CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
PREFACE.
If the author should be told that the sentimental love of our day was
unknown to the pagan world, he would not cite last the two lovers,
Antony and Cleopatra, and the will of the powerful Roman general, in
which he expressed the desire, wherever he might die, to be buried
beside the woman whom he loved to his latest hour. His wish was
fulfilled, and the love-life of these two distinguished mortals, which
belongs to history, has more than once afforded to art and poesy a
welcome subject.
In regard to Cleopatra, especially, life was surrounded with an
atmosphere of romance bordering on the fabulous. Even her bitterest foes
admire her beauty and rare gifts of intellect. Her character, on the
contrary, presents one of the most difficult problems of psychology. The
servility of Roman poets and authors, who were unwilling frankly to
acknowledge the light emanating so brilliantly from the foe of the state
and the Imperator, solved it to her disadvantage. Everything that bore
the name of Egyptian was hateful or suspicious to the Roman, and it was
hard to forgive this woman, born on the banks of the Nile, for having
seen Julius Cæsar at her feet and compelled Mark Antony to do her
bidding. Other historians, Plutarch at their head, explained the enigma
more justly, and in many respects in her favour.
It was a delightful task to the author to scan more closely the
personality of the hapless Queen, and from the wealth of existing
information shape for himself a creature in whom he could believe. Years
elapsed ere he succeeded; but now that he views the completed picture,
he thinks that many persons might be disposed to object to the
brightness of his colours. Yet it would not be difficult for the writer
to justify every shade which he has used. If, during his creative work,
he learned to love his heroine, it was because, the more distinctly he
conjured before his mind the image of this wonderful woman, the more
keenly he felt and the more distinctly he perceived how fully she
merited not only sympathy and admiration, but, in spite of all her sins
and weaknesses, the self-sacrificing affection which she inspired in so
many hearts.
It was an author of no less importance than Horace who called Cleopatra
"_non humilis mulier_"--a woman capable of no baseness. But the phrase
gains its greatest importance from the fact that it adorns the hymn
which the poet dedicated to Octavianus and his victory over Antony and
Cleopatra. It was a bold act, in such an ode, to praise the victor's
foe. Yet he did it, and his words, which are equivalent to a deed, are
among this greatly misjudged woman's fairest claims to renown.
Unfortunately it proved less potent than the opinion of Dio, who often
distorted what Plutarch related, but probably followed most closely the
farce or the popular tales which, in Rome, did not venture to show the
Egyptian in a favourable light.
The Greek Plutarch, who lived much nearer the period of our heroine than
Dio, estimated her more justly than most of the Roman historians. His
grandfather had heard many tales of both Cleopatra and Antony from his
countryman Philotas, who, during the brilliant days when they revelled
in Alexandria, had lived there as a student. Of all the writers who
describe the Queen, Plutarch is the most trustworthy, but even his
narrative must be used with caution. We have closely followed the clear
and comprehensive description given by Plutarch of the last days of our
heroine. It bears the impress of truth, and to deviate widely from it
would be arbitrary.
Unluckily, Egyptian records contain nothing which could have much weight
in estimating the character of Cleopatra, though we have likenesses
representing the Queen alone, or with her son Cæsarion. Very recently
(in 1892) the fragment of a colossal double statue was found in
Alexandria, which can scarcely be intended for any persons except
Cleopatra and Antony hand in hand. The upper part of the female figure
is in a state of tolerable preservation, and shows a young and
attractive face. The male figure was doubtless sacrificed to
Octavianus's command to destroy Antony's statues. We are indebted to
Herr Dr. Walther, in Alexandria, for an excellent photograph of this
remarkable piece of sculpture. Comparatively few other works of plastic
art, in which we here include coins, that could render us familiar with
our heroine's appearance, have been preserved.
Though the author must especially desire to render his creation a work
of art, it is also requisite to strive for fidelity. As the heroine's
portrait must reveal her true character, so the life represented here
must correspond in every line with the civilization of the period
described. For this purpose we placed Cleopatra in the centre of a
larger group of people, whom she influences, and who enable her
personality to be displayed in the various relations of life.
Should the author succeed in making the picture of the remarkable woman,
who was so differently judged, as "lifelike" and vivid as it stamped
itself upon his own imagination, he might remember with pleasure the
hours which he devoted to this book.
Georg Ebers
Tützing on the Starnberger See, _October 5, 1893_.
CLEOPATRA.
CHAPTER I.
Gorgias, the architect, had learned to bear the scorching sunbeams of
the Egyptian noonday. Though not yet thirty, he had directed--first as
his late father's assistant and afterwards as his successor--the
construction of the huge buildings erected by Cleopatra in Alexandria.
Now he was overwhelmed with commissions; yet he had come hither ere the
hours of work were over, merely to oblige a youth who had barely passed
the confines of boyhood.
True, the person for whom he made this sacrifice was Cæsarion, the son
whom Cleopatra had given to Julius Cæsar. Antony had honoured him with
the proud title of "King of kings"; yet he was permitted neither to rule
nor even to issue orders, for his mother kept him aloof from affairs of
state, and he himself had no desire to hold the sceptre.
Gorgias had granted his wish the more readily, because it was apparent
that he wanted to speak to him in private, though he had not the least
idea what Cæsarion desired to confide, and, under any circumstances, he
could give him only a brief interview. The fleet, at whose head the
Queen had set sail, with Mark Antony, for Greece, must have already met
Octavianus's galleys, and doubtless a battle wherein the destiny of the
world was decided had also been fought upon the land, Gorgias believed
that the victory would fall to Antony and the Queen, and wished the
noble pair success with his whole heart. He was even obliged to act as
if the battle had been already determined in their favour, for the
architectural preparations for the reception of the conquerors were
entrusted to his charge, and that very day must witness the decision of
the location of the colossal statues which represented Antony hand in
hand with his royal love.
The epitrop Mardion, a eunuch, who as Regent, represented Cleopatra; and
Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who rarely opposed him, wished to have the
piece of sculpture erected in a different place from the one he
favoured. The principal objection to the choice made by the powerful
head of the government was that it had fallen on land owned by a private
individual. This might lead to difficulties, and Gorgias opposed it. As
an artist, too, he did not approve Mardion's plan; for though, on
Didymus's land, the statues would have faced the sea, which the Regent
and the Keeper of the Seal regarded as very important, no fitting
background could have been obtained.
At any rate, the architect could now avail himself of Cæsarion's
invitation to overlook from the appointed place of meeting--the lofty
steps of the Temple of Isis--the Bruchium, and seek the best site for
the twin statues. He was anxious to select the most suitable one; the
master who had created this work of art had been his friend, and had
closed his eyes in death shortly after its completion.
The sanctuary whence Gorgias commenced his survey was in one of the
fairest portions of the Bruchium, the Alexandrian quarter, where stood
the royal palace with its extensive annexes, the finest temples--except
the Serapeum, situated in another part of the city--and the largest
theatres; the Forum invited the council of Macedonian citizens to its
assemblies, and the Museum afforded a resort for the scholars.
The little square closed in the east by the Temple of Isis was called
the "Corner of the Muses," on account of the two marble statues of women
before the entrance of the house, which, with its large garden facing
the square northward and extending along the sea, belonged to Didymus,
an old and highly respected scholar and member of the Museum.
The day had been hot, and the shade of the Temple of Isis was very
welcome to the architect. This sanctuary rested upon a lofty foundation,
and a long flight of steps led to the cella. The spot afforded Gorgias a
wide prospect.
Most of the buildings within his vision belonged to the time of
Alexander and his successors in the house of the Ptolemies, but some,
and by no means the least stately, were the work of Gorgias himself or
of his father. The artist's heart swelled with enthusiastic delight at
the sight of this portion of his native city.
He had been in Rome, and visited many other places numbered among the
world's fairest and most populous cities; but not one contained so many
superb works of art crowded together in so small a space.
"If one of the immortals themselves," he murmured, "should strive to
erect for the inhabitants of Olympus a quarter meet for their grandeur
and beauty, it could scarcely be much more superb or better fitted to
satisfy the artistic needs which we possess as their gift, and it would
surely be placed on the shore of such a sea."
While speaking, he shaded his keen eyes with his hand. The architect,
who usually devoted his whole attention to the single object that
claimed his notice, now permitted himself the pleasure of enjoying the
entire picture in whose finishing touches he had himself borne a part;
and, as his practised eye perceived in every temple and colonnade the
studied and finished harmony of form, and the admirable grouping of the
various buildings and statues, he said to himself, with a sigh of
satisfaction, that his own art was the noblest and building the highest
of royal pleasures. No doubt this belief was shared by the princes who,
three centuries before, had endeavoured to obtain an environment for
their palaces which should correspond with their vast power and
overflowing wealth, and at the same time give tangible expression to
their reverence for the gods and their delight in art and beauty. No
royal race in the universe could boast of a more magnificent abode.
These thoughts passed through Gorgias's mind as the deep azure hue of
sea and sky blended with the sunlight to bring into the strongest relief
all that the skill and brains of man, aided by exhaustless resources,
had here created.
Waiting, usually a hard task for the busy architect, became a pleasure
in this spot; for the rays streaming lavishly in all directions from the
diadem of the sovereign sun flooded with dazzling radiance the thousands
of white marble statues on the temples and colonnades, and were
reflected from the surfaces of the polished granite of the obelisks and
the equally smooth walls of the white, yellow, and green marble, the
syenite, and the brown, speckled porphyry of sanctuaries and palaces.
They seemed to be striving to melt the bright mosaic pictures which
covered every foot of the ground, where no highway intersected and no
tree shaded it, and flashed back again from the glimmering metal or the
smooth glaze in the gay tiles on the roofs of the temples and houses.
Here they glittered on the metal ornaments, yonder they seemed to be
trying to rival the brilliancy of the gilded domes, to lend to the
superb green of the tarnished bronze surfaces the sparkling lustre of
the emerald, or to transform the blue and red lines of the white marble
temples into lapis-lazuli and coral and their gilded decorations into
topaz. The pictures in the mosaic pavement of the squares, and on the
inner walls of the colonnades, were doubly effective against the light
masses of marble surrounding them, which in their turn were indebted to
the pictures for affording the eye an attractive variety instead of
dazzling monotony.
Here the light of the weltering sun enhanced the brilliancy of colour in
the flags and streamers which fluttered beside the obelisks and Egyptian
pylons, over the triumphal arches and the gates of the temples and
palaces. Yet even the exquisite purplish blue of the banner waving above
the palace on the peninsula of Lochias, now occupied by Cleopatra's
children, was surpassed by the hue of the sea, whose deep azure near the
shore merged far away into bands of lighter and darker blue, blending
with dull or whitish green.
Gorgias was accustomed to grasp fully whatever he permitted to influence
him, and though still loyal to his custom of associating with his art
every remarkable work of the gods or man, he had not forgotten in his
enjoyment of the familiar scene the purpose of his presence in this
spot.
No, the garden of Didymus was _not_ the proper place for his friend's
last work.
While gazing at the lofty plane, sycamore, and mimosa trees which
surrounded the old scholar's home, the quiet square below him suddenly
became astir with noisy life, for all classes of the populace were
gathering in front of the sequestered house, as if some unusual
spectacle attracted them.
What could they want of the secluded philosopher?
Gorgias gazed earnestly at them, but soon turned away again; a gay voice
from below called his name.
A singular procession had approached the temple--a small body of armed
men, led by a short, stout fellow, whose big head, covered with bushy
curls, was crowned with a laurel wreath. He was talking eagerly to a
younger man, but had paused with the others in front of the sanctuary to
greet the architect. The latter shouted a few pleasant words in reply.
The laurel-crowned figure made a movement as if he intended to join him,
but his companion checked him, and, after a short parley, the older man
gave the younger one his hand, flung his heavy head back, and strutted
onward like a peacock, followed by his whole train.
The other looked after him, shrugging his shoulders; then called to
Gorgias, asking what boon he desired from the goddess.
"Your presence," replied the architect blithely.
"Then Isis will show herself gracious to you," was the answer, and the
next instant the two young men cordially grasped each other's hands.
Both were equally tall and well formed; the features bore witness to
their Greek origin; nay, they might have been taken for brothers, had
not the architect's whole appearance seemed sturdier and plainer than
that of his companion, whom he called "Dion" and friend. As the latter
heaped merry sarcasms upon the figure wearing the laurel wreath who had
just left him, Anaxenor, the famous zither-player, on whom Antony had
bestowed the revenues of four cities and permission to keep body-guard,
and Gorgias's deeper voice sometime assented, sometimes opposed with
sensible objections, the difference between these two men of the same
age and race became clearly apparent.
Both showed a degree of self-reliance unusual, at their age; but the
architect's was the assurance which a man gains by toil and his own
merit, Dion's that which is bestowed by large possession and a high
position in society. Those who were ignorant that the weight of Dion's
carefully prepared speech had more than once turned the scale in the
city councils would probably have been disposed to take him for one of
the careless worldlings who had no lack of representatives among the
gilded youth of Alexandria; while the architect's whole exterior, from
his keen eye to the stouter leather of his sandals, revealed earnest
purpose and unassuming ability.
Their friendship had commenced when Gorgias built a new palace for Dion.
During long business association people become well acquainted, even
though their conversations relate solely to direction and execution. But
in this case, he who gave the orders had been only the inspirer and
adviser, the architect the warm-hearted friend, eager to do his utmost
to realize what hovered before the other's mind as the highest
attainable excellence. So the two young men became first dear, and
finally almost indispensable to each other. As the architect discovered
in the wealthy man of the world many qualities whose existence he had
not suspected, the latter was agreeably surprised to find in the artist,
associated with his solidity of character, a jovial companion, who--this
first made him really beloved by his friend--had no lack of weaknesses.
When the palace was completed to Dion's satisfaction and became one of
the most lauded ornaments of the city, the young men's friendship
assumed a new form, and it would have been difficult to say which
received the most benefit.
Dion had just been stopped by the zither-player to ask for confirmation
of the tidings that the united forces of Antony and Cleopatra had gained
a great victory on sea and land.
In the eating-house at Kanopus, where he had breakfasted, everyone was
full of the joyful news, and rivers of wine had been drunk to the health
of the victors and the destruction of the malicious foe.
"In these days," cried Dion, "not only weak-brained fellows, like the
zither-player, believe me omniscient, but many sensible men also. And
why? Because, forsooth, I am the nephew of Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal,
who is on the brink of despair because he himself knows nothing, not
even the veriest trifle."
"Yet he stands nearest to the Regent," observed Gorgias, "and must
learn, if any one does, how the fleet fares."
"You too!" sighed his friend. "Had I been standing so far above the
ground as you, the architect--by the dog, I should not have failed to
note the quarter whence the wind blew! It has been southerly a whole
fortnight, and keeps back the galleys coming from the north. The Regent
knows nothing, absolutely nothing, and my uncle, of course, no more. But
if they do learn anything they will be shrewd enough not to enrich me
with it."
"True, there are other rumours afloat," said the architect thoughtfully.
"If I were in Mardion's place----"
"Thank the Olympians that you are not," laughed his companion. "He has
as many cares as a fish has scales. And one, the greatest.--That pert
young Antyllus was over-ready with his tongue yesterday at Barine's.
Poor fellow! He'll have to answer for it to his tutor at home."
"You mean the remark about the Queen's accompanying the fleet?"
"St!" said Dion, putting his finger on his lips, for many men and women
were now ascending the temple steps. Several carried flowers and cakes,
and the features of most expressed joyful emotion. The news of the
victory had reached their ears, and they wanted to offer sacrifices to
the goddess whom Cleopatra, "the new Isis," preferred to all others.
The first court-yard of the sanctuary was astir with life. They could
hear the ringing of the sistrum bells and the murmuring chant of the
priests. The quiet fore-court of the little temple of the goddess, which
here, in the Greek quarter of palaces, had as few visitors as the great
Temple of Isis in the Rhakotis was overcrowded, had now become the worst
possible rendezvous for men who stood so near the rulers of the
government. The remark made about the Queen the evening before by
Antyllus, Antony's nineteen-year-old son, at the house of Barine, a
beautiful young woman who attracted all the prominent men in Alexandria,
was the more imprudent because it coincided with the opinion of all the
wisest heads. The reckless youth enthusiastically reverenced his father,
but Cleopatra, the object of Antony's love, and--in the Egyptians'
eyes--his wife, was not Antyllus's mother. He was the son of Fulvia, his
father's first wife, and feeling himself a Roman, would have preferred a
thousand times to live on the banks of the Tiber. Besides, it was
certain--Antony's stanchest friends made no attempt to conceal the
fact--that the Queen's presence with the army exerted a disturbing
influence, and could not fail to curb the daring courage of the brave
general. Antyllus, with the reckless frankness inherited from his
father, had expressed this view in the presence of all Barine's guests,
and in a form which would be only too quickly spread throughout
Alexandria, whose inhabitants relished such speeches.
These remarks would be slow in reaching the plain people who were
attracted to the temple by the news of the victory, yet many doubtless
knew Cæsarion, whom the architect was awaiting here. It would be wiser
to meet the prince at the foot of the steps. Both men, therefore, went
down to the square, though the crowds seeking the temple and thronging
the space before Didymus's house made it more and more difficult to pace
to and fro.
They were anxious to learn whether the rumour that Didymus's garden was
to be taken for the twin statues had already spread abroad, and their
first questions revealed that this was the case. It was even stated that
the old sage's house was to be torn down, and within a few hours. This
was vehemently contradicted; but a tall, scrawny man seemed to have
undertaken to defend the ruler's violence.
The friends knew him well. It was the Syrian Philostratus, a clever
extempore speaker and agitator of the people, who placed his clever
tongue at the disposal of the highest bidder.
"The rascal is probably now in my uncle's employ," said Dion. "The
idea of putting the piece of sculpture there originated with him, and
it is difficult to turn him from such plans. There is some secret
object to be gained here. That is why they have brought Philostratus.
I wonder if the conspiracy is connected in any way with Barine, whose
husband--unfortunately for her--he was before he cast her off."
"Cast her off!" exclaimed Gorgias wrathfully. "How that sounds! True, he
did it, but to persuade him the poor woman sacrificed half the fortune
her father had earned by his brush. You know as well as I that life with
that scoundrel would be unbearable."
"Very true," replied Dion quietly. "But as all Alexandria melted into
admiration after her singing of the _yalemos_ at the Adonis festival,
she no longer needed her contemptible consort."
"How can you take pleasure, whenever it is possible, in casting such
slurs upon a woman, whom but yesterday you called blameless, charming,
peerless?"
"That the light she sheds may not dazzle your eyes. I know how sensitive
they are."
"Then spare, instead of irritating them. Besides, your suggestion gives
food for thought Barine is the granddaughter of the man whose garden
they want, and the advocate would probably be glad to injure both. But
I'll spoil his game. It is _my_ business to choose the site for the
statues."
"Yours?" replied Dion. "Unless some one who is more powerful opposes
you. I would try to win my uncle, but there are others superior to him.
The Queen has gone, it is true; but Iras, whose commands do not die away
in empty air, told me this morning that she had her own ideas about the
erection of the statue."
"Then you bring Philostratus here!" cried the architect.
"I?" asked the other in amazement.
"Ay, you," asserted Gorgias. "Did not you say that Iras, with whom you
played when a boy is now becoming troublesome by watching your every
step? And then--you visit Barine constantly and she so evidently prefers
you, that the fact might easily reach the ears of Iras."
"As Argus has a hundred, jealousy has a thousand eyes," interrupted
Dion, "yet I seek nothing from Barine, save two pleasant hours when the
day is drawing towards its close. No matter; Iras, I suppose, heard that
I was favoured by this much-admired woman. Iras herself has some little
regard for me, so she bought Philostratus. She is willing to pay
something for the sake of injuring the woman who stands between us, or
the old man who has the good or evil fortune of being her rival's
grandfather. No, no; that would be too base! And believe me, if Iras
desired to ruin Barine, she need not make so long a circuit. Besides,
she is not really a wicked woman. Or is she? All I know is that where
any advantage is to be gained for the Queen, she does not shrink even
from doubtful means, and also that the hours speed swiftly for any one
in her society. Yes, Iras, Iras--I like to utter the name. Yet I do not
love her, and she--loves only herself, and--a thing few can say--another
still more. What is the world, what am I to her, compared with the
Queen, the idol of her heart? Since Cleopatra's departure, Iras seems
like the forsaken Ariadne, or a young roe which has strayed from its
mother. But stop; she may have a hand in the game: the Queen trusted her
as if she were her sister, her daughter. No one knows what she and
Charmian are to her. They are called waiting-women, but are their
sovereign's dearest friends. When, on the departure of the fleet,
Cleopatra was compelled to leave Iras here--she was ill with a
fever--she gave her the charge of her children, even those whose beards
were beginning to grow, the 'King of kings' Cæsarion, whose tutor
punishes him for every act of disobedience; and the unruly lad Antyllus,
who has forced his way the last few evenings into our friend's house."
"Antony, his own father, introduced him to her."
"Very true, and Antyllus took Cæsarion there. This vexed Iras, like
everything which may disturb the Queen. Barine is troublesome on account
of Cleopatra, whom she wishes to spare every annoyance, and perhaps she
dislikes her a little for my sake. Now she wants to inflict on the old
man, Barine's grandfather, whom she loves, some injury which the
spoiled, imprudent woman will scarcely accept quietly, and which will
rouse her to commit some folly that can be used against her. Iras will
hardly seek her life, but she may have in mind exile or something of
that kind. She knows people as well as I know her, my neighbour and
playmate, whom many a time I was obliged to lift down from some tree
into which the child had climbed as nimbly as a kitten."
"I myself suggested this conjecture, yet I cannot credit her with such
unworthy intrigues," cried Gorgias.
"Credit her?" repeated Dion, shrugging his shoulders. "I only transport
myself in imagination to the court and to the soul of the woman who
helps make rain and sunshine there. You have columns rounded and beams
hewed that they may afterwards support the roof to which in due time you
wish to direct attention. She and all who have a voice in the management
of court affairs look first at the roof and then seek anything to raise
and support it, though it should be corpses, ruined lives, and broken
hearts. The point is that the roof shall stand until the architect, the
Queen, sees and approves it. As to the rest---- But there is the
carriage---- It doubtless brings---- You were----"
He paused, laid his hand on his friend's arm, and whispered hastily:
"Iras is undoubtedly at the bottom of this, and it is not Antyllus, but
yonder dreaming lad, for whom she is moving. When she spoke of the
statues just now, she asked in the same breath where I had seen him on
the evening of the day before yesterday, and that was the very time he
called on Barine. The plot was made by her, and Iras is doing all the
work. The mouse is not caught while the trap is closed, and she is just
raising her little hand to open it."
"If only she does not use some man's hand," replied the architect
wrathfully, and then turned towards the carriage and the elderly man who
had just left it, and was now approaching the two friends.