for the winter. Antony applied himself to his affairs in Asia Minor
with an unexpected industry. From early morning until late in the
evening he was busy, often receiving delegates and signing papers
after his supper had been served. At this rate he quickly settled
the disputes between Herod and the adjoining rulers concerning
frontiers, assigned to each legion the territory belonging to it,
chose the governors, and, in a word, put everything in such order
that he could absent himself with safety. He decided to set sail the
latter part of November. The heavens were ominously dark, the sea
was gray and rough, but what matter? The wind blew from the north
and would drive him straight to Alexandria.
In Alexandria the presence of the Triumvir was expected with varied
feelings. Those who had faith in Egypt's power and her ability for
self-government deplored the arrival of the Roman ruler. To them he
meant merely a new lover for the Queen, a master less gracious and
perhaps more covetous than Cæsar. Others, recalling the promise of
the god, regarded the hero of Philippi as a possible ally, who would
restore the ancient grandeur of the kingdom. When it was announced
that Antony would disembark unpretentiously, unescorted by either
troops or squadron, simply as a nobleman returning the visit of a
great lady, these dissensions ceased. All agreed that, as this was
merely a visit of courtesy, it was necessary to welcome him warmly.
Besides, the Queen's orders were explicit. She had not forgotten the
lessons that Dellius had taught her. The insignificant specimen of
splendour that she had displayed at Tarsus had been so much
appreciated that she wanted now to show the whole wealth of her
resources. She had made up her mind that Antony's reception here
should entirely efface the memory of those accorded him at Ephesus
and at Tarsus. She spent gold lavishly and offered prizes to those
who should invent some new decoration, some spectacle which would be
sure to win universal admiration.
However brilliantly decked with flags the fort, with its banners
blazing from one end to the other like bonfires, however magnificent
the pageants, and numerous the gateways, carpets, triumphal arches,
which lined the streets where the procession passed, they made little
impression on Antony; or rather, these external trappings seemed but
the natural setting for his own happiness. Even the shouts of
welcome were but echoes of his own exaltation. One thought alone
absorbed his mind. In a moment now he would see hen, would hold her
in his arms. Her image obliterated everything else. His desire to
possess her was the rhythm to which the whole world moved.
Four galloping horses were speeding him along the Royal Way. The
pink façade of the Bruchium rose above its terraces. He was getting
nearer, nearer; in another instant he would be face to face with
Cleopatra.
"Will she be mine at last?" he asked himself, breathlessly. She had
sworn it and it was on this understanding that they had parted. But
with women, with this woman especially, with her subtle, sinuous
ways, one could never tell. The uncertainty made his heart beat
fast. The horses galloped steadily on, made the last slope, and
Antony was at the door of the palace.
Above, on the first step, surrounded by white-mitred priests swinging
censers, and by officers in rich array, Cleopatra was awaiting him.
She evidently wished to remind him of the days at Tarsus, for she was
draped in a sea-green robe which made her look like a nereid.
Necklaces of pale green chalcedony fell over her bosom like ocean
spray, and on the turquoise clasp of her belt mysterious symbols were
engraved.
As Antony approached she cast a laurel branch toward him and came
down to greet him. On bended knees, with outstretched arms, he
saluted her with a gesture of adoration. They grasped each other's
hands and spoke for a moment in low tones. Then they went up the
steps of the grand stairway together in silence. They were smiling,
and their expression was that of perfect, exquisite understanding.
From that day serene happiness encompassed them. The calculations,
the coquetry, vanished. There was no further anxiety save that which
comes to those accustomed to a life of pleasure, when they ask
themselves: "Will it last, shall I still be happy to-morrow?" This
was real, absolute, supreme love. Many people, resenting the glamour
of romance, have not seen, have not wished to see in this famous
adventure anything but a selfish scheme, and in Cleopatra an
ambitious courtesan. It is true that the persecutions of her youth
had caused her to look on love as a means, had made her regard Cæsar
as a protector from whom she could expect, primarily, the restoration
of her kingdom, and later, if death had not come so suddenly, the
crown of an empress. But with Antony it was different. At the
outset, perhaps, in her dreary solitude she had certain plans in mind
by which she could use him to carry out her ambitious schemes.
Bereft of the great ruler by whose power she had built up her
fortune, she probably dreamed of replacing him with Antony and
continuing with him those bonds that the fatal poignard of Brutus had
severed. But she had not reckoned on the hot blood of youth. If
that voyage to Tarsus had been a snare Cleopatra was caught in her
own trap. She had set out as a conqueror, sure of enforcing her
will, and she had found love awaiting her to lead her captive.
However attractive Antony's possessions might be, his personal charm
outweighed them all. He had in a rare degree those gifts which win
affection, and, in spite of all her premeditated schemes and plots,
in spite of the endless intrigues which may have been combined with
her feeling for him, Cleopatra undoubtedly gave him her whole heart.
What is more convincing than the final tragedy? When a love affair
ends with the voluntary death of the lovers, when they both kill
themselves rather than live on alone, any preceding faults or
failings are of small account. That last hour is the only one to be
marked on the dial of history.
But at this time there was no thought of death. Day followed day,
wholly given over to the joy of living. Every moment spent together
created new dreams to be carried out; each desire gratified gave
birth to a new desire. They seemed to have within them an
inexhaustible spring from which they drank without ever quenching
their thirst. The only perfect love is that where flesh and spirit
are satisfied in turn, where heart and soul share in the ecstasy. To
Cleopatra, who had never loved before, this feeling was a new
experience. To Antony it was a surprise which plunged him in
unspeakable delight. After his life of excess it would have seemed
impossible for him to be thrilled by this new joy. But all other
experiences were wiped out, and in this love he was born again. Like
to the fire which rises, impervious to corruption, his passion for
Cleopatra had burned away all stains of the past.
Their mutual happiness seemed to affect all their environment. The
Queen took an exquisite pleasure in pointing out the charms of the
Bruchium, that incomparable museum of art and nature. She wanted to
share all its wonders with her lover. Even if she picked a rose she
wanted him to inhale its fragrance as though it were an ethereal
fragment of herself, and its perfume were her own breath. In showing
him a marble statue from the chisel of Praxiteles, the bronze
Hercules that Ptolemy VII had brought from Corinth, a bas-relief
covered with figures from the Iliad; in music, or some page from a
Greek drama, she sought that close contact of mind and spirit which
should make them one being.
But if Antony yielded at times to the refining influence of the
daughter of the Lagidæ, at other moments his own virile nature had
the mastery and controlled them both.
The orgies of the Bruchium are matters of history. The moderation of
modern life, with its democratic views, its lesser fortunes, its
law-restricted vices, gives no hint of the extravagant living of the
ancients. The scale is entirely different. There is no comparison
between the provincial fêtes of to-day and the saturnalian revelries
of the Romans. Our hygienic repasts offer no idea of the gluttonous
feasts of Balthazar. Modern monuments, modern buildings, how
pitifully poor they are compared with those colossal structures that
Rameses or Darius employed thirty years of their reign in completing,
and which have survived them for as many centuries! What a contrast
between our richest palaces and those massive retreats of ancient
kings, with their stupendous ramparts, their avenues of obelisks, the
forest of columns which surrounded them! The most magnificent court
of Europe would seem paltry set by the side of one of any satrap or
Roman proconsul.
The world in those days belonged to the privileged few who had the
entire control. The lower classes were content to look on at their
revels. There were giants in those days compared with the less
virile physique of modern men. The suns which shone on their joys
have set. A certain sadness depresses the modern mind, inoculated
with the virus of the ideal.
Antony and Cleopatra lived at a time when they could watch life roll
by like a mighty torrent. The vigour of the young world boiled in
their veins with no thought of sin. To be happy was the only wisdom.
They were like the followers of Epicurus, whose sole aim was to enjoy
to the full the passing hour. In that wonderful city, where
everything seemed planned for their delight, they spent indescribable
days, days in which nothing seemed too high or too low to add to
their enjoyment. As fearless in planning pleasures as in carrying
them out, they were truly inimitable.
Cleopatra wished to shower every possible luxury on her guest, and
she commanded that the habitual magnificence of the court life be
increased in every way. A story is told by Philotas, who had come
from Amphissus to finish his studies at the Serapium, of having made
the acquaintance of a steward of the royal kitchens. There he saw
eight wild boars waiting to be roasted before a huge brazier. "Is
the Queen having a banquet this evening?" he asked. He was much
astonished to learn that only the usual court was to be present, not
more than a dozen guests at the outside.
"What," he cried, "eight wild boars for twelve stomachs?"
"Don't you know," answered the steward, "that only at a certain stage
is a roast fit to eat? Now it is not possible to know at what moment
the food must be served here, for the Triumvir may dally over a game
of chess, or take a sudden fancy for a gallop to Canopus. Then there
is nothing to do but to put out the fires and wait. At other times
he says he is famished and must be served before the regular time.
So one boar, one quarter of beef, a few geese or guinea fowls are not
enough; there must be an unlimited supply!"
This is one anecdote among many which shows not only the wastefulness
but the happy carelessness which surrounded this great spoiled child,
Antony. Everything gave way to his capricious fancy. Cleopatra
lived but to please him. Leaning on the breast of her hero, she saw
life only through his eyes. At times their caresses made a paradise
for both; at others she was occupied in inventing some new form of
amusement to divert her lover and herself.
This constant effort was a drain on her physically and mentally and
led to all kinds of follies. One of these, which happened at a
banquet, is famous.
The vast hall where the guests were assembled was proportioned to
conceal its height. It was encircled by arcades. In each of these a
great-pawed sphinx of porphyry bore the image of a woman in Egyptian
head-dress. Light poured out from torches supported by brass arms,
from high candelabra spread out like sheaves, from silver tripods,
these latter spouting great flames.
A hundred guests stood expectantly around the table looking at the
marvellous display of golden platters, cups, and bowls. They were
awaiting the arrival of Antony and Cleopatra. Presently, to the
sound of music, the royal couple appeared, he, superb, god-like, in
his star-covered tunic, she, adjusting her floating scarf and playing
with the bracelets on her arms.
At the head of the table stood a couch supported by four crouching
griffins. The royal hosts reclined there, side by side, and motioned
to the guests to take their places around the table. This evening
the special feature was a dance, or rather, a series of emblematic
figures invented by Clitias, the celebrated Sicilian comedian. A
group of twenty-four dancing girls appeared, each representing an
hour; some black as night, some rosy as the dawn, others, again, the
colour of broad daylight, and the different shades of dusk. These,
slowly or quickly, called up in turn the image of earthly joys which
come with the passing day. As each Hour gave place to the succeeding
one she came to kiss the feet of the Queen.
Although this charming spectacle roused great enthusiasm and so
delighted Antony that it was repeated several times, Cleopatra seemed
absent-minded. She was wondering what novelty she could provide for
the next evening. It was essential to set before her beloved guest
something which he had never before seen. A sudden light came into
her eyes; again she had found it.
"I invite you to come to-morrow to a feast which will surpass all
that your eyes have ever beheld!"
And as Antony, with his generous smile, said that such a thing could
not be possible, she replied, briefly:
"The supper alone will cost ten million sesterces."
Antony continued incredulous. This was not the first time that his
beloved one had made extravagant statements.
"Let us lay a wager," she cried.
He agreed. "If I lose what shall I give you?"
She needed no time to consider. The word came to her lips as though
she had often used it:
"A kingdom."
Had the wine gone to his head? Did he regard the Roman provinces
merely as stakes to gamble with? He suggested Phoenicia.
Phoenicia, on whose coast lay Tyre, Gebel, Sidon, Berytus, all
manufacturing towns, with their dyes, their carpets, their valuable
carved furniture made from the cedars of Lebanon; and all sorts of
other rich possessions! For the moment Cleopatra did not believe her
ears. She thought he was jesting. But Antony's expression was
serious. She saw that the offer was made in good faith. They
touched their fingertips in token of agreement.
The report of the wager soon spread. Nothing was talked of in the
city but the mysterious plan for the coming night when the Bruchium
would see all its former splendours surpassed. Reasonable men
shrugged their shoulders. Ten million sesterces for a single repast!
It was not possible! Others crowded together to discuss among
themselves what new extravagance the Queen was concocting to shake
the finances of the kingdom.
The next evening the same guests assembled in the vast hall of the
arcades. They were alive with curiosity. What were they gathered
together to witness? What spectacle could justify the enormous
expense that had been announced? But on entering the hall they saw
nothing out of the ordinary. There were the same brilliant
illuminations, the same gorgeous display of flowers and gold plate;
all the exquisite details were just the same.
With their customary ceremony the sovereigns entered. The Queen was
so simply dressed that only her jewels attracted attention. Her
passion for them was well known and she had continually added to the
countless treasures of the Lagidæ. Wherever she went she had
acquired the rarest stones. While at Rome the Etruscan workers had
given their entire time to making jewellery of her own designing.
Her preference had always been for pearls. She had collected them
from the Persian gulf, from Ceylon, from Malaysia, and whenever a
ship-owner went to India he had orders to bring back any exceptional
pearls that he found there, regardless of their cost. She wore them
everywhere, around her neck, about her arms, fastened in her belt, of
every shape and tint.
This evening, however, she wore only two. But such pearls! Their
size, their beauty of outline, were beyond all estimate. Suspended
by an invisible thread of gold, they gleamed in her ears like drops
of dew on the petals of a rose. The marvel was that nature had twice
produced such perfect pearls, identical in form and sheen, and that
twice they had been found by man, although centuries apart. The
first had been sent to Olympias from Ophir, by her son Alexander, and
the second had only recently been discovered near the coast of Malay
after exhaustive searching. Did they reflect her shining eyes, were
they tinted with the roses on her young cheeks; or were they, as
legend says, living creatures who are affected when their fate is in
the balance?
The banquet went on, lavish, but a little dull, as when an expected
diversion fails. Dessert was served, and still nothing had happened.
There was a general air of disappointment. Antony alone was in high
spirits. He looked on himself as the winner of the wager and was
amusing himself by imagining the prize he could demand. His joking
became flippant:
"By Bacchus, your supper is not worth the ten million sesterces that
you promised," he cried, impatiently, as he leaned toward Cleopatra.
"Don't be so certain," she replied: "you have not won yet."
She called the cup-bearer, who stood always near, and signalled to
him to re-fill her cup. This golden cup, a marvel of workmanship,
was supposed to have belonged to Pericles. In any case it had been
carved by one of the best artists of his epoch. A troop of archers
adorned it, and the handle was in the form of a beautiful woman.
All eyes were fixed on Cleopatra. What was she about to do? What
miracle was to happen? For astonishing things were always expected
of her.
Turning toward Antony she raised the cup to her lips, and with an
expression half humorous, half solemn, said:
"Look carefully. When I have drunk this, my wager will be won." At
the same time she fastened one of the pearls and let it fall to the
bottom of the foaming cup, where it was quickly dissolved.
Cries of horror went up, as in the face of an irreparable disaster.
Having emptied the cup, Cleopatra made ready, for a second sacrifice.
Antony seized her wrist.
"Spare your jewels," he cried; "I acknowledge my defeat."
The Queen hesitated; and he added, "Phoenicia is yours!"
What was the use of doubling the sacrifice? It was said that in
memory of that evening Cleopatra always wore the odd pearl in her
bosom. Octavius found it there after her death. It was in the shape
of a tear, an enormous tear, as though all the tears that those
beautiful, closed eyes had shed were gathered together in it.
Thinking that no woman, not even Livia, was worthy of such a jewel,
or fearing that it would bring him misfortune, the conqueror of
Actium carried it off as an offering to Venus. "Thus," says Pliny,
in melancholy vein, as he was dreaming one day in the temple, "the
half of one of those suppers at Alexandria is to-day the ornament of
a goddess."
Had Antony forgotten that he was Triumvir? Did he not remember that
the life of all men, especially that of a ruler, is a hard and
continuous struggle? Not altogether; but, without questioning
whether the moment was propitious, unmindful of the disturbing news
of troubles in Italy, and of the incursions of the Parthians into
Asia Minor, led by the traitor Labismus, he still dallied. He knew
that some day he would be forced to take command of his troops, but
the life of a conqueror slips by very quickly when he is in the arms
of a beautiful woman. While waiting, enmeshed, entangled, like a
prey, he was verily a captive; but the bands that held him were too
delightful for him to make the slightest effort to break them. When
stung by conscience he comforted himself with the reflection that he
would know how to get away when it was actually necessary.
In order to have a pretext that would justify his prolonged stay in
Alexandria he took up some governmental work, chiefly the revision of
the treaty of alliance between the Roman Republic and Cleopatra. All
its clauses were arranged in accordance with her wishes and, at her
instigation, he sealed it by recognizing Cæsarion as the legitimate
son of Cæsar, the heir-presumptive to the throne of Egypt.
The understanding between the two countries being arranged, he
summoned the best equipped divisions of his army and had them placed
along the borders of the Nile. This military display restored order
generally. It was universally recognized that the Queen had a
powerful support, and that obedience to her was necessary. Finally,
to confirm her authority over these troops, and to show that they
were hers to command, the hawk-crest of the Lagidæ was engraved on
their shields by the side of the Roman eagle. Armed with helmet and
cuirass Cleopatra, riding at Antony's side, reviewed them on the
parade ground.
As she was now convinced of the solidity of her throne, and had no
longer any uneasiness save the dread of seeing her lover take leave,
Cleopatra put her wits to work to keep all disquieting outside cares
away from him. Constantly with him, seeing everyone who came near
him, she arranged their daily programmes in such fashion that there
was no chance for idleness. Their life was a veritable whirlwind.
They went for long rides along the sandy roads, taking such
unreasonable routes that they returned with their horses foundered.
They sought recreation in hunting deer and gazelles, and risked life
and limb in pursuit of the wild faun. Danger exhilarated them, and
it, in turn, gave them keener appreciation of the hours spent in the
privacy of their apartment.
Gradually, however, their sense of enjoyment lost its flavour. The
need for perpetual novelty, the desire for sharper sensations, made
them seek experiences which were inevitably degrading. In their
quest of these new adventures they went, at first secretly, then
without disguise, to mix with the disorderly pleasure seekers who
nightly frequented the gardens of the Ceramicus.
Many goddesses had temples at Alexandria but none was worshipped more
persistently and fervently than Venus. Under the different names of
Urania, Astarte, Acidalia, Callypige, and Cypris, each inhabitant,
each young girl, recognized her power, and brought her offerings.
In a sycamore grove, opposite the celebrated wall, more than fifteen
hundred courtesans trafficked openly in their wares, unhampered by
the hypocrisy which restrains modern civilization. Here, also, was
the school where expert matrons instructed a hundred young girls in
the intricate art of pleasing the goddess of Love. Taken from their
parents, either with their consent, or for money, these girls came
sometimes from the most remote countries, for the variety of types
found at the Ceramicus formed one of its chief attractions. Some
were fair, with light eyes and hair like silk; others were of olive
complexion, and others again had dark skins. They were not all
equally beautiful, that is, according to the Greek ideal, but they
all had plump arms and firm breasts, all understood the art of
smiling, and of perfuming their bodies.
What did these royal lovers, who had all possible means of gratifying
every kind of caprice without leaving their palace walls, what did
these misguided beings seek in the dim shade of those trees, among a
crowd of loose women?
Unluckily, these expeditions could not be concealed indefinitely.
Although Antony wore a mask, and Cleopatra was draped from head to
foot in a sombre veil, more than one passer-by, because of the
presence of Eros, a devoted satellite of Antony who went everywhere
with them, suspected the presence of these sovereigns in places where
they had no right to be. The final _dénouement_ came as the result
of a brawl in which they were hopelessly entangled.