The fisherman and his family had watched the departure of their beloved
guests with sorrowful hearts, and the women had shed many tears,
although the sons of Pyrrhus had been dismissed from the fleet and were
again helping their father at home, as in former times.
Besides, Dion had made the faithful freedman a prosperous man, and given
his daughter, Dione, a marriage dowry. She was soon to become the wife
of the captain of the Epicurus, Archibius's swift galley, whose
acquaintance she had made when the vessel, on several occasions, brought
Charmian's Nubian maid to the island. Anukis's object in making these
visits was not only to see her friend, but to induce him to catch one of
the poisonous serpents in the neighbouring island and keep it ready for
the Queen.
Since Cleopatra had ascertained that no poison caused a less painful
death than the fangs of the asp, she had resolved that the bite of one
of these reptiles should release her from the burden of life. The clever
Ethiopian had thought of inducing her friend Pyrrhus to procure the
adder, but it had required all Aisopion's skill in persuasion, and the
touching manner in which she understood how to describe the Queen's
terrible situation and severe suffering, to conquer the reluctance of
the upright man. At last she succeeded in persuading him to measure a
queen by a different standard from a woman of the people, and inducing
him to arrange the manner and time of conveying the serpent into the
well-guarded palace. A signal was to inform him when the decisive hour
arrived. After that he was to be ready with the asp in the fish-market
every day. Probably his service would soon be claimed; for Octavianus's
delay was scarcely an indication of a favourable decision of Cleopatra's
fate.
True, she was permitted to live in royal state at Lochias, and had even
been allowed to have the children, the twins, and little Alexander sent
back to her with the promise that life and liberty would be granted
them; but Cæsarion--whose treacherous tutor Rhodon lured him from the
journey southward back to Alexandria by all sorts of representations,
among them the return of Barine--was held prisoner in his father's
temple, where he had sought refuge. This news, and the fact that
Octavianus had condemned to death the youth who bore so striking a
resemblance to Cæsar, had not remained concealed from the unhappy
mother. She was also informed of the words in which the philosopher
Arius had encouraged Cæsar's desire to rid himself of the son of his
famous uncle. They referred to the Homeric saying concerning the
disadvantage of having many rulers.
Everything which Cleopatra desired to know concerning events in the city
reached her ears; for she was allowed much liberty--only she was closely
watched day and night, and all the servants and officials to whom she
granted an audience were carefully searched to keep from her all means
of self-destruction.
True, it was very evident that she had closed her account with life. Her
attempt to take no food and die of starvation must have been noticed.
Threats directed against the children, through whom she could be most
easily influenced, finally induced her to eat again. Octavianus was
informed of all these things, and his conduct proved his anxiety to keep
her from suicide.
Several Asiatic princes vied with each other in the desire to honour
Mark Antony by a magnificent funeral, but Octavianus had allowed
Cleopatra to provide the most superb obsequies. In the time of her
deepest anguish it afforded her comfort and satisfaction to arrange
everything herself, and even perform some offices with her own hands.
The funeral had been as gorgeous as the dead man's love of splendour
could have desired.
Iras and Charmian were often unable to understand how the Queen--who,
since Antony's death, had suffered not only from the wounds she had
inflicted upon herself in her despair, but also after her baffled
attempt at starvation from a slow fever--had succeeded in resisting the
severe exertions and mental agitation to which she had been subjected by
Antony's funeral.
The return of Archibius with the children, however, had visibly
reanimated her flagging energy.
She often went to Didymus's garden, which was now connected with the
palace at Lochias, to watch their work and share whatever interested
their young hearts.
But the gayest of mothers, who had understood how to enter so thoroughly
into her children's pursuits, had now become a sorrowful, grave monitor.
Though the lessons she urged upon them were often beautiful and wise,
they were little suited to the ages of Archibius's pupils, for they
usually referred to death and to questions of philosophy not easily
understood by children.
She herself felt that she no longer struck the right key; but whenever
she tried to change it and jest with them as usual, she could endure the
forced gaiety only a short time; a painful revulsion, frequently
accompanied by tears, followed, and she was obliged to leave her
darlings.
The life her foe granted her seemed like an intrusive gift, an
oppressive debt, which we desire to pay a troublesome creditor as soon
as possible.
She seemed calmer and apparently content only when permitted to talk
with the companions of her youth concerning bygone days, or with them
and Iras of death, and how it would be possible to put an end to an
unwelcome existence.
After such conversations Iras and Charmian left her with bleeding
hearts. They had long since resolved to share the fate of their royal
mistress, whatever it might be. Their common suffering was the bond
which again united them in affection. Iras had provided poisoned pins
which had speedily destroyed the animals upon which they had been tried.
Cleopatra knew of their existence, but she herself preferred the
painless death bestowed by the serpent's bite, and it was long since her
friends had seen the eyes of their beloved sovereign sparkle so brightly
as when Charmian told her that away had been found to obtain the uræus
serpent as soon as it was needed. But it was not yet imperative to adopt
the last expedient. Octavianus wished to be considered lenient, and
perhaps might still be prevailed upon to grant the Queen and her
children a future meet for their royal birth.
Cleopatra's reply was an incredulous smile, yet a faint hope which saved
her from despair began to bud in her soul.
Dolabella, an aristocratic Roman, a scion of the noble Cornelius family,
was in the Cæsar's train, and had been presented to the Egyptian Queen.
In former years his father was a friend of Cleopatra; nay, she had
placed him under obligations by sending him, after the murder of Julius
Cæsar, the military force at her command to be used against Cassius.
True, her legions, by messengers from Dolabella himself, were despatched
in another direction; but Cleopatra had not withdrawn her favour from
Dolabella's father on that account. The latter had known her in Rome
before the death of Cæsar, and had enthusiastically described the
charms of the bewitching Egyptian sovereign. Though the youth found her
only a mourning widow, ill in body and mind, he was so strongly
attracted and deeply moved by her beauty, her brilliant intellect, her
grace of bearing, her misfortunes and sufferings, that he devoted many
hours to her, and would have considered it a happiness to render her
greater services than circumstances permitted. He often accompanied her
to the children, whose hearts had been completely won by his frank,
cheerful nature; and so it happened that he soon became one of the most
welcome guests at Lochias. He confided without reserve every feeling
that stirred his soul to the warm-hearted woman who was so many years
his senior, and through him she learned many things connected with
Octavianus and his surroundings. Without permitting himself to be used
as a tool, he became an advocate for the unfortunate woman whom he so
deeply esteemed.
In intercourse with her he made every effort to inspire confidence in
Octavianus, who favoured him, enjoyed his society, and in whose
magnanimity the youth firmly believed.
He anticipated the best results from an interview between the Queen and
the Cæsar; for he deemed it impossible that the successful conqueror
could part untouched, and with no desire to mitigate her sad fate, from
the woman who, in earlier years, had so fascinated his father, and whom
he himself, though she might almost have been his mother, deemed
peerless in her bewitching and gracious charm.
Cleopatra, on the contrary, shrank from meeting the man who had brought
so much misfortune upon Mark Antony and herself, and inflicted upon her
insults which were only too well calculated to make her doubt his
clemency and truth. On the other hand, she could not deny Dolabella's
assertion that it would be far less easy for Octavianus to refuse her in
person the wishes she cherished for her children's future than through
mediators. Proculejus had learned that Antony had named him to the Queen
as the person most worthy of her confidence, and more keenly felt the
wrong which, as the tool and obedient friend of Octavianus, he had
inflicted upon the hapless woman. The memory of his unworthy deed, which
history would chronicle, had robbed the sensitive man, the author and
patron of budding Roman poetry, of many an hour's sleep, and therefore
he also now laboured zealously to oblige the Queen and mitigate her hard
fate. He, like the freedman Epaphroditus, who by Cæsar's orders watched
carefully to prevent any attempt upon her life, seemed to base great
hopes on such an interview, and endeavoured to persuade her to request
an audience from the Cæsar.
Archibius said that, even in the worst case, it could not render the
present state of affairs darker. Experience, he said to Charmian, proved
that no man of any feeling could wholly resist the charm of her nature,
and to him at least she had never seemed more winning than now. Who
could have gazed unmoved into the beautiful face, so eloquent in its
silent suffering, whose soul would not have been deeply touched by the
sorrowful tones of her sweet voice? Besides, her sable mourning robes
were so well suited to the slight tinge of melancholy which pervaded her
whole aspect. When the fever flushed her cheeks, Archibius, spite of the
ravages which grief, anxiety, and fear had made upon her charms, thought
that he had never seen her look more beautiful. He knew her thoroughly,
and was aware that her desire to follow the man she loved into the realm
of death was sincere; nay, that it dominated her whole being. She clung
to life only to die as soon as possible. The decision which, after her
resolve to build the monument, she had recognized in the temple of
Berenike as the right one, had become the rule of conduct of her life.
Every thought, every conversation, led her back to the past. The future
seemed to exist no longer. If Archibius succeeded in directing her
thoughts to approaching days she occupied herself wholly with her
children's fate. For herself she expected nothing, felt absolved from
every duty except the one of protecting herself and her name from
dishonour and humiliation.
The fact that Octavianus, when he doomed Cæsarion to death, permitted
the other children to return to her with the assurance that no harm
should befall them, proved that he made a distinction between them and
his uncle's son, and had no fears that they threatened his own safety.
She might expect important results in their favour from an interview
with Octavianus, so she at last authorized Proculejus to request an
audience.
The Imperator's answer came the very same day. It was his place to seek
her--so ran the Cæsar's message. This meeting must decide her fate.
Cleopatra was aware of this, and begged Charmian to remember the asp.
Her attendants had been forbidden to leave Lochias, but Epaphroditus
permitted them to receive visitors. The Nubian's merry, amusing talk had
made friends for her among the Roman guards, who allowed her to pass in
and out unmolested. On her return, of course, she was searched with the
utmost care, like every one who entered Lochias.
The decisive hour was close at hand. Charmian knew what she must do in
any event, but there was still one desire for whose fulfilment she
longed. She wished to greet Barine and see her boy.
To spare Iras, she had hitherto refrained from sending for Dion's wife.
The sight of the mother and child might have reopened wounds still
unhealed, and she would not inflict this sorrow upon her niece, who for
a long time had once more been loyally devoted to her.
Octavianus did not hasten to fulfil his assurance. But, at the end of a
week, Proculejus brought the news that he could promise a visit from the
Cæsar that afternoon. The Queen was deeply agitated, and desired before
the interview to pay a visit to her tomb. Iras offered to accompany her,
and as Cleopatra intended to remain an hour or longer, Charmian thought
it a favourable opportunity to see Barine and her boy.
Dion's wife had been informed of her friend's wish, and Anukis, who was
to take her to Lochias, did not wait long for the mother and child.
Didymus's garden--now the property of the royal children--was the scene
of the meeting. In the shade of the familiar trees the young mother sank
upon the breast of her faithful friend, and Charmian could not gaze her
fill at the boy, or weary of tracing in his features a resemblance to
his grandfather Leonax.
How much these two women, to whom Fate had allotted lives so widely
different, found to tell each other! The older felt transported to the
past, the younger seemed to have naught save a present rich in blessing
and a future green with hope. She had good news to tell of her sister
also. Helena had long been the happy wife of Gorgias who, however, spite
of the love with which he surrounded the young mistress of his house,
numbered among his most blissful hours those which were devoted to
overseeing the progress of the work on the mausoleum, where he met
Cleopatra.
Time flew swiftly to the two women, and it was a painful surprise when
one of the eunuchs on guard announced that the Queen had returned. Again
Charmian embraced her lover's grandson, blessed him and the young
mother, sent messages of remembrance to Dion, begged Barine to think of
her affectionately when she had passed from earth and, if her heart
prompted her to the act, to anoint or adorn with a ribbon or flower the
tombstone of the woman who had no friend to render her such a service.
Deeply moved by the firmness with which Charmian witnessed the approach
of death, Barine listened in silence, but suddenly started as the sharp
tones of a well-known voice called her friend's name and, as she turned,
Iras stood before her. Pallid and emaciated, she looked in her long,
floating black robes the very incarnation of misery.
The sight pierced the heart of the happy wife and mother. She felt as if
much of the joy which Iras lacked had fallen to her own lot, and all the
grief and woe she had ever endured had been transferred to her foe. She
would fain have approached humbly and said something very kind and
friendly; but when she saw the tall, haggard woman gazing at her child,
and noticed the disagreeable expression which had formerly induced her
to compare her to a sharp thorn, a terrible dread of this woman's evil
eye which might harm her boy seized the mother's heart and, overwhelmed
by an impulse beyond control, she covered his face with her own veil.
Iras saw it, and after Barine had answered her question, "Dion's child?"
in the affirmative, with a glance beseeching forbearance, the girl drew
up her slender figure, saying with arrogant coldness "What do I care for
the child? We have more important matters on our hearts."
Then she turned to Charmian to inform her, in the tone of an official
announcement, that during the approaching interview the Queen desired
her attendance also.
Octavianus had appointed sunset for the interview, and it still lacked
several hours of the time. The suffering Queen felt wearied by her visit
to the mausoleum, where she had implored the spirit of Antony, if he had
any power over the conqueror's heart, to induce him to release her from
this torturing uncertainty and promise the children a happy fate.
To Dolabella, who had accompanied her from the tomb to the palace, she
said that she expected only one thing from this meeting, and then won
from him a promise which strengthened her courage and seemed the most
precious boon which could be granted at this time.
She had expressed the fear that Octavianus would still leave her in
doubt. The youth spoke vehemently in Cæsar's defence, and closed with
the exclamation, "If he should still keep you in suspense, he would be
not only cool and circumspect----"
"Then," Cleopatra interrupted, "be nobler, be less cruel, and release
your father's friend from these tortures. If he does not reveal to me
what awaits me and you learn it, then--you will not say no, you cannot
refuse me--then you, yes, you will inform me?"
Promptly and firmly came the reply: "What have I been able to do for you
until now? But I will release you from _this_ torture, if possible."
Then he hastily turned his back, that he might not be compelled to see
the eunuchs stationed at the palace gate search the garments of the
royal captive.
His promise sustained the failing courage of the wearied, anxious Queen,
and she reclined upon the cushions of a lounge to recover from the
exhausting expedition; but she had scarcely closed her eyes when the
pavement of the court-yard rang under the hoofs of the four horses which
bore the Cæsar to Lochias. Cleopatra had not expected the visit so
early.
She had just been consulting with her attendants about the best mode of
receiving him. At first she had been disposed to do so on the throne,
clad in her royal attire, but she afterwards thought that she was too
ill and weak to bear the heavy ornaments. Besides, the man and
successful conqueror would show himself more indulgent and gracious to
the suffering woman than to the princess.
There was much to palliate the course which she had pursued in former
days, and she had carefully planned the defence by which she hoped to
influence his calm but not unjust nature. Many things in her favour were
contained in the letters from Cæsar and Antony which, after her
husband's death, she had read again and again during so many wakeful
nights, and they had just been brought to her.
Both Archibius and the Roman Proculejus had counselled her not to
receive him entirely alone. The latter did not express his opinion in
words, but he knew that Octavianus was more readily induced to noble and
lenient deeds when there was no lack of witnesses to report them to the
world. It was advisable to provide spectators for the most consummate
actor of his day.
Therefore the Queen had retained Iras, Charmian, and some of the
officials nearest to her person, among them the steward Seleukus, who
could give information if any question arose concerning the delivery of
the treasure.
She had also intended, after she had somewhat recovered from the visit
to the tomb, to be robed in fresh garments. This was prevented by the
Cæsar's unexpected arrival. Now, even had time permitted, she would
have been unable to have her hair arranged, she felt so weak and yet so
feverishly excited.
The blood coursed hotly through her veins and flushed her cheeks. When
told that the Cæsar was close at hand, she had only time to raise
herself a little higher on her cushions, push back her hair, and let
Iras, with a few hasty touches, adjust the folds of her mourning robes.
Had she attempted to advance to meet him, her limbs would have failed to
support her.
When the Cæsar at last entered, she could greet him only by a wave of
her hand; but Octavianus, who had uttered the usual salutations from the
threshold, quickly broke the painful silence, saying with a courteous
bow:
"You summoned me--I came. Every one is subject to beauty--even the
victor."
Cleopatra's head drooped in shame as she answered distinctly, yet in a
tone of modest denial:
"I only asked the favour of an audience. I did not _summon_. I thank you
for granting the request. If it is dangerous for man to bow to woman's
charms, no peril threatens you here. Beauty cannot withstand tortures
such as those which have been imposed on me--barely can life remain. But
you prevented my casting it from me. If you are just, you will grant to
the woman whom you would not permit to die an existence whose burden
will not exceed her power to endure."
The Cæsar again bowed silently and answered courteously:
"I intend to make it worthy of you."
"Then," cried Cleopatra impetuously, "release me from this torturing
uncertainty. You are not one of the men who never look beyond to-day and
to-morrow."
"You are thinking," said Octavianus harshly, "of one who perhaps would
still be among us, if with wiser caution----"
Cleopatra's eyes, which hitherto had met the victor's cold gaze with
modest entreaty, flashed angrily, and a majestic: "Let the past rest!"
interrupted him.
But she soon mastered the indignation which had stirred her passionate
blood, and in a totally different tone, not wholly free from gentle
persuasion, she continued:
"The provident intellect of the man whose nod the universe obeys grasps
the future as well as the present. Must not he, therefore, have decided
the children's fate ere he consented to see their mother? The only
obstacle in your path, the son of your great uncle----"
"His doom was a necessity," interrupted the conqueror in a tone of
sincere regret. "As I mourned Antony, I grieve for the unfortunate boy."
"If that is true," replied Cleopatra eagerly, "it does honour to the
kindness of your heart. When Proculejus wrested the dagger from my grasp
he blamed me because I attributed to the most clement of conquerors
harshness and implacability."
"Two qualities," the Cæsar protested, "which are wholly alien to my
nature."
"And which--even if you possessed them--you neither could nor ought to
use," cried Cleopatra, "if you really mean the beautiful words you so
often utter that, as the nephew and heir of the great Julius Cæsar, you
intend to walk in his footsteps. Cæsarion--there is his bust--was the
image in every feature of his father, your illustrious model. To me, the
hapless woman now awaiting my sentence from his nephew's lips, the gods
granted, as the most precious of all gifts, the love of your divine
uncle. And what love! The world knew not what I was to his great heart,
but my wish to defend myself from misconception bids me show it to you,
his heir. From you I expect my sentence. You are the judge. These
letters are my strongest defence. I rely upon them to show myself to you
as I was and am, not as envy and slander describe me.--The little ivory
casket, Iras! It contains the precious proofs of Cæsar's love, his
letters to me."
She raised the lid with trembling hands and, as these mementoes carried
her back to the past, she continued in lower tones:
"Among all my treasures this simple little coffer has been for half a
lifetime my most valued jewel. He gave it to me. It was in the midst of
the fierce contest here at the Bruchium."
Then, while unfolding the first roll, she directed Octavianus's
attention to it and the remainder of the contents of the little casket,
exclaiming:
"Silent pages, yet how eloquent! Each one a peerless picture, the
powerful thinker, the man of action, who permits his restless intellect
to repose, and suffers his heart to overflow with the love of youth!
Were I vain, Octavianus, I might call each one of these letters a trophy
of victory, an Olympic garland. The woman to whom Julius Cæsar owned
his subjugation might well hold her head higher than the unhappy,
vanquished Queen who, save the permission to die----"
"Do not part with the letters," said Octavianus kindly. "Who can doubt
that they are a precious treasure----"
"The most precious and at the same time the advocate of the accused,"
replied Cleopatra eagerly; "on them--as you have already heard--rests my
vindication. I will commence with their contents. How terrible it is to
make what is sacred to us and intended only to elevate our own hearts
serve a purpose, to do what has always been repugnant to us! But I need
an advocate and, Octavianus, these letters will restore to the wretched,
suffering beggar the dignity and majesty of the Queen. The world knows
but two powers to which Julius Cæsar bowed--the thrall of the pitiable
woman on this couch, and of all-conquering death. An unpleasant
fellowship--but I do not shrink from it; for death robbed him of life,
and from my hand---- I ask only a brief moment. How gladly I would spare
myself my own praises, and you the necessity of listening to them! Yes,
here it is: 'Through you, you irresistible woman,' he writes, 'I learned
for the first time, after youth was over, how beautiful life can be.'"
Cleopatra, as she spoke, handed Cæsar the letter. But while she was
still searching hastily for another he returned the first, saying:
"I understand only too well your reluctance to allow such confidential
effusions to play the part of defender. I can imagine their purport, and
they shall influence me as if I had read them all. However eloquent they
may be, they are needless witnesses. Is any written testimony required
in behalf of charms whose magic is still potent?"
A bewitching smile, which seemed like a confirmation of the haughty
young conqueror's flattering words, flitted over Cleopatra's face.
Octavianus noticed it. This woman indeed possessed enthralling charms,
and he felt the slight flush that suffused his cheeks.
This unhappy captive, this suffering supplicant, could still draw into
her net any man who did not possess the cool watchfulness which
panoplied his soul. Was it the marvellous melody of her voice, the
changeful lustre of her tearful eyes, the aristocratic grace of the
noble figure, the exquisite symmetry of the hands and feet, the weakness
of the prostrate sufferer, strangely blended with truly royal majesty,
or the thought that love for her had found earth's greatest and loftiest
men with indissoluble fetters, which lent this fragile woman, who had
long since passed the boundaries of youth, so powerful a spell of
attraction?
At any rate, however certain of himself he might be, he must guard his
feelings. He understood how to bridle passion far better than the uncle
who was so greatly his superior.
Yet it was of the utmost importance to keep her alive, and therefore to
maintain her belief in his admiration. He wished to show the world and
the Great Queen of the East, who had just boasted of conquering, like
death, even the most mighty, its own supremacy as man and victor. But he
must also be gentle, in order not to endanger the object for which he
wanted her. She must accompany him to Rome. She and her children
promised to render his triumph the most brilliant and memorable one
which any conqueror had ever displayed to the senate and the people. In
a light tone which, however, revealed the emotion of his soul, he
answered: "My illustrious uncle was known as a friend of fair women. His
stern life was crowned with flowers by many hands, and he acknowledged
these favours verbally and perhaps--as he did to you in all these
letters--with the reed. His genius was greater, at any rate more
many-sided and mobile, than mine. He succeeded, too, in pursuing
different objects at the same time with equal devotion. I am wholly
absorbed in the cares of state, of government, and war. I feel grateful
when I can permit our poets to adorn my leisure for a brief space.
Overburdened with toil, I have no time to yield myself captive, as my
uncle did in these very rooms, to the most charming of women. If I could
follow my own will, you would be the first from whom I would seek the
gifts of Eros.--But it may not be! We Romans learn to curb even the most
ardent wishes when duty and morality command. There is no city in the
world where half so many gods are worshipped as here; and what strange
deities are numbered among them! It needs a special effort of the
intellect to understand them. But the simple duties of the domestic
hearth!--they are too prosaic for you Alexandrians, who imbibe
philosophy with your mothers' milk. What marvel, if I looked for them in
vain? True, they would find little satisfaction--our household gods I
mean--here, where the rigid demands of Hymen are mute before the ardent
pleadings of Eros. Marriage is scarcely reckoned among the sacred things
of life. But this opinion seems to displease you."
"Because it is false," cried Cleopatra, repressing with difficulty a
fresh outburst of indignation. "Yet, if I see aright, your reproach is
aimed only at the bond which united me to the man who was called your
sister's husband. But I will---- I would gladly remain silent, but you
force me to speak, and I will do so, though your own friend, Proculejus,
is signing to me to be cautious. I--I, Cleopatra, was the wife of Mark
Antony according to the customs of this country, when you wedded him to
the widow of Marcellus, who had scarcely closed his eyes. Not she, but
I, was the deserted wife--I to whom his heart belonged until the hour of
his death, not the wedded----" Here her voice fell. She had yielded to
the passionate impulse which urged her to express her feelings in the
matter, and now continued in a tone of gentle explanation: "I know that
you proposed this alliance solely for the peace and welfare of Rome----"
"To guard both, and to spare the blood of tens of thousands," Octavianus
added with proud decision. "Your clear brain perceived the true state of
affairs. If, spite of the grave importance of these motives, you---- But
what voices would not that of the heart silence with you women! The man,
the Roman, succeeded in closing his ears to its siren song. Were it
otherwise, I would never have chosen for my sister a husband by whom I
knew her happiness would be so ill-guarded--I would, as I have already
said, be unable to master my own admiration of the loveliest of women.
But I ought scarcely to boast of that. I fear that a heart like yours
opens less quickly to the modest Octavianus than to a Julius Cæsar or
the brilliant Mark Antony. Yet I may be permitted to confess that
perhaps I might have avoided conducting this unhappy war against my
friend to the end under my own guidance, and appearing myself in Egypt,
had I not been urged by the longing to see once more the woman who had
dazzled my boyish eyes. Now, in my mature manhood, I desired to
comprehend those marvellous gifts of mind, that matchless sagacity----"
"Sagacity!" interrupted the Queen, shrugging her shoulders mournfully.
"You possess a far greater share of what is commonly called by that
name. My fate proves it. The pliant intellect which the gods bestowed on
me would ill sustain the test in this hour of anguish. But if you really
care to learn what mental power Cleopatra once possessed, relieve me of
this terrible burden of uncertainty, and grant me a position in life
which will permit my paralyzed soul to move freely once more."
"It depends solely on yourself," Octavian eagerly responded, "to make
your future life, not only free from care, but beautiful."
"On me?" asked Cleopatra in astonishment. "Our weal and woe are in your
hands alone. I am modest and ask nothing save to know what you intend
for our future, what you mean by the lot which you term beautiful."
"Nothing less," replied the Cæsar quietly, "than what seems to lie
nearest to your own heart--a life of that freedom of soul to which you
aspire."
The breath of the agitated Queen began to come more quickly and, no
longer able to control the impatience which overpowered her, she
exclaimed, "With the assurance of your favour on your lips, you refuse
to discuss the question which interests, me beyond any other--for which,
if any you must have been prepared when you came here----"
"Reproaches?" asked Octavianus with we feigned surprise. "Would it not
rather be my place to complain? It is precisely because I am thoroughly
sincere in the friendly disposition which you read aright from my words,
that some of your measures cannot fail to wound me. Your treasures were
to be committed to the flames. It would be unfair to expect tokens of
friendship from the vanquished; but can you deny that even the bitterest
hatred could scarcely succeed in devising anything more hostile?"
"Let the past rest! Who would not seek in war to diminish the enemy's
booty?" pleaded the Queen in a soothing tone. But as Octavianus delayed
his answer, she continued more eagerly: "It is said that the ibex in the
mountains, when in mortal peril, rushes upon the hunter and hurls him
with it down the precipice. The same impulse is natural to human beings,
and praiseworthy, I think, in both. Forget the past, as I will try to
do, I repeat with uplifted hands. Say that you will permit the sons whom
I gave to Antony to ascend the Egyptian throne, not under their mother's
guardianship, but that of Rome, and grant me freedom wherever I may
live, and I will gladly transfer to you, down to the veriest trifles,
all the property and treasures I possess."
She clenched her little hand impatiently under the folds of her robe as
she spoke; but Octavianus lowered his eyes, saying carelessly: "In war
the victor disposes of the property of the vanquished; but my heart
restrains me from applying the universal law to you, who are so far
above ordinary mortals. Your wealth is said to be vast, though the
foolish war which Antony, with your aid, so greatly prolonged, devoured
vast sums. In this country squandered gold seems like the grass which,
when mowed, springs up anew."
"You speak," replied Cleopatra, more and more deeply incensed, with
proud composure, "of the treasures which my ancestors, the powerful
monarchs of a wealthy country, amassed during three hundred years for
their noble race and for the adornment of the women of their line.
Parsimony did not accord with the generosity and lofty nature of an
Antony, yet avarice itself would not deem the portion still remaining
insignificant. Every article is registered."
While speaking, she took a manuscript from the hand of Seleukus and
passed it to Octavianus who, with a slight bend of the head, received it
in silence. But he had scarcely begun to read it when the steward, a
little corpulent man with twinkling eyes half buried in his fat cheeks,
raised his short forefinger, pointed insolently at the Queen, and
asserted that she was trying to conceal some things, and had ordered him
not to place them on the list. Every tinge of colour faded from the lips
and cheeks of the agitated and passionate woman; tortured by feverish
impatience and no longer able to control her emotions, she raised
herself and, with her own dainty hand, struck the accuser--whom she had
lifted from poverty and obscurity to his present high position--again
and again in the face, till Octavianus, with a smile of superiority,
begged her, much as the man deserved his punishment, to desist.
The unfortunate woman, thus thrown off her guard, flung herself back on
her couch and, panting for breath, with tears streaming from her eyes,
sobbed aloud, declaring that in the presence of such unendurable insult,
such contemptible baseness, she fairly loathed herself. Then pressing
her clenched hands upon her temples, she exclaimed: "Before the eyes of
the foe my royal dignity, which I have maintained all my life, falls
from me like a borrowed mantle. Yet what am I? What shall I be
to-morrow, what later? But who beneath the sun who has warm blood in his
veins can preserve his composure when juicy grapes are held before his
thirsting lips to be withdrawn, as from Tantalus, ere he can taste them?
You came hither with the assurance of your favour; but the flattering
words of promise which you bestowed upon the unhappy woman were probably
only the drops of poppy-juice given to soothe the ravings of fever. Was
the favour which you permitted me to see and anticipate for the future
merely intended to delude a miserable----"
But she went no further; Octavianus, with dignified bearing and loud,
clear tones, interrupted "Whoever believes the heir of Cæsar capable of
shamefully deceiving a noble woman, a queen, the object of his
illustrious uncle's love, insults and wounds him; but the just anger
which overmastered you may serve as your apology. Ay," he added in a
totally different tone, "I might even have cause to be grateful for this
indignation, and to wish for another opportunity to witness the outbreak
of passion though in its unbridled fierceness--the royal lioness is
scarcely aware of her own beauty when the tempest of wrath sweeps her
away. What must she be when it is love that constrains the flame of her
glowing soul to burst into a blaze?"
"Her glowing soul!" Cleopatra eagerly repeated, and the desire awoke to
subjugate this man who had so confidently boasted of his power of
resistance. Though he might be stronger than many others, he certainly
was not invincible. And aware of her still unbroken sway over the hearts
of men, her eyes sparkled with the alluring radiance of love, and a
bewitching smile brightened her face.
The young Imperator's heart began to chafe under the curb and to beat
more quickly, his cheeks flushed and paled by turns. How she gazed at
him! What if she loved the nephew as she had once loved the uncle who,
through her, had learned what bliss life can offer? Ay, it must be
happiness to kiss those lips, to be clasped in those exquisite arms, to
hear one's own name tenderly spoken by those musical tones. Even the
magnificent marble statue of Ariadne, which he had seen in Athens, had
not displayed to his gaze lines more beautiful than those of the woman
reclining on yonder pillows. Who could venture to speak in her presence
of vanished charms? Ah, no! The spell which had conquered Julius Cæsar
was as vivid, as potent as ever. He himself felt its power; he was
young, and after such unremitting exertions he too yearned to quaff the
nectar of the noblest joys, to steep body and soul in peerless bliss.
So, with a hasty movement, he took one step towards her couch, resolved
to grasp her hands and raise them to his lips. His ardent gaze answered
hers; but surprised by the power which, though so heavily burdened with
physical and mental suffering, she still possessed over the strongest
and coldest of men, she perceived what was passing in his soul, and a
smile of triumph, blended with the most bitter contempt, hovered around
her beautiful lips. Should she dupe him into granting her wishes by
feigning love for the first time? Should she yield to the man who had
insulted her, in order to induce him to accord the children their
rights? Should she, to gratify her lover's foe, relinquish the sacred
grief which was drawing her after him, give posterity and her children
the right to call her, instead of the most loyal of the loyal, a
dishonoured woman, who sold herself for power?
To all these questions came a prompt denial. The single stride which
Octavianus had made towards her, his eyes aflame with love, gave her the
right to feel that she had vanquished the victor, and the proud delight
of triumph was too plainly reflected in her mobile features to escape
the penetrating, distrustful gaze of the subjugated Cæsar. But he had
scarcely perceived what threatened him, and remembered her words
concerning his famous uncle's surrender only to her and to death, when
he succeeded in conquering his quickly kindled senses. Blushing at his
own weakness, he averted his eyes from the Queen, and when he met those
of Proculejus and the other witnesses of the scene, he realized the
abyss on whose verge he stood. He had half succumbed to the danger of
losing, by a moment's weakness, the fruit of great sacrifices and severe
exertions.
His expressive eyes, which had just rested rapturously upon a beautiful
woman, now scanned the spectators with the stern glance of a monarch
and, apparently wishing to moderate an excess of flattering recognition
which might be misinterpreted, he said in an almost pedagogical tone:
"Yet we would rather see the noble lioness in the majestic repose which
best suits all sovereigns. It is difficult for a calm, deliberate nature
like mine to understand an ardent, quickly kindling heart."
Cleopatra had watched this sudden transition with more surprise than
disappointment. Octavianus had half surrendered to her, but recovered
his self-command in time, and a man of his temperament does not readily
succumb twice to a danger which he barely escaped. And this was well! He
should learn that he had misunderstood the glance which fired his heart;
so she answered distantly, with majestic dignity:
"Misery such as mine quenches all ardour. And love? Woman's heart is
ever open to it, save where it has lost the desire for power and
pleasure. You are young and happy, therefore your soul still yearns for
love--I know that--though not for mine. To me, on the contrary, one
suitor only is welcome, he with the lowered torch, whom you keep aloof
from me. With him alone is to be found the boon for which this soul has
longed from childhood--painless peace! You smile. My past gives you the
right to do so. I will not lessen it. Each individual lives his or her
own life. Few understand the changes of their own existence, far less
those of a stranger's. The world has witnessed how Peace fled from my
path, or I from hers, and yet I see the possibility of finding the way.
I am safe from the only things which would debar me from those
joys--humiliation and disgrace." Here she hesitated; then, as if in
explanation, continued in the sweetest tones at her command: "Your
generosity, I think, will guard from these two foes the woman whom just
now--I did not fail to see it--you considered worthy of a more than
gracious glance. I shall treasure it among memories which will never
fade. But now, illustrious Imperator! tell me, what is your decision
concerning me and the children? What may we hope from your favour?"
"That Octavianus will be more and more warmly animated by the desire to
accord you and yours a worthy destiny, the more firmly you expect that
he will attest his generosity."
"And if I fulfil this desire and expect from you everything that is
great and noble--the condition is not difficult--what proofs of your
graciousness will then await us?"
"Paint them with all the fervour of that vivid power of imagination
which interpreted even my glance in your favour, and devised the marvels
by which you rendered the greatest and most brilliant man in Rome the
happiest of mortals. But--by Zeus!--it is the fourth hour after
noonday!"
A glance from the window had caused the exclamation. Then, pressing his
hand upon his heart, he continued in a tone of the most sincere regret:
"How gladly I would prolong this fascinating conversation, but important
matters which, unfortunately, cannot be deferred, summon me----"
"And your answer?" cried Cleopatra, panting for breath and gazing at him
with eyes full of expectation.
"Must I repeat it?" he asked with impatient haste. "Very well, then. In
return for implicit confidence on your part, favour, forgiveness,
cordiality, every consideration which you can justly desire. Your heart
is so rich in warmth of feeling, grant me but a small share of it and
ask tangible gifts in return. They are already bestowed." Then greeting
her like a friend who is reluctant to say farewell, he hastily left the
apartment.
"Gone--gone!" cried Iras as the door closed behind him. "An eel that
slips from the hand which strives to hold him."
"Northern ice," added Cleopatra gloomily as Charmian aided her to find a
more comfortable position. "As smooth as it is cold; there is nothing
more to hope."
"Yes, my royal mistress, yes," Iras eagerly protested. "Dolabella is
waiting for him in the Philadelphus court-yard. From him--you have his
promise--we shall learn what Octavianus has in store for you."
In truth, the Cæsar did find the youth at the first gate of the palace,
inspecting his superb Cyrenean horses.
"Magnificent animals!" cried Octavianus; "a gift from the city! Will you
drive with me?--A remarkable, a very remarkable woman!"
"Isn't she?" asked Dolabella eagerly.
"Undoubtedly," replied the Cæsar. "But though she might almost be your
mother, an uncommonly dangerous one for youths of your age. What a
melting voice, what versatility, what fervour! And yet such regal grace
in every movement! But I wish to stifle, not to fan, the spark which
perhaps has already fallen into your heart. And the play, the farce
which she just enacted before me in the midst of most serious matters!"
He uttered a low, short laugh; but Dolabella exclaimed expectantly: "You
rarely laugh, but this conversation--apparently--excites your mirth. So
the result was satisfactory?"
"Let us hope so. I was as gracious to her as possible."
"That is delightful. May I know in what manner your kindness and wisdom
have shaped her future? Or, rather, what did you promise the vanquished
Queen?"
"My favour, if she will trust me."
"Proculejus and I will continue to strengthen her confidence. And if we
succeed----?"
"Then, as I have said, she will have my favour--a generous abundance of
favour."
"But her future destiny? What fate will you bestow on her and her
children?"
"Whatever the degree of her confidence deserves."
Here he hesitated, for he met Dolabella's earnest, troubled gaze, which
was blended with a shade of reproach.
Octavianus desired to retain the enthusiastic admiration of the youth,
who perhaps was destined to lofty achievements, so he continued in a
confidential tone: "To you, my young friend, I can venture to speak more
frankly. I will gladly grant the most aspiring wishes of this
fascinating and, I repeat, very remarkable woman, but first I need her
for my triumph. The Romans would have cause to reproach me if I deprived
them of the sight of this Queen, this peerless woman, in many respects
the first of her time. We shall soon set out for Syria. The Queen and
her children I shall send in three days to Rome. If, in the triumphal
procession there, she creates the sensation I anticipate from a
spectacle so worthy of admiration, she shall learn how I reward those
who oblige me."
Dolabella had listened in silence. When the Cæsar entered the carriage,
he requested permission to remain behind.
Octavianus drove alone eastward to the camp where, in the vicinity of
the Hippodrome, men were surveying the ground on which the suburb of
Nikopolis--city of victory--was to be built to commemorate for future
generations the victory of the first Emperor over Antony and Cleopatra.
It grew, but never attained any great importance.
The noble Cornelius gazed indignantly after his sovereign's fiery
steeds; then, drawing up his stately figure to its full height, he
entered the palace with a firm step. The act might cost him his life,
but he would do what he believed to be his duty to the noble woman who
had honoured him with her friendship. This rare sovereign was too good
to feast the eyes of the rabble.
A few minutes later Cleopatra knew her impending ignominy.