkable work of the gods or man, he had not forgotten

in his enjoyment of the familiar scene the purpose of his presence in
this spot.
No, the garden of Didymus was not the proper place for his friend's last
work.
While gazing at the lofty plane, sycamore, and mimosa trees which
surrounded the old scholar's home, the quiet square below him
suddenly became astir with noisy life, for all classes of the populace
were gathering in front of the sequestered house, as if some unusual
spectacle attracted them.
What could they want of the secluded philosopher?
Gorgias gazed earnestly at them, but soon turned away again; a gay
voice from below called his name.
A singular procession had approached the temple--a small body of
armed men, led by a short, stout fellow, whose big head, covered with
bushy curls, was crowned with a laurel wreath. He was talking eagerly
to a younger man, but had paused with the others in front of the
sanctuary to greet the architect. The latter shouted a few pleasant words
in reply. The laurel-crowned figure made a movement as if he intended
to join him, but his companion checked him, and, after a short parley,
the older man gave the younger one his hand, flung his heavy head
back, and strutted onward like a peacock, followed by his whole train.
The other looked after him, shrugging his shoulders; then called to
Gorgias, asking what boon he desired from the goddess.
"Your presence," replied the architect blithely.
"Then Isis will show herself gracious to you," was the answer, and the
next instant the two young men cordially grasped each other's hands.
Both were equally tall and well formed; the features bore witness to
their Greek origin; nay, they might have been taken for brothers, had
not the architect's whole appearance seemed sturdie and plainer than
that of his companion, whom he called "Dion" and friend. As the latter
heaped merry sarcasms upon the figure wearing the laurel wreath who
had just left him, Anaxenor, the famous zither-player, on whom Antony
had bestowed the revenues of four cities and permission to keep
body-guard, and Gorgias's deeper voice sometime assented, sometimes
opposed with sensible objections, the difference between these two
men of the same age and race became clearly apparent.
Both showed a degree of self-reliance unusual, at their age; but the

architect's was the assurance which a man gains by toil and his own
merit, Dion's that which is bestowed by large possession and a high
position in society. Those who were ignorant that the weight of Dion's
carefully prepared speech had more than once turned the scale in the
city councils would probably have been disposed to take him for one of
the careless worldlings who had no lack of representatives among the
gilded youth of Alexandria; while the architect's whole exterior, from
his keen eye to the stouter leather of his sandals, revealed earnest
purpose and unassuming ability.
Their friendship had commenced when Gorgias built a new palace for
Dion. During long business association people become well acquainted,
even though their conversations relate solely to direction and execution.
But in this case, he who gave the orders had been only the inspirer and
adviser, the architect the warm-hearted friend, eager to do his utmost to
realize what hovered before the other's mind as the highest attainable
excellence. So the two young men became first dear, and finally almost
indispensable to each other. As the architect discovered in the wealthy
man of the world many qualities whose existence he had not suspected,
the latter was agreeably surprised to find in the artist, associated with
his solidity of character, a jovial companion, who--this first made him
really beloved by his friend--had no lack of weaknesses.
When the palace was completed to Dion's satisfaction and became one
of the most lauded ornaments of the city, the young men's friendship
assumed a new form, and it would have been difficult to say which
received the most benefit.
Dion had just been stopped by the zither-player to ask for confirmation
of the tidings