last night I questioned of the Fates concerning thee, and I saw this:
when thy star draws near to Cæsar’s it pales and is swallowed up; but
when it passes from his radiance, then bright and big it shines, equal
in glory to his own. All is not lost, and while some part remains,
everything may be regained. Egypt can yet be held, armies can still
be raised. Cæsar has withdrawn himself; he is not yet at the gates of
Alexandria, and perchance may be appeased. Thy mind in its fever has
fired thy body; thou art sick and canst not judge aright. See, here, I
have a potion that shall make thee whole, for I am well skilled in the
art of medicine,” and I held out the phial.
“A potion, thou sayest man!” he cried. “More like it is a poison, and
thou a murderer, sent by false Egypt, who would fain be rid of me now
that I may no more be of service to her. The head of Antony is the peace
offering she would send to Cæsar--she for whom I have lost all! Give me
thy draught. By Bacchus! I will drink it, though it be the very elixir
of Death!”
“Nay, noble Antony; it is no poison, and I am no murderer. See, I will
taste it, if thou wilt,” and I held forth the subtle drink that has the
power to fire the veins of men.
“Give it me, Physician. Desperate men are brave men. There!----Why, what
is this? Yours is a magic draught! My sorrows seem to roll away like
thunder-clouds before the southern gale, and the spring of Hope blooms
fresh upon the desert of my heart. Once more I am Antony, and once again
I see my legions’ spears asparkle in the sun, and hear the thunderous
shout of welcome as Antony--beloved Antony--rides in pomp of war along
his deep-formed lines! There’s hope! there’s hope! I may yet see
the cold brows of Cæsar--that Cæsar who never errs except from
policy--robbed of their victor bays and crowned with shameful dust!”
“Ay,” cried Charmion, “there still is hope, if thou wilt but play the
man! O my Lord! come back with us; come back to the loving arms of
Cleopatra! All night she lies upon her golden bed, and fills the hollow
darkness with her groans for ‘Antony!’ who, enamoured now of Grief,
forgets his duty and his love!”
“I come! I come! Shame upon me, that I dared to doubt her! Slave, bring
water, and a purple robe: not thus can I be seen of Cleopatra. Even now
I come.”
In this fashion, then, did we draw Antony back to Cleopatra, that the
ruin of the twain might be made sure.
We led him up the Alabaster Hall and into Cleopatra’s chamber, where she
lay, her cloudy hair about her face and breast, and tears flowing from
her deep eyes.
“O Egypt!” he cried, “behold me at thy feet!”
She sprang from the couch. “And art thou here, my love?” she murmured;
“then once again are all things well. Come near, and in these arms
forget thy sorrows and turn my grief to joy. Oh, Antony, while love is
left to us, still have we all!”
And she fell upon his breast and kissed him wildly.
That same day, Charmion came to me and bade me prepare a poison of
the most deadly power. And this at first I would not do, fearing that
Cleopatra would therewith make an end of Antony before his time. But
Charmion showed me that this was not so, and told me also for what
purpose was the poison. Therefore I summoned Atoua, the skilled in
simples, and all that afternoon we laboured at the deadly work. And
when it was done, Charmion came once more, bearing with her a chaplet of
fresh roses, that she bade me steep in the poison.
This then I did.
That night at the great feast of Cleopatra, I sat near Antony, who was
at her side, and wore the poisoned wreath. Now as the feast went on, the
wine flowed fast, till Antony and the Queen grew merry. And she told him
of her plans, and of how even now her galleys were being drawn by the
canal that leads from Bubastis on the Pelusiac branch of the Nile, to
Clysma at the head of the Bay of Heroopolis. For it was her design,
should Cæsar prove stubborn, to fly with Antony and her treasure down
the Arabian Gulf, where Cæsar had no fleet, and seek some new home in
India, whither her foes might not follow. But, indeed, this plan came to
nothing, for the Arabs of Petra burnt the galleys, incited thereto by
a message sent by the Jews of Alexandria, who hated Cleopatra and were
hated of her. For I caused the Jews to be warned of what was being done.
Now, when she had made an end of telling him, the Queen called on him to
drink a cup with her, to the success of this new scheme, bidding him, as
she did so, steep his wreath of roses in the wine, and make the draught
more sweet. This, then, he did, and it being done, she pledged him.
But when he was about to pledge her back, she caught his hand, crying
“_Hold!_” whereat he paused, wondering.
Now, among the servants of Cleopatra was one Eudosius, a steward; and
this Eudosius, seeing that the fortunes of Cleopatra were at an end, had
laid a plan to fly that very night to Cæsar, as many of his betters
had done, taking with him all the treasure in the palace that he could
steal. But this design being discovered to Cleopatra, she determined to
be avenged upon Eudosius.
“Eudosius,” she cried, for the man stood near; “come hither, thou
faithful servant! Seest thou this man, most noble Antony; through
all our troubles he has clung to us and been of comfort to us. Now,
therefore, he shall be rewarded according to his deserts and the measure
of his faithfulness, and that from thine own hand. Give him thy golden
cup of wine, and let him drink a pledge to our success; the cup shall be
his guerdon.”
And still wondering, Antony gave it to the man, who, stricken in his
guilty mind, took it, and stood trembling. But he drank not.
“Drink! thou slave; drink!” cried Cleopatra, half rising from her seat
and flashing a fierce look on his white face. “By Serapis! so surely as
I yet shall sit in the Capitol at Rome, if thou dost thus flout the Lord
Antony, I’ll have thee scourged to the bones, and the red wine poured
upon thy open wounds to heal them! _Ah!_ at length thou drinkest! Why,
what is it, good Eudosius? art sick? Surely, then, this wine must be as
the water of jealousy of those Jews, that has power to slay the false
and strengthen the honest only. Go, some of you, search this man’s room;
methinks he is a traitor!”
Meanwhile the man stood, his hands to his head. Presently he began to
tremble, and then fell, clutching at his bosom, as though to tear
out the fire in his heart. He staggered, with livid, twisted face and
foaming lips, to where Cleopatra lay watching him with a slow and cruel
smile.
“Ah, traitor! thou hast it now!” she said. “Prithee, is death sweet?”
“Thou wanton!” yelled the dying man, “thou hast poisoned me! Thus mayst
thou also perish!” and with one shriek he flung himself upon her. She
saw his purpose, and swift and supple as a tiger sprang to one side,
so that he did but grasp her royal cloak, tearing it from its emerald
clasp. Down he fell upon the ground, rolling over and over in the purple
chiton, till presently he lay still and dead, his tormented face and
frozen eyes peering ghastly from its folds.
“Ah!” said the Queen, with a hard laugh, “the slave died wondrous hard,
and fain would have drawn me with him. See, he has borrowed my garment
for a pall! Take him away and bury him in his livery.”
“What means Cleopatra?” said Antony, as the guards dragged the corpse
away; “the man drank of my cup. What is the purpose of this most sorry
jest?”
“It serves a double end, noble Antony! This very night that man would
have fled to Octavianus, bearing of our treasure with him. Well, I have
lent him wings, for the dead fly fast! Also this: thou didst fear that
I should poison thee, my Lord; nay, I know it. See now, Antony, how easy
it were that I should slay thee if I had the will. That wreath of roses
which thou didst steep within the cup is dewed with deadly bane. Had
I, then, a mind to make an end of thee, I had not stayed thy hand. O
Antony, henceforth trust me! Sooner would I slay myself than harm one
hair of thy beloved head! See, here come my messengers! Speak, what did
ye find?”
“Royal Egypt, we found this. All things in the chamber of Eudosius are
made ready for flight, and in his baggage is much treasure.”
“Thou hearest?” she said, smiling darkly. “Think ye, my loyal servants
all, that Cleopatra is one with whom it is well to play the traitor? Be
warned by this Roman’s fate!”
Then a great silence of fear fell upon the company, and Antony sat also
silent.
CHAPTER VI
OF THE WORKINGS OF THE LEARNED OLYMPUS AT MEMPHIS; OF THE POISONINGS OF
CLEOPATRA; OF THE SPEECH OF ANTONY TO HIS CAPTAINS; AND OF THE PASSING
OF ISIS FROM THE LAND OF KHEM
Now I, Harmachis, must make speed with my task, setting down that which
is permitted as shortly as may be, and leaving much untold. For of this
I am warned, that Doom draws on and my days are wellnigh sped. After the
drawing forth of Antony from the Timonium came that time of heavy quiet
which heralds the rising of the desert wind. Antony and Cleopatra
once again gave themselves up to luxury, and night by night feasted in
splendour at the palace. They sent ambassadors to Cæsar; but Cæsar would
have none of them; and, this hope being gone, they turned their minds
to the defence of Alexandria. Men were gathered, ships were built, and a
great force was made ready against the coming of Cæsar.
And now, aided by Charmion, I began my last work of hate and vengeance.
I wormed myself deep into the secrets of the palace, counselling all
things for evil. I bade Cleopatra keep Antony gay, lest he should brood
upon his sorrows: and thus she sapped his strength and energy with
luxury and wine. I gave him of my draughts--draughts that sank his
soul in dreams of happiness and power, leaving him to wake to a heavier
misery. Soon, without my healing medicine he could not sleep, and thus,
being ever at his side, I bound his weakened will to mine, till at last
he would do little if I said not “It is well.” Cleopatra, also grown
very superstitious, leaned much upon me; for I prophesied falsely to her
in secret.
Moreover, I wove other webs. My fame was great throughout Egypt, for
during the long years that I had dwelt in Tápé it had spread through all
the land. Therefore many men of note came to me, both for their health’s
sake and because it was known that I had the ear of Antony and the
Queen; and, in these days of doubt and trouble, they were fain to learn
the truth. All these men I worked upon with doubtful words, sapping
their loyalty; and I caused many to fall away, and yet none could bear
an evil report of what I had said. Also, Cleopatra sent me to Memphis,
there to move the Priests and Governors that they should gather men in
Upper Egypt for the defence of Alexandria. And I went and spoke to the
priests with such a double meaning and with so much wisdom that they
knew me to be one of the initiated in the deeper mysteries. But how I,
Olympus the physician, came thus to be initiated none might say. And
afterwards they sought me secretly, and I gave them the holy sign of
brotherhood; and thereunder bade them not to ask who I might be, but
send no aid to Cleopatra. Rather, I said, must they make peace with
Cæsar, for by Cæsar’s grace only could the worship of the Gods endure in
Khem. So, having taken counsel of the Holy Apis, they promised in public
to give help to Cleopatra, but in secret sent an embassy to Cæsar.
Thus, then, it came to pass that Egypt gave but little aid to its hated
Macedonian Queen. Thence from Memphis I came once more to Alexandria,
and, having made favourable report, continued my secret work. And,
indeed, the Alexandrians could not easily be stirred, for, as they say
in the marketplace, “The ass looks at its burden and is blind to its
master.” Cleopatra had oppressed them so long that the Roman was like a
welcome friend.
Thus the time passed on, and every night found Cleopatra with fewer
friends than that which had gone before, for in evil days friends fly
like swallows before the frost. Yet she would not give up Antony, whom
she loved; though to my knowledge Cæsar, by his freedman, Thyreus, made
promise to her of her dominions for herself and for her children if she
would but slay Antony, or even betray him bound. But to this her woman’s
heart--for still she had a heart--would not consent, and, moreover, we
counselled her against it, for of necessity we must hold him to her,
lest, Antony escaping or being slain, Cleopatra might ride out the storm
and yet be Queen of Egypt. And this grieved me, because Antony, though
weak, was still a brave man, and a great; and, moreover, in my own heart
I read the lesson of his woes. For were we not akin in wretchedness? Had
not the same woman robbed us of Empire, Friends, and Honour? But pity
has no place in politics, nor could it turn my feet from the path of
vengeance it was ordained that I should tread. Cæsar drew nigh; Pelusium
fell; the end was at hand. It was Charmion who brought the tidings to
the Queen and Antony, as they slept in the heat of the day, and I came
with her.
“Awake!” she cried. “Awake! This is no time for sleep! Seleucus hath
surrendered Pelusium to Cæsar, who marches straight on Alexandria!”
With a great oath, Antony sprang up and clutched Cleopatra by the arm.
“Thou hast betrayed me--by the Gods I swear it! Now thou shalt pay the
price!” And snatching up his sword he drew it.
“Stay thy hand, Antony!” she cried. “It is false--I know naught of
this!” And she sprang upon him, and clung about his neck, weeping. “I
know naught, my Lord. Take thou the wife of Seleucus and his little
children, whom I hold in guard, and avenge thyself. O Antony, Antony!
why dost thou doubt me?”
Then Antony threw down his sword upon the marble, and, casting himself
upon the couch, hid his face, and groaned in bitterness of spirit.
But Charmion smiled, for it was she who had sent secretly to Seleucus,
her friend, counselling him to surrender forthwith, saying that no fight
would be made at Alexandria. And that very night Cleopatra took all her
great store of pearls and emeralds--those that remained of the treasure
of Menkau-ra--all her wealth of gold, ebony, ivory, and cinnamon,
treasure without price, and placed it in the mausoleum of granite which,
after our Egyptian fashion, she had built upon the hill that is by the
Temple of the Holy Isis. These riches she piled up upon a bed of flax,
that, when she fired it, all might perish in the flame and escape the
greed of money-loving Octavianus. And she slept henceforth in this tomb,
away from Antony; but in the daytime she still saw him at the palace.
But a little while after, when Cæsar with all his great force
had already crossed the Caponic mouth of the Nile and was hard on
Alexandria, I came to the palace, whither Cleopatra had summoned me.
There I found her in the Alabaster Hall, royally clad, a wild light in
her eyes, and, with her, Iras and Charmion, and before her guards; and
stretched here and there upon the marble, bodies of dead men, among whom
lay one yet dying.
“Greeting, thou Olympus!” she cried. “Here is a sight to glad a
physician’s heart--men dead and men sick unto death!”
“What doest thou, O Queen?” I said affrighted.
“What do I? I wreak justice on these criminals and traitors; and,
Olympus, I learn the ways of death. I have caused six different poisons
to be given to these slaves, and with an attentive eye have watched
their working. That man,” and she pointed to a Nubian, “he went mad, and
raved of his native deserts and his mother. He thought himself a child
again, poor fool! and bade her hold him close to her breast and save
him from the darkness which drew near. And that Greek, he shrieked, and,
shrieking, died. And this, he wept and prayed for pity, and in the end,
like a coward, breathed his last. Now, note the Egyptian yonder, he who
still lives and groans; first he took the draught--the deadliest draught
of all, they swore--and yet the slave so dearly loves his life he will
not leave it! See, he yet strives to throw the poison from him; twice
have I given him the cup and yet he is athirst. What a drunkard we have
here! Man, man, knowest thou not that in death only can peace be found?
Struggle no more, but enter into rest.” And even as she spoke, the man,
with a great cry, gave up the spirit.
“There!” she cried, “at length the farce is played--away with those
slaves whom I have forced through the difficult gates of Joy!” and she
clapped her hands. But when they had borne the bodies thence she drew me
to her, and spoke thus:
“Olympus, for all thy prophecies, the end is at hand. Cæsar must
conquer, and I and my Lord Antony be lost. Now, therefore, the play
being wellnigh done, I must make ready to leave this stage of earth in
such fashion as becomes a Queen. For this cause, then, I do make trial
of these poisons, seeing that in my person I must soon endure those
agonies of death that to-day I give to others. These drugs please me
not; some wrench out the soul with cruel pains, and some too slowly work
their end. But thou art skilled in the medicines of death. Now, do thou
prepare me such a draught as shall, pangless, steal my life away.”
And as I listened the sense of triumph filled my bitter heart, for
I knew now that by my own hand should this ruined woman die and the
justice of the Gods be done.
“Spoken like a Queen, O Cleopatra!” I said. “Death shall cure thy ills,
and I will brew such a wine as shall draw him down a sudden friend and
sink thee in a sea of slumber whence, upon this earth, thou shalt never
wake again. Oh! fear not Death: Death is thy hope; and, surely, thou
shalt pass sinless and pure of heart into the dreadful presence of the
Gods!”
She trembled. “And if the heart be not altogether pure, tell me--thou
dark man--what then? Nay, I fear not the Gods! for if the Gods of Hell
be men, there I shall Queen it also. At the least, having once been
royal, royal I shall ever be.”
And, as she spoke, suddenly from the palace gates came a great clamour,
and the noise of joyful shouting.
“Why, what is this?” she said, springing from her couch.
“Antony! Antony!” rose the cry; “Antony hath conquered!”
She turned swiftly and ran, her long hair streaming on the wind. I
followed her, more slowly, down the great hall, across the courtyards,
to the palace gates. And here she met Antony, riding through them,
radiant with smiles and clad in his Roman armour. When he saw her
he leapt to the ground, and, all armed as he was, clasped her to his
breast.
“What is it?” she cried; “is Cæsar fallen?”
“Nay, not altogether fallen, Egypt: but we have beat his horsemen back
to their trenches, and, like the beginning, so shall be the end, for,
as they say here, ‘Where the head goes, the tail will follow.’ Moreover,
Cæsar has my challenge, and if he will but meet me hand to hand, the
world shall soon see which is the better man, Antony or Octavian.”
And even as he spoke and the people cheered there came the cry of “A
messenger from Cæsar!”
The herald entered, and, bowing low, gave a writing to Antony, bowed
again, and went. Cleopatra snatched it from his hand, broke the silk and
read aloud:
“Cæsar to Antony, greeting.
“This answer to thy challenge: Can Antony find no better way of death
than beneath the sword of Cæsar? Farewell!”
And thereafter they cheered no more.
The darkness came, and before it was midnight, having feasted with his
friends who to-night went over his woes and to-morrow should betray him,
Antony went forth to the gathering of the captains of the land-forces
and of the fleet, attended by many, among whom was I.
When all were come together, he spoke to them, standing bareheaded in
their midst, beneath the radiance of the moon. And thus he most nobly
spoke:
“Friends and companions in arms! who yet cling to me, and whom many a
time I have led to victory, hearken to me now, who to-morrow may lie in
the dumb dust, disempired and dishonoured. This is our design: no
longer will we hang on poised wings above the flood of war, but will
straightway plunge, perchance thence to snatch the victor’s diadem, or,
failing, there to drown. Be now but true to me, and to your honour’s
sake, and you may still sit, the most proud of men, at my right hand in
the Capitol of Rome. Fail me now, and the cause of Antony is lost and so
are ye. To-morrow’s battle must be hazardous indeed, but we have stood
many a time and faced a fiercer peril, and ere the sun had sunk, once
more have driven armies like desert sands before our gale of valour and
counted the spoil of hostile kings. What have we to fear? Though allies
be fled, still is our array as strong as Cæsar’s! And show we but as
high a heart, why, I swear to you, upon my princely word, to-morrow
night I shall deck yonder Canopic gate with the heads of Octavian and
his captains!
“Ay, cheer, and cheer again! I love that martial music which swells,
not as from the indifferent lips of clarions, now ‘neath the breath of
Antony and now of Cæsar, but rather out of the single hearts of men who
love me. Yet--and now I will speak low, as we do speak o’er the bier of
some beloved dead--yet, if Fortune should rise against me and if, borne
down by the weight of arms, Antony, the soldier, dies a soldier’s death,
leaving you to mourn him who ever was your friend, this is my will,
that, after our rough fashion of the camp, I here declare to you. You
know where all my treasure lies. Take it, most dear friends; and, in the
memory of Antony, make just division. Then go to Cæsar and speak thus:
‘Antony, the dead, to Cæsar, the living, sends greeting; and, in the
name of ancient fellowship and of many a peril dared, craves this boon:
the safety of those who clung to him and that which he hath given them.’
“Nay, let not my tears--for I must weep--overflow your eyes! Why, it is
not manly; ‘tis most womanish! All men must die, and death were welcome
were it not so lone. Should I fall, I leave my children to your
tender care--if, perchance, it may avail to save them from the fate
of helplessness. Soldiers, enough! to-morrow at the dawn we spring on
Cæsar’s throat, both by land and sea. Swear that ye will cling to me,
even to the last issue!”
“We swear!” they cried. “Noble Antony, we swear!”
“It is well! Once more my star grows bright; to-morrow, set in the
highest heaven, it yet may shine the lamp of Cæsar down! Till then,
farewell!”
He turned to go. As he went they caught his hand and kissed it; and so
deeply were they moved that many wept like children; nor could Antony
master his grief, for, in the moonlight, I saw tears roll down his
furrowed cheeks and fall upon that mighty breast.
And, seeing all this, I was much troubled. For I well knew that if these
men held firm to Antony all might yet go well for Cleopatra; and though
I bore no ill-will against Antony, yet he must fall, and in that fall
drag down the woman who, like some poisonous plant, had twined herself
about his giant strength till it choked and mouldered in her embrace.
Therefore, when Antony went I went not, but stood back in the shadow
watching the faces of the lords and captains as they spoke together.
“Then it is agreed!” said he who should lead the fleet. “And this we
swear to, one and all, that we will cling to noble Antony to the last
extremity of fortune!”
“Ay! ay!” they answered.
“Ay! ay!” I said, speaking from the shadow; “cling, and _die!_”
They turned fiercely and seized me.
“Who is he?” quoth one.
“‘Tis that dark-faced dog, Olympus!” cried another. “Olympus, the
magician!”
“Olympus, the traitor!” growled another; “put an end to him and his
magic!” and he drew his sword.
“Ay! slay him; he would betray the Lord Antony, whom he is paid to
doctor.”
“Hold a while!” I said in a slow and solemn voice, “and beware how ye
try to murder the servant of the Gods. I am no traitor. For myself,
I abide the event here in Alexandria, but to you I say, Flee, flee to
Cæsar! I serve Antony and the Queen--I serve them truly; but above all
I serve the Holy Gods; and what they make known to me, that, Lords, I do
know. And I know this: that Antony is doomed, and Cleopatra is doomed,
for Cæsar conquers. Therefore, because I honour you, noble gentlemen,
and think with pity on your wives, left widowed, and your little
fatherless children, that shall, if ye hold to Antony, be sold as
slaves--therefore, I say, cling to Antony if ye will and die; or flee
to Cæsar and be saved! And this I say because it is so ordained of the
Gods.”
“The Gods!” they growled; “what Gods? Slit the traitor’s throat, and
stop his ill-omened talk!”
“Let him show us a sign from his Gods or let him die: I do mistrust this
man,” said another.
“Stand back, ye fools!” I cried. “Stand back--free mine arms--and I will
show you a sign;” and there was that in my face which frightened them,
for they freed me and stood back. Then I lifted up my hands and putting
out all my strength of soul searched the depths of space till my Spirit
communed with the Spirit of my Mother Isis. Only the Word of Power I
uttered not, as I had been bidden. And the holy mystery of the Goddess
answered to my Spirit’s cry, falling in awful silence upon the face of
the earth. Deeper and deeper grew the terrible silence; even the dogs
ceased to howl, and in the city men stood still afeared. Then, from far
away, there came the ghostly music of the sistra. Faint it was at first,
but ever as it came it grew more loud, till the air shivered with the
unearthly sound of terror. I said naught, but pointed with my hand
toward the sky. And behold! bosomed upon the air, floated a vast veiled
Shape that, heralded by the swelling music of the sistra, drew slowly
near, till its shadow lay upon us. It came, it passed, it went toward
the camp of Cæsar, till at length the music died away, and the awful
Shape was swallowed in the night.
“It is Bacchus!” cried one. “Bacchus, who leaves lost Antony!” and, as
he spoke, there rose a groan of terror from all the camp.
But I knew that it was not Bacchus, the false God, but the Divine Isis
who deserted Khem, and, passing over the edge of the world, sought her
home in space, to be no more known of men. For though her worship is
still upheld, though still she is here and in all Earths, Isis manifests
herself no more in Egypt. I hid my face and prayed, but when I lifted it
from my robe, lo! all had fled and I was alone.
CHAPTER VII
OF THE SURRENDER OF THE TROOPS AND FLEET OF ANTONY BEFORE THE CANOPIC
GATE; OF THE END OF ANTONY, AND OF THE BREWING OF THE DRAUGHT OF DEATH
On the morrow, at dawn, Antony came forth and gave command that his
fleet should advance against the fleet of Cæsar, and that his cavalry
should open the land-battle with the cavalry of Cæsar. Accordingly, the
fleet advanced in a triple line, and the fleet of Cæsar came out to
meet it. But when they met, the galleys of Antony lifted their oars in
greeting, and passed over to the galleys of Cæsar; and they sailed away
together. And the cavalry of Antony rode forth beyond the Hippodrome
to charge the cavalry of Cæsar; but when they met, they lowered their
swords and passed over to the camp of Cæsar, deserting Antony. Then
Antony grew mad with rage and terrible to see. He shouted to his legions
to stand firm and wait attack; and for a little while they stood.
One man, however--that same officer who would have slain me on the
yesternight--strove to fly; but Antony seized him with his own hand,
threw him to the earth, and, springing from his horse, drew his sword to
slay him. He held his sword on high, while the man, covering his face,
awaited death. But Antony dropped his sword and bade him rise.
“Go!” he said. “Go to Cæsar, and prosper! I did love thee once. Why,
then, among so many traitors, should I single thee out for death?”
The man rose and looked upon him sorrowfully. Then, shame overwhelming
him, with a great cry he tore open his shirt of mail, plunged his sword
into his own heart and fell down dead. Antony stood and gazed at him,
but he said never a word. Meanwhile the ranks of Cæsar’s legions drew
near, and so soon as they crossed spears the legions of Antony turned
and fled. Then the soldiers of Cæsar stood still mocking them; but
scarce a man was slain, for they pursued not.
“Fly, Lord Antony! fly!” cried Eros, his servant, who alone with me
stayed by him. “Fly ere thou art dragged a prisoner to Cæsar!”
So he turned and fled, groaning heavily. I went with him, and as we rode
through the Canopic gate, where many folk stood wondering, Antony spoke
to me:
“Go, thou, Olympus; go to the Queen and say: ‘Antony sends greeting to
Cleopatra, who hath betrayed him! To Cleopatra he sends greeting and
farewell!’”
And so I went to the tomb, but Antony fled to the palace. When I came
to the tomb I knocked upon the door, and Charmion looked forth from the
window.
“Open,” I cried, and she opened.
“What news, Harmachis?” she whispered.
“Charmion,” I said, “the end is at hand. Antony is fled!”
“It is well,” she answered; “I am aweary.”
And there on her golden bed sat Cleopatra.
“Speak, man!” she cried.
“Antony has fled, his forces are fled, Cæsar draws near. To Cleopatra
the great Antony sends greeting and farewell. Greeting to Cleopatra who
betrayed him, and farewell.”
“It is a lie!” she screamed; “I betrayed him not! Thou, Olympus, go
swiftly to Antony and answer thus: ‘To Antony, Cleopatra, who hath not
betrayed him, sends greeting and farewell. Cleopatra is no more.’”
And so I went, following out my purpose. In the Alabaster Hall I found
Antony pacing to and fro, tossing his hands toward heaven, and with him
Eros, for of all his servants Eros alone remained by this fallen man.
“Lord Antony,” I said, “Egypt bids thee farewell. Egypt is dead by her
own hand.”
“Dead! dead!” he whispered, “and is Egypt dead? and is that form of
glory now food for worms? Oh, what a woman was this! E’en now my heart
goes out towards her. And shall she outdo me at the last, I who have
been so great; shall I become so small that a woman can overtop my
courage and pass where I fear to follow? Eros, thou hast loved me from a
boy--mindest thou how I found thee starving in the desert, and made thee
rich, giving thee place and wealth? Come, now pay me back. Draw that
sword thou wearest and make an end of the woes of Antony.”
“Oh, Sire,” cried the Greek, “I cannot! How can I take away the life of
godlike Antony?”
“Answer me not, Eros; but in the last extreme of fate this I charge
thee. Do thou my bidding, or begone and leave me quite alone! No more
will I see thy face, thou unfaithful servant!”
Then Eros drew his sword and Antony knelt before him and bared his
breast, turning his eyes to heaven. But Eros, crying “I cannot! oh, I
cannot!” plunged the sword to his own heart, and fell dead.
Antony rose and gazed upon him. “Why, Eros, that was nobly done,” he
said. “Thou art greater than I, yet I have learned thy lesson!” and he
knelt down and kissed him.
Then, rising of a sudden, he drew the sword from the heart of Eros,
plunged it into his bowels, and fell, groaning, on the couch.
“O thou, Olympus,” he cried, “this pain is more than I can bear! Make an
end of me, Olympus!”
But pity stirred me, and I could not do this thing.
Therefore I drew the sword from his vitals, staunched the flow of blood,
and, calling to those who came crowding in to see Antony die, I bade
them summon Atoua from my house at the palace gates. Presently she came,
bringing with her simples and life-giving draughts. These I gave to
Antony, and bade Atoua go with such speed as her old limbs might to
Cleopatra, in the tomb, and tell her of the state of Antony.
So she went, and after a while returned, saying that the Queen yet lived
and summoned Antony to die in her arms. And with her came Diomedes. When
Antony heard, his ebbing strength came back, for he was fain to look
upon Cleopatra’s face again. So I called to the slaves--who peeped and
peered through curtains and from behind pillars to see this great man
die--and together, with much toil, we bore him thence till we came to
the foot of the Mausoleum.
But Cleopatra, being afraid of treachery, would no more throw wide the
door; so she let down a rope from the window and we made it fast
beneath the arms of Antony. Then did Cleopatra, who the while wept most
bitterly, together with Charmion and Iras the Greek, pull on the rope
with all their strength, while we lifted from below till the dying
Antony swung in the air, groaning heavily, and the blood dropped from
his gaping wound. Twice he nearly fell to earth: but Cleopatra, striving
with the strength of love and of despair, held him till at length she
drew him through the windowplace, while all who saw the dreadful sight
wept bitterly, and beat their breasts--all save myself and Charmion.
When he was in, once more the rope was let down, and, with some aid from
Charmion, I climbed into the tomb, drawing up the rope after me. There I
found Antony, laid upon the golden bed of Cleopatra; and she, her breast
bare, her face stained with tears, and her hair streaming wildly about
him, knelt at his side and kissed him, wiping the blood from his wounds
with her robes and hair. And let all my shame be written: as I stood
and watched her the old love awoke once more within me, and mad jealousy
raged in my heart because--though I could destroy these twain--I could
not destroy their love.
“O Antony! my Sweet, my Husband, and my God!” she moaned. “Cruel Antony,
hast thou the heart to die and leave me to my lonely shame? I will
follow thee swiftly to the grave. Antony, awake! awake!”
He lifted up his head and called for wine, which I gave him, mixing
therein a draught that might allay his pain, for it was great. And when
he had drunk he bade Cleopatra lie down on the bed beside him, and put
her arms about him; and this she did. Then was Antony once more a man;
for, forgetting his own misery and pain, he counselled her as to her own
safety: but to this talk she would not listen.
“The hour is short,” she said; “let us speak of this great love of ours
that hath been so long and may yet endure beyond the coasts of Death.
Mindest thou that night when first thou didst put thine arms about me
and call me ‘Love’? Oh! happy, happy night! Having known that night it
is well to have lived--even to this bitter end!”
“Ay, Egypt, I mind it well and dwell upon its memory, though from that
hour fortune has fled from me--lost in my depth of love for thee, thou
Beautiful. I mind it!” he gasped; “then didst thou drink the pearl
in wanton play, and then did that astrologer of thine call out his
hour--‘The hour of the coming of the curse of Menkau-ra.’ Through all
the after-days those words have haunted me, and now at the last they
ring in my ears.”
“He is long dead, my love,” she whispered.
“If he be dead, then I am near him. What meant he?”
“He is dead, the accursed man!--no more of him! Oh! turn and kiss me,
for thy face grows white. The end is near!”
He kissed her on the lips, and for a little while so they stayed, to
the moment of death, babbling their passion in each other’s ears, like
lovers newly wed. Even to my jealous heart, it was a strange and awful
thing to see.
Presently, I saw the Change of Death gather on his face. His head fell
back.
“Farewell, Egypt; farewell!--I die!”
Cleopatra lifted herself upon her hands, gazed wildly on his ashen face,
and then, with a great cry, she sank back swooning.
But Antony yet lived, though the power of speech had left him. Then
I drew near and, kneeling, made pretence to minister to him. And as I
ministered I whispered in his ear:
“Antony,” I whispered, “Cleopatra was my love before she passed from me
to thee. I am Harmachis, that astrologer who stood behind thy couch at
Tarsus; and I have been the chief minister of thy ruin.
“_Die, Antony!--the curse of Menkau-ra hath fallen!_”
He raised himself, and stared upon my face. He could not speak, but,
gibbering, he pointed at me. Then with a groan his spirit fled.
Thus did I accomplish my revenge upon Roman Antony, the World-loser.
Thereafter, we recovered Cleopatra from her swoon, for not yet was
I minded that she should die. And taking the body of Antony, Cæsar
permitting, I and Atoua caused it to be most skilfully embalmed after
our Egyptian fashion, covering the face with a mask of gold fashioned
like to the features of Antony. Also I wrote upon his breast his name
and titles, and painted his name and the name of his father within his
inner coffin, and drew the form of the Holy Nout folding her wings about
him.
Then with great pomp Cleopatra laid him in that sepulchre which had been
made ready, and in a sarcophagus of alabaster. Now, this sarcophagus was
fashioned so large that place was left in it for a second coffin, for
Cleopatra would lie by Antony at the last.
These things then happened. And but a little while after I learned
tidings from one Cornelius Dolabella, a noble Roman who waited upon
Cæsar, and, moved by the beauty that swayed the souls of all who looked
upon her, had pity for the woes of Cleopatra. He bade me warn her--for,
as her physician, it was allowed me to pass in and out of the tomb where
she dwelt--that in three days she would be sent away to Rome, together
with her children, save Cæsarion, whom Octavian had already slain, that
she might walk in the triumph of Cæsar. Accordingly I went in, and found
her sitting, as now she always sat, plunged in a half stupor, and before
her that blood-stained robe with which she had staunched the wounds of
Antony. For on this she would continually feast her eyes.
“See how faint they grow, Olympus,” she said, lifting her sad face and
pointing to the rusty stains, “and he so lately dead! Why, Gratitude
could not fade more fast. What is now thy news? Evil tidings is writ
large in those dark eyes of thine, which ever bring back to me something
that still slips my mind.”
“The news is ill, O Queen,” I answered. “I have this from the lips of
Dolabella, who has it straight from Cæsar’s secretary. On the third day
from now Cæsar will send thee and the Princes Ptolemy and Alexander and
the Princess Cleopatra to Rome, there to feast the eyes of the Roman
mob, and be led in triumph to that Capitol where thou didst swear to set
thy throne!”
“Never, never!” she cried, springing to her feet. “Never will I walk in
chains in Cæsar’s triumph! What must I do? Charmion, tell me what I can
do!”
And Charmion, rising, stood before her, looking at her through the long
lashes of her downcast eyes.
“Lady, thou canst die,” she said quietly.
“Ay, of a truth I had forgotten; I can die. Olympus, hast thou the
drug?”
“Nay; but if the Queen wills it, by to-morrow morn it shall be brewed--a
drug so swift and strong that not the Gods themselves can hold him who
drinks it back from sleep.”
“Let it be made ready, thou Master of Death!”
I bowed, and withdrew myself; and all that night I and old Atoua
laboured at the distilling of the deadly draught. At length it was done,
and Atoua poured it into a crystal phial, and held it to the light of
the fire; for it was white as the purest water.
“_La! la!_” she sang, in her shrill voice; “a drink for a Queen! When
fifty drops of that water of my brewing have passed those red lips of
hers, thou wilt indeed be avenged of Cleopatra, O Harmachis! Ah, that
I could be there to see thy Ruin ruined! _La! la!_ it would be sweet to
see!”
“Vengeance is an arrow that oft-times falls upon the archer’s head,” I
answered, bethinking me of Charmion’s saying.
CHAPTER VIII
OF THE LAST SUPPER OF CLEOPATRA; OF THE SONG OF CHARMION; OF THE
DRINKING OF THE DRAUGHT OF DEATH; OF THE REVEALING OF HARMACHIS; OF THE
SUMMONING OF THE SPIRITS BY HARMACHIS; AND OF THE DEATH OF CLEOPATRA
On the morrow Cleopatra, having sought leave of Cæsar, visited the tomb
of Antony, crying that the Gods of Egypt had deserted her. And when she
had kissed the coffin and covered it with lotus-flowers she came back,
bathed, anointed herself, put on her most splendid robes, and, together
with Iras, Charmion, and myself, she supped. Now as she supped her
spirit flared up wildly, even as the sky lights up at sunset; and once
more she laughed and sparkled as in bygone years, telling us tales of
feasts which she and Antony had eaten of. Never, indeed, did I see her
look more beauteous than on that last fatal night of vengeance. And thus
her mind drew on to that supper at Tarsus when she drank the pearl.
“Strange,” she said; “strange that at the last the mind of Antony should
have turned back to that night among all the nights and to the saying of
Harmachis. Charmion, dost thou remember Harmachis the Egyptian?”
“Surely, O Queen,” she answered slowly.
“And who, then, was Harmachis?” I asked; for I would learn if she
sorrowed o’er my memory.
“I will tell thee. It is a strange tale, and now that all is done it may
well be told. This Harmachis was of the ancient race of the Pharaohs,
and, having, indeed, been crowned in secret at Abydus, was sent hither
to Alexandria to carry out a great plot that had been formed against the
rule of us royal Lagidæ. He came and gained entry to the palace as my
astrologer, for he was very learned in all magic--much as thou art,
Olympus--and a man beautiful to see. Now this was his plot--that he
should slay me and be named Pharaoh. In truth it was a strong one, for
he had many friends in Egypt, and I had few. And on that very night when
he should carry out his purpose, yea, at the very hour, came Charmion
yonder, and told the plot to me; saying that she had chanced upon its
clue. But, in after days--though I have said little thereon to thee,
Charmion--I misdoubted me much of that tale of thine; for, by the Gods!
to this hour I believe that thou didst love Harmachis, and because he
scorned thee thou didst betray him; and for that cause also hast all thy
days remained a maid, which is a thing unnatural. Come, Charmion, tell
us; for naught matters now at the end.”
Charmion shivered and made answer: “It is true, O Queen; I also was of
the plot, and because Harmachis scorned me I betrayed him; and because
of my great love for him I have remained unwed.” And she glanced up at
me and caught my eyes, then let the modest lashes veil her own.
“So! I thought it. Strange are the ways of women! But little cause,
methinks, had that Harmachis to thank thee for thy love. What sayest
thou, Olympus? Ah, and so thou also wast a traitor, Charmion? How
dangerous are the paths which Monarchs tread! Well, I forgive thee, for
thou hast served me faithfully since that hour.
“But to my tale. Harmachis I dared not slay, lest his great party should
rise in fury and cast me from the throne. And now mark the issue. Though
he must murder me, in secret this Harmachis loved me, and something
thereof I guessed. I had striven a little to draw him to me, for the
sake of his beauty and his wit; and for the love of man Cleopatra never
strove in vain. Therefore when, with the dagger in his robe, he came
to slay me, I matched my charms against his will, and need I tell you,
being man and woman, how I won? Oh, never can I forget the look in
the eyes of that fallen prince, that forsworn priest, that discrowned
Pharaoh, when, lost in the poppied draught, I saw him sink into
a shameful sleep whence he might no more wake with honour! And,
thereafter--till, in the end, I wearied of him, and his sad learned
mind, for his guilty soul forbade him to be gay--a little I came to care
for him, though not to love. But he--he who loved me--clung to me as a
drunkard to the cup which ruins him. Deeming that I should wed him,
he betrayed to me the secret of the hidden wealth of the pyramid of
_Her_--for at the time I much needed treasure--and together we dared the
terrors of the tomb and drew it forth, even from dead Pharaoh’s breast.
See, this emerald was a part thereof!”--and she pointed to the great
scarabæus that she had drawn from the holy heart of Menkau-ra.
“And because of what was written in the tomb, and of that Thing which
we saw in the tomb--ah, pest upon it! why does its memory haunt me
now?--and also because of policy, for I would fain have won the love
of the Egyptians, I was minded to marry this Harmachis and declare his
place and lineage to the world--ay, and by his aid hold Egypt from the
Roman. For Dellius had then come to call me to Antony, and after much
thought I determined to send him back with sharp words. But on that very
morning, as I tired me for the Court, came Charmion yonder, and I told
her this, for I would see how the matter fell upon her mind. Now mark,
Olympus, the power of jealousy, that little wedge which yet has strength
to rend the tree of Empire, that secret sword which can carve the fate
of Kings! This she could in no wise bear--deny it, Charmion, if thou
canst, for now it is clear to me!--that the man she loved should be
given to me as husband--me, whom _he_ loved! And therefore, with more
skill and wit than I can tell, she reasoned with me, showing that I
should by no means do this thing, but journey to Antony; and for that,
Charmion, I thank thee, now that all is come and gone. And by a very
little, her words weighed down my scale of judgment against Harmachis,
and I went to Antony. Thus it is through the jealous spleen of yonder
fair Charmion and the passion of a man on which I played as on a lyre,
that all these things have come to pass. For this cause Octavian sits
a King in Alexandria; for this cause Antony is discrowned and dead; and
for this cause I, too, must die to-night! Ah! Charmion! Charmion! thou
hast much to answer, for thou hast changed the story of the world; and
yet, even now--I would not have it otherwise!”
She paused awhile, covering her eyes with her hand; and, looking, I saw
great tears upon the cheek of Charmion.
“And of this Harmachis,” I asked; “where is he now, O Queen?”
“Where is he? In Amenti, forsooth--making his peace with Isis,
perchance. At Tarsus I saw Antony, and loved him; and from that moment I
loathed the sight of the Egyptian, and swore to make an end of him; for
a lover done with should be a lover dead. And, being jealous, he spoke
some words of evil omen, even at that Feast of the Pearl; and on the
same night I would have slain him, but before the deed was done, he was
gone.”
“And whither was he gone?”
“Nay; that know not I. Brennus--he who led my guard, and last year
sailed North to join his own people--Brennus swore he saw him float to
the skies; but in this matter I misdoubted me of Brennus, for methinks
he loved the man. Nay, he sank off Cyprus, and was drowned; perchance
Charmion can tell us how?”
“I can tell thee nothing, O Queen; Harmachis is lost.”
“And well lost, Charmion, for he was an evil man to play with--ay,
although I bettered him I say it! Well he served my purpose; but I loved
him not, and even now I fear him; for it seemed to me that I heard
his voice summoning me to fly, through the din of the fight at Actium.
Thanks be to the Gods, as thou sayest, he is lost, and can no more be
found.”
But I, listening, put forth my strength, and, by the arts I have, cast
the shadow of my Spirit upon the Spirit of Cleopatra so that she felt
the presence of the lost Harmachis.
“Nay, what is it?” she said. “By Serapis! I grow afraid! It seems to
me that I feel Harmachis here! His memory overwhelms me like a flood of
waters, and he these ten years dead! Oh! at such a time it is unholy!”
“Nay, O Queen,” I answered, “if he be dead then he is everywhere, and
well at such a time--the time of thy own death--may his Spirit draw near
to welcome thine at its going.”
“Speak not thus, Olympus. I would see Harmachis no more; the count
between us is too heavy, and in another world than this more evenly,
perchance should we be matched. Ah, the terror passes! I was but
unnerved. Well the fool’s story hath served to wile away the heaviest of
our hours, the hour which ends in death. Sing to me, Charmion, sing, for
thy voice is very sweet, and I would soothe my soul to sleep. The memory
of that Harmachis has wrung me strangely! Sing, then, the last song I
shall hear from those tuneful lips of thine, the last of so many songs.”
“It is a sad hour for song, O Queen!” said Charmion; but, nevertheless,
she took her harp and sang. And thus she sang, very soft and low, the
dirge of the sweet-tongued Syrian Meleager:
Tears for my lady dead,
Heliodore!
Salt tears and strange to shed,
Over and o’er;
Go tears and low lament
Fare from her tomb,
Wend where my lady went,
Down through the gloom--
Sighs for my lady dead,
Tears do I send,
Long love remembered,
Mistress and friend!
Sad are the songs we sing,
Tears that we shed,
Empty the gifts we bring--
Gifts to the dead!
Ah, for my flower, my Love,
Hades hath taken,
Ah, for the dust above,
Scattered and shaken!
Mother of blade and grass,
Earth, in thy breast
Lull her that gentlest was,
Gently to rest!
The music of her voice died away, and it was so sweet and sad that Iras
began to weep and the bright tears stood in Cleopatra’s stormy eyes.
Only I wept not; my tears were dry.
“‘Tis a heavy song of thine, Charmion,” said the Queen. “Well, as thou
saidst, it is a sad hour for song, and thy dirge is fitted to the hour.
Sing it over me once again when I lie dead, Charmion. And now farewell
to music, and on to the end. Olympus, take yonder parchment and write
what I shall say.”
I took the parchment and the reed, and wrote thus in the Roman tongue:
“Cleopatra to Octavianus, greeting.
“This is the state of life. At length there comes an hour when, rather
than endure those burdens that overwhelm us, putting off the body we
would take wing into forgetfulness. Cæsar, thou hast conquered: take
thou the spoils of victory. But in thy triumph Cleopatra cannot walk.
When all is lost, then we must go to seek the lost. Thus in the desert
of Despair the brave do harvest Resolution. Cleopatra hath been great
as Antony was great, nor shall her fame be minished in the manner of
her end. Slaves live to endure their wrong; but Princes, treading with a
firmer step, pass through the gates of Wrong into the royal Dwellings of
the Dead. This only doth Egypt ask of Cæsar--that he suffer her to lie
in the tomb of Antony. Farewell!”
This I wrote, and having sealed the writing, Cleopatra bade me go find a
messenger, despatch it to Cæsar, and then return. So I went, and at the
door of the tomb I called a soldier who was not on duty, and, giving him
money, bade him take the letter to Cæsar. Then I went back, and there in
the chamber the three women stood in silence, Cleopatra clinging to the
arm of Iras, and Charmion a little apart watching the twain.
“If indeed thou art minded to make an end, O Queen,” I said, “the time
is short, for presently Cæsar will send his servants in answer to thy
letter,” and I drew forth the phial of white and deadly bane and set it
upon the board.
She took it in her hand and gazed thereon. “How innocent it seems!” she
said; “and yet therein lies my death. ‘Tis strange.”
“Ay, Queen, and the death of ten other folk. No need to take so long a
draught.”
“I fear,” she gasped--“how know I that it will slay outright? I have
seen so many die by poison and scarce one has died outright. And
some--ah, I cannot think on them!”
“Fear not,” I said, “I am a master of my craft. Or, if thou dost
fear, cast this poison forth and live. In Rome thou mayst still find
happiness; ay, in Rome, where thou shalt walk in Cæsar’s triumph, while
the laughter of the hard-eyed Latin women shall chime down the music of
thy golden chains.”
“Nay, I will die, Olympus. Oh, if one would but show the path.”
Then Iras loosed her hand and stepped forward. “Give me the draught,
Physician,” she said. “I go to make ready for my Queen.”
“It is well,” I answered; “on thy own head be it!” and I poured from the
phial into a little golden goblet.
She raised it, curtsied low to Cleopatra, then, coming forward, kissed
her on the brow, and Charmion she also kissed. This done, tarrying not
and making no prayer, for Iras was a Greek, she drank, and, putting her
hand to her head, instantly fell down and died.
“Thou seest,” I said, breaking in upon the silence, “it is swift.”
“Ay, Olympus; thine is a master drug! Come now, I thirst; fill me the
bowl, lest Iras weary in waiting at the gates!”
So I poured afresh into the goblet; but this time, making pretence
to rinse the cup, I mixed a little water with the bane, for I was not
minded that she should die before she knew me.
Then did the royal Cleopatra, taking the goblet in her hand, turn her
lovely eyes to heaven and cry aloud:
“O ye Gods of Egypt! who have deserted me, to you no longer will I pray,
for your ears are shut unto my crying and your eyes blind to my griefs!
Therefore, I make entreaty of that last friend whom the Gods, departing,
leave to helpless man. Sweep hither, Death, whose winnowing wings
enshadow all the world, and give me ear! Draw nigh, thou King of Kings!
who, with an equal hand, bringest the fortunate head of one pillow with
the slave, and by thy spiritual breath dost waft the bubble of our life
far from this hell of earth! Hide me where winds blow not and waters
cease to roll; where wars are done and Cæsar’s legions cannot march!
Take me to a new dominion, and crown me Queen of Peace! Thou art my
Lord, O Death, and in thy kiss I have conceived. I am in labour of a
Soul: see--it stands new-born upon the edge of Time! Now--now--go, Life!
Come, Sleep! Come, Antony!”
And, with one glance to heaven, she drank, and cast the goblet to the
ground.
Then at last came the moment of my pent-up vengeance, and of the
vengeance of Egypt’s outraged Gods, and of the falling of the curse of
Menkau-ra.
“What’s this?” she cried; “I grow cold, but I die not! Thou dark
physician, thou hast betrayed me!”
“Peace, Cleopatra! Presently shalt thou die and know the fury of the
Gods! _The curse of Menkau-ra hath fallen!_ It is finished! Look upon
me, woman! Look upon this marred face, this twisted form, this living
mass of sorrow! _Look! look!_ Who am I?”
She stared upon me wildly.
“Oh! oh!” she shrieked, throwing up her arms; “at last I know thee! By
the Gods, thou art Harmachis!--Harmachis risen from the dead!”
“Ay, Harmachis risen from the dead to drag thee down to death and agony
eternal! See, thou Cleopatra; _I_ have ruined thee as thou didst ruin
me! I, working in the dark, and helped of the angry Gods, have been thy
secret spring of woe! I filled thy heart with fear at Actium; I held the
Egyptians from thy aid; I sapped the strength of Antony; I showed the
portent of the Gods unto thy captains! By my hand at length thou diest,
for I am the instrument of Vengeance! Ruin I pay thee back for ruin,
Treachery for treachery, Death for death! Come hither, Charmion, partner
of my plots, who betrayed me, but, repenting, art the sharer of my
triumph, come watch this fallen wanton die!”
Cleopatra heard, and sank back upon the golden bed, groaning “And thou,
too, Charmion!”
A moment so she sat, then her Imperial spirit burnt up glorious before
she died.
She staggered from the bed, and, with arms outstretched, she cursed me.
“Oh! for one hour of life!” she cried--“one short hour, that therein I
might make thee die in such fashion as thou canst not dream, thou and
that false paramour of thine, who betrayed both me and thee! And thou
didst love me! Ah, _there_ I have thee still! See, thou subtle, plotting
priest”--and with both hands she rent back the royal robes from her
bosom--“see, on this fair breast once night by night thy head was
pillowed, and thou didst sleep wrapped in these same arms. Now, put away
their memory _if thou canst!_ I read it in thine eyes--that mayst thou
not! No torture which I bear can, in its sum, draw nigh to the rage of
that deep soul of thine, rent with longings never, never to be reached!
Harmachis, thou slave of slaves, from thy triumph-depths I snatch a
deeper triumph, and conquered yet I conquer! I spit upon thee--I defy
thee--and, dying, doom thee to the torment of thy deathless love! O
Antony! I come, my Antony!--I come to thy own dear arms! Soon I shall
find thee, and, wrapped in a love undying and divine, together we will
float through all the depths of space, and, lips to lips and eyes to
eyes, drink of desires grown more sweet with every draught! Or if I find
thee not, then I shall sink in peace down the poppied ways of Sleep: and
for me the breast of Night, whereon I shall be softly cradled, will yet
seem thy bosom, Antony! Oh, I die!--come, Antony--and give me peace!”
Even in my fury I had quailed beneath her scorn, for home flew the
arrows of her winged words. Alas! and alas! it was _true_--the shaft of
my vengeance fell upon my own head; never had I loved her as I loved her
now. My soul was rent with jealous torture, and thus I swore she should
not die.
“Peace!” I cried; “what peace is there for thee? Oh! ye Holy Three,
hear now my prayer. Osiris, loosen Thou the bonds of Hell and send
forth those whom I shall summon! Come Ptolemy, poisoned of thy sister
Cleopatra; come Arsinoë, murdered in the sanctuary by thy sister
Cleopatra; come Sepa, tortured to death of Cleopatra; come Divine
Menkau-ra, whose body Cleopatra tore and whose curse she braved for
greed; come one, come all who have died at the hands of Cleopatra! Rush
from the breast of Nout and greet her who murdered you! By the link of
mystic union, by the symbol of the Life, Spirits, I summon you!”
Thus I spoke the spell; while Charmion, affrighted, clung to my robe,
and the dying Cleopatra, resting on her hands, swung slowly to and fro,
gazing with vacant eyes.
Then the answer came. The casement burst asunder, and on flittering
wings that great bat entered which last I had seen hanging to the
eunuch’s chin in the womb of the pyramid of _Her_. Thrice it circled
round, once it hovered o’er dead Iras, then flew to where the dying
woman stood. To her it flew, on her breast it settled, clinging to that
emerald which was dragged from the dead heart of Menkau-ra. Thrice the
grey Horror screamed aloud, thrice it beat its bony wings, and lo! it
was gone.
Then suddenly within that chamber sprang up the Shapes of Death. There
was Arsinoë, the beautiful, even as she had shrunk beneath the butcher’s
knife. There was young Ptolemy, his features twisted by the poisoned
cup. There was the majesty of Menkau-ra, crowned with the uræus crown;
there was grave Sepa, his flesh all torn by the torturer’s hooks;
there were those poisoned slaves; and there were others without number,
shadowy and dreadful to behold! who, thronging that narrow chamber,
stood silently fixing their glassy eyes upon the face of her who slew
them!
“Behold! Cleopatra!” I said. “_Behold thy peace, and die!_”
“Ay!” said Charmion. “Behold and die! thou who didst rob me of my
honour, and Egypt of her King!”
She looked, she saw the awful Shapes--her Spirit, hurrying from the
flesh, mayhap could hear words to which my ears were deaf. Then her face
sank in with terror, her great eyes grew pale, and, shrieking, Cleopatra
fell and died: passing, with that dread company, to her appointed place.
Thus, then, I, Harmachis, fed my soul with vengeance, fulfilling the
justice of the Gods, and yet knew myself empty of all joy therein. For
though that thing we worship doth bring us ruin, and Love being more
pitiless than Death, we in turn do pay all our sorrow back; yet we must
worship on, yet stretch out our arms towards our lost Desire, and pour
our heart’s blood upon the shrine of our discrowned God.
For Love is of the Spirit, and knows not Death.
CHAPTER IX
OF THE FAREWELL OF CHARMION; OF THE DEATH OF CHARMION; OF THE DEATH
OF THE OLD WIFE, ATOUA; OF THE COMING OF HARMACHIS TO ABOUTHIS; OF HIS
CONFESSION IN THE HALL OF SIX-AND-THIRTY PILLARS; AND OF THE DECLARING
OF THE DOOM OF HARMACHIS
Charmion unclasped my arm, to which she had clung in terror.
“Thy vengeance, thou dark Harmachis,” she said, in a hoarse voice, “is
a thing hideous to behold! O lost Egypt, with all thy sins thou wast
indeed a Queen!
“Come, aid me, Prince; let us stretch this poor clay upon the bed and
deck it royally, so that it may give its dumb audience to the messengers
of Cæsar as becomes the last of Egypt’s Queens.”
I spoke no word in answer, for my heart was very heavy, and now that all
was done I was weary. Together, then, we lifted up the body and laid it
on the golden bed. Charmion placed the uræus crown upon the ivory brow,
and combed the night-dark hair that showed never a thread of silver,
and, for the last time, shut those eyes wherein had shone all the
changing glories of the sea. She folded the chill hands upon the breast
whence Passion’s breath had fled, and straightened the bent knees
beneath the broidered robe, and by the head set flowers. And there at
length Cleopatra lay, more splendid now in her cold majesty of death
than in her richest hour of breathing beauty!
We drew back and looked on her, and on dead Iras at her feet.
“It is done!” quoth Charmion; “we are avenged, and now, Harmachis,
dost follow by this same road?” And she nodded towards the phial on the
board.
“Nay, Charmion. I fly--I fly to a heavier death! Not thus easily may I
end my space of earthly penance.”
“So be it, Harmachis! And I, Harmachis--I fly also, but with swifter
wings. My game is played. I, too, have made atonement. Oh! what a bitter
fate is mine, to have brought misery on all I love, and, in the end, to
die unloved! To thee I have atoned; to my angered Gods I have atoned;
and now I go to find a way whereby I may atone to Cleopatra in that Hell
where she is, and which I must share! For she loved me well, Harmachis;
and, now that she is dead, methinks that, after thee, I loved her best
of all. So of her cup and the cup of Iras I will surely drink!” And
she took the phial, and with a steady hand poured what was left of the
poison into the goblet.
“Bethink thee, Charmion,” I said; “yet mayst thou live for many years,
hiding these sorrows beneath the withered days.”
“Yet I may, but I will not! To live the prey of so many memories, the
fount of an undying shame that night by night, as I lie sleepless, shall
well afresh from my sorrow-stricken heart!--to live torn by a love I
cannot lose!--to stand alone like some storm-twisted tree, and, sighing
day by day to the winds of heaven, gaze upon the desert of my life,
while I wait the lingering lightning’s stroke--nay, that will not I,
Harmachis! I had died long since, but I lived on to serve thee; now no
more thou needest me, and I go. Oh, fare thee well!--for ever fare thee
well! For not again shall I look upon thy face, and where I go
thou goest not! For thou dost not love me who still dost love that
queenly woman thou hast hounded to the death! Her thou shalt never win,
and I thee shall never win, and this is the bitter end of Fate! See,
Harmachis: I ask one boon before I go and for all time become naught to
thee but a memory of shame. Tell me that thou dost forgive me so far as
thine is to forgive, and in token thereof kiss me--with no lover’s kiss,
but kiss me on the brow, and bid me pass in peace.”
And she drew near to me with arms outstretched and pitiful trembling
lips and gazed upon my face.
“Charmion,” I answered, “we are free to act for good or evil, and yet
methinks there is a Fate above our fate, that, blowing from some strange
shore, compels our little sails of purpose, set them as we will, and
drives us to destruction. I forgive thee, Charmion, as I trust in turn
to be forgiven, and by this kiss, the first and the last, I seal our
peace.” And with my lips I touched her brow.
She spoke no more; only for a little while she stood gazing on me with
sad eyes. Then she lifted the goblet, and said:
“Royal Harmachis, in this deadly cup I pledge thee! Would that I had
drunk of it ere ever I looked upon thy face! Pharaoh, who, thy sins
outworn, yet shalt rule in perfect peace o’er worlds I may not tread,
who yet shalt sway a kinglier sceptre than that I robbed thee of, for
ever, fare thee well!”
She drank, cast down the cup, and for a moment stood with the wide eyes
of one who looks for Death. Then He came, and Charmion the Egyptian fell
prone upon the floor, dead. And for a moment more I stood alone with the
dead.
I crept to the side of Cleopatra, and, now that none were left to see,
I sat down on the bed and laid her head upon my knee, as once before
it had been laid in that night of sacrilege beneath the shadow of the
everlasting pyramid. Then I kissed her chill brow and went from the
House of Death--avenged, but sorely smitten with despair!
“Physician,” said the officer of the Guard as I went through the gates,
“what passes yonder in the Monument? Methought I heard the sounds of
death.”
“Naught passes--all hath passed,” I made reply, and went.
And as I went in the darkness I heard the sound of voices and the
running of the feet of Cæsar’s messengers.
Flying swiftly to my house I found Atoua waiting at the gates. She drew
me into a quiet chamber and closed the doors.
“Is it done?” she asked, and turned her wrinkled face to mine, while the
lamplight streamed white upon her snowy hair. “Nay, why ask I--I know
that it is done!”
“Ay, it is done, and well done, old wife! All are dead! Cleopatra, Iras,
Charmion--all save myself!”
The aged woman drew up her bent form and cried: “Now let me go in peace,
for I have seen my desire upon thy foes and the foes of Khem. _La!
la!_--not in vain have I lived on beyond the years of man! I have seen
my desire upon thy enemies---I have gathered the dews of Death, and thy
foe hath drunk thereof! Fallen is the brow of Pride! the Shame of Khem
is level with the dust! Ah, would that I might have seen that wanton
die!”
“Cease, woman! cease! The Dead are gathered to the Dead! Osiris holds
them fast, and everlasting silence seals their lips! Pursue not the
fallen great with insults! Up!--let us fly to Abouthis, that all may be
accomplished!”
“Fly thou, Harmachis!--Harmachis, fly--but I fly not! To this end only
I have lingered on the earth. Now I untie the knot of life and let my
spirit free! Fare thee well, Prince, the pilgrimage is done! Harmachis,
from a babe have I loved thee, and love thee yet!--but no more in this
world may I share thy griefs--I am spent. Osiris, take thou my Spirit!”
and her trembling knees gave way and she sank to the ground.
I ran to her side and looked upon her. She was already dead, and I was
alone upon the earth without a friend to comfort me!
Then I turned and went, no man hindering me, for all was confusion in
the city, and departed from Alexandria in a vessel I had made ready.
On the eighth day, I landed, and, in the carrying out of my purpose,
travelled on foot across the fields to the Holy Shrine of Abouthis. And
here, as I knew, the worship of the Gods had been lately set up again
in the Temple of the Divine Sethi: for Charmion had caused Cleopatra to
repent of her decree of vengeance and to restore the lands that she had
seized, though the treasure she restored not. And the temple having been
purified, now, at the season of the Feast of Isis, all the High Priests
of the ancient Temples of Egypt were gathered together to celebrate the
coming home of the Gods into their holy place.
I gained the city. It was on the seventh day of the Feast of Isis. Even
as I came the long array wended through the well-remembered streets.
I joined in the multitude that followed, and with my voice swelled the
chorus of the solemn chant as we passed through the pylons into the
imperishable halls. How well known were the holy words:
“Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling
Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;
Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:
‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!
Return to them that worship thee of old!’”
And then, when the sacred music ceased, as aforetime on the setting of
the majesty of Ra, the High Priest raised the statue of the living God
and held it on high before the multitude.
With a joyful shout of
“Osiris! our hope, Osiris! Osiris!”
the people tore the black wrappings from their dress, showing the white
robes beneath, and, as one man, bowed before the God.
Then they went to feast each at his home; but I stayed in the court of
the temple.
Presently a priest of the temple drew near, and asked me of my business.
And I answered him that I came from Alexandria, and would be led before
the council of the High Priests, for I knew that the Holy Priests were
gathered together debating the tidings from Alexandria.
Thereon the man left, and the High Priests, hearing that I was from
Alexandria, ordered that I should be led into their presence in the Hall
of Columns--and so I was led in. It was already dark, and between the
great pillars lights were set, as on that night when I was crowned
Pharaoh of the Upper and the Lower Land. There, too, was the long
line of Dignitaries seated in their carven chairs, and taking counsel
together. All was the same; the same cold images of Kings and Gods gazed
with the same empty eyes from the everlasting walls. Ay, more; among
those gathered there were five of the very men who, as leaders of the
great plot, had sat here to see me crowned, being the only conspirators
who had escaped the vengeance of Cleopatra and the clutching hand of
Time.
I took my stand on the spot where once I had been crowned and made me
ready for the last act of shame with such bitterness of heart as cannot
be written.
“Why, it is the physician Olympus,” said one. “He who lived a hermit in
the Tombs of Tápé, and who but lately was of the household of Cleopatra.
Is it, then, true that the Queen is dead by her own hand, Physician?”
“Yea, holy Sirs, I am that physician; also Cleopatra is dead by _my_
hand.”
“By thy hand? Why, how comes this?--though well is she dead, forsooth,
the wicked wanton!”
“Your pardon, Sirs, and I will tell you all, for I am come hither
to that end. Perchance among you there may be some--methinks I see
some--who, nigh eleven years ago, were gathered in this hall to secretly
crown one Harmachis, Pharaoh of Khem?”
“It is true!” they said; “but how knowest thou these things, thou
Olympus?”
“Of the rest of those seven-and-thirty nobles,” I went on, making no
answer, “are two-and-thirty missing. Some are dead, as Amenemhat is
dead; some are slain, as Sepa is slain; and some, perchance, yet labour
as slaves within the mines, or live afar, fearing vengeance.”
“It is so,” they said: “alas! it is so. Harmachis the accursed betrayed
the plot, and sold himself to the wanton Cleopatra!”
“It is so,” I went on, lifting up my head. “Harmachis betrayed the plot
and sold himself to Cleopatra; and, holy Sirs--_I am that Harmachis!_”
The Priests and Dignitaries gazed astonished. Some rose and spoke; some
said naught.
“I am that Harmachis! I am that traitor, trebly steeped in crime!--a
traitor to my Gods, a traitor to my Country, a traitor to my Oath! I
come hither to say that I have done this. I have executed the Divine
vengeance on her who ruined me and gave Egypt to the Roman. And now
that, after years of toil and patient waiting, this is accomplished
by my wisdom and the help of the angry Gods, behold I come with all my
shame upon my head to declare the thing I am, and take the traitor’s
guerdon!”
“Mindest thou of the doom of him who hath broke the oath that may not be
broke?” asked he who first had spoken, in heavy tones.
“I know it well,” I answered; “I court that awful doom.”
“Tell us more of this matter, thou who wast Harmachis.”
So, in cold clear words, I laid bare all my shame, keeping back nothing.
And ever as I spoke I saw their faces grow more hard, and knew that for
me there was no mercy; nor did I ask it, nor, had I asked, could it have
been granted.
When, at last, I had done, they put me aside while they took counsel.
Then they drew me forth again, and the eldest among them, a man very old
and venerable, the Priest of the Temple of the Divine Hatshepu at Tápé,
spoke, in icy accents:
“Thou Harmachis, we have considered this matter. Thou hast sinned the
threefold deadly sin. On thy head lies the burden of the woe of Khem,
this day enthralled of Rome. To Isis, the Mother Mystery, thou hast
offered the deadly insult, and thou hast broken thy holy oath. For all
of these sins there is, as well thou knowest, but one reward, and that
reward is thine. Naught can it weigh in the balance of our justice that
thou hast slain her who was thy cause of stumbling; naught that thou
comest to name thyself the vilest thing who ever stood within these
walls. On thee also must fall the curse of Menkau-ra, thou false priest!
thou forsworn patriot! thou Pharaoh shameful and discrowned! Here, where
we set the Double Crown upon thy head, we doom thee to the doom! Go to
thy dungeon and await the falling of its stroke! Go, remembering what
thou mightest have been and what thou art, and may those Gods who
through thy evil doing shall perchance ere long cease to be worshipped
within these holy temples, give to thee that mercy which we deny! Lead
him forth!”
So they took me and led me forth. With bowed head I went, looking not
up, and yet I felt their eyes burn upon my face.
Oh! surely of all my shames this is the heaviest!
CHAPTER X
OF THE LAST WRITING OF HARMACHIS, THE ROYAL EGYPTIAN
They led me to the prison chamber that is high in the pylon tower and
here I wait my doom. I know not when the sword of Fate shall fall. Week
grows to week, and month to month, and still it is delayed. Still it
quivers unseen above my head. I know that it will fall, but when I know
not. Perchance, I shall wake in some dead hour of midnight to hear the
stealthy steps of the slayers and be hurried forth. Perchance, they are
now at hand. Then will come the secret cell! the horror! the nameless
coffin! and at last it will be done! Oh, let it come! let it come
swiftly!
All is written; I have held back nothing--my sin is sinned--my vengeance
is finished. Now all things end in darkness and in ashes, and I prepare
to face the terrors that are to come in other worlds than this. I go,
but not without hope I go: for, though I see Her not, though no more She
answers to my prayers, still I am aware of the Holy Isis, who is with me
for evermore, and whom I shall yet again behold face to face. And then
at last in that far day I shall find forgiveness; then the burden of
my guilt will roll from me and innocency come back and wrap me round,
bringing me holy Peace.
Oh! dear land of Khem, as in a dream I see thee! I see Nation after
Nation set its standard on thy shores, and its yoke upon thy neck! I
see new Religions without end calling out their truths upon the banks of
Sihor, and summoning thy people to their worship! I see thy temples--thy
holy temples--crumbling in the dust: a wonder to the sight of men
unborn, who shall peer into thy tombs and desecrate the great ones
of thy glory! I see thy mysteries a mockery to the unlearned, and thy
wisdom wasted like waters on the desert sands! I see the Roman Eagles
stoop and perish, their beaks yet red with the blood of men, and the
long lights dancing down the barbarian spears that follow in their
wake! And then, at last, I see Thee once more great, once more free, and
having once more a knowledge of thy Gods--ay, thy Gods with a changed
countenance, and called by other names, but still thy Gods!
The sun sinks over Abouthis. The red rays of Ra flame on temple roofs,
upon green fields, and the wide waters of father Sihor. So as a child
I watched him sink; just so his last kiss touched the further pylon’s
frowning brow; just that same shadow lay upon the tombs. All is
unchanged! I--I only am changed--so changed, and yet the same!
Oh, Cleopatra! Cleopatra! thou Destroyer! if I might but tear thy vision
from my heart! Of all my griefs, this is the heaviest grief--still must
I love thee! Still must I hug this serpent to my heart! Still in my
ears must ring that low laugh of triumph--the murmur of the falling
fountain--the song of the nightinga----
[Here the writing on the third roll of papyrus abruptly ends. It would
almost seem that the writer was at this moment broken in upon by those
who came to lead him to his doom.]