general canker, pervading all classes of Roman society. Shocking
scandals marked the closing days of the circus, when it was a common
occurrence for the nobles to descend into the arena and measure arms
with the gladiators. The immense fortunes, accumulated during the
war, had wiped out the simple habits of former days. Gold was the
god that reigned supreme. Originally used for the decoration of the
temples only, it was now displayed in private houses, where
furniture, ceilings, walls, everything, was gilded. As a protest
against the wanton luxury of his contemporaries Cato made a practice
of walking about bare-footed, in a torn toga; but no one followed his
example! He was merely ridiculed, while the procession of gorgeous
chariots rolled on. No longer restrained by the Oppian law, the
women's extravagance in dress knew no limit. Encircling their arms,
twisted in their hair, clasping their ankles, golden ornaments of
Etruscan workmanship glittered over them from head to foot; about
their necks fell jewelled chains, which had been brought, at fabulous
cost, from the rich caverns of India.
The banquets that were served at the tables of the wealthy Patricians
rivalled those of Lucullus. The dishes of silver, the richly carved
goblets, the heavy purple draperies of the couches, equalled in
magnificence those of oriental sovereigns. Dignity, along with the
once-revered virtues of economy, sobriety, endurance, all that Rome
had stood for in the old days, was becoming a mere legend of the past.
But if the old society was changing, giving place to a new era which
lacked the dignity of its predecessor, it is certain that the actual
joy of living was materially increased. The culture of letters, the
pursuit of art, had never been so widely spread. The philosophy, the
sculpture, the language even, of Greece--which cultivated people
prided themselves on speaking perfectly--had been born anew in the
Rome of that day. There was no aristocratic youth who did not as a
matter of course finish his education at Rhodes, Apollonia, or, best
of all, at Athens. The theories that they learned there were
universally accepted. A knowledge of literature was general in the
higher ranks of society, where formerly it had been the exclusive
privilege of the so-called intellectuals. It became the fashion to
be learned. Many patrician homes aspired to the honour of
entertaining a savant or a philosopher. It was considered a
particular distinction to have the youthful Virgil, recently arrived
from Mantua, as a guest, and to hear him recite his gracious
pastorals at evening entertainments; or to listen to the verses of
that poem, forged on the ringing anvil which was to resound down the
ages, sung by Horace, then a youth of twenty years. In fact,
everywhere, from whatever source it sprang, talent was held in high
esteem.
Cleopatra understood at once the tremendous part that her personal
charm could play in a society eager for everything that was new,
original, and interesting. Probably she alone, among all the women
there, was in a position to attract to her apartments learned men
from all countries, and to furnish them with liberal, amusing
recreation. Endowed with the rare and fascinating advantage of an
understanding and spirit unequalled either by the Roman matrons,
absorbed in their household affairs, or by the famous courtesans,
whose conversation was often both frivolous and ribald, she had every
reason to be confident of success.
In the sumptuous hall, which her artistic taste had adorned with
luxurious divans, rich rugs, splendid draperies, she entertained the
friends of Cæsar, who, happy in having his latest _inamorata_
restored to him, came every evening to forget at her side the
political cares of the day. He enjoyed meeting his friends there
informally, though all the while looking forward to the hour when he
would clasp her lissome, perfumed body, and feel her heart beat
against his own.
Trebonius, Lepidus, Sulpicius Rufus, Curion, and other Senators of
congenial tastes were always to be found there. They discussed the
leading questions of the hour; the means for carrying out promises
made to the troops; the abolition of debts, reduction of rents. In
all these debates they were surprised to hear this young woman, who
apparently was there only to illuminate the room with her shining
eyes, or to charm the hearers by the tinkling of her bracelets, give
grave advice on these important matters and show in all things a wise
judgment. Their astonishment grew greater on overhearing her
conversation with the historian Sallust, whose writing and psychology
she had studied and appreciated. Her comments were trenchant and
convincing. The orator Asinius Pollion delighted in bringing his
serious speeches to her for criticism, as well as those little
ironical poems in which, speaking through the mouth of a shepherd, he
ridiculed the absurdities of his fellow-citizens. Her arguments and
criticism were marvels of intelligent thought. Her discussions with
the archæologist, Atticus, in whose discoveries she was much
interested, when he unrolled the delicately illuminated Persian
scrolls, pointed out a bit of ivory polished by the patient skill of
a Chinese workman, or showed her a fragment of bas-relief from the
temple of Ephesus, all these indicated an unusual mind, alive to
wide-reaching interests. Who would not have been moved at seeing
this young girl poring over that chart of the heavens, on which a
congress of savants was engaged in their alteration of the calendar;
or watching her follow the evolution of the Great Bear, of
Cassiopeia, of Orion, around the North Star? Truly in all things she
was an exceptional creature, one of those chosen by the deities to
represent them on earth.
It was at this time that Mark Antony, young, handsome, renowned, was
presented to her. He had just arrived from Spain, covered with
laurels won at Munda and laden with spoils. The fame of incomparable
valour had given him a crown of glory. With his athletic body, the
Bacchus-like smile which lighted up his face, his generous
extravagance, he made a heroic figure, recalling the mythical
Hercules, from whom he claimed descent. Although for the moment
enamoured of the courtesan Cytheris, the young soldier was deeply
impressed by the bewildering beauty of Cleopatra and it was only his
sincere devotion to Cæsar which prevented him from expressing his
admiration openly. He could not forget any single detail of their
first meeting: the queenly grace with which the enchantress stretched
out her tiny hand for him to kiss, the dress she wore that first
evening, or the sudden anguish that thrilled him at the sound of her
voice.
However enthusiastic was the adoration of this new Aspasia within
that sanctuary of art and literature which her villa had become, a
pack of wolves was snarling just outside. It was made up of
virtuous, or pretendedly virtuous, men, indignant at the generally
accepted and avowed liaison of the Dictator with this foreign woman.
All the women of position in Rome were with them. The majority of
them had endured humiliation at the hands of their husbands, and
these embittered wives were leagued together in jealous persecution
of this oriental sorceress of loose morals, whose dwelling was
thronged with the men who had deserted their own firesides to seek
her.
But Cleopatra's worst enemies were her political foes. Bound by
ancient traditions, the Conservatives were uneasy at these new
proceedings, which tended more and more to encroach on old customs.
For some time it had been well known that Cæsar's ambition and
personal desire were goading him to seek sovereign power; but,
however evident had been the pomp with which he loved to surround
himself, it was on his royal mistress that the chief blame fell. Was
he giving up pious ways, did he disregard the laws, was he careless
of all that Rome held most sacred? It was the accursed Egyptian who
was responsible for all.
Whether or not it was the fault of the fair foreigner, it was evident
that each day Cæsar strayed further and further from republican
forms. Since the wars were over, there was no excuse for his
prolonging his dictatorship. He was now absolute arbitrator and
controlled all the affairs of the State. He chose the officers and
divided the confiscated territories as he pleased. Where would his
power stop? The title of King itself could not increase this power,
but the feeling prevailed that he coveted that title and would seize
the first opportunity to assume it. So far from consulting his
colleagues as to ways and means, according to the established usage
among Senators, Consuls, and Pontiffs, he seemed to delight in
defying them, and showing the public that he looked on their opinions
as antiquated, if not obsolete. With an insolence reeking of the
grand seigneur, a lord who had flung off the traditions of his caste,
he deliberately ridiculed the ethics of Cato, and was skeptical of
everything, including the gods themselves. Had he not declared in
the open Senate, among other imprudent sayings which had been noised
abroad and exaggerated, that "The Republic from now on is a word
without meaning?"
Cicero was leader of the party most genuinely alarmed by this state
of things. The great orator was, after Cæsar, the first citizen of
Rome. At all events he was the most honest and among those most
respected. His liberal views had formerly associated him with
Pompey's party and, since the latter's defeat, he had lived in
retirement in his villa at Tusculum, given over to meditation. It
had been a keen regret to Cæsar to lose the friendship of this
warm-hearted man whose distinguished ability was so widely known and
who would have been an invaluable adviser. The withdrawal of so
important a figure had also been a blow to Cleopatra's pride. To
entice him to her home, to number him among her courtiers, to make
him an ally against the day when it might be necessary to break the
law to gain her ends; with all her boundless ambition, this idea
became a veritable obsession.
She unbosomed herself to Atticus, who was an intimate friend of
Cicero. Attached as he was to the Queen whose hospitality had
afforded him so many agreeable hours, he promised to use his
influence with Cicero. No one was better fitted for the duties of
ambassador. To bring together, to reconcile, to persuade, were
intrinsic qualities of his serene nature. He was undoubtedly helped
in his mission by the insufferable ennui which was consuming Cicero.
For a man who had known the intoxication of power, who had been
applauded in tones to shake the columns of the temples, there was no
worse punishment than to be forced into seclusion. In order to hear
again the praises of the crowd which was eager for him, to accept the
homage which awaited him, and, above all, to enjoy the splendour of
Cleopatra's library, where he would be free to read to his heart's
content, the man of letters yielded to temptation and appeared at her
portals, wrapped in the toga which no one knew so well as he how to
drape about the shoulders. Cæsar was there to welcome him.
Cleopatra, radiant as always when one of her caprices had triumphed,
received her distinguished guest with every honour. To please his
connoisseur's taste, that first evening she drew his attention to the
interesting things in her luxurious dwelling. One table was covered
with antique parchments, embellished with curious drawings, depicting
the history of the Pharaohs. The orator with his delicate hands
would unroll these time-yellowed pages, and, while he was admiring
the singular figures of the Egyptian hieroglyphics, the Queen would
translate the meaning of the script in her cultivated, sweet-toned
voice. Seeing his keen interest she thought him already won, but to
make sure she promised that the precious writings should be sent to
him at Tusculum the very next day.
A man of Cicero's character, however, was not so easily beguiled.
If, after the various pledges made to the Conservative party, he had
for the moment believed that Cæsar would return to his old liberal
views, the recent outbreaks, the arbitrary proceedings, left him no
shadow of illusion. Without a doubt the fall of the Republic was
close at hand, and nowhere did the patriotic old man find an
atmosphere more repugnant to his cherished ideals than in the court
of the Transtevera. Gradually he stopped attending the sessions
there. He felt freer to express his opinions outside its doors, and,
alluding probably to the mixed crowd, enthusiastic but vulgar, which
Cæsar's popularity had attracted, he replied to Atticus's query as to
the cause of his absence: "I cannot be content in a place so devoid
of civility."
This criticism, as well as other comments on his attitude, made no
impression on Cæsar. He saw no need of concessions, especially if
they were demanded by minds less daring than his own. The one thing
necessary to establish his authority was the carrying out of some yet
more brilliant project. To attain the height of his dream the old
weapons were out of date. New expeditions, new wars even, must be
planned; something that would surpass in splendour all his other
achievements.
The country that attracted his adventurous spirit, tempted him with
the most entrancing visions, was Persia; that Persia which had been
the scene of the world-famous exploits of Alexander. Its boundless
territory, its high plateaus, which pastured peaceful herds; its
valleys, watered by the abundant streams of the Tigris and the
Euphrates; its hanging gardens, its palaces of porphyry, its temples
with their crowned columns; its incomparable rugs, its roses, its
porcelains--all the fascinating possibilities of this kingdom called
him, and the appeal was irresistible.
How different it was from poor, bare, barbarous Gaul! If he could
perch his eagles in Persia, he would gain not only glory, a glory
equal to that of the victorious Macedonian, but the inexhaustible
riches of the country.
Cleopatra was even more enthusiastic than Cæsar in the pursuit of
this wonderful vision. With no illusions as to the hatred which
surrounded her, she fully realized that the only way to make the
stern Roman aristocracy accept her presence was through the mighty
power of Cæsar. To augment this power, to extend it from the borders
of the Orient to her own country, to build a pedestal so high that
from it she could see the whole world, was the ambition of the young
Queen. So, although it was hard to leave the palace where she had so
calmly and persistently played her part as a great lady of Rome,
harder still to go back to Egypt and rejoin the clown whom she had
accepted for her husband, she began to make ready for the journey.
It was generally known that when the Dictator came back from the
campaign in Persia he would celebrate their wedding and adopt the son
that she had given him. Certain malcontents declared that to the
supreme power, which now equalled that of any king, Cæsar would then
add the royal sceptre, and that he was planning to found a
far-reaching empire, whose capital would be Alexandria. These
rumours disturbed the people; they wounded them in their tenderest
spot, their desire for the supremacy of their beloved Rome. To
threaten it with division, with possible downfall, aroused the
fiercest passions of the multitude.
As usual, the responsibility for these evil schemes fell on
Cleopatra. The hatred of her was redoubled. Her enemies invented
fantastic tales and circulated the dreadful accusation that she
sealed her oaths with the avowal: "As surely as that one day I shall
rule Rome." When they heard this the wrath of the multitude
overflowed. When her litter appeared in the street, there was a
riot. On every hand there were threats of compelling this Egyptian
interloper to leave the country, of forcing her to return to her own
land of crocodiles!
These disrespectful speeches naturally came to Cæsar's ears. They
angered him more than the criticisms of his own conduct. To dare to
desecrate the sacred one whom he had chosen! To approach her with
lack of reverence! It was not to be tolerated! Alluding to a
special group which had offended him, he exclaimed: "You shall see
the penalty that I will inflict on those greasy, curly-pated
slanderers!"
He immediately summoned Timomachus, who for the past month had been
working on a statue of the Queen, made of ivory overlaid with gold.
"How long will it take to finish that piece of sculpture?" he
demanded.
The sculptor reflected, estimated the time needed for the required
incrustations of gold, which were not even begun, and answered,
awkwardly,
"Twenty years, at least."
"I will give you three days," declared the Dictator. "In three days
I desire that statue to be placed on its pillar in the temple of
Venus-Genitrix."
The autocratic temper of Cæsar, which frequently brought on violent
crises owing to his delicate, over-wrought nerves, was too well known
for any one to dare to oppose his wishes. The dedication of the
statue took place with great ceremony on the day specified, and with
rage in their hearts, priests, noblemen, officers of all ranks were
compelled to bow before this new goddess who had invaded their temple.
A little later, in order to see how far he could brave public
opinion, Cæsar devised a new experiment. It was at the festival of
Lupercalia, a carnival lasting several days, during which the young
Patricians ran half naked through the streets, striking in jest the
passers-by with leather thongs, under pretext of bringing them good
luck. In his position of grand Pontiff, Cæsar presided at the
festival. Seated in the Tribune, in a chair of gold and ivory, he
had Cleopatra by his side. After the earth had been sprinkled with
the blood of goats and dogs, according to the customary rites, he was
about to withdraw, when Mark Antony, pushing his way through the
crowd, boldly offered him a diadem. At this movement a murmur arose,
like the sound of the sea before a coming storm. Cæsar felt that it
was not the moment for such a display and he turned away. But, urged
on by the Queen, who perhaps was the original instigator of the
comedy, Mark Antony insisted on proffering the glittering crown. The
angry murmur increased; it sounded now as though the wind were
rushing through the waves. Decidedly this was not an auspicious
hour. With a sterner gesture than before, a gesture which left no
room for doubt, Cæsar threw back his head and thrust aside the
tempting jewel. All the world was witness, he had refused to be
crowned as King!
Many of the spectators, deceived by the scene which had just taken
place, applauded furiously. Others, keener-sighted, detected signs
of a plot, and said to each other: "Oh, no doubt he refuses to-day,
but only to accept more graciously when he shall come back, bearing
the standards of victory!" And in dark corners conspirators began to
gather.
Spring was drawing near. It was about the middle of the month
consecrated to the god of War. Blown by strong winds the tiny clouds
scudded across the faint blue sky. The quivering trees began to
swell and the crests of the seven hills around Rome were touched with
vivid green. At their base lay the city, shrouded in the dim evening
light. The clamour of the streets slowly died out and silence
reigned. It was the hour when, the day's work done, each was going
to his own home. This was the time when Cæsar, absorbed all day by
his preparations for war, was hastening toward the dwelling of his
beloved and beautiful mistress.
Seated near the window, from which she could see him coming,
Cleopatra was lost in dreams. A few more days and they must part.
While Cæsar was seeking fresh conquests through the Caspian gates she
would be once more on the borders of the Nile. The coming separation
made her anxious, suggested painful isolation and unknown
difficulties. She was resigned, however, for she knew it was
inevitable. Was not glory as necessary to rulers as bread to the
common people? Master of Persia, Cæsar would be lord of all. No
human power could then prevent them from carrying out their plans.
He would place her on the thrones of Nineveh and Babylon, and
proclaim her as his lawful wife. Together they would build their
capital and this same Rome, which she had heard roaring like an
infuriated she-wolf whenever she passed, would be compelled to
receive her with acclamation.
It was on these mighty visions, on this dream of Semiramis, that the
dreadful thunderbolt of the Ides of March was about to fall.
Morning had just come. Cæsar had left her scarcely an hour before,
and in leaving had crushed her to his heart as though he would never
let her go. By one of those mysterious forebodings which sometimes
come in moments of decisive action and which should never be ignored,
she had tried to detain him. "Why are you going so early? You said
you were tired. Stay here and rest." But, no, he was expected. For
fear lest he be late Brutus had sent Cassius to meet him, and, with
no flinching of his traitor face, the latter had told him he must
make haste, that there were matters of grave importance awaiting him
in the Senate.
And it was there that the blow fell. A sudden noise was heard.
"Hark, what was that?" The passers-by halted to ask what had
happened. Suddenly the portico was filled with blanched faces.
There was a terrifying cry: "Cæsar is assassinated!" Wailing was
heard on every side, but it was drowned by the yells of the
murderers, who, swords in hand, surged around, shrieking: "We have
avenged the honour of the Republic!"
Horrified, not knowing what to believe, the people scattered, like a
river that had burst its dam, and spread all over the city. In a
moment the frightful news reached all quarters of Rome. Disorder and
consternation reigned. The shops were quickly closed; each man hid
his terror behind the shutters of his house. All knew that an
overwhelming disaster had fallen on Rome and that others, many
others, were treading closely on its heels.
To Cleopatra it meant the end of all her hopes. A great black gulf
seemed to open at her feet, swallowing in its hungry depths her whole
future. The world was a desert.
Gangs of armed men ran along the shores of the Tiber, waving batons
surmounted by skull-caps, the Roman symbol of liberty. They paused
under the windows of the royal palace. Fierce cries rang out on the
air of that fair spring morning.
"Down with the Egyptian woman! Put her to death! Put her to death!"
They were the same voices that spring up the world over, in every
age, at the sign of revolution. Some attendants gathered around the
Queen, eager to defend her; but they were too distracted to afford
any certainty of protection.
Apollodorus, alone, whose stern commonsense never deserted him in the
most critical moments, spoke quickly, and with authority:
"Your Majesty must quit this bloody town without delay!"
But it was not in Cleopatra's nature to yield to threats, and she
rebelled. Her instinct was to resist this mob. Perhaps all was not
yet lost. Cæsar would surely have avengers. A party had already
formed, with Antony at its head. He had loved the dead Cæsar, and
would be likely to respect his wishes, to recognize the young
Cæsarion as his lawful son, the proper heir to....
This was only an illusion; an illusion which, if persisted in, would
be disastrous. In the prevailing tumults neither the child nor his
mother would be safe. The cries grew louder. There was nothing to
do but heed the counsel of Apollodorus. With his ingenuity and
affection he had already made all necessary preparations for flight.
Through the same gardens, along dangerous paths, surrounded by spies,
the scene of four years ago--when she had come, a persecuted girl, to
Cæsar for protection--was repeated, and Cleopatra, heavily veiled,
slipped out of the hostile city of Rome.