believed that she desired him to establish an empire with Alexandria
rather than Rome for its capital. The ostensible cause of her visit
to Rome was to negotiate a treaty between the former and the country
over which she nominally ruled. She dwelt in Caesar’s palace across
the Tiber and held court, at which not only Caesar’s adherents, but
his opponents, appeared, and it is said that statues of her, beautiful
probably as the Venus of Pauline Bonaparte, were erected in the temple
of the goddess of Love and Beauty.
Yet this was no position of true dignity for the nominal queen of a
foreign land, and when in 44 B. C. Caesar’s murder took from her his
support and protection she sailed for Egypt, no broken-hearted mourner,
but a woman still ambitious and grasping all the possibilities of
life. The next year she disposed of her last incumbrance and is held
responsible for the murder of her youngest and only surviving brother,
the nominal king. Four years each is the period assigned to her joint
rule with her two brothers. She had no love to spare for her own kin,
and too evidently was glad to be rid of them, even if the suspicion of
her having poisoned the last of her family, who appears to have died in
the same year as Caesar, may chance to be unfounded.
Now for a time Cleopatra bided at home, waiting and watching for
further opportunities of conquests in love or dominion. Life with her
was devoted to self-seeking and pleasure, yet it must have had some
serious moments, some space for display of maternal feeling, some days
and hours devoted to actual study; though it is hard and unfamiliar to
think of her in this aspect else could she not have been mistress of
so many languages as are attributed to her. She, nominally at least,
governed the kingdom, cautiously kept out of Roman entanglements and
pleaded her inability to assist the contestants with subsidies, which,
it is said, Cassius demanded from her on the score of poverty. And
indeed Egypt was in no condition to be either a principal or an ally
in warfare at this time. The people suffered, the queen probably still
lived in luxury and abundance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.
CLEOPATRA VI (CONTINUED).
Now again came Cleopatra’s opportunity. Antony, victorious in the
battle of Philippi, turned his attention to the East, and summoned
Cleopatra before him, she being accused, as it has been seen, perhaps
untruly, of sending aid to his rival, Cassius. Antony was of the party
of Caesar, had delivered his funeral oration and was in a sense his
successor. Like Caesar, also he had a fair and devoted wife, the noble
Fulvia, but no legal bonds could resist “the Sorceress of the Nile.”
Dellius, Antony’s messenger, at once foresaw the probable result of
a meeting between his master and the fascinating Egyptian, advised
her to go in her “best style” and vaunted his chief as the “gentlest
and kindliest of soldiers.” But Cleopatra was no subservient slave to
hasten at the first bidding, and, disregarding many summons, took her
own time and way to comply.
Her interview with Antony was in singular contrast with her first
meeting with Caesar. As a fugitive and suppliant she conquered the
one, with regal pomp and magnificence the other. Perhaps each method
appealed most directly to the man she had to deal with, and her keen
perception indicated the different modes. Cæsar might have shown
himself less malleable to the dominant queen, Antony to the pleading
and powerless maiden.
Josephus speaks of her corrupting Antony with her “love trick,” and
says he was bewitched and utterly conquered by her charms—her “tricks”
were of large and magnificent description. She made great preparations
and gathered together splendid ornaments and costly gifts. At last,
with full and well deserved confidence in her own powers of fascination
she started. Plutarch’s words will best describe the gorgeous pageant
she devised. “She came sailing up the River Cydnus” (Antony was in
Cilicia) “in a barge with gilded stem and outspread sails of purple,
while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and pipes and
harps. She herself lay all along under a canopy of cloth of gold,
dressed as Venus in a picture, and beautiful young boys, like painted
Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like sea
Nymphs and Graces, some steered at the rudder, some working at the
ropes. The perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore,
which was covered with multitudes.” The people vacated the whole place
and hastened to gaze upon the wondrous and beautiful sight, while
Antony remained alone, awaiting the humble petitioner whom perhaps he
expected to appear before him. But finally as Cleopatra intended he
went to her.
“He found the preparations to receive him magnificent beyond
expression, but nothing so admirable as the number of lights, for on
a sudden there was let down together so great a number of branches
with lights in them so ingeniously disposed, some in squares, some in
circles, that the whole thing was a spectacle that has seldom been
equalled for beauty.”
This beginning was the keynote of their future intercourse, amusements,
banquets, entertainments of all sorts. Cleopatra sent Antony the whole
gold service which he admired, and, according to the familiar story,
dissolved her pearl earring in a cup of vinegar or sour wine, which she
made him drink. Pleasure was the goddess whom they worshipped. Unworthy
though it might be of her fine powers and abilities, this was perhaps
the happiest time of Cleopatra’s life. Antony tried to vie with her in
the splendor of his entertainments, but laughingly confessed she far
outdid him.
Something like true love for him seems to have inspired the fickle
queen. Caesar was but three years dead, but he was unmourned and
forgotten. Antony was a handsome man of fine and attractive appearance
and is thus described: “His beard was well grown, his forehead large
and his nose aquiline, giving him altogether a bold, masculine look
that reminded people of the face of Hercules in painting and sculpture.”
He was of the type that is most apt to win general regard generous and
lavish, if not always just or honest, free and easy in manner to his
inferiors, full of jokes and raillery and ready to drink and gamble
with almost any one. Physically the two, the man and the woman, were
splendid specimens of the human race. Morally what can be said of them?
Meanwhile Antony’s wife was fighting his battles at Rome and beseeching
him to return, which he finally promised to do, but the Circe who held
him in thrall willed rather that he should go with her to Alexandria,
and prevailed, for he basely yielded to her arguments and spent the
winter there, giving himself with her wholly up to the pursuit of
pleasure in every form and the wildest revelry.
The inferior officers must have fulfilled their duties more faithfully
than their superiors or the whole land would have been plunged in
anarchy and destruction. The laws were administered, industry and
commerce flourished, and Alexandria continued to be a large, populous
and busy city, full of life and animation and adorned with many
magnificent buildings. The Pharos steadily cast its beneficent light
across the waters to be a guide to mariners; the Temple of Serapis,
on its high platform, called attention to the worship of the gods;
the Library was as yet the casket of valuable treasures; the Museum
was thronged with students and scholars; palaces and public buildings
adorned the beautiful streets, forts and castles, breakwaters and
harbor were laid out and perfected and Alexandria was alone rivalled by
Rome.
The gods, too, no matter what might be the moral aspect of the private
life of royalty, were worshipped and revered, and with the temples of
Denderah and Philæ the name of Cleopatra VI is especially associated.
Though less gigantic than some of the others, the Temple of Hathor, the
Goddess of Love, at Denderah, with that at Philae were none the less
beautiful. Here at Dendera or Denderah, the Tentyra of the Greeks, a
yearly festival was conducted with great splendor. The original edifice
dated back to the earliest period of Egyptian history; it was added to
and altered by the monarchs of the Twelfth Dynasty, by Thothmes III
and by Rameses II and III. It is said to have contained no less than
twelve crypts. On the site of this old building the later Ptolemies had
re-erected a newer structure, and it is here, on the southern, rear
wall was found the conventional portrait of Cleopatra VI, as Isis, and
her son Caesarion.
The exquisite beauty of the ruins at Philae still charm the
beholder—graceful columns and feathery palms, like cameos against
the radiant blue of the sky, the river softly lapping at their feet.
We can imagine the splendor and magnificence of it all, when in the
completeness of its perfection and the queenly Venus with her attendant
train of followers, adding its artistic and picturesque human element
to the scene.
Thus in gaiety and revel the Roman soldier, forgetful of his duties,
and his fair enchantress, passed the time. Says Plutarch further
of Cleopatra: “Plato admits four sorts of flattery, but she had a
thousand. Were Antony serious or disposed to mirth she had at any
moment some new delight or charm to meet his wishes; at every turn she
was upon him, drank with him, hunted with him, and when he exercised
in arms she was there to see. At night she would go rambling with him
to disturb and torment people at their doors and windows, dressed like
a servant woman, for Anthony also went in servant’s disguise.” But it
is further added that “the Alexandrians in general all liked it well
enough and joined good humoredly and kindly in his frolic and play,
saying they were much obliged to Antony for acting the tragic parts at
Rome and keeping his comedy for them.”
The story of the fishing party is among the more innocent of these
frolics. Antony, not having good luck, secretly caused divers to put
fishes upon his hook, which Cleopatra discovering, got beforehand with
him and had a salted, dried fish put on, which of course caused much
amusement and merriment when drawn to the surface, and “the laughing
queen” is reported to have said, “Leave the fishing, General, to us
poor sovereigns of Pharos and Canopus; your game is cities, kingdoms
and provinces!”
But the blackest stain upon this period is the murder of the poor
princess, Arsinoe, who had taken refuge at Miletus, in the temple of
Artemis Leucophryne, and who was put to death there by Antony’s orders,
at the instigation of Cleopatra. Perhaps beautiful and attractive also,
if to a less extent, how different were the experiences of the two
sisters! It seems strange that Arsinoe was not already the wife of and
under the protection of some powerful noble or king—but Fate decreed
differently.
Their mad existence could not continue forever and matters at Rome
grew so serious for Antony that he finally tore himself away from his
enchantress and returned. His wife came to meet him, but died on the
journey, so that legally he was now a free man. One almost wonders
that he did not marry Cleopatra and try to make himself king of Egypt,
as the first Ptolemy had done. But probably his reason forbade the
attempt, and old relations once more began to hold sway. He made peace
with the new Caesar, Octavian, Julius’ nephew, and accepted his offer
of his half-sister, Octavia, the recent widow of Caius Marcellus, for
his wife, the Senate dispensing with the law which obliged a widow
to pay the respect of ten months of single life to her late husband.
Octavia was a fine and beautiful woman, and is spoken of as serious and
gentle, worthy of a better fate than to be the mate of Antony. For a
time, however, she won his regard and an influence for good over him,
recalling him to his better self, and a return to public duties, till
Antony undertook the campaign against Parthion, and came once more
within reach of his former enslaver.
For four years he seems to have been separated from Cleopatra, who had
borne him twins, and with strange patience bided her time. She is said
to have maintained the claims of her eldest son Caesarion and during
all this time to have made no demands on Antony. He had left her, spite
of all she had done, or could do, to detain him, and wounded, mortified
and indignant, perhaps, she held her peace.
Pride is sometimes as strong a motive as love itself. So far solace she
turned, as so many before her had done, to the building and repairing
of temples.
Ebers has assumed in the preface to his “Cleopatra” that the colossal
pair, hand in hand, found at Alexandria in 1892, of which the female
figure is fairly preserved, represent Antony and Cleopatra. Once within
reach of her, Antony’s old passion revived, and he sent for her to
Syria. Very differently she acted from the first time he had summoned
her; she needed no second bidding, but came at his call, and all was
as before between them. He made her numerous and valuable gifts,
acknowledged the twins as his own, giving them the names of Alexander
and Cleopatra, and as surnames the titles of “Sun” and “Moon,” and
utterly broke loose from all his obligations. Once more Cleopatra
triumphed.
She then returned to Egypt, while Antony went further afield; she in
the interval going in state to Jerusalem, to visit Herod the Great.
Says another writer in “The Greek World Under Roman Sway:” “The scene
at Herod’s palace must have been inimitable. The display of counter
fascinations between the two tigers, their voluptuous natures mutually
attracted, their hatred giving to each the deep interest in the other
which so often turns to mutual passion while it incites to conquest,
the grace and finish of their manners, concealing a ruthless ferocity,
the splendor of their appointments—what more dramatic picture can we
imagine in history?”
But in this instance Cleopatra did not make the usual conquest,
though she doubtless exerted all her powers. Although (under unjust
accusation) he was eventually persuaded to put her to death, Herod was
at that time passionately attached to his wife, Mariamme, and withstood
Cleopatra’s fascinations. The reunion of Antony and Cleopatra was most
alarming to him, and he even consulted his council as to whether she,
being in his power, he might dare to make away with her, but the dread
of Antony’s vengeance prevented, and with much polite attention and
many gifts, she was escorted back to Egypt.
Antony’s campaign against Parthia was a failure, but as before two
women stood ready to assist him. Cleopatra on the one hand, accused
of having violated tombs and robbed temples, perhaps for this very
purpose, hastened to Syria to meet him, with provisions and clothing
for his distressed army, while on the other Octavia came to Athens with
even larger supplies. But as against Fulvia, so now, Cleopatra was
victor, and Antony accompanied her to Alexandria. Again he gave himself
up to his mad infatuation, incensing the Romans (who regarded Cleopatra
with horror and aversion) at every step.
Plutarch gives us a graphic picture: “Assembling the people in the
exercise grounds and causing two golden thrones to be placed on a
platform of silver, the one for him, the other for Cleopatra, and at
their feet lower down for their children, he proclaimed Cleopatra
Queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya and Coele-Syria, and with her co-jointly
Caesarion, the reported son of the former Caesar. His own sons by
Cleopatra (she bore him two sons and a daughter) were to have the
style of ‘king of kings;’ to Alexander he gave Armenia and Media,
with Parthia, so soon as it should be overcome; to Ptolemy, Phœnicia,
Syria and Cilicia. Alexander was brought before the people in Median
costume, the tiara and upright peak, and Ptolemy in boots and mantle
and Macedonian cap, done about with the diadem, for this was the
habit of the successors of Alexander, as the other was of the Medes
and Armenians. As soon as they had saluted their parents the one was
received by a guard of Macedonians, the other by one of Armenians.”
Cleopatra was then, as at other times when she appeared in public,
dressed in the habit of the goddess Isis.
These theatrical performances were doubtless entertaining to the
people, who, in all countries, love public shows, as well to the
principals who never seemed to tire of their masquerading and lulled to
rest complaints and dissatisfaction, with the existing order of things.
For now Antony and Cleopatra proceeded to Athens to enact similar
scenes. The people there were said to be attached to and to have paid
great regard to Octavia, and Cleopatra claimed the like honors.
But the folly of Antony’s course was raising against him a powerful
faction, and Cæsar Octavian did everything to augment this feeling and
prepared for war. Cleopatra now put all the resources of her kingdom at
Antony’s command and insisted on accompanying him to battle, herself in
charge of the Egyptian fleet. They went to Samos and to Actium, where
Antony gathered together his army and it is said would have fought on
land, but Cleopatra insisted that the strength of the rivals should
be tested at sea. One dominant thought possessed her, as strong, or
stronger, than her love for Antony—it was an invincible dread of being
taken captive by and made to grace the triumph of the brother of the
outraged Octavia. At sea she might hope to escape as she could not on
land. It was this doubtless, more than cowardice, for however wicked
she certainly was a brave woman and not lacking in physical courage,
that made her at the first evidence that the battle was going against
Antony, turn her vessel’s prow and seek safety in flight.
Losing heart and head at once Antony blindly followed. For years
Cleopatra had been his inspiration, his passion, his lode-star; where
else to fly he knew not, his old world was, all too deservedly, against
him. Yet it was not now for joyance that he sought, though he followed
her; he steeled his heart against her sorceries, and shut himself up
in morbid communings with his own spirit. He would not see her and for
some time it was in vain that her maidens pleaded with and tried to
comfort him.
It seemed for the moment as if Cleopatra’s power, she who “governed men
by change” had failed. Her heart cried out,
“Where is Mark Antony?
The man my lover with whom I rode sublime
On Fortune’s neck; we sat as god by god;
The Nilus would have risen before his time,
And flooded at our nod.”
But a reconciliation finally ensued. Not to be at peace with Cleopatra
was to give up his last hope, and apparently his only chance for a
renewal of life and power. His army, deserted by its officers, made
submission to Cæsar, who thus remained complete victor.
Arrived in Africa, Cleopatra proceeded to Alexandria, while Antony
remained alone, wandering about in comparative solitude, with only one
of two friends. Reaching home, the queen pretended to have conquered
rather than been defeated, and proceeded to put to death people,
official and otherwise, of whom she wished to be rid. Not for one
moment does she seem to have sat down and given up to despair, as
did Antony. One project after another was entered upon and put in
execution, and when Antony, weary of wandering, at last joined her
again, he found her busy endeavoring to have her fleet dragged across
the Isthmus of Suez, from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea, that she
might escape to the other side and find a place of refuge and safety.
But the Arabians burnt her ships and she was forced to abandon her
gigantic scheme. She also sent embassies to Cæsar, praying that she
might be allowed to retain Egypt for herself and her children and that
Antony might dwell there or in Athens as a private individual. Cæsar
professed to be willing to grant her anything that was reasonable,
but was inexorable as regards Antony. If she would murder Antony, get
him out of the way by whatever means, then her own prospects would be
better.
But wicked, ambitious, and cruel as Cleopatra undoubtedly was, the
most sincere sentiment of her wayward life seems her attachment to
Antony. To this she clung, preferring to share his fate—even death
itself, than abandon or kill him. Nevertheless Antony was jealous and
suspicious of her, and once more shut himself up in moody solitude.
That her star had set, the knell of her doom sounded, Cleopatra must
have clearly foreseen, but to the very end she held her head proudly
and showed unbroken spirit. Not for her in modern parlance was “the
white feather.” Once more and for the last time she tempted Antony to
her side. It must have been impossible for him to withhold his meed of
admiration from this undaunted soul. Once more it was for them both,
“Let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die!” and they plunged into the
same revelry, almost on the brink, as it were, of the grave. For them
life had held little that was better, but the fine flavor of earlier
times must have departed and there could not but be bitterness in their
souls as they partook of their “dead sea fruit.”
Cleopatra now completed her tomb, which, like so many Egyptian
monarchs, she had begun before; in which she gathered together all her
treasures and made strange experiments, with various poisons, on her
unfortunate slaves, seeking to know how death might be most easily
attained. While inexorable fate in the person of the world conqueror,
Octavius Cæsar, moved steadily and surely towards the besotted pair,
Cleopatra _would_ not put herself in the power of the conqueror, she
_would_ not grace his triumph. Rather than that welcome death!
Cæsar on his part was most anxious to possess himself of her valuables
and to prevent her from killing herself, as he feared she might do,
and continued to send her plausible messages, but she did not trust
him. He had taken Pelusium and now advanced to invest Alexandria. The
toils were tightening around the tiger queen, like the iron tower which
enshrouded the prisoner and daily grew smaller, so misfortune closed in
upon her. She deserved her fate, she had even done much to provoke it,
but one cannot withhold some pity and admiration from the dauntless, if
wicked, woman.
Antony plucked up his spirit and made one successful sally against
the surrounding host, but it was but the dying flicker of the candle;
defeat followed, and his fleet and troops deserted to the conqueror.
He accused Cleopatra of treachery, rushing through the streets and
decrying her aloud in his mad fury. She fled and shut herself up with
her maidens and attendants in her well guarded tomb, while Antony
retired to his palace. She then caused word to be sent to him that she
had committed suicide, and a wave of tenderness overwhelmed him, while
he lauded her bravery and begged his attendant to kill him, but the
faithful servant only thrust his sword into his own body, and fell dead
at his master’s feet. In despair Antony wounded himself, but not at
once fatally, and word being brought him that Cleopatra still lived, he
demanded and entreated to be carried to her.
Fearful of Cæsar’s emissaries, she refused to unbar the great stone
door, but she and her maidens drew her dying lover up to the balcony,
exerting all their strength, and laid his on a bed, where he expired in
her arms.
Like a requiem mournfully seems to float in fragmentary cadence,
“I am dying, Egypt, dying,
Ebbs the crimson life tide fast,
…
His who drunk with thy caresses
Madly threw a world away,
…
And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian,
Glorious sorceress of the Nile,
Light the path to Stygian horrors
With the splendors of thy smile;
…
Isis and Osiris guard thee,
Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!”