_Letter from Charmian, at Alexandria, to her friend Chloe, at Baiae, 44
B.C._
It all came so suddenly. I never thought that I should leave Rome
without seeing you again and without being able to say farewell. Even
now I cannot believe that it is true and that the whole thing is not
a dream. I keep on thinking that I shall wake up and find myself once
more by the banks of the Tiber, sitting in the shade of the terebinths,
listening to the amusing discussions of Atticus, Cicero, and Caesar.
The suddenness with which everything happened was terrible. It all
began with the dinner party which Cleopatra had arranged on the eve of
the great event which was to happen on the Feast of the Lupercalia,
when Caesar was to be offered the Crown. Cleopatra was in the highest
spirits. Some months before this Cicero had asked her to get him
from Alexandria some manuscripts and some Canopian vases, of which he
had need, as such things are rare in your barbarous cities. Cleopatra
had promised to do this, and she told him that she had done it. As a
matter of fact she had forgotten all about it. He was invited to the
dinner, and had sent her a note saying that he would be delighted to
come, and reminding her of her promise with regard to the manuscripts
and the vases. He had already reminded her two or three times before.
As she read the note she was convulsed with laughter, and when I asked
her what she would say to Cicero she answered that she would of course
tell him what she had already said before, that the vases and the
manuscripts were on the way. I asked her if she was going to send for
them, and she answered firmly: “No, it is a great mistake to lend books
to men of letters. They never give them back, or if they do there are
always a lot of thumb marks on them, or notes in the margin, which are
worse. I like my books to be clean.”
She took immense pains to dress herself that night for the dinner,
according to the very latest Greek fashion, that is to say, in the
austerest simplicity. She wore a gray silk robe made absolutely plain,
and one wild flower in her fair hair. The curious thing is--which
I have noticed since we got back to Alexandria--that here she is
considered a real beauty, but we had not been back a week before she
realized that what suited Rome does not suit Alexandria. So she has
entirely changed her style of dress and of demeanour: She has had her
hair dyed a dark bronzed red; she wears gold tissue, golden bracelets
and chains, and she goes about fanned by Cupids with huge peacock
feathers, and wearing a stiff gold train. Of course in Rome or in
Greece this would be thought vulgar, but it is quite right here, and
she is so clever that she divined this at once.
Well, to go on with the dinner party. It was not quite a success.
Caesar, who had been anxious about politics during the last week,
and in a frightfully bad temper, was preoccupied and absent-minded.
When Cicero arrived he was very civil and did not mention the Greek
vases directly, but we all saw he was thinking of nothing else, and he
managed to get the conversation first on to Alexandria, then on to the
library, and finally he said: “By the way, I can’t quite remember, but
I think you were kind enough once to say that you were going to have a
manuscript sent me from the library.”
Cleopatra clapped her hands together and said: “Of course! I think they
must have arrived this morning. We had a messenger from Alexandria, but
the things have not yet been unpacked, as everybody in the house has
been busy. But I will let you know to-morrow morning without fail.”
Cicero kissed her hand and told her she was the divinest and most
thoughtful of women.
There were quite a lot of people at dinner, and several came
afterwards, among others a man called Mark Antony, who is a well-known
gambler, and who is still in the Army. Cleopatra had once or twice
asked Caesar to bring him, but Caesar had always said that he was not
the kind of man she would like, as he was boisterous, uneducated, and
rather common. Caesar was perfectly right about this, because Cleopatra
would not look at him. He made several attempts to speak to her, and
paid her one or two extravagant but badly-turned compliments, and
she said to me afterwards that it was astonishing how tiresome these
Roman soldiers were. During dinner she made signs to me as though to
point out that Antony was drinking a great deal more than was good
for him--which he did do, and his conversation and his jokes were in
the worst possible taste. Cleopatra herself was at her very best, so
modest, so quiet, so delicately witty, so highly distinguished and
refined.
They talked of mathematics and astronomy, and Cleopatra astounded
Atticus by her knowledge of these sciences. Mark Antony took no part in
this conversation. He was frankly bored. From astronomy the talk went
on to music, and from music to dancing. Here Mark Antony brightened
up and monopolized the whole conversation by describing a dancer from
Asia he had seen two or three days before. The play of the muscles on
her arms, he said, was quite unparalleled, and she managed to execute a
rippling movement which started from her shoulders and went to the tips
of her fingers.
In the middle of dinner Caesar received a note. I guessed at once it
was from his wife, whose jealousy lately had been something quite
frightening. Caesar read the note and was visibly disturbed and
irritated. Cleopatra pretended not to notice the incident. The moment
dinner was over Caesar said that he would have to go home for a moment
in order to despatch a piece of public business, but that he would be
back shortly. He was still living, you know, in the public offices in
the Via Sacra. Cleopatra did not make the slightest objection to his
going; she only said that she hoped he would be back soon, and that as
for herself she would be well occupied talking to Cicero, whom she had
not seen for some time.
Caesar was just making ready to go, and the flute-players had been
sent for, when Casca (who, I think, is the best-looking young man in
Rome) walked up to Cleopatra and occupied the empty seat next to her.
Caesar suddenly changed his mind, and said he would not go home after
all. This was typical of his behaviour during these days: he had been
constantly changing his mind about small matters and never seemed able
to come to any decision. Besides this, he was always jealous of any one
younger than himself, especially of Casca, who has got such thick hair.
Mark Antony tried to lure Cleopatra into conversation with him, paying
her still more fulsome and still more crude compliments than before.
And she, with perfect civility but with icy determination, ignored the
compliments and took no notice of him.
After the flute-players had ceased we all had our fortunes told by an
Asiatic soothsayer. He told Cleopatra and myself that we would be very
lucky, but that we should beware of figs and the worms inside them. We
laughed a great deal at this, because neither Cleopatra nor myself ever
eat raw fruit. He told Mark Antony that he would love and be loved by
the most wonderful woman in the world; upon which Mark Antony bent on
one knee before Cleopatra and did mock homage. You should have seen her
face! He did not feel inclined to do it twice, and there is no doubt
that he knew he had made a grotesque exhibition of himself; in fact it
was rather painful, and we were all sorry for him.
The soothsayer told Caesar that all would be well with him should he
follow the advice of those who loved him most. When the soothsayer
said this, Caesar looked at Cleopatra with infinite tenderness, and
she smiled at him very sweetly. It was all I could do to keep from
laughing. The vanity of men is extraordinary! I thought to myself--How
can that conceited old politician think that a woman as young, as
clever, and as pretty as Cleopatra could possibly care for him, or feel
anything else but disgust at his attentions!
The soothsayer then told Cicero’s fortune. He said that his worst enemy
was his tongue, but that if he went through life without offending
any of the present company he would have a fortunate and successful
career. We laughed a great deal at this, as every one in the room
happened to be a great friend of his.
Caesar was not satisfied with what the soothsayer had told him, and
asked further details; but the soothsayer said that it was unlucky
to tell a person’s fortune twice in one evening, upon which Caesar
desisted, since he is intensely superstitious.
The guests went away, leaving Caesar and Cleopatra alone. I was in the
next room and could hear what they said through the silken curtain.
I listened attentively. Caesar began by calling her the sun of his
life, and she complained of headache. Then he turned the conversation
on to serious topics, and said he was greatly in need of her advice
with regard to the events of the next day. Should he or should he not
receive the Crown which was to be offered him by Mark Antony in the
Forum?
Cleopatra said that if he did not accept it he would be a fool and
a coward, and she for her part would never speak to him again. This
seemed to satisfy him, and he went away.
The next morning he did not appear at the villa. We heard the noise of
cheering, but we first learnt what had happened from one of the slaves
who had been in the crowd. He told us that Caesar had refused the
Crown. Cleopatra was frightfully put out and really angry, for she had
determined that if Caesar accepted the Crown she would make him divorce
Calphurnia, and marry him herself. It was her great ambition to be
Queen, though nobody knew of this at the time of course, because ever
since she had lived in Rome, Cleopatra had been a model not only of
Roman economy but of Greek moderation, and her household books had been
a lesson to the strictest of Roman matrons. That is all changed now,
and I must say it is rather a relief.
To go on with my story: Caesar himself came to see us before supper. He
said that he had refused the Crown for the moment because he did not
think the occasion was opportune, but that he firmly intended to accept
it on a later occasion. “I am only drawing back,” he said, “in order
to take a greater leap.” Cleopatra said sarcastically that no doubt he
knew best and that he had been right to climb down. He told her, among
other things, that a soothsayer--not the same one we had seen--had
told him to beware of the Ides of March, when he intended to go to the
Senate, and he asked Cleopatra whether she thought it would be wise for
him to go.
She laughed at the superstition and told him that if he paid attention
to such trifles people would begin to say that he was an old woman; in
fact they were already saying it, and she was beginning to think it was
true. This annoyed him so much that he banged the door, and went away
in a huff. We expected him, however, to come to us the next day, as
these sort of quarrels had often happened before.
But Caesar did not come the next day, and a week passed without our
seeing him. I suggested to Cleopatra she had better write, but she was
quite obdurate. The days passed, and it was fully three weeks before we
had further news of him. That was on the Ides of March, when a slave
rushed into the house and told us that Caesar had been murdered, and
that we had better escape as soon as possible, since all friends of his
were in danger.
Cleopatra showed great presence of mind. She packed her jewels and
nothing else; she stained her face with walnut-juice, and put on a
coarse peasant’s garment, bidding myself and Iras do likewise; then,
taking plenty of money with us, we went out through the back gate,
crossed the river, and quite unobserved reached the Gate of Ostia.
There we took a litter and started for Ostia, whence we embarked for
Alexandria.
We have now been here a week, and Cleopatra, as I have already told
you, is completely changed. But the change as far as we are concerned
is for the better, for I can give you no idea of the fun we are
having. Please come here as soon as you can. Alexandria is far more
amusing than either Rome or Athens, and there is no tiresome Caesar to
interfere with us. Farewell.