CAMPASPE AND THE PAINTER.
(PARAPHRASED FROM JOHN LYLY.)
THE great Alexander of Macedon had come home from Thebes rich in triumphs and laden with spoils. At his chariot wheels groaned hosts of captives taken in battle and in siege; and through the openings of the pavilions, hung close with silken tapestry, and borne aloft on the shoulders of swarthy slaves, one might catch glimpses of women’s faces, their fairness veiled in clouds of sorrow that their native city had been made desolate, and they themselves torn away captive to swell the train of the conqueror.
One pavilion, more carefully guarded than any of the others, was set down at the doors of the palace, and its two lovely inmates, clinging to each other in fear and anticipation too dread for cries and tears, entered the royal halls.
These were the two Greek girls, Timoclea and Campaspe, whose homes had been laid in ashes when the siege was raised in Thebes. Timoclea was the daughter of a noble Theban, and Campaspe a simple Grecian maiden, far
