A marvellous repose--that rare merit in statuary, except it be the
lumpish repose native to the block of stone--was diffused throughout the
figure. The spectator felt that Cleopatra had sunk down out of the fever
and turmoil of her life, and for one instant--as it were, between two
pulse throbs--had relinquished all activity, and was resting throughout
every vein and muscle. It was the repose of despair, indeed; for
Octavius had seen her, and remained insensible to her enchantments. But
still there was a great smouldering furnace deep down in the woman's
heart. The repose, no doubt, was as complete as if she were never to
stir hand or foot again; and yet, such was the creature's latent energy
and fierceness, she might spring upon you like a tigress, and stop the
very breath that you were now drawing midway in your throat.
The face was a miraculous success. The sculptor had not shunned to
give the full Nubian lips, and other characteristics of the Egyptian
physiognomy. His courage and integrity had been abundantly rewarded; for
Cleopatra's beauty shone out richer, warmer, more triumphantly beyond
comparison, than if, shrinking timidly from the truth, he had chosen
the tame Grecian type. The expression was of profound, gloomy, heavily
revolving thought; a glance into her past life and present emergencies,
while her spirit gathered itself up for some new struggle, or was
getting sternly reconciled to impending doom. In one view, there was a
certain softness and tenderness,--how breathed into the statue, among so
many strong and passionate elements, it is impossible to say. Catching
another glimpse, you beheld her as implacable as a stone and cruel as
fire.
In a word, all Cleopatra--fierce, voluptuous, passionate, tender,
wicked, terrible, and full of poisonous and rapturous enchantment--was
kneaded into what, only a week or two before, had been a lump of wet
clay from the Tiber. Soon, apotheosized in an indestructible material,
she would be one of the images that men keep forever, finding a heat in
them which does not cool down, throughout the centuries?
"What a woman is this!" exclaimed Miriam, after a long pause. "Tell me,
did she ever try, even while you were creating her, to overcome you with
her fury or her love? Were you not afraid to touch her, as she grew more
and more towards hot life beneath your hand? My dear friend, it is a
great work! How have you learned to do it?"
"It is the concretion of a good deal of thought, emotion, and toil of
brain and hand," said Kenyon, not without a perception that his work was
good; "but I know not how it came about at last. I kindled a great fire
within my mind, and threw in the material,--as Aaron threw the gold
of the Israelites into the furnace,--and in the midmost heat uprose
Cleopatra, as you see her."