These verbal battles were one of the greatest pleasures of the Alexandrians, and they greeted every clever turn of speech with shouts of applause, every word which displeased them with groans, hisses, and cat-calls.

Barine could see and hear what was passing below.  She had pushed aside the foliage of the laurel bushes which concealed her, and, with her hand raised to her ear, stood listening to the two disputants.  When the scoundrel whom she had called husband, and for whom her contempt had become too deep for hate, sneeringly assailed her family as having been fed from generation to generation from the corn-bin of the Museum, she bit her lips.  But they soon curled, as if what she heard aroused her disgust, for the speaker now turned to Dion and accused him of preventing the kindly disposed Regent from increasing the renown of the great Queen and affording her noble heart a pleasure.

“My tongue,” he cried, “is the tool which supports me.  Why am I using it here till it is weary and almost paralyzed?  In honour of Cleopatra, our illustrious Queen, and her generous friend, to whom we all owe a debt of gratitude.  Let all who love her and the divine Antony, the new Herakles and Dionysus—­both will soon make their entry among us crowned with the laurels of victory—­join the Regent and every well-disposed person in seizing yonder bit of land so meanly withheld by base avarice and a sentiment—­a sentiment, do you hear?—­which I do not name more plainly, simply because wickedness is repulsive to me, and I do not stand here as an accuser.  Whoever upholds the word-monger who spouts forth books as the dolphin at my side does water, may do so.  I shall not envy him.  But first look at Didymus’s ally and panegyrist.  There he stands opposite to me.  It would have been better for him had the dolphin at his feet taught him silence.  Then he might have remained in the obscurity which befits him.

“But whether willing or not, I must drag him forth, and I will show you Dion, fellow-citizens, though I would far rather have you see things which arouse less ire.  The dim light prevents your distinguishing the colour of his robe, but I know it, for I saw it in the glare of day.  It is hyacinthine purple.  You know what that costs.  It would support the wives and children of many among you for ten long years.  ’How heavy must be the purse which can expose such a treasure to sun and rain!’ is the thought of every one who sees him strutting about as proudly as a peacock.  And his purse is loaded with many talents.  Only it is a pity that, day after day, most of you must give your children a little less bread and deprive yourselves of many a draught of wine to deck him out so bravely.  His father, Eumenes, was a tax-collector, and what the leech extorted from you and your children, the son now uses to drive, clad in hyacinthine purple, a four-horse chariot, which splashes the mire from the street into your faces as it rolls onward.  By the dog! the gentleman does not weigh so very much, yet he needs four horses to drag him.  And, fellow-citizens, do you know why?  I’ll tell you.  He’s afraid of sticking fast everywhere, even in his speech.”