hich was granted to few.

Cleopatra listened to Lucilius with sympathy, and then asked whether
there was no way of cheering or comforting the wretched man.

"No, your Majesty," he replied. "His favourite occupation is to recall
what he once possessed, but only to show the uselessness of these
memories. 'What joys has life not offered me?' he asks, and then adds:
'But they were repeated again and again, and after being enjoyed for the
tenth time they became monotonous and lost their charm. Then they caused
satiety to the verge of loathing.' Only necessary things, such as bread
and water, he says, possess real value; but he desires neither, because
he has even less taste for them than for the dainties which spoil a
man's morrow. Yesterday in a specially gloomy hour, he spoke of gold.
This was perhaps most worthy of desire. The mere sight of it awakened
pleasant hopes, because it might afford so many gratifications. Then he
laughed bitterly, exclaiming that those joys were the very ones which
produced the most disagreeable satiety. Even gold was not worth the
trouble of stretching out one's hand.

"He is fond of enlarging upon such fancies, and finds images to make his
meaning clear.

"'In the snow upon the highest mountain-peak the feet grow cold,' he
said. 'In the mire they are warm, but the dark mud is ugly and clings to
them.'

"Then I remarked that between the morass and the mountain-snows lie
sunny valleys where life would be pleasant; but he flew into a rage,
vehemently protesting that he would never be content with the pitiable
middle course of Horace. Then he exclaimed: 'Ay, I am vanquished.
Octavianus and his Agrippa are the conquerors; but if a rock mutilates
or an elephant's clumsy foot crushes me, I am nevertheless of a higher
quality than either.'"

"There spoke the old Mark Antony!" cried Cleopatra; but again Lucilius's
loyal heart throbbed with resentment against the woman who had fostered
the recklessness which had brought his powerful friend to ruin, and he
continued:

"But he often sees himself in a different light. 'No writer could invent
a more unworthy life than mine,' he exclaimed recently. 'A farce ending
in a tragedy.'"

Lucilius might have added still harsher sayings, but the sorrowful
expression in the tearful eyes of the afflicted Queen silenced them upon
his lips.

Yet Cleopatra's name blended with most of the words uttered by the
broken-spirited man. Sometimes it was associated wit