The next morning the Queen had many whispered conversations with
Charmian, and the latter with Anukis. The day before, Archibius's
gardener had brought to his master's sister some unusually fine figs,
which grew in the old garden of Epicurus. This fruit was also mentioned,
and Anukis went to Kanopus, and thence, in the steward's carriage, with
a basket of the very best ones to the fish-market. There she had a great
deal to say to Pyrrhus, and the freedman went to his boat with the figs.
Shortly after the Nubian's return the Queen came back to the palace from
the mausoleum. Her features bore an impress of resolution usually alien
to them; nay, the firmly compressed lips gave them an expression of
actual sternness. She knew what duty required, and regarded her
approaching end as an inevitable necessity. Death seemed to her like a
journey which she must take in order to escape the most terrible
disgrace. Besides, life after the death of Antony was no longer the
same; it had been only a tiresome delay and waiting for the children's
sake.
The visit to the tomb had been intended, as it were, to announce her
coming to her husband. She had remained a long time in the silent hall,
where she had garlanded the coffin with flowers, kissed it, talked to
the dead man as if he were still alive, and told him that the day had
come when what he had mentioned in his will as the warmest desire of his
heart--to rest beside her in the same tomb--would be fulfilled. Among
the thousand forms of suffering which had assailed her, nothing had
seemed so hard to bear as to be deprived of his society and love.
Then she had gone into the garden, embraced and kissed the children, and
entreated them to remember her tenderly. Her purpose had not been
concealed from Archibius, but Charmian had told him the menace of the
future, and he approved her decision. By the exertion of all his innate
strength of will, he succeeded in concealing the grief which rent his
faithful heart. She must die. The thought of seeing her adorn the
triumphal procession of Octavianus was unbearable to him also. Her
thanks and entreaties to be an affectionate guardian to the children
were received with an external calmness which afterwards seemed to him
utterly incomprehensible.
When she spoke of her approaching meeting with her lover, he asked
whether she had entirely abandoned the teachings of Epicurus, who
believed that death absolutely ended existence.
Cleopatra eagerly assented, saying: "Absence of pain has ceased to
appear to me the chief earthly blessing, since I have known that love
does not bring pleasure only, since I have learned that pain is the
inseparable companion of love. I will not give it up, nor will I part
from my lover. Whoever experiences what fate has allotted to me has
learned to know other gods than those whom the master described as
dwelling happily in undisturbed repose. Rather eternal torture in
another world, united to the man I love, than painless, joyless mere
existence in a desolate, incomprehensible, unknown region! You will be
the last to teach the children to yearn for freedom from pain----?"
"Because, like you," cried Archibius, "I have learned how great a
blessing is love, and that love is pain."
As he spoke he bent over her hand to kiss it, but she took his temples
between her hands and, bending hastily, pressed her lips on his broad
brow.
Then his self-control vanished, and, sobbing aloud, he hurried back to
the children.
Cleopatra gazed after him with a sorrowful smile, and leaning on
Charmian's arm, she entered the palace.
There she was bathed and, robed in costly mourning garments, reclined
among her cushions to take breakfast, which was usually served at this
hour.
Iras and Charmian shared it.
When dessert was carried in, the Nubian brought a basket filled with
delicious figs. A peasant, she told Epaphroditus, who was watching the
meal, had given them to her because they were so remarkably fine. Some
had already been snatched by the guards.
The Queen and her companions ate a little of the fruit, and Proculejus,
who had come to greet Cleopatra, was also persuaded to taste one of the
finest figs.
At the end of the meal Cleopatra wished to rest.
The Roman gentlemen and the guards retired.
At last the women were alone, and gazed at each other silently.
Charmian timidly lifted the upper layer of the fruit, but the Queen said
mournfully:
"The wife of Antony dragged through the streets of Rome behind the
victor's chariot, a spectacle for the populace and envious matrons!"
Then, starting up, she exclaimed: "What a thought! Was it too great for
Octavianus, or too petty? He who so loudly boasts his knowledge of
mankind expects this impossibility from the woman who revealed her
inmost soul to him as fully as he concealed his from her. We will show
him how small is his comprehension of human nature, and teach him
modesty."
A contemptuous smile flitted over her beautiful lips as, with rapid
movements, she flung handful after handful of figs on the table, till
she saw some thing stirring under the fruit, and with a sigh of relief
exclaimed under her breath:
"There it is!" as with hasty resolution she held out her arm towards the
asp, which hissed at her.
While gazing intently at the movements of the viper, which seemed afraid
to fulfil the dread office, she said to her attendants:
"I thank you--thank you for everything. Be calm. You know, Iras, it will
cause no pain. They say it is like falling asleep." Then she shuddered
slightly, adding: "Death is a solemn thing; yet it must be. Why does the
serpent delay? There--there; I will keep firm. Ambition and love were
the moving forces of my life. Men shall praise my memory.--I follow you,
Mark Antony!"
Charmian bent over the left arm of her royal mistress, which hung
loosely at her side, and, weeping aloud, covered it with kisses, while
Cleopatra, watching the motions of the asp still more closely, added:
"The peace of our garden of Epicurus will begin to-day. Whether it will
be painless, who can tell? Yet--there I agree with Archibius--life's
greatest joy--love--is blended with pain, as yonder branch of exquisite
roses from Dolabella, the last gift of friendship, has its sharp thorns.
I think you have both experienced this. The twins and my little
darling---- When they think of their mother and her end, will not the
children----"
Here she uttered a low cry. The asp had struck its fangs into the upper
part of her arm like an icy flash of lightning, and a few instants later
Cleopatra sank back upon her pillows lifeless.
Iras, pale but calm, pointed to her, saying "Like a sleeping child.
Bewitching even in death. Fate itself was constrained to do her will and
fulfil the last desire of the great Queen, the victorious woman, whom no
heart resisted. Its decree shatters the presumptuous plan of Octavianus.
The victor will show himself to the Romans without thee, thou dear one."
Sobbing violently, she bent over the inanimate form, closed the eyes,
and kissed the lips and brow. The weeping Charmian did the same.
Then the footsteps of men were heard in the anteroom, and Iras, who was
the first to notice them, cried eagerly:
"The moment is approaching! I am glad it is close at hand. Does it not
seem to you also as if the very sun in the heavens was darkened?"
Charmian nodded assent, and whispered, "The poison?"
"Here!" replied Iras calmly, holding out a plain pin. "One little prick,
and the deed will be done. Look! But no. You once inflicted the deepest
suffering upon me. You know--Dion, the playmate of my childhood---- It
is forgiven. But now--you will do me a kindness. You will spare my using
the pin myself. Will you not? I will repay you. If you wish, my hand
shall render you the same service."
Charmian clasped her niece to her heart, kissed her, pricked her arm
lightly, and gave her the other pin, saying:
"Now it is your turn. Our hearts were filled with love for one who
understood how to bestow it as none other ever did, and our love was
returned. What matters all else that we sacrificed? Those on whom the
sun shines need no other light. Love is pain," she said in dying, "but
this pain--especially that of renunciation for love's sake--bears with
it a joy, an exquisite joy, which renders death easy. To me it seems as
if it were merely following the Queen to---- Oh, that hurt!"
Iras's pin had pricked her.
The poison did its work quickly. Iras was seized with giddiness, and
could scarcely stand. Charmian had just sunk on her knees, when some one
knocked loudly at the closed door, and the voices of Epaphroditus and
Proculejus imperiously demanded admittance.
When no answer followed, the lock was hastily burst open.
Charmian was found lying pale and distorted at the feet of her royal
mistress; but Iras, tottering and half stupefied by the poison, was
adjusting the diadem, which had slipped from its place. To keep from her
beloved Queen everything that could detract from her beauty had been her
last care.
Enraged, fairly frantic with wrath, the Romans rushed towards the women.
Epaphroditus had seen Iras still occupied in arranging Cleopatra's
ornaments. Now he endeavoured to raise her companion, saying
reproachfully, "Charmian, was this well done?" Summoning her last
strength, she answered in a faltering voice, "Perfectly well, and worthy
a descendant of Egyptian kings." Her eyes closed, but Proculejus, the
author, who had gazed long with deep emotion into the beautiful proud
face of the Queen whom he had so greatly wronged, said: "No other woman
on earth was ever so admired by the greatest, so loved by the loftiest.
Her fame echoed from nation to nation throughout the world. It will
continue to resound from generation to generation; but however loudly
men may extol the bewitching charm, the fervour of the love which
survived death, her intellect, her knowledge, the heroic courage with
which she preferred the tomb to ignominy--the praise of these two must
not be forgotten. Their fidelity deserves it. By their marvellous end
they unconsciously erected the most beautiful monument to their
mistress; for what genuine goodness and lovableness must have been
possessed by the woman who, after the greatest reverses, made it seem
more desirable to those nearest to her person to die than to live
without her!"*
[* The Roman's exclamation and the answer of the loyal dying Charmian
are taken literally from Plutarch's narrative.]
The news of the death of their beloved, admired sovereign transformed
Alexandria into a house of mourning. Obsequies of unprecedented
magnificence and solemnity, at which many tears of sincere grief flowed,
honoured her memory. One of Octavianus's most brilliant plans was
frustrated by her death, and he had raved furiously when he read the
letter in which Cleopatra, with her own hand, informed him of her
intention to die. But he owed it to his reputation for generosity to
grant her a funeral worthy of her rank. To the dead, who had ceased to
be dangerous, he was ready to show an excess of magnanimity.
The treatment which he accorded to Cleopatra's children also won the
world's admiration. His sister Octavia received them into her own house
and intrusted their education to Archibius.
When the order to destroy the statues of Antony and Cleopatra was
issued, Octavianus gave his contemporaries another proof of his
disposition to be lenient, for he ordered that the numerous statues of
the Queen in Alexandria and Egypt should be preserved. True, he had been
influenced by the large sum of two thousand talents paid by an
Alexandrian to secure this act of generosity. Archibius was the name of
the rare friend who had impoverished himself to render this service to
the memory of the beloved dead.
In later times the statues of the unfortunate Queen adorned the places
where they had been erected.
The sarcophagi of Cleopatra and Mark Antony, by whose side rested Iras
and Charmian, were constantly heaped with flowers and offerings to the
dead. The women of Alexandria, especially, went to the tomb of their
beloved Queen as if it were a pilgrimage; but in after-days faithful
mourners also came from a distance to visit it, among them the children
of the famous lovers whom death here united--Cleopatra Selene, now the
wife of the learned Numidian Prince Juba, Helios Antony, and Alexander,
who had reached manhood. Their friend and teacher, Archibius,
accompanied them. He taught them to hold their mother's memory dear, and
had so reared them that, in their maturity, he could lead them with head
erect to the sarcophagus of the friend who had confided them to his
charge.
[The End]