A wave of hatred surged up in Octavius's heart. Knowing, however,
that the hour had not yet come to unmask his real sentiments, he
pretended to ignore the matrimonial complications of Octavia's
treacherous husband. When he and Antony were together his attitude
was friendly, ostentatiously fraternal. He even begged the gods to
favour the expedition which he was hoping to see fail, and by pious
libations he made every pretence of kindly feeling, hiding his
personal grievances. He made the mistake, however, of criticizing
his brother-in-law's habit of life.
This remonstrance, coming from a man whose recent marriage, preceded
by adultery and rape, had scandalized all decent people, was
naturally ridiculous. It brought a return thrust from Antony, which,
though cynical, was not lacking in force and wit. "Of what are you
accusing me?" he wrote from Alexandria, whither he had gone to visit
Cleopatra, in the brief interval between two battles. "My relations
with the Queen are not new. You know very well that I have been her
lover for the past nine years! As for you! have you ever been
faithful to one woman? I wager by the time that this letter reaches
you your Livia will have had cause for complaint, and that you have
already quarrelled with Tertulia, Terentella, or Rufilla, probably
all three of them. If a man serves the gods and his country, what
matter with whom he takes his pleasures?"
Antony was in no hurry to raise his mask of secrecy and announce his
imitation marriage. He wanted to wait until after his second
campaign into Persia--from which he looked for happier results than
the first had given him--before risking the inevitable reproaches and
disturbances that might involve more than the family relation. Clad
in the armour of victory he would have nothing to fear. He therefore
tore himself from the tender arms that held him and returned to the
field of battle.
His troops, awaiting him on the Median frontier, accorded him, as
always, an enthusiastic welcome. They were his old soldiers, who had
often fought under his standards and were ready to follow wherever he
led. They had implicit faith in him, understood the breadth of his
ambitions, and were touched with the fire of his aspirations. They
were confident that his fortune would be their fortune; that they
would have, in their turn, quite as much glory and even more gold
than the veterans of Cæsar had won.
Why should they not have believed in the success of their
incomparable chief? Their hero, brave, alert, always on the spot
when needed; a warlike genius, prompt in action, generous to a fault,
never weary; who met good fortune and evil with the same indomitable
smile!
This popularity was too precious for him to neglect any means of
adding to it. Kindly always, he won hearts still more by his
epicurean indulgences, which he allowed his subordinates to share
with him. A lover of good living, he wanted happy faces around him.
He confined his rigorous discipline to the time of action; in camp he
authorized a freedom from restriction which was a new departure in
the life of Roman soldiers. What a contrast between the old bands of
Marius, valiant, it is true, but who marched under the lictor's whip,
and the spontaneous zeal of Antony's troops, who were ready to suffer
and to die for their leader! A striking instance of their devotion
was shown in the reply made by his men in the passes of Armenia,
where they were enduring the combined miseries of fatigue, hunger,
and cold, to the envoys of Phraates, who approached them with
perfidious offers of peace. "No," answered these loyal soldiers,
turning their backs to the tempters, "we would rather eat bark and
shells with Antony than abandon his cause."
The lieutenants were of the same mind. They sympathized with the
splendid ambitions of their chief. Many of his officers had been
taken into his confidence during the long night-watches in his tent,
and these young men were imbued with the spirit of warfare and hoped
to achieve brilliant records. The greater part of them had been
impoverished by civil wars and revolutions, and they were counting on
the fortunes of war to retrieve their losses, so they fought with the
eager expectation of gamblers.
This was the material that Antony had collected for his first
campaign into Persia; an invasion which in spite of wonderful deeds
had brought him but scant success. At the outset, he had been
compelled to tread cautiously in a country where the enemy had a
powerful army already installed, whereas he had to bring his forces
with him. Deceived alike by his naturally hopeful nature and by the
reports which his couriers had brought after a superficial survey of
conditions, he had imagined that the mere entrance of the Roman army
into this ancient empire of Darius would make its worn-out granite
walls crumble into dust.
When the real battles began he saw very clearly that the Medes,
Parthians, and Armenians had lost none of their valour. He realized
this cruelly at Phaaspa, where, by a totally unlooked-for turn of
tactics, the enemy compelled him to alter his lines and raise the
siege. More cruelly still was their prowess brought home to him
during the retreat that he was forced to make at the beginning of
winter, through a devastated country and under a shower of murderous
arrows.
These calamities could have been avoided if his eagerness to return
to Cleopatra had not made him hasten operations which required the
most careful preparation. He came back from his festival of love,
however, provided with new troops, reënforced artillery, and fresh
supplies. The campaign met with greater success this time. He
vanquished the Armenians, forced King Phraates to surrender to him
the standards formerly set up by the legions of Crassus, and thus was
able to send the Senate a glowing account of his movements, which
passed in Rome for the flaming breath of victory.
While Antony in the plains of Erzerum was giving these proofs of his
genius and daring, Octavius, no less determined to gain the
supremacy, was seeking the means to place it within his grasp. War
was not his strong point. At heart a coward, he preferred intrigue
to action. He knew, however, that in Rome arms represented the
standard of all grandeur, and he forced himself to consider them.
Besides, circumstances left him no choice. His colleagues were at
war; the one in Asia, the other in the African provinces. It rested
with him to repulse the invasions of Sextus Pompey. By good luck, in
spite of numerous defeats, his victory in Sicilian waters, whereby he
won one hundred and sixty vessels from the pirate fleet, enabled him
to announce before the Senate his delivery of the Republic from a
formidable enemy, almost at the same hour that Antony sent word of
his triumph in Persia.
However, neither of these victories was sufficiently important to
give either Triumvir definite ascendancy over the other. But,
preceded by the eagles of Crassus, whose downfall had been such a
bitter blow to Roman pride, with the spoils that he had captured from
the enemy, and leading among his captives the King Artabazes,
together with his Queen and her children, Antony arrived at Rome.
Crowned with golden laurels, driving along the Via Sacra in his
chariot drawn by the four white horses that had borne Cæsar, Sulla,
Marius, and the Scipios, he had addressed the crowd, saying: "I am
master now, who knows who will come after me?"
It was not only in the army that Antony was popular. His good
nature, his frankness, his consideration, and the scrupulous care
that he gave to rewarding any service rendered him, had made friends
for him everywhere, particularly among the townspeople. His absence,
so far from destroying his prestige, had increased it, for in periods
of unrest the people are apt to lay the blame of all mishaps on the
Government in power, while they exaggerate the greatness of these who
are gaining victories at a distance. If Antony had taken advantage
of his opportunity and brought his trophies to Rome the day after his
conquest of Media, and, like a good Roman citizen, prostrated himself
before the statue of Jupiter, there is no doubt whatever that the
imperial crown, refused to Cæsar, would have eventually been placed
on his head. But, as wise old Homer has said, "What can be expected
of a man who lets himself be the slave of a woman?"
To prevent his eluding her, Cleopatra had gone to meet her lover on
the coast of Asia. She profited by the occasion to investigate her
various interests there. Judea had a special fascination for her.
That Judea of which she had not been able to obtain possession, but
whose king paid her millions in tribute. Perhaps, too, she had a
curiosity to meet the beautiful Mariamne, who was reputed to have
such an irresistible fascination for Herod.
It was not without dire misgivings that these sovereigns learned of
the forthcoming visit to their household of the bold and dangerous
mistress of Antony. To be sure, it was protected by their faithful
devotion, as well as by the holy memory of the Queen of Sheba's visit
to Solomon, but Cleopatra's reputation was widespread. She, however,
was too well aware of the relations between Herod and Antony to run
any risk of offending the former. It was even whispered that she had
a natural feminine desire to try her witcheries on the reputedly
invulnerable heart of Judea's King, and that these coquetries came
very near ending her life.
Like all women in love, Mariamne was morbidly jealous. She was
furious at the intrusion of a woman, less beautiful perhaps than
herself, but whose rich bronze hair, milk-white skin, and shining
dark eyes had led astray the hearts of so many men. One evening when
they had retired to their own apartments, after having been
entertained by a series of songs and dances from Cleopatra, in which
she had displayed all her marvellous power to charm, Mariamne
observed that her husband was absent-minded. Promptly her thoughts
flew to the sorceress of Egypt, and her smouldering suspicion kindled
into flame: "You are thinking of her!" roared the enraged lioness,
and heedless of Herod's sincere denial she demanded that Cleopatra be
put to death on the instant.
To kill the Queen of Egypt! The ally of Rome! Such an act would
entail fatal consequences. If Herod demurred it was not because his
bloodthirsty soul baulked at either poison or poignard. It was not
because the siren songs had touched his senses. No, he too hated
her, for her yoke weighed heavily on his avaricious soul. He desired
to get rid of her, but he scarcely dared run so tremendous a risk.
Mariamne used all the wiles of the serpent of Eden; she coaxed, she
cajoled: "Do you not see that this woman is a menace to the whole
world? Antony himself would be safer if he were free!" But the King
was difficult to move. He argued, he resisted, and finally chose the
part of prudence. In place of the amorous homage that she had been
hoping to call forth, he loaded her with valuable gifts, and, without
letting her suspect how near she had come to losing her life, he
escorted her to the frontier, like a respectful vassal.
During those days that Cleopatra had spent near the Temple of Temples
had this learned pupil of Apollodorus any desire to read the sacred
books? Did she understand that the time for the birth of the Messiah
was drawing near? Had she any intuition that out of this land of
Judea, which she was oppressing like a despot, would rise the new
sovereignty of Christianity from the ruins of the world of her day?
Did she see the end of that civilization of which she was the fairest
representative? Probably not, for, like all those who are devoured
by ambition, Cleopatra thought only of her own aggrandizement, of the
fulfilment of her glorious dreams. It would have been inconceivable
to her mind, reared in the traditions of Egypt and of Greece, that
what had taken centuries to build up would vanish like a bit of straw.
Besides, this was the time for hopeful visions rather than for
misgivings. Antony was returning as victor. It was the moment to
announce their marriage, to prove her sole dominion over the mighty
conqueror. She awaited him eagerly, trembling with joyful
anticipation.
When Antony caught sight of her on the Libyan slopes, a flower
amongst flowers, her arms outspread to welcome him, her luscious
mouth ready for his kisses, all thought of his duty to Rome was
effaced in a moment. He saw her alone; his idol, his beloved, and
his only wish was to follow where she led, to share his triumphs with
her, and to add to her kingdoms the new kingdoms that he had just
conquered. A squadron awaited them at the mouth of the Orontes and
they set sail for Alexandria.
It was beyond belief that a Roman general should fail to bring the
spoils of war to Rome. It was for Rome alone that he had fought and
conquered. To Rome only belonged the privilege of conferring the
triumph. But Antony had a reckless disregard for all these
traditions. He was drunk with the homage of the Orient; her
prostrate kings, her incense, the statues that she had erected in his
honour. He felt a veritable giant and he meant to show his pride of
achievement by an act of outrageous audacity. He planned to
duplicate, on the banks of the Nile, the magnificent ceremonies with
which Rome welcomed her returning conquerors on the banks of the
Tiber.
Egyptian splendour equalled, if it did not exceed, that of Rome. On
this occasion everyone was anxious to contribute his share to the
gorgeous spectacle, for the insult to the Italian capital aroused
keen delight in the heart of the Alexandrians. Every house was
decorated; every citizen brought offerings; every woman wore her
finest apparel and all her available jewels. It was a variegated
crowd that assembled on the parade grounds to greet the Victor.
Suddenly there was a deep roar, as though the sea were pouring in. A
thousand trumpets rang out and the victorious army marched into
sight. The cavalry, in sparkling armour, led the way. Then the
chariots shook the ground as they rolled by in martial splendour,
laden with gold, silver, statues, all the spoils taken from the
violated temples. Thousands of captives, with arms bound and heads
bent, followed. Then King Artabazes, his wife and their two sons,
appeared, their arms fastened with silver chains in token of their
former grandeur. At last, standing in his chariot drawn by four
foaming chargers, his brow crowned with golden laurel, superb in, his
robes of royal purple, came the Imperator.
On a platform draped with sumptuous silk, Cleopatra awaited him, her
children by her side. On the first step stood Cæsarion, his face,
even more than his name, recalling the divine Cæsar. No ceremony in
Cleopatra's day had even approached this in royal grandeur, and
surely no other one had ever held such a triumph for her. What it
meant for this proud woman, who had borne the scoffs and jeers of
Rome, to see its highest dignitaries prostrate at her feet! What a
revenge to count by hundreds their golden eagles! In order to leave
no doubt as to her intention of putting herself in the place of their
god, Jupiter, she was wearing the silver tiara, surmounted by the
sacred asp, which was the head-dress of her own goddess, Isis.
As the Imperator appeared she rose, advanced to the edge of the
platform, and handed him the lotus sceptre, the replica of her own,
in token that he was to share with her the throne of Egypt.
Antony's face was radiant. From his exalted stand he proclaimed her
Queen of Kings, Empress, Goddess, and announced once more her
sovereignty over the kingdoms which he had recently presented to her.
Turning to the children, whose young heads were weighed down by their
diadems, he explained the order of their inheritance. The eldest was
to have Media, Armenia, and the land of the Parthians. Helios would
inherit the Libyan provinces; and his twin sister, Selene, Phoenicia
and the island of Cyprus. Cæsarion, who had just reached his
fourteenth year and laid aside the white and purple robe of the Roman
youth for the toga of manhood, he declared to be the sole heir of his
father, Julius Cæsar.
There was deafening applause, as though Alexandria with her group of
prospective kings was indeed the capital of all the world.
The sun dropped into the sea. From the gates of Canopus to the
Necropolis, the line of houses began to show lights, one by one, in
the gathering darkness, their roofs glowing red from the glare of the
torches. All sorts of festivities began. Oil, wine, and wheat were
distributed to the eager crowds; handfuls of money were thrown to the
populace and gathered up as quickly as it fell. The huge tables in
the palace gardens were loaded with refreshments. There were
spectacles of every variety, noble and obscene, artistic and bloody,
to suit all manner of tastes. The arena, as always, attracted the
larger number of people. The animals had been let loose, and, with a
license never permitted in Rome, young aristocrats took the part of
the gladiators. When these contestants whetted the appetite of the
wild beasts by offering their bare arms the whole audience stood up
and watched, breathless, to see the blood gush out.
Following the Roman custom, these fêtes went on for forty days. On
the opening evening Cleopatra and Antony appeared in their royal
robes, apart--as befitted their position as sovereigns. Mounted on
elephants, gleaming with jewels, they went through the different
quarters of the city. But they soon wearied of this imposing
regalia; it isolated them, kept them at a distance from the various
amusements whose echoes appealed to their desire for entertainment.
They dismissed the elephants and attendants and went about on foot
through the paved streets. Once there, the feverish need for further
excitement that stirs all merry-makers in Saturnalia took possession
of them. They mixed with the rioters, enjoying their ribald jests
and gross pleasures, and heedless of all sense of dignity, they
wandered about as in the old days when they frequented the
disreputable resorts of the Rhakotis.
Drink and excitement had stolen Antony's senses, and he conceived the
grotesque notion of ending the festival with a gigantic orgy and
masquerade, where, disguised as Silenus, surrounded by a crowd of
bacchanals, he would wander through the streets all night long.
There is a legend that owing to an amethyst ring, given to her by one
of her necromancers, Cleopatra never lost her presence of mind. She
chose the moment when Antony was utterly intoxicated to add a final
insult to those that had been heaped upon Rome during this festival
of folly. Mimics, eunuchs, the lowest kind of actors, were mounted
on curules, the ivory chairs of state reserved for the highest
dignitaries, and, in ridicule of a revered Roman custom, the Queen
ordered all the Romans then in Alexandria to file past this rabble.
This scandal crowned the succession of orgies. When the news of it
reached Octavius his heart quivered with delight! It supplied the
means, which he had lacked the wit to devise, to undermine Antony's
prestige. Careful and cunning, he suppressed his first instinct to
make use of these outrages at once for his own advantage. It was not
the right moment to attack an adversary who, in spite of blatant
faults, had many warm partisans. Before beginning this assault he
must win favour for himself and dispel the unflattering impressions
that he had made in his youth. Versed in the trick of changing his
policy, he effected such a complete alteration of standards that to
this day it is uncertain which represented his real self: the cruel,
suspicious, perfidious tyrant that he had seemed up to that time, or
the gracious prince, the patron of art and letters, who has been
known for so many centuries as Augustus Cæsar!
Cheating and trickery unquestionably played a part in this sudden
metamorphosis, but it is possible that, seeing the wisdom of honesty,
he used it as an instrument for promoting his own interests. At all
events, if he were not a better man, his conduct from that time gave
every evidence of it.
There was general astonishment on his return from Sicily. In place
of the atrocious bloody reprisals which had stained Rome after the
victory of Philippi, an amnesty was declared, with proposals of
peace, a reduction of taxes, and various changes for the benefit of
all classes of the people. Was not this the surest way to win
favour? Instead of setting himself up in opposition to his rival, to
give the people a season of wise moderation, as a contrast to the mad
debauchery of Antony?
He carried out this idea by proclaiming his wish to reëstablish the
simple manners and customs of former times. Recalling the austere
principles of Cato, he forbade the wearing of the imperial purple by
the people, restricting its use to the Senators. He suppressed
money-changing and encouraged agricultural pursuits. He laid the
foundation of the temple of Apollo on the Palatine hill, in order to
furnish employment for the masons. Though not completed until many
years later, this great religious work has always been associated
with his name. And, most important of all, he decided to destroy
Lepidus, because of the general contempt he had incurred on account
of his merciless raids to accumulate wealth for his own use. This
limiting of the Government to two rulers was universally welcomed.
It was a sign of ultimate republican unity, the first blow at the
accursed Triumvirate.
In all these movements Octavius had been aided by his friends'
counsel. He had many warm friends, for the gods are generous in
according this blessing to men not otherwise specially gifted, who
are thereby able to accomplish great things. Three of these friends
assumed all responsibility and bore him, on the wings of their
devotion, to heights which otherwise he could never have reached.
These were Theodorus, the learned teacher, on whose keen judgment he
could always rely in difficult undertakings; Agrippa, that
incomparable warrior, a veritable Neptune, who had complete command
of the seas; and Mæcenas, above all, the wise, the charming Mæcenas,
whose tactful, subtle intelligence was such that in giving counsel or
advice he always made his opponents believe that they themselves had
originated the idea.
Octavius fully understood the value of their support and undertook
nothing without consulting them. When he heard of what was going on
at Alexandria he summoned them at once. Each one, though consulted
privately as to what should be done in reply to Antony's insulting
actions, had the same view. They were of one mind. Assuredly Antony
had brought only anathemas upon his head, but his name, a synonym for
glory, generosity, courage, was greatly beloved; to make a direct
attack upon this popular hero would be unwise. She who had shared in
his evil deeds, however, they could safely condemn, being sure of the
commendation of the people; feared, as well as scorned, Cleopatra, in
the eyes of the Romans, was responsible for all these outrages. It
was rumoured that she had put secret potions in the wine which had
robbed Antony of his reason. It was finally decided to ignore for
the moment any part that the Imperator had taken in these scandalous
proceedings and to rouse the people against her, whom they venomously
termed "the Sorceress of the Nile!"
The method of temporizing which Octavius embodied in his motto: "_Sat
celeriter quidquid fiat satis bene,_" had up to that time been highly
successful. Accordingly he proceeded slowly and, while waiting to
attack his actual adversary, he commanded Theodorus to open a
campaign of accusations against the Egyptian Queen.