your sword. Let me expiate the disgrace of a defeat."
The slave turned his head. His arm refused to obey.
"You promised me!"
"Master, do not ask the impossible. You whom I have just saved from
the enemy's arrows! How can I?"
"Do you want to see me ruined, humiliated?"
No, Eros would not see that. He grasped his sword firmly, and
spinning the blade so rapidly that it seemed to make an aureole
around him, he hurled himself upon it with outstretched arms, and
fell face downward, at the feet of his master.
Tears rolled down Antony's hollow cheeks.
"Brave Eros! You have shown me how to die," and he whirled his sword
in like manner. The blow, unfortunately, had not the force of the
one that killed his slave; Antony still breathed. He called, and the
soldiers of his guard ran toward him.
"Strike," he commanded. "Stop my sufferings!"
But no one of them dared lay hands on that stately body from which
such glory had shone.
But Cleopatra was not dead. On hearing that the army of Octavius,
meeting no resistance, was marching on Alexandria her one idea was to
save herself from the invader. The mausoleum where her treasures
were gathered offered a safe refuge, and there she resolved to die.
But, once behind its iron grating, shut away from the living world, a
cold chill ran over her. Was this the moment? Undoubtedly. There
was nothing further to hope for. The last game had been played and
lost. Servitude, captivity, with their threatening humiliation hung
over her. Yet she hesitated. Why? The image of Antony was before
her, vanquished, dishonoured, destroyed. Did she care to see him
again? No, all was over between them. Their meeting place would be
elsewhere, in those fields of asphodel that bloom in the land of
shadows.
Why did she, who had so valiantly accustomed herself to the idea of
dying, whose heart had nearly ceased beating, fall on Charmian's
shoulder and cry bitterly? Her hand caressed the jade handle of the
tiny dagger that she always carried, and she murmured, "I cannot!"
Was she thinking of breaking her promise? No, she would not survive
her lover. She did not want to live. But, in the compact they had
made, there was always the dread in the heart of each that the first
one who went to the undiscovered country might not be followed. If
she died, Antony, instead of joining her in death, might go to
Octavia; and again her jealous soul imagined another of those
reconciliations between them which had disturbed the peace of the
world. She would take no chance of that. If she must go down into
Hades at least she would be sure that her lover had gone before her,
and so she sent him the false report of her death.
For the next hour the Queen suffered tortures in the depths of her
mausoleum. How had Antony received the news of her death?
There was a sudden noise. A crowd gathered outside the walls.
Cleopatra looked through one of the narrow openings which served as
windows. Merciful gods! What was that the soldiers were carrying on
a stretcher? It was Antony.
After he had wounded himself Antony heard that his beloved was still
living and he wanted to see her once again. His arms were stretched
out to her despairingly. How could he reach her? How get past the
iron grating which protected the mausoleum?
And then a scene occurred, harrowing and barbaric, one of those
superhuman acts which, viewed across the centuries, seems more
fabulous than real. With the help of Charmian and Iras, Cleopatra
threw down ropes from the roof and the wounded man was fastened to
them. What a load for the frail arms of women! But, had it been
heavier still they would have found strength to lift it up, for love
made their muscles sturdy.
At last Antony was in his mistress's arms. She held him close and
her burning tears fell over him.
"My lover! My hero! And I did not trust you!"
And Antony, heedless of his torn flesh that the least motion
tortured, pressed close to her.
"Cleopatra! Beauty of the world! I am dying! Let me have your lips
once more!"
She pressed him close. A few words, sobs, and the last breath went
from him. Falling beside the lifeless form of him who had been her
joy and pride, Cleopatra tore her breast.
"Most generous of men! This is where my love has brought you!"
When Octavius heard of Antony's death he was not overjoyed. His
royal prey had escaped him. He must secure Cleopatra at once, before
she came to herself and found strength to carry out her mysterious
plans.
To gain entrance to the mausoleum was not easy. Proculeius,
son-in-law of Mæcenas and, like him, blindly devoted to Octavius,
undertook the task. He was an old friend of Antony's, one of those
who, although they had gone over to the adverse camp, still retained
a certain regard for him. Antony, when dying, had designated him as
the only one whom Cleopatra might trust to defend her interests and
those of her children.
Therefore, when he came, bearing the condolences of Octavius and of
the Roman army, and asked the Queen to receive him, she could not
refuse. Suspicious, as always, and determined to open the doors to
no one, she tried to rise from her bed and go to receive her visitor
in a lower hall, which communicated with the outside only by a
grating.
But all caution was vain. While the deceitful messenger discussed,
across the iron bars, the magnificent obsequies which Octavius was
planning in honour of his great rival, his confederates effected a
most cowardly entrance.
Cunningly as the plan was arranged, however, Cleopatra heard the
noise. For a moment she did not answer her questioner. With anxious
ears she listened to what was going on overhead. Then a door was
flung open. Charmian came in.
"Horror! Treason! We are invaded!" she cried.
With ropes and cords the assassins that Proculeius had brought had
scaled the walls. They burst in.
"Queen, you are a prisoner!" said one, as he approached her.
"Not while living!" cried Cleopatra, proudly, and drew from her
girdle the tiny dagger which she had kept for such a moment.
Too late! The weapon was snatched from her hand!
Yes, Cleopatra was a prisoner. Through the lowered grating which she
had sworn never to lift, she was led back to her palace between files
of Roman soldiers.
Octavius was at last in possession of the long-coveted treasure. He
was anxious to have an inventory made immediately. Preceded by
slaves bearing flaming torches, he went through the subterranean
vaults which Cleopatra had planned to burn. It was a world in
itself. Marvellous works of art, priceless jewels, rare woods, rugs,
were piled up to the vaulted ceilings. Many ships were needed to
convey even the store of precious metals to Ostia. However
phlegmatic this usurer's son might be, he could not restrain an
exclamation of delight, which came from his heart, in passing through
these stores of ingots, these piles of coins. These would put an end
at last to the embarrassments which had plagued him since the
indiscretions of his youth. All his debts would be paid. His
legionaries would receive generous donations, over and above their
just wages, that would attach them to him for life. With the stream
of gold which would flow from this inexhaustible purse he could buy
solid devotion. Was he not certain of wearing that imperial crown
which Cæsar had barely lifted?
The people of Alexandria, who dreaded devastation and advocated a
policy of prudence, welcomed the invader warmly. Exhausted by fifty
years of revolutionary disturbances, they were only too willing to
have a government that promised peace. The monarchial principle was,
however, so deeply rooted in these servitors of the Lagidean dynasty
that the surest way to obtain their respect and submission was to
replace one crowned head by another.
The Imperator was no sooner seated on the throne than numerous
well-wishers came to pay homage to him. Anxious to establish general
friendly relations, he took care to flatter the pride that each
Alexandrian cherished in regard to his beautiful city. Theatres,
palaces, museums, temples above all--for he understood the importance
of the priests' vote for the retention of the throne--were included
in his carefully devised project. Concerned in all that could enrich
his mind and help to forward the glory and magnificence of the reign
of Augustus, he interested himself in the schools, the gymnasiums,
the Library. He cultivated the learned men of the Serapeum, and was
much gratified at meeting there the philosopher, Areus, who had been
his professor at Athens. He promised to continue the independence
which students had enjoyed under the former kings.
The visit to the Soma, that gigantic mausoleum, where the body of
Alexander of Macedon lay in its crystal coffin, was of tremendous
interest to a man whose only thought was glory. It is said that
Cæsar, in the presence of the illustrious remains, had exclaimed: "I
weep, because at my age this man had already conquered the world."
His nephew, even more ambitious, examined the mummy long and
carefully. He seemed to be questioning it, as though he were not
satisfied with merely looking at the earthly form of him who had
conceived and carried out such marvellous ambitions. He had the lid
which covered the body raised, and, greedy to the point of
profanation, he dared to handle the skull.
Cleopatra had been taken back to her apartments in the Bruchium. She
was kept carefully out of sight of the people. Honours were not
lacking; but these honours merely served to accentuate the fact that
she was a captive, as they were all rendered by Roman functionaries.
For fear of poison her clothes, her boxes, her person even, were
continually searched. Her greatest trial was the continual presence
of Epaphroditus, a eunuch of Octavius, who, according to
instructions, played the part of courtier and under his obsequious
manner concealed his role of jailor.
Emotion, disaster, grief, had finally broken Cleopatra's buoyant
nature. That wound she had made in tearing her breast had become
inflamed. Fever set in. The physicians pronounced the malady
serious, possibly fatal. For an instant the unhappy woman believed
that the merciful gods were going to save her from self-slaughter;
and she gave herself up to the disease as to a generous current. So
far from resisting it, she aided it, refused all medicine, and would
take no nourishment.
Octavius was alarmed. Although he had obtained the treasure, he
wanted the woman as well. He desired her perfect, not injured in any
way. In all her beauty she would be the crowning glory of his
triumphant return to Rome.
Trusting no one but himself to look after her health, which for that
cruel reason was precious to him, he sent her word of his visit,
thinking by this mark of respect to disarm his captive and deceive
her as to his motives.
His calculations, at first, seemed successful. On hearing that the
Imperator was coming to see her Cleopatra improved somewhat. She
decided to defer dying for the present! Before that irreparable deed
she wished to see her enemy, to know what she was to hope or to fear
from him.
Much has been written on the meeting of these two remarkable figures,
who, after the manner of augurs, approached each other wearing masks.
The object of the Imperator was definite. But what was her dream?
What temptations assailed that mistress of the art of seduction to
try her fatal powers once more? What hope did she have in those last
days? That was the undiscoverable secret of a soul already on its
way to eternity.
Those historians whose accounts of Augustus are full of adulation
have described this scene as typical of the chaste and grave son of
Theseus who was able to resist the seductions of the cursed
courtesan. Perhaps, under other conditions, Cleopatra would still
have kept this role of courtesan; but, at this time of infinite
weariness, with her wounded breast, her tired eyes, her feet still
trembling from having felt her throne crumble beneath them; after
having buried the man whom she adored, and having in her mouth the
bitter taste of emptiness, could she still have played the part of a
coquette? Her keen intelligence, apart from her dignity, would have
kept her from such a false step. With no intention of beguiling him,
no hope of finding in him another Cæsar, or an Antony, she surely had
the privilege of using what remained of her charms, scarred by
thirty-eight years of passion and misfortune, to soften the heart of
her captor. As to succeeding...?
The two antagonists were face to face. Bowing courteously, Octavius
took the chair near her bed that the Queen had pointed out. Then, as
customary when greeting an invalid, he inquired as to her health.
With a sigh, she replied:
"You can see. I have no strength left."
Abruptly he broached the subject that was nearest his heart. Was it
true that the Queen had given up in despair? That she would rather
die than submit to his kindly rule?
She only sobbed.
He went on:
"Undoubtedly Thyreus has not delivered my message properly!"
She said that, on the contrary, she understood what a generous master
he was and that she expected every consideration from him.
"Then be brave, Queen. Do not look on me as an enemy."
His voice was gentle, his expression kindly, but at a glance
Cleopatra had comprehended. He was hard as a rock. He was trying to
look human but she saw only the sharply cut nose that suggested a
bird of prey, the dry, close-lipped mouth. No sincere words could
come from it. She knew the part she must play. It would be a
fencing match, and each must be on guard. She made a gesture of
resignation.
"It is true; when Antony died I felt I could not go on living!"
"And now?"
"Oh! now I must think of my children. Dear little souls! How can I
leave them? At least I must know what their future in Rome will be!"
Her children! Cæsarion, Ptolemy, Antyllas, they were the first
prizes that Octavius had seized. Defrauded of his principal victim,
these innocent children would be sacrificed to their mother's
insubordination.
The executioner went on with his hypocritical smile:
"Have no fear for them, Madame. Their fate is in your hands. If you
put your faith in me and comply with my requests, no harm shall come
to them."
She knew just how much this assurance was worth. She knew that the
unhappy children would have to suffer; but she feigned confidence.
"I have the word of Octavius."
"And will you in return, beautiful Cleopatra, swear that you will not
try to kill yourself? That you will not refuse to accompany me to
Rome?"
In this frightful comedy, with a vain knave on one side, and the
honour of a Queen on the other, who would win?
Cleopatra gave her word.
"You are my sovereign master," she replied, bending her beautiful
head. "Wherever you choose to take me I will follow you
submissively."
And to demonstrate that from that time on she was his vassal, she
took from an attendant her list of jewels and handed it to Octavius.
"These are yours. I have only kept some ornaments, the most
precious, it is true, in order to offer them myself to Livia, to
Octavia."
This time he was really astonished.
"Do you really mean it?"
"Yes, I want your sister, who is sharing my grief, to pardon me for
all the sorrow that I have brought on her."
However skilled he might have been in the art of deception, he was
chiefly accustomed to dealing with men, and he did not understand
Cleopatra's subtleties. Entirely confident that all would be well,
he was about to leave her, but Cleopatra detained him. She had one
favour to ask of him. As she was soon to go away from Egypt, to tear
herself from the cherished city where her husband lay, might she be
allowed to go to his tomb for the last time?
A docile captive, a generous prince! Following the example of
Antony, who, after the battle of Philippi had so magnanimously
honoured the bleeding body of Brutus, Octavius granted the request of
his widow.
The next day, though hardly able to stand, Cleopatra was taken to the
tomb. Her jailors accompanied her, which pleased her, as she wanted
them to look on at the sad demonstration there. It was not enough to
have convinced Octavius; she wanted it generally known that she had
accepted her fate. Only in this way could she gain the liberty that
she needed for her plans. She knelt down before an audience that
would not fail to report her every gesture, every word. With tears
and grief, which at least were not feigned, she poured on the
tomb-stone oil and wine, the mystic nourishment of the dead. Her
words came slowly, each cunningly conceived, and put together in a
manner to deceive the world.
"Oh, Antony, my beloved! my hands that laid you to rest here were
those of a free woman; to-day it is a slave who comes to offer you
libations. Accept them, since they are the only honours, the last
homage that I can ever render you. We, whom nothing could separate
in life, are condemned to exchange our countries in death. You, a
Roman, will rest here, while I, unhappy being that I am, will find my
sepulchre in Italy, far from the land of my ancestors."
The effect of this pathetic farewell was just what Cleopatra had
foreseen. The most skeptical were convinced of her sincerity. In
speaking thus she surely accepted the decreed departure from the land
of her fathers.
Epaphroditus, himself, astonished at the transformation that had
taken place in the prisoner, was relieved to know that she had given
up the thought of suicide. From that time on supervision was
relaxed. The exits and entrances of the palace were unguarded. The
Queen was allowed to entertain her visitors without witnesses.
A heroine who had borne so much suffering was worthy of profound
devotion. What came to her exceeded her hopes. The man who would
have risked his life, not to save that of the Queen, which, alas, was
not to be saved, but to spare her humiliation, was a Roman officer.
Young, handsome, of the noble family of Cornelius, Dolabella had
served as staff-officer during Octavius's campaign in Egypt. Happy
to have done with war, he was thoroughly enjoying the brilliant
pleasures which the conquered city afforded.
One morning he was on duty as commander of the guard which protected
the Queen's apartments. It was at the crisis of her illness. He saw
her weeping, suffering, refusing all care. He heard her implore
death to come as a divine mercy. Men usually prefer women who are
happy, but turn instinctively away when they are suffering. Some
rare natures, however, are drawn toward those who are in sorrow.
When Dolabella saw the misery of this royal woman, whom the gods had
first blessed above all others and then ruthlessly deprived of
happiness, he felt a tender compassion for her. With a pity such as
a neglected garden inspires he thought, "What is to be done? What
help can I give? How can I aid this divine flower broken by the
storm?"
Without having had any encouragement he approached the Queen, saying:
"Use me, Madame, as a thing that belongs to you."
It was a surprise to this sorrowing woman, whom all the world seemed
to have forgotten. For a moment Cleopatra hesitated. Accustomed as
she was to trickery and betrayal, she suspected some trap. He might
be another Proculeius! But no, honesty was stamped on this man's
face. His eyes inspired trust. Her bruised heart took courage and
suddenly, with the faith of a young girl, she told him of the only
one of her desires that had any chance of being granted: to know
Octavius's intentions in regard to her, and to be duly warned of the
day fixed for his return to Rome.
The young officer was in touch with the Imperator. It was easy to
find out what his immediate plans were. Unconscious of being an
accomplice to a fatal act, he agreed to do as she asked. It was a
perilous promise which might have cost him his life. But even had he
realized this he had been too often under fire to value life save for
what it brings.
Three days later he gave her the information she desired. Octavius
had decided to go back to Italy by way of Syria and Greece, and had
given orders that Cleopatra, together with her younger children, be
sent to Rome.
The hour had come at last. Cleopatra knew that henceforth there was
no changing the fate which awaited her. It was time for the sword,
which had been hanging over her for nearly a year, to fall. She
regarded it fearlessly. Perhaps had she only drunk a few drops of
bitterness she would have shrunk from the horror of it. But her cup
of sorrow was empty; the game of life was lost. She gave the news to
the two cherished friends, who had her full confidence, and
instructed them to inform Olympus.
For fear of arousing suspicions, this manipulator of poisons had been
kept in retirement; but his solicitude for Cleopatra made him
vigilant and everything was prepared secretly. The Queen had no
anxiety on the subject. She knew that at the appointed hour her
means of freedom would be ready. There was nothing to do but wait
and arrange things according to the carefully thought-out plan.
As a woman to whom elegance was a necessity, Cleopatra had determined
to make her death, as she had made her life, a thing of beauty. Her
queenly pride demanded that Octavius, Agrippa, Mæcenas, even
Proculeius, all these Romans who had scoffed at her, should admire,
not only the courage which had sustained her during the humiliating
farce which they had forced upon her, but the envelope of her rare
soul as well. With an ardour which left her quite calm she
personally attended to all the little preparatory details of her
toilet. As though she were making ready for meeting her lover, she
bathed in warm, perfumed water. Her face was sweet with spikenard,
and antimony gave a touch of mystery to her dark eyes. Her lips and
cheeks were like burning roses. From the cedar chest came forth the
snow-white robe, shining with pearls and gold, which had made her
more than royal at the coronation feast. Some jewels put the
finishing touch to her splendour.
What memories that brought back to her! The dazzling processions,
the mad joy of the people, Antony, beautiful as Apollo, in his
two-wheeled chariot drawn by the four white chargers; his stepping
down and proclaiming her under the shining heavens Queen of kings,
Empress, Goddess--and to-day, the winding-sheet!
As she fastened the amethyst buckle at her girdle Cleopatra's fingers
trembled. But a stoic, she drew herself up. There must be no
weakness. Her task was not yet completed. Instead of there being
any suggestion of mourning here, all things should sing a chant of
deliverance. Roses were scattered on the tables, on the carpet.
Incense burned in the cressets. The shaded lamps gave a soft, rich
light. When everything was adjusted to harmonize with the great
climax, Cleopatra drew a letter, written some days before, from a
secret drawer. In it she had recommended her children to the
generosity of the conqueror and begged him to allow her to rest by
the side of Antony. She read it over, wrote the date (August 15,
30), the date that was to be her last day of life, and affixed the
royal seal.
Was it as a jest that she charged Epaphroditus with the delivery of
this letter? Perhaps, for Cleopatra had always loved to play with
men or perhaps she merely wanted to get him out of the way. However
that was, his ugly snout smelt some trickery. To go away from her
seemed imprudent. He hesitated; but the message was important and
the Queen persuaded him, with one of those smiles which no man could
resist. The jailor yielded. Besides, why should he have any serious
suspicions of a woman whose days were passed in futile occupations?
Who since early morning had been poking in chests, turning over
jewels and trinkets? Epaphroditus's shallow brain was incapable of
comprehending the whims and caprices of a Cleopatra!
The evening repast was served as usual. The careless slaves came and
went. That none of them should have any idea of what was coming, the
Queen forced herself to eat and to keep up the conversation.
There was a sudden stirring behind the curtain. It sounded like a
dispute. One of the guards came in. He could not get rid of a man,
a peasant apparently, who insisted on speaking with the Queen.
"What does he want?"
"He wishes to give you a basket of figs."
"Let him come in."