"Bear Me Good Friends Where Cleopatra Bides"
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She lies placidly enough in a Sarcophagus sheltered by a big vault beneath the garden. swathing folds of her burial gai ments have been removed, to reve:
queenly Cleopatra of rare loveliness. Or so nearly all of Paris chooses to believe at the moment. Age apparently cannot wither is the thought that strikes one at sight of her, it is said; infinite variety is shown in this gesture of hers, of having chosen Paris for a last resting place, At any rate, poetical license duly noted, Mme. Myriam Harry, a well-Known French poetess and novelist and writer on Oriental subjects, has come forth with the belief that the mummy is that of Cleopatra. Her belief hearkens back to a story told about Napoleon, that, during iis Egyptian expedition, he seized the mummy of the immortal Queen and brought it back to Paris with other booty. The story goes thi General Buonaparte observed special ceremonial for the Queen, on the night that her mummy was placed in his tent in Egypt. She was a woman after his own heart, firing his imagination. The Serpent of the Nile, relentlessly ambitious, of high intellectual endowments, crafty, impelling, had much in common, as such things go, with the man who wished to re-mould the map of Europe, 2 man likewise, caught at the end in the vortex of an unquenchable ambition.
He spent the whole night in his tent contemplating the marvellous It is easy to picture the flecked by shadows from candlelight; not so easy is it to read the enigma of the darkly tortuous mind of Napoleon, or to unravel the riddle of the beauty of Cleopatra,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.