to cover their mistresses with jewels, or to lay fortunes at their
feet. Invested with sovereign power, he gave away the Roman
provinces as casually as though they had formed part of his own
patrimony. In addition to Phoenicia, which he had presented to her
in payment of the famous wager over the pearls, the kingdoms of
Cilicia, Chalcides, and part of Arabia were annexed to Egypt. The
Queen also coveted Judea, land of palms and spices, with its capital,
Jerusalem, into which poured the gold procured by the Jews from the
four quarters of the world; but it was difficult to dethrone Herod,
the King, who had reconquered it after a hard struggle. Antony
conceded the crown to this ally, who was to be of use to him, on
condition that Cleopatra should receive the revenue from its most
bountiful districts, as well as the palms from Samaria, and the roses
of Jericho, which were cultivated for her only.
Some of the graver members of Antony's circle, among them Ahenobarbus
(who never hesitated to express openly what others were whispering),
resented this free use of Roman property. But, drunk alike with
pride and passion, Antony replied: "Short-sighted men that you are,
can you not understand that the true grandeur of Rome is shown less
in her conquests and the extent of her possessions than in the
generosity which her riches makes possible?"
Nor was it bad policy to strengthen and enrich the woman who aspired
to be, not only his ally, but his wife! For Cleopatra had never
renounced her original plan. Having gathered wisdom from experience,
tired of joys which eluded her, of crowns which often melted away,
she was determined to carry out this project without further delay.
At this moment, when Antony was making ready to draw on her treasures
it was only fair that she should share the benefits. In the same way
that she would help him to conquer Persia, thus making him more
powerful than all other rulers, she would play the part of his
companion, by fair means or foul, be present the day that he would
ride in triumph to the Capitol.
An arrangement so entirely in accord with her own interests has
caused Cleopatra to be considered a cold, calculating woman, who
weighed and planned everything for her own glory, and used Antony
merely as an easy instrument in her hands. To deny that she had
schemes, and that, convinced of the Triumvir's weakness, she had made
up her mind to rule for him and to direct his actions to her own
advantage, would be to close one's eyes to actual evidence. But when
have love and self-interest been proved irreconcilable? Did her
dream of becoming a world-sovereign in any way lessen her passion?
To marry Antony, to unite her lot with a passionate lover as well as
a powerful ruler, to bind him so that he could never again escape
from her, that was the dream of this far-seeing, level-headed woman.
There were serious obstacles to be considered, however, the chief one
being Antony's marriage with Octavia. Divorces, to be sure, were
neither rare nor difficult in Rome. Originally, in a society founded
on religious faith and respect for the home, adultery had been the
necessary cause; but at that time they were granted for less serious
reasons. Incompatibility of temper, provided it was not proved by
both sides, was accepted as a common cause of divorce. At one time,
so lax were the morals, a man could put away the mother of his
children simply on the ground that she no longer pleased him, that he
preferred someone else.
But how could such injustice be done to a woman whose birth and rank
had placed her near Olympus? What a brutal wrong against the pure,
the revered sister of Octavius! Nor was this all. An ancient law,
inscribed on the "Twelve Tables," prohibited all marriages between
Roman rulers and foreigners. This law had always been rigorously
enforced, and disastrous results would have followed its
transgression by the first citizen of the Republic. Antony tried to
persuade his audacious mistress of the danger that this cruel and
unreasonable act would involve. He showed her how the common people,
always ready to throw down their idols, would take sides with
Octavius, how the Senate, indignant at his conduct, would rise up in
arms.
But Cleopatra was obstinate. She determined to have her revenge on
Antony and she reminded him of Cæsar.
"He was married to Calpurnia, he faced the same obstacles that seem
insurmountable to you, yet he did not hesitate to divide with me the
flourcake used to consecrate espousals, and to declare me before all
the world as his lawful wife!"
"That was on his return from Persia," interrupted Antony. "When the
voice of victory is loud enough to stifle all recriminations, I will
do the same. Wait until I have conquered...."
But Cleopatra had had the cruel experience of what happens during
separations; she would wait no longer. Their marriage should be the
express condition of that pardon that she had granted in the
excitement of those first moments of meeting, but which each
succeeding day she was more inclined to withdraw. Crises of
jealousy, continual reproaches, bitter railings on the subject of the
lawful wife, perpetually reminded Antony of his sins and the need of
making atonement.
The man who had been brought up in Fulvia's school knew only too well
what punishment women can inflict. These scratches of the beautiful
tigress, far from cooling his passion, fanned it into flame. He felt
bound to her for life. Her gift of intensifying life, of making it
feverishly exciting, her ferocious caresses, her pretended threats of
breaking off all relations, her swoons, all this exhilaration which
formed part of their daily life, how could he leave it to go back to
the tameness of an honest affection, and take up the routine of
married life? He would have to do as Cleopatra demanded. Their
marriage should be celebrated in the first days of spring, before the
army began the new campaign.
On hearing of this outrageous plot, the Triumvir's friends were
beside themselves with indignation. If Dellius, Capito, and Plancus,
who lived chiefly by his favours, kept silence for fear of
displeasing him, others, who were more independent, did not hesitate
to express their opinions. The proposed marriage would be a
revolutionary act, an unprecedented scandal which might well upset
the whole Roman Government. Public opinion would be unanimous
against this contempt for the oldest traditions. The Patricians
would take the insult as a personal offence and would defend
Octavia's cause; and as to Octavius, his fury over this affront to
his sister would pass all bounds, and who could foresee the
consequences?
Antony, fully aware of the justice of these warnings, hesitated,
tried to gain time. Whatever way he turned storms came down on him.
By alarming Cleopatra, showing her the danger of a scandal when one
is not strong enough to carry it over the heads of the people, he
gained her consent, for the moment at least, to a middle course. The
marriage would be celebrated, as he had promised, the official act
would be inscribed on the civil registers at Antioch, as well as in
Alexandria, but, until the termination of the war, there would be no
official notification made to the Roman Senate. In this way, while
he became the husband of the rich Egyptian, he would still remain the
husband of the woman, whom, by lawful marriage, he had wedded
according to the rites of the Latin monogamy.
There was no justice in this, no consistency. It was not possible
that the same man could bear the title of King of Egypt and of
Imperator at the same time; that a Proconsul could arrogate to
himself, as a satrap, the right to have more than one wife at any one
time.
But Cleopatra's lover had, for the time being, lost his senses. The
good fortune which had followed him from his early youth, his
habitual laxness of morals, made him accept the absurd, confound
folly with reason. Not knowing which to choose he pretended to need
all his titles. It was certainly not the moment to renounce the most
important thing of all, the right to appear before his allies with
the authority of Triumvir. He had neither the courage to decline the
royal hand which was held out to him filled with love and treasure,
nor to put away that other little hand which held his honour as a
Roman.
Intoxicated with his triumphs, having had no reverses to teach him
moderation, his violent nature demanded life in its highest key. He
would not be bound by any restriction. The whole world seemed to lie
before him like a huge field whose entire harvest was his by right.
To the kingdoms he had already given Cleopatra he added Crete, as a
wedding gift, with its forests of maple and satinwood, of sandal and
ebony; with its luxuriant larches whose branches swept the ground
while waiting for the trunks to grow thick enough to furnish masts
for the ships in the harbour.
Although fully aware of their value, these splendid donations were
not enough for Cleopatra. Goddess as she was, her worship demanded
sacrifices. What she was about to exact should be the price that
Antony would be forced to pay for Egypt's gold. As he had not
consented to divorce Octavia, he must at least promise that he would
never see her again.
"The man who desires peace in his household has no regard for
promises," says an ancient proverb. Diverted for the moment from
Rome as Antony was, entranced by the fascinations of the Orient, of
what importance was the guardian of his penates? She whom he
believed wholly absorbed in the care of his children?
Antony was mistaken. He was an indifferent psychologist, and under
the modest demeanour of the noble woman, whom the Athenians had
compared to their Pallas, he had never divined her passionate soul;
in the faithful and devoted wife he had not recognized the _woman_,
hungry for her share of happiness.
In reality, since their parting at Corcyra, Octavia's only thought
had been for her husband. She could not give him daily proofs of her
love, but she could help him. And she began to gather together
money, provisions, army equipments, all the things that a general
requires for a campaign. Although she had been unable to make
Octavius fulfil his promises, she had in spite of his opposition,
recruited two thousand picked men, supplied them with the necessary
funds, and, happy in the thought that these fearless and splendidly
equipped volunteers would form an invincible cohort for the
Imperator, she had engaged ships and embarked with them for Greece.
When he heard with what a valuable cargo Octavia was arriving at
Piræus, Antony was greatly perplexed. He was not wholly hardened in
evil-doing. Weakness was his chief fault. He acted on impulse and,
with the thoughtlessness of a child, turned his back on the
consequences. The present was all-important, the future did not
count. When he married Cleopatra and promised never again to see
Octavia, he had reckoned on the soothing effect of time and distance,
and also on that nameless assistance from the gods who never yet had
failed him. And now he suddenly faced a definite situation, a
two-horned dilemma which led to equally disagreeable results. It
would be madness to refuse the valuable help which Octavia was
bringing him; yet to accept her generous gift without according her a
welcome, without rewarding this god-sent messenger with even a kiss,
made him hot with shame. But what was he to do? There was
Cleopatra, fascinating and headstrong, jealous of her rights and not
willing to yield an inch. In imagination he heard her bitter
reproaches and was distracted by their accusing tone. What did his
promises mean? The last were not the least binding, and they were
strengthened by a soft arm around his neck, a honey-sweet mouth near
his own, and eyes, now full of infinite tenderness, now threatening a
storm more terrifying to a lover than the blaze of lightning and the
roar of thunder.
But the image of Octavia had its influence too, and as she drew near
it seemed as though her sweet soul had the same power that it had
held for the past three years. There was no need for him to read
again her last letter. The words were always ringing in his ears:
"Why do you stay away? Have I offended you in any way? I thought it
wise to come myself with the men and armaments that you asked me to
get together. Am I wrong? I heard that you were about to start on
your great campaign. May I embrace you before you go? At your
bidding I will cross the seas that divide us, or if you do not want
me to come I will await your return. As you know, I live only to
serve you. But if you do not care for my aid and do not want me to
wait for you, what will become of me?"
This tender, submissive devotion wrung his heart. He wanted to
reply, not from love, for the brief passion that this pure Roman
woman had roused in him was already dead, but--his conscience was not
dead. His changes from sinner to penitent were a constant surprise
to his contemporaries. They have recorded his grief at Fulvia's
death, although during her life he had repaid her fierce devotion by
gross ingratitude.
And now it was Octavia's turn to stir his heart and conscience. With
the wheedling tenderness which, whatever wrong they may have done
them, men use toward women they love, he pleaded with Cleopatra:
"I shall be away from you only three days. What are three days when
we have a lifetime of love before us?"
But he could not escape from her suspicious eyes. She had suffered
too keenly ever again to feel free from distrust. Why should the
sorrow and tears of this woman whom she had never seen concern her?
No, she would make no concessions. Antony should never again seen
Octavia.
The preparations for war went on. Antioch was like a vast
parade-ground. The cohorts passed through the gate of Daphne every
day. They marched with fearless step, making the paved street ring
under their buskins. A brilliant group of horsemen was seen in the
midst of the glittering lances and eager young faces. Pell-mell with
the Greeks came the Gauls, preceded by their standards. Then came
the baggage: mules whose backs bent under the burden of stones and
weapons; camels loaded like ships; chariots whose noise resounded
through the silent old streets; and troop after troop marched by,
each raising dust in its turn. Antony was about to leave for those
Mesopotamian plains that stretched out in the distance against the
misty blue horizon.
The thought of this new separation, which was bound to be long and
beset with dangers--for the Parthians were the most treacherous of
enemies--disturbed Cleopatra greatly. The memory of the brief, happy
nights, the delicious days together, was only an additional grief;
and she had one tormenting thought: Surely Antony had not broken his
promise; he had not crossed the inlet of the sea which separated him
from Greece? But Octavia was there, always there, expecting him,
waiting for him, probably sending messages to him, and of late he had
been preoccupied. In spite of his slavish devotion to her, Cleopatra
was in continual dread of his secret escape to her rival, were it
only for an hour. Before returning to Egypt she was determined to
have Octavia go back to Rome. Once there, she would have at least
the bitter satisfaction of feeling that her hated rival was at the
greater distance from the husband who belonged to them in common.
As Antony was going to camp one morning to review his troops, he
noticed that she looked unusually gloomy.
"You are depressed; what is troubling you?" he asked tenderly.
"You know very well why I am miserable. I cannot endure having
Octavia so near us," she answered, frowning.
He tried to seem indifferent. "Why should she disturb you, since we
never see her?"
"She has come here to defy me."
Making no attempt at a defence which he knew would be futile, he said:
"The poor woman!" and went out to join his escort, whose horses were
pawing with impatience under the palace windows.
With that acute faculty, peculiar to people of passionate
temperament, for making themselves miserable when a desire is not
immediately fulfilled, Cleopatra imagined Antony as deceptive,
evasive, ready to betray her for the second time. The very
exclamation that he had uttered on leaving her--"the poor
woman!"--rang in her ears and increased her anger. What tender pity
he had put into the words! How plainly he had implied that she was
innocent of any offence! Did he still love her? After all, it was
quite possible that this intriguing woman had retained her influence
over his weak heart. At all events they were still good friends, and
that alone was a torment to the woman who, for her own advantage,
would have been willing to destroy the world. She would have no
peace until Octavia went away, and she resolved to secure her
banishment that very day.
In the evening, when the Imperator returned, with the confident air
of a man who, having satisfactorily accomplished his day's work,
expects a certain reward, he had the disagreeable surprise of a cold
welcome. Cleopatra had decided to smile upon him only on condition
that he would carry out her wishes at once. She began:
"You are sacrificing our happiness for the sake of a woman who no
longer means anything to you!"
"She is certainly nothing to me that can distress you, since I love
only you!"
"But you are still good friends!"
He had gone over the same subject so often, defending himself and
pointing out the motives for his attitude, that the futility of
further words was clear to him.
"How you do hate her!" he exclaimed, in a tone which implied, "How
unjust you are!"
This reproach was the last touch. Cleopatra was exasperated, and in
a fury, demanded:
"And you! How can you pretend that you no longer love her?"
Kisses are the only sure means of persuasion between lovers, and she
refused to let him come near her. Worn out, disheartened, like a man
who has lost all interest in life, Antony asked sadly:
"What is it that you wish? What further proof do you require from
me?"
A papyrus leaf was lying ready on the table.
"Write!" commanded his despot. "Send an order to Octavia to depart
for Rome as quickly as possible!"
This ungracious act was repugnant to Antony's instinctive gallantry.
He had never treated any woman rudely. Should he behave like a
blackguard to the one who had every right to expect from him the
greatest gratitude and consideration? He hesitated, his hand resting
on his knee.
"Yet you pretend to love me!" she murmured, her breath fanning his
cheek.
He realized that if he refused he would never again feel that sweet
breath mingling with his own; that he would have to leave her, go to
distant lands, contend with opposing forces, without having that last
embrace which inspires men with courage and on the eve of battle
makes them confident of victory. Without this powerful stimulus
nothing seemed worth struggling for, his mighty enterprise would be
in vain.
With a sudden movement Cleopatra slipped the stylet between his
fingers.
"Write, write," she cried.
Slowly, painfully, as though the words were loath to come, he wrote
the letter.
"Now sign it!"
He put his name at the bottom of the written lines. Everything had
been prepared. The papyrus was rolled closely around the stick.
When the seal was pressed on the wax it seemed to shrink like
bleeding flesh. An officer came in for instructions. The message
was handed him with orders to deliver it at once to Octavia. An
instant later they heard him galloping in the direction of Seleucia.
There he would find a boat which, in a few hours, would bring him to
Piræus.
Not knowing the reason for Antony's prolonged silence, Octavia was
counting the days. It was nearly a month since she had arrived at
Piræus and she was still waiting for a reply to her letters. Rumours
were afloat which might have given her a suggestion of the truth.
She knew that the Queen of Egypt had landed in Asia; that this
whimsical woman had put hordes of gold at the Imperator's disposal.
There was a report of a political alliance between them. There were
even whispers of a secret marriage. But to Octavia's virtuous and
upright mind, totally unprepared for such tidings, the terrible truth
was difficult to comprehend. To realize that such treachery was
possible she required surer proof than mere hearsay.
The only proof that could convince her was already on its way: the
affirmation signed by Antony.
Yet it did not tell her the whole truth. Under pretext of an
unlooked-for change of plans he had written that he was obliged to
leave Antioch sooner than he had expected, expressed formal regret at
being prevented from coming to thank her for her assistance, and
intimated his wish that she reëmbark as soon as possible and go back
to Rome.
In reading this letter, with no word of affection, with nothing of
her beloved husband in it but his signature, Octavia felt her heart
grow cold. What had happened to him? Instantly her worst fears were
confirmed. Her eyes were opened and she saw the heartless facts as
they were; her husband no longer loved her. However opposed to
deception she might be, she longed for the hour that had just passed,
when she was at least ignorant of her misery. There was nothing to
comfort her. She had to drink to the last drop the bitter cup of
knowledge.
Two days later Octavia, always submissive to her husband's will, left
Greece and turned toward Rome. Her tear-stained face was heavily
veiled. The Athenians watched her set sail, saw her quit the
beautiful city of song and play, where, as comrade of Dionysos, she
had been crowned with myrtle. They looked after her as she took that
lonely road which Hagar, Penelope, Ariadne, and many others had
followed, and which to the end of time, the faithlessness of men will
force on loyal women.
Cleopatra was triumphant. She had seized with both hands the reins
of the chariot of victory. She was again madly in love with Antony,
and, as always when she had made him yield to her wishes, she covered
him with kisses. She wanted to stay with him, but it was imperative
that she go back to Egypt. This new Jason was going to unexplored
countries where he was confident of finding another golden fleece.
Cleopatra went with him as far as the frontier of the
Euphrates--sometimes on horseback, galloping with the grace of the
Queen of the Amazons, sometimes ensconced in a litter with clusters
of ostrich feathers waving at the four corners and curtains fastened
with crystal chains. Twelve Nubians bore this litter on their sturdy
shoulders. When the wind blew two faces could be seen behind those
soft silk curtains, two faces resting very near each other. In the
evening a tent was pitched. With its golden roof, its walls draped
with brilliant red, outlined by flaming torches, it looked like a
huge bonfire blazing in the midst of the camp. Here the travellers,
on the eve of separation, built their fond dreams. On their
return--that return which was to be so soon--their marriage would be
proclaimed. They would put on that double crown which their union
would win for them. The world would belong to them; it would be
their enchanted palace, a glorious, inexhaustible garden of delight.
For with these lovers glory and love were always intermingled.
The morning that they were to part, with hands clasped they looked at
each other in silence, as though each wished to imprint the vision of
the other before it vanished.
"To-morrow my eyes will no longer behold you," sighed Cleopatra.
"Mine will see you always," said Antony, "for you will be nearer to
me than the blaze of the sun by day, or the light of the stars at
night."
In order to see him until the last moment Cleopatra climbed a hill
which commanded the surrounding country. The rocks in the river made
it a whirling torrent, foam-flecked and roaring furiously. When
Antony had reached the farther side, he turned again, saluting
Cleopatra for the last time, and described a wide circle with his
flashing sword. Before him lay a deep valley. All was light,
transparent green, touched with the gold of the coming harvest. The
great shadow of Alexander seemed to point out the path for him to
follow. Impetuously he threw himself on his horse, which leaped
forward, his royal purple mantle floating in the wind.
VIII
THE TWO RIVALS
In spite of all the precautions for secrecy, Octavius soon learned
what had happened at Antioch. His resentment was keen, for in
addition to the insult to his sister, which reflected on himself, he
could not accept calmly an alliance that added a crown to his
colleague's glory. Would Antony, this lucky adventurer, succeed in
his invasion of Parthia? To Greece, Egypt, and Asia Minor, his
rightful share as one of the Triumvirate, would he annex Armenia as
well? And Persia? All that fabulously rich Orient, on which
Alexander had built his matchless fame?