The head of the procession now passed beyond the Corner of the Muses and
came within view of the platform.

There could be no doubt to whom this ovation was given, for the returning
hero was in the van, high above all the other figures. From the golden
throne borne on the shoulders of twelve black slaves he waved his long
thyrsus in greeting to the exulting multitude. Before the bacchanalian
train which accompanied him, and behind the musicians who followed,
moved two elephants bearing between them, as a light burden, some
unrecognizable object covered with a purple cloth. Now the column had
passed between the pylons through the lofty gateway which separated the
palace from the Street of the King, and stopped opposite to the platform.

While officials, Scythians, and body-guards of all shades of complexion,
on foot and on horseback, kept back the throng by force where friendly
warning did not avail, Cleopatra saw her lover descend from the throne
and give a signal to the Indian slave who guided the elephants. The
cloth was flung aside, revealing to the astonished eyes of the spectators
a bouquet of flowers such as no Alexandrian had ever beheld. It
consisted entirely of blossoming rose-bushes. The red flowers formed a
circle in the centre, surrounded by a broad light garland of white ones.
The whole gigantic work rested like an egg in its cup in a holder of palm
fronds which, as it were, framed it in graceful curving outlines. More
than a thousand blossoms were united in this peerless bouquet, and the
singular gigantic gift was characteristic of its giver.

He advanced on foot to the platform, his figure towering above the brown,
light-hued, and black freedmen and slaves who followed as, on the
monuments of the Pharaohs, the image of the sovereign dominates those of
the subjects and foes.