s, she said to herself, if in return she could but have inspired
her son even with the views of the reckless blusterer Antyllus. Her
worst fears had not pictured Caesarion so weak, so insignificant. She
could no longer rest upon her cushions; and while, with drooping head,
she gazed backward over the past, the accusing voice in her own breast
cried out that she was reaping what she had sowed. She had repressed,
curbed the boy's awakening will to secure his obedience; understood how
to prevent any exercise of his ability or efforts in wider circles.

True, it had been done on many a pretext. Why should not her son taste
the quiet happiness which she had enjoyed in the garden of Epicurus? And
was not the requirement that whoever is to command must first learn to
obey, based upon old experiences?

But this was a day of reckoning and insight, and for the first time she
found courage to confess that her own burning ambition had marked out
the course of Caesarion's education. She had not repressed his talents
from cool calculation, but it had been pleasant to her to see him grow
up free from aspirations. She had granted the dreamer repose without
arousing him. How often she had rejoiced over the certainty that this
son, on whom Antony, after his victory over the Parthians, had
bestowed the title of Co-Regent, would never rebel against his mother's
guardianship! The welfare of the state had doubtless been better secured
in her trained hands than in those of an inexperienced boy. And the
proud consciousness of power! Her heart swelled. So long as she lived
she would remain Queen. To transfer the sovereignty to another, whatever
name he might bear, had seemed to her impossible. Now she knew how
little her son yearned for lofty things. Her heart contracted. The
saying "You reap what you sowed" gave her no peace, and wherever she
turned in her past life she perceived the fruit of the seeds which she
had buried in the ground. The field was sinking under the burden of the
ears of misfortune. The harvest was ripe for the reaper; but, ere he
raised the sickle, the owner's claim must be preserved. Gorgias must
hasten the building of the tomb; the end could not be long deferred. How
to shape this worthily, if the victor left her no other choice, had just
been pointed out by the son of whom she was ashamed. His father's noble
blood forbade him to bear the deepest ignominy with the patience his
mother had inculcated.

It had grown late