Octavius. Little impression was made on them by the light Italian
vessels, and had Antony been a soldier still, or Cleopatra possessed as
much courage as guile, the victory might well have been theirs. But
battle was no place for the pleasure-loving queen. Filled with terror,
she took advantage of the first wind that came, and sailed hastily away,
followed by sixty Egyptian ships.
The moment Antony discovered her flight he gave up the world for love.
Springing from his ship-of-war into a light galley, he hastened in wild
pursuit after his flying mistress. Overtaking her vessel, he went on
board, but seated himself in morose misery at a distance, and would have
nothing to do with her. Ruin and despair were now his mistresses.
Their commander fled, the ships fought on, and yielded not till the
greater part of them were in flames. Before night they were all
destroyed, and with them perished most of those on board, while all the
treasure was lost. When the army heard of Antony's desertion the legions
went over to the conqueror. That brief sea-fight had ended the war.
For a year Octavius did not trouble his rival. He spent the time in
cementing his power in Greece and Asia Minor. Cleopatra tried her
fascinations on him, as she had on Caesar and Antony, but in vain. She
sought to fly to some place beyond the reach of Rome, but Arabs
destroyed her ships. At length Octavius came. Antony made some show of
hostility, but Cleopatra betrayed the fleet to his rival and all
resistance ended. Octavius entered the open gates of Alexandria as a
conqueror.
The queen shut herself up in a building which she had erected as a
mausoleum. It had no door, being built to receive her body after death,
and word was sent out that she was already dead.
When these false tidings were brought to Antony all his anger against
the fair traitress was replaced by a flood of his old tenderness. In
despair he stabbed himself, bidding his attendants to lay his body
beside that of Cleopatra.
Still living, he was borne to the queen's retreat, where, moved by pity,
she had him drawn up by cords into an upper window. Here she threw
herself in agony on his body, bathed his face with her tears, and
continued to bemoan his fate until he was dead.
She afterwards consented to receive Octavius. He spoke her fairly, but
she was wise enough to see that all her charms were lost on him, and
that he proposed to degrade her by making her walk as a captive in his
triumph.
With a cunning greater than his own, Cleopatra promised to submit. She
had no apparent means of taking her life in the cell, every dangerous
weapon was removed by his orders, and he left her, as he supposed, a
safe victim of his wiles.
He did not know Cleopatra. When his messengers returned, at the hour
fixed, to conduct her away, they found only the dead body of Cleopatra
stretched upon her couch, and by her side her two faithful attendants,
Iris and Charmion. It is said that she died from the bite of an asp, a
venomous Egyptian serpent, which had been secretly conveyed to her
concealed in a basket of fruit; but this story remains unconfirmed.
Plutarch tells the story thus: "But when they opened the doors they
found Cleopatra stark dead, laid upon a bed of gold, attired and arrayed
in her royal robes, and one of her two women, who was called Iris, dead
at her feet, and the other woman (called Charmion) half dead, and
trembling, trimming the diadem which Cleopatra wore upon her head.
"One of the soldiers, seeing her, angrily said to her, 'Is that well
done, Charmion?' 'Very well,' said she again, 'and meet for a princess
descended from the race of so many noble kings.' She said no more, but
fell down dead, hard by the bed.
"Now Caesar, though he was marvellous sorry for the death of Cleopatra,
yet he wondered at her noble mind and courage, and therefore commanded
that she should be nobly buried and laid by Antony."
Thus ends the story of these two famous lovers of old. Octavius,
afterwards known as Caesar Augustus, reigned sole emperor of Rome, and
the republic was at an end. He was not formally proclaimed emperor, but
liberty and independence were thereafter forgotten words in Rome. He
ended the old era of Roman history by closing the Temple of Janus, for
the third time since it was built, and by freely forgiving all the
friends of Antony. He had nothing to fear and had no thirst for blood
and misery. Base as he had shown himself in his youth, his reign was a
noble one, and during it Rome reached its highest level of literary and
military glory.
_AN IMPERIAL MONSTER._
A being, half monster, half madman, had come to empire in Rome. This was
Caius Caesar, great-grandson of Augustus, who in his short career as
emperor displayed a malignant cruelty unsurpassed by the worst of Roman
emperors, and a mad folly unequalled by any. The only conceivable excuse
for him is mental disease; but insanity which takes the form of thirst
for blood, and is combined with unlimited power, is a spectacle to make
the very gods weep. We describe his career as the most exaggerated
instance on record of mingled folly and malignity.
Brought up in the camp, he was christened by the soldiers Caligula, from
the soldier's boots (_caligae_) which he wore. By shrewd dissimulation he
preserved his life through the reign of Tiberius, and was left heir to
the throne along with the emperor's grandson. But, deceiving the senate
by his pretended moderation, he was appointed by that body sole emperor.
They little knew what they did. Tiberius, who appears to have read him
truly, spoke of educating him "for the destruction of the Roman people,"
and Caligula seemed eager to make these words good. At first, indeed,
he seemed generous and merciful, mingling this affectation with a savage
profligacy and voluptuousness. Illness, however, apparently affected his
brain or destroyed what little moral nature he possessed, and he quickly
embarked on a career of frightful excess and barbarity.
The great wealth left by Tiberius--over twenty-five million dollars--was
expended by him in a single year, and to gain new funds he taxed and
robbed his subjects to an incredible extent. One of his methods of
finance was to force wealthy citizens to gamble with him for enormous
sums, and when they lost their all (they dared not win), he would make
their lives the stake and bid their friends redeem them. In addition to
this open robbery of the rich, taxes of all sorts were laid and
unlimited oppressions enforced. The new edicts of the emperor were
written so small and posted so high as to be unreadable, yet no excuse
of ignorance of the law was admitted in extenuation of a fault.
The funds obtained by such oppressive means were lavished on the most
extravagant follies. We are told of loaves of solid gold set before his
guests, and the prows of galleys adorned with diamonds. His favorite
horse was kept in an ivory stable and fed from a golden manger, and when
invited to a banquet at his own table was regaled with gilded oats,
served in a golden basin of exquisite workmanship.
In addition to these domestic follies, he built villas and laid out
gardens without regard to cost; and, that he might vie with Xerxes, he
constructed a bridge of ships three miles long, from Baiae to Puteoli,
on which he built houses and planted trees. This madness was concluded
by throwing a great many of his guests from the bridge into the sea, and
by driving recklessly with his war-galley through the throng of boats
that had gathered to witness the spectacle.
These cruelties were mild compared with his more deliberate ones. Rome
was filled with executions, the estates of his victims being
confiscated; and it was his choice delight to have these victims
tortured and slain in his presence while at dinner, the officers being
bidden to protract their sufferings, that they might "feel themselves
die." On one occasion he expressed the mad wish that all the Roman
people had but one neck, that he might strike it off at a blow.
Priding himself on the indifference with which he could gaze on human
torture, it was one of his enjoyments to witness criminals torn to
pieces by wild beasts, and if criminals proved scarce he did not
hesitate to order some of the spectators to be thrown into the arena. In
the same manner, if a full supply of gladiators was wanting, he would
command Roman knights to battle in the arena, taking delight in the fact
that this was viewed as an infamous pursuit. He kept two lists
containing names of knights and senators whom he intended to put to
death, and these contained the majority of both those bodies of Roman
patricians. He is said to have put one man to death for being better
dressed than himself, and another for being better looking.
He married more wives than he had years of empire; but when one of
these wives, Drusilla by name, died, he affected the bitterest grief,
exiling himself to Sicily, and letting his beard and hair grow into wild
disorder. On his return to Rome his subjects found themselves in a
dangerous quandary. Those who made a show of sadness were declared
guilty of disrespect to the memory of the queen, who had been translated
to the joys of heaven. Those who seemed glad were adjudged equally
guilty for not mourning her loss. And those who showed neither joy nor
sorrow were accused of criminal indifference to his feelings. One man,
who sold warm water in the streets, was sentenced to death for daring to
pursue his occupation on so solemn an occasion.
At a loss, as it would appear, in what madness next to indulge, Caligula
finally not only declared himself a god, but erected a temple to his own
divinity, and created a college of priests to serve at his altar. Among
these were some of the first senators of Rome, who vied with each other
in adulation to this impious wretch. Not content with these, he made his
wife a priest, then his horse, and at length became a priest to himself.
He played with the dignities of the realm in the same manner as with its
religion, raised the ministers of his lusts to the highest offices, and
finally went so far as to make his horse a consul of Rome.
In his position as a deity he pretended to be equal to and on friendly
terms with Jupiter, and would whisper in the ears of his statue as if
they were in familiar intercourse. He had a machine constructed to vie
with Jupiter's thunder, and during the lightning of a storm would
challenge the god to mortal combat by hurling stones into the air.
This succession of mad frolics and ruthless cruelties should, it would
seem, have satisfied even a Caligula, but he managed to overtop them all
by a supreme piece of folly, which stands alone among human freaks.
Hitherto his doings had been those of peace; he now resolved to gain
glory in war, and show the Romans what a man of soldierly mettle they
had in their emperor. There were no particular wars then afoot, but he
would make one, and resolved on an invasion of Germany, whose people
were at that time quiet subjects or allies of Rome.
To decide with him was to act. The army was ordered to prepare with the
utmost haste, and was driven so fiercely that all was in confusion, the
roads everywhere being blocked up with hurrying troops and great convoys
of provisions, all converging rapidly on the line of march. Not waiting
their arrival, he put himself at the head of the first legions gathered,
and set out on the march with such furious speed that the legionaries
were utterly exhausted with fatigue. Then, suddenly changing his mood,
he affected the slow progress and military pomp of an Oriental king.
On reaching the borders of Germany the emperor found no foes and showed
no fancy for fighting. Concealing some boys in a wood, he got up a mock
battle with them, and at its end congratulated the troops on their valor
and felicitated himself on his success. Next, the British island being
still under process of conquest, he marched his army, two hundred
thousand strong, to the sea-shore of Gaul, and drew them up in line of
battle. The legionaries stolidly obeyed, wondering in their stern souls
what new madness the emperor had in mind.
They were soon to know. He bade them to fill their helmets with
sea-shells, "the spoils of the ocean due to the Capitol and the palace."
Then he distributed large sums of money among the troops, giving a
reward for valor to each, and bidding them "henceforth to be happy and
rich."
This was all well for the army, but the people of Rome must be impressed
with the glory and victorious success of their emperor. Such a career
was worthy a triumph; and to the German hostages and criminals, destined
to figure in the procession to the Capitol, he added a number of tall
and martial Gauls, chosen without regard to rank or condition, whom he
ordered to learn German, that they might pass for German captives.
And now, his military expedition having ended without shedding the blood
of a foe, Caligula's insane thirst for blood arose, and he determined to
glut it out of the ranks of his own army. There were in it some
regiments which had mutinied against his father on the death of
Augustus. He ordered these to be slaughtered for their crime. Some of
his higher officers representing to him the danger of such a proceeding,
he changed his mind, and gave orders that these legions should be
decimated. But the whole army showed such symptoms of discontent with
this cruel order that Caligula was seized with consternation, and fled
in a panic to Rome.
On reaching the city the senate proved bold enough to vote him an
ovation instead of the triumph on which he had set his mind. Incensed at
this, he met the advances of the patricians with stinging insults, and
perhaps determined in his mind to be deeply revenged for this
premeditated slight.
Whatever he had in view, he did not live much longer to afflict mankind.
Four months more brought him to the end of his flagitious career. There
was a brave soldier of the palace guard, Cassius Chaerea by name, who
happened to have a weak voice, and whom Caligula frequently insulted in
public for this fault of nature. These insults in time grew heavier and
viler than the veteran could bear, and he organized a conspiracy with a
few others against the emperor's life. Meeting him without guards, the
conspirators assailed him with their daggers and put an end to his base
life.
Thus died, after twenty-nine years of life and four years of power, one
of the vilest, cruellest, and maddest of the imperial demons who so long
made Rome a slaughter-house and an abomination among the nations.
_THE MURDER OF AN EMPRESS._
Nero was lord of Rome. Chance had placed a weak and immoral boy in
unlimited control of the greatest of nations. Utterly destitute of
principle, he gradually descended into the deepest vice and profligacy,
which was soon succeeded by the basest cruelty and treachery. And one of
the first victims of his treachery was his own mother, who had murdered
her husband, the Emperor Claudius, to place him on the throne, and had
now committed the deeper fault of attempting to control her worthless
and faithless son.
She had threatened to replace him on the throne with his half-brother
Britannicus, and Nero had escaped this difficulty by poisoning
Britannicus. She then opposed his vicious passions, and made a bitter
foe of his mistress Poppaea, who by every artifice incensed the
weak-minded emperor against his mother, representing her as the only
obstacle to his full enjoyment of power and pleasure.
At length the detestable son was wrought up to the resolution of
murdering her to whom he owed his life. But how? He was too cowardly and
irresolute to take open means. Should he remove her by poison or the
poignard? The first was doubtful. Agrippina was too practised in guilt,
too accustomed to vile deeds, to be easily deceived, and had, moreover,
by taking poisons, hardened her frame against their effect. Nor could
she be killed by the knife and the murder concealed. The murder-seeking
wretch, who had no plan, and no stronger person than himself in whom he
could confide, was at a loss how to carry out his wicked purpose.
At this juncture his tutor Anicetus came to his aid. This villain, who
bitterly hated Agrippina, was now in command of the fleet that lay at
Misenum. He proposed to Nero to have a vessel built in such a manner
that it might give way in the open sea, and plunge to the bottom with
all not prepared to escape. If Agrippina could be lured on board such a
vessel, her drowning would seem one of the natural disasters of the open
sea.
This suggestion filled with joy the mind of the unnatural son. The court
was then at Baiae, celebrating the festival called the Quinquatria.
Agrippina was invited to attend, and Nero, pretending a desire for
reconciliation, went to the sea-shore to meet her on her arrival,
embraced her tenderly, and conducted her to a villa in a pleasant
situation, looking out on a charming bay of the Mediterranean.
On the waters of the bay floated a number of vessels, among which was
one superbly decorated, being prepared, as she was told, in her honor as
the emperor's mother. This was intended to convey her to Baiae, where a
banquet was to be given to her that evening.
Agrippina was fond of sailing. She had frequently joined coasting
parties and made pleasure trips of her own. But for some reason, perhaps
through suspicion of Nero's dark project, she now took a carriage in
preference, and arrived safely at Baiae, much to the discomfiture of her
worthless son.
Nero, however, was cunning enough to conceal his disappointment. He gave
her the most gracious reception, placed her at table above himself, and
by his affectionate attentions and his easy flow of talk succeeded in
dispelling any suspicions his mother may have entertained.
The banquet was continued till a late hour, and when Agrippina rose to
go Nero attended her to the shore, where lay the sumptuously decorated
vessel ready to convey her back to her villa. Here he lavished upon her
marks of fond affection, clasped her warmly to his bosom, and bade her
adieu in words of tender regret, disguising his fell purpose under the
utmost show of tenderness.
Agrippina went on board, attended by only two of her train, one of whom,
a maid named Acerronia, lay at the foot of her mistress's couch, and
gladly expressed her joy at the loving reconciliation which she had just
perceived.
The night was calm and serene. The stars shone with their brightest
lustre. The sea extended with an unruffled surface. The vessel moved
swiftly, at no great distance from the shore, under the regular sweep of
the rowers' oars. Yet little way had been made when there came a
disastrous change. A signal was given, and suddenly the deck over
Agrippina's cabin sank in, borne down by a great weight of lead.
One of the attendants of the empress was crushed to death, but the posts
of Agrippina's couch proved strong enough to bear the weight, and she
and Acerronia escaped and made their way hastily to the deck. Here
confusion and consternation reigned. The plot had failed. The vessel had
not fallen to pieces at once, as intended. Those who were not in the
plot rushed wildly to and fro, hampering, by their distracted movements,
the operations of the guilty. These sought to sink the vessel at once,
but in spite of their efforts the ship sank but slowly, giving the
intended victims an opportunity to escape.
Acerronia, with instinctive devotion to her mistress, or a desire to
save her own life, cried out that she was Agrippina, and pathetically
implored the mariners to save her life. She won death instead. The
assassins attacked her with oars and other weapons, and beat her down to
the sinking deck. Agrippina, on the contrary, kept silent, and, with the
exception of a wound on her shoulder, remained unhurt. Dashing into the
dark waters of the bay, she swam towards the shore, and managed to keep
herself afloat till taken up by a boat, in which some persons who had
witnessed the accident from the shore had hastily put out. Telling her
rescuers who she was, they conveyed her up the bay to her villa.
Agrippina had been concerned in too many crimes of her own devising to
be deceived. The treachery of her son was too evident. Without touching
a rock, and in complete calm, the vessel had suddenly broken down, as
if constructed for the purpose. Her own wound and the murder of her maid
were further proofs of a preconcerted plot. Yet she was too shrewd to
make her suspicions public. The plot had failed, and she was still
alive. She at once despatched a messenger to her son, saying that by the
favor of the gods and his good auspices she had escaped shipwreck, and
that she thus hastened to quiet his affectionate fears. She then retired
to her couch.
Meanwhile Nero waited impatiently for the news of his mother's death.
When word was at length brought him that she had escaped, his craven
soul was filled with terror. If this should get abroad; if she should
call on her slaves, on the army, on the senate; if the people should
learn of the plot of murder, and rise in riot; if any of a dozen
contingencies should happen, all might be lost.
The terrified emperor was in a frightful quandary. He sent in all haste
for his advisers, but none of them cared to offer any suggestions. At
length the villanous Anicetus came to his aid. While they talked the
messenger of Agrippina had arrived, and was admitted to give his message
to the prince. As he was speaking Anicetus foxily let fall a dagger
between his legs. He instantly seized him, snatched up the dagger and
showed it to the company, and declared that the wretch had been sent by
Agrippina to assassinate her son. The guards were called in, the man was
ordered to be dragged away and put in fetters, and the story of the
discovered plot of Agrippina was made public.
"Death to the murderess!" cried Anicetus. "Let me hasten at once to
her punishment."
Nero gladly assented, and Anicetus hurried from the room, empowered to
carry out his murderous intent.
Meanwhile the news of the peril and escape of the empress had spread far
and wide. A dreadful accident had occurred, it was said. The people
rushed in numbers to the shore, crowded the piers, filled the boats, and
gave voice to a medley of cries of alarm. The uproar was at length
allayed by some men with lighted torches, who assured the excited
multitude that Agrippina had escaped and was now safe in her villa.
While they were speaking a body of soldiers, led by Anicetus, arrived,
and with threats of violence dispersed the peasant throng. Then,
planting a guard round the mansion, Anicetus burst open its doors,
seized the slaves who appeared, and forced his way to the apartment of
the empress.
Here Agrippina waited in fear and agitation the return of her messenger.
Why came he not? Was new murder in contemplation? She heard the tumult
and confusion on the shore, and learned from her attendants what it
meant. But the noise was suddenly hushed; a dismal silence prevailed;
then came new noises, then loud tones of command, and violent blows on
the outer doors. In dread of what was coming, the unhappy woman waited
still, till loud steps sounded in the passage, the attendants at her
door were thrust aside, and armed men entered her chamber.
The room was in deep shadow, only the pale glimmer of a feeble light
breaking the gloom. A single maid remained with the empress, and she,
too, hastened to the door on hearing the tramp of warlike feet.
"Do you, too, desert me?" cried Agrippina, in deep reproach.
At that moment Anicetus entered the room, followed by two other
ruffians. They approached her bed. She rose to receive them.
"If you come from the prince," she said, "tell him I am well. If your
intents are murderous, you are not sent by my son. The guilt of
parricide is foreign to his heart."
Her words were checked by a blow on the head with a club. A sword-thrust
followed, and she expired under a number of mortal wounds. Thus died the
niece, the wife, and the mother of an emperor, the daughter of the
celebrated soldier Germanicus, herself so stained with vice that none
can pity her fate, particularly as she had committed the further
unconscious crime of giving birth to the monster named Nero.
_BOADICEA, THE HEROINE OF BRITAIN._