“The flute-player’s wife, Queen Tryphoena, and her oldest daughter—­she bore your name, Berenike—­ruined his life.  Compared with them, the King was worthy and virtuous.  What had become of the heroes and the high-minded princes of the house of Ptolemy?  Every passion and crime had found a home in their palaces!

“The flute-player, Cleopatra’s father, was by no means the worst.  He was a slave to his own caprices; no one had taught him to bridle his passions.  Where it served his purpose, even death was summoned to his aid; but this was a custom of the last sovereigns of his race.  In one respect he was certainly superior to most of them—­he still possessed a capacity to feel a loathing for the height of crime, to believe in virtue and loftiness of soul, and the possibility of implanting them in youthful hearts.  When a boy, he had been under the influence of an excellent teacher, whose precepts had lingered in his memory and led him to determine to withdraw his favourite children—­two girls—­from their mother’s sway, at least as far as possible.

“I learned afterwards that it had been his desire to confide the princesses wholly to my parents’ care.  But an invincible power opposed this.  Though Greeks might be permitted to instruct the royal children in knowledge, the Egyptians would not yield the right to their religious education.  The leech Olympus—­you know the good old man—­had insisted that the delicate Cleopatra must spend the coldest winter months in Upper Egypt, where the sky was never clouded, and the summer near the sea in a shady garden.  The little palace at Kanopus was devoted to this purpose.

“When we moved there it was entirely unoccupied, but the princesses were soon to be brought to us.  During the winter Olympus preferred the island of Philae, on the Nubian frontier, because the famous Temple of Isis was there, and its priests willingly undertook to watch over the children.

“The Queen would not listen to any of these plans.  Leaving Alexandria and spending the winter on a lonely island in the tropics was an utterly incomprehensible idea.  So she let the King have his way, and no doubt was glad to be relieved from the care of the children; for, even after her royal husband’s exile from the city, she never visited her daughters.  True, death allowed her only a short time to do so.

“Her oldest daughter, Berenike, who became her successor, followed her example, and troubled herself very little about her sisters.  I heard after wards that she was very glad to know that they were in charge of persons who filled their minds with other thoughts than the desire to rule.  Her brothers were reared at Lochias by our countryman Theodotus, under the eyes of their guardian, Pothinus.