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[Illustration]




    The Life and Times of
    Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt




“Histories make men wise.”--BACON.

“I have no expectation that any man will read history aright who thinks
that what was done in a remote age ... has any deeper sense than what
he is doing to-day.”--EMERSON.

“To philosophise on mankind exact observation is not sufficient....
Knowledge of the present must be supplemented from the history of the
past.”--TAINE.

“Only the dead men know the tunes the live world dances to.”--LE
GALLIENNE.

“Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for ... the earth shall cast
out the dead.”--ISAIAH.

[Illustration:

    _British Museum._]      [_Photograph by Macbeth._

CLEOPATRA.
]




    The Life and Times of
    Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt

    A Study in the Origin
    of the Roman Empire

    BY
    ARTHUR E. P. BROME WEIGALL

    INSPECTOR-GENERAL OF ANTIQUITIES, GOVERNMENT OF EGYPT
    AUTHOR OF ‘THE LIFE AND TIMES OF AKHNATON, PHARAOH OF EGYPT,’
    ‘THE TREASURE OF ANCIENT EGYPT,’ ‘TRAVELS IN THE UPPER EGYPTIAN
    DESERTS,’ ‘A GUIDE TO THE ANTIQUITIES OF UPPER EGYPT,’ ETC., ETC.

    _WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS_

    William Blackwood and Sons
    Edinburgh and London
    1914

    _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_




    _I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
    TO MY FRIEND OF MANY YEARS,
    RONALD STORRS,
    ORIENTAL SECRETARY TO THE BRITISH AGENCY IN EGYPT,
    SCHOLAR, POET, AND MUSICIAN._




PREFACE.


I have to thank most heartily the Honourable Mrs Julian Byng, Mrs
Gerald Lascelles, Mr Ronald Storrs, and my wife, for reading the proofs
of this volume, and for giving me the benefit of their invaluable
advice.




CONTENTS.


                                                                    PAGE
  INTRODUCTION                                                      xiii


  PART I.--CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR.

   CHAP.
      I. AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF THE CHARACTER OF CLEOPATRA           3

     II. THE CITY OF ALEXANDRIA                                       18

    III. THE BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS OF CLEOPATRA                       41

     IV. THE DEATH OF POMPEY AND THE ARRIVAL OF CÆSAR IN EGYPT        65

      V. CAIUS JULIUS CÆSAR                                           82

     VI. CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR IN THE BESIEGED PALACE AT ALEXANDRIA     95

    VII. THE BIRTH OF CÆSARION AND CÆSAR’S DEPARTURE FROM EGYPT      114

   VIII. CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR IN ROME                                 133

     IX. THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EGYPTO-ROMAN MONARCHY                153

      X. THE DEATH OF CÆSAR AND THE RETURN OF CLEOPATRA TO EGYPT     178


  PART II.--CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY.

     XI. THE CHARACTER OF ANTONY AND HIS RISE TO POWER               203

    XII. THE ALLIANCE BETWEEN CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY                   224

   XIII. CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY IN ALEXANDRIA                          238

    XIV. THE ALLIANCE RENEWED BETWEEN CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY           254

     XV. THE PREPARATIONS OF CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY FOR THE
             OVERTHROW OF OCTAVIAN                                   279

    XVI. THE DECLINE OF ANTONY’S POWER                               303

   XVII. THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM AND THE FLIGHT TO EGYPT                324

  XVIII. CLEOPATRA’S ATTEMPT TO BEGIN AGAIN                          349

    XIX. OCTAVIAN’S INVASION OF EGYPT AND THE DEATH OF ANTONY        368

     XX. THE DEATH OF CLEOPATRA AND THE TRIUMPH OF OCTAVIAN          386


         GENEALOGY OF THE PTOLEMIES                            _At end._




ILLUSTRATIONS.


  CLEOPATRA                                               _Frontispiece_
      British Museum. Photograph by Macbeth.
                                                            _To face p._
  PORTRAIT OF A GREEK LADY                                            32
      _The painting dates from a generation later than that of
      Cleopatra, but it is an example of the work of the
      Alexandrian artists._

  Cairo Museum. Photograph by Brugsch.

  SERAPIS: THE CHIEF GOD OF ALEXANDRIA                                48
      Alexandria Museum.

  POMPEY THE GREAT                                                    66
      Rome. Photograph by Anderson.

  JULIUS CÆSAR                                                        88
      British Museum.

  CLEOPATRA                                                          128
      British Museum. Photograph by Macbeth.

  JULIUS CÆSAR                                                       160
      Vatican. Photograph by Anderson.

  ANTONY                                                             208
      Vatican. Photograph by Anderson.

  OCTAVIAN                                                           240
      Vatican. Photograph by Anderson.

  ANTONIA, THE DAUGHTER OF ANTONY                                    290
      British Museum. Photograph by Macbeth.

  CLEOPATRA AND HER SON CÆSARION                                     304
      _Represented conventionally upon a wall of the Temple of
      Dendera._

  CLEOPATRA.                                                         352
      British Museum. Photograph by Macbeth.

  OCTAVIAN                                                           376
      Glyptothek, Munich. Photograph by Bruckmann.

  THE NILE                                                           400
    _An example of Alexandrian art._
      Vatican. Photograph by Anderson.


MAPS AND PLAN.

    THE KNOWN WORLD IN THE TIME OF CLEOPATRA                          xx

    APPROXIMATE PLAN OF ALEXANDRIA IN THE TIME OF CLEOPATRA           24

    ÆGYPTUS                                                           66

    CLEOPATRA’S POSSESSIONS IN RELATION TO THE ROMAN WORLD           268

    A MAP ILLUSTRATING THE WAR BETWEEN CLEOPATRA AND OCTAVIAN        308




INTRODUCTION.


In the following pages it will be observed that, in order not to
distract the reader, I have refrained from adding large numbers of
notes, references, and discussions, such as are customary in works
of this kind. I am aware that by telling a straightforward story in
this manner I lay myself open to the suspicions of my fellow-workers,
for there is always some tendency to take not absolutely seriously a
book which neither prints chapter and verse for its every statement,
nor often interrupts the text with erudite arguments. In the case
of the subject which is here treated, however, it has seemed to me
unnecessary to encumber the pages in this manner, since the sources
of my information are all so well known; and I have thus been able to
present the book to the reader in a style consonant with a principle of
archæological and historical study to which I have always endeavoured
to adhere--namely, the avoidance of as many of those attestations of
learning as may be discarded without real loss. A friend of mine, an
eminent scholar, in discussing with me the scheme of this volume,
earnestly exhorted me on the present occasion not to abide by this
principle. Remarking that the trouble with my interpretation of
history was that I attempted to make the characters live, he urged
me at least to justify the manner of their resuscitation in the eyes
of the doctors of science by cramming my pages with extracts from my
working notes, relevant or otherwise, and by smattering my text with
Latin and Greek quotations. I trust, however, that he was speaking in
behalf of a very small company, for the sooner this kind of jargon
of scholarship is swept into the world’s dust-bin, the better will
it be for public education. To my mind a knowledge of the past is so
necessary to a happy mental poise that it seems absolutely essential
for historical studies to be placed before the general reader in a
manner sympathetic to him. “History,” said Emerson, “no longer shall be
a dull book. It shall walk incarnate in every just and wise man. You
shall not tell me by languages and titles a catalogue of the volumes
you have read. You shall make me feel what periods you have lived.”

Such has been my attempt in the following pages; and, though I am so
conscious of my literary limitations that I doubt my ability to place
the reader in touch with past events, I must confess to a sense of
gladness that I, at any rate, with almost my whole mind, have lived for
a time in the company of the men and women of long ago of whom these
pages tell.

Any of my readers who think that my interpretation of the known
incidents here recorded is faulty may easily check my statements
by reference to the classical authors. The sources of information
are available at any big library. They consist of Plutarch, Cicero,
Suetonius, Dion Cassius, Appian, ‘De Bello Alexandrino,’ Strabo,
Diodorus Siculus, Livy, Velleius Paterculus, Seneca, Lucan, Josephus,
Pliny, Dion Chrysostom, Tacitus, Florus, Lucian, Athenæus, Porphyry,
and Orosius. Of modern writers reference should be made to Ferrero’s
‘Greatness and Decline of Rome,’ Bouché-Leclercq’s ‘Histoire des
Lagides,’ Mahaffy’s ‘Empire of the Ptolemies,’ Mommsen’s ‘History of
Rome,’ Strack’s ‘Dynastie der Ptolemäer,’ and Sergeant’s ‘Cleopatra
of Egypt.’ There are also, of course, a very large number of works on
special branches of the subject, which the reader will, without much
difficulty, discover for himself.

I do not think that my statements of fact will be found to be in
error; but the general interpretation of the events will be seen to be
almost entirely new throughout the story, and therefore plainly open
to discussion. I would only plead for my views that a residence in
Egypt of many years, a close association with Alexandria, Cleopatra’s
capital, and a daily familiarity with Greek and Egyptian antiquities,
have caused me almost unconsciously to form opinions which may not be
at once acceptable to the scholar at home.

To some extent it is the business of the biographer to make the best
of the characters with which he deals, but the accusation of having
made use of this prerogative in the following pages will not be able
to be substantiated. There is no high purpose served by the historian
who sets down this man or that woman as an unmitigated blackguard,
unless it be palpably impossible to discover any good motive for his
or her actions. And even then it is a pleasant thing to avert, where
possible, the indignation of posterity. An undefined sense of anger is
left upon the mind of many of those who have read pages of condemnatory
history of this kind, written by scholars who themselves are seated
comfortably in the artificial atmosphere of modern righteousness. The
story of the Plantagenet kings of England, for example, as recorded
by Charles Dickens in his ‘Child’s History of England,’ causes the
reader to direct his anger more often to Dickens than to those weary,
battle-stained, old monarchs whose blood many Englishmen are still
proud to acknowledge. An historian who deals with a black period
must not be fastidious. Nor must he detach his characters from their
natural surroundings, and judge them according to a code of morals of
which they themselves knew nothing. The modern, and not infrequently
degenerate, humanitarian may utter his indignant complaint against
the Norman barons who extracted the teeth of the Jewish financiers
to induce them to deliver up their gold; but has he set himself to
feel that pressing need of money which the barons felt, and has he
endeavoured to experience their exasperation at the obstinacy of these
foreigners? Let him do this and his attitude will be more tolerant: one
might even live to see him hastening to the City with a pair of pincers
in his pocket. Of course it is not the historian’s affair to condone,
or become a party to, a crime; but it certainly is his business to
consider carefully the meaning of the term “crime,” and to question its
significance, as Pilate did that of truth.

In studying the characters of persons who lived in past ages, the
biographer must tell us frankly whether he considers his subjects
good or bad, liberal or mean, pious or impious; but at this late hour
he should not often be wholly condemnatory, nor, indeed, need he be
expected to have so firm a belief in man’s capacity for consistent
action as to admit that any person was so invariably villainous as he
may be said to have been. A natural and inherent love of right-doing
will sometimes lead the historian to err somewhat on the side of
magnanimity; and I dare say he will serve the purpose of history best
when he can honestly find a devil not so black as he is painted. Being
acquainted with the morals of 1509, I would almost prefer to think of
Henry the Eighth as “bluff King Hal,” than as “the most detestable
villain that ever drew breath.”[1] I believe that an historian, in
sympathy with his period, can at one and the same moment absolve Mary
Queen of Scots from the charge of treachery, and defend Elizabeth’s
actions against her on that charge.

In the case of Cleopatra the biographer may approach his subject from
one of several directions. He may, for example, regard the Queen of
Egypt as a thoroughly bad woman, or as an irresponsible sinner, or as
a moderately good woman in a difficult situation. In this book it is
my object to point out the difficulty of the situation, and to realise
the adverse circumstances against which the Queen had to contend; and
by so doing a fairer complexion will be given to certain actions which
otherwise must inevitably be regarded as darkly sinful. The biographer
need not, for the sake of his principles, turn his back on the sinner
and refuse to consider the possibility of extenuating circumstances.
He need not, as we so often must in regard to our contemporaries, make
a clear distinction between good and bad, shunning the sinner that
our intimates may not be contaminated. The past, to some extent, is
gone beyond the eventuality of Hell; and Time, the great Redeemer,
has taken from the world the sharpness of its sin. The historian
thus may put himself in touch with distant crime, and may attempt
to apologise for it, without the charge being brought against him
that in so doing he deviates from the stern path of moral rectitude.
Intolerance is the simple expedient of contemporaneous society: the
historian must show his distaste for wrong-doing by other means. We
dare not excuse the sins of our fellows; but the wreck of times past,
the need of reconstruction and rebuilding, gives the writer of history
and biography a certain option in the selection of the materials which
he uses in the resuscitation of his characters. He holds a warrant
from the Lord of the Ages to give them the benefit of the doubt; and
if it be his whim to ignore this licence and to condemn wholesale a
character or a family, he sometimes loses, by a sort of perversion, the
prerogative of his calling. The historian must examine from all sides
the events which he is studying; and in regard to the subject with
which this volume deals he must be particularly careful not to direct
his gaze upon it only from the point of view of the Imperial Court of
Rome, which regarded Cleopatra as the ancestral enemy of the dynasty.
In dealing with history, says Emerson, “we, as we read, must become
Greeks, Romans, Turks, priest and king, martyr and executioner.” Even
so, as we study the life of Cleopatra, we must set behind us that view
of the case that was held by one section of humanity. In like manner we
must rid ourselves of the influence of the thought of any one period,
and must ignore that aspect of morality which has been developed in us
by contact with the age in which we have the fortune to live. Good and
evil are relative qualities, defined very largely by public opinion;
and it must always be remembered that certain things which are
considered to be correct to-day may have the denunciation of yesterday
and to-morrow. We, as we read of the deeds of the Queen of Egypt,
must doff our modern conception of right and wrong together with our
top-hats and frock-coats; and, as we pace the courts of the Ptolemies,
and breathe the atmosphere of the first century before Christ, we must
not commit the anachronism of criticising our surroundings from the
standard of twenty centuries after Christ. It is, of course, apparent
that to a great extent we must be influenced by the thought of to-day;
but the true student of history will make the effort to cast from him
the shackles of his contemporaneous opinions, and to parade the bygone
ages in the boundless freedom of a citizen of all time and a dweller in
every land.

[Illustration:

    THE KNOWN WORLD
    IN THE TIME OF
    CLEOPATRA
]




PART I.

CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR




CHAPTER I.

AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF THE CHARACTER OF CLEOPATRA.


To those who make a close inquiry into the life of Cleopatra it will
speedily become apparent that the generally accepted estimate of her
character was placed before the public by those who sided against her
in regard to the quarrel between Antony and Octavian. During the last
years of her life the great Queen of Egypt became the mortal enemy
of the first of the Roman Emperors, and the memory of her historic
hostility was perpetuated by the supporters of every Cæsar of that
dynasty. Thus the beliefs now current as to Cleopatra’s nefarious
influence upon Julius Cæsar and Marc Antony are, in essence, the simple
abuse of her opponents; nor has History preserved to us any record of
her life set down by one who was her partisan in the great struggle in
which she so bravely engaged herself. It is a noteworthy fact, however,
that the writer who is most fair to her memory, namely, the inimitable
Plutarch, appears to have obtained much of his information from the
diary kept by Cleopatra’s doctor, Olympus. I do not presume in this
volume to offer any kind of apology for the much-maligned Queen, but it
will be my object to describe the events of her troubled life in such
a manner that her aims, as I understand them, may be fairly placed
before the reader; and there can be little doubt that, if I succeed in
giving plausibility to the speculations here advanced, the actions of
Cleopatra will, without any particular advocacy, assume a character
which, at any rate, is no uglier than that of every other actor in this
strange drama.

The injustice, the adverse partiality, of the attitude assumed by
classical authors will speedily become apparent to all unbiassed
students; and a single instance of this obliquity of judgment is all
that need be mentioned here to illustrate my contention. I refer to
the original intimacy between Cleopatra and Julius Cæsar. According
to the accepted view of historians, both ancient and modern, the
great Dictator is supposed to have been led astray by the voluptuous
Egyptian, and to have been detained in Alexandria, against his better
judgment, by the wiles of this Siren of the East. At this time,
however, as will be seen in due course, Cleopatra, “the stranger for
whom the Roman half-brick was never wanting,”[2] was actually an
unmarried girl of some twenty-one years of age, against whose moral
character not one shred of trustworthy evidence can be advanced;
while, on the other hand, Cæsar was an elderly man who had ruined
the wives and daughters of an astounding number of his friends, and
whose reputation for such seductions was of a character almost past
belief. How anybody, therefore, who has the known facts before him,
can attribute the blame to Cleopatra in this instance, must become
altogether incomprehensible to any student of the events of that time.
I do not intend to represent the Queen of Egypt as a particularly
exalted type of her sex, but an attempt will be made to deal justly
with her, and by giving her on occasion, as in a court of law, the
benefit of the doubt, I feel assured that the reader will be able
to see in her a very good average type of womanhood. Nor need I, in
so doing, be accused of using on her behalf the privilege of the
biographer, which is to make excuses. I will not simply set forth the
case for Cleopatra as it were in her defence: I will tell the whole
story of her life as it appears to me, admitting always the possible
correctness of the estimate of her character held by other historians,
but, at the same time, offering to public consideration a view of her
deeds and devices which, if accepted, will clear her memory of much
of that unpleasant stigma so long attached to it, and will place her
reputation upon a level with those of the many famous persons of her
time, not one of whom can be called either thoroughly bad or wholly
good.

So little is known with any certainty as to Cleopatra’s appearance,
that the biographer must feel considerable reluctance in presenting her
to his readers in definite guise; yet the duties of an historian do not
permit him to deal with ghosts and shadows, or to invoke from the past
only the misty semblance of those who once were puissant realities.
For him the dead must rise not as phantoms hovering uncertainly at the
mouth of their tombs, but as substantial entities observable in every
detail to the mental eye; and he must endeavour to convey to others the
impression, however faulty, which he himself has received. In the case
of Cleopatra the materials necessary for her resuscitation are meagre,
and one is forced to call in the partial assistance of the imagination
in the effort to rebuild once more that body which has been so long
dissolved into Egyptian dust.

A few coins upon which the Queen’s profile is stamped, and a bust of
poor workmanship in the British Museum, are the sole[3] sources of
information as to her features. The colour of her eyes and of her
hair is not known; nor can it be said whether her skin was white as
alabaster, like that of many of her Macedonian fellow-countrywomen, or
whether it had that olive tone so often observed amongst the Greeks.
Even her beauty, or rather the degree of her beauty, is not clearly
defined. It must be remembered that, so far as we know, not one drop of
Oriental blood flowed in Cleopatra’s veins, and that therefore her type
must be considered as Macedonian Greek. The slightly brown skin of the
Egyptian, the heavy dark eyes of the East, full, as it were, of sleep,
the black hair of silken texture, are not features which are to be
assigned to her. On the contrary, many Macedonian women are fair-haired
and blue-eyed, and that colouring is frequently to be seen amongst the
various peoples of the Eastern Mediterranean. Nevertheless, it seems
most probable, all things considered, that she was a brunette; but in
describing her as such it must be borne in mind that there is nothing
more than a calculated likelihood to guide us.

The features of her face seem to have been strongly moulded, although
the general effect given is that of smallness and delicacy. Her nose
was aquiline and prominent, the nostrils being sensitive and having an
appearance of good breeding. Her mouth was beautifully formed, the lips
appearing to be finely chiselled. Her eyes were large and well placed,
her eyebrows delicately pencilled. The contour of her cheek and chin
was charmingly rounded, softening, thus, the lines of her clear-cut
features. “Her beauty,” says Plutarch, “was not in itself altogether
incomparable, nor such as to strike those who saw her”; and he adds
that Octavia, afterwards Antony’s wife, was the more beautiful of the
two women. But he admits, and no other man denies, that her personal
charm and magnetism were very great. “She was splendid to hear and to
see,” says Dion Cassius, “and was capable of conquering the hearts
which had resisted most obstinately the influence of love and those
which had been frozen by age.”

It is probable that she was very small in build. In order to obtain
admittance to her palace upon an occasion of which we shall presently
read, it is related that she was rolled up in some bedding and carried
over the shoulders of an attendant, a fact which indicates that
her weight was not considerable. The British Museum bust seems to
portray the head of a small woman; and, moreover, Plutarch refers to
her in terms which suggest that her charm lay to some extent in her
daintiness. One imagines her thus to have been in appearance a small,
graceful woman; prettily rounded rather than slight; white-skinned;
dark-haired and dark-eyed; beautiful, and yet by no means a perfect
type of beauty.

Her voice is said to have been her most powerful weapon, for by
the perfection of its modulations it was at all times wonderfully
persuasive and seductive.

     “The Devil hath not, in all his quiver’s choice,
      An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice,”

says Byron; and in the case of Cleopatra this poignant gift of Nature
must have served her well throughout her life. “Familiarity with her,”
writes Plutarch, “had an irresistible charm; and her form, combined
with her persuasive speech, and with the peculiar character which in a
manner was diffused about her behaviour, produced a certain piquancy.
There was a sweetness in the sound of her voice when she spoke.” “Her
charm of speech,” Dion Cassius tells us, “was such that she won all who
listened.”

Her grace of manner was as irresistible as her voice; for, as Plutarch
remarks, there seems to have been this peculiar, undefined charm in
her behaviour. It may have been largely due to a kind of elusiveness
and subtilty; but it would seem also to have been accentuated by a
somewhat naïve and childish manner, a waywardness, an audacity, a
capriciousness, which enchanted those around her. Though often wild
and inclined to romp, she possessed considerable dignity and at times
was haughty and proud. Pliny speaks of her as being disdainful and
vain, and indeed so Cicero found her when he met her in Rome; but this
was an attitude perhaps assumed by the Queen as a defence against the
light criticisms of those Roman nobles of the Pompeian faction who
may have found her position not so honourable as she herself believed
it to be. There is, indeed, little to indicate that her manner was by
nature overbearing; and one is inclined to picture her as a natural,
impulsive woman who passed readily from haughtiness to simplicity.
Her actions were spontaneous, and one may suppose her to have been in
her early years as often artless as cunning. Her character was always
youthful, her temperament vivacious, and her manner frequently what may
be called harum-scarum. She enjoyed life, and with candour took from
it whatever pleasures it held out to her. Her untutored heart leapt
from mirth to sorrow, from comedy to tragedy, with unexpected ease; and
with her small hands she tossed about her the fabric of her complex
circumstances like a mantle of light and darkness.

She was a gifted woman, endowed by nature with ready words and a
happy wit. “She could easily turn her tongue,” says Plutarch, “like
a many-stringed instrument, to any language that she pleased. She
had very seldom need of an interpreter for her communication with
foreigners, but she answered most men by herself, namely Ethiopians,
Troglodytes, Hebrews, Arabs, Syrians, Medes, and Parthians. She is
said to have learned the language of many other peoples, though the
kings, her predecessors, had not even taken the pains to learn the
Egyptian tongue, and some of them had not so much as given up the
Macedonian dialect.” Statecraft made a strong appeal to her, and as
Queen of Egypt she served the cause of her dynasty’s independence and
aggrandisement with passionate energy. Dion Cassius tells us that she
was intensely ambitious, and most careful that due honour should be
paid to her throne. Her actions go to confirm this estimate, and one
may see her consumed at times with a legitimate desire for world-power.
Though clever and bold she was not highly skilled, so far as one can
see, in the diplomatic art; but she seems to have plotted and schemed
in the manner common to her house, not so much with great acuteness or
profound depth as with sustained intensity and a sort of conviction.
Tenacity of purpose is seen to have been her prevailing characteristic;
and her unwavering struggle for her rights and those of her son
Cæsarion will surely be followed by the interested reader through the
long story before him with real admiration.

It is unanimously supposed that Cleopatra was, as Josephus words it, a
slave to her lusts. The vicious sensuality of the East, the voluptuous
degeneracy of an Oriental court, are thought to have found their most
apparent expression in the person of this unfortunate Queen. Yet
what was there, beyond the ignorant and prejudiced talk of her Roman
enemies, to give a foundation to such an estimate of her character? She
lived practically as Cæsar’s _wife_ for some years, it being said, I
believe with absolute truth, that he intended to make her Empress of
Rome and his legal consort. After his assassination she married Antony,
and cohabited with him until the last days of her life. At an age when
the legal rights of marriage were violated on every side, when all
Rome and all Alexandria were deeply involved in domestic intrigues,
Cleopatra, so far as I can see, confined her attentions to the two men
who in sequence each acted towards her in the manner of a legitimate
husband, each being recognised in Egypt as her divinely-sanctioned
consort. The words of Dion Cassius, which tell us that “no wealth could
satisfy her, and her passions were insatiable,” do not suggest a more
significant foundation than that her life was lived on extravagant and
prodigal lines. There is no doubt that she was open to the accusations
of her enemies, who described her habits as dissipated and intemperate;
but there seems to be little to indicate that she was in any way a
Delilah or a Jezebel. For all we know, she may have been a very
moral woman: certainly she was the fond mother of four children, a
fact which, even at that day, may be said to indicate, to a certain
extent, a voluntary assumption of the duties of motherhood. After due
consideration of all the evidence, I am of opinion that though her
nature may have been somewhat voluptuous, and though her passions were
not always under control, the best instincts of her sex were by no
means absent; and indeed, in her maternal aspect, she may be described
as a really good woman.

The state of society at the time must be remembered. In Rome, as
well as in Alexandria, love intrigues were continuously in progress.
Mommsen, in writing of the moral corruption of the age, speaks of the
extraordinary degeneracy of the dancing girl of the period, whose
record “pollutes even the pages of history.” “But,” he adds, “their,
as it were, licensed trade was materially injured by the free act of
the ladies of aristocratic circles. Liaisons in the first houses had
become so frequent that only a scandal altogether exceptional could
make them the subject of special talk, and judicial interference seemed
now almost ridiculous.” Against such a background Cleopatra’s domestic
life with Cæsar, and afterwards with Antony, assumes, by contrast, a
fair character which is not without its refreshing aspect. We see her
intense and lifelong devotion to her eldest son Cæsarion, we picture
her busy nursery in the royal palace, which at one time resounded to
the cries of a pair of lusty twins, and the vision of the Oriental
voluptuary fades from our eyes. Can this dainty little woman, we ask,
who soothes at her breast the cries of her fat baby, while three sturdy
youngsters play around her, be the sensuous Queen of the East? Can this
tender, ingenuous, smiling mother of Cæsar’s beloved son be the Siren
of Egypt? There is not a particle of trustworthy evidence to show that
Cleopatra carried on a single love affair in her life other than the
two recorded so dramatically by history, nor is there any evidence to
show that in those two affairs she conducted herself in a licentious
manner.

Cleopatra was in many ways a refined and cultured woman. Her linguistic
powers indicate a certain studiousness; and at the same time she seems
to have been a patron of the arts. It is recorded that she made Antony
present to the city of Alexandria the library which once belonged to
Pergamum, consisting of 200,000 volumes; and Cicero seems to record the
fact that she interested herself in obtaining certain books for him
from Alexandria. She inherited from her family a temperament naturally
artistic; and there is no reason to suppose that she failed to carry
on the high tradition of her house in this regard. She was a patron
also of the sciences, and Photinus, the mathematician, who wrote both
on arithmetic and geometry, published a book actually under her name,
called the ‘Canon of Cleopatra.’ The famous physician Dioscorides
was, it would seem, the friend and attendant of the Queen; and the
books which he wrote at her court have been read throughout the ages.
Sosigenes, the astronomer, was also, perhaps, a friend of Cleopatra,
and it may have been through her good offices that he was introduced to
Cæsar, with whom he collaborated in the reformation of the calendar.
The evidence is very inconsiderable in regard to the Queen’s personal
attitude towards the arts and sciences, but sufficient may be gleaned
to give some support to the suggestion that she did not fall below the
standard set by her forefathers. One feels that her interest in such
matters is assured by the fact that she held for so long the devotion
of such a man of letters as Julius Cæsar. There is little doubt that
she was capable of showing great seriousness of mind when occasion
demanded, and that her demeanour, so frequently tumultuous, was often
thoughtful and quiet.

At the same time, however, one must suppose that she viewed her life
with a light heart, having, save towards the end, a greater familiarity
with laughter than with tears. She was at all times ready to make merry
or jest, and a humorous adventure seems to have made a special appeal
to her. With Antony, as we shall see, she was wont to wander around
the city at night-time, knocking at people’s doors in the darkness and
running away when they were opened. It is related how once when Antony
was fishing in the sea, she made a diver descend into the water to
attach to his line a salted fish, which he drew to the surface amidst
the greatest merriment. One gathers from the early writers that her
conversation was usually sparkling and gay; and it would seem that
there was often an infectious frivolity in her manner which made her
society most exhilarating.

She was eminently a woman whom men might love, for she was active,
high-spirited, plucky, and dashing. To use a popular phrase, she was
always “game” for an adventure. Her courageous return to Egypt after
she had been driven into exile by her brother, is an indication of her
brave spirit; and the daring manner in which she first obtained her
introduction to Cæsar, causing herself to be carried into the palace on
a man’s back, is a convincing instance of that audacious courage which
makes so strong an appeal on her behalf to the imagination. Florus, who
was no friend of the Queen’s, speaks of her as being “free from all
womanly fear.”

We now come to the question as to whether she was cruel by nature.
It must be admitted that she caused the assassination of her sister
Arsinoe, and ordered the execution of others who were, at that time,
plotting against her. But it must be remembered that political murders
of this kind were a custom--nay, a habit--of the period; and, moreover,
the fact that the Queen of Egypt used her rough soldiers for the
purpose does not differentiate the act from that of Good Queen Bess who
employed a Lord Chief Justice and an axe. The early demise of Ptolemy
XV., her brother, is attributable as much to Cæsar as to Cleopatra,
if, indeed, he did not die a natural death. The execution of King
Artavasdes of Armenia was a political act of no great significance. And
the single remaining charge of cruelty which may be brought against
the Queen, namely, that she tested the efficacy of various poisons on
the persons of condemned criminals, need not be regarded as indicating
callousness on her part; for it mattered little to the condemned
prisoner what manner of sudden death he should die, but, on the other
hand, the discovery of a pleasant solution to the quandary of her own
life was a point of capital importance to herself. When we recall
the painful record of callous murders which were perpetrated during
the reigns of her predecessors, we cannot attribute to Cleopatra any
extraordinary degree of heartlessness, nor can we say that she showed
herself to be as cruel as were other members of her family. She lived
in a ruthless age; and, on the whole, her behaviour was tolerant and
good-natured.

In religious matters she was not, like so many persons of that period,
a disbeliever in the power of the gods. She had a strong pagan belief
in the close association of divinity and royalty, and she seems to have
accepted without question the hereditary assurance of her own celestial
affiliation. She was wont to dress herself on gala occasions in the
robes of Isis or Aphrodite, and to act the part of a goddess incarnate
upon earth, assuming not divine powers but divine rights. She regarded
herself as being closely in communion with the virile gods of Egypt
and Greece; and when signs and wonders were pointed out to her by her
astrologers, or when she noted good or ill omens in the occurrences
around her, she was particularly prone to giving them full recognition
as being communications from her heavenly kin. Her behaviour at the
battle of Actium is often said to have been due to her consciousness of
the warnings which she had received by means of such portents; and on
other occasions in her life her actions were ordered by these means.
It is related by Josephus that she violated the temples of Egypt in
order to obtain money to carry on the war against Rome, and that no
place was so holy or so infamous that she would not attempt to strip
it of its treasures when she was pressed for gold. If this be true,
it may be argued in the Queen’s defence that the possessions of the
gods were considered by her to be, as it were, her own property, as
the representative of heaven upon earth, and in this case they were
the more especially at her disposal since they were to be converted
into money for the glory of Egypt. As a matter of fact, it is probable
that in the last emergencies of her reign, the Queen’s agents obtained
supplies wherever they found them, and, if Cleopatra was consulted at
all, she was far too distracted to give the matter very serious thought.

It is not necessary here to inquire further into the character of
the Queen. Her personality, as I see it, will become apparent in the
following record of her tragic life. It is essential to remember
that, though her faults were many, she was not what is usually called
_bad_. She was a brilliant, charming, and beautiful woman; perhaps
not over-scrupulous and yet not altogether unprincipled; ready, no
doubt, to make use of her charms, but not an immoral character. As
the historian pictures her figure moving lightly through the mazes of
her life, now surrounded by her armies in the thick of battle; now
sailing up the moonlit Nile in her royal barge with Cæsar beside her;
now tenderly playing in the nursery with her babies; now presiding
brilliantly at the gorgeous feasts in the Alexandrian palace; now
racing in disguise down the side-streets of her capital, choking
with suppressed laughter; now speeding across the Mediterranean to
her doom; and now, all haggard and forlorn, holding the deadly asp
to her body,--he cannot fail to fall himself under the spell of that
enchantment by which the face of the world was changed. He finds that
he is dealing not with a daughter of Satan, who, from her lair in the
East, stretches out her hand to entrap Rome’s heroes, but with mighty
Cæsar’s wife and widow, fighting for Cæsar’s child; with Antony’s
faithful consort, striving, as will be shown, to unite Egypt and Rome
in one vast empire. He sees her not as the crowned courtesan of the
Orient, but as the excellent royal lady, who by her wits and graces
held captive the two greatest men of her time in the bonds of a union
which in Egypt was equivalent to a legal marriage. He sees before him
once more the small, graceful figure, whose beauty compels, whose voice
entices, and in whose face (it may be by the kindly obliterations of
time) there is no apparent evil; and the unprejudiced historian must
find himself hard put to it to say whether his sympathies are ranged
on the side of Cleopatra or on that of her Roman rival in the great
struggle for the mastery of the whole earth which is recorded in the
following pages.




CHAPTER II.

THE CITY OF ALEXANDRIA.


No study of the life of Cleopatra can be of true value unless the
position of the city of Alexandria, her capital, in relationship
to Egypt on the one hand and to Greece and Rome on the other, is
fully understood and appreciated. The reader must remember, and bear
continually in mind, that Alexandria was at that time, and still is,
more closely connected in many ways with the Mediterranean kingdoms
than with Egypt proper. It bore, geographically, no closer relation to
the Nile valley than Carthage bore to the interior of North Africa.
Indeed, to some extent it is legitimate in considering Alexandria
to allow the thoughts to find a parallel in the relationship of
Philadelphia to the interior of America in the seventeenth century or
of Bombay to India in the eighteenth century, for in these cases we see
a foreign settlement, representative of a progressive civilisation,
largely dependent on transmarine shipping for its prosperity, set down
on the coast of a country whose habits are obsolete. It is almost as
incorrect to class the Alexandrian Queen Cleopatra as a native Egyptian
as it would be to imagine William Penn as a Red Indian or Warren
Hastings as a Hindoo. Cleopatra in Alexandria was cut off from Egypt.
There is no evidence that she ever even saw the Sphinx, and it would
seem that the single journey up the Nile of which the history of her
reign gives us any record was undertaken by her solely at the desire of
Cæsar. Bearing this fact in mind, I do not think it is desirable for me
to refer at any length to the affairs, or to the manners and customs,
of Egypt proper in this volume; and it will be observed that, in order
to avoid giving to events here recorded an Egyptian character which
in reality they did not possess in any very noticeable degree, I have
refrained from introducing any account of the people who lived in the
great country behind Alexandria over which Cleopatra reigned.

The topographical position of Alexandria, selected by its illustrious
founder, seems to have been chosen on account of its detachment from
Egypt proper. The city was erected upon a strip of land having the
Mediterranean on the one side and the Mareotic lake on the other. It
was thus cut off from the hinterland far more effectively even than
was Carthage by its semicircle of hills. Alexander had intended to
make the city a purely Greek settlement, the port at which the Greeks
should land their goods for distribution throughout Egypt, and whence
the produce of the abundant Nile should be shipped to the north and
west. He selected a remote corner of the Delta for his site, with the
plain intention of holding his city at once free of, and in dominion
over, Egypt; and so precisely was the location suited to his purpose
that until this day Alexandria is in little more than name a city of
the Egyptians. Even at the present time, when an excellent system of
express railway trains connects Alexandria with Cairo and Upper Egypt,
there are many well-to-do inhabitants who have not seen more that
ten miles of Egyptian landscape; and the vast majority have never
been within sight of the Pyramids. The wealthy foreigners settled in
Alexandria often know nothing whatsoever about Egypt, and Cairo itself
is beyond their ken. The Greeks, Levantines, and Jews, who now, as in
ancient days, form a very large part of the population of Alexandria,
would shed bitter tears of gloomy foreboding were they called upon to
penetrate into the Egypt which the tourists and the officials know and
love. The middle-class Egyptians of Alexandria are rarely tempted to
enter Egypt proper, and even those who have inherited a few acres of
land in the interior are often unwilling to visit their property.

Egypt as we know it is a _terra incognita_ to the Alexandrian. The
towering cliffs of the desert, the wide Nile, the rainless skies,
the amazing brilliance of the stars, the ruins of ancient temples,
the great pyramids, the decorated tombs, the clustered mud-huts of
the villages in the shade of the dom-palms and the sycamores, the
creaking _sakkiehs_ or water-wheels, the gracefully worked _shadufs_ or
water-hoists,--all these are unknown to the inhabitants of Alexandria.
They have never seen the hot deserts and the white camel-tracks over
the hills, they have not looked upon the Nile tumbling over the granite
rocks of the cataracts, nor have they watched the broad expanse of
the inundation. That peculiar, undefined aspect and feeling which is
associated with the thought of Egypt in the minds of visitors and
residents does not tincture the impression of the Alexandrians. They
have not felt the subtle influence of the land of the Pharaohs: they
are sons of the Mediterranean, not children of the Nile.

The climate of Alexandria is very different from that of the interior
of the Delta, and bears no similarity to that of Upper Egypt. At
Thebes the winter days are warm and brilliantly sunny, the nights
often extremely cold. The summer climate is intensely hot, and there
are times when the resident might there believe himself an inhabitant
of the infernal regions. The temperature in and around Cairo is more
moderate, and the summer is tolerable, though by no means pleasant. In
Alexandria, however, the summer is cool and temperate. There is perhaps
no climate in the entire world so perfect as that of Alexandria in the
early summer. The days are cloudless, breezy, and brilliant; the nights
cool and even cold. In August and September it is somewhat damp, and
therefore unpleasant; but it is never very hot, and the conditions of
life are almost precisely those of southern Europe.

The winter days on the sea-coast are often cold and rainy, the climate
being not unlike that of Italy at the same time of year. People must
needs wear thick clothing, and must study the barometer before taking
their promenades. While Thebes, and even the Pyramids, bask in more
or less continual sunshine, the city of Alexandria is lashed by
intermittent rainstorms, and the salt sea-wind buffets the pedestrians
as it screams down the paved streets. The peculiar texture of the true
Egyptian atmosphere is not felt in Alexandria: the air is that of
Marseilles, of Naples, or of the Piræus.

In summer-time the sweating official of the south makes his way seaward
in the spirit of one who leaves the tropics for northern shores. He
enters the northbound express on some stifling evening in June, the
amazing heat still radiating from the frowning cliffs of the desert,
and striking up into his eyes from the parched earth around the
station. He lies tossing and panting in his berth while the electric
fans beat down the hot air upon him, until the more temperate midnight
permits him to fall into a restless sleep. In the morning he arrives
at Cairo, where the moisture runs more freely from his face by reason
of the greater humidity, though now the startling intensity of the
heat is not felt. Anon he travels through the Delta towards the north,
still mopping his brow as the morning sun bursts into the carriage. But
suddenly, a few miles from the coast, a change is felt. For the first
time, perhaps for many weeks, he feels cool: he wishes his clothes were
not so thin. He packs up his helmet and dons a straw hat. Arriving at
Alexandria, he is amused to find that he actually feels chilly. He no
longer dreads to move abroad in the sun at high noon, but, waving aside
the importunate carriage-drivers, he walks briskly to his hotel. He
does not sit in a darkened room with windows tightly shut against the
heat, but pulls the chair out on to the verandah to take the air; and
at night he does not lie stark naked on his bed in the garden, cursing
the imagined heat of the stars and the moon, and praying for the mercy
of sleep; but, like a white man in his own land, he tucks himself up
under a blanket in the cool bedroom, and awakes lively and refreshed.

A European may live the year round at Alexandria, and may express a
preference for the summer. The wives and children of English officials
not infrequently remain there throughout the warmer months, not from
necessity but from choice; and there are many persons of northern
blood who are happy to call it their home. In Cairo such families
rarely remain during the summer, unless under compulsion, while in
Upper Egypt there is hardly a white woman in the land between May and
October. Egypt is considered by them to be solely a winter residence,
and the official is of opinion that he pays toll to fortune for the
pleasures of the winter season by the perils and torments of the
summer months. Even the middle and upper class Egyptians themselves,
recruited, as they generally are in official circles, from Cairo,
suffer terribly from the heat in the south--often more so, indeed, than
the English; and I myself on more than one occasion have had to abandon
a summer day’s ride owing to the prostration of one of the native staff.

The Egyptian of Alexandria and the north looks with scorn upon the
inhabitants of the upper country. The southerner, on the other hand,
has no epithet of contempt more biting than that of “Alexandrian.” To
the hardy peasant of the Thebaid the term means all that “scalliwag”
denotes to us. The northern Egyptian, unmindful of the relationship
of a kettle to a saucepan, calls the southerner “black” in disdainful
tones. A certain Alexandrian Egyptian of undiluted native stock, who
was an official in a southern district, told me that he found life
very dull in his provincial capital, surrounded as he was by “all
these confounded <DW65>s.” And if the _Egyptians_ of Alexandria are
thus estranged from those who constitute the backbone of the Egyptian
nation, it will be understood how great is the gulf between the Greeks
or other foreign residents in that city and the bulk of the people of
the Nile.

I am quite sure that Cleopatra spoke of the Egyptians of the interior
as “confounded <DW65>s.” Her interests and sympathies, like those of
her city, were directed across the Mediterranean. She held no more
intimate relationship to Egypt than does the London millionaire to
the African gold-mines which he owns. Alexandria at the present day
still preserves the European character with which it was endowed by
Alexander and the Ptolemies; or perhaps it were more correct to say
that it has once more assumed that character. There are large quarters
of the city, of course, which are native in style and appearance,
but, viewed as a whole, it suggests to the eye rather an Italian
than an Egyptian seaport. It has extremely little in common with the
Egyptian metropolis and other cities of the Nile; and we are aware that
there was no greater similarity in ancient times. The very flowers
and trees are different. In Upper Egypt the gardens have a somewhat
artificial beauty, for the grace of the land is more dependent upon the
composition of cliffs, river, and fields. There are few wild-flowers,
and little natural grass. In the gardens the flowers are evident
importations, while the lawns have to be sown every autumn, and do
not survive the summer. But in Alexandria there is always a blaze of
flowers, and one notes with surprise the English hollyhocks, foxgloves,
and stocks growing side by side with the plants of southern Europe. In
the fields of Mariout, over against Alexandria, the wild-flowers in
spring are those of the hills of Greece. Touched by the cool breeze
from the sea, one walks over ground scarlet and gold with poppies and
daisies; there bloom asphodel and iris; and the ranunculus grows to
the size of a tulip. There is a daintiness in these fields and gardens
wholly un-Egyptian, completely different from the more permanent grace
of the south. One feels that Pharaoh walked not in fields of asphodel,
that Amon had no dominion here amidst the poppies by the sea. One is
transplanted in imagination to Greece and to Italy, and the knowledge
becomes the more apparent that Cleopatra and her city were an integral
part of European life, only slightly touched by the very finger-tips of
the Orient.

[Illustration:

    Approximate plan of
    ALEXANDRIA
    in the time of Cleopatra.
]

The coast of Egypt rises so little above the level of the Mediterranean
that the land cannot be seen by those approaching it from across the
sea, until but a few miles separate them from the surf which breaks
upon the sand and rocks of that barren shore. The mountains of other
East-Mediterranean countries--Greece, Italy, Sicily, Crete, Cyprus,
and Syria--rising out of the blue waters, served as landmarks for
the mariners of ancient days, and were discernible upon the horizon
for many long hours before wind or oars carried the vessels in under
their lee. But the Egyptian coast offered no such assistance to the
captains of sea-going galleys, and they were often obliged to approach
closely to the treacherous shore before their exact whereabouts became
apparent to them. The city of Alexandria was largely hidden from
view by the long, low island of Pharos, which lay in front of it and
which was little dissimilar in appearance from the mainland.[4] Two
promontories of land projected from the coast opposite either end of
the island; and, these being lengthened by the building of breakwaters,
the straits between Pharos Island and the mainland were converted into
an excellent harbour, both it and the main part of the city being
screened from the open sea. There was one tremendous landmark, however,
which served to direct all vessels to their destination, namely, the
far-famed Pharos lighthouse, standing upon the east end of the island,
and overshadowing the main entrance to the port.[5] It had been built
during the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus by Sostratus of Cnidus two
hundred years and more before the days of Cleopatra, and it ranked as
one of the wonders of the world. It was constructed of white marble,
and rose to a height of 400 ells, or 590 feet. By day it stood like
a pillar of alabaster, gleaming against the leaden haze of the sky;
and from nightfall until dawn there shone from its summit a powerful
beacon-light which could be seen, it is said[6], for 300 stadia, _i.e._
34 miles, across the waters.

The harbour was divided into two almost equal parts by a great
embankment, known as the Heptastadium, which joined the city to the
island. This was cut at either end by a passage or waterway leading
from one harbour to the other, but these two passages were bridged
over, and thus a clear causeway was formed, seven stadia, or 1400
yards, in length. To the west of this embankment lay the Harbour of
Eunostos, or the Happy Return, which was entered from behind the
western extremity of Pharos Island; while to the east of the embankment
lay the Great Harbour, the entrance to which passed between the
enormous lighthouse and the Diabathra, or breakwater, built out from
the promontory known as Lochias. This entrance was dangerous, owing to
the narrowness of the fairway and to the presence of rocks, against
which the rolling waves of the Mediterranean, driven by the prevalent
winds of the north, beat with almost continuous violence.

A vessel entering the port of Alexandria from this side was steered
towards the great lighthouse, around the foot of which the waves leapt
and broke in showers of white foam. Skirting the dark rocks at the base
of this marble wonder, the vessel slipped through the passage into
the still entrance of the harbour, leaving the breakwater on the left
hand. Here, on a windless day, one might look down to the sand and the
rocks at the bottom of the sea, so clear and transparent was the water
and so able to be penetrated by the strong light of the sun. Seaweed
of unaccustomed hues covered the sunken rocks over which the vessels
floated; and anemones, like great flowers, could be seen swaying in the
gentle motion of the undercurrents. Passing on into the deeper water of
the harbour, in which the sleek dolphins arose and dived in rhythmic
succession, the traveller saw before him such an array of palaces and
public buildings as could be found nowhere else in the world. There
stood, on his left hand, the Royal Palace, which was spread over the
Lochias Promontory and extended round towards the west. Here, beside
a little island known as Antirrhodos, itself the site of a royal
pavilion, lay the Royal Harbour, where flights of broad steps descended
into the azure water, which at this point was so deep that the largest
galleys might moor against the quays. Along the edge of the mainland,
overlooking the Great Harbour, stood a series of magnificent buildings
which must have deeply impressed all those who were approaching the
city across the water. Here stood the imposing Museum, which was
actually a part of another palace, and which formed a kind of institute
for the study of the sciences, presided over by a priest appointed by
the sovereign. The buildings seem to have consisted of a large hall
wherein the professors took their meals; a series of arcades in which
these men of learning walked and talked; a hall, or assembly rooms,
in which their lectures were held; and, at the north end, close to
the sea, the famous library, at this time containing more than half a
million scrolls. On rising ground between the Museum and the Lochias
Promontory stood the Theatre, wherein those who occupied the higher
seats might look beyond the stage to the island of Antirrhodos, behind
which the incoming galleys rode upon the blue waters in the shadow of
Pharos. At the back of the Theatre, on still higher ground, the Paneum,
or Temple of Pan, had been erected. This is described by Strabo as “an
artificial mound of the shape of a fir-cone, resembling a pile of rock,
to the top of which there is an ascent by a spiral path, from whose
summit may be seen the whole city lying all around and beneath it.”
To the west of this mound stood the Gymnasium, a superb building, the
porticos of which alone exceeded a stadium, or 200 yards, in length.
The Courts of Justice, surrounded by groves and gardens, adjoined the
Gymnasium. Close to the harbour, to the west of the Theatre, was the
Forum; and in front of it, on the quay, stood a temple of Neptune. To
the west of this, near the Museum, there was an enclosure called Sema,
in which stood the tombs of the Ptolemaic Kings of Egypt, built around
the famous Mausoleum wherein the bones of Alexander the Great rested in
a sarcophagus of alabaster.[7]

These buildings, all able to be seen from the harbour, formed the
quarter of the city known as the Regia, Brucheion, or Royal Area. Here
the white stone structures reflected in the mirror of the harbour, the
statues and monuments, the trees and brilliant flower-gardens, the
flights of marble steps passing down to the sea, the broad streets and
public places, must have formed a scene of magnificence not surpassed
at that time in the whole world. Nor would the traveller, upon stepping
ashore from his vessel, be disappointed in his expectations as he
roamed the streets of the town. Passing through the Forum he would come
out upon the great thoroughfare, more than three miles long, which
cut right through the length of the city in a straight line, from the
Gate of the Necropolis, at the western end, behind the Harbour of the
Happy Return, to the Gate of Canopus, at the eastern extremity, some
distance behind the Lochias Promontory. This magnificent boulevard,
known as the Street of Canopus, or the Meson Pedion, was flanked on
either side by colonnades, and was 100 feet in breadth.[8] On its
north side would be seen the Museum, the Sema, the palaces, and the
gardens; on the south side the Gymnasium with its long porticos, the
Paneum towering up against the sky, and numerous temples and public
places. Were the traveller to walk eastwards along this street he
would pass through the Jewish quarter, adorned by many synagogues and
national buildings, through the Gate of Canopus, built in the city
walls, and so out on to open ground, where stood the Hippodromos or
Racecourse, and several public buildings. Here the sun-baked soil was
sandy, the rocks glaring white, and but little turf was to be seen. A
few palms, bent southward by the sea wind, and here and there a cluster
of acacias, gave shade to pedestrians; while between the road and the
sea the Grove of Nemesis offered a pleasant foreground to the sandy
beach and the blue expanse of the Mediterranean beyond. Near by stood
the little settlement of Eleusis, which was given over to festivities
and merry-making. Here there were several restaurants and houses of
entertainment which are said to have commanded beautiful views; but so
noisy was the fun supplied, and so dissolute the manners of those who
frequented the place, that better-class Alexandrians were inclined to
avoid it. At a distance of some three miles from Alexandria stood the
suburb of Nicopolis, where numerous villas, themselves “not less than
a city,” says Strabo,[9] had been erected along the sea-front, and the
sands in summer-time were crowded with bathers. Farther eastwards the
continuation of the Street of Canopus passed on to the town of that
name and Egypt proper.

Returning within the city walls and walking westwards along the Street
of Canopus, the visitor would pass once more through the Regia and
thence through the Egyptian quarter known as Rhakotis, to the western
boundary. This quarter, being immediately behind the commercial
harbour, was partly occupied by warehouses and ships’ offices, and
was always a very busy district of the town. Here there was an inner
harbour called Cibotos, or the Ark, where there were extensive docks;
and from this a canal passed, under the Street of Canopus, to the
lake at the back of the city. On a rocky hill behind the Rhakotis
quarter stood the magnificent Serapeum, or Temple of Serapis, which
was approached by a broad street running at right angles to the Street
of Canopus, which it bisected at a point not far west of the Museum,
being a continuation of the Heptastadium. The temple is said to have
been surpassed in grandeur by no other building in the world except the
Capitol at Rome; and, standing as it did at a considerable elevation,
it must have towered above the hubbub and the denser atmosphere of the
streets and houses at its foot, as though to receive the purification
of the untainted wind of the sea. Behind the temple, on the open rocky
ground outside the city walls, stood the Stadium; and away towards
the west the Necropolis was spread out, with its numerous gardens and
mausoleums. Still farther westward there were numerous villas and
gardens; and it may be that the wonderful flowers which at the present
day grow wild upon this ground are actually the descendants of those
introduced and cultivated by the Greeks of the days of Cleopatra.

Along the entire length of the back walls of the city lay the Lake of
Mareotis, which cut off Alexandria from the Egyptian Delta, and across
this stretch of water vast numbers of vessels brought the produce of
Egypt to the capital. The lake harbour and docks were built around
an inlet which penetrated some considerable distance into the heart
of the city not far to the east of the Paneum, and from them a great
colonnaded thoroughfare, as wide as the Street of Canopus, which it
crossed at right angles, passed through the city to the Great Harbour,
being terminated at the south end by the Gate of the Sun, and at the
north end by the Gate of the Moon. These lake docks are said to have
been richer and more important even than the maritime docks on the
opposite side of the town; for over the lake the traffic of vessels
coming by river and canal from all parts of Egypt was always greater
than the shipping across the Mediterranean. The shores of this inland
sea were exuberantly fertile. A certain amount of papyrus grew at the
edges of the lake, considerable stretches of water being covered
by the densely-growing reeds. The Alexandrians were wont to use the
plantations for their picnics, penetrating in small boats into the
thickest part of the reeds, where they were overshadowed by the leaves,
which, also, they used as dishes and drinking-vessels. Extensive
vineyards and fruit gardens flourished at the edge of the water; and
there are said to have been eight islands which rose from the placid
surface of the lake and were covered by luxuriant gardens.

[Illustration:

    _Cairo Museum._]      [_Photograph by Brugsch._

PORTRAIT OF A GREEK LADY

THE PAINTING DATES FROM A GENERATION LATER THAN THAT OF CLEOPATRA, BUT
IT IS AN EXAMPLE OF THE WORK OF THE ALEXANDRIAN ARTISTS.]

Strabo tells us that Alexandria contained extremely beautiful public
parks and grounds, and abounded with magnificent buildings of all
kinds. The whole city was intersected by roads wide enough for the
passage of chariots; and, as has been said, the three main streets,
those leading to the Gate of Canopus, to the Serapeum, and to the
Lake Harbour, were particularly noteworthy both for their breadth
and length. Indeed, in the Fifteenth Idyll of Theocritus, one of the
characters complains most bitterly of the excessive length of the
Alexandrian streets. The kings of the Ptolemaic dynasty, for nearly
three centuries, had expended vast sums in the beautification of
their capital, and at the period with which we are now dealing it had
become the rival of Rome in magnificence and luxury. The novelist,
Achilles Tatius, writing some centuries later, when many of the
Ptolemaic edifices had been replaced by Roman constructions perhaps
of less merit, cried, as he beheld the city, “We are vanquished, mine
eyes”; and there is every reason to suppose that his words were no
unlicensed exaggeration. In the brilliant sunshine of the majority
of Egyptian days, the stately palaces, temples, and public buildings
which reflected themselves in the waters of the harbour, or cast their
shadows across the magnificent Street of Canopus, must have dazzled
the eyes of the spectator and brought wonder into his heart.

The inhabitants of the city were not altogether worthy of their
splendid home. In modern times the people of Alexandria exhibit much
the same conglomeration of nationalities as they did in ancient days;
but the distinguishing line between Egyptians and Europeans is now more
sharply defined than it was in the reign of Cleopatra, owing to the
fact that the former are mostly Mohammedans and the latter Christians,
no marriage being permitted between them. In Ptolemaic times only
the Jews of Alexandria stood outside the circle of international
marriages which was gradually forming the people of the city into a
single type; for they alone practised that conventional exclusiveness
which indicated a strong religious conviction. The Greek element,
always predominant in the city, was mainly Macedonian; but in the
period we are now studying so many intermarriages with Egyptians had
taken place that in the case of a large number of families the stock
was much mixed. There must have been, of course, a certain number
of aristocratic houses, descended from the Macedonian soldiers and
officials who had come to Egypt with Alexander the Great and the first
Ptolemy, whose blood had been kept pure; and we hear of such persons
boasting of their nationality, though the ruin of their fatherland and
its subservience to Rome had left them little of which to be proud. In
like manner there must have been many pure Egyptian families, no less
proud of their nationality than were the Macedonians. The majority of
educated people could now speak both the Greek and Egyptian tongues,
and all official decrees and proclamations were published in both
languages. Many Greeks assumed Egyptian names in addition to their own;
and it is probable that there were at this date Egyptians who, in like
manner, adopted Greek names.

Besides Greeks and Egyptians, there were numerous Italians, Cretans,
Phœnicians, Cilicians, Cypriots, Persians, Syrians, Armenians,
Arabs, and persons of other nationalities, who had, to some extent,
intermarried with Alexandrian families, thus producing a stock which
must have been much like that to be found in the city at the present
day and now termed Levantine. Some of these had come to Alexandria
originally as respectable merchants and traders; others were sailors,
and, indeed, pirates; yet others were escaped slaves, outlaws,
criminals, and debtors who were allowed to enter Alexandria on
condition that they served in the army; while not a few were soldiers
of fortune who had been enrolled in the forces of Egypt. There was a
standing army of these mercenaries in Alexandria, and Polybius, writing
of the days of Cleopatra’s great-grandfather, Ptolemy IX., speaks of
them as being oppressive and dissolute, desiring to rule rather than to
obey. A further introduction of foreign blood was due to the presence
of the Gabinian Army of Occupation, the members of which had settled
down in Alexandria and had married Alexandrian women. These soldiers
were largely drawn from Germany and Gaul; and though there had not yet
been time for them to do more than add a horde of half-cast children
to the medley, their own presence in the city contributed strikingly
to the cosmopolitan character of the streets. This barbaric force,
with its Roman officers, must have been in constant rivalry with the
so-called Macedonian Household Troops which guarded the palace; but
when Cleopatra came to the throne the latter force had already been
freely recruited from all the riff-raff of the world, and was in no way
a match for the northerners.

The aristocracy of Alexandria probably consisted of the cosmopolitan
officers of the mercenaries and Household Troops, the Roman officers
of the Gabinian army, the Macedonian courtiers, the Greek and Egyptian
officials, and numerous families of wealthy Europeans, Syrians, Jews,
and Egyptians. The professors and scholars of the Museum constituted
a class of their own, much patronised by the court, but probably not
often accepted by the aristocracy of the city for any other reason than
that of their learning. The mob was mainly composed of Greeks of mixed
breed, together with a large number of Egyptians of somewhat impure
stock; and a more noisy, turbulent, and excitable crowd could not be
found in all the world, not even in riotous Rome. The Greeks and Jews
were constantly annoying one another, but the Greeks and Egyptians
seem to have fraternised to a very considerable extent, for there was
not so wide a gulf between them as might be imagined. The Egyptians of
Alexandria, and, indeed, of all the Delta, were often no darker-skinned
than the Greeks. Both peoples were noisy and excitable, vain and
ostentatious, smart and clever. They did not quarrel upon religious
matters, for the Egyptian gods were easily able to be identified with
those of Greece, and the chief deity of Alexandria, Serapis, was here
worshipped by both nations in common. In the domain of art they had no
cause for dissensions, for the individual art of Egypt was practically
dead, and that of Greece had been accepted by cultivated Egyptians as
the correct expression of the refinement in which they desired to live.
Both peoples were industrious, and eager in the pursuit of wealth, and
both were able to set their labours aside with ease, and to turn their
whole attention to the amusements which the luxurious city provided.
Polybius speaks of the Egyptians as being smart and civilised; and of
the Alexandrian Greeks he writes that they were a poor lot, though he
seems to have preferred them to the Egyptians.

The people of Alexandria were passionately fond of the theatre. In the
words of Dion Chrysostom, who, however, speaks of the citizens of a
century later than Cleopatra, “the whole town lived for excitement,
and when the manifestation of Apis (the sacred bull) took place, all
Alexandria went fairly mad with musical entertainments and horse-races.
When doing their ordinary work they were apparently sane, but the
instant they entered the theatre or the racecourse they appeared as if
possessed by some intoxicating drug, so that they no longer knew nor
cared what they said or did. And this was the case even with women and
children, so that when the show was over, and the first madness past,
all the streets and byways were seething with excitement for days, like
the swell after a storm.” The Emperor Hadrian says of them: “I have
found them wholly light, wavering, and flying after every breath of a
report.... They are seditious, vain, and spiteful, though as a body
wealthy and prosperous.” The impudent wit of the young Græco-Egyptian
dandy was proverbial, and must always have constituted a cause of
offence to those whose public positions laid them open to attack. No
sooner did a statesman assume office, or a king come to the throne,
than he was given some scurrilous nickname by the wags of the city,
which stuck to him throughout the remainder of his life. Thus, to quote
a few examples, Ptolemy IX. was called “Bloated,” Ptolemy X. “Vetch,”
Ptolemy XIII. “Piper”; Seleucus they named “Pickled-fish Pedlar,” and
in later times Vespasian was named “Scullion.” All forms of ridicule
appealed to them, and many are the tales told in this regard. Thus,
when King Agrippa passed through the city on his way to his insecure
throne, these young Alexandrians dressed up an unfortunate madman
whom they had found in the streets, put a paper crown upon his head
and a reed in his hand, and led him through the town, hailing him as
King of the Jews: and this in spite of the fact that Agrippa was the
friend of Caligula, their Emperor. Against Vespasian they told with
delight the story of how he had bothered one of his friends for the
payment of a trifling loan of six obols, and somebody made up a song
in which the fact was recorded. They ridiculed Caracalla in the same
manner, laughing at him for dressing himself like Alexander the Great,
although his stature was below the average; but in this case they had
not reckoned with their man, whose revenge upon them was an act no less
frightful than the total extermination of all the well-to-do young
men of the city, they being collected together under a false pretence
and butchered in cold blood. These Alexandrians were famous for the
witty and scathing verses which they composed upon topical subjects;
and a later historian speaks of this proficiency of theirs “in making
songs and epigrams against their rulers.” Such ditties were carried
from Egypt to Rome, and were sung in the Italian capital, just as
nowadays the latest American air is hummed and whistled in the streets
of London. Indeed, in Rome the wit of Alexandria was very generally
appreciated; and, a few years later, one hears of Alexandrian comedians
causing Roman audiences to rock with laughter.

The Emperor Hadrian, as we have seen, speaks of the Alexandrians as
being spiteful; and, no doubt, a great deal of their vaunted wit had
that character. The young Græco-Egyptian was inordinately vain and
self-satisfied; and no critic so soon adopts a spiteful tone as he
who has thought himself above criticism. The conceit of these smart
young men was very noticeable, and is frequently referred to by
early writers. They appear to have been much devoted to the study of
their personal appearance; and if one may judge by the habits of the
upper-class Egyptians and Levantines of present-day Alexandria, many of
them must have been intolerable <DW2>s. The luxury of their houses was
probably far greater than that in Roman life at this date, and they had
studied the culinary arts in an objectionably thorough manner. Dion
Chrysostom says the Alexandrians of his day thought of little else but
food and horse-racing. Both Greeks and Egyptians in Alexandria had
the reputation of being fickle and easily influenced by the moment’s
emotion. “I should be wasting many words in vain,” says the author of
‘De Bello Alexandrino,’ “if I were to defend the Alexandrians from the
charges of deceit and levity of mind.... There can be no doubt that the
race is most prone to treachery.” They had few traditions, no feelings
of patriotism, and not much political interest. They did not make any
study of themselves, nor write histories of their city: they lived for
the moment, and if the Government of the hour were distasteful to
them they revolted against it with startling rapidity. The city was
constantly being disturbed by street rioting, and there was no great
regard for human life.

The population of Alexandria is said to have been about 300,000 during
the later years of the Ptolemaic dynasty, which was not much less
than that of Rome before the Civil War, and twice the Roman number
after that sanguinary struggle.[10] In spite of its reputation for
frivolity it was very largely a business city, and a goodly portion
of its citizens were animated by a lively commercial spirit which
quite outclassed that of the Italian capital in enterprise and bustle.
This, of course, was a Greek and not an Egyptian characteristic, for
the latter are notoriously unenterprising and conservative in their
methods, while the Greeks, to this day, are admirable merchants and
business men. Alexandria was the most important corn-market of the
world, and for this reason was always envied by Rome. Incidentally
I may remark that proportionally far more corn was consumed in
Cleopatra’s time than in our own; and Cæsar once speaks of the
_endurance_ of his soldiers in submitting to eat meat owing to the
scarcity of corn.[11] The city was also engaged in many other forms
of commerce, and in the reign of Cleopatra it was recognised as the
greatest trading centre in the world. Here East and West met in the
busy market-places; and at the time with which we are dealing the
eyes of all men were beginning to be turned to this city as being
the terminus of the new trade-route to India, along which such rich
merchandise was already being conveyed.

It was at the same time the chief seat of Greek learning, and regarded
itself also as the leading authority on matters of art--a point which
must have been open to dispute. The great figure of Nilus, of which an
illustration is given in this volume, is generally considered to be an
example of Alexandrian art. The famous “Alexandrian School,” celebrated
for its scientific work and its poetry, had existed for more than two
hundred years, and was now in its decline, though it still attempted to
continue the old Hellenic culture.[12] The school of philosophy, which
succeeded it in celebrity, was just beginning to come into prominence.
Thus the eyes of all merchants, all scientists, all men of letters, all
scholars, and all statesmen, were turned in these days to Alexandria;
and the Ptolemaic court, in spite of the degeneracy of its sovereigns,
was held in the highest esteem.




CHAPTER III.

THE BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS OF CLEOPATRA.


Cleopatra was the last of the regnant Ptolemaic sovereigns of Egypt,
and was the seventh Egyptian Queen of her name,[13] in her person all
the rights and privileges of that extraordinary line of Pharaohs being
vested. The Ptolemaic Dynasty was founded in the first years of the
third century before Christ by Ptolemy, the son of Lagus, one of the
Macedonian generals of Alexander the Great, who, on his master’s death,
seized the province of Egypt, and, a few years later, made himself King
of that country, establishing himself at the newly-founded city of
Alexandria on the sea-coast. For two and a half centuries the dynasty
presided over the destinies of Egypt, at first with solicitous care,
and later with startling nonchalance, until, with the death of the
great Cleopatra and her son Ptolemy XVI. (Cæsarion), the royal line
came to an end.

For the right understanding of Cleopatra’s character it must be clearly
recognised that the Ptolemies were in no way Egyptians. They were
Macedonians, as I have already said, in whose veins flowed not one
drop of Egyptian blood. Their capital city of Alexandria was, in the
main, a Mediterranean colony set down upon the sea-coast of Egypt, but
having no connection with the Delta and the Nile Valley other than the
purely commercial and official relationship which of necessity existed
between the maritime seat of Government and the provinces. The city was
Greek in character; the temples and public buildings were constructed
in the Greek manner; the art of the period was Greek; the life of
the upper classes was lived according to Greek habits; the dress of
the court and of the aristocracy was Greek; the language spoken by
them was Greek, pronounced, it is said, with the broad Macedonian
accent. It is probable that no one of the Ptolemies ever wore Egyptian
costume, except possibly for ceremonial purposes; and, in passing, it
may be remarked that the modern conventional representation of the
great Cleopatra walking about her palace clothed in splendid Egyptian
robes and wearing the vulture-headdress of the ancient queens has
no justification.[14] It is true that she is said to have attired
herself on certain occasions in a dress designed to simulate that
which was supposed by the priests of the time to have been worn by
the mother-deity Isis; but contemporaneous representations of Isis
generally show her clad in the Greek and not the Egyptian manner. And
if she ever wore the ancient dress of the Egyptian queens, it must have
been only at great religious festivals or on occasions where conformity
to obsolete habits was required by the ritual.

The relationship of the royal house to the people was very similar
to that existing at the present day between the Khedivial dynasty and
the provincial natives of Egypt. The modern Khedivial princes are
Albanians, who cannot record in their genealogy a single Egyptian
ancestor. They live in the European manner, and dress according to
the dictates of Paris and London. Similarly the Ptolemies retained
their Macedonian nationality, and Plutarch tells us that not one of
them even troubled to learn the Egyptian language. On the other hand
the Egyptians, constrained by the force of circumstances, accepted
the dynasty as the legal successor of the ancient Pharaonic line, and
assigned to the Ptolemies all the titles and dignities of their great
Pharaohs.

These Greek sovereigns, Cleopatra no less than her predecessors, were
given the titles which had been so proudly borne by Rameses the Great
and the mighty Thutmosis the Third, a thousand years and more before
their day. They were named, “Living Image of the God Amon,” “Child
of the Sun,” and “Chosen of Ptah,” just as the great Memnon and the
conquering Sesostris had been named when Egypt was the first power
in the world. In the temples throughout the land, with the exception
of those of importance at Alexandria, these Macedonian monarchs were
pictorially represented in the guise of the ancient Pharaohs, crowned
with the tall crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, the horns and feathers
of Amon upon their heads, and the royal serpent at their foreheads.
There they were seen worshipping the old gods of Egypt, prostrating
themselves in the presence of the cow Hathor, bowing before the
crocodile Sobk, burning incense at the shrine of the cat Bast, and
performing all the magical ceremonies hallowed by the usage of four
thousand years. They were shown enthroned with the gods, embraced by
Isis, saluted by Osiris, and kissed by Mout, the Mother of Heaven.
Yet it is doubtful whether in actual fact any Ptolemy at any time
identified himself in this manner with the traditional character of a
Pharaoh.

Very occasionally one of these Greek sovereigns left his city of
Alexandria to visit Egypt proper, and to travel up the Nile. At
certain cities he honoured the local temple with a visit and performed
in a perfunctory manner the prescribed ceremonies, just as a modern
sovereign lays a foundation-stone or launches a battleship. But there
is nothing to show that any member of the royal house regarded himself
as an Egyptian in the traditional sense of the word. They were careful
as a rule to placate the priesthood, and to allow them a free use of
their funds in the building and decoration of the temples; and Egyptian
national life was fostered to a very considerable extent. But in
Alexandria one might hardly have believed oneself to be in the land of
the Pharaohs, and the court was almost entirely European in character.

The Ptolemies as a family were extraordinarily callous in their
estimate of the value of human life, and the history of the dynasty is
marked throughout its whole length by a series of villainous murders.
In this respect they showed their non-Egyptian blood; for the people of
the Nile were, and now are, a kindly, pleasant folk, not predisposed
to the arts of the assassin and not by any means regardless of the
rights of their fellow-men. It may be of interest to record here
some of the murders for which the Ptolemies are responsible. Ptolemy
III., according to Justin, was murdered by his son Ptolemy IV., who
also seems to have planned at one time and another the murders of
his brother Magas, his uncle Lysimachus, his mother Berenice, and his
wife Arsinoe. Ptolemy V. is described as a cruel and violent monarch,
who seems to have indulged the habit of murdering those who offended
him. Ptolemy VII. is said by Polybius to have had the Egyptian vice of
riotousness, although on the whole averse to shedding blood. Ptolemy
VIII. murdered his young nephew, the heir to the throne, and married
the dead boy’s mother, the widowed queen Cleopatra II., who shortly
afterwards presented him with a baby, Memphites, whose paternal
parentage is doubtful. Ptolemy later, according to some accounts,
murdered this child and sent his body in pieces to the mother. He then
married his niece, Cleopatra III.; and she, on being left a widow,
appears to have murdered Cleopatra II. This Cleopatra III. bore a son
who later ascended the throne as Ptolemy XI., whom she afterwards
attempted to murder, but the tables being turned she was murdered by
him. Ptolemy X. was driven from the throne by his mother, who installed
Ptolemy XI. in his place, and was promptly murdered by the new king for
her pains. Ptolemy XII., having married his stepmother, murdered her,
and himself was murdered shortly afterwards. Ptolemy XIII., the father
of the great Cleopatra, murdered his daughter Berenice and also several
other persons.

The women of this family were even more violent than the men. Mahaffy
describes their characteristics in the following words: “Great power
and wealth, which makes an alliance with them imply the command of
large resources in men and money; mutual hatred; disregard of all ties
of family and affection; the dearest object fratricide--such pictures
of depravity as make any reasonable man pause and ask whether human
nature had deserted these women and the Hyrcanian tiger of the poet
taken its place.” In many other ways also this murderous family of
kings possessed an unenviable reputation. The first three Ptolemies
were endowed with many sterling qualities, and were conspicuous for
their talents; but the remaining monarchs of the dynasty were, for
the most part, degenerate and debauched. They were, however, patrons
of the arts and sciences, and indeed they did more for them than did
almost any other royal house in the world. Ptolemaic Alexandria was to
some extent the birthplace of the sciences of anatomy, geometry, conic
sections, hydrostatics, geography, and astronomy, while its position in
the artistic world was most important. The splendour and luxury of the
palace was far-famed, and the sovereign lived in a chronic condition
of repletion which surpassed that of any other court. When Scipio
Africanus visited Egypt he found our Cleopatra’s great-grandfather,
Ptolemy IX., who was nicknamed Physkon, “the Bloated,” fat, puffing,
and thoroughly over-fed. As Scipio walked to the palace with the
King, who, in too transparent robes, breathed heavily by his side, he
whispered to a friend that Alexandria had derived at least one benefit
from his visit--it had seen its sovereign taking a walk. Ptolemy X.,
Cleopatra’s grandfather, obtained the nickname “Lathyros,” owing,
it is said, to the resemblance of his nose to a vetch or some such
flowery and leguminous plant: a fact which certainly suggests that the
King was not a man of temperate habits. Ptolemy XI. was so bloated
by gluttony and vice that he seldom walked without crutches, though,
under the influence of wine, he was able to skip about the room freely
enough with his drunken comrades. Ptolemy XIII., Cleopatra’s father,
had such an objection to temperance that once he threatened to put the
philosopher Demetrius to death for not being intoxicated at one of his
feasts; and the unfortunate man was obliged the next day publicly to
drink himself silly in order to save his life. Such glimpses as these
show us the Ptolemies at their worst, and we are constrained to ask how
it is possible that Cleopatra, who brought the line to a termination,
could have failed to be a thoroughly bad woman. Yet, as will presently
become apparent, there is no great reason to suppose that her sins were
either many or scarlet.

Cleopatra’s father, Ptolemy XIII., who went by the nickname of Auletes,
“the Piper,” was a degenerate little man, who passes across Egypt’s
political stage in a condition of almost continuous inebriety. We watch
his drunken antics as he directs the Bacchic orgies in the palace; we
see him stupidly plotting and scheming to hold his tottering throne;
we hear him playing the livelong hours away upon his flute; and we
feel that his deeds would be hardly worth recording were it not for
the fact that in his reign is seen the critical development of the
political relationship between Rome and Egypt, which, towards the end
of the Ptolemaic dynasty, came to have such a complicated bearing upon
the history of both countries. After the battle of Pydna (B.C. 167)
Rome had obtained almost absolute control of the Hellenistic world,
and she soon began to lay her hands on all the commerce of the eastern
Mediterranean. Towards the close of the Ptolemaic period the great
Republic turned eager eyes towards Egypt, watching for an opportunity
to seize that wealthy land for her own enrichment.

Reference to the genealogy at the end of this volume will show
the reader that the main line of the Lagidæ came to an end on the
assassination (after a reign of nineteen days) of Ptolemy XII.
(Alexander II.), who had been raised to the throne by Roman help. The
only legitimate child of Ptolemy X. (Soter II.) was Berenice III.,
the cousin of Ptolemy XII., who had been married to him, the union,
however, producing no heir to the throne. Ptolemy X. had two sons,
the half-brothers of Berenice III., but they were both illegitimate,
the name and status of their mother being now unknown. It is possible
that they were the children of Cleopatra IV., who was divorced from
their father at his accession; or it is possible that the lady was
not of royal blood. On the death of Ptolemy XII. one of these two
young men proclaimed himself Pharaoh of Egypt, being known to us as
Ptolemy XIII., and the other announced himself as King of Cyprus, also
under the name of Ptolemy. The people of Alexandria at once accepted
Ptolemy XIII. as their king, for, whether illegitimate or not, he was
the eldest male descendant of the line, and their refusal to accept
his rule would have brought the dynasty to a close, thereby insuring
an immediate Roman occupation. Cicero speaks of the new monarch as
_nec regio genere ortus_, which implies that whoever his mother might
be, she was not a reigning queen at the time of his birth; but the
Alexandrian populace were in no mood to raise scruples in regard to his
origin, when it was apparent that he alone stood between their liberty
and the stern domination of Rome.

[Illustration:

    _Alexandria Museum._]

SERAPIS.

THE CHIEF GOD OF ALEXANDRIA.]

No sooner had he ascended the throne, however, with the title of
Ptolemy (XIII.) Neos Dionysos, than the discovery was made that Ptolemy
XII., under his name of Alexander, had in his will appointed the Roman
Republic his heir, thus voluntarily bringing his dynasty to a close.
Such a course of action was not novel. It had already been followed in
the case of Pergamum, Cyrene, and Bithynia, and it seems likely that
Ptolemy XII. had taken this step in order to obtain the financial or
moral support of the Romans in regard to his accession, or for some
equally urgent reason. The Senate acknowledged the authenticity of
the will, which, of course, the party of Ptolemy XIII. had denied. It
had been suggested that the testator was not Ptolemy XII. at all, but
another Alexander, Ptolemy XI. (Alexander I.), or an obscure person
sometimes referred to as Alexander III. There is little question,
however, that the will was genuine enough; but there is considerable
doubt as to whether it was legally valid. In the first place, it was
probably written before Ptolemy XII. succeeded to the kingdom; and, in
the second place, such a will would only be valid were there no heir to
the throne; but the people of Alexandria had accepted Ptolemy XIII. as
the rightful heir. At all events the Senate, while seizing, by virtue
of the document, as much of the private fortune of the testator as they
could lay hands on, took no steps to dethrone the two new kings, either
of Egypt or Cyprus, though, on the other hand, they did not officially
recognise them.

In this attitude they were influenced also by the fact that a large
party in Rome did not wish to see the Republic further involved in
Oriental affairs, nor did they feel at the moment inclined to place in
the hands of any one man such power as would accrue to the official
who should be appointed as Governor of the new province. Egypt was
regarded as a very wealthy and important country, second only to Rome
in the extent of its power. It held the keys to the rich lands of
the south, and to Arabia and India it seemed to be one of the main
gateways. The revenues of the palace of Alexandria were quite equal to
the public income of Rome at this time; and, indeed, even at a later
date, after Pompey had so greatly augmented the yearly sum in the
Treasury, the wealth of the Egyptian Court was not far short of this
increased total.[15] Alexandria had succeeded Athens as the seat of
culture and learning, and it was now regarded as the second city of the
world. It was therefore felt that the armies and the generals sent over
the sea to this distant land might well run the risk of being absorbed
into the life of the country which they were holding, and might as it
were inevitably set up an Eastern Empire which would be a menace, and
even a terror, to Rome.

The new King of Egypt, whom we may now call by his nickname Auletes,
was much disturbed by the existence of this will, and throughout
his reign he was constantly making efforts to buy off the expected
interference of Rome. He was an unhappy and unfortunate man. All he
asked was to be allowed to enjoy the royal wealth in drunken peace,
and not to be bothered by the haunting fear that he might be turned
out of his kingdom. He was a keen enjoyer of good living, and there
was nothing that pleased him so much as the participation in one of
the orgies of Dionysos. He played the pipes with some proficiency,
and, when he was sober, it would seem that he spent many a contented
hour piping pleasantly in the sun. Yet his reign was continuously
overshadowed by this knowledge that the Romans might at any moment
dethrone him; and one pictures him often giving vent to an evening
melancholy by blowing from his little flute one of those wailing dirges
of his native land, which flutter upon the ears like the notes of a
night-bird, and drift at last upon a half-tone into silence.

In the fifth year of his reign, that is to say in B.C. 75, his
kinswoman, Selene, sent her two sons to Rome with the object of
obtaining the thrones of Egypt, Cyprus, and Syria; and Auletes must
have watched with anxiety their attempts to oust him. He knew that
they were giving bribes right and left to the Senators, in order to
effect their purpose, and he was aware that in this manner alone the
heart of the Roman Republic could be touched; yet for the time being he
avoided these methods of expending his country’s revenue, and, after
a while, he had the satisfaction of hearing that Selene had abandoned
her efforts to obtain recognition. In the thirteenth year of his reign
Pompey sent a fleet under Lentulus Marcellinus to clear the Egyptian
coast of pirates, and when Lentulus was made consul he caused the
Ptolemaic eagle and thunderbolt to be displayed upon his coins to mark
the fact that he had exercised an act of sovereignty in connection
with that country. Three years later another Roman fleet was sent
to Alexandria to impose the will of the Senate in regard to certain
disputed questions; and once more Auletes must have suffered from the
terrors of imminent dethronement.

In B.C. 65 he was again disturbed from his bibulous ease by the news
that the Romans were thinking of sending Crassus or Julius Cæsar to
annex his kingdom; but the scheme came to naught, and for a time
Auletes was left in peace. In B.C. 63 Pompey annexed Syria to the
Roman dominions, and thereupon Auletes sent him a large present of
money and military supplies in order to purchase his friendship. At the
same time he invited him to come to Egypt upon a friendly visit, but
Pompey, while accepting the King’s money, did not think it necessary to
make use of his hospitality.

At last, in B.C. 59, Auletes decided to go himself to Rome, in the hope
of obtaining, through the good offices of Pompey, or of Cæsar, who was
Consul in that year, the official recognition by the Senate of his
right to the Egyptian throne. Being so degenerate and so worthless a
personage, there was no likelihood that the Romans would confirm him
in his kingdom unless they were well paid to do so, and he therefore
took with him all the money he could lay his hands upon. In Rome, as
Mommsen says, “men had forgotten what honesty was. A person who refused
a bribe was regarded not as an upright man, but as a personal foe.”
Auletes, therefore, when he had arrived, gave huge bribes to various
Senators in order to obtain their support, and he appears to have been
most systematically fleeced by the acute magnates of Rome. When for
the moment his Egyptian resources were exhausted, he borrowed a large
sum from the great financier, Rabirius Postumus, who persuaded some
of his friends also to lend the King money. These men formed a kind
of syndicate to finance Auletes, on the understanding that if he were
confirmed in his heritage, they should each receive in return a sum
vastly greater than that which they had put in.

The visit of Auletes to Rome was made in the nick of time. The Pirate
and the Third Mithridatic wars had left the Republic in pressing need
of money, and there was much talk in regard to the advantages of
an immediate annexation of Egypt. Crassus, the tribune Rullus, and
Julius Cæsar had shown themselves anxious to take the country without
delay; and the unfortunate King of Egypt thus found himself in a most
desperate position. At last, however, a bribe of 6000 talents (about a
million and a half sterling) induced the nearly bankrupt Cæsar to give
Auletes the desired recognition, and the disgraceful transaction came
to a temporary conclusion with Cæsar’s violent forcing of his “Julian
Law concerning the King of Egypt” through the Senate, whereby Ptolemy
was named the “ally and friend of the Roman people.”

In the next year, B.C. 58, the Romans, still in need of money,
prepared to annex Cyprus, over which Ptolemy, the brother of Auletes,
was reigning. The annexation had been proposed by Publius Clodius, a
scoundrelly politician, who bore a grudge against the Cyprian Ptolemy
owing to the fact that once when Clodius was captured by pirates
Ptolemy had only offered two talents for his ransom. Ptolemy would not
now buy off the invaders as his brother had done, and in consequence
Cato landed on the island and converted it into part of the Roman
province of Cilicia. Ptolemy, with a certain royal dignity, at once
poisoned himself, preferring to die than to suffer the humiliation of
banishment from the throne which he had usurped. His treasure of 7000
talents (some £1,700,000) fell into the hands of Cato, who having,
no doubt, helped himself to a portion of the booty,[16] handed the
remainder over to the benign Senate.

No sooner had Auletes obtained the support of Rome, however, than
his own people of Alexandria, incensed by the increase of taxation
necessary for paying off his debts, and angry also at the King’s
refusal to seize Cyprus from the Romans, rose in rebellion and drove
him out of Egypt. While the wretched man was on his way to Rome, he
put in at Rhodes, where he had heard that Cato was staying, in order
to obtain some help from this celebrated Senator; and, having had few
personal dealings with Romans, he sent a royal invitation or command to
Cato to come to him. The Senator, however, who that day was suffering
from a bilious attack, and had just swallowed a dose of medicine, was
in no mind to wait upon drunken kings. He therefore sent a message to
Auletes stating that if he wished to see him he had better come to his
lodgings in the town; and the King of Egypt was thus obliged to humble
himself and to find his way to the Senator’s house. Cato did not even
rise from his seat when Auletes was ushered in; but straightway bidding
the King be seated, gave him a severe lecture on the folly of going to
Rome to plead his cause. All Egypt turned into silver, he declared,
would hardly satisfy the greed of the Romans whom he would have to
bribe, and he strongly urged him to return to Egypt and to make his
peace with his subjects. The Senator’s bilious attack, however, seems
to have cut short the interview, and Auletes, unconvinced, set sail for
Italy.

Meanwhile the King’s daughter, Berenice IV., had seized the Egyptian
throne, and was reigning serenely in her father’s place. This princess
and her sister, Cleopatra VI., who died soon afterwards, were the
only two children of Auletes’ first marriage--namely, with Cleopatra
V. There were four young children in the Palace nurseries who were
born of a second marriage, but who their mother was, or whether she
was at this time alive or dead, history does not record. Of these four
children, two afterwards succeeded to the throne as Ptolemy XIV. and
Ptolemy XV., a third was the unfortunate Princess Arsinoe, and the
fourth was the great Cleopatra VII., the heroine of the present volume,
at this time about eleven years of age, having been born in the winter
of B.C. 69-68.

Auletes having fled to Rome, approached the Senate in the manner of one
who had been unjustly evicted from an estate which he had purchased
from them. Again he bribed the leading statesmen, and again borrowed
money on all sides, though now it is probable that his Roman creditors
were less sanguine than on the previous occasion. Cæsar was absent in
Gaul at this time, and therefore was not able to be bribed. Pompey,
curiously enough, does not appear to have accepted the King’s money,
though he offered him the hospitality of his villa in the Alban
district, a fact which suggests that the idea of restoring Auletes
to his throne had made a strong appeal to the imagination of this
impressionable Roman. He had already made himself a kind of patron of
the Egyptian Court, and there can be little doubt that he hoped to
obtain from Auletes, in return for his favours, the freedom to make
use of the wealth and resources of that monarch’s enormously valuable
dominion.

The people of Alexandria, who were eagerly desirous that Auletes should
not be reinstated, now sent an embassy of a hundred persons to Rome to
lay before the Senate their case against the King; but the banished
monarch, driven by despair to any lengths, hired assassins and caused
the embassy to be attacked near Puteoli, the modern Pozzuoli, many
of them being slain. Those who survived were heavily bribed, and thus
the crime was hushed up. The leader of the deputation, the philosopher
Dion, escaped on this occasion, but was poisoned by Auletes as soon
as he arrived in Rome; and thereupon the desperate King was able to
breathe once more in peace. All might now have gone well with his
cause, and a Roman army might have been placed at his disposal had not
some political opponent discovered in the Sibylline Books an oracle
which stated that if the King of Egypt were to come begging for help he
should be aided with friendship but not with arms. Thereat, in despair,
the unfortunate Auletes quitted Rome, and took up his residence at
Ephesus, leaving in the capital an agent named Ammonios to keep him in
touch with events.

Three years later, in January B.C. 55, the King’s interests were
still being discussed, and Pompey was trying, in a desultory manner,
to assist him back to his throne; but so great were the fears of
the Senate at placing the task in the hands of any one man, that no
decision could be arrived at. It was suggested that Lentulus Spinther,
the Governor of Cilicia, should evade the Sibylline decree by leaving
Auletes at Ptolemais (Acre) and going himself to Egypt at the head
of an army; but the King no doubt saw in this an attempt by the wily
Romans simply to seize his country, and he appears to have opposed the
plan with understandable vehemence. It was then proposed that Lentulus
should take no army, but should trust to the might of the Roman name
for his purpose, thereby following the advice of the prophetic Books.

At last, however, Auletes offered the huge bribe of 10,000 talents
(nearly two and a half millions sterling) for the repurchase of his
kingdom; and, as a consequence, the Governor of Syria, Aulus Gabinius,
himself a bankrupt in sore need of money, arranged to invade Egypt and
to place Auletes upon the throne in spite of the Sibylline warnings.
Gabinius, being so deeply in debt, and knowing that a large portion of
the promised sum would pass to him, was extremely eager to undertake
the war, though it is said that he feared the possibility of disaster.
He therefore pushed forward the arrangements for the campaign with all
despatch, and soon was prepared to set out across the desert to Egypt.

Meanwhile the Alexandrians had married Berenice IV. to Archelaus,
the High Priest of Komana in Cappadocia, an ambitious man of great
influence and authority, a protégé of Pompey the Great, who had been
raised to the High Priesthood by him in B.C. 64, and who at once
attempted, but without success, to obtain through him the support of
Rome. Gabinius was not long in declaring war against Archelaus, under
the pretext that he was encouraging piracy along the North African
coast, and also that he was building a fleet which might be regarded
as a menace to Rome; and soon his army was marching across the desert
from Gaza to Pelusium. The cavalry, which was sent in advance of the
main army, was commanded by Marcus Antonius, at this time a smart young
soldier whose future lay all golden before him. The frontier fortress
of Pelusium fell to his brilliant generalship, and soon the Roman
legions were marching on Alexandria. The palace soldiery now joined the
invaders, Archelaus was killed, and the city fell.

Auletes was at once restored to his throne, and Berenice IV. was put to
death. A large number of Roman infantry and Celtic and German cavalry,
of whom we shall hear again, were left in the city to preserve order,
and it would seem that for a short time Anthony remained in Alexandria.
The young Princess Cleopatra was now a girl of some fourteen years of
age, and already she is said to have attracted the Roman cavalry leader
by her youthful beauty and charm. At the east end of the Mediterranean
a girl of fourteen years is already mature, and has long arrived at
what is called a marriageable age. There is probably little importance
to be attached to this meeting, but it is not without interest as an
earnest of future events.

The Romans now began to demand payment of the various sums promised
to them by Auletes. Rabirius Postumus appears to have been one of the
largest creditors, and the only way in which the King could pay him
back was by making him Chancellor of the Exchequer, so that all taxes
might pass through his hands. Rabirius also represented the interests
of the importunate Julius Cæsar, and probably those of Gabinius. The
situation was thus not unlike that which was found in Egypt in the
’seventies, when a European Commission was appointed to handle all
public funds in order that the ruler’s private debts might be paid
off. In the case of Auletes, however, it was the leading Romans who
were his creditors, and hence we find the shadow of the great Republic
hanging over the Alexandrian court, and Rome is seen to be inextricably
mixed up with Egyptian affairs. Roman money had been lent and had to be
regained; Roman officials handled all the taxes; a Roman army occupied
the city, and the King reigned by permission of the Roman Senate to
whom his kingdom had been bequeathed.

In B.C. 54 the Alexandrians made an attempt to shake off the incubus,
and drove Rabirius out of Egypt. Roman attention was at once fixed upon
Alexandria, and it is probable that the country would have been annexed
at once had not the appalling Parthian catastrophe in the following
year, when Crassus was defeated and killed, diverted their minds to
other channels. Auletes, however, did not live long to enjoy his
dearly-bought immunity; for in the summer of B.C. 51 he passed away,
leaving behind him the four children born to him of his second marriage
with the unknown lady who was now probably dead. The famous Cleopatra,
the seventh of the name, was the eldest of this family, being, at her
father’s death, about eighteen years of age. Her sister Arsinoe, whom
she heartily disliked, was a few years younger. The third child was a
boy of ten or eleven years of age, afterwards known as Ptolemy XIV.;
and lastly, there was the child who later became Ptolemy XV., now a boy
of seven or eight.[17] Auletes, warned by his own bitter experiences,
had taken the precaution to write an explicit will in which he stated
clearly his wishes in regard to the succession. One copy of the will
was kept at Alexandria, and a second copy, duly attested and sealed,
was placed in the hands of Pompey at Rome, who had befriended the King
when he was in that city, with the request that it should be deposited
in the _ærarium_. In this will Auletes decreed that his eldest
surviving daughter and eldest surviving son should reign jointly; and
he called upon the Roman people in the name of all their gods and in
view of all their treaties made with him, to see that the terms of
his testament were carried out. He further asked the Roman people to
act as guardian to the new King, as though fearing that the boy might
be suppressed, or even put out of the way by his co-regnant sister.
At the same time he carefully urged them to make no change in the
succession, and his words have been thought to suggest that he feared
lest Cleopatra, in like manner, might be removed in favour of Arsinoe.
In a court such as that of the Ptolemies the fact that two sons and
two daughters were living at the palace at the King’s death boded ill
for the prospects of peace; and it would seem that Auletes’ knowledge
that Cleopatra and Arsinoe were not on the best of terms gave rise in
his mind to the greatest apprehension. Being aware of the domestic
history of his family, and knowing that his own hands were stained
with the blood of his daughter Berenice, whom he had murdered on his
return from exile, he must have been fully alive to the possibilities
of internecine warfare amongst his surviving children; and, being
in his old age sick of bloodshed and desiring only a bibulous peace
for himself and his descendants, he took every means in his power to
secure for them that pleasant inertia which had been denied so often to
himself.

His wish that his eighteen-year-old daughter should reign with his
ten-year-old son involved, as a matter of course, the marriage of the
sister and brother, for the Ptolomies had conformed to ancient Egyptian
customs to the extent of perpetrating when necessary a royal marriage
between a brother and sister in this manner. The custom was of very
ancient establishment in Egypt, and was based originally on the law of
female succession, which made the monarch’s eldest daughter the heiress
of the kingdom. The son who had been selected by his father to succeed
to the throne, or who aspired to the sovereignty either by right or by
might, obtained his legal warrant to the kingdom by marriage with this
heiress. When such an heiress did not exist, or when the male claimant
to the throne had no serious rivals, this rule often seems to have been
set aside; but there are few instances of its disuse when circumstances
demanded a solidification of the royal claim to the throne.

When, therefore, according to the terms of the will of Auletes, his
eldest daughter and eldest son succeeded jointly to the throne as
Cleopatra VII. and Ptolemy XIV., their formal marriage was contemplated
as a matter of course. There is no evidence of this marriage, and one
may suppose that it was postponed by Cleopatra’s desire, on the grounds
of the extreme youth of the King. Marriages at the age of eleven or
twelve years were not uncommon in ancient Egypt, but they were not
altogether acceptable to Greek minds; and the Queen could not have
found much difficulty in making this her justification for holding
the power in her own hands. The young Ptolemy XIV. was placed in the
care of the eunuch Potheinos, a man who appears to have been typical
of that class of palace intriguers with whom the historian becomes
tediously familiar. The royal tutor, Theodotos, an objectionable Greek
rhetorician, also exercised considerable influence in the court, and
a third intimate of the King was an unscrupulous soldier of Egyptian
nationality named Achillas, who commanded the troops in the palace.
These three men very soon obtained considerable power, and, acting in
the name of their young master, they managed to take a large portion of
the government into their own hands. Cleopatra, meanwhile, seems to
have suffered something of an eclipse. She was still only a young girl,
and her advisers appear to have been men of less strength of purpose
than those surrounding her brother’s person. The King being still a
minor, the bulk of the formal business of the State was performed by
the Queen; but it would seem that the real rulers of the country were
Potheinos and his friends.

Some two or three years after the death of Auletes, Marcus Calpurnius
Bibulus,[18] the pro-consular Governor of Syria, sent his two sons to
Alexandria to order the Roman troops stationed in that city to join
his army in his contemplated campaign against the Parthians. These
Alexandrian troops constituted the Army of Occupation, which had been
left in Egypt by Gabinius in B.C. 55 as a protection to Auletes. They
were for the most part, as has been said, Gallic and German cavalry,
rough men whose rude habits and bulky forms must have caused them to
be the wonder and terror of the city. These _Gabiniani milites_ had
by this time settled down in their new home, and had taken wives to
themselves from the Greek and Egyptian families of Alexandria. In
spite of the presence amongst them of a considerable body of Roman
infantry veterans who had fought under Pompey, the discipline of the
army was already much relaxed; and when the Governor of Syria’s orders
were received there was an immediate mutiny, the two unfortunate sons
of Bibulus being promptly murdered by the angry and probably drunken
soldiers. When the affair was reported to the palace, Cleopatra issued
orders for the immediate arrest of the murderers; and the army,
realising that their position as mutinous troops was untenable, handed
over the ringleaders apparently without further trouble. The prisoners
were then sent by the Queen in chains to Bibulus; but he, being
possessed of the best spirit of the old Roman aristocracy, sent back
these murderers of his two sons to her with the message that the right
of inflicting punishment in such cases belonged only to the Senate.
History does not tell us what was the ultimate fate of these men, and
the incident is not of great importance except in so far as it shows
the first recorded act of Cleopatra’s reign as being one of tactful
deliberation and fair dealing with her Roman neighbours.

Shortly after this, in the year B.C. 49, Pompey sent his son, Cnæus
Pompeius, to Egypt to procure ships and men in preparation for the
civil war which now seemed inevitable; and the Gabinian troops, feeling
that a war against Julius Cæsar offered more favourable possibilities
than a campaign against the ferocious Parthians, cheerfully responded
to the call. Fifty warships and a force of 500 men left Alexandria with
Cnæus, and eventually attached themselves to the command of Bibulus,
who was now Pompey’s admiral in the Adriatic. It is said that Cnæus
Pompeius was much attracted by Cleopatra’s beauty and charm, and that
he managed to place himself upon terms of intimacy with her; but there
is absolutely nothing to justify the suggestion that there was any
sort of serious intrigue. I am of opinion that the stories of this
nature which passed into circulation were due to the fact that the
possibility of a marriage between Cleopatra and the young Roman had
been contemplated by Alexandrian politicians. The great Pompey was
master of the Roman world, and a union with his son, on the analogy
of that between Berenice and the High Priest of Komana, was greatly to
be desired. The proposal, however, does not seem to have obtained much
support, and the matter was presently dropped.

In the following year, B.C. 48, when Cleopatra was twenty-one years
of age and her co-regnant brother fourteen, important events occurred
in Alexandria of which history has left us no direct record. It would
appear that the brother and sister quarrelled, and that the palace
divided itself into two opposing parties. The young Ptolemy, backed
by the eunuch Potheinos, the rhetorician Theodotos, and the soldier
Achillas, set himself up as sole sovereign of Egypt; and Cleopatra
was obliged to fly for her life into Syria. We have no knowledge of
these momentous events: the struggle in the palace, the days in which
the young queen walked in deadly peril, the adventurous escape, and
the flight from Egypt. We know only that when the curtain is raised
once more upon the royal drama, the young Ptolemy is King of Egypt,
and, with his army, is stationed on the eastern frontier to prevent
the incursion of his exiled sister, who has raised an expeditionary
force in Syria and is marching back to her native land to seize again
the throne which she had lost. There is something which appeals very
greatly to the imagination in the thought of this spirited young
Queen’s rapid return to the perilous scenes from which she had so
recently escaped; and the historian feels at once that he is dealing
with a powerful character in this woman who could so speedily raise
an army of mercenaries, and could dare to march back in battle array
across the desert towards the land which had cast her out.




CHAPTER IV.

THE DEATH OF POMPEY AND THE ARRIVAL OF CÆSAR IN EGYPT.


The fortress of Pelusium, near which the opposing armies of Ptolemy and
Cleopatra were arrayed, stood on low desert ground overlooking the sea,
not far east of the modern Port Said. It was the most easterly port
and stronghold of the Delta; and, being built upon the much-frequented
highroad which skirted the coast between Egypt and Syria, it formed
the Asiatic gateway of the Ptolemaic kingdom. The young Ptolemy XIV.
had stationed himself, with his advisers and his soldiers, in this
fortress, in order to oppose the entrance of his sister Cleopatra,
who, as we have already seen, had marched with a strong army back to
Egypt from Syria, whither she had fled. On September 28th, B.C. 48,
when Cleopatra’s forces, having arrived at Pelusium, were preparing
to attack the fortress, and were encamped upon the sea-coast a few
miles to the east of the town, an event occurred which was destined to
change the whole course of Egyptian history. Round the barren headland
to the west of the little port a Seleucian galley hove into sight, and
cast anchor a short distance from the shore. Upon the deck of this
vessel stood the defeated Pompey the Great and Cornelia his wife, who,
flying from the rout of Pharsalia, had come to claim the hospitality
of the Egyptian King. The young monarch appears to have been warned of
his approach, for Pompey had touched at Alexandria, and there hearing
that Ptolemy had gone to Pelusium, had probably sent a messenger to
him overland and himself had sailed round by sea. The greatest flurry
had been caused in the royal camp by the news, and for the moment the
invasion of Cleopatra and the impending battle with her forces were
quite forgotten in the excitement of the arrival of the man who for so
long had been the mighty patron of the Ptolemaic Court.

[Illustration: ÆGYPTUS

    _William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh_           W. & A. K. Johnston,
                                             Limited, Edinburgh & London
]

[Illustration:

    _Rome._]      [_Photograph by Anderson_

POMPEY THE GREAT]

Egypt, like all the rest of the world, had been watching with deep
interest the warfare waged between the two Roman giants, Pompey and
Cæsar, confident in the success of the former; and the messenger
of the defeated general must have brought the first authentic news
of the result of the eagerly awaited battle. The sympathies of the
Alexandrians were all on the side of the Pompeians, for the fugitive,
who now asked a return of his former favours, had always been to them
the gigantic representative of Roman patronage. They knew little,
if anything, about Cæsar, who had spent so many years in the far
north-west; but Pompey was Rome itself to them, and had always shown
himself particularly desirous of acting, when occasion arose, in their
behalf. For many years he had been, admittedly, the most powerful
personage in Rome, and the civilised world had grovelled at his feet.
Then came the inevitable quarrel with Julius Cæsar, a man who could not
tolerate the presence of a rival. Civil war broke out, and the two
armies met on the plains of Pharsalia. It is not necessary to record
here how Pompey’s patrician cavalry, in whom he confidently trusted,
was defeated by Cæsar’s hardened legions; how the foreign allies were
awed into inactivity by the spectacle of the superb contest between
Romans and Romans; how the debonnaire Pompey, realising his defeat,
passed, dazed, to his pavilion and sat there staring in front of him,
until the enemy had penetrated to his very door, when, uttering the
despairing cry, “What! even into the camp?” he galloped from the field;
and how Cæsar’s men found the enemy’s tents decked in readiness for
the celebration of their anticipated victory, the doorways hung with
garlands of myrtle, the floors spread with rich carpets, and the tables
covered with goblets of wine and dishes of food. Pompey had fled to
Larissa and thence to the sea, where he boarded a merchantman and set
sail for Mitylene. Here picking up his wife Cornelia, he made his way
to Cyprus, where he transhipped to the galley in which he crossed to
Egypt. He had expected, very naturally, to be received with courtesy
by Ptolemy, who was to be regarded as his political protégé; and he
had some undefined but cogent plans of gathering his forces together
again and giving battle a second time to his enemies. At Pharsalia he
had thought his power irrevocably destroyed, but on his way to Egypt he
learnt that Cato had rallied a considerable number of his troops, and
that his fleet, which had not come into action, was still loyal; and he
therefore hoped that with Ptolemy’s expected help he might yet regain
the mastery of the Roman world.

As soon as his approach was reported to the Egyptian King, a council
of ministers was called, in order to decide the manner in which they
should receive the fallen general. There were present at this meeting
the three scoundrelly advisers of the youthful monarch whom we have
already met: Potheinos, the eunuch, who was a kind of prime minister;
Achillas, the Egyptian, who commanded the King’s troops; and Theodotos
of Chios, the professional master of rhetoric, and tutor to Ptolemy.
These three men appear to have organised the plot by which Cleopatra
had been driven from Egypt; and, having the boy Ptolemy well under
their thumbs, they seem to have been acting with zeal in his name for
the advancement of their own fortunes. “It was, indeed, a miserable
thing,” says Plutarch, “that the fate of the great Pompey should be
left to the determinations of these three men; and that he, riding
at anchor at a distance from the shore, should be forced to wait the
sentence of this tribunal.”

Some of the councillors suggested that he should be politely requested
to seek refuge in some other country, for it was obvious that Cæsar
might deal harshly with them if they were to befriend him. Others
proposed that they should receive him and cast in their lot with him,
for it was to be supposed, and indeed such was the fact, that he still
had a very good chance of recovering from the fiasco of Pharsalia; and
there was the danger that, if they did not do so, he might accept the
assistance of their enemy Cleopatra. Theodotos, however, pointing out,
in a carefully reasoned speech, that both these courses were fraught
with danger to themselves, proposed that they should curry favour with
Cæsar by murdering their former patron, thus bringing the contest to
a close, and thereby avoiding any risk of backing the wrong horse;
“and,” he added with a smile, “a dead man cannot bite.” The councillors
readily approved this method of dealing with the difficult situation,
and they committed its execution to Achillas, who thereupon engaged the
services of a certain Roman officer named Septimius, who had once held
a command under Pompey, and another Roman centurion named Salvius. The
three men, with a few attendants, then boarded a small boat and set out
towards the galley.

When they had come alongside Septimius stood up and saluted Pompey by
his military title; and Achillas thereupon invited him to come ashore
in the smaller vessel, saying that the large galley could not make the
harbour owing to the shallow water. It was now seen that a number of
Egyptian battleships were cruising at no great distance, and that the
sandy shore was alive with troops; and Pompey, whose suspicions were
aroused, realised that he could not now turn back, but must needs place
himself in the hands of the surly-looking men who had come out to meet
him. His wife Cornelia was distraught with fears for his safety, but
he, bidding her to await events without anxiety, lowered himself into
the boat, taking with him two centurions, a freedman named Philip, and
a slave called Scythes. As he bade farewell to Cornelia he quoted to
her a couple of lines from Sophocles--

      “He that once enters at a tyrant’s door
       Becomes a slave, though he were free before;”

and so saying, he set out towards the shore. A deep silence fell upon
the little company as the boat passed over the murky water, which at
this time of year is beginning to be discoloured by the Nile mud
brought down by the first rush of the annual floods;[19] and in the
damp heat of an Egyptian summer day the dreary little town and the
barren colourless shore must have appeared peculiarly uninviting. In
order to break the oppressive silence Pompey turned to Septimius,
and, looking earnestly upon him, said: “Surely I am not mistaken in
believing you to have been formerly my fellow-soldier?” Septimius made
no reply, but silently nodded his head; whereupon Pompey, opening a
little book, began to read, and so continued until they had reached the
shore. As he was about to leave the boat he took hold of the hand of
his freedman Philip; but even as he did so Septimius drew his sword and
stabbed him in the back, whereupon both Salvius and Achillas attacked
him. Pompey spoke no word, but, groaning a little, hid his face with
his mantle, and fell into the bottom of the vessel, where he was
speedily done to death.

Cornelia, standing upon the deck of the galley, witnessed the murder,
and uttered so great a cry that it was heard upon the shore. Then,
seeing the murderers stoop over the body and rise again with the
severed head held aloft, she called to her ship’s captain to weigh
anchor, and in a few moments the galley was making for the open sea and
was speedily out of the range of pursuit. Pompey’s decapitated body,
stripped of all clothing, was now bundled into the water, and a short
time afterwards was washed up by the breakers upon the sands of the
beach, where it was soon surrounded by a crowd of idlers. Meanwhile
Achillas and his accomplices carried the head up to the royal camp.

The freedman Philip was not molested, and, presently making his way to
the beach, wandered to and fro along the desolate shore until all had
retired to the town. Then, going over to the body and kneeling down
beside it, he washed it with sea-water and wrapped it in his own shirt
for want of a winding-sheet. As he was searching for wood wherewith to
make some sort of funeral pyre, he met with an old Roman soldier who
had once served under the murdered general; and together these two men
carried down to the water’s edge such pieces of wreckage and fragments
of rotten wood as they could find, and placing the body upon the pile
set fire to it.

Upon the next morning one of the Pompeian generals, Lucius Lentulus,
who was bringing up the two thousand soldiers whom Pompey had gathered
together as a bodyguard, arrived in a second galley before Pelusium;
and as he was being rowed ashore he observed the still smoking remains
of the pyre. “Who is this that has found his end here?” he said, being
still in ignorance of the tragedy, and added with a sigh, “Possibly
even thou, Pompeius Magnus!” And upon stepping ashore, he too was
promptly murdered.

A few days later, on October 2nd, Julius Cæsar, in hot pursuit,
arrived at Alexandria, where he heard with genuine disgust of the
miserable death of his great enemy. Shortly afterwards Theodotos
presented himself to the conqueror, carrying with him Pompey’s head and
signet-ring; but Cæsar turned in distress from the gruesome head, and
taking only the ring in his hand, was for a moment moved to tears.[20]
He then appears to have dismissed the astonished Theodotos from his
presence like an offending slave: and it was not long before that
disillusioned personage fled for his life from Egypt. For some years,
it may be mentioned, he wandered as a vagabond through Syria and Asia
Minor; but at last, after the death of Cæsar, he was recognised by
Marcus Brutus, and, as a punishment for having instigated the murder
of the great Pompey, was crucified with every possible ignominy.
Cæsar seems to have arranged that the ashes of his rival should be
sent to his wife Cornelia, by whom they were ultimately deposited
at his country house near Alba; and he also gave orders that the
piteous head should be buried near the sea, in the grove of Nemesis,
outside the eastern walls of Alexandria, where, in the shade of the
trees, a monument was set up to him and the ground around it laid
out. Cæsar then offered his protection and friendship to all those
partisans of Pompey whom the Egyptians had imprisoned, and he expressed
his great satisfaction at being able thus to save the lives of his
fellow-countrymen.

It is not difficult to appreciate the consternation caused by
Cæsar’s attitude. Potheinos and Achillas at once realised that the
disgrace of Theodotos awaited them unless they acted with the utmost
circumspection, biding their time until, as was expected, Cæsar should
take his speedy departure, or until they might deal with this new
disturber of their peace in the same manner in which they had disposed
of the old. But Cæsar had no intention of leaving Egypt in any haste,
nor did he give them the desired opportunity of anticipating the Ides
of March. With that audacious nonchalance which so often baffled his
observers, he quietly decided to take up his residence in the Palace
upon the Lochias Promontory at Alexandria, at that moment occupied
by only two members of the Royal Family, the younger Ptolemy and
his sister Arsinoe; and, as soon as sufficient troops had arrived to
support him, he left his galley and landed at the steps of the imposing
quay. Two amalgamated legions, 3200 strong, and 800 Celtic and German
cavalry, disembarked with him, this small force having been considered
by Cæsar sufficient for the rounding up of the Pompeian fugitives, and
for the secondary purposes for which he had come to Egypt.[21]

Cæsar’s object in hastening across the Mediterranean had been,
primarily, the capture of Pompey and his colleagues, and the prevention
of a rally under the shelter of the King of Egypt’s not inconsiderable
armaments. It appears to have been his opinion that speed of pursuit
would be more effective than strength of arms, and that his undelayed
appearance at Alexandria would more simply discourage the undetermined
Egyptians from rendering assistance to their former friend than a
display of force at a later date. Fresh from the triumph of Pharsalia,
with the memory of that astounding victory to warm his spirits, he did
not anticipate any great difficulty in subjecting the Ptolemaic Court
to his will, nor in demonstrating to them that he himself, and not the
defeated Pompey, represented the authentic might of Rome. It would seem
that he expected speedily to frustrate any further resort to arms,
and to manifest his authority by acting ostentatiously in the name of
the Roman people. He himself should assume the prerogatives lately
held by Pompey, and should play the part of benevolent patron to the
court of Alexandria so admirably sustained by his fallen rival for
so many years. There were several outstanding matters in Egypt which,
on behalf of his home government, he could regulate and adjust: and
there is little doubt that he hoped by so doing to establish a despotic
reputation in that important country which would retain for him, as
apparent autocrat of Rome, a personal control of its affairs for many
years to come. In spite of all that has been said to the contrary, I am
of opinion that his return to Rome was not urgent; indeed it seems to
me that it could be postponed for a short time with advantage. Pompey
had been a great favourite with the Italians, and it was just as well
that the turmoil caused by his defeat and death should be allowed to
subside, and that the bitter memories of a sanguinary war, which had
so palpably been brought about by personal rivalry, should be somewhat
forgotten before the victor made his spectacular entry into Rome. At
this time he was not at all popular in the capital, and indeed, six
months previously he had been generally regarded as a criminal and
adventurer; while, on the other hand, Pompey had been the people’s
darling, and it would take some time for public opinion to be reversed.

When, therefore, Cæsar heard that the treacherous deeds of the Egyptian
ministers had rendered his primary action unnecessary, he determined
to enter Alexandria with some show of state, to take up his residence
there for a few weeks, and to interfere in its internal affairs for his
own advancement and for the consolidation of his power.

With this object in view his four thousand troops were landed, and he
set out in procession towards the Royal Palace, the lictors carrying
the _fasces_ and axes before him as in the consular promenades at
Rome.[22] No sooner, however, were these ominous symbols observed by
the mob than a rush was made towards them; and for a time the attitude
of the crowd became ugly and menacing. The young King and his Court
were still at Pelusium, where his army was defending the frontier from
the expected attack of Cleopatra’s invading forces; but there were in
Alexandria a certain number of troops which had been left there as a
garrison, and both amongst these men and amongst the heterogeneous
townspeople there must have been many who realised the significance of
the _fasces_. The city was full of Roman outlaws and renegades, to whom
this reminder of the length of her arm could but bring foreboding and
terror. To them Cæsar’s formal entry meant the establishment of that
law from which they had fled; while to many a merry member of the crowd
the stately procession appeared to bring to Egypt at last that dismal
shadow of Rome[23] by which it had so long been menaced. On all sides
it was declared that this state entry into the Egyptian capital was an
insult to the King’s majesty; and so, indeed, it was, though little did
that trouble Cæsar, who was well aware now of his unassailable position
in the councils of Rome.

The city was in a ferment, and for some days after Cæsar had taken
up his quarters at the Palace rioting continued in the streets, a
number of his soldiers being killed in different parts of the town. He
therefore sent post-haste to Asia Minor for reinforcements, and took
such steps as were necessary for securing his position from attack. It
is probable that he did not suppose the Alexandrians would have the
audacity to make war upon him, or attempt to drive him from the city;
but at the same time he desired to take no risks, for he seems at the
moment to have been heartily sick of warfare and slaughter. The Palace
and royal barracks in which his troops were quartered, being built
mainly upon the Lochias Promontory, were easily able to be defended
from attack by land--for, no doubt, in so turbulent a city, the royal
quarter was protected by massive walls; and at the same time the
position commanded the eastern half of the Great Harbour and the one
side of its entrance over against the Pharos Lighthouse. His ships lay
moored under the walls of the Palace; and a means of escape was thus
kept open which, if the worst came to the worst, might be used with
comparative safety upon any dark night. I think the turbulence of the
mob, therefore, did not much trouble him, and he was able to set about
the task which he desired to perform with a certain degree of quietude.
The Civil War had been a very great strain upon his nerves, and he
must have looked forward to a few weeks of actual holiday here in the
luxurious royal apartments which he had so casually appropriated.
Summer at Alexandria is in many ways a delightful time of year; and one
may therefore picture Cæsar, at all times fond of luxury and opulence,
now heartily enjoying these warm breezy days upon the beautiful Lochias
Promontory. The crisis of his life had been passed; he was now absolute
master of the Roman world; and his triumphant entry into the capital,
when, in a few weeks’ time, the passions of the mob had cooled, was
an anticipation pleasant enough to set his restless heart at ease,
while he applied himself to the agreeable little task of regulating the
affairs in Egypt. He had sent a courier to Rome announcing the death of
Pompey, but it does not seem that this messenger was told to proceed
with any great rapidity, for he did not arrive in the capital until
near the middle of November.[24]

His first action was to send messengers to Pelusium strongly urging
both Ptolemy and Cleopatra to cease their warfare, and to come to
Alexandria in order to lay their respective cases before him. He chose
to regard the settlement of the quarrel between the two sovereigns as
a particular obligation upon himself, for it was during his previous
consulship that the late monarch, Auletes, had entrusted his children
to the Roman people and had made the Republic the executors of his
will; and, moreover, that will had been confided to the care of Pompey,
whose position as patron of the Egyptian Court Cæsar was now anxious to
fill. In response to the summons Ptolemy came promptly to Alexandria,
with his minister Potheinos, arriving, I suppose, on about October 5th,
in order to ascertain what on earth Cæsar was doing in the Palace; and
meanwhile Achillas was left in command of the army at Pelusium. On
reaching Alexandria they seem to have been invited by Cæsar to take up
their residence in the Palace into which he had intruded, and which was
now patrolled by his Roman troops; and, apparently upon the advice of
the unctuous Potheinos, the two of them made themselves as pleasant as
possible to their new patron. Cæsar at once asked Ptolemy to disband
his army, but to this Potheinos would not agree, and immediately sent
word to Achillas to bring his forces to Alexandria. Cæsar, hearing of
this, obliged the young King to despatch two officers, Dioscorides and
Serapion, to order Achillas to remain at that place. These messengers,
however, were intercepted by the agents of Potheinos, one being killed
and the other wounded; and two or three days later Achillas arrived at
the capital at the head of the first batch of his army of some twenty
thousand foot and two thousand horse,[25] taking up his residence
in that part of the city unoccupied by the Romans. Cæsar thereupon
fortified his position, deciding to hold as much of the city as his
small force could defend--namely, the Palace and the Royal Area behind
it, including the Theatre, the Forum, and probably a portion of the
Street of Canopus. The Egyptian army presented a pugnacious but not
extremely formidable array,[26] consisting as it did of the Gabinian
troops, who had now become entirely expatriated, and had assumed to
some extent the habits and liberties of their adopted country; a number
of criminals and outlaws from Italy who had been enrolled as mercenary
troops; a horde of Syrian and Cilician pirates and brigands; and,
probably, a few native levies. But as Cæsar now had with him in the
Palace King Ptolemy, the little Prince Ptolemy, the Princess Arsinoe,
and the minister Potheinos, who could be regarded as hostages for his
safety, and four thousand of his war-hardened veterans, ensconced in
a fortified position and supported by a business-like little fleet
of galleys, I cannot see that he had any cause at the moment for
alarm. One serious difficulty, however, presented itself. Immediately
on arriving in Egypt he had sent orders to Cleopatra to repair to
the Palace; and his task as arbiter in the royal dispute could not
be performed until she arrived, nor could he expect to assert his
authority until her presence completed the group of interested persons
under his enforced protection. Yet she could not dare to place herself
in the hands of Achillas, nor rely upon him for a safe escort through
the lines; and thus Cæsar found himself in a dilemma.

The situation, however, was relieved by the pluck and audacity of the
young Queen. Realising that her only hope of regaining her kingdom
lay in a personal presentation of her case to the Roman arbiter,
she determined, by hook or by crook, to make her entry into the
Palace. Taking ship from Pelusium to Alexandria, probably at the end
of the first week of October, she entered a small boat when still
some distance from the city, and thus, about nightfall, slipped into
the Great Harbour, accompanied only by one friend, Apollodorus the
Sicilian. She seems to have been aware that her brother and Potheinos
were in residence at the Palace, together with a goodly number of their
own attendants and servants; but there were no means of telling how
far Cæsar controlled the situation. Being unaccustomed to the presence
of a power more autocratic than that of her own royal house, she does
not seem to have realised that Cæsar was in absolute command of the
Lochias, and that not he but Ptolemy was the guarded guest; and she
felt that in landing at the Palace quays she was running the gravest
risk of falling into the hands of her brother’s party and of being
murdered before she could reach Cæsar’s presence. This fear indeed
may well have been justified, for there is no doubt that Ptolemy and
Potheinos had considerable liberty of action within the precincts of
the Palace; and, if the rumour had spread that Cleopatra was come,
neither of them would have hesitated to put a dagger into her ribs
in the first dark corridor through which she had to pass. Waiting,
therefore, upon the still water under the walls of the Palace until
darkness had fallen, she instructed Apollodorus to roll her up in the
blankets and bedding which he had brought for her in the boat as a
protection against the night air, and around the bundle she told him to
tie a piece of rope which, I suppose, they found in the boat. She was a
very small woman, and Apollodorus apparently experienced no difficulty
in shouldering the burden as he stepped ashore. Bundles of this kind
were then, as they are now, the usual baggage of a common man in Egypt,
and were not likely to attract notice. An Alexandrian native at the
present day thus carries his worldly goods tied up in his bedding, the
mat or piece of carpet which serves him for a bedstead being wrapped
around the bundle and fastened with a rope, and in ancient times the
custom was doubtless identical. Apollodorus, who must have been a
powerful man, thus walked through the gates of the Palace with the
Queen of Egypt upon his shoulders, bearing himself as though she were
no heavier than the pots, pans, and clothing which were usually tied up
in this manner; and when challenged by the sentries he probably replied
that he was carrying the baggage to one of the soldiers of Cæsar’s
guard, and asked to be directed to his apartments.

Cæsar’s astonishment when the bundle was untied in his presence,
revealing the dishevelled little Queen, must have been unbounded;
and Plutarch tells us that he was at once “captivated by this proof
of Cleopatra’s bold wit.” One pictures her bursting with laughter at
her adventure, and speedily winning the admiration of the susceptible
Roman, who delighted almost as keenly in deeds of daring as he did
in feminine beauty. All night long they were closeted together, she
relating to him her adventures since she was driven from her kingdom,
and he listening with growing interest, and already perhaps with
awakening love. And here it will be as well to leave them while some
description is given of the appearance and character of the man who now
found himself looking forward to the ensuing days of his holiday in
Alexandria with an eagerness which it must have been difficult for him
to conceal.




CHAPTER V.

CAIUS JULIUS CÆSAR.


When Cæsar thus made the acquaintance of the adventurous young Queen of
Egypt he was a man of advanced middle age. He had already celebrated
his fifty-fourth birthday, having been born on July 12, B.C. 102, and
time was beginning to mark him down. The appalling dissipations of his
youth to some extent may have added to the burden of his years; and,
though he was still active and keen beyond the common measure, his
face was heavily lined and seamed, and his muscles, I suppose, showed
something of that tension to which the suppleness of early manhood
gives place. Yet he remained graceful and full of the quality of youth,
and he carried himself with the air of one conscious of his supremacy
in the physical activities of life. He was a lightly-built man, of an
aristocratic type which is to be found indiscriminately throughout
Europe, and which nowadays, by a convention of thought, is usually
associated in the mind with the cavalry barracks or the polo-ground. He
appeared to be, and was, a perfect horseman. It is related of him that
in Gaul he bred and rode a horse which no other man in the army dared
mount; and it was his habit to demonstrate the firmness of his seat
by clasping his hands behind his back and setting the horse at full
gallop. Though by no means a small man, he must have scaled under ten
stone, and in other days and other climes he might have been mistaken
for a gentleman jockey. He was an extremely active soldier, a clever,
graceful swordsman, a powerful swimmer, and an excellent athlete. In
battle he had proved himself brave, gallant, and cool-headed; and in
his earlier years he had been regarded as a dashing young officer who
was neither restrained in the performance of striking deeds of bravery
nor averse to receiving a gallery cheer for his pains. Already at the
age of twenty-one he had won the civic crown, the Victoria Cross of
that period, for saving a soldier’s life at the storming of Mytelene.
In action he exposed himself bare-headed amongst his men, cheering them
and encouraging them by his own fine spirits; and it is related how
once he laid hands on a distraught standard-bearer who was running to
cover, turned him round, and suggested to him that he had mistaken the
direction of the enemy.

His thin, clean-shaven face, his keen dark eyes, his clear-cut
features, his hard, firm mouth with its whimsical expression, and his
somewhat pale and liverish complexion, gave him at first sight the
appearance of one who, being by nature a sportsman and a man of the
world, a fearless rider and a keen soldier, had enjoyed every moment of
an adventurous life. He was particularly well groomed and scrupulously
clean, and his scanty hair was carefully arranged over his fine, broad
head. His toga was ornamented with an unusually broad purple stripe,
and was edged with a long fringe. He loved jewellery, and on one
occasion bought a single pearl for £60,000, which he afterwards gave to
a lady of his acquaintance. Indeed, it is said that he only invaded
Britain because he had heard that fine pearls were to be obtained
there. There was thus a certain foppishness in his appearance, and a
slight suggestion of conceit and personal vanity marked his manner,
which gave the impression that he was not unaware of his good looks,
nor desirous of concealing the fact of his disreputable successes
with the fair sex. Yet he was at this time by no means an old _roué_.
His great head, the penetration of his dark eyes, and the occasional
sternness of his expression were a speedy indication that much lay
behind these inoffensive airs and graces; and all those who came into
his presence must have felt the power of his will and brain, even
though direct observation did not convey to them more than the pleasing
outlines of an elderly cavalier’s figure. Regarded in certain lights
and on certain occasions, the expression of his furrowed face showed
the imagination, the romantic vision, and the artistic culture of his
mind; but usually the qualities which were impressed upon a visitor
who conversed with him at close quarters were those of keenness,
determination, and, particularly, gentlemanliness, combined with the
rather charming confidence of a man of fashion. His manner at all times
was quiet and gracious; yet there was a certain fire, a controlled
vivacity in his movements, which revealed the creative soldier and
administrator behind the ideal aristocrat. His voice though high,
and sometimes shrill, was occasionally very pleasant to the ear; but
notwithstanding the fact that he was a wonderful orator, there was
a correctness in his choice of words which was occasionally almost
pedantic. His manner of speech was direct and straightforward, and his
honesty of purpose and loftiness of principle were not doubted save by
those who chanced to be aware of his little regard for moral integrity.

Cæsar was, in fact, an extremely unscrupulous man. I do not find
it possible to accept the opinion of his character held by most
historians, or to suppose him to have been an heroic figure who lived
and died for his lofty and patriotic principles. There was immense
good in him, and he had the unquestionable merit of being a great man
with vast ambitions for the orderly governance of the nations of the
earth; but when he threw himself with such enthusiasm into the task of
winning the heart of the harum-scarum young Queen of Egypt, it seems
to me that he was very well qualified to deceive her, and to play upon
her emotions with all the known arts and wiles of a wicked world. So
notorious was his habit of leading women astray, that when he returned
to Rome from his Gallic Wars his soldiers sang a marching song in which
the citizens were warned to protect their ladies from him lest he
should treat them as he had treated all the women of Gaul. “_Urbani,
servate uxores_,” they sang; “_Calvum moechum adducimus_.”

He had no particular religion, not much honour, and few high
principles; and in this regard all that can be said in his favour is
that he was perfectly free from cant, never pretended to be virtuous,
nor attempted to hide from his contemporaries the multitude of his
sins. As a young man he indulged in every kind of vice, and so
scandalous was his reputation for licentiousness that it was a matter
of blank astonishment to his Roman friends when, nevertheless, he
proved himself so brave and strenuous a soldier. His relationship with
the mother of Brutus, who was thought to be his own son, shows that
he prosecuted love intrigues while yet a boy. At one time he passed
through a phase of extreme effeminacy, with its attendant horrors;
and there was a period when he used to spend long hours each day in
the practice of the mysteries of the toilet, being scented and curled
and painted in the manner prescribed by the most degenerate young
men of the aristocratic classes. Indeed so effeminate was he, that
after staying with his friend Nicomedes, the King of Bithynia, he was
jestingly called Queen of Bithynia; and on another occasion in Rome a
certain wag named Octavius saluted Pompey as King and Cæsar as Queen of
Rome. His intrigues with the wives of his friends had been as frequent
as they were notorious. No good-looking woman was safe from him, least
of all those whom he had the opportunity of seeing frequently, owing
to his friendship for their husbands or other male relatives. Not
even political considerations checked his amorous inclinations, as
may be judged from the fact that he made a victim of Mucia, the wife
of Pompey, whose friendship he most eagerly desired at that time. “He
was the inevitable co-respondent in every fashionable divorce,” writes
Oman; “and when we look at the list of the ladies whose names are
linked with his, we can only wonder at the state of society in Rome
which permitted him to survive unscathed to middle age. The marvel is
that he did not end in some dark corner, with a dagger between his
ribs, long before he attained the age of thirty.” Being a brilliant
opportunist he made use of his success with women to promote his own
interests, and at one time he is said to have conducted love intrigues
with the wives of Pompey, Crassus, and Gabinius, all leaders of his
political party. Even the knowledge of the habits of the young <DW2>s of
the period, which he had acquired while emulating their mode of life,
was turned to good account by him in after years. At the battle of
Pharsalia, which had been fought but a few weeks before his arrival in
Egypt, he had told his troops who were to receive the charges of the
enemy’s patrician cavalry that they should not attempt to hamstring
the horses or strike at their legs, but should aim their blows at the
riders’ faces, “in the hopes,” as Plutarch says, “that young gentlemen
who had not known much of battles and wounds, but came, wearing their
hair long, in the flower of their age and height of their beauty, would
be more apprehensive of such blows and not care for hazarding both a
danger at present and a blemish for the future. And so it proved, for
they turned about, and covered their faces to safeguard them.”

In regard to money matters Cæsar was entirely without principle. In his
early years he borrowed vast sums on all sides, spent them recklessly,
and seldom paid his debts save with further borrowed money. While still
a young man he owed his creditors the sum of £280,000; and though most
of this had now been paid off by means of the loot from the Gallic
Wars, there had been times in his life when ruin stared him in the
face. Most of his debts were incurred in the first place in buying for
himself a high position in Roman political life, and in the second
place in paying the electioneering expenses of candidates for office
who would be likely to advance his power. He engaged the favour of the
people by giving enormous public feasts, and on one occasion twenty-two
thousand persons were entertained at his expense at a single meal.
While he was ædile he paid for three hundred and twenty gladiatorial
combats; and innumerable fêtes and shows were given by him throughout
his life, and were paid for by the tears and anguish of his conquered
enemies.

[Illustration:

    _British Museum._]

JULIUS CÆSAR.]

He was one of the most ambitious men who have ever walked the stage
of life, his devouring passion for absolute power being at all times
abnormal; and he cared not one jot in what manner he obtained or
expended money so long as his career was advanced by that means.
He could not brook the thought of playing a secondary part in the
world’s affairs, and nothing short of absolute autocracy satisfied
his aspirations. While crossing the Alps on one occasion the poverty
of a small mountain village was pointed out to him, and he was heard
to remark that he would rather be first man in that little community
than second man in Rome. On another occasion he was seen to burst into
tears while reading the life of Alexander the Great, for the thought
was intolerable to him that another man should have conquered the world
at an age when he himself had done nothing of the kind. This restless
“passion after honour,” as Plutarch terms it, was not apparent in
his manner and was not noticed save by those who knew him well. He
was too gentlemanly, too well dressed, too beautifully groomed, to
give the impression of one who was seeking indefatigably for his own
advancement, and at whose heart the demons of insatiate ambition were
so continuously gnawing. “When I see his hair so carefully arranged,”
said Cicero, “and observe him adjusting it with one finger, I cannot
imagine it should enter such a man’s thoughts to subvert the Roman
State.” Yet this elegant soldier, whose manners were so quietly
aristocratic, whose charm was so delectable, would sink to any depths
of moral depravity, whether financial or otherwise, in order to
convert the world into his footstool. When he and Catullus were rival
candidates for the office of Pontifex Maximus, the latter offered him a
huge sum of money to retire from the contest; but Cæsar, spurning the
proffered bribe with indignation, replied that he was about to _borrow_
a larger sum than that in order to buy the votes for himself. At
another period of his amazing career he desired to effect the downfall
of Cicero, who was much in his way, and circumstances so fell out
that this could best be accomplished by the appointment of a certain
young scamp named Clodius as tribune. Now Clodius was the paramour
of Cæsar’s wife Pompeia, whom the Dictator had made co-respondent
in the action for divorce which he had brought against that lady;
yet, since it served his ambitious purpose, he did not now hesitate
to obtain the appointment of this amorous rogue and use him for his
infamous purposes. The story need not here be related of how Clodius
had disguised himself as a woman, and had thus obtained admission to
certain secret female rites at which Pompeia was officiating; how he
had been discovered; how he had only escaped the death penalty for his
sacrilege owing to the fact that the judges were afraid to condemn
him since he was a favourite with the mob, and afraid to acquit him
for fear of offending the nobility, and had therefore written their
verdicts so illegibly that nobody could read them; and how Pompeia
had been divorced by her husband, who had then made the famous remark
that “Cæsar’s wife must be above suspicion”; but it will be apparent
that Plutarch is justified in regarding the man’s appointment to the
tribuneship as one of the most disgraceful episodes in the Dictator’s
career.

Cæsar’s first wife was named Cossutia, and was a wealthy heiress whom
he had married for her money’s sake. Having, however, fallen in love
with Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, he divorced Cossutia, and wedded
the woman of his heart, pluckily refusing to part with her when ordered
to do so for political reasons by the terrible Sulla. Cornelia died in
B.C. 68, and in the following year he married Pompeia, of whom we have
just heard, in order to strengthen his alliance with Pompey, to whom
she was related.

Cæsar’s marriage to Calpurnia, after the dismissal of Pompeia, again
showed his indifference to the moral aspect of political life.
Calpurnia was the daughter of Calpurnius Piso, the pupil and disciple
of Philodemus the Epicurean, a man whose verses in the Greek Anthology,
and whose habits of life, were as vicious and poisonous as any in
that licentious age. Cæsar at once obtained the consulship for his
disreputable father-in-law, thereby causing Cato to protest that it
was intolerable that the government should be prostituted by such
marriages, and that persons should advance one another to the highest
offices in the land by means of women. Cæsar went so far as to propose,
shortly after this, that he should divorce Calpurnia and marry Pompey’s
daughter, who would have to be divorced from her husband, Faustus
Sulla, for the purpose; and that Pompey should marry Octavia, Cæsar’s
niece, although she was at that time married to C. Marcellus, and also
would have to be divorced.

There was a startling nonchalance in Cæsar’s behaviour, a studied
callousness, which was not less apparent to his contemporaries than
to us. His wonderful ability to squander other people’s money, his
total disregard of principle, his undisguised satisfaction in political
and domestic intrigue, revealed an unconcern which must inspire
for all time the admiration of the criminal classes, and which, in
certain instances, must appeal very forcibly to the imagination of
all high-spirited persons. Who can resist the charm of the story of
his behaviour to the pirates of Pharmacusa? For thirty-eight days
he was held prisoner at that place by a band of most ferocious and
bloodthirsty Cilicians, and during that time he treated his captors
with a degree of reckless _insouciance_ unmatched in the history of
the world. When they asked him for a ransom of twenty talents (£5000)
he laughed in their faces, and said that he was worth at least fifty
(£12,500), which sum he ultimately paid over to them. He insisted upon
joining in their games, jeered at them for their barbarous habits, and
ordered them about as though they were his slaves. When he wished to
sleep he demanded that they should keep absolute silence as they sat
over their camp-fires; or, when the mood pleased him, he took part in
their sing-songs, read them his atrocious Latin verses (for he was
ever a poor poet), and abused them soundly if they did not applaud. A
hundred times a day he told them that he would have them all hanged
as soon as he was free, a pleasantry at which the pirates laughed
heartily, thinking it a merry jest; but no sooner was he released than
he raised a small force, attacked his former captors, and, taking most
of them prisoners, had them all crucified. Crucifixion is a form of
death by torture, the prolonged and frightful agony of which is not
fully appreciated at the present day, owing to a complacent familiarity
with the most notorious case of its application; but Cæsar being,
on occasion, with all his indifference, a kind-hearted man, decided
at the last moment mercifully to put an end to the agonies of his
disillusioned victims, and with a sort of considerate nonchalance he
therefore quietly cut their throats.

He was not by any means consistently a cruel man, and his kindness
and magnanimity were often demonstrated. He shed tears, it will
be remembered, upon seeing the signet-ring of his murdered enemy,
Pompey; and in Rome he ordered that unfortunate soldier’s statues to
be replaced upon the pedestals from which they had been thrown. In
warfare, however, he was often ruthless, and had recourse to wholesale
massacres which could hardly be regarded as necessary measures. At
Uxellodunum and elsewhere he caused thousands of prisoners to be
maimed by the hacking off of their right hands; and his slaughter
of the members of the Senate of the Veneti seems to have been an
unnecessary piece of brutality. His behaviour in regard to the Usipetes
and Tencteri will always remain the chief stain upon his military
reputation. After concluding peace with these unfortunate peoples, he
attacked them when they were disarmed, and killed 430,000 of them--men,
women, and children. For this barbarity Cato proposed that he should
be put in chains and delivered over to the remnant of the massacred
tribes, that they might wreak their vengeance upon him.

During his ten years’ campaigning in Gaul he took 800 towns by storm,
subdued 300 states, killed a million men, and sent another million into
slavery.[27] His cold-blooded execution of the brave Vercingetorix,
after six years of captivity, seems more cruel to us, perhaps, than it
did to his contemporaries; and it may be said in his favour that he
treated the terrified remnant of the conquered peoples with justice
and moderation. In spite of a kindly and even affable manner, his
wit was caustic and his words often terribly biting. When a certain
young man named Metellus, at that time tribune, had persistently
questioned whether Cæsar had a right to appropriate treasury funds in
the prosecution of his wars, Cæsar threatened to put him to death if
any more was heard of his dissent. “And this you know, young man,” said
he, “is more disagreeable for me to say than to do.” He associated
freely with all manner of persons, and although so obviously an
aristocrat, he was noted for his friendliness and tact in dealing with
the lower classes. During his campaigns he shared all hardships with
his men, and, consequently, was much beloved by them, in spite of their
occasional objection to the heavy work or strenuous manœuvres which he
required them to undertake. He was wont to travel in time of war at the
rate of a hundred miles a day; and when a river or stream obstructed
his progress he did not hesitate to dive straightway into the water and
swim to the opposite shore. On the march he himself usually slept in
his litter, or curled up on the floor of his chariot, and his food was
of the coarsest description. At no time, indeed, was he a gourmet; and
it is related how once he ate without a murmur some asparagus which had
been treated with something very much like an ointment in mistake for
sauce. In later life he drank no wine of any kind, an abstemiousness
which was probably forced upon him by ill-health; and he who, in his
early years, had been notorious for his dissipations and luxurious
living, was, at the time with which we are now dealing, famous for his
abstinence.

When Cæsar arrived in Alexandria he was come direct from his great
victory over Pompey at Pharsalia, and was now absolute master of the
Roman world. His brilliant campaigns in Gaul had raised him to the
highest position in the Republic, and now that Pompey was dead he was
without any appreciable rival. He carried himself with careful dignity,
and presumed--quite correctly--that all eyes were turned upon him.
He had, as Mommsen says, “a pleasing consciousness of his own manly
beauty”; and the thought of his many brilliant victories and successful
surmounting of all obstacles gave him the liveliest satisfaction. No
longer was his elegant frame shaken with sobs at the envious thought of
the exploits of Alexander the Great; but, since his insatiable ambition
still urged him to make use of his opportunities, he was for the moment
content to indulge his passion for conquest by attempting to win the
affections of the charming, omnipotent, and fabulously wealthy Queen of
Egypt.




CHAPTER VI.

CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR IN THE BESIEGED PALACE AT ALEXANDRIA.


There can be little doubt that Cæsar’s all-night interview with
Cleopatra put an entirely new complexion upon his conception of the
situation. Until the Queen’s dramatic entry into the Palace, his
main object in remaining for a short time at Alexandria, after he
had been shown the severed head of the murdered Pompey, had been to
assert his authority in that city of unrivalled commercial opulence,
and at the same time to make full use of a favourable opportunity to
rest his weary mind and body in the luxury of its royal residence and
the perfection of its sun-bathed summer days, while Rome should be
quieted down and made ready for his coming. But now a new factor had
introduced itself. He had found that the Queen of this desirable and
important country was a young woman after his own heart: a dare-devil
girl, whose manners and beauty had fired his imagination, and whose
apparent admiration for him had set him thinking of the uses to which
he might put the devotion he confidently expected to arouse. She seems
to have laid her case before him with frankness and sincerity. She had
shown him how her brother had driven her from the throne, in direct
opposition to the will of her father, who had so earnestly desired
the two of them to reign jointly and in harmony. And while she had
talked to him through the long hours of the night he had found himself
most willingly carried away by the desire to obtain her love, both
for the pleasure which it might be expected to afford him and for the
political advantage which would accrue from such an intercourse. Here
was a simple means of bringing Egypt under his control--Egypt which was
the granary of the world, the most important commercial market of the
Mediterranean, the most powerful factor in eastern politics, and the
gateway of the unconquered kingdoms of the Orient. He had made himself
lord of the West; Greece and Asia Minor were, since the late war, at
his feet; and now Alexandria, so long the support of Pompey’s faction,
should come to him with the devotion of its Queen. I do not hold with
those who suppose him to have been led like a lamb to the slaughter
by the wiles of Cleopatra, and to have succumbed to her charms in the
manner of one whose passions have confused his brain, causing him to
forget all things save only his desire. In consideration of the fact
that the young Queen was at that time, so far as we know, a woman
of blameless character, and that he, on the contrary, was a man of
the very worst possible reputation in regard to the opposite sex, it
seems, to say the least, unfair that the burden of the blame for the
subsequent events should have been assigned for all these centuries to
Cleopatra.

Before the end of that eventful night Cæsar seems to have determined to
excite the passionate love of that wild and irresponsible girl, whose
personality and political importance made a doubly powerful appeal
to him; and ere the light of dawn had entered the room his decision
to restore her to the throne, and to place her brother in the far
background, had been irrevocably made. As the sun rose he sent for King
Ptolemy, who, on entering Cæsar’s presence, must have been dismayed
to be confronted with his sister whom he had driven into exile and
against whom he had so recently been fighting at Pelusium. It would
appear that Cæsar treated him with sternness, asking him how he had
dared to go against the wishes of his father, who had entrusted their
fulfilment to the Roman people, and demanding that he should at once
make his peace with Cleopatra. At this the young man lost his temper,
and, rushing from the room, cried out to his friends and attendants who
were waiting outside that he had been betrayed and that his cause was
lost. Snatching the royal diadem from his head in his boyish rage and
chagrin, he dashed it upon the ground, and, no doubt, burst into tears.
Thereupon an uproar arose, and the numerous Alexandrians who still
remained within the Roman lines at once gathering round their King,
nearly succeeded in communicating their excitement to the royal troops
in the city, and arousing them to a concerted attack upon the Palace
by land and sea. Cæsar, however, hurried out and addressed the crowd,
promising to arrange matters to their satisfaction; and thereupon he
called a meeting at which Ptolemy and Cleopatra were both induced to
attend, and he read out to them their father’s will wherein it was
emphatically stated that they were to reign together. He reiterated his
right, as representative of the Roman people, to adjust the dispute;
and at last he appears to have effected a reconciliation between the
brother and sister. The unfortunate Ptolemy must have realised that
from that moment his ambitions and hopes were become dust and ashes,
for he would now always remain under the scrutiny of his elder sister;
and the liberty of action for which he and his ministers had plotted
and schemed was for ever gone. According to Dion Cassius, he could
already see plainly that there was an understanding between Cæsar
and his sister; and Cleopatra’s manner doubtless betrayed to him her
elation. She must have been intensely excited. A few hours previously
she had been an exile, creeping back to her own city in imminent danger
of her life; now, not only was she Queen of Egypt once more, but she
had won the esteem and, so it seemed, the heart also of the Autocrat
of the world, whose word was absolute law to the nations. One may
almost picture her making faces at her brother as they sat opposite one
another in Cæsar’s improvised court of justice, and the unhappy boy’s
distress must have been acute.

Cæsar’s dominant idea now was to control the politics of Egypt by
means of a skilled play upon the heart of Cleopatra. He did not much
care what happened to King Ptolemy or to his minister Potheinos, for
they had forfeited their right to consideration by their attempt to
set aside the wishes of Auletes, and by their disgusting behaviour
to Pompey, who, though Cæsar’s enemy, had yet been his mighty
fellow-countryman; but it was his wish as soon as possible to placate
the mob, and to endear the people of Alexandria to him, so that in
three or four weeks’ time he might leave the country in undisturbed
quiet. Now the control of Cyprus was one of the most fervent
aspirations of the city, and it seems to have occurred to Cæsar that
the presentation of the island to their royal house would be keenly
appreciated by them, and would go a long way to appease their hostile
excitement. When the Romans annexed Cyprus in B.C. 58, the Alexandrians
had risen in revolt against Auletes largely because he had made no
attempt to claim the country for himself. It had been more or less
continuously an appendage of the Egyptian crown, and its possession
was still the people’s dearest wish. Now, therefore, according to
Dion, Cæsar made a present of the island to Egypt in the names of the
two younger members of the royal house, Prince Ptolemy and Princess
Arsinoe; and though we have no records definitely to show that they
ever assumed control of their new possession, or that it ceased, at any
rate for a year or two, to be regarded as a part of the Roman province
of Cilicia, it is certain that a few years later, in B.C. 42, it had
become an Egyptian dominion and was administered by a viceroy of that
country.[28]

Having thus relieved the situation, Cæsar turned his attention to
other matters. While Auletes was in Rome, in B.C. 59, he had incurred
enormous debts in his efforts to buy the support of the Roman Senate
in re-establishing himself upon the Ptolemaic throne, and in this fact
Cæsar now saw a means both of showing his benevolence towards the
Egyptians, and of making them pay for the upkeep of his small fleet and
army at Alexandria. His claim on behalf of the creditors of Auletes
he fixed at the very moderate sum of ten million denarii (£400,000),
although it must have been realised by all that the original debts
amounted to a much higher figure than this. At the same time he made
no attempt to demand a war contribution from the Egyptians, although
their original advocacy of the cause of Pompey would have justified
him in doing so.[29] In this manner, and by the gift of Cyprus, he made
a bid for the goodwill of the Alexandrians; but, unfortunately, his
efforts in this direction were entirely frustrated by the intrigues
of Potheinos. There probably need not have been any difficulty in the
raising of £400,000; but Potheinos chose to order the King’s golden
dishes and the rich vessels in the temples to be melted down and
converted into money. He furnished the King’s own table with wooden
or earthenware plates and bowls, and caused the fact to be made known
to the townspeople, in order that they should be shown the straits to
which Cæsar’s cupidity had reduced them. Meanwhile, he supplied the
Roman soldiers with a very poor quality of corn, and told them, in
reply to their complaints, that they ought to be grateful that they
received any at all, since they had no right to it. Nor did he hesitate
to tell Cæsar that he ought not to waste his time in Alexandria, or
concern himself with the insignificant affairs of Egypt, when urgent
business should be calling him back to Rome. His manner towards the
Dictator was consistently rude and hostile, and there seems little
doubt that he was plotting against him and was keeping in touch with
Achillas.

Hostilities of a more or less sporadic nature soon broke out, and it
was not long before Cæsar made his first hit at the enemy. Hearing
that they were attempting to man their imprisoned ships, which lay
still in the western portion of the Great Harbour, and knowing that
he was not strong enough either to hold or to utilise more than a
few of them, he sent out a little force which succeeded in setting
fire to, and destroying, the whole fleet, consisting of the fifty
men-o’-war which, during the late hostilities, had been lent to Pompey,
twenty-two guardships, and thirty-eight other craft, thus leaving in
their possession only those vessels which lay in the Harbour of the
Happy Return, beyond the Heptastadium. In this conflagration some of
the buildings on the quay near the harbour appear to have been burnt,
and it would seem that some portion of the famous Alexandrian library
was destroyed; but the silence of contemporary writers upon this
literary catastrophe indicates that the loss was not great, and, to
my mind, puts out of account the statement of later authors that the
burning of the entire library occurred on that occasion. Cæsar’s next
move was to seize the Pharos Lighthouse and the eastern end of the
island upon which it was built, thus securing the entrance to the Great
Harbour, and making the passage of his ships to the open sea a manœuvre
which could be employed at any moment. At the same time he threw up
the strongest fortifications at all the vulnerable points in his land
defences, and thereby rendered himself absolutely secure from direct
assault.

He was not much troubled by the situation. It is said that he was
obliged more than once to keep awake all night in order to protect
himself against assassination; but such a contingency did not interfere
to any great extent with his enjoyments of the life in the Alexandrian
Palace. From early youth he must have been accustomed to the thought of
the assassin’s knife. His many love-affairs had made imminent each day
the possibility of sudden death, and his political and administrative
career also laid him open at all times to a murderous attack. The
jealousy of the husbands whose wives he had stolen, the vengeance of
the survivors of the massacres instigated by him, the resentment of
the politicians whose ambitions he had thwarted, and the hatred of
innumerable persons whom, in one way or another, he had offended,
placed his life in continuous jeopardy. The machinations of Potheinos,
therefore, left him undismayed, and he was able to prosecute what
was, in plain language, the seduction of the Queen of Egypt with an
undistracted mind.

Cleopatra appears to have been as strongly attracted to Cæsar
as he was to her; and although at the outset each realised the
advantage of winning the other’s heart, and regulated their actions
accordingly, there seems little doubt that, after a day or two of close
companionship, a romantic attachment of a very genuine nature had been
formed between them. In the case of Cleopatra, no doubt, her love held
all the sweetness of the first serious affair of her life, and on the
part of Cæsar there is apparent the passionate delight of a man past
his prime in the vivacity and charm of a beautiful young girl. Though
elderly, Cæsar was what a romanticist would call an ideal lover. His
keen, handsome face, his athletic and graceful figure, the fascination
of his manners, and the wonder of the deeds which he had performed,
might be calculated to win the heart of any woman; and to Cleopatra
he must have made a special appeal by reason of his reputation for
bravery and reliability on all occasions, and his present display of
_sang-froid_ and light-heartedness.

Cæsar was, at this time, in holiday mood, and the life he led at the
Palace was of the gayest description. He had cast from him the cares
of state with an ease which came of frequent practice in the art of
throwing off responsibilities; and when about October 25th he received
news from Rome that he had been made Dictator for the whole of the
coming year, 47, he was able to feel that there was no cause for
anxiety. While the unfortunate young Ptolemy sulked in the background,
Cæsar and Cleopatra openly sought one another’s company and made merry
together, it would seem, for a large part of every day. With such a
man as Cæsar, the result of this intimacy was inevitable; nor was
it to be expected that the happy-go-lucky and impetuous girl of but
twenty years of age would act with much caution or propriety under
the peculiar and exciting circumstances. It is possible that she had
already gone through the form of marriage with her co-regnant brother,
as was the custom of the Egyptian Court; but it is highly unlikely that
this was anything more than the emptiest formality, and there is no
reason to doubt that in actual fact she was, when she met Cæsar, still
unwedded. The child which in due course she presented to the Dictator
was her first-born; but had there been a previous marriage of more than
a formal nature, it is at least probable, in view of her subsequent
productivity, that she would already have been in enjoyment of the
privileges of motherhood.

The gaiety of the life in the besieged Palace, and the progress of
the romance which was there being enacted, were rudely disturbed by
two consecutive events which led at once to the outbreak of really
serious hostilities. The little Princess Arsinoe, who, like all the
women of this family, must have been endowed with great spirit and
pluck, suddenly made her escape from the Roman lines, accompanied by
her _nutritius_ Ganymedes,[30] and joined the Egyptian forces under
Achillas. The plot, organised no doubt by Ganymedes, had for its object
the raising of the Princess to the throne, while Cleopatra and her
two brothers were imprisoned in the Lochias, and no sooner had they
reached the Egyptian headquarters than they began freely to bribe all
officers and officials of importance in order to accomplish their
purpose. Achillas, however, who had his own game to play, thought it
wiser to remain loyal to his sovereign, and to attempt to rescue him
from Cæsar’s clutches. It was not long before a quarrel arose between
Ganymedes and Achillas, which ended in the prompt assassination of
the latter, whose functions were at once assumed by his murderer, the
war being thereupon prosecuted with renewed vigour. Previous to the
death of Achillas, Potheinos had been in secret communication with
him, apparently in regard to the possibility of murdering Cæsar and
effecting the escape of King Ptolemy and himself from the Palace ere
Arsinoe and Ganymedes obtained control of affairs. Information of the
plot was given to Cæsar by his barber, “a busy, listening fellow, whose
excessive timidity made him inquisitive into everything”;[31] and,
at a feast held to celebrate the reconciliation between Ptolemy and
Cleopatra, Potheinos was arrested and immediately beheaded, a death
which the poet Lucan considers to have been very much too good for him,
since it was that by which he had caused the great Pompey to die. So
far as one can now tell, Cæsar was entirely justified in putting this
wretched eunuch out of the way of further worldly mischief. He belonged
to that class of court functionary which is met with throughout
the history of the Orient, and which invariably calls forth the
denunciation of the more moral West; but it is to be remembered in his
favour that, so far as we know, he schemed as eagerly for the fortunes
of his young sovereign Ptolemy as he did for his own advancement, and
his treacherous manœuvres were directed against the menacing intrusion
of a power which was relentlessly crushing the life out of the royal
houses of the accessible world. His crime against fallen Pompey was no
more dastardly than were many other of the recorded acts of the Court
he served; and the fact that he, like his two fellow-conspirators,
Achillas and Theodotos, paid in blood and tears for the riches of the
moment, goes far to exonerate him, at this remote date, from further
execration.

The first act of the war which caused Cæsar any misgivings was the
pollution of his water supply by the enemy, and the consequent
nervousness of his men. The Royal Area obtained its drinking water
through subterranean channels communicating with the lake at the back
of the city; and no sooner had Cæsar realised that these channels might
be tampered with than he attempted to cut his way southwards, probably
along the broad street[32] which led to the Gate of the Sun and to the
Lake Harbour. Here, however, he met with a stubborn resistance, and
the loss of life might have been very great had he persisted in his
endeavour. Fortunately, however, the sinking of trial shafts within
the besieged territory led to the discovery of an abundance of good
water, the existence of which had not been suspected; and thus he was
saved from the ignominy of being ousted from the city which he had
entered in such solemn pomp, and of being forced to retire across
the Mediterranean, his self-imposed task left uncompleted, and his
ambitions for the future of Cleopatra unfulfilled.

Not long after this the welcome news was brought to him that the
Thirty-seventh Legion had crossed from Asia Minor with food supplies,
arms, and siege-instruments, and was anchored off the Egyptian coast,
being for the moment unable to reach him owing to contrary winds. Cæsar
at once sailed out to meet them, with his entire fleet, the ships being
manned only by their Rhodian crews, all the troops having been left to
hold the land defences. Effecting a junction with these reinforcements,
he returned to the harbour, easily defeated the Egyptian vessels
which had collected to the north of the Island of Pharos, and sailed
triumphantly back to his moorings below the Palace.

So confident now was he in his strength that he next sailed round the
island, and attacked the Egyptian fleet in its own harbour beyond the
Heptastadium, inflicting heavy losses upon them. He then landed on
the western end of Pharos, which was still held by the enemy, carried
the forts by storm, and effected a junction with his own men who were
stationed around the lighthouse at the eastern end. His plan was to
advance across the Heptastadium, and thus, by holding both the island
and the mole, to obtain possession of the western Harbour of the
Happy Return and ultimately to strike a wedge into the city upon that
side. But here he suffered a dangerous reverse. While he was leading
in person the attack upon the south or city end of the Heptastadium,
and his men were crowding on to it from the island and from the vessels
in the Great Harbour, the Egyptians made a spirited attack upon its
northern end, thus hemming the Romans in upon the narrow causeway, to
the consternation of those who watched the battle from the Lochias
Promontory. Fortunately vessels were at hand to take off the survivors
of this sanguinary engagement, as the enemy drove them back from either
end of the causeway; and presently they had all scrambled aboard and
were rowing at full speed across the Great Harbour. Such numbers,
however, jumped on to the deck of the vessel into which Cæsar had
entered that it capsized, and we are then presented with the dramatic
picture of the ruler of the world swimming for his life through the
quiet waters of the harbour, holding aloft in one hand a bundle of
important papers which he happened to be carrying at the moment of the
catastrophe, dragging his scarlet military cloak along by his teeth,
and at the same time constantly ducking his rather bald head under the
water to avoid the missiles which were hurled at him by the victorious
Egyptians, who must have been capering about upon the recaptured mole,
all talking and shouting at once. He was, however, soon picked up
by one of his ships; and thus he returned to the Palace, very cold
and dripping wet, and having in the end lost the cloak which was the
cherished mark of his rank. Four hundred legionaries and a number of
seamen perished in this engagement, most of them being drowned; and
now, perhaps for the first time, it began to appear to Cæsar that the
warfare which he was waging was not the amusing game he had thought
it. For at least four months he had entertained himself in the Palace,
spending his days in pottering around his perfectly secure defences and
his nights in enjoying the company of Cleopatra. Up till now he must
have been in constant receipt of news from Rome, where his affairs were
being managed by Antony, his boisterous but fairly reliable lieutenant,
and it is evident that nothing had occurred there to necessitate his
return. Far from being hemmed in within the Palace and obliged to fight
for his life, as is generally supposed to have been the case, it seems
to me that his position at all times was as open as it was secure.
He could have travelled across the Mediterranean at any moment; and,
had he thought it desirable, he could have sailed over to Italy for
a few weeks and returned to Alexandria without any great risk. His
fleet had shown itself quite capable of defending him from danger upon
the high seas, as, for example, when he had sailed out to meet the
Thirty-seventh Legion;[33] and, as on that occasion, his troops could
have been left in security in their fortified position. Supplies from
Syria were plentiful, and the Rhodian sailors, after escorting him as
far as Cyprus, could have returned to their duties at Alexandria in
order to ensure the safe and continuous arrival of these stores and
provisions.

It is thus very apparent that he had no wish to abandon the enjoyments
of his winter in the Egyptian capital, where he had become thoroughly
absorbed both in the little Queen of that country and in the problems
which were represented to him by her. He was an elderly man, and the
weight of his years caused him to feel a temporary distaste for the
restless anxieties which awaited him in Rome. His ambitions in the
Occident had been attained; and now, finding himself engaged in what,
I would suggest, was an easily managed and not at all dangerous war,
he was determined to carry the struggle through to its inevitable
end, and to find in this quite interesting and occasionally exciting
task an excuse for remaining by the side of the woman who, for the
time being, absorbed the attention of his wayward affections. Already
he was beginning to realise that the subjection of Egypt to his will
was a matter of very great political importance, as will be explained
hereafter; and he felt the keenest objection to abandoning the Queen to
her own devices, both on this account and by reason of the hold which
she had obtained upon his heart. In after years he did not look back
upon the fighting with an interest sufficient to induce him to record
its history, as he had done that of other campaigns, but he caused an
official account to be written by one of his comrades; and this author
has been at pains to show that the struggle was severe in character.
Such an interpretation of the war, however, though now unanimously
accepted, is to be received with caution, and need not be taken more
seriously than the statement that, in the first instance, Cæsar’s
prolonged stay at Alexandria was due to the Etesian winds which made
it difficult for his ships to leave the harbour. These annual winds
from the north might have delayed his return for a week or two; but it
is obvious that he had no desire to set sail; and the author of _De
Bello Alexandrino_ was doubtless permitted to cover Cæsar’s apparent
negligence of important Roman affairs by thus attributing his lengthy
absence to the strength of the enemy and to the inclemency of the Fates.

Now, however, after the ignominious defeat upon the Heptastadium, Cæsar
appears to have become fully determined to punish the Alexandrians
and to prosecute the campaign with more energy. He seems soon to have
received news that a large army was marching across the desert from
Syria to his relief, under the joint leadership of Mithridates of
Pergamum, a natural son of Mithridates the Great, the Jewish Antipater,
father of Herod, and Iamblichus, son of Sampsiceramus, a famous Arab
chieftain from Hemesa. With the advent of these forces he knew that
he would be able to crush all resistance and to impose his will upon
Egypt; and he now, therefore, took a step which clearly shows his
determination to handle affairs with sternness and ruthlessness, in
such a manner that Cleopatra should speedily become sole ruler of the
country, and thus should be in a position to lay all the might of her
kingdom in his hands.

The Princess Arsinoe had failed to make herself Queen of Egypt in spite
of the efforts of Ganymedes, and the royal army was still endeavouring
to rescue King Ptolemy and to fight under his banner. Cæsar, therefore,
determined to hand the young man over to them, knowing, as the
historian of the war admits, that there was little probability of such
an action leading to a cessation of hostilities. His avowed object
in taking this step was to give Ptolemy the opportunity of arranging
terms of peace for him; but he did not hesitate to record officially
his opinion that, in the event of a continuation of the war, it would
be far more honourable for him to be fighting against a king than
against “a crowd of sweepings of the earth and renegades.” The truth
of the matter, however, seems to me to be that Cæsar wished to rid
himself of the boy, who stood in the way of the accomplishment of his
schemes in regard to the sole sovereignty of Cleopatra; and by handing
him over to the enemy at the moment when the news of the arrival of
the army from Syria made the Egyptian downfall absolutely certain, he
insured the young man’s inevitable death or degradation. The miserable
Ptolemy must have realised this, for when Cæsar instructed him to go
over to his friends beyond the Roman lines, he burst into tears and
begged to be allowed to remain in the Palace. He knew quite well that
the Egyptians had not a chance of victory--that when once he had taken
up his residence with his own people their conqueror would treat him
as an enemy and punish him accordingly. Cæsar, however, on his part,
was aware that if in the hour of Roman victory Ptolemy was still under
his protection, it would be difficult not to carry out the terms of
the will of Auletes by making him joint-sovereign with Cleopatra. The
King’s tears and paradoxical protestations of devotion were therefore
ignored; and forthwith he was pushed out of the Palace into the
welcoming arms of the Alexandrians, the younger brother, whom Cæsar had
designed for the safely distant throne of Cyprus, being left in the
custody of the Romans alone with Cleopatra.

The relieving army from Syria soon arrived at the eastern frontier of
Egypt, and, taking Pelusium by storm, gave battle to the King’s forces
not far from the Canopic mouth of the Nile. The Egyptians were easily
defeated, and the invaders marched along the eastern edge of the Delta
towards Memphis (near the modern Cairo), just below which they crossed
the Nile to the western bank. The young Ptolemy thereupon, expecting
no mercy at Cæsar’s hands, put himself boldly at the head of such
troops as could be spared from the siege of the Palace at Alexandria,
and marched across the Delta to measure swords with Mithridates and
his allies. No sooner was he gone from the city than Cæsar, leaving a
small garrison in the Palace, sailed out of the harbour with as many
men as he could crowd into the ships at his disposal, and moved off
eastwards as though making for Canopus or Pelusium. Under cover of
darkness, however, he turned in the opposite direction, and before
dawn disembarked upon the deserted shore some miles to the west of
Alexandria. He thus out-manœuvred the Egyptian fleet with ease, and,
incidentally, demonstrated that he had been throughout the siege
perfectly free to come and go across the water as he chose. Marching
along the western border of the desert, as his friends had marched
along the eastern, he effected a junction with them at the apex of
the Delta, not far north of Memphis, and immediately turned to attack
the approaching Egyptian army. Ptolemy, on learning of their advance,
fortified himself in a strong position at the foot of a _tell_, or
mound, the Nile being upon one flank, a marsh upon the other, and a
canal in front of him; but the allies, after a two-days’ battle, turned
the position and gained a complete victory. The turning movement had
been entrusted to a certain Carfulenus, who afterwards fell at Mutina
fighting against Antony, and this officer managed to penetrate into
the Egyptian camp. At his approach Ptolemy appears to have jumped into
one of the boats which lay moored upon the Nile; but the weight of the
numbers of fugitives who followed his example sank the vessel, and
the young king was never seen alive again. It is said that his dead
body was recognised afterwards by the golden corselet which he wore,
and which, no doubt, had caused by its weight his rapid death. His
tragic end, at the age of fifteen, relieved Cæsar of the embarrassing
necessity either of pardoning him and making him joint-sovereign with
Cleopatra, according to the terms of his father’s will, or of carrying
him captive to Rome and putting him to death in the customary manner at
the close of his triumph. The boy had foreseen the fate which would be
chosen for him, when he had begged with tears to be allowed to remain
in the Palace; and his sudden submersion in the muddy waters of the
Nile must have terminated a life which of late had been intolerably
overshadowed by the knowledge that his existence was an obstacle to
Cæsar’s relentless ambitions, and by the horror of the certainty of
speedy death.

On March 27th, B.C. 47,[34] Cæsar, who had ridden on with his cavalry,
entered Alexandria in triumph, its gates being now thrown open to
him. The inhabitants dressed themselves in mourning garments, sending
deputations to him to beg for his mercy and forgiveness, and bringing
out to him the statues of their gods as a token of their entire
submission. Princess Arsinoe and Ganymedes were handed over to him as
prisoners: and in pomp he rode through the city to the Palace, where
as a conquering hero and saviour he was received into the arms of
Cleopatra.




CHAPTER VII.

THE BIRTH OF CÆSARION AND CÆSAR’S DEPARTURE FROM EGYPT.


The death of Ptolemy and the submission of Alexandria brought the war
to a definite close; and Cæsar, once more in comfortable residence
at the Palace, was enabled at last to carry out his plans for the
regulation of Egyptian affairs, with the execution of which the
campaign had so long interfered. Cleopatra’s little brother, the
younger Ptolemy, was a boy of only eleven years of age, who does
not seem to have shown such signs of marked intelligence or strong
character as would cause him to be a nuisance either to Cæsar or to his
sister; and therefore it was arranged that he should be raised to the
throne in place of his deceased brother, as nominal King and consort of
Cleopatra. Cæsar, it will be remembered, had given Cyprus to this youth
and to his sister Arsinoe; but now, since the latter was a prisoner in
disgrace and the former was not old enough to cause trouble in Egypt,
the island kingdom was not pressed upon them. To the Alexandrians,
whose campaign against him had entertained him so admirably while he
had pursued his intrigue with Cleopatra, Cæsar showed no desire to
be other than lenient, and he preferred to regard the great havoc
wrought in certain parts of their city as sufficient punishment for
their misdeeds. He granted to the Jews, however, equal rights with
the Greeks, in consideration of their assistance in the late war, a
step which must have been somewhat irritating to the majority of the
townsfolk. He then constituted a regular Roman Army of Occupation,
for the purpose of supporting Cleopatra and her little brother upon
the throne,[35] and to keep order in Alexandria and throughout the
country. This army consisted of the two legions which had been besieged
with him in the Palace, together with a third which presently arrived
from Syria; and to the command of this force Cæsar appointed an able
officer named Rufinus, who had risen by his personal merit from the
ranks, being originally one of Cæsar’s own freedmen. It is usually
stated that in handing over the command to a man of this standing and
not to a person belonging to the Senate, Cæsar was showing his disdain
for Egypt; but I am of opinion that the step was taken deliberately to
retain the control of the country entirely in his own hands, Rufinus
being, no doubt, absolutely Cæsar’s man. We do not hear what became of
the Gabinian troops who had fought against Cæsar, but it is probable
that they were drafted to legions stationed in other parts of the world.

It was now April,[36] and Cæsar had been in Egypt for more than six
months. He had originally intended to return to Rome, it would seem,
in the previous November; but his defiance by the Alexandrians, and
later the siege of the Palace, had given him a reasonable excuse for
remaining with Cleopatra. Being by nature an opportunist, he had come
during these months to interest himself keenly in Egyptian affairs,
and, as we have seen, both they and his passion for the Queen had fully
occupied his attention. The close of the war, however, did not mean to
him the termination of these interests, but rather the beginning of
the opportunity for putting his schemes into execution. He must have
been deeply impressed by the possibilities of expansive exploitation
which Egypt offered. Cleopatra, no doubt, had told him much concerning
the wonders of the land, wonders which she herself had never yet found
occasion to verify. He had heard from her, and had received visible
proof, of the wealth of the Nile Valley; and his march through the
Delta must have revealed to him the richness of the country. No man
could fail to be impressed by the spectacle of the miles upon miles
of grain fields which are to be seen in Lower Egypt; and reports had
doubtless reached him of the splendours of the upper reaches of the
Nile, where a peaceful and law-abiding population found time both to
reap three crops a year from the fertile earth, and to build huge
temples for their gods and palaces for their nobles. The yearly tax
upon corn alone in Egypt, which was paid in kind, must have amounted to
some twenty millions of bushels, the figure at which it stood in the
reign of Augustus; and this fact, if no other, must have given Cæsar
cause for much covetousness.

He had probably heard, too, of the trade with India, which was already
beginning to flourish, and which, a few years later, came to be of
the utmost importance;[37] and he had doubtless been told of the
almost fabulous lands of Ethiopia, to which Egypt was the threshold,
whence came the waters of the Nile. Egypt has always been a land of
speculation, attracting alike the interest of the financier and the
enthusiasm of the conqueror; and Cæsar’s imagination must have been
stimulated by those ambitious schemes which have fired the brains of so
many of her conquerors, just as that of the great Alexander had been
inspired three centuries before. Feeling that his work in Gaul and the
north-west was more or less completed, he may, perhaps, have considered
the expediency of carrying Roman arms into the uttermost parts of
Ethiopia; of crossing the Red Sea into Arabia; or of penetrating,
like Alexander, to India and to the marvellous kingdoms of the East.
Even so, eighteen hundred years later, Napoleon Bonaparte dreamed of
marching his army through Egypt to the lands of Hindustan; and so also
England, striving to hold her beloved India (as the prophetic Kinglake
wrote in 1844), fixed her gaze upon the Nile Valley, until, as though
by the passive force of her desire, it fell into her hands. For long
the Greeks had thought that the Nile came from the east and rose in
the hills of India; and even in the days with which we are now dealing
Egypt was regarded as the gateway of those lands. The trade-route from
Alexandria to India was yearly growing in fame. The merchants journeyed
up the Nile to the city of Koptos, and thence travelled by caravan
across the desert to the seaport of Berenice, whence they sailed with
the trade wind to Muziris, on the west coast of India, near the modern
Calicut and Mysore. It is possible that Cæsar had succumbed to the
fascination of distant conquest and exploration with which Egypt, by
reason of her geographical situation, has inspired so many minds,
and that he was allowing his thoughts to travel with the merchants
along the great routes to the East. He must always have felt that the
unconquered Parthians would cause a march across Asia to India to be
a most difficult and hazardous undertaking, and there was some doubt
whether he would be able to repeat the exploits of Alexander the Great
along that route; but here through Egypt lay a road to the Orient which
might be followed without grave risk. The merchants were wont to leave
Berenice, on the Egyptian coast, about the middle of July, when the
Dog-star rose with the Sun, reaching the west coast of India about the
middle of September;[38] and it would be strange indeed if Cæsar had
not given some consideration to the possibility of carrying his army by
that route to the lands which Alexander, of whose exploits he loved to
read, had conquered.

Abundant possibilities such as these must have filled his mind, and
may have been the partial cause of his desire to stay yet a little
while longer in this fascinating country; but there was another and a
more poignant reason which urged him to wait for a few weeks more in
Egypt. Cleopatra was about to become a mother. Seven months had passed
since those days in October when Cæsar had applied himself so eagerly
to the task of winning the love of the Queen, and of procuring her
surrender to his wishes; and now, in another few weeks, the child of
their romance would be placed in his arms. Old profligate though he
was, it seems that he saw something in the present situation different
from those in which he had found himself before. Cleopatra, by her
brilliant wit, her good spirits, her peculiar charm of manner, her
continuous courage, and her boundless optimism, had managed to retain
his love throughout these months of their close proximity; and an
appeal had been made to the more tender side of his nature which could
not be resisted. He wished to be near her in her hour of trial; and,
moreover (for in Cæsar’s actions there was always a practical as well
as a sentimental motive), it is probable that he entertained high hopes
of receiving from Cleopatra an heir to his worldly wealth and position,
who should be in due course fully legitimised. His long intercourse
with the Queen had much altered his point of view; and I think there
can be little doubt that his mind was eagerly feeling forward to new
developments and revolutionary changes in his life.

At Cleopatra’s wish he was now allowing himself to be recognised by
the Egyptians as the divine consort of the Queen, an impersonation of
the god Jupiter-Amon upon earth. Some form of marriage had taken place
between them, or, at any rate, the Egyptian people, if not the cynical
Alexandrians, had been constrained to recognise their legal union. The
approaching birth of the child had made it necessary for Cleopatra to
disclose her relationship with Cæsar, and at the same time to prove
to her subjects that she, their Queen, was not merely the mistress of
an adventurous Roman. As soon, therefore, as her brother and formal
husband Ptolemy XIV. had died, she had begun to circulate the belief
that Julius Cæsar was the great god of Egypt himself come to earth, and
that the child which was about to make its appearance was the offspring
of a divine union. Upon the walls of the temples of Egypt, notably at
Hermonthis, near Thebes, bas-reliefs were afterwards sculptured in
which Cleopatra was represented in converse with the god Amon, who
appears in human form, and in which the gods are shown assisting at
the celestial birth of the child. A mythological fiction of a similar
nature had been employed in ancient Egypt in reference to the births of
earlier sovereigns, those of Hatshepsut (B.C. 1500) and of Amenophis
III. (B.C. 1400) being two particular instances. In the known occasions
of its use, the royal parentage of the child had been open to question,
this being the reason why the story of the divine intercourse was
introduced; and thus in the case of Cleopatra the myth had become
familiar, by frequent use, to the priest-ridden minds of the Egyptians,
and was not in any way startling or original. In the later years of the
Queen’s reign events were dated as from this supernatural occurrence,
and there is preserved to us an epitaph inscribed in the “twentieth
year of (or after) the union of Cleopatra with Amon.”

Cæsar was quite willing thus to be reckoned in Egypt as a divinity.
His hero Alexander the Great in like manner had been regarded as a
deity, and had proclaimed himself the son of Amon, causing himself to
be portrayed with the ram’s horns of that god projecting from the sides
of his head. Though his belief in the gods was conspicuously absent,
Cæsar had always boasted of his divine descent, his family tracing
their genealogy to Iulus, the son of Æneas, the son of Anchises and the
goddess Venus; and there is every reason to suppose that Cleopatra had
attempted to encourage him to think of himself as being in very truth
a god upon earth. She herself ruled Egypt by divine right, and deemed
it no matter for doubt that she was the representative of the Sun-god
here below, the mediator between man and his creator. The Egyptians,
if not the Alexandrians, fell flat upon their faces when they saw her,
and hailed her as god, in the manner in which their fathers had hailed
the ancient Pharaohs. From earliest childhood she had been called a
divinity, and she was named an immortal in the temples of Egypt as
by undoubted right. Those who came into contact with her partook of
the divine affluence, and her companions were holy in the sight of
her Egyptian subjects. Cæsar, as her consort, thus became a god; and
as soon as her connection with him was made public, he assumed _ex
officio_ the nature of a divine being. We shall see presently how,
even in Rome, he came to regard himself as more than mortal, and how,
setting aside in his own favour his disbelief in the immortals, before
he died he had publicly called himself god upon earth. At the present
period of his life, however, these startling assumptions were not
clearly defined; and it is probable that he really did not know what to
think about himself. Cleopatra had fed his mind with strange thoughts,
and had so flattered his vanity, though probably without intention,
that if he could but acknowledge the existence of a better world, he
was quite prepared to believe himself in some sort of manner come from
it. She knew that she herself was supposed to be divine; she loved
Cæsar and had made him her equal; she was aware that he, too, was said
to be descended from the gods: and thus, by a tacit assumption, it
seems to me that she gradually forced upon him a sense of his divinity
which, in the succeeding years, developed into a fixed belief.

This appreciation of his divine nature, which we see growing in Cæsar’s
mind, carried with it, of course, a feeling of monarchical power, a
desire to assume the prerogatives of kingship. Cleopatra seems now
to have been naming him her consort, and in Egypt, as we have said,
he must have been recognised as her legal husband. He was already,
in a manner of speaking, King of Egypt; and the fact that he was not
officially crowned as Pharaoh must have been due entirely to his own
objection to such a proceeding. The Egyptians must now have been
perfectly willing to offer to him the throne of the Ptolemies, just
as they had accepted Archelaus, the High Priest of Komana, as consort
of Berenice IV., Cleopatra’s half-sister;[39] and in these days when
their young Queen was so soon to become a mother there must have been
a genuine and eager desire to regularise the situation by such a
marriage with Cæsar and his elevation to the throne. Nothing could be
more happy politically than the Queen’s marriage to the greatest man
in Rome, and we have already seen how there was some idea of a union
with Cnæus Pompeius in the days when that man’s father was the ruler
of the Republic. To the Egyptian mind the fact that Cæsar was already
a married man, with a wife living in Rome, was no real objection. She
had borne him no son, and therefore might be divorced in favour of a
more fruitful vine. Cleopatra herself must have been keenly desirous
to share her Egyptian throne with Cæsar, for no doubt she saw clearly
enough that, since he was already autocrat and actual Dictator of
Rome, it would not be long before they became sovereigns of the whole
Roman world. If she could persuade him, like Archelaus of Komana, to
accept the crown of the Pharaohs, there was good reason to suppose that
he would try to induce Rome to offer him the sovereignty of his own
country. The tendency towards monarchical rule in the Roman capital,
thanks largely to Pompey, was already very apparent; and both Cæsar
and Cleopatra must have realised that, if they played their game with
skill, a throne awaited them in that city at no very distant date.

Cleopatra was a keen patriot, or rather she was deeply concerned in
the advancement of her own and her dynasty’s fortunes; and it must
have been a matter of the utmost satisfaction to her to observe the
direction in which events were moving. The man whom she loved, and who
loved her, might at any moment become actual sovereign of Rome and its
dominions; and the child with which she was about to present him, if
it were a boy, would be the heir of the entire world. For years her
dynasty had feared that Rome would crush them out of existence and
absorb her kingdom into the Republic; but now there was a possibility
that Egypt, and the lands to which the Nile Valley was the gateway,
would become the equal of Rome at the head of the great amalgamation
of the nations of the earth. Egypt, it must be remembered, was still
unconquered by Rome, and was, at the time, the most wealthy and
important nation outside the Republic. All Alexandrians and Egyptians
believed themselves to be the foremost people in the world; and thus
to Cleopatra the dream that Egypt might play the leading part in an
Egypto-Roman empire was in no wise fantastic.

Her policy, then, was obvious. She must attempt to retain Cæsar’s
affection, and at the same time must nurse with care the growing
aspirations towards monarchy which were developing in his mind. She
must bind him to her so that, when the time came, she might ascend the
throne of the world by his side; and she must make apparent to him, and
keep ever present to his imagination, the fact of her own puissance and
the splendour of her royal status, so that there should be no doubt in
Cæsar’s mind that her flesh and blood, and hers alone, were fitted to
blend with his in the foundation of that single royal line which was to
rule the whole Earth.

Approaching motherhood, it would seem, had much sobered her wild
nature, and the glory of her ambitions had raised her thoughts to a
level from which she must have contemplated with disdain her early
struggles with the drowned Ptolemy, the decapitated Potheinos, the
murdered Achillas, and the outlawed Theodotos. She, Cleopatra, was
the daughter of the Sun, the sister of the Moon, and the kinswoman of
the heavenly beings; she was mated to the descendant of Venus and the
Olympian gods, and the unborn offspring of their union would be in very
truth King of Earth and Heaven.

Historians both ancient and modern are agreed that Cleopatra was a
woman of exceptional mental power. Her character, so often wayward in
expression, was as dominant as her personality was strong; and she must
have found no difficulty in making her appeal to the soaring ambitions
of the great Roman. When occasion demanded she carried herself with
dignity befitting the descendant of an ancient line of kings, and even
in her escapades the royalty of her person was at all times apparent.
The impression which she has left upon the world is that of a woman who
was always significant of the splendour of monarchy; and her influence
upon Cæsar in this regard is not to be overlooked. A man such as he
could not live for six months in close contact with a queen without
feeling to some extent the glamour of royalty. She represented monarchy
in its most absolute form, and in Egypt her word was law. The very tone
of her royal mode of life must have constituted new matter for Cæsar’s
mind to ruminate upon; and that trait in his character which led him to
abhor the thought of subordination to any living man, must have caused
him to watch the actions of an autocratic queen with frank admiration
and restless envy. Tales of the Kings of Alexandria and stories of
the ancient Pharaohs without doubt were narrated, and without doubt
took some place in Cæsar’s brain. Cleopatra’s point of view, that
of the most royal of the world’s royal houses, must, by its very
unfamiliarity, have impressed itself upon his thoughts.

Thus, little by little, under the influence of the Egyptian Queen
and in the power of his own sleepless ambitions, Cæsar began to give
serious thought to the possibilities of creating a world-empire over
which he should rule as king, founding a royal line which should sit
upon the supreme earthly throne for ages to come. Obviously it must
have occurred to him that kings must rule by right of royal blood,
and that his own blood, though noble and though said to be of divine
origin, was not such as would give his descendants unquestionable
command over the loyalty of their subjects. A man who is the descendant
of many kings has a right to royalty which the son of a conqueror,
however honourable his origin, does not possess. So thought Napoleon
when he married the Austrian princess, founding a royal house in his
country by using the royal blood of another land for the purpose.
Looking around him with this thought in view, Cæsar could not well have
chosen anybody but Cleopatra as the foundress of his line. There was
no Roman royal house extant, and therefore a Greek was the best, if not
the only, possible alternative; and the Ptolemaic Kings of Egypt were
pure Macedonians, deriving their descent, by popular belief, if not in
actual fact, from the royal house of Cæsar’s hero, Alexander the Great.
He may well, then, have contemplated with enthusiasm the thought of the
future monarchs of Rome sitting by inherited right upon the ancient
throne of Macedonian Egypt; and Cleopatra on her part was no doubt
inspired by the idea of future Pharaohs, blood of her blood and bone of
her bone, ruling Rome by hereditary authority.

Cleopatra of necessity had to find a husband. Already she had postponed
her marriage beyond the age at which such an event should take place;
and any union with her co-regnant brother could but be of a formal
nature. Cæsar now had come into her life, capturing her youthful
affections and causing himself to be the parent of her child; and it is
but natural to suppose that she would endeavour by every means in her
power to make him her lifelong consort, thus adding to her own royal
stock the worthiest blood of Rome. There can be no doubt that whether
or not she might succeed in making Cæsar himself Pharaoh of Egypt, she
intended to hand on the Egyptian throne to her child and his, adding
to the name of Ptolemy that of the family of the Cæsars. Thus it may
be said, though my assumption at first seems startling, that the Roman
Empire to a large extent owes its existence to the Egyptian Queen, for
the monarchy was in many respects the child of the union of Cæsar and
Cleopatra.

These as yet undefined ambitions and hopes found a very real and
material expression in Cæsar’s eagerness to know whether the expected
babe would be a girl, or a son and heir; and it seems likely that his
determination to remain in Egypt was largely due to his unwillingness
to depart before that question was answered. This, and the paternal
responsibility which perhaps for the first time in his sordid life he
had ever felt, led him to postpone his return to Rome. He seems to have
entertained feelings of the greatest tenderness towards the Queen,
whom he was beginning to regard as his wife; and he was, no doubt,
anxious to be near her during the ordeal through which the young and
delicately-built girl had, for the first time, to pass. It has been
the custom for historians to attribute Cæsar’s prolonged residence in
Egypt, after the termination of the war and the settlement of Egyptian
affairs, to the sensuous allurements of Cleopatra, who is supposed
to have held him captive by the arts of love and by the voluptuous
attractions of her person; but here a natural fact of life has been
overlooked. A woman who is about to render to mankind the great service
of her sex, has neither the ability nor the desire to arouse the
feverish emotions of her lover. Her condition calls forth from him the
more gentle aspects of his affection. His responsibility is expressed
in consideration, in interest, in sympathy, and in a kind of gratitude;
but it is palpably absurd to suppose that a mere passion, such as that
by which Cæsar is thought to have been animated, could at this time
have influenced his actions. If love of any kind held him in Egypt,
it was the love of a husband for his wife, the devotion of a man who
was about to become a parent to the woman who would presently pay toll
to Nature in response to his incitement. Actually, as we have seen,
there was something more than love to keep him in Egypt; there was
ambition, headlong aspiration, the intoxication of a conqueror turning
his mind to new conquests, and the supreme interest of a would-be king
constructing a throne which should be occupied not only by himself but
by the descendants of his own flesh and blood for all time.[40]

[Illustration:

    _British Museum._]                [_Photograph by Macbeth._

CLEOPATRA.]

While waiting for the desired event Cæsar could not remain inactive
in the Palace at Alexandria. He desired to ascertain for himself the
resources of the land which was to be considered as his wife’s dowry;
and he therefore determined to conduct a peaceful expedition up the
Nile with this subject in view. The royal _dahabiyeh_ or house-boat
was therefore made ready for himself and Cleopatra, whose condition
might be expected to benefit by the idle and yet interesting life upon
the river; and orders were given both to his own legionaries and to a
considerable number of Cleopatra’s troops to prepare themselves for
embarkation upon a fleet of four hundred Nile vessels. The number of
ships suggests that there were several thousand soldiers employed in
the expedition; and it appears to have been Cæsar’s intention to
penetrate far into the Sudan.[41] The royal vessel, or _thalamegos_,
as it was called by the Greeks, was of immense size, and was propelled
by many banks of oars.[42] It contained colonnaded courts, banqueting
saloons, sitting-rooms, bedrooms, shrines dedicated to Venus and to
Dionysos, and a grotto or “winter garden.” The wood employed was cedar
and cypress, and the decorations were executed in paint and gold-leaf.
The furniture was Greek, with the exception of that in one dining-hall,
which was decorated in the Egyptian style.[43] The rest of the fleet
consisted, no doubt, of galleys and ordinary native transports and
store-ships.

From the city of Alexandria the fleet passed into the nearest branch
of the Nile, and so travelled southwards to Memphis, where Cleopatra
perhaps obtained her first sight of the great Pyramids and the Sphinx.
Thebes, the ancient capital, at that period much fallen into decay,
was probably reached in about three weeks’ time; and Cæsar must have
been duly impressed by the splendid temples and monuments upon both
banks of the Nile. Possibly it was at his suggestion that Cleopatra
caused the great obelisk of one of her distant predecessors to be
moved from the temple of Luxor at Thebes and to be transported down
to Alexandria, where it was erected not far from the Forum,[44] an
inscription recording its re-erection being engraved at the base. The
journey was continued probably as far as Aswan and the First Cataract,
which may have been reached some four or five weeks after the departure
from Alexandria; and it would seem that Cæsar here turned his face to
the north once more. Suetonius states that he was anxious to proceed
farther up the Nile, but that his troops were restive and inclined
to be mutinous, a fact which is not surprising, since the labour of
dragging the vessels up the cataract would have been immense, and
the hot south winds which often blow in the spring would have added
considerably to the difficulties. The temperature at this time of year
may rise suddenly from the pleasant degree of an Egyptian winter to
that of the height of intolerable summer, and so remain for four or
five days.

Be this as it may, Cæsar turned about, having satisfied himself as
to the wealth and fertility of the country, and, no doubt, having
obtained as much information as possible from the natives in regard to
the trade-routes which led from the Nile to Berenice and India, or to
Meroe, Napata, and the Kingdom of Ethiopia. The expedition arrived at
Alexandria probably some nine or ten weeks after its departure from
that city--that is to say, at the end of the month of June; and it
would seem that in the first week of July Cleopatra’s confinement took
place.

The child proved to be a boy; and the delighted father thus found
himself the parent of a son and heir who was at once accepted by the
Egyptians as the legitimate child of the union of their Queen with the
god Amon, who had appeared in the form of Cæsar. He was named Cæsar,
or more familiarly Cæsarion, a Greek diminutive of the same word; but
officially, of course, he was known also as Ptolemy, and ultimately
was the sixteenth and last of that name. A bilingual inscription now
preserved at Turin refers to him as “Ptolemy, who is also called
Cæsar,” this being often seen in Egyptian inscriptions in the words
_Ptolemys zed nef Kysares_, “Ptolemy called Cæsar.”

The Dictator waited no longer in Egypt. For the last few months he had
put Roman politics from his thoughts and had not even troubled to write
any despatches to the home Government.[45] But now he had to create
the world-monarchy of which his winter with Cleopatra had led him to
dream; and first there were campaigns to be fought on the borders of
the Mediterranean; there was Parthia to be subdued; and finally India
was to be invaded and conquered. Then, when all the known world had
become dependent upon him, and only Egypt and her tributaries were
still outside Roman dominion, he would, by one bold stroke, announce
his marriage to the Queen of that country, incorporate her lands and
her vast wealth with those of Rome, and declare himself sole monarch of
the earth. It was a splendid ambition, worthy of a great man; and, as
we shall presently see, there can be very little question that these
glorious dreams would have been converted into actual realities had
not his enemies murdered him on the eve of their realisation. Modern
historians are unanimous in declaring that Cæsar had wasted his time
in Egypt, and had devoted to a love intrigue the weeks and months
which ought to have been spent in regulating the affairs of the world.
Actually, however, these nine months, far from being wasted, were
spent in the very creation of the Roman Empire. True, Cæsar’s schemes
were frustrated by the knives of his assassins; but, as will be seen in
the sequel, his plans were carried on by Cleopatra with the assistance
of Antony, and finally were put into execution by Octavian.

As Cæsar sailed out of the Great Harbour of Alexandria he must have
turned his keen grey eyes with peculiar interest upon the splendid
buildings of the Palace, which towered in front of the city, upon the
Lochias Promontory; and that quiet, whimsical expression must have
played around his close-shut lips as he thought of the change that
had been wrought in his mental attitude by the months spent amidst
its royal luxuries. Enthusiasm for the work which lay before him must
have burnt like a fire within him; but stamped upon his brain there
must have been the picture of a darkened room in which the wild,
happy-go-lucky, little Queen of Egypt, now so subdued and so gentle,
lay clasping to her breast the new-born Cæsar, the sole heir to the
kingdom of the whole world.




CHAPTER VIII.

CLEOPATRA AND CÆSAR IN ROME.


Cæsar’s movements during the year after his departure from Egypt do
not, for the purpose of this narrative, require to be recorded in
detail. From Alexandria, which he may have left at about the middle
of the first week in July, he sailed in a fast-going galley across
the 500 miles of open sea to Antioch, arriving at that city a few
days before the middle of that month.[46] There he spent a day or two
in regulating the affairs of the country, and presently sailed on to
Ephesus, some 600 miles from Antioch, which he probably reached at
the end of the third week of July. At Antioch he heard that one of
his generals, Domitius Calvinus, had been defeated by Pharnakes, the
son of Mithridates the Great, and had been driven out of Pontus, and
it seems that he at once sent three legions to the aid of the beaten
troops with orders to await in north-western Galatia or Cappadocia for
his coming. After a day or two at Ephesus, Cæsar travelled with extreme
rapidity to the rendezvous, taking with him only a thousand cavalry;
and arriving at Zela, 500 miles from Ephesus, on or before August
2nd, at once defeated the rebels. It had been his custom in Gaul to
travel by himself at the rate of a hundred miles a day, and even with
a heavily laden army he covered over forty miles a day, as for example
in his march from Rome to Spain, which he accomplished in twenty-seven
days, and he may thus have joined his main army and commenced his
preparations for the battle of Zela as early as the last days of July.
The crushing defeat which he inflicted on the enemy so shortly after
taking over the command was thus a feat of which he might justly be
proud, and it so tickled his vanity that in writing to a friend of his
in Rome, named Amantius, he described the campaign in the three famous
words, _Veni, vidi, vici_, “I came, I saw, I conquered,” which so
clearly indicate that he was beginning to regard himself as a sort of
swift-footed, irresistible demigod.

Thence he sailed at last for Italy, and reached Rome at the end of
September, almost exactly a year after his arrival in Egypt. He
remained in Rome not more than two and a half months, and about the
middle of December he set out for North Africa, where Cato, Scipio,
and other fugitive friends of Pompey had established a provisional
government with the assistance of Juba, King of Numidia, and were
gathering their forces. Arriving at Hadrumetum on December 28th, he
at once began the war, which soon ended in the entire defeat and
extermination of the enemy at Thapsus on April 6th. Of the famous
Pompeian leaders, Faustus Sulla, Lucius Africanus, and Lucius Julius
Cæsar were put to death; and Lucius Manlius Torquatus, Marcus Petreius,
Scipio, and Cato committed suicide; while, according to Plutarch, some
fifty thousand men were slain in the rout. Arriving once more in Rome
on July 25th, B.C. 46, Cæsar at once began to prepare for his Triumph
which was to take place in the following month; and it would seem that
he had already sent messengers to Cleopatra, who had spent a quiet year
of maternal interests in Alexandria, to tell her to come with their
baby to Rome.

According to Dion, the Queen arrived shortly _after_ the Triumph,
but several modern writers[47] are of opinion that she reached the
capital in time for that event. I am disposed to think that she made
the journey to Italy in company with the Egyptian prisoners who were
to be displayed in the procession, Princess Arsinoe, the eunuch
Ganymedes,[48] and others, whom Cæsar probably sent for in the late
spring of this year soon after the battle of Thapsus. Cleopatra
could not have been averse to witnessing the Triumph, for she must
have regarded the late warfare in Alexandria not so much as a Roman
campaign against the Egyptians as an Egypto-Roman suppression of an
Alexandrian insurrection. The serious part of the campaign could be
interpreted as having been waged by Cæsar on behalf of herself and
her brother, Ptolemy XIV., against the rebels Achillas and Ganymedes,
and later against this same Ptolemy who had gone over to the enemy;
and the victory might thus be celebrated both by her and by her Roman
champion. It would therefore be fitting that she should be a spectator
of the degradation of Arsinoe and Ganymedes; and her presence in Rome
at this time would obviously be desirable to her as indicating that she
and her country had suffered no defeat. Cæsar, on his part, must have
desired her presence that she might witness the dramatic demonstration
of his power and popularity. He had just been made Dictator for the
third time, and this appointment no doubt led him to feel the security
of his position and the imminence of that rise to monarchical power
in which Cleopatra and their son were to play so essential a part.
He was beginning to regard himself as above criticism; and his two
great victories, in Pontus and Numidia, following upon his nine months
of regal life in Egypt, had somewhat turned his head, so that he no
longer considered the advisability of delaying his future consort’s
introduction to the people of Rome. He had yet much to accomplish
before he could ascend with her the throne of the world, but there can
be no question whatsoever that he now desired Cleopatra to begin to
make herself known in the capital; and, this being so, it seems to me
to be highly probable that he would wish her to refute, by her presence
as a witness of his Triumph, any suggestion that she herself was to be
included in that conquered Egypt[49] about which he was so continuously
boasting.

The Queen of Egypt’s arrival in Rome must have caused something of a
sensation. Cartloads of baggage, and numerous agitated eunuchs and
slaves doubtless heralded her approach and followed in her train. Her
little brother, Ptolemy XV., now eleven or twelve years of age, whom
she had probably feared to leave alone in Alexandria lest he should
follow the family tradition and declare himself sole monarch, had been
forced to accompany her, and now added considerably to the commotion of
her arrival. The one-year-old heir of the Cæsars and of the Ptolemies,
surrounded by guards and fussing nurses, must, however, have been the
cynosure of all eyes; for every Roman guessed its parentage, knowing
as they did the peculiarities of their Dictator. Cleopatra and her
suite were accommodated in Cæsar’s _transtiberini horti_, where a
charming house stood amidst beautiful gardens on the right bank of
the Tiber, near the site of the modern Villa Panfili; and it is to be
presumed that his legal wife Calpurnia was left as mistress of another
establishment within the city.

Cæsar’s attitude towards Cleopatra at this time is not easily defined.
It is not to be presumed that he was still very deeply in love with
her; for natures such as his are totally incapable of continued
devotion. During his residence in North Africa in the winter or early
spring, he had been much attracted by Eunoe, the wife of Bogud, King
of Mauretania, and had consoled himself for the temporary loss of
Cleopatra by making her his mistress. Yet the Queen of Egypt still
exercised a very considerable influence over him; and when she came to
Rome it may be supposed that in his transpontine villa they resumed
with some satisfaction the intimate life which they had enjoyed in the
Alexandrian Palace. The first infatuation was over, however, and both
Cæsar and Cleopatra must have felt that the basis of their relationship
was now a business agreement designed for their mutual benefit. In all
but name they were married, and it was the fixed intention of both that
their marriage should presently be recognised in Rome as it already
had been in Egypt. Cæsar, I suppose, took keen pleasure in the company
of the witty, vivacious, and regal girl; and he was extremely happy to
see her lodged in his villa, whither he could repair at any time of
the day or night to enjoy her brilliant and refreshing society. Their
baby son, too, was a source of interest and enjoyment to him. He was
now fourteen months old, and his likeness to Cæsar, so pronounced in
after years, must already have been apparent. Suetonius states that the
boy came to resemble his father very closely, and both in looks and in
manners, notably in his walk, showed very clearly his origin. These
resemblances, already able to be observed, must have delighted Cæsar,
who took such careful pride in his own appearance and personality;
and they must have formed a bond between himself and Cleopatra as
nearly permanent as anything could be in his progressive and impatient
nature. The Queen, on her part, probably still took extreme pleasure
in the companionship of the great Dictator, who represented an ideal
both of manhood and of social charm. She must have loved the fertility
of his mind, the autocratic power of his will, and the energy of his
personality; and though premature age and ill-health were beginning
to diminish his aptitude for the _rôle_ of ardent swain, she found in
him, no doubt, a lovable friend and husband, and one with whom the
intimacies of daily comradeship were a cause of genuine happiness. They
were as well suited to one another as two ambitious characters could
be; and, moreover, they were irrevocably bound to one another by the
memory of past passion not yet altogether in abeyance, by the sympathy
of mutual understanding, by the identity of their worldly interests,
and by the responsibilities of correlative parentage.

The arrival of Cleopatra in Rome of course caused a scandal, to which
Cæsar showed his usual nonchalant indifference. People were sorry for
the Dictator’s legal wife Calpurnia, who, since her marriage in B.C.
59, had been left so much alone by her husband; and they were shocked
by the open manner in which the members of the Cæsarian party paid
court to the Queen. I find no evidence to justify the modern belief[50]
that Roman society was at the time annoyed at the introduction of an
_eastern_ lady into its midst;[51] for everybody must have known that
Cleopatra had not one drop of Egyptian blood in her veins, and must
have realised that she was a pure Macedonian Greek, ruling over a city
which was the centre of Greek culture and civilisation. But at the same
time there is evidence to show that the Romans did not like her. Cicero
wrote that he detested her;[52] and Dion says that the people pitied
Princess Arsinoe, her sister, whose degradation was a consequence of
Cleopatra’s success with Cæsar. On the whole, however, her advent did
not cause as much stir as might have been expected, for she seems to
have acted with tactful moderation in the capital, and to have avoided
all ostentation.

The Triumph which Cæsar celebrated in August for the amusement of
Rome and for his own enjoyment was fourfold in character, and lasted
for four days. Upon the first day Cæsar passed through the streets of
Rome in the _rôle_ of conqueror of Gaul, and when darkness had fallen
ascended the Capitol by torchlight, forty elephants carrying numerous
torch-bearers to right and left of his chariot. The unfortunate
Vercingetorix, who had been held prisoner for six miserable years,
was executed at the conclusion of this impressive parade--an act
of cold-blooded cruelty to an honourable foe (who had voluntarily
surrendered to Cæsar to save his countrymen from further punishment)
which, at the time, may have been excused on the ground that such
executions were customary at the end of a Triumph. Upon the second day
the conquest of the Dictator’s Egyptian enemies was celebrated, and
the Princess Arsinoe was led through the streets in chains, together,
it would seem, with Ganymedes, the latter perhaps being executed at
the close of the performance, and the former being spared as a sort
of compliment to Cleopatra’s royal house. In this procession images
of Achillas and Potheinos were carried along, and were greeted by the
populace with pleasant jeers; while a statue representing the famous
old Nilus, and a model of Pharos, the wonder of the world, reminded
the spectators of the importance of the country now under Roman
protection. African animals strange to Rome, such as the giraffe,
were led along in the procession, and other wonders from Egypt and
Ethiopia were displayed for the delight of the populace. On the third
day the conquest of Pontus was demonstrated, and a large tablet with
the arrogant words _Veni, Vidi, Vici_ painted upon it was carried
before the conqueror. Finally, on the fourth day the victories in North
Africa were celebrated. In this last procession Cæsar caused some
offence by exhibiting captured Roman arms; for the campaign had been
fought against Romans of the Pompeian party, a fact which at first he
had attempted to disguise by stating that the Triumph was celebrated
over King Juba of Numidia, who had sided with the enemy. Still graver
offence was caused, however, when it was seen that vulgar caricatures
of Cato and other of Cæsar’s personal enemies were exhibited in the
procession; and the populace must have questioned whether such a jest
at the expense of honourable Romans whose bodies were hardly yet cold
in their graves was in perfect taste. It would seem indeed that Cæsar’s
judgment in such matters had become somewhat warped during this last
year of military and administrative success, and that he had begun
to despise those who were opposed to him as though they could be but
misguided fools. In this attitude one sees, perhaps, something of
that same quality which led him blandly to accept in Egypt a sort of
divinity as by personal right, and which persuaded him to aim always
towards absolutism; for a man is in no wise normal who considers
himself a being meet for worship and his enemy an object fit only for
derision.

There seems, in fact, little doubt that Cæsar was not now in a normal
condition of mind. For some years he had been subject to epileptic
seizures, and now the distressing malady was growing more pronounced
and the seizures were of more frequent occurrence. At the battle of
Thapsus he is said to have been taken ill in this manner; and on
other occasions he was attacked while in discharge of his duties.
Such a physical condition may be accountable for much of his growing
eccentricity, and, particularly, one may attribute to it his increasing
faith in his semi-divine powers. Lombroso goes so far as to say that
epilepsy is almost an essential factor in the personality of one
who believes himself to be a Son of God or Messenger of the Deity.
Akhnaton, the great religious reformer of Ancient Egypt, suffered from
epilepsy; the Prophet Mohammed, to put it bluntly, had fits; and many
other religious reformers suffered in like manner. One cannot tell
what hallucinations and strange manifestations were experienced by
Cæsar under the influence of this malady; but one may be sure that to
Cleopatra they were clear indications of his close relationship to the
gods, and that in explanation she did not fail to remind him both of
his divine descent and her own inherited divinity, in which, as her
consort, he participated.

Towards the end of September Cæsar caused a sensation in Rome by
an act which shows clearly enough his attitude in this regard. He
consecrated a magnificent temple in honour of Venus Genetrix, his
divine ancestress; and there, in the splendour of its marble sanctuary,
he placed a statue of Cleopatra, which had been executed during
the previous weeks by the famous Roman sculptor, Archesilaus.[53]
The significance of this act has been overlooked by modern
historians. In placing in this shrine of Venus, at the time of its
inauguration, a figure of the Queen of Egypt, who in her own country
was the representative of Isis-Aphrodite upon earth,[54] Cæsar was
demonstrating the divinity of Cleopatra, and was telling the people,
as it were in everlasting phrases of stone, that the royal girl who
now honoured his villa on the banks of the Tiber was no less than a
manifestation of Venus herself. It will presently be seen how, in
after years, Cleopatra went to meet Antony decked in the character of
Venus, and how she was then and on other occasions hailed by the crowd
as the goddess come down to earth; and we shall see how her mausoleum
actually formed part of the temple of that goddess. Both at this date
and in later times she was identified indiscriminately with Isis,
with Venus-Hathor, and with Venus-Aphrodite; and even after her death
the tradition so far survived that one of her famous pearl earrings
was cut into two parts, and, in this form, ultimately ornamented the
ears of the statue of Venus in the Pantheon at Rome. Coins dating from
this period have been found upon which Cleopatra is represented as
Aphrodite, carrying in her arms the baby Cæsarion, who is supposed to
be Eros. Cæsar was always boasting about the connection of his house
with this goddess; and now the placing of this statue of Cleopatra
in his new temple is, I think, to be interpreted as signifying that
he wished the Roman people to regard the Queen as a “young goddess,”
which was the title given to her by the Greeks and Egyptians in her own
country.

It is not altogether certain that Cæsar himself was actually beginning
to regard Cleopatra in this light, though the increasing frequency of
his epileptic attacks, and his consequent hallucinations, may have
now made such an attitude possible even in the case of so hardened a
sceptic as was the Dictator in former years. It seems more reasonable
to suppose that he was at this time attempting to appeal to the
imagination of the people in anticipation of the great _coup_ which he
was about to execute; and that, with this object in view, he allowed
himself to be carried along by a kind of enthusiastic self-deception.
He applied no serious analysis to his opinions in this regard; but,
by means of a thoughtless vanity, he seems to have given rein to an
undefined conviction, very suitable to his great purpose, that he
himself was more than human, and that Cleopatra was not altogether
a woman of mortal flesh and blood. Even so Alexander the Great had
partially deluded himself when, on the one hand, he named himself
the son of Jupiter-Ammon, and, on the other, was careful, once when
wounded, to point out that ordinary mortal blood flowed from his veins.
And so, too, Napoleon Bonaparte, during his invasion of Egypt, declared
that he was the Prophet of God, and, in after years, was willing to
describe to a friend, as it were in jest, his vision of himself as the
founder of a new Faith.

The inauguration of Cæsar’s new temple, which was, one may say, the
shrine of Cleopatra, was accompanied by amazing festivities, and the
excitable population of this great city seemed, so to speak, to go
mad with enthusiasm. Great gladiatorial shows were organised, and a
miniature sea-fight upon an artificial lake was enacted for the public
entertainment. The majority of the mob was ready enough to accept
without comment the exalted position of the statue of Cleopatra. At
this time in Rome they were very partial to new and foreign deities,
celestial or in the flesh; and actually the worship of the Egyptian
goddess Isis, with whom Cleopatra, as Venus, was so closely connected,
had taken firm hold of their imagination. For the last few years the
religion of Isis had been extremely popular with the lower classes
in Rome; and when, in B.C. 58, a law which had been made forbidding
foreign temples to be located within a certain area of the city,
necessitated the destruction of a temple of Isis, not one man could
be found who would touch the sacred building, and at last the Consul,
Lucius Paullus, was obliged to tuck up his toga and set to work upon
the demolition of the edifice with his own hands. Thus, this inaugural
ceremony, so lavishly organised by Cæsar, was a marked success; and
in spite of the indignation of Cicero, the statue of Cleopatra took
its permanent place, with popular consent, in the sanctuary of Venus.
No expense was spared on this or on any other occasion to please the
people; and at one time twenty-two thousand persons partook of a
sumptuous meal at Cæsar’s expense. Such a courting of the people was,
indeed, necessary at this time; for although the Dictator was at the
moment practically omnipotent, and though there was talk of securing
him in his office for a term of ten years, his party had not that
solidity which was to be desired of it. Antony, the right-hand man of
the Cæsarians, was, at the time, in some disgrace owing to a quarrel
with his master; and there were rumours that he wished to revenge
himself by assassinating Cæsar. It was already becoming clear that the
Pompeian party, in spite of Pharsalia and Thapsus, was not yet dead,
and still waited to receive its death-blow. Some of the Dictator’s
actions had given considerable offence, and there were certain people
in Rome who made use of every opportunity to denounce him, and to offer
their praise to the memory of his enemy Cato, whose tragic death after
the battle of Thapsus, and the vilification of whose memory in the
recent Triumph, had caused such a painful impression. Cicero wrote an
encomium upon this unfortunate man, to which Cæsar, in self-defence,
replied by publishing his Anti-Cato, which was marked by a tone of
bitter and even venomous animosity. All manner of unpleasant remarks
were being made in better-class circles in regard to Cleopatra; and
when the Dictator publicly admitted the parentage of their child, and
authorised him to bear the name of Cæsar, it began to be whispered that
his legal marriage to the Queen was imminent.

The mixed population of Rome delighted in political strife, and
though Cæsar’s position seemed unassailable, there were always large
numbers of persons ready to make sporadic attacks upon it. There was
at this time constant rioting in the Forum, and an almost continuous
restlessness was to be observed in the streets and public places. In
the theatres topical allusions were received with frantic applause;[55]
and even in the Senate disturbances were not infrequent. The people
had always to be humoured, and Cæsar was obliged at all times to play
to the gallery. Fortunately for him he possessed in the highest degree
the art of self-advertisement;[56] and his charm of manner, together
with his striking and handsome appearance, made the desired appeal to
the popular fancy. His relationship to Cleopatra stood, on the whole,
in his favour amongst the lower classes, who had hailed him with coarse
delight as the terror of the women of Gaul; and the fact that she was
a foreigner mattered not in the least to the heterogeneous population
of Rome. They themselves were largely a composition of the nations of
the earth; and that Cæsar’s mistress, and probable future wife, was a
Greek, was to them in no wise a matter for comment. In any theatre in
Rome at that date one might sit amidst an audience of foreigners to
hear a drama given (at Cæsar’s expense, by the way) in language such as
Greek, Phœnician, Hebrew, Syrian, or Spanish. To them Cleopatra must
have appeared as a wonderful woman, closely related to the gods, come
from a famous city across the waters to enjoy the society of their own
half-godlike Dictator; and they were quite prepared to accept her as a
pleasant and romantic adjunct to the political situation.

Among the many reforms which Cæsar now introduced there was one which
was the direct outcome of his visit to Egypt. For some time the
irregularities of the calendar had been causing much inconvenience,
and the Dictator, very probably at the Queen of Egypt’s suggestion,
now decided to invite some of Cleopatra’s court astronomers to Rome in
order that they might establish a new system based upon the Egyptian
calendar of Eudoxus. Sosigenes was at that time the most celebrated
astronomer in Alexandria, and it was to him, perhaps at Cleopatra’s
advice, that Cæsar now turned. After very careful study it was decided
that the present year, B.C. 46, should be extended to fifteen months,
or 445 days, in order that the nominal date might be brought round to
correspond with the actual season. The so-called Julian calendar, which
was thus established, is that upon which our present system is based;
and it is not without interest to recollect that but for Cleopatra some
entirely different set of months would now be used throughout the world.

Cæsar’s mind at this time was full of his plans for the conquest of
the East. In B.C. 65 Pompey had brought to Rome many details regarding
the overland route to the Orient. This route started from the Port
of Phasis on the Black Sea, ascended the river of that name to its
source in Iberia, passed over to the valley of the river Cyrus (Kur),
and so came to the coast of the Caspian Sea. Crossing the water the
route thence led along the river Oxus, which at that time flowed into
the Caspian, to its source, and thus through Cashmir into India.
There must then have been some talk of carrying the eagles along this
highway to the Orient; and while Cæsar was in Egypt it seems probable,
as we have seen, that he had studied the question of leading Roman
arms thither by the great Egyptian trade route. Though this latter
road to the wonderful Orient, however, must have seemed to him, after
consideration, to be very suitable as a channel for the despatch of
reinforcements, he appears to have favoured the land route across Asia
for his original invasion. This approach to the East was blocked by
the Parthians, and Cæsar now announced his intention of conducting a
campaign against these people. There is no evidence to show that he
desired to follow Alexander’s steps beyond Parthia into India, but I
am of opinion that such was his intention. In view of the facts that
the exploits of Alexander the Great had been studied by him, that he
publicly declared his wish to rival them, that he must have heard
from Pompey of the overland route to India with which the Romans had
become acquainted during the war against Mithridates, that his love
of distant conquest and exploration was inordinate, that he had spent
some months in studying conditions in Egypt--a country which was in
those days full of talk of India and of the new trade with the Orient,
that after leaving Egypt he began at once to prepare for a campaign
against the one nation which obstructed the overland route to the
East, that no other part of the known world, save poverty-stricken
Germania, remained to be brought by conquest under Roman sway, that
India offered possibilities of untold wealth, and that Cleopatra
herself ultimately made an attempt to reach those far countries,--the
inference seems to me to be clear that Cæsar’s designs upon Parthia
were only preliminary to a contemplated invasion of the East. The
riches of those distant lands were already the talk of the age, and
within the lifetime of young men of this period streams of Indian
merchandise, comprising diamonds, precious stones, silks, spices, and
scents, began to pour into Rome and were sold each year, according
to the somewhat exaggerated account of Pliny, for some forty million
pounds sterling.[57] Could Cæsar, the world’s greatest spendthrift, the
world’s most eager plunderer, have resisted the temptation of making a
bid for the loot which lay behind Parthia? Does the fact that he said
nothing of such an intention preclude the possibility that thoughts
of this kind now filled his mind, and formed a topic of conversation
between him and the adventurous Cleopatra, the Ruler of the gateway of
the Orient, who herself sent Cæsar’s son to India, as we shall see in
due course? Napoleon, when he invaded Egypt in 1798, said very little
about his contemplated attack upon India; but it was none the less
dominant in his mind for that. Egypt and Parthia in conjunction formed
the basis of any attempt to capture the Orient: Egypt with its route
across the seas, and Parthia with its highroad overland. Are we really
to suppose that Cæsar did waste his time in Egypt, or was he then
studying the same problem which now directed his attention to Parthia?
By means of his partnership with Cleopatra he had secured one of the
routes to India; and the merchants of Alexandria, if not his own great
imagination, must have made clear to him the value of his possession
in that regard; for ever since the discovery of the over-sea route to
the East that value has been recognised. The Venetian Sanuto in later
years told his compatriots of the effect on India which would follow
from the conquest of the Nile Valley; the Comte Daru said that the
possession of Egypt meant the opening up of India; Leibnitz told Louis
XIV. of France that an invasion of Egypt would result in the capture
of the Indian highroad; the Duc de Choiseul made a similar declaration
to Louis XV.; Napoleon stated in his ‘Memoirs’ that his object in
attacking Egypt was to lead an army of 60,000 men to India; and at the
present day England holds the Nile Valley as being the gateway of her
distant possessions. On the other side of the picture we see at the
present time the attempts of Russia to establish her power in Northern
Persia and Afghanistan, where once the Parthians of old held sway,
in order to be ready for that day when English power in India shall
decline. Was Cæsar, then, straining every nerve only for the possession
of the two gateways of the Orient, or did his gaze penetrate through
those gateways to the vast wealth of the kingdoms beyond? I am disposed
to see him walking with Cleopatra in the gardens of the villa by the
Tiber, just as Napoleon paced the parks of Passeriano, “frequently
betraying by his exclamations the gigantic thoughts of his unlimited
ambition,” as Lacroix tells us of the French conqueror.

Such dreams, however, were rudely interrupted by the news that the
Pompeian party had gathered its forces in Spain; and Cæsar was obliged
to turn his attention to that part of the world. In the winter of
B.C. 46, therefore, he set out for the south-west, impatient at the
delay which the new campaign necessitated in his great schemes. He was
in no mood to brook any opposition in Rome, and before leaving the
capital he arranged that he should be made Consul without a colleague
for the ensuing year B.C. 45, as well as Dictator, thus giving himself
absolutely autocratic power. On his way to Spain he sent a despatch
to Rome, appointed eight _praefecti urbi_ with full powers to act in
his name, thus establishing a form of cabinet government which should
entirely over-ride the wishes of the Senate and of the people; and in
this manner he secured the political situation to his own advantage.
Naturally there was a very great outcry against this high-handed
action; but Cæsar was far too deeply occupied by his vast schemes, and
far too annoyed by this Spanish interruption of his course towards the
great goal of his ambitions, to pay much attention to the outraged
feelings of his political opponents.

The enemy in Spain were led by the two sons of the great Pompey,
but at the battle of Munda, fought on March 17, B.C. 45, they were
entirely defeated with a loss of some thirty thousand men. The elder
of the two leaders, Cnæus Pompeius, who was said to have once been a
suitor for Cleopatra’s heart, was killed shortly after the battle, but
the younger, Sextus, escaped. Cæsar then returned to Rome, being met
outside the capital by Antony, with whom he was reconciled; and in the
early summer he celebrated his Triumph. In this he offended a number
of persons, owing to the fact that his victory had been won over his
fellow-countrymen, whose defeat, therefore, ought not to have been
the cause of more than a silent satisfaction. After Pharsalia Cæsar
had celebrated no triumph, since Romans had there fought Romans; and,
indeed, as Plutarch says, “he had seemed rather to be ashamed of the
action than to expect honour from it.” But now he had come to feel
that he himself was Rome, and that his enemies were not simply opposed
to his party but were in arms against the State.

Knowing now that the Pompeians were at last crushed, Cæsar decided to
attempt to appease any ill-feeling directed against himself by the
friends of the fallen party; and for this purpose he caused the statues
of Pompey the Great, which had been removed from their pedestals, to
be replaced; and furthermore, he pardoned, and even gave office to,
several leaders of the Pompeian party, notably to Brutus and Cassius,
who afterwards were ranked amongst his murderers. He then settled
down in Rome to prepare for his campaign in the East, and, in the
meantime, to put into execution the many administrative reforms which
were maturing in his restless brain. It appears that he lived for the
most part of this time in the house of which his wife Calpurnia was
mistress; but there can be little doubt that he was a constant visitor
at his transpontine villa, and that he spent all his spare hours there
in the society of Cleopatra, who remained in Rome until his death.




CHAPTER IX.

THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EGYPTO-ROMAN MONARCHY.


The people of Rome now began to heap honours upon Cæsar, and the
government which he had established did not fail to justify its
existence by voting him to a position of irrevocable power. He was made
Consul for ten years, and there was talk of decreeing him Dictator
for life. The Senate became simply an instrument for the execution
of his commands; and so little did the members concern themselves
with the framing of new laws at home, or with the details of foreign
administration, that Cicero is able to complain that in his official
capacity he had received the thanks of Oriental potentates whose names
he had never seen before, for their elevation to thrones of kingdoms
of which he had never heard. Cæsar’s interests were world-wide, and
the Government in Rome carried out his wishes in the manner in which
an ignorant Board of Directors of a company with foreign interests
follows the advice of its travelling manager. He had lived for such
long periods in foreign countries, his campaigns had carried him over
so much of the known world’s surface, that Rome appeared to him to be
nothing more than the headquarters of his administration, and not a
very convenient centre at that. His intimacy with Cleopatra, moreover,
had widened his outlook, and had very materially assisted him to become
an arbiter of universal interests. Distant cities, such as Alexandria,
were no longer to him the capitals of foreign lands, but were the seats
of local governments within his own dominions; and the throne towards
which he was climbing was set at an elevation from which the nations of
the whole earth could be observed.

In accepting as his own business the concerns of so many lands, he
was assuming responsibilities the weight of which no man could bear;
yet his dislike of receiving advice, and his uncontrolled vanity, led
him to resent all interference, nor would he admit that the strain
was too great for his weakened physique. Intimate friends of the
Dictator, such as Balbus and Oppius, observed that he was daily growing
more irritable, more self-opinionated; and the least suggestion of a
decentralisation of his powers caused him increasing annoyance. He
wished always to hold the threads of the entire world’s concerns in his
own hands. Now he was discussing the future of North African Carthage
and of Grecian Corinth, to which places he desired to send out Roman
colonists; now he was regulating the affairs of Syria and Asia Minor;
and now he was absorbed in the agrarian problems of Italy. There were
times when the weight of universal affairs pressed so heavily upon him
that he would exclaim that he had lived long enough; and in such moods,
when his friends warned him of the possibility of his assassination, he
would reply that death was not such a terrible matter, nor a disaster
which could come to him more than once. The frequency of his epileptic
seizures was a cause of constant distress to him, and his gaunt,
almost haggard, appearance must have indicated to his friends that the
strain was becoming unbearable. Yet ever his ambitions held him to his
self-imposed task; and always his piercing eyes were set upon that goal
of all his schemes, the monarchy of the earth.

People were now beginning to discuss openly the subject of his
elevation to the throne. It was freely stated that he proposed to
make himself King and Cleopatra Queen, and, further, that he intended
to transfer the seat of his government to Alexandria, or some other
eastern city. The site of Rome was not ideal. It was too far from the
sea ever to be a first-rate centre of commerce; nor had it any natural
sources of wealth in the neighbourhood. The streets, which were narrow
and crookedly built, were liable to be flooded at certain seasons by
the swift-flowing Tiber.[58] Pestilence and sickness were rife amongst
the congested quarters of the city; and in the middle ages, as Mommsen
has pointed out, “one German army after another melted away under
its walls and left it mysteriously victorious.” After the battle of
Actium, Augustus wished to change the capital to some other quarter
of the globe, as, for example, to Byzantium; and it is very possible
that the idea originated with Cæsar. At the period with which we are
now dealing Rome was far less magnificent than it became a few years
later, and it must have compared unfavourably with Alexandria and other
cities. Its streets ascended and descended, twisted this way and that,
in an amazing manner; and so narrow were they that Cæsar was obliged
to pass a law prohibiting waggons from being driven along them in the
daytime, all porterage being performed by men or beasts of burden.
The great public buildings and palaces of the rich rose from amidst
the encroaching jumble of small houses like exotic plants hemmed in
by a mass of overgrown weeds; and Cæsar must often have given envious
thought to Alexandria with its great Street of Canopus and its Royal
Area.

Those who study the lives of Cleopatra and Cæsar in conjunction cannot
fail to ask themselves how far the Queen influenced the Dictator’s
thoughts at this time. During these last years of his life--the
years which mark his greatness and give him his unique place in
history--Cleopatra was living in the closest intimacy with him; and, so
far as we know, there was not another man or woman in the world who had
such ample opportunities for playing an influential part in his career.
If Cleopatra was interested, as we know she was, in the welfare of her
country and her royal house, or in the career of herself and Cæsar, or
in the destiny of their son, it is palpably impossible to suppose that
she did not discuss matters of statecraft with the man who was, in all
but name, her husband. At a future date Cleopatra was strong enough to
play one of the big political _rôles_ in history, dealing with kingdoms
and armies as the ordinary woman deals with a house and servants; and
in the light of the knowledge of her character as it is unfolded to
us in the years after the Dictator’s death, it is not reasonable to
suppose that in Rome she kept aloof from all his schemes and plans,
deeming herself capable of holding the attention of the master of the
world’s activities by the entertainments of the boudoir and the arts
of the bedchamber. Her individuality does not dominate the last years
of the Roman Republic, merely because of the profligacy of her life
with Antony and the tragedy of their death, but because her personality
was so irresistible that it influenced in no small degree the affairs
of the world. I am of opinion that Cleopatra’s name would have been
stamped upon the history of this period even though the events which
culminated at Actium had never occurred. The romantic tragedy of her
connection with Antony has captured the popular taste, and has diverted
the attention of historians from the facts of her earlier years. There
is a tendency completely to overlook the influence which she exercised
in the politics of Rome during the last years of Cæsar’s life.[59] The
eyes of historians are concentrated upon the Alexandrian drama, and the
tale of Cleopatra’s life in the Dictator’s villa is overlooked. Yet who
will be so bold as to state that a Queen, whose fortunes were linked
by Cæsar with his own at the height of his power, left no mark upon
the events of that time? When Cleopatra came to Rome her outlook upon
life must have been in striking contrast to that of the Romans. The
republic was still the accepted form of government, and as yet there
was no definite movement towards monarchism. The hereditary emperors
of the future were hardly dreamed of, and the kings of the far past
were nigh forgotten. Now, although it may be supposed that Cleopatra,
by contact with the world, had adopted a moderately rational view of
her status, yet there can be no doubt that the sense of her royal
and divine personality was far from dormant in her. Her education and
upbringing, as I have already said, and now the adulation of Cæsar,
must have influenced her mind, so that the knowledge of her royalty was
at all times almost her predominant characteristic; and it would be
strange indeed if the Dictator’s thoughts had been proof against the
insinuating influence of this atmosphere in which he chose to spend a
great portion of his time. Did Rome herself supply Cæsar’s stimulus,
Rome which had not known monarchy for four hundred and fifty years?
But admitting that Rome was ripe for monarchy, and that circumstances
to some extent forced Cæsar towards that form of government, can we
declare that the Dictator would, of his own accord, have embraced
sovereignty and even divinity so rapidly had his consort not been a
Queen and a goddess?

During the last months of his life--namely, from his return to Rome in
the early summer after the Spanish campaign to his assassination in
the following March--Cæsar vigorously pressed forward his schemes in
regard to the monarchy. Originally, it would seem, he had intended to
complete his eastern conquests before making any attempt to obtain the
throne; but now the long delay in his preparations for the Parthian
campaign had produced a feeling of impatience which could no longer be
controlled. Moreover, his attention had been called to an old prophecy
which stated that the Parthians would not be conquered until a _King_
of Rome made war upon them; and Cæsar was sufficiently acute, if not
sufficiently superstitious, to be influenced to an appreciable extent
by such a declaration. Little by little, therefore, he assumed the
prerogatives of kingship, daily adding to the royal character of his
appearance, and daily assuming more autocratic and monarchical powers.

It was not long before he caused himself to be given the
hereditary title of Imperator, a word which meant at that time
“Commander-in-chief,” and had no royal significance, though the fact
that it was made hereditary gave it a new significance. It is to be
observed that the persons who framed the decree must have realised
that the son to whom the title would descend would probably be that
baby Cæsar who now ruled the nurseries of the villa beside the Tiber;
for there can be little doubt that the Dictator’s legitimate marriage
to Cleopatra at the first opportune moment was confidently expected
by his supporters; and we are thus presented with the novel spectacle
of enthusiastic Roman statesmen offering the hereditary office of
Imperator to the future King of Egypt. There can surely be no clearer
indication than this that the people of Rome took no exception to
Cleopatra’s foreign blood,[60] nor thought of her in any way as an
Oriental. The attitude of the majority of modern historians suggests
that they picture the Dictator at this time as living with some sort
of African woman whom he had brought back with him from Egypt; but I
must repeat that I am convinced that in actual fact the Romans regarded
Cleopatra as a royal Greek lady whose capital city of Alexandria was
the rival of the Eternal City in wealth, magnificence, and culture,
bearing to Rome, to some extent, the relationship which New York bears
to London. It was rumoured at this time that a law was about to be
introduced by one of the tribunes of the people which would enable
Cæsar, if necessary, to have two wives--Calpurnia and Cleopatra--and
that the new wife need not be a Roman. The people could have felt no
misgivings at the thought of Cleopatra’s son being Cæsar’s heir; for
already they knew well enough that Cæsar was to be King of Rome, and by
his marriage with Cleopatra they realised that he was adding to Rome’s
dominions without force of arms the one great kingdom of the civilised
world which was still independent, and was securing for his heirs
upon the Roman throne the honourable appendage of the oldest crown in
existence, and the vast fortune which went with it. In later years,
when Cleopatra as the consort of Antony had become a public enemy,
there was much talk of an East-Mediterranean peril, and the Queen came
to represent Oriental splendour as opposed to Occidental simplicity;
but at the time with which we are now dealing this attitude was
entirely undeveloped, and Cleopatra was regarded as the most suitable
mother for that son of Cæsar who should one day inherit his honours and
his titles.

[Illustration:

    _Vatican_]      [_Photograph by Anderson._

JULIUS CÆSAR.]

At about this date the baby actually became uncrowned King of Egypt,
for Cleopatra’s young brother, Ptolemy XV., mysteriously passes from
the records of history, and is heard of no more. Whether Cleopatra
and Cæsar caused him to be murdered as standing in the way of their
ambitions, or whether he died a natural death, will now never be
known. He comes into the story of these eventful days like a shadow,
and like a shadow he disappears; and all that we know concerning his
end is derived from Josephus,[61] who states that he was poisoned
by his sister. Such an accusation, however, is only to be expected,
and would certainly have been made had the boy died of a sudden
illness. It is therefore not just to Cleopatra to burden her memory
with the crime; and all that one may now say is that, while the death
of the unfortunate young King may be attributed to Cleopatra without
improbability, there is really no reason to suppose that she had
anything to do with it.

Cæsar now caused a statue of himself to be erected in the Capitol
as the eighth royal figure there, the previous seven being those of
the old Kings of Rome. Soon he began to appear in public clad in the
embroidered dress of the ancient monarchs of Alba; and he caused
his head to appear in true monarchical manner upon the Roman coins.
A throne of gold was provided for him to sit upon in his official
capacity in the Senate and on his tribunal; and in his hand he now
carried a sceptre of ivory, while upon his head was a chaplet of gold
in the form of a laurel-wreath. A consecrated chariot, like the sacred
chariot of the Kings of Egypt, was provided for his conveyance at
public ceremonies, and a kind of royal bodyguard of senators and nobles
was offered to him. He was given the right, moreover, of being buried
inside the city walls, just as Alexander the Great had been laid to
rest within the Royal Area at Alexandria. These marks of kingship,
when observed in conjunction with the hereditary title of Imperator
which had been conferred upon him, and the lifelong Dictatorship which
was about to be offered to him, are indications that the goal was now
very near at hand; and both Cæsar and Cleopatra must have lived at the
time in a state of continuous excitement and expectation. Everybody
knew what was in the air, and Cicero went so far as to write a long
letter to Cæsar urging him not to make himself King, but he was advised
not to send it. The ex-Consul Lucius Aurelius Cotta inserted the thin
edge of the wedge by proposing that Cæsar should be made King of the
Roman dominions _outside_ Italy; but the suggestion was not taken up
with much enthusiasm. Cæsar himself seems to have been undecided as to
whether he should postpone the great event until after the Parthian war
or not, and the settlement of this question must have given rise to the
most anxious discussions.

There was no longer need for the Dictator to hide his intentions with
any great care; and as a preliminary measure he did not hesitate to
proclaim to the public his belief in the divinity of his person. He
caused his image to be carried in the _Pompa circenis_ amongst those of
the immortal gods. A temple dedicated to Jupiter-Julius was decreed,
and a statue in his likeness was set up in the temple of Quirinus,
inscribed with the words, “To the Immortal God.” A college of priestly
_Luperci_, of whom we shall presently learn more, was established in
his honour; and _flamines_ were created as priests of his godhead,
an institution which reminds one of the manner in which the Pharaoh
of Egypt was worshipped by a body of priests. A bed of state was
provided for him within the chief temples of Rome. In the formulæ of
the political oaths in which Jupiter and the Penates of the Roman
people had been named, the _Genius_ of Cæsar was now called upon, just
as in Egypt the _Ka_, or genius, of the sovereign was invoked. “The old
national faith,” says Mommsen, “became the instrument of a Cæsarian
papacy”; and indeed it may be said that it became the instrument
actually of a supreme Cæsarian deification.

By the end of the year B.C. 45 and the beginning of B.C. 44 there
was no longer any doubt in the minds of the Roman people that Cæsar
intended presently to ascend the throne; and the only question asked
was as to whether the event would take place before or after the
Eastern campaign. Some time before February 15th he was made Dictator
for life; and this, regarded in conjunction with the homage now paid to
his person, and the hereditary nature of his title of Imperator, made
the margin between his present status and that of kingship exceedingly
narrow. It is probable that Cæsar was not determined to introduce
the old title of “King,” although he affected the dress and insignia
of those who had been “kings” of Rome. It is more likely that he was
seeking some new monarchical title; and when, on one occasion, he
declared “I am Cæsar, and no ‘King,’” he may already have decided to
elevate his personal name to the significance of the royal title which
it ultimately became, and still in this twentieth century continues to
be.[62]

His arrogance was daily becoming more pronounced, and his ambition
was now “swell’d so much that it did almost stretch the sides o’ the
world.”[63] He severely rebuked Pontius Aquila, one of the Tribunes,
for not rising when he passed in front of the Tribunician seats; and
for some time afterwards he used to qualify any declaration which he
made in casual conversation by the sneering words, “By Pontius Aquila’s
kind permission.” Once, when a deputation of Senators came to him to
confer new honours upon him, he, on the other hand, received them
without rising from his seat; and he was now wont to keep his closest
friends waiting in an anteroom for an audience, a fact of which Cicero
bitterly complains. When his authority was questioned he invariably
lost his temper, and would swear in the most horrible manner. “Men
ought to look upon what I say as _law_,” he is reported by Titus
Ampius to have said; and, indeed, there were very few persons who had
the hardihood not to do so. On a certain occasion it was discovered
that some enthusiast had placed a royal diadem upon the head of one
of his statues, and, very correctly, the two Tribunes caused it to be
removed. This so infuriated Cæsar, who declared the official act to
be a deliberate insult, that he determined to punish the two men at
the first convenient opportunity. On January 26th of the new year this
opportunity presented itself. As he was walking through the streets
some persons in the crowd hailed him as King, whereupon these zealous
officials ordered them to be arrested and flung into prison. Cæsar at
once raised an appalling storm, the result of which was that the two
Tribunes were expelled from the Senate.

Cleopatra’s attitude could not well fail to be influenced by that of
the Dictator; and it is probable that she gave some offence by an
occasional haughtiness of manner. Her Egyptian chamberlains and court
officials must also have annoyed the Romans by failing to disguise
their Alexandrian vanity; and there can be little doubt that many of
Cæsar’s friends began to regard the menage at the transpontine villa
with growing dislike. A letter written by Cicero to his friend Atticus
is an interesting commentary upon the situation. It seems that the
great writer had been favoured by Cleopatra with the promise of a gift
suitable to his standing, probably in return for some service which he
had rendered her. “I detest the Queen,” he writes, “and the voucher
for her promises, Hammonios, knows that I have good cause for saying
so. What she promised, indeed, were all things of the learned sort
and suitable to my character, such as I could avow even in a public
meeting. As for Sara (pion),[64] besides finding him an unprincipled
rascal, I also found him inclined to give himself airs towards me.
I only saw him once at my house; and when I asked him politely what
I could do for him, he said that he had come in hopes of seeing
Atticus. The Queen’s insolence, too, when she was living in Cæsar’s
trans-tiberine villa,[65] I cannot recall without a pang. So I will not
have anything to do with that lot.”

The ill-feeling towards Cæsar, which was very decidedly on the
increase, is sufficient to account for the growing unpopularity of
Cleopatra; but it is possible that it was somewhat accentuated by a
slight jealousy which must have been felt by the Romans owing to the
Dictator’s partiality for things Egyptian. Not only did it appear to
Cæsar’s friends that he was modelling his future throne upon that of
the Ptolemies and was asserting his divinity in the Ptolemaic manner;
not only had he been thought to desire Alexandria as the capital of the
Empire; but also he was employing large numbers of Egyptians in the
execution of his schemes. Egyptian astronomers had reformed the Roman
calendar; the Roman mint was being improved by Alexandrian coiners;
the whole of his financial arrangements, it would seem, were entrusted
to Alexandrians;[66] while many of his public entertainments, as, for
example, the naval displays enacted at the inauguration of the Temple
of Venus, were conducted by Egyptians. Cæsar’s object in thus using
Cleopatra’s subjects must have been due, to some extent, to his desire
to familiarise his countrymen with those industrious Alexandrians who
were to play so important a part in the construction of the new Roman
Empire.

The great schemes and projects which were now placed before the Senate
by Cæsar must have startled that institution very considerably. Almost
every day some new proposal was formulated or some new law drafted.
At one time the diverting of the Tiber from its course occupied the
Dictator’s attention; at another time he was arranging to cut a canal
through the Isthmus of Corinth. Now he was planning the construction
of a road over the Apennines; and now he was deep in schemes for the
creation of a vast port at Ostia. Plans of great public buildings to
be erected at Alexandria or in Rome were being submitted to him; or,
again, he was arranging for the establishment of public libraries in
various parts of the capital. Meanwhile the preparations for the
Parthian war must have occupied the greater part of his time; for the
campaign was to be of a vast character. So sure was he that it would
last for three years or more that he framed a law by virtue of which
the magistrates and public officials for the next three years should
be appointed before his departure. He thereby insured the tranquillity
of Rome during his prolonged absence in the east, thus leaving himself
free to carry his arms into remote lands where communication with the
capital might be almost impossible. When we recollect that Cæsar’s
recent campaigns had all been of but a few months or weeks duration,
and that the words _veni, vidi, vici_ now represented his mature
belief in his own capabilities, these plans for a three years’ absence
from Rome seem to me to indicate clearly that he had no intention of
confining himself to the conquest of Parthia, but desired to follow in
Alexander’s footsteps to India, and thence to return to Rome laden with
the loot of that vast country. He must have pictured himself entering
the capital at the end of the war as the conqueror of the East, and
there could have been no doubt in his mind that the delighted populace
would then accept with enthusiasm his claim to the throne of the world.

As the weeks went by Cæsar’s plans in regard to the monarchy became
more clearly defined. He does not now seem to have considered it very
wise to press forward the assumption of the sovereignty previous to
the Parthian war, since his long absence immediately following his
elevation to the throne might prove prejudicial to the new office.
Moreover, a strong feeling had developed against his contemplated
assumption of royalty, and Cæsar must have been aware that he could
not put his plans into execution without considerable opposition.
Plutarch tells us that “his desire of being King had brought upon
him the most apparent and mortal hatred,--a fact which proved the
most plausible pretence to those who had been his secret enemies all
along.” Much adverse comment had been made with reference to his not
rising to receive the Senatorial deputation; and indeed he felt it
necessary to make excuses for his action, saying that his old illness
was upon him at the time. A report was spread that he himself would
have been willing to rise, but that Balbus had said to him, “Will you
not remember you are Cæsar and claim the honour due to your merit?”
and it was further related that when the Dictator had realised the
offence he had given, he had bared his throat to his friends, and had
told them that he was ready to lay down his life if the public were
angry with him. Incidents such as this showed that the time was not yet
wholly favourable for his _coup_; and reluctantly Cæsar was obliged to
consider its postponement. On the other hand, there was something to
be said in favour of immediate action, and he must have been more or
less prepared to accept the kingship if it were urged upon him before
he set out for the East. The position of Cleopatra, however, must have
caused him some anxiety. Without her and their baby son the creation of
an hereditary monarchy would be superfluous. His own wife Calpurnia did
not seem able to furnish him with an heir, and there was certainly no
other woman in Rome who could be expected to act the part of Queen with
any degree of success, even if she were proficient in the production
of sons and heirs. Yet how, on the instant, was he to rid himself of
Calpurnia and marry Cleopatra without offending public taste? If he
were to accept the kingship at once and make Cleopatra his wife, was
she capable of sustaining with success the _rôle_ of Queen of Rome
in solitude for three years while he was away at the wars? Would it
not be much wiser to send her back to Egypt for this period, there to
await his return, and then to marry her and to ascend the throne at one
and the same instant? During his absence in the East Calpurnia might
conveniently meet with a sudden and fatal illness, and no man would
dare to attribute her death to his and the apothecary’s ingenuity.

The will which he now made, or confirmed, in view of his departure,
shows clearly that his desire for the monarchy was incompatible with
his present marital conditions. Without a Queen and a son and heir
there could be little point in creating a throne, since already he
had been made absolute autocrat for his lifetime; for unless the
office was to be handed on without dispute to his son Cæsarion,
there was no advantage in striving for an immediate elevation to
the kingship. By his will, therefore, which was made in view of his
possible death before he had ascended his future throne, he simply
divided his property, giving part of it to the nation and part to his
relations, his favourite nephew, Octavian, receiving a considerable
share. A codicil was added, appointing a large number of guardians
for any offspring which might possibly be born to him by Calpurnia
after his departure; but so little interest did he take in this remote
contingency that he seems to have made no financial provision for such
an infant. There was no need to leave money to Cleopatra or to her
child, since she herself was fabulously wealthy. This will was, no
doubt, intended to be destroyed if he were raised to the throne before
his departure, and it was afterwards believed that he actually wrote
another testament in favour of Cæsarion, which was to be used if a
crown were offered to him; but if, as now seemed probable, that event
were postponed until his return, the dividing of his property would be
the best settlement for his affairs should he die while away in the
East. So long as he remained uncrowned there was no occasion to refer
either to Cleopatra or to Cæsarion in his testamentary wishes; for if
he died in Parthia or India, still as Dictator, his hopes of founding a
dynasty, his plans for his marriage to the Queen of Egypt, his scheme
for training up Cæsarion to follow in his footsteps, indeed all his
worldly ambitions, would have to be bundled into oblivion. Cæsar was
not a man who cared much for the interests of other people; and, in
the case of Cleopatra, he was quite prepared to leave her to fight for
herself in Egypt, were he himself to be removed to those celestial
spheres wherein he would have no further use for her. His passion for
her appears now to have cooled; and though he must still have enjoyed
her society, and, to a considerable extent, must have been open to her
influence, her chief attraction for him in these latter days lay in the
recognition of her suitability to ascend the new throne by his side.
She, on her part, no doubt retained much of her old affection for him;
and, in spite of his increasing irritability and eccentricity, she
seems to have offered him the generous devotion of a warm-hearted young
woman for a great and heroic old man.

Cæsar, indeed, was old before his time. The famous portrait of him,
now preserved in the Louvre, shows him to have been haggard and worn.
He was still under sixty years of age, but all semblance of youth
had gone from him, and the burden of his years and of his illness
weighed heavily upon his spare frame. His indomitable spirit, and the
keen enthusiasm of his nature, held him to his appointed tasks; but
it is very doubtful whether his constitution could now have borne the
hardships of the campaign which lay before him. His ill-health must
have caused Cleopatra the gravest anxiety, for all her hopes were
centred upon him, and upon that day when he should make her Queen of
the Earth. The fact that he was now considering the postponement of the
creation of the monarchy until after the Parthian war must have been a
heavy blow to her, for there was good reason to fear lest his strength
should give out ere his task could be completed. For three years and
more she had worked with Cæsar at the laying of the foundations of
their throne; and now, partly owing to the undesirability of leaving
Rome for so long a period immediately after accepting the crown, partly
owing to the difficulty in regard to Calpurnia, and partly owing to
the hostility of a large number of prominent persons to the idea of
monarchy, Cæsar was postponing for three years that _coup_ which
seemed to her not only to mean the realisation of all her personal and
dynastic ambitions, but actually to be the only means by which she
could save Egypt from absorption into the Roman dominions or preserve
a throne of any kind for her son. In the Second Philippic Cicero says
of Cæsar that “after planning for many years his way to royal power,
with great labour and with many dangers, he had effected his design. By
public exhibitions, by monumental buildings, by bribes and by feasts,
he had conciliated the unreflecting multitude. He had bound to himself
his own friends by favours, his opponents by a show of clemency;” and
yet, when in sight of his goal, he hesitated, believing it better to
wait to be carried up to the throne by that wave of popular enthusiasm
which assuredly would burst over Rome when he should lead back from
the East his triumphant, loot-laden legionaries, and should exhibit
in golden chains in the streets of the capital the captive kings of
the fabulous Orient. The delay must have been almost intolerable to
Cleopatra; and it may have been due to some arrangement made by her
with the Dictator and Antony, who now must have been a constant visitor
at Cæsar’s villa, that an event took place which brought to a head the
question of the date of the establishment of the monarchy.

On February 15th the annual festival of the Lupercalia was celebrated
in Rome; and upon this day all the populace, patrician and plebeian,
were _en fête_. The Romans of Cæsar’s time do not seem to have
known what was the origin of this festival, nor what was the real
significance of the rites therein performed. They understood that
upon this day they paid their respects to the god Lupercus; and, in a
vague manner, they identified this obscure deity with Faunus, or with
Pan, in his capacity as a producer of fertility and fecundity in all
nature. Two young men were selected from the honourable order known as
the College of the Luperci, and upon this day these two men opened the
proceedings by sacrificing a goat and a dog. They were then “blooded,”
and the ritual prescribed that as soon as this was done they should
both laugh. They next cut the skins of the victims into long strips or
thongs, known as _februa_; and, using these as whips, they proceeded to
run around the city, striking at every woman with whom they came into
contact. A thwack from the _februa_ was believed to produce fertility,
and any woman who desired to become a mother would expose herself to
the blows which the two men were vigorously delivering on all sides.
By reason of this strange old custom the day was known as the _Dies
februatus_;[67] and from this is derived the name of the month of
February in which the festival took place.

It seems to me certain that this ceremony was originally related to the
Egyptian rites in connection with the god of fecundity, Min-Amon, the
Pan of the Nile Valley. This god is usually represented holding in his
hand a whip, perhaps consisting originally of jackal-skins tied to a
stick;[68] and it has lately been proved that the hieroglyph for the
Egyptian word indicating the reproduction of species[69] is composed
simply of these three jackal-skins tied together, that is to say the
_februa_. We know practically nothing of the ceremonies performed in
Egypt in regard to the _februa_, but there is no reason to doubt that
the rites were fundamentally similar to those of the Roman Lupercalia.
The dog which was sacrificed in Rome had probably taken the place of
the Egyptian jackal; and the goat is perhaps to be connected with the
Egyptian ram which was sacred to Amon or Min-Amon.

Now it is very possible that in Alexandria Cleopatra and also Cæsar
had become well acquainted with the Egyptian equivalent of the Roman
Lupercalia, and it may be suggested, tentatively, that since Cæsar
was regarded in that country as the god Amon who had given fertility
to the Queen, he may, in Egypt, have been identified in some sort
of manner with these rites. One may certainly imagine Cleopatra
pointing out to Cæsar the similarity between the two ceremonies,
and suggesting to him that he was, or had acted in the manner of, a
kind of Lupercus. He had practically identified Cleopatra with Venus
Genetrix, the goddess of fertility; and he may well have attributed
to himself the faculties of that corresponding god who carried on in
Rome the traditions of the Egyptian Min, to whom already Cæsar had been
so closely allied by the priests of the Nile. The Dictator certainly
took great interest in the festival of the Lupercalia in Rome, for
he reorganised the proceedings, and actually founded an order known
as the _Luperci Julii_, a fact which could be regarded as indicating
a definite identification of himself with Lupercus. Indeed, if he
was identified with Min-Amon in Egypt, and if, as I have suggested,
Min-Amon is originally connected with the Lupercalia celebrations, it
may be supposed that Cæsar really assumed by right the position of
divine head of this order. Knowing the Dictator to have been so careful
an opportunist, one is almost tempted to suggest that he found in this
identification an excuse and a justification for his behaviour to the
many women to whom he had lost his heart; or perhaps it were better
to say that his unscrupulous attitude towards the opposite sex, and
the successful manner in which, as with Cleopatra, he had succeeded in
reproducing his kind, appeared to fit him constitutionally for this
particular godhead.

Whether or no Cæsar, in the intolerable arrogance of his last years,
was now actually naming himself the fruitful Lupercus in Rome as he
was the fecund Amon in Egypt, it is a fact that upon this occurrence of
the festival in the year B.C. 44 he was presiding over the ceremonies,
while his lieutenant Antony was enacting the part of one of the two
holders of the _februa_. On this day Cæsar, pale and emaciated, was
seated in the Forum upon a golden throne, dressed in a splendid robe,
in order to witness the celebrations, when suddenly the burly Antony,
hot from his run, bounded into view, striking to right and left with
the _februa_, and indulging, no doubt, in the horse-play which he
always so much enjoyed. An excited and boisterous crowd followed him,
and it is probable that both he and his companions thereupon did homage
to the majestic figure of the Dictator, hailing him as Lupercus and
king of the festivities. Profiting by the enthusiasm of the moment, and
acting according to arrangements previously made with Cleopatra or with
Cæsar himself, Antony now stepped forward and held out to the Dictator
a royal diadem wreathed with laurels, at the same time offering him the
kingship of Rome. Cæsar, as we have seen, had already been publicly
hailed as a god upon earth, and now Antony seems to have addressed him
in his Lupercalian character, begging him to accept this terrestrial
throne as already he had received the throne of the heavens. No sooner
had he spoken than a shout of approval was raised by a number of
Cæsarians who had been posted in different parts of the Forum for this
purpose; but, to Cæsar’s dismay, the cheers were not taken up by the
crowd, who, indeed, appear to have indulged in a little quiet booing;
and the Dictator was thus obliged to refuse the proffered crown with a
somewhat half-hearted show of disdain. This action was received with
general applause, and the temper of the crowd was clearly demonstrated.
Again Antony held the diadem towards him, and again the isolated and
very artificial cheers of his supporters were heard. Thereupon Cæsar,
accepting the situation with as good a grace as possible, definitely
refused to receive it; and at this the applause once more broke forth.
He then gave orders that the diadem should be carried into the Capitol,
and that a note should be inscribed in the official calendar stating
that on this day the people had offered him the crown and that he had
refused it. It seems probable that Antony, appreciating the false step
which had been made, now rounded off the incident in as merry a manner
as possible, beginning once more to strike about him with his magical
whip, and leading the crowd out of the Forum with the same noise and
horse-play with which they had entered it.

The chances now in regard to the immediate assumption of the kingship
became more remote. Cæsar intended to set out for Parthia in about a
month’s time; and it must have been apparent to him that his hopes
of a throne would probably have to be set aside until the coming war
was at an end. In regard to Cleopatra nothing remained for him to do,
therefore, but to bid her prepare to return to Egypt, there to await
until the Orient was conquered; and during the next few weeks it seems
that the disappointed and troubled Queen engaged herself in making
preparation for her departure. Suetonius tells us that Cæsar loaded her
with presents and honours in these last days of their companionship;
and doubtless he encouraged her as best he could with the recitation of
his great hopes and ambitions for the future. There was still a chance
that the monarchy would be created before the war, for there was
some talk that Antony and his friends would offer the crown once more
to Cæsar upon the Calends of March;[70] but Cleopatra could not have
dared to hope too eagerly for this event in view of the failure at the
Lupercalia. To the Queen, who had expected by this time to be seated
upon the Roman throne, his reassuring words can have been poor comfort;
and an atmosphere of gloomy foreboding must have settled upon her as
she directed the packing of her goods and chattels and prepared herself
and her baby for the long journey across the Mediterranean to her now
uneventful kingdom of Egypt.




CHAPTER X.

THE DEATH OF CÆSAR AND THE RETURN OF CLEOPATRA TO EGYPT.


There can be little reason for doubt that Antony, who is to play so
important a part in the subsequent pages of this history, saw Cleopatra
in Rome on several occasions. After his reconciliation to Cæsar in
the early summer of B.C. 45, he must have been a constant visitor at
the Dictator’s villa; and, as we shall presently see, his espousal of
Cleopatra’s cause in regard to Cæsar’s will suggests that her charm had
not been overlooked by him. It is said, as we have seen, that he had
met her, and had already been attracted by her, ten years previously,
when he entered Alexandria with Gabinius in order to establish her
father Auletes upon his rickety throne. He was a man of impulsive
and changeable character, and it is difficult to determine his exact
attitude towards Cæsar at this time. While the Dictator was in Egypt
Antony had been placed in charge of his affairs in Rome, but owing to
a quarrel between the two men, Cæsar, on his return from Alexandria,
had dismissed him from his service. Very naturally Antony had felt
considerable animosity to the Dictator on this account, and it was even
rumoured, as has been said, that he desired to assassinate him. After
the Spanish war, however, the quarrel was forgotten; and, as we have
just seen, it was Antony who had offered him the crown at the festival
of the Lupercalia. In spite of this, Cæsar does not seem to have
trusted him fully, although he now appears to have been recognised as
the most ardent supporter of the Cæsarian party.

Cæsar had never excelled as a judge of men. Although unquestionably a
genius and a man of supreme mental powers, the Dictator was ever open
to flattery; and he collected around him a number of satellites who
had won their way into his favour by blandishments and by countenance
of their master’s many eccentricities. Balbus and Oppius, Cæsar’s two
most intimate attendants, were men of mediocre standing; and Publius
Cornelius Dolabella, who now comes into some prominence, was a young
adventurer, whose desire for personal gain must have been concealed
with difficulty. This personage, although only five-and-twenty years of
age, had been appointed by Cæsar to the consulship which would become
vacant upon his own departure for the East, a move that must have given
grave offence to Antony; for Dolabella, a few years previously, had
fallen in love with Antony’s wife, Antonia, who had consequently been
divorced, the outraged husband thereafter finding consolation in the
marriage to his present wife Fulvia. The various favours conferred
by Cæsar on this young scamp must therefore have caused considerable
irritation to Antony; and it is not easy to suppose that the latter’s
apparent devotion to the cause of the Dictator was altogether genuine.
Indeed, the rumour once more passed into circulation that Antony nursed
designs upon Cæsar’s life, this time, strange to say, in conjunction
with Dolabella. On hearing this report the Dictator remarked that he
“did not fear such fat, luxurious men as these two, but rather the
pale, lean fellows.”

Of the latter type was Cassius, a sour, fanatical soldier and
politician, who had fought against Cæsar at Pharsalia, and had been
freely pardoned by him afterwards. From early youth Cassius entertained
a particular hatred of any form of autocracy; and it is related of
him that when at school the boy Faustus, the son of the famous Sulla,
had boasted of his father’s autocratic powers, Cassius had promptly
punched his head. Cæsar’s attempts to obtain the throne excited this
man’s ferocity, and he was probably the originator of the plot which
terminated the Dictator’s life. The plot was hatched in February
B.C. 44, and, when Cassius and his friends had prevailed upon the
influential and studious Marcus Brutus to join them, it rapidly
developed into a widespread conspiracy. “I don’t like Cassius,” Cæsar
was once heard to remark; “he looks so pale. What can he be aiming at?”

For Brutus, however, the Dictator entertained the greatest affection
and esteem, and there was a time when he regarded him as his probable
successor in office. One cannot view without distress, even after
the passage of so many centuries, the devotion of the irritable
old autocrat to this scholarly and promising young man who was now
plotting against him; for, in spite of his manifold faults, Cæsar
ever remains a character which all men esteem and with which all must
largely sympathise. On one occasion somebody warned him that Brutus
was plotting against him, to which the Dictator replied, “What, do you
think Brutus will not wait out the appointed time of this little body
of mine?” It is probable that Cæsar thought it not at all unlikely
that Brutus was his own son, for his mother, Servilia, as early as
the year of his birth, and for long afterwards, had been on such
terms of intimacy with Cæsar as would justify this belief. Brutus,
on the other hand, thought himself to be the son of Servilia’s legal
husband, and through him claimed descent from the famous Junius Brutus
who had expelled the Tarquins. Servilia was the sister of Cato, whose
suicide had followed his defeat by Cæsar in North Africa, and Porcia,
the wife of Brutus, was Cato’s daughter. It might have been supposed,
therefore, that Brutus would have felt considerable antipathy towards
the Dictator, more especially after the publication of his venomous
Anti-Cato. There was, however, equally reasonable cause for Brutus
to have sympathised with Cæsar, for his supposed father had been put
to death by Pompey, an execution which Cæsar had, as it were, been
instrumental in avenging. As a matter of fact, Brutus was a young man
who lived upon high principles, as a cow does upon grass; and such
family incidents as the seduction of his mother, or the destruction of
his mother’s brother and his wife’s father, or the bloodthirsty warfare
between his father’s executioner and his father-in-law’s enemy and
calumniator, were not permitted to influence his righteous brain. In
his early years he had, very naturally, refused on principle to speak
to Pompey, but when the civil war broke out he set aside all those
petty feelings of dislike which, in memory of his legal father, he had
entertained towards the Pompeian faction, and, on principle, he ranged
himself upon that side in the conflict, believing it to be the juster
cause. Pompey is said to have been so surprised at the arrival of this
good young man in his camp, whither nobody had asked him to come,
and where nobody particularly desired his presence, that he stood up
and embraced him as though he were a lost lamb come back to the fold.
Then followed the battle of Pharsalia, and Brutus had been obliged to
fly for his life. He need not, however, have feared for his safety,
for Cæsar had given the strictest orders that nobody was to hurt him
either in the battle or in the subsequent chase of the fugitives. From
Larissa, whither he had fled, he wrote, on principle, to Cæsar, stating
that he was prepared to surrender; and the Dictator, in memory, it is
said, of many a pleasant hour with Servilia, at once pardoned him and
heaped honours upon him. Brutus, then, on principle, laid information
against Pompey, telling Cæsar whither he had fled; and thus it came
about that the Dictator arrived in Egypt on that October morning of
which we have read.

Brutus was an intellectual young man, whose writings and orations
were filled with maxims and pithy axioms. He had, however, a certain
vivacity and fire; and once when Cæsar had listened, a trifle
bewildered, to one of his vigorous speeches, the Dictator was heard
to remark, “I don’t know what this young man means, but, whatever
he means, he means it vehemently.” He believed himself to be, and
indeed was, very firm and just, and he had schooled himself to resist
flattery, ignoring all requests made to him by such means. He was wont
to declare that a man who, in mature years, could not say “no” to
his friends, must have been very badly behaved in the flower of his
youth. Cassius, who was the brother-in-law of Brutus, deemed it very
advisable to introduce this exemplary young man into the conspiracy,
and he therefore invited him, as a preliminary measure, to be present
in the Senate on the Calends of March, when it was rumoured that Cæsar
would be made king. Brutus replied that he would most certainly absent
himself on that day. Nothing daunted, Cassius asked him what he would
do supposing Cæsar insisted on his being present. “In that case,”
said Brutus, in the most approved style, “it will be my business not
to keep silent, but to stand up boldly, and die for the liberty of my
country.” Such being his views, it was apparent that there would be no
difficulty in persuading him, on principle, to assist in the murder
of Cæsar, who had, it is true, spared his life in Pharsalia, but who
was, nevertheless, an enemy of the People. The conspirators, therefore,
dropped pieces of paper on the official chair whereon he sat, inscribed
with such words as “Wake up, Brutus,” or “You are not a true Brutus”;
and on the statue of Junius Brutus they scribbled sentences, such as
“O that we had a Brutus now!” or “O that Brutus were alive!” In this
way the young man’s feelings were played upon, and, after a few days of
solemn thought, he came to the conclusion that it was his painful duty,
on principle, to bring Cæsar’s life to a close.

By March 1st the conspirators numbered in their ranks some sixty
or eighty senators, mostly friends of the Dictator, and had Cæsar
attempted then to proclaim himself king he would at once have been
assassinated. There were too many rumours current of plots against
him, however, to permit him to take this step, and so the days passed
in uneventfulness. He had planned to leave Rome for the East on March
17th, and it was thought possible that his last visit to the Senate on
March 15th, or his departure from the capital, would be the occasion
of a demonstration in his favour which would lead to his being offered
the crown as a parting gift. The conspirators therefore decided to make
an end of Cæsar on March 15th, the Ides of March, upon which date he
would probably come for the last time to the Senate as Dictator.

Brutus, of course, was terribly troubled as the day drew near. He was
at heart a good and honourable man, but the weakness of his character,
combined with his intense desire to act in a high-principled manner,
led him often to appear to be a turncoat. Actually his motives were
patriotic and noble, but he must have asked himself many a time whether
what he believed to be his duty to his country was to be regarded
as entirely abrogating what he _knew_ to be his duty to his devoted
patron. The tumult in his mind caused him at night to toss and turn in
his sleep in a fever of unrest, and his wife, Porcia, observing his
distress, implored him to confide his troubles to her. Brutus thereupon
told her of the conspiracy, and thereby risked the necks of all his
comrades.

A curious gloom seems to have fallen upon Rome at this time, and an
atmosphere of foreboding, due perhaps to rumours that a plot was afoot,
descended upon the actors in this unforgettable drama. Cæsar went about
his preparations for the Oriental campaign in his usual business-like
manner, and raised money for the war with his wonted unscrupulousness
and acuteness; but it does not require any pressure upon the historical
imagination to observe the depression which he now felt and which must
have been shared by his associates. The majority of the conspirators
were his friends and fellow-workers--men, many of them, whom he had
pardoned for past offences during the Civil War and had raised to
positions of trust in his administration. At this time he appears to
have been living with Calpurnia in his city residence, and so busy
was he with his arrangements that he could not have found time to pay
many visits to Cleopatra.[71] The Queen must therefore have remained
in a state of distressing suspense. The Calends of March, at which
date the proclamation of the monarchy had been expected, had passed;
and now the Dictator could have held out to her but one last hope of
the realisation of their joint ambition previous to his departure.
Cæsar must have told her that, as far as the three-year-old Cæsarion
was concerned, she could expect nothing until the throne had been
created; for, obviously, this was no time in which to leave a baby as
his heir. His nephew Octavian, an active and energetic young man, would
have to succeed him in office if he were to die before he had obtained
the crown, and his vast property would have to be distributed. The
Dictator must have remembered the fact of the murder of the young son
of Alexander the Great soon after his father’s death, and he could have
had no desire that his own boy should be slaughtered in like manner by
his rapacious guardians. Yet Cleopatra still delayed her departure,
in the hope that the great event would take place on March 15th, so
that at any rate she might return to Egypt in the knowledge that her
position as Cæsar’s wife was secured.

The prevailing depression acted strangely upon people’s nerves, and
stories began to spread of ominous premonitions of trouble, and
menacing signs and wonders. There were unaccountable lights in the
heavens, and awful noises at dead of night. Somebody said that he had
seen a number of phantoms, in the guise of men, fighting with one
another, and that they were all aglow as though they were red-hot; and
upon another occasion it was noticed that numerous strange birds of
ill omen had alighted in the Forum. Once, when Cæsar was sacrificing,
the heart of the victim was found to be missing, an omen of the worst
significance; and at other times the daily auguries were observed to be
extremely inauspicious. An old soothsayer, who may have got wind of the
plot, warned the Dictator to beware of the Ides of March; but Cæsar,
whose courage was always phenomenal, did not allow the prediction to
alter his movements.

Upon the evening of March 14th, the day before the dreaded Ides, Cæsar
supped with his friend Marcus Lepidus, and as he was signing some
letters which had been brought to him for approval the conversation
happened to turn upon the subject of death, and the question was asked
as to what kind of ending was to be preferred. The Dictator, quickly
looking up from his papers, said decisively, “A sudden one!” the
significance of which remark was to be realised by his friends a few
hours later. That night, Plutarch tells us, as Cæsar lay upon his bed,
suddenly, as though by a tremendous gust of wind, all the doors and
windows of his house flew open, letting in the brilliant light of the
moon. Calpurnia lay asleep by his side, but he noticed that she was
uttering inarticulate words and was sobbing as though in the deepest
distress; and upon being awakened she said that she had thought in her
dreams that he was murdered. Cæsar must have realised that such a
dream was probably due to her fears as to the truth of the soothsayer’s
prophecy; but, at the same time, her earnest request to him not to
leave his house on the following day made a considerable impression
upon him.

In the morning the conspirators collected in that part of the
governmental buildings where the Senate was to meet that day. The place
chosen was a pillared portico adjoining the theatre, having at the
back a deep recess in which stood a statue of Pompey.[72] Some of the
men were public officials whose business it was to act as magistrates
and to hear cases which had been brought to them for judgment; and it
is said that not one of them betrayed by his manner any nervousness
or lack of interest in these public concerns. In the case of Brutus
this was particularly noticeable; and it is related that upon one of
the plaintiffs before him refusing to stand to his award and declaring
that he would appeal to Cæsar, Brutus calmly remarked, “Cæsar does not
hinder me, nor will he hinder me, from acting according to the laws.”

This composure, however, began to desert them when it was found that
the Dictator was delaying his departure from his house. The report
spread that he had decided not to come to the Senate that day, and
it was soon realised that this might be interpreted as meaning that
he had discovered the plot. Their agitation was such that at length
they sent a certain Decimus Brutus Albinus, a very trusted friend of
the Dictator, to Cæsar’s house to urge him to make haste. Decimus
found him just preparing to postpone the meeting of the Senate, his
feelings having been worked upon by Calpurnia’s fears, and also by
the fact that he had received a report from the augurs stating that
the sacrifices for the day had been inauspicious. In this dilemma
Decimus made a statement to Cæsar, the truth of which is now not able
to be ascertained. He told the Dictator that the Senate had decided
unanimously to confer upon him that day the title of King of all the
Roman Dominions outside Italy, and to authorise him to wear a royal
diadem in any place on land or sea except in Italy.[73] He added that
Cæsar should not give the Senate so fair a justification for saying
that he had put a slight upon them by adjourning the meeting on so
important an occasion owing to the bad dreams of a woman.

At this piece of news Cæsar must have been filled with triumphant
excitement. The wished-for moment had come. At last he was to be made
king, and the dominions to be delivered over to him were obviously
but the first instalment of the vaster gift which assuredly he would
receive in due course. The doubt and the gloom of the last few weeks in
a moment were banished, for this day he would be monarch of an empire
such as had never before been seen. What did it matter that in Rome
itself he would be but Dictator? He would establish his royal capital
elsewhere: in Alexandria, perhaps, or on the site of Troy. He would
be able at once to marry Cleopatra and to incorporate her dominions
with his own. Calpurnia might remain for the present the wife of the
childless Dictator in Rome, and his nephew Octavian might be his
official heir; but outside his fatherland, Queen Cleopatra should be
his consort, and his own little son should be his heir and successor.
The incongruities of the situation would so soon be felt that Rome
would speedily acknowledge him king in Italy as well as out of it.
Probably he had often discussed with Cleopatra the possibilities of
this solution of the problem, for the idea of making him king outside
Italy had been proposed some weeks previously;[74] and he must now have
thought how amused and delighted the Queen would be by this unexpected
decision of the Senate to adopt the rather absurd scheme. As soon as
he had married the Sovereign of Egypt and had made Alexandria one of
his capitals, his dominions would indeed be an Egypto-Roman Empire; and
when at length Rome should invite him to reign also within Italy, the
situation would suggest rather that Egypt had incorporated Rome than
that Rome had absorbed Egypt. How that would tickle Cleopatra, whose
dynasty had for so long feared extinction at the hands of the Romans!

Rising to his feet, and taking Decimus by the hand, Cæsar set out at
once for the Senate, his forebodings banished and his ambitious old
brain full of confidence and hope. On his way through the street two
persons, one a servant and the other a teacher of logic, made attempts
to acquaint him with his danger; and the soothsayer who had urged him
to beware of the Ides of March once more repeated his warning. But
Cæsar was now in no mood to abandon the prospective excitements of
the day; and the risk of assassination may, indeed, have been to him
the very element which delighted him, for he was ever inspired by the
presence of danger.

Meanwhile the conspirators paced the Portico of Pompey in painful
anxiety, fearing every moment to hear that the plot had been
discovered. It must have been apparent to them that there were persons
outside the conspiracy who knew of their designs; and when a certain
Popilius Laena, a senator, not of their number, whispered to Brutus and
Cassius that the secret was out, but that he wished them success, their
feelings must have been hard to conceal. Then came news that Porcia had
fallen into an hysterical frenzy caused by her suspense; and Brutus
must have feared that in this condition she would reveal the plot.

At length, however, Cæsar was seen to be approaching; but their
consequent relief was at once checked when it was observed that
Popilius Laena, who had said that he knew all, entered into deep and
earnest conversation with the Dictator. The conversation, however,
proved to be of no consequence, and Cæsar presently walked on into the
Curia where the Senate was to meet. A certain Trebonius was now set
to detain Antony in conversation outside the doorway; for it had been
decided that, although the latter was Cæsar’s right-hand man, he should
not be murdered, but that, after the assassination, he should be won
over to the side of the so-called patriots by fair words.

When Cæsar entered the building the whole Senate rose to their feet in
respectful salutation. The Dictator having taken his seat, one of the
conspirators, named Tullius Cimber, approached him ostensibly with the
purpose of petitioning him to pardon his exiled brother. The others at
once gathered round, pressing so close upon him that Cæsar was obliged
to order them to stand back. Then, perhaps suspecting their design,
he sprang suddenly to his feet, whereupon Tullius caught hold of his
toga and pulled it from him, thus leaving his spare frame covered only
by a light tunic. Instantly a senator named Casca, whom the Dictator
had just honoured with promotion, struck him in the shoulder with his
dagger, whereupon Cæsar, grappling with him, cried out in a loud voice,
“You villain, Casca! what are you doing?” A moment later, Casca’s
brother stabbed him in the side. Cassius, whose life Cæsar had spared
after Pharsalia, struck him in the face; Bucolianus drove a knife
between his shoulder-blades, and Decimus Brutus, who so recently had
encouraged him to come to the Senate, wounded him in the groin. Cæsar
fought for his life like a wild animal.[75] He struck out to right and
left with his _stilus_, and, streaming with blood, managed to break his
way through the circle of knives to the pedestal of the statue of his
old enemy Pompey. He had just grasped Casca once more by the arm, when
suddenly perceiving his beloved Marcus Brutus coming at him with dagger
drawn, he gasped out, “You, too, Brutus--_my son_!” and fell, dying,
upon the ground.[76] Instantly the pack of murderers was upon him,
slashing and stabbing at his prostrate form, wounding one another in
their excitement, and nigh tumbling over him where he lay in a pool of
blood.

As soon as all signs of life had left the body, the conspirators turned
to face the Senate; but, to their surprise, they found the members
rushing madly from the building. Brutus had prepared a speech to make
to them as soon as the murder should be accomplished; but in a few
moments nobody was left in the Curia for him to address. He and his
companions, therefore, were at a loss to know what to do; but at length
they issued forth from the building, somewhat nervously brandishing
their daggers and shouting catch-words about Liberty and the Republic.
At their approach everybody fled to their homes; and Antony, fearing
that he, too, would be murdered, disguised himself and hurried by
side-streets to his house. They therefore took up their position in
the Capitol, and there remained until a deputation of senators induced
them to come down to the Forum. Here, standing in the rostra, Brutus
addressed the crowd, who were fairly well-disposed towards him; but
when another speaker, Cinna, made bitter accusations against the dead
man, the people chased the conspirators back once more to the Capitol,
where they spent the night.

When darkness had fallen and the tumult had subsided, Antony made his
way to the Forum, whither, he had heard, the body of Cæsar had been
carried; and here, in the light of the moon, he looked once more upon
the face of his arrogant old master. Here, too, he met Calpurnia, and,
apparently at her request, took charge of all the Dictator’s documents
and valuables.

Upon the next day, at Antony’s suggestion, a general amnesty was
proclaimed, and matters were amicably discussed. It was then decided
that Cæsar’s will should be opened, but the contents must have been
a surprise to both parties. The dead man bequeathed to every Roman
citizen 300 _sesterces_, giving also to the Roman people his vast
estates and gardens on the other side of the Tiber, where Cleopatra
was, at the time, residing. Three-quarters of the remainder of his
estate was bequeathed to Octavian, and the other quarter was divided
between his two nephews, Lucius Pinarius and Quintus Pedius. In a
codicil he added that Octavian should be his official heir; and he
named several guardians for his son, should one be born to him after
his death.

The dead body lay in state in the Forum for some five days, while
the ferment in the city continued to rage unabated. The funeral was
at length fixed for March 20th,[77] and towards evening Antony went
to the Forum, where he found the crowd wailing and lamenting around
the corpse, the soldiers clashing their shields together, and the
women uttering their plaintive cries. Antony at once began to sing
a dirge-like hymn in praise of Cæsar; pausing in his song every few
moments to stretch his hands towards the corpse and to break into loud
weeping. In these intervals the crowd took up the funeral chant, and
gave vent to their emotional distress in the melancholy music customary
at the obsequies of the dead, reciting monotonously a verse of Accius
which ran, “I saved those who have given me death.” Presently Antony
held up on a spear’s point the robes pierced by so many dagger-thrusts;
and standing beside this gruesome relic of the crime, he pronounced his
famous funeral oration over the body of the murdered Dictator. When he
had told the people of Cæsar’s gifts to them, and had worked upon their
feelings by exhibiting thus the blood-stained garments, the mob broke
into a frenzy of rage against the conspirators, vowing vengeance upon
one and all. Somebody recalled the speech made by Cinna on a previous
day, and immediately howls were raised for that orator’s blood. A
minor poet, also called Cinna, happened to be standing in the crowd;
and when a friend of his had addressed him by that hated name, the
people in the immediate vicinity thought that he must be the villain
for whose life the mob was shouting. They therefore caught hold of the
unfortunate man, and, without further inquiries, tore him limb from
limb. They then seized benches, tables, and all available woodwork; and
there, in the midst of the public and sacred buildings, they erected a
huge pyre, upon the top of which they placed the Dictator’s body, laid
out upon a sheet of purple and gold. Torches were applied and speedily
the flames arose, illuminating the savage faces of the crowd around the
pyre, and casting grotesque shadows upon the gleaming walls and pillars
of the adjoining buildings, while the volume of the smoke hid from
view the moon now rising above the surrounding roofs and pediments.
Soon the mutilated body disappeared from sight into the heart of the
fire; and thereupon the spectators, plucking flaming brands from the
blaze, dashed down the streets, with the purpose of burning the houses
of the conspirators. The funeral pyre continued to smoulder all night
long, and it must have been many hours before quiet was restored in the
city. The passions of the mob were appeased next day by the general
co-operation of all those concerned in public affairs, and the Senate
passed what was known as an Act of Oblivion in regard to all that had
occurred. Brutus, Cassius, and the chief conspirators, were assigned
to positions of importance in the provinces far away from Rome; and
the affairs of the capital were left, for the most part, in the hands
of Antony. On March 18th, three days after Cæsar’s death, Antony and
Lepidus calmly invited Brutus and Cassius to a great dinner-party, and
so, for the moment, peace was restored.

Meanwhile, Cleopatra’s state of mind must have been appalling. Not only
had she lost her dearest friend and former lover, but, with his death,
she had lost the vast kingdom which he had promised her. No longer was
she presumptive Queen of the Earth, but now, in a moment, she was once
more simply sovereign of Egypt, seated upon an unfirm throne. Moreover,
she must have fancied that her own life was in danger, as well as that
of the little Cæsar. The contents of the Dictator’s will must have been
a further shock to her, although she probably already knew their tenor;
and she must have thought with bitterness of the difference that even
one day more might have made to her in this regard. It was perhaps true
that the Senate had been about to offer him the throne of the provinces
on the fatal Ides; and in that case Cæsar would most certainly have
altered his will to meet the new situation, if indeed he had not
already done so, as some say. There was reason to suppose that such a
will, in favour of Cæsarion, had actually been made,[78] but if this
were so, it was nowhere to be found, and had perhaps been destroyed
by Calpurnia. What was she to do? When would Octavian appear to claim
such property and honours as Cæsar had bequeathed to him? Should she at
once proclaim her baby son as the rightful heir, or should she fly the
country?

In this dilemma there seems to me to be no doubt that she must have
consulted with Antony, the one man who had firmly grasped the tangled
strings of the situation, and must have implored him to support
the claims of her son. If the public would not admit that Cæsarion
was Cæsar’s son, then the boy would, without doubt, pass into
insignificance, and ultimately be deprived, in all probability, even
of his Egyptian throne. If, on the other hand, with Antony’s support,
he were officially recognised to be the Dictator’s child, then there
was a good chance that the somewhat unprepossessing Octavian might be
pushed aside for ever. Cæsar had taken a fancy to this obscure nephew
of his during the Spanish War. The young man, although still weak after
a severe illness, had set out to join the Dictator in Spain with a
promptitude which had won his admiration. He had suffered shipwreck,
and had ultimately made his way to his uncle’s camp by roads infested
with the enemy, and thereafter had fought by his side. He was now
following his studies in Apollonia, and intended to join Cæsar on his
way to the East. If he could be prevented from coming to Rome the game
would be in the Queen’s hands; and I am of opinion that she must now
have approached Antony with some such suggestion for the solution of
the difficulty. Antony, on his part, probably realised that with the
establishment of Octavian in Cæsar’s seat his own power would vanish;
but that, were he to support the baby Cæsarion, he himself would remain
the all-powerful regent for many years to come. He might even take the
dead man’s place as Cleopatra’s husband, and climb to the throne by
means of the right of his stepson.[79]

It would seem, therefore, that he persuaded Cleopatra to remain for the
present in Rome; and not long afterwards he declared in the Senate that
the little Cæsarion had been acknowledged by Cæsar to be his rightful
son. This was denied at once by Oppius, who favoured the claims of
Octavian, and ultimately this personage took the trouble to write a
short book to refute Antony’s statement.

The young Dolabella now seized the consulship in Rome, and, being on
bad terms with Antony, at once showed his hostility to the friends of
the late Dictator by various acts of violence against them. Cæsar,
before his death, had assigned the province of Syria to Dolabella and
that of Macedonia to Antony; but now the Senate, in order to rid Rome
of the troublesome presence of the Dictator’s murderers, had given
Macedonia and Syria to Marcus Brutus and Cassius, and these two men
were now collecting troops with which to enter their dominions in
safety. There was thus a political reason for Antony and Dolabella to
join forces; and presently we find the two of them working together for
the overthrow of Brutus and Cassius.

Into these troubled scenes in Rome the news presently penetrated of the
approach of the young Octavian, now nearly nineteen years of age, who
was coming to claim his rights; and thereupon the city, setting aside
the question of the conspirators, formed itself into two factions, the
one supporting the newcomer, the other upholding Antony’s attitude.
It is usually stated by historians that Antony was fighting solely in
his own interests, being desirous of ousting Octavian and assuming the
dignities of Cæsar by force of arms. If this be so, why did he make
a point of declaring in the Senate that Cæsarion was the Dictator’s
child? With what claims upon the public did he oppose those of Octavian
if not by the supporting of Cæsar’s son? We shall see that in after
years he always claimed the Roman throne _on behalf_ of the child
Cæsarion; and I find it difficult to suppose that that attitude was not
already assumed, to some extent, by him.

There now began to be grave fears of the immediate outbreak of civil
war; and so threatening was the situation that Cleopatra was advised
to leave Rome and to return to Egypt with her son, there to await the
outcome of the struggle. It is probable, indeed, that Antony urged her
to return to her own country in order to raise troops and ships for his
cause. Be this as it may, the Queen left Rome a few days before April
15th, upon which date Cicero wrote to Atticus, from Sinuessa, not far
from Rome, commenting on the news that she had fled.

As she sailed over the Mediterranean back to Egypt her mind must have
been besieged by a hundred schemes and plans for the future. The
despair which she had experienced, after the death of the Dictator,
at the demolition of all her vast hopes, may now have given place to
a spirited desire to begin the fight once more. Cæsar was dead, but
his great personality would live again in his little son, whom Antony,
she believed, would champion, since in doing so he would further his
own ambitions. The legions left at Alexandria by the Dictator would,
no doubt, stand by her; and she would bring all the might and all the
wealth of Egypt against the power of Octavian. The coming warfare would
be waged by her for the creation of that throne for the establishment
of which Cæsar had indeed given his life; and her arms would be
directed against that form of democratic government which the Dictator,
perhaps at her instance, had endeavoured to overthrow, but which a man
of Octavian’s character, she supposed, would be contented to support.
Her mighty Cæsar would look down from his place amidst the stars to
direct her, and to lead their son to the goal of their ambitions;
for now he was in very truth a god amongst the gods. Recently during
seven days a comet had been seen blazing in the sky, and all men had
been convinced that this was the soul of the murdered Dictator rushing
headlong to heaven. Even now a strange haze hung over the sun, as
though the light of that celestial body were dimmed by the approach of
the Divine Cæsar. Before the Queen left Rome she had heard the priests
and public officials name him God in very truth; and maybe she had
already seen his statues embellished by the star of divinity which was
set upon his brow after his death. Surely now he would not desert her,
his Queen and his fellow-divinity; nor would he suffer their royal
son to pass into obscurity. From his exalted heights he would defend
her with his thunderbolts, and come down to her aid upon the wings of
the wind. Thus there was no cause for her to despair; and with that
wonderful optimism which seems to have characterised her nature, she
now set her active brain to thoughts of the future, turning her mature
intellect to the duties which lay before her. When Cæsar had met her in
Egypt she had been an irresponsible girl. Now she was a keen-brained
woman, endowed with the fire and the pluck of her audacious dynasty,
and prepared to fight her way with all their unscrupulous energy to the
summit of her ambitions. And, moreover, now she held the trump card in
her hands in the person of her little boy, who was by all natural laws
the rightful heir to the throne of the earth.




PART II.

CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY




CHAPTER XI.

THE CHARACTER OF ANTONY AND HIS RISE TO POWER.


When Antony and Octavian first met after the death of Cæsar, the former
was in possession of popular confidence; and he did not hesitate to
advise Octavian to make no attempt to claim his inheritance. He snubbed
the young man, telling him that he was mad to think himself capable
of assuming the responsibilities of the Dictator’s heir at so early
an age; and as a result of this attitude dissensions speedily broke
out between them. A reconciliation, however, was arrived at in the
following August, B.C. 44; but early in October there was much talk
in regard to a supposed attempt by Octavian upon the life of Antony,
and, as a result of this, the inevitable quarrel once more broke out.
Antony now spread the story that his young rival had only been adopted
by Cæsar in consequence of their immoral relations, and he accused him
of being a low-born adventurer. Towards the end of the year Antony
left Rome, and all men believed that yet another civil war was about
to break out. He was now proclaiming himself the avenger of the late
Dictator, and I think it possible that he had decided definitely to
advance the claims of Cleopatra’s son, Cæsarion, against those of
Octavian. After many vicissitudes he was attacked and hunted as an
enemy of Rome, and the triumph of Octavian, thanks to the assistance
of Cicero, seemed to be assured; but, owing to a series of surprising
incidents, which we need not here relate, a reconciliation was at last
effected between the combatants in October, B.C. 43. The two men, who
had not met for many months, regarded one another with such extreme
suspicion that when at length they were obliged to exchange the embrace
of friendship, they are each said to have taken the opportunity of
feeling the other’s person to ascertain that no sword or dagger was
concealed under the folds of the toga.

As soon as the reconciliation had been established, Antony, Octavian,
and a certain Lepidus formed a Triumvirate, which was to have effect
until December 31, B.C. 38, it being agreed that Rome and Italy should
be governed jointly by the three, but that the provinces should fall
under distinctive controls, Antony and Lepidus sharing the larger
portion and Octavian receiving only Africa, Numidia, and the islands.
It was then decided that they should each rid themselves of their
enemies by a general proscription and massacre. A list was drawn up of
one hundred senators and about two thousand other rich and prominent
men, and these were hunted down and murdered in the most ruthless
fashion, amidst scenes of horror which can hardly have been equalled
in the world’s history. Cicero was one of the victims who suffered
for his animosity to Antony, who was now the leading Triumvir, and
was in a position to refuse to consider Octavian’s plea for mercy for
the orator. The property of the proscribed persons was seized, and
upon these ill-gotten riches the three men thrived and conducted their
government.

Brutus and Cassius, the two leaders of the conspiracy which had caused
Cæsar’s death, had now come to blows with Antony and Octavian, and
were collecting an army in Macedonia. Cassius, at one time, thought
of invading Egypt in order to obtain possession of Cleopatra’s money
and ships; but the Queen, who was holding herself in readiness for all
eventualities, was saved from this misfortune. She was, of course, the
bitter enemy of Brutus and Cassius, the murderers of her beloved Cæsar;
but, on the other hand, she could not well throw in her lot with the
Triumvirate, since it included Octavian, who was the rival of her son
Cæsarion in the heirship of the Dictator’s estate. She must have been
much troubled by the reconciliation between Octavian and Antony, for it
seemed to show that she could no longer rely on the latter to act as
her champion.

Presently Dolabella, who was now friendly to Antony and opposed to
Brutus and Cassius, asked Cleopatra to send to his aid the legions
left by the Dictator in Alexandria, and at about the same time a
similar request came from Cassius. Cleopatra very naturally declined
the latter, accepting Dolabella’s request. Cassius, however, managed
to obtain from Serapion, the Queen’s viceroy in Cyprus, a number of
Egyptian ships, which were handed over without her permission.[80]
Dolabella was later defeated by Cassius, but the disaster did not
seriously affect Cleopatra, for her legions had not managed to reach
him in time to be destroyed. The Queen’s next move was naturally
hostile to her enemy Cassius. She made an attempt to join Antony.
This manœuvre, however, was undertaken half-heartedly, owing to her
uncertainty as to his relations with Octavian, her son’s rival; and
when a serious storm had arisen, wrecking many of her ships and
prostrating her with seasickness, she abandoned the attempt.

In October of B.C. 42 Antony defeated Brutus and Cassius at the battle
of Philippi, Cassius being killed and Brutus committing suicide.
Octavian, who was ill, took little part in the battle, and all the
glory of the victory was given to Antony. The unpopularity of Octavian
was clearly demonstrated after the fight was over, for the prisoners
who were led before the two generals saluted Antony with respect, but
cursed Octavian in the foulest language. It was decided that Antony
should now travel through the East to collect money and to assert
the authority of the Triumvirate, while Octavian should attempt to
restore order in Italy, the African provinces being handed over to the
insignificant Lepidus. The fact that Antony chose for his sphere of
influence the eastern provinces, is a clear indication that Octavian
was still in the background; for these rich lands constituted the
main part of the Roman dominions. With a large army Antony passed
on his triumphal way through Greece, and thence through Asia Minor;
and at length, in the late summer of B.C. 41, he made his temporary
headquarters at Tarsus.

From Tarsus Antony sent a certain officer named Dellius to Alexandria
to invite Cleopatra to meet him in order to discuss the situation. It
was suggested by Antony that she had given some assistance to the party
of Brutus; but she, on the other hand, must have accused Antony of
abandoning her by his league with Octavian. She could not afford to
quarrel with him, however, for he was now the most powerful man in the
world; and she therefore determined to sail across to Tarsus at once.

She knew already the kind of man he was. She had seen him in Rome on
many occasions, though no direct record is left of any such event, and
she had probably made some sort of alliance with him; while she must
constantly have heard of his faults and his virtues both from Julius
Cæsar and from her Roman friends. The envoy Dellius, whom he had sent
to her, had told her of his pacific intentions, and had described him
as the gentlest and kindest of soldiers, while, as she well knew, a
considerable part of the world called him a good fellow. He was at
that time the most conspicuous figure on the face of the earth, and
his nature and personality must have formed a subject of interested
discussion in the palace at Alexandria as in every other court. Renan
has called Antony a “colossal child, capable of conquering a world,
incapable of resisting a pleasure”; and already this must have been
the popular estimate of his character. The weight of his stature stood
over the nations, dominating the incident of life; and, with a kind
of boisterous divinity, his hand played alike with kings and common
soldiers. To many men he was a good-natured giant, a personification of
Bacchus, the Giver of Joy; but in the ruined lands upon which he had
trampled he was named the Devourer, and the fear of him was almighty.

He was a man of remarkable appearance. Tall, and heavily built, his
muscles developed like those of a gladiator, and his thick hair
curling about his head, he reminded those who saw him of the statues
and paintings of Hercules, from whom he claimed lineal descent. His
forehead was broad, his nose aquiline, and his mouth and chin, though
somewhat heavy, were strong and well formed. His expression was open
and frank; and there was a suggestion of good-humour about his lips
and eyes (as seen in the Vatican bust)[81] which must have been most
engaging. His physical strength and his noble appearance evoked an
unbounded admiration amongst his fellow-men, whilst to most women
his masculine attraction was irresistible: a power of which he made
ungoverned use. Cicero, who was his most bitter enemy, described him as
a sort of butcher or prize-fighter, with his heavy jaw, powerful neck,
and mighty flanks; but this, perhaps, is a natural, and certainly an
easy, misinterpretation of features that may well have inspired envy.

[Illustration:

    _Vatican_]      [_Photograph by Anderson_

ANTONY.]

His nature, in spite of many gross faults, was unusually lovable. He
was adored by his soldiers, who, it is said, preferred his good opinion
of them to their very lives. This devotion, says Plutarch, was due to
many causes: to the nobility of his family, his eloquence, his frank
and open manners, his liberal and magnificent habits, his familiarity
in talking with everybody, and his kindness in visiting and pitying
the sick and joining in all their pains. After a battle he would go
from tent to tent to comfort the wounded, himself breaking into a very
passion of grief at the sufferings of his men; and they, with radiant
faces, would seize his hands and call him their emperor and their
general. The simplicity of his character commanded affection; for,
amidst the deep complexities and insincerities of human life, an open
and intelligible nature is always most eagerly appreciated. The
abysmal intellect of the genius gives delight to the highly cultured,
but to the average man the child-like frankness of an Antony makes a
greater appeal. Antony was not a genius: he was a gigantic commonplace.
One sees in him an ordinary man in extraordinary circumstances,
dominating success and towering above misfortune, until at the end he
gives way unmeritoriously to the pressure of events.

The naturalness and ingenuousness of his character are surprisingly
apparent in some of the anecdotes related by Plutarch. His wife,
Fulvia, is described as a matron “not born for spinning or housewifery,
nor one who could be content with ruling a private husband, but a
woman prepared to govern a first magistrate or give orders to a
commander-in-chief.” To keep this strong-minded woman in a good-humour
the guileless Antony was wont to play upon her all manner of boyish
pranks; and it would seem that he took delight in bouncing out at her
from dark corners of the house and the like. When Cæsar was returning
from the war in Spain a rumour spread that he had been defeated and
that the enemy were marching on Rome. Antony had gone out to meet his
chief, and found in this rumour an opportunity for another practical
joke at his stern wife’s expense. He therefore disguised himself
as a camp-follower and made his way back to his house, to which he
obtained admittance by declaring that he had a terribly urgent letter
from Antony to deliver into Fulvia’s hands. He was shown into the
presence of the agitated matron, and stood there before her, a muffled,
mysterious figure, no doubt much like a Spanish brigand in a modern
comic opera. Fulvia asked dramatically if aught had befallen her
husband, but, without replying, the silent figure thrust a letter at
her; and then, as she was nervously opening it, he suddenly dashed
aside the cloak, took her about the neck, and kissed her. After which
he returned to Cæsar, and entered Rome in the utmost pomp, riding in
the Dictator’s chariot with all the solemnity befitting the occasion.

In later years he was constantly playing such tricks at Alexandria,
and in the company of Cleopatra he was wont to wander about the city
at night, disguised as a servant, and used to disturb and worry
his friends by tapping at their doors and windows, for which, says
Plutarch, he was often scurvily treated and even beaten, though most
people guessed who he was. Antony remained a boy all his days; and
it must have been largely this boisterous inconsequence during the
most anxious periods that gave an air of Bacchic divinity to his
personality. His friends must have thought that there was surely a
touch of the divine in one who could romp through times of peril as he
did.

He allowed little to stand in the way of his pleasures; and he played
at empire-making as it were between meals. On a certain morning in Rome
it was necessary for him to make an important public speech while he
was yet suffering from the effects of immoderate drinking all night
at the wedding of Hippias, a comedian, who was a particular friend
of his. Standing unsteadily before the eager political audience, he
was about to begin his address when he was overcome with nausea,
and outraged nature was revenged upon him in the sight of all men.
Incidents of this kind made him at times, as Cicero states, absolutely
odious to the upper classes in Rome; but it is necessary to state that
the above-mentioned accident occurred when he was still a young man,
and that his excesses were not so crude in later years. During the
greater part of his life his feasting and drinking were intemperate;
but there is no reason to suppose that he was, except perhaps towards
the end of his life, besotted to a chronic extent. One does not picture
him imbibing continuously or secretly in the manner of an habitual
drunkard; but at feasts and ceremonies he swallowed the wine with a
will and drank with any man. When food and wine were short, as often
happened during his campaigns, Antony became abstemious without effort.
Once when Cicero had caused him and his legions to be driven out of
Rome, he gave, in Plutarch’s words, “a most wonderful example to his
soldiers. He who had just quitted so much luxury and sumptuous living,
made no difficulty now of drinking foul water and feeding on wild
fruits and roots.”

Antony was, of course, something of a barbarian, and his excesses often
put one in mind of the habits of the Goths or Vikings. He drank hard,
jested uproariously, was on occasion brutal, enjoyed the love of women,
brawled like a schoolboy, and probably swore like a trooper. But with
it all he retained until some two years before his death a very fair
capacity for hard work, as is evidenced by the fact that he was Julius
Cæsar’s right-hand man, and afterwards absolute autocrat of the East.
His nature was so forceful, and yet his character so built up of the
magnified virtues and failings of mankind, that by his very resemblance
to the ordinary soldier, his conformity to the type of the average
citizen, he won an absolute ascendancy over the minds of normal men. It
touched the vanity of every individual that a man, by the exercise of
brains and faculties no greater than his own, was become lord of half
the world. It was no prodigious intellectual genius who ruled the earth
with incomprehensible ability, but a burly, virile, simple, brave,
vulgar man. It was related with satisfaction that when Antony was shown
the little senate-house at Megara, which seems to have been an ancient
architectural gem of which the cultured inhabitants were justly proud,
he told them that it was “not very large, but extremely _ruinous_”--a
remark which recalls the comment of the American tourist in Oxford,
that the buildings were very much out of repair. A little honest
Philistinism is a very useful thing.

A touch of purple, too, as Stevenson has reminded us, is not without
its value. Antony was always something of an actor, and enjoyed a
display in a manner as theatrical as it was unforced. When he made
his public orations, he attempted to attract the eye of his audience
at the same time that he tickled their ears. In his famous funeral
oration after the death of Cæsar, we have seen how he exhibited, at
the psychological moment, the gory clothes of the murdered Dictator,
showing to the crowd the holes made by the daggers of the assassins and
the stains of his blood. Desiring to make a profound effect upon his
harassed troops during the retreat from Media, he clothed himself in a
dismal mourning habit, and was only with difficulty persuaded by his
officers to change it for the scarlet cloak of a general. He enjoyed
dressing himself to suit the part of a Hercules, for which nature,
indeed, had already caused him to be cast; and in public assemblies
he would often appear with “his tunic girt low about his hips, a
broadsword at his side, and over all a large, coarse mantle,” cutting,
one may suppose, a very fine figure. In cultured Athens he thought it
was perhaps more fitting to present himself in a pacific guise, and
we find him at the public games clad in the gown and white shoes of a
steward, the wands of that gentle office carried before him. On this
occasion, however, he introduced the herculean _rôle_ to this extent,
that he parted the combatants by seizing the scruff of their necks and
holding them from one another at arm’s length. In later life his love
of display led him into strange habits; and, while he was often clothed
in the guise of Bacchus, his garments for daily use were of the richest
purple, and were clasped with enormous jewels.

The glamour of the stage always appealed to his nature, and he found,
moreover, that the society of players and comedians held peculiar
attractions for him. The actor Sergius was one of his best friends
in Rome; and he was so proud of his acquaintance with an actress
named Cytheris that he often invited her to accompany him upon some
excursion, and assigned to her a litter not inferior to that of his
own mother, which might have been extremely galling to the elder
lady. On these journeys he would cause pavilions to be erected, and
sumptuous repasts prepared under the trees beside the Tiber, his guests
being served with priceless wines in golden cups. When he made his
more public progress through the land a very circus-show accompanied
him, and the populace were entertained by the spectacle of buffoons,
musicians, and chariots drawn by lions. On these journeys Cytheris
would often accompany him, as though to amuse him, and a number of
dancing-girls and singers would form part of his retinue. At the
night’s halt, the billeting of these somewhat surprising young women in
the houses of “serious fathers and mothers of families,” as Plutarch
puts it, caused much resentment, and suggested an attitude of mind in
Antony which cannot altogether be attributed to a boyish desire to
shock. There can be no doubt that he enjoyed upsetting decorum, and
took kindly to those people whom others considered to be outcasts. Like
Charles Lamb, he may have expressed a preference for “man as he ought
_not_ to be,” which, to a controlled and limited extent, may be an
admirable attitude. But it is more probable that actions such as that
just recorded were merely thoughtless, and were not tempered by much
consideration for the feelings of others until those outraged feelings
were pointed out to him, whereupon, so Plutarch tells us, he could be
frankly repentant.

He cared little for public opinion, and had no idea of the annoyance
and distress caused by his actions. He was much in the hands of his
courtiers and friends, and so long as all about him appeared to be
happy and jolly, he found no reason for further inquiry. While in Asia
he considered it needful to the good condition of his army to levy a
tax upon the cities which had already paid their tribute to him, and
orders were given to this effect, without the matter receiving much
consideration by him. In fact, it would seem that the first tribute had
slipped his memory. A certain Hybreas, therefore, complained to him in
the name of the Asiatic cities, reminding him of the earlier tax. “If
it has not been paid to you,” he said, “ask your collectors for it; if
it has, and is all gone, we are ruined men.” Antony at once saw the
sense of this, realised the suffering he was about to cause, and being,
so it is said, touched to the quick, promptly made other arrangements.
Having a very good opinion of himself, and being in a rough sort of
manner much flattered by his friends, he was slow to see his own
faults; but when he was of opinion that he had been in the wrong, he
became profoundly repentant, and was never ashamed of asking the pardon
of those he had injured. With boyish extravagance he made reparation to
them, lavishing gifts upon them in such a manner that his generosity on
these occasions is said to have exceeded by far his severity on others.

He was at all times generous, both to his friends and to his enemies.
He seems to have inherited this quality from his father, who, from
the brief reference to him in Plutarch, appears to have been a kindly
old man, somewhat afraid of his wife, and given to making presents to
his friends behind her back. Antony’s “generous ways,” says Plutarch,
“his open and lavish hand in gifts and favours to his friends and
fellow-soldiers, did a great deal for him in his first advance to
power; and after he had become great, long maintained his fortunes,
when a thousand follies were hastening their overthrow.” So lavish
were his presents to his friends and his hospitality that he was
always in debt, and even in his early manhood he owed his creditors
a huge fortune. He had little idea of the value of money, and his
extravagances were the talk of the world. On one occasion he ordered
his steward to pay a certain large sum of money to one of his needy
friends, and the amount so shocked that official that he counted it out
in small silver _decies_, which he caused to be piled into a heap in a
conspicuous place where it should catch the donor’s eye, and, by its
size, cause him to change his mind. In due course Antony came upon the
heap of money, and asked what was its purpose. The steward replied in
a significant tone that it was the amount which was to be given to his
friend. “Oh,” said Antony, quite unmoved, “I should have thought the
_decies_ would have been much more. It is too little: let the amount be
doubled.”

He was as generous, moreover, in his dealings as in his gifts. After
his Alexandrian Triumph he did not put to death the conquered Armenian
King Artavasdes, who had been led in golden chains through the
streets, although such an execution was customary according to Roman
usage. Just previous to the battle of Actium, the consul Domitius
Ahenobarbus deserted and went over to Octavian, leaving behind him
all his goods and chattels and his entire retinue. With a splendid
nobility Antony sent his baggage after him, not deigning to enrich
himself at the expense of his treacherous friend, nor to revenge
himself by maltreating any of those whom the consul had left in such
jeopardy. After the battle of Philippi, Antony was eager to take his
enemy, Brutus, alive; but a certain officer named Lucilius heroically
prevented this by pretending to be the defeated general, and by giving
himself up to Antony’s soldiers. The men brought their captive in
triumph to Antony, but as soon as he was come into his presence he
explained that he was not Brutus, and that he had pretended to be so
in order to save his master, and was now prepared to pay with his life
the penalty for his deception. Thereupon Antony, addressing the angry
and excited crowd, said: “I see, comrades, that you are upset, and
take it ill that you have been thus deceived, and think yourselves
abused and insulted by it; but you must know that you have met with a
prize better than that you sought. For you were in search of an enemy,
but you have brought me here a friend. And of this I am sure, that
it is better to have such men as this Lucilius our friends than our
enemies.”[82] And with these words he embraced the brave officer, and
gave him a free pardon. Shortly after this, when Brutus, the murderer
both of his old friend Julius Cæsar and of his own brother Caius, had
committed suicide, he did not revenge himself upon the body by exposing
it to insult, as was so often done, but covered it decently with his
own scarlet mantle, and gave orders that it should be buried at his
private expense with the honours of war. Similarly, after the capture
of Pelusium and the defeat and death of Archelaus, Antony sought out
the body of his conquered enemy and buried it with royal honours. In
his earlier years, his treatment of Lepidus, whose army he had won over
from him, was courteous in the extreme. Although absolute master of the
situation, and Lepidus a prisoner in his hands, he insisted upon the
fallen general remaining commander of the army, and always addressed
him respectfully as Father.

Many of his actions were due to a kind of youthful impulsiveness. He
gave his cook a fine house in Magnesia--the property, by the way,
of somebody else--in reward for a single successful supper. This
impetuosity was manifest in other ways, for, by its nature, which
allowed of no delay in putting into action the thought dominant in
his mind, it must be defined as a kind of impatience. As a young man
desiring rapid fame, he had suddenly thrown in his lot with Clodius,
“the most insolent and outrageous demagogue of the time,” leading with
him a life of violence and disorder; and as suddenly he had severed
that partnership, going to Greece to study with enthusiasm the polite
arts. In later years his sudden invasion of Media, with such haste
that he was obliged to leave behind him all his engines of war, is the
most notable example of this impatience. The battle of Actium, which
ended his career, was lost by a sudden impulse on his part; and, at
the last, the taking of his own life was to some extent the impatient
anticipation of the processes of nature.

This trait in his character, combined with an inherent bravery, caused
him to cut a very dashing figure in warfare, and when fortune was with
him, made of him a brilliant general. He stood in fear of nothing,
and dangers seem to have presented themselves to him as pleasant
relaxations of the humdrum of life. In the battle which opened the
war against Aristobulus he was the first man to scale the enemy’s
works; and in a pitched battle he routed a force far larger than his
own, took Aristobulus and his son prisoners, and, like an avenging
deity, slaughtered almost the entire hostile army. At another time his
dash across the desert to Pelusium, and his brilliant capture of that
fortress, brought him considerable fame. Again, in the war against
Pompey, “there was not one of the many battles,” says Plutarch, “in
which he did not signalise himself: twice he stopped the army in its
full flight, led them back to a charge, and gained the victory, so that
... his reputation, next to Cæsar’s, was the greatest in the army.” In
the disastrous retreat from Media he showed the greatest bravery; and
it was no common courage that allowed him, after the horrors of the
march back to Armenia, to prepare for a second campaign.

His generalship was not extraordinarily skilful, though it is true that
at Pharsalia Cæsar placed him in command of the left wing of the army,
himself taking the right; but his great courage, and the confidence and
devotion which he inspired in his men, served to make him a trustworthy
commander. His popularity amongst his soldiers, as has been said, was
unbounded. His magnificent, manly appearance appealed to that sense
of the dramatic in which a soldier, by military display, is very
properly trained. His familiarity with his men, moreover, introduced
a very personal note into their devotion, and each soldier felt that
his general’s eye was upon him. He would sometimes go amongst them
at the common mess, sit down with them at their tables, and eat or
drink with them. He joined with them in their exercises, and seems to
have been able to run, wrestle, or box with the best. He jested with
high and low, and liked them to answer him back. “His raillery,” says
Plutarch, “was sharp and insulting, but the edge of it was taken off
by his readiness to submit to any kind of repartee; for he was as well
contented to be rallied as he was pleased to rally others.” In a word,
he was “the delight and pleasure of the army.”

His eloquence was very marked, a faculty which he seems to have
inherited from his grandfather, who was a famous pleader and advocate.
As a young man he studied the art at Athens, and took to a style known
as the Asiatic, which was somewhat flowery and ostentatious. When
Pompey’s power at Rome was at its height, and Cæsar was in eclipse,
Antony read his chief’s letters in the Senate with such effect that
he obtained many adherents to their cause. His public speech at the
funeral of Cæsar led to the downfall of the assassins. When he himself
was driven out of Rome he made such an impression by his words upon
the army of Lepidus, to which he had fled, that an order was given to
sound the trumpets in order to drown his appealing voice. “There was no
man of his time like him for addressing a multitude,” says Plutarch,
“or for carrying soldiers with him by the force of words.” It was in
eloquence, perhaps, that he made his nearest approach to a diversion
from the ordinary; though even in this it is possible to find no more
than an exalted mediocrity. A fine presence, a frank utterance, and
a vigorous delivery make a great impression upon a crowd; and common
sincerity is the most electrifying agent in man’s employment.

Yet another of the causes of his popularity both amongst his troops
and with his friends was the sympathy which he always showed with the
intrigues and troubles of lovers. “In love affairs,” says Plutarch,
“he was very agreeable; he gained friends by the assistance he gave
them in theirs, and took other people’s raillery upon his own with
good-humour.” He used to lose his heart to women with the utmost
ease and the greatest frequency; and they, by reason of his splendid
physique and noble bearing, not infrequently followed suit. Amongst
serious-minded people he had an ill name for familiarity with other
men’s wives; but the domestic habits of the age were very irregular,
and his own wife Antonia had carried on an intrigue with his friend
Dolabella for which Antony had divorced her, thereafter marrying
the strong-minded Fulvia. Antony was a full-blooded, virile man,
unrestrained by any strong principles of morality and possessed of no
standard of domestic constancy either by education or by inclination.
He was not ashamed of the consequences of his promiscuous amours, but
allowed nature to have her will with him. Like his ancestor Hercules,
he was so proud of his stock that he wished it multiplied in many
lands, and he never confined his hopes of progeny to any one woman.

There was a certain brutality in his nature, and of this the particular
instance is the murder of Cicero. The orator had incurred his bitter
hostility in the first place by putting to death, and perhaps denying
burial to Antony’s stepfather, Cornelius Lentulus. Later he was the
cause of Antony’s ejection from Rome and of his privations while
making the passage of the Alps. The traitorous Dolabella was Cicero’s
son-in-law, which must have added something to the family feud.
Moreover, Cicero’s orations and writings against Antony were continuous
and full of invective. It is perhaps not to be wondered at, therefore,
that when Octavian, Antony, and Lepidus decided to rid the State of
certain undesirable persons, as we have already seen, Cicero was
proscribed and put to death. Plutarch tells us that his head and right
hand were hung up above the speaker’s place in the Forum, and that
Antony laughed when he saw them, perhaps because, in his simple way, he
did not know what else to do to carry off a situation of which he was
somewhat ashamed.

As a rule, however, Antony was kind-hearted and humane, and, as has
already been shown, was seldom severe or cruel to his enemies. To many
people he embodied and personified good-nature, jollity, and strength:
he seemed to them to be a blending of Bacchus with Hercules; and if his
morals were not of a lofty character, it may be said in his defence
that they were consistent with the part for which nature had cast him.

Little is known as to his attitude towards religion, and one cannot
tell whether he entertained any of the atheistic doctrines which were
then so widely preached, nor does the fact that he allowed himself to
be worshipped as Bacchus help us to form an opinion in this regard. It
is probable, however, that his faith was of a simple kind in conformity
with his character; and it is known that he was superstitious and aware
of the presence of the supernatural. A certain Egyptian diviner made a
profound impression upon him by foreshadowing the future events of his
life and warning him against the power of Octavian. And again, when
he set out upon his Parthian campaign, he carried with him a vessel
containing the water of the Clepsydra, an oracle having urged him to
do so, while, at the same time, he took with him a wreath made of the
leaves of the sacred olive-tree. He believed implicitly in the divine
nature of dreams, and we are told of one occasion upon which he dreamed
that his right hand was thunderstruck, and thereupon discovered a plot
against his life. Such superstitions, however, were very general, even
amongst educated people; and Antony’s belief in omens has only to be
noted here because it played some part in his career. Until the last
year of his life he was attended with good luck, and a friendly fortune
helped him out of many difficult situations into which his impetuosity
had led him. It seemed to many that Bacchus had really identified
himself with Antony, bringing to his aid the powers of his godhead; and
when at the end his downfall was complete, several persons declared
that they actually heard the clatter and the processional music which
marked the departure of the deity from the destinies of the fallen
giant. The historian cannot but find extenuating circumstances in the
majority of the culpable acts of the “colossal child”; and amongst
these excuses there is none so urgent as this continuous presence of
a smiling fortune. “Antony in misfortune,” says Plutarch, “was most
nearly a virtuous man”; and if we wish to form a true estimate of his
character we must give prominence to his hardy and noble attitude in
the days of his flight from Rome or of his retreat from Media. It was
then that he had done with his boyish inconsequence and played the man.
At all other times he was the spoilt child of fortune, rollicking on
his triumphant way; jesting, drinking, loving, and fighting; careless
of public opinion; and, like a god, sporting at will with the ball of
the world.

When Dellius came to bring Cleopatra to him he was at the height of
his power. Absolute master of the East, he was courted by kings and
princes, who saw in him the future ruler of the entire Roman Empire.
Cæsar must have often told the Queen of his faults and abilities, and
she herself must have noticed the frank simplicity of his character.
She set out, therefore, prepared to meet not with a complex genius, but
with an ordinary man, representative, in a monstrous manner, of the
victories and the blunders of common human nature, and, incidentally, a
man somewhat plagued by an emancipated wife.




CHAPTER XII.

THE ALLIANCE BETWEEN CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY.


Determined to win the fickle Antony back to her cause and that of her
son, Cleopatra set sail from Alexandria, and, passing between Cyprus
and the coast of Syria, at length one morning entered the mouth of the
Cydnus in Cilicia, and made her way up to the city of Tarsus which was
situated on the banks of the river in the shadow of the wooded <DW72>s
of the Taurus mountains. The city was famous both for its maritime
commerce and for its school of oratory. The ships of Tarshish (_i.e._,
Tarsus) had been renowned since ancient days, and upon these vessels
the rhetoricians travelled far and wide, carrying the methods of their
_alma mater_ throughout the known world. Julius Cæsar and Cato may be
named as two of the pupils of this school who have played their parts
in the foregoing pages;[83] and now Antony, the foremost Roman of this
period, was honouring Tarsus itself with his presence. The city stood
some miles back from the sea, and it was late afternoon before its
buildings and busy docks were observed by the Egyptians, sheltering
against the <DW72>s of the mountains. As the fleet sailed up the Cydnus,
the people of the neighbourhood swarmed down to the water’s edge to
watch its stately progress; and the excitement was intense when it
was seen that the Queen’s vessel was fitted and decked out in the
most extravagant manner. Near the city the river widens into a quiet
lake, and here in the roads, where lay the world-renowned merchant
vessels, Cleopatra’s ships probably came to anchor, while the quays and
embankments were crowded with the townsfolk who had gathered to witness
the Queen’s arrival.

On hearing of her approach Antony had seated himself upon the public
tribunal in the market-place, expecting that she would land at once and
come to pay her respects to him in official manner. But Cleopatra had
no intention of playing a part which might in any way be interpreted as
that of a vassal or suppliant; and she therefore seems to have remained
on board her ship at a distance from the shore, as though in no haste
to meet Antony.

Meanwhile reports began to spread of the magnificence of the Queen’s
vessels, and it was said that preparations were being made on board
for the reception of the Triumvir. The crowds surrounding the tribunal
thereupon hurried from the market-place to join those upon the quays,
and soon Antony was left alone with his retinue. There he sat waiting
for some time, till, losing patience, he sent a message to the Queen
inviting her to dine with him. To this she replied by asking him to
bring the Roman and local magnates to dine with her instead; and
Antony, not wishing to stand upon ceremony with his old friend, at
once accepted the invitation. At dusk, therefore, Cleopatra appears to
have ordered her vessel to be brought across the lake to the city, and
to be moored at the crowded quay, where already Antony was waiting
to come on board; and the burly Roman, always a lover of theatrical
display, must then have been entertained by a spectacle more stirring
than any he had known before.

Across the water, in which the last light of the sunset was reflected,
the royal galley was rowed by banks of silver-mounted oars, the great
purple sails hanging idly in the still air of evening. The vessel was
steered by two oar-like rudders, controlled by helmsmen who stood in
the stern of the ship under a shelter constructed in the form of an
enormous elephant’s head of shining gold, the trunk raised aloft.[84]
Around the helmsmen a number of beautiful slave-women were grouped
in the guise of sea-nymphs and graces; and near them a company of
musicians played a melody upon their flutes, pipes, and harps, for
which the slow-moving oars seemed to beat the time. Cleopatra herself,
decked in the loose, shimmering robes of the goddess Venus, lay under
an awning bespangled with gold, while boys dressed as Cupids stood on
either side of her couch, fanning her with the  ostrich plumes
of the Egyptian court. Before the royal canopy brazen censers stood
upon delicate pedestals, sending forth fragrant clouds of exquisitely
prepared Egyptian incense, the marvellous odour of which was wafted to
the shore ere yet the vessel had come to its moorings.[85]

At last, as the light of day began to fade, the royal galley was moored
to the crowded quay, and Antony stepped on board, followed by the
chief officers of his staff and by the local celebrities of Tarsus. His
meeting with the Queen appears to have been of the most cordial nature,
for the manner of her approach must have made it impossible for him at
that moment to censure her conduct. Moreover, the splendid allurements
of the scene in which they met, the enchantment of the twilight, the
enticement of her beauty, the delicacy of the music blending with the
ripple of the water, the intoxication of the incense and the priceless
perfumes, must have stirred his imagination and driven from his mind
all thought of reproach. Nor could he have found much opportunity for
serious conversation with her, for presently the company was led down
to the banqueting-saloon where a dinner of the utmost magnificence was
served. Twelve triple couches, covered with embroideries and furnished
with cushions, were set around the room, before each of which stood a
table whereon rested golden dishes inlaid with precious stones, and
drinking goblets of exquisite workmanship. The walls of the saloon were
hung with embroideries worked in purple and gold, and the floor was
strewn with flowers. Antony could not refrain from exclaiming at the
splendour of the entertainment, whereupon Cleopatra declared that it
was not worthy of comment; and, there and then, she made him a present
of everything used at the banquet--dishes, drinking-vessels, couches,
embroideries, and all else in the saloon. Returning once more to the
deck, the elated guests, now made more impressionable by the effects
of Egyptian wine, were amazed to find themselves standing beneath a
marvellous kaleidoscope of lanterns, hung in squares and circles from
a forest of branches interlaced above their heads, and in these almost
magical surroundings they enjoyed the enlivening company of the
fascinating young Queen until the wine-jars were emptied and the lamps
had burnt low.

From the shore the figures of the revellers, moving to and fro amidst
this galaxy of lights to the happy strains of the music, must have
appeared to be actors in some divine masque; and it was freely stated,
as though it had been fact, that Venus had come down to earth to feast
with Dionysos (Antony) for the common good of Asia. Cleopatra, as we
have already seen, had been identified with Venus during the time when
she lived in Rome; and in Egypt she was always deified. And thus the
character in which she presented herself at Tarsus was not assumed, as
is generally supposed, simply for the purpose of creating a charming
picture, but it was her wish actually to be received as a goddess, that
Antony might behold in her the divine Queen of Egypt whom the great
Cæsar himself had accepted and honoured as an incarnation of Venus. It
must be remembered that at this period men were very prone to identify
prominent persons with popular divinities. Julia, the daughter of
Octavian, was in like manner identified with Venus Genetrix by the
inhabitants of certain cities. We have seen how Cæsar seems to have
been named Lupercus, and how Antony was called Dionysos (Bacchus);
and it will be remembered how, at Lystra, Paul and Barnabas were
saluted as Hermes and Zeus. In the many known cases, such as these,
the people actually credited the identification; and though a little
thought probably checked a continuance of such a belief, at the time
there seemed to be no cause for doubt that these divinities had made
themselves manifest on earth. The crowds who stood on the banks of the
Cydnus that night must therefore have really believed themselves to be
peeping at an entertainment provided by a manifestation of a popular
goddess for the amusement of an incarnation of a favourite god.

It would appear that Antony invited Cleopatra to sup with him on the
following evening, but the Queen seems to have urged him and his suite
again to feast with her. This second banquet was so far more splendid
than the first that, according to Plutarch, the entertainment already
described seemed by comparison to be contemptible. When the guests
departed, not only did she give to each one the couch upon which he
had lain, and the goblets which had been set before him, but she also
presented the chief guests with litters, and with slaves to carry them,
and Ethiopian boys to bear torches in front of them; while for the
lesser guests she provided horses adorned with golden trappings, which
they were bidden to keep as mementos of the banquet.

On the next night Cleopatra at last deigned to dine with Antony, who
had exhausted the resources of Tarsus in his desire to provide a
feast which should equal in magnificence those given by the Queen;
but in this he failed, and he was the first to make a jest of his
unsuccess and of the poverty of his wits. The Queen’s entertainments
had been marked by that brilliancy of conversation and atmosphere of
refinement which in past years had so appealed to the intelligence
of the great Dictator; but Antony’s banquet, on the contrary, was
notable for the coarseness of the wit and for what Plutarch describes
as a sort of rustic awkwardness. Cleopatra, however, was equal to the
occasion, and speedily adjusted her conduct to suit that of her burly
host. “Perceiving that his raillery was broad and gross, and that it
savoured more of the soldier than of the courtier, she rejoined in the
same taste, and fell at once into that manner, without any sort of
reluctance or reserve.”[86] Thus she soon succeeded in captivating this
powerful Roman, and in making him her most devoted friend and ally.
There was something irresistible in the excitement of her presence: for
the daintiness of her person, the vivacity of her character, and the
enchantment of her voice, were, so to speak, enhanced by the audacity
of her treatment of the broad subjects introduced in conversation.
Antony had sent for her to censure her for a supposed negligence of
his interests; but speedily he was led to realise that he himself, and
not the Queen, had deviated from the course upon which they had agreed
in Rome. It was he who, by his association with Octavian, had appeared
to desert what Cleopatra believed to be the genuine Cæsarian cause;
whereas, on the other hand, the Queen was able to show that she had
refrained from sending aid to the Triumvirate simply because she could
not decide in what manner the welfare of her son, the little Cæsar, was
to be promoted by such an action. Under the spell of her attraction
Antony, who in the Dictator’s lifetime had never been permitted to
receive in his heart the full force of her charming attack, now fell an
easy victim to her strategy, and declared himself ready to carry out
her wishes in all things.

On the fourth night of her visit to Tarsus, Cleopatra entertained the
Roman officers at another banquet; and on this occasion she caused the
floor of the saloon to be strewn with roses to the depth of nearly
two feet, the flowers being held in a solid formation by nets which
were tightly spread over them and fastened to the surrounding walls,
the guests thus walking to their couches upon a perfumed mattress of
blooms, the cost of which, for the one room, was some £250.

In this prodigious manner the next few days were spent. The Queen
made every possible effort to display to Antony her wealth and power,
in order that she might obtain his consent to some form of alliance
between them which should be directed against Octavian. Her one desire
now was to effect a break between these two leaders, to set them at one
another’s throats, and then, by lending Antony her support, to secure
the overthrow of Octavian, Cæsar’s nephew, and the triumph of Cæsarion,
Cæsar’s son. For this purpose it was absolutely necessary to reveal
the extent of her wealth, and to exhibit the limitless stream of her
resources. She therefore seems to have shown a mild disdain for the
Roman general’s efforts to entertain her, and at his banquets she seems
to have conveyed to him the disquieting impression that she was smiling
at his attempted magnificence, and was even puzzled by his inability to
give to his feasts that fairy aspect which characterised her own.

Her attitude caused Antony some uneasiness, and at length it seems
that he asked the Queen directly what more could be done to add to
the splendour of his table. During the course of the conversation
which ensued he appears to have told her how much an entertainment of
the kind cost him; whereupon she replied that she herself could with
ease expend the equivalent of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds
sterling upon a single meal. Antony promptly denied it, declaring that
such a thing was impossible; and the Queen thereupon offered him a
wager that she would do so on the next day. This was accepted, and a
certain Plancus was invited to decide it. Antony does not appear to
have recollected that in time past Clodius, the son of the comedian
Æsop, was wont to mingle melted pearls with his food, that the cost of
his meals might be interestingly enormous;[87] for he would then have
realised that Cleopatra intended to employ some such device to win her
wager, and he would perhaps have restrained her.

To the next day’s banquet the Roman looked forward with some
excitement; and he must have been at once elated and disappointed when
he found the display to be not much above the ordinary. At the end of
the meal he calculated with Plancus the expenses of the various dishes,
and estimated the value of the golden plates and goblets. He then
turned to the Queen, telling her that the total amount did not nearly
reach the figure named in the wager.

“Wait,” said Cleopatra. “This is only a beginning. I shall now try
whether I cannot spend the stipulated sum upon myself.”

A signal was given to the attendant slaves, who brought a table to her,
upon which a single cup containing a little vinegar was set. She was
wearing in her ears at the time two enormous pearls, the value of each
of which was more than half the amount named in the wager; and one of
these she rapidly detached, throwing it into the vinegar, wherein it
soon disintegrated. The vinegar and some seventy-five thousand pounds
having then trickled down her royal throat, she prepared to destroy the
second pearl in like manner; but Plancus intervened, and declared the
wager won, while Antony, no doubt, pondered not without gloom upon the
ways of women.

It has generally been thought that the Queen’s extravagance was to be
attributed to her vain desire to impress Antony with the fact of her
personal wealth. But, as we have seen, there was certainly a strong
political reason for her actions; and there is no need to suppose that
she was actuated by vanity. Indeed, the display of her wealth does not
appear to have been on any occasion as ostentatious as one might gather
from the Greek authors, whose writings suggest that they attributed
to her a boastful profligacy in financial matters which could only
be described as bad form. It would seem rather that the instances of
her prodigality recorded here were all characterised in appearance by
a subtle show of unaffected simplicity and ingenuousness, a sort of
breath-taking audacity, while in quality they were largely political
and speculative.

It is very important for the reader to understand the attitude of
Cleopatra at this time, and to divest his mind of the views usually
accepted in regard to the Queen’s alliance with Antony; and therefore
I must repeat that it was Cleopatra’s desire at Tarsus to arouse the
interest of Antony in the possibilities of Egypt as the basis of an
attempt upon Rome. She wished to lead him, as I have said, to put
faith in the limitless wealth that might flow down the Nile to fill
the coffers which should be his, were he to lead an army to claim the
throne for herself as Cæsar’s wife, and for her son as Cæsar’s flesh
and blood. Here was the man who could conquer for her the empire which
she had lost by the premature death of the great Dictator. It was
necessary to make him understand the advantages of partnership with
her, and hence it became needful for her to display to him the untold
wealth that she could command. There was no particular vanity in her
actions, nor real wastefulness: she was playing a great game, and the
stakes were high. A few golden goblets, a melted pearl or two, were
not an excessive price to pay for the partisanship of Antony. Her son
Cæsarion was too young to fight his own battles, and she herself could
not lead an army. Antony’s championship therefore had to be obtained,
and there was no way of enlisting his sympathies so sure as that of
revealing to him the boundless riches which she could bring to his aid.
Let him have practical demonstration of the wealth of hidden Africa
and mysterious Asia at her command, and he would surely not shun an
enterprise which should make Cæsar’s friend, Cæsar’s wife, and Cæsar’s
son the three sovereigns of the world. She would show him the gold
of Ethiopia and of Nubia; she would turn his attention to the great
trade-routes to India; and she would remind him of the advantageous
possibilities which the great Dictator had seen in an alliance with
her. In this manner she would again win his support, as she believed
she had already done in Rome; and thus through him the ambitious
schemes of Julius Cæsar might at last be put into execution.

There were, however, one or two outstanding matters which required
immediate attention. The Princess Arsinoe, who had walked the streets
of Rome in Cæsar’s Triumph and had been released after that event, was
now residing either at Miletus or Ephesus,[88] where she had received
sanctuary amongst the priests and priestesses attached to the temple of
Artemis. The High Priest treated her kindly, and even honoured her as
a queen, a fact which suggests that he had definitely placed himself
upon her side in her feud with Cleopatra. She seems to have been a
daring and ambitious woman, who, throughout her short life, struggled
vainly to obtain the throne of Egypt for herself; and now it would
appear that she was once more scheming to oust her sister, just as she
had schemed in the Alexandrian Palace in the days when Ganymedes was
her chamberlain.

It will be remembered that the Dictator had given the throne of
Cyprus to Arsinoe and her brother, but it does not seem that this
gift had ever been ratified, though no doubt the Princess attempted
to style herself Queen of that island. It may be that she had come
to some terms with Cassius and Brutus by offering them aid in their
war with Antony if they would assist her in her endeavours to obtain
the Egyptian throne; and it is possible that the Egyptian Viceroy of
Cyprus, Serapion, was involved in this arrangement when he handed
over his fleet to Cassius, as has been recorded in the last chapter.
At all events, Cleopatra was now able to obtain Antony’s consent to
the execution both of Arsinoe and of Serapion. A number of men were
despatched, therefore, with orders to put her to death, and these
entering the temple while Arsinoe was serving in the sanctuary, killed
her at the steps of the altar. The High Priest was indicted apparently
on the charge of conspiracy, and it was only with great difficulty that
the priesthood managed to obtain his pardon. Serapion, however, could
not claim indulgence on account of his calling, and he was speedily
arrested and slain.

Having thus rid herself of one serious menace to her throne, Cleopatra
persuaded Antony to assist her to remove from her mind another cause
for deep anxiety. It will be remembered that when Cæsar defeated the
Egyptian army in the south of the Delta in March B.C. 47, the young
King Ptolemy XIV. was drowned in the rout, his body being said to have
been recognised by his golden corselet. Now, however, a man who claimed
to be none other than this unfortunate monarch was trying to obtain
a following, and possibly had put himself in correspondence with his
supposed sister Arsinoe. The pretender was residing at this time in
Phœnicia, a fact which suggests that he had also been in communication
with Serapion, who at the time of his arrest was likewise travelling in
that country. Antony therefore consented to the arrest and execution of
this pseudo-monarch, and in a few weeks’ time he was quietly despatched.

Historians are inclined to see in the deaths of these three
conspirators an instance of Cleopatra’s cruelty and vindictiveness; and
one finds them described as victims of her insatiable ambition, the
killing of Arsinoe being named as the darkest stain upon the Queen’s
black reputation. I cannot see, however, in what manner a menace to her
throne of this kind could have been removed, save by the ejection of
the makers of the trouble from the earthly sphere of their activities.
The death of Arsinoe, like that of Thomas à Beckett, is rendered ugly
by the fact that it took place at the steps of a sacred altar; but,
remembering the period in which these events occurred, the executions
are not to be censured too severely, for what goodly king or queen of
former days has not thus removed by death all pretenders to the throne?

Cleopatra’s visit to Tarsus does not seem to have been prolonged
beyond a few weeks, but when at length she returned to Alexandria, she
must have felt that her short residence with Antony had raised her
prestige once more to the loftiest heights. Not only had she used his
dictatorial power to sweep her two rivals and their presumed accomplice
from the face of the earth, not only had she struck the terror of her
power into the heart of the powerful High Priest of Artemis who, in
the distant Ægean, had merely harboured a pretender to Egypt’s throne,
but she had actually won the full support of Antony once more, and had
extracted from him a promise to pay her a visit at Alexandria in order
that he might see with his own eyes the wealth which Egypt could offer.
For the first time, therefore, since the death of Cæsar, her prospects
seemed once more to be brilliant; and it must have been with a light
heart that she sailed across the Mediterranean once more towards her
own splendid city.




CHAPTER XIII.

CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY IN ALEXANDRIA.


There can be little doubt that Antony was extremely anxious to form
a solid alliance with Cleopatra at this juncture, for he needed just
such an ally for the schemes which he had in view. His relations with
Octavian were strained, and the insignificant part played by the latter
in the operations which culminated at Philippi had led him to feel some
contempt for the young man’s abilities. The Triumvirate was, at best,
a compromise; and Antony had no expectation that it would for one day
outlive the acquisition either by Octavian or himself of preponderant
power. At the back of his mind he hoped for the fall of Cæsar’s nephew;
and he saw in the alliance with Cleopatra the means whereby he could
obtain a numerical advantage over his rival.

After the battle of Philippi Octavian had returned to Rome, and
Antony now received news that the troops under their joint command
were highly dissatisfied with the rewards which they had received
for their labours. There was considerable friction between those who
were loyal to Octavian and those who thought that Antony would treat
them more generously; and the latter’s agents in Rome, notably his
wife Fulvia, were endeavouring to widen the breach, more probably
of their own accord than with their leader’s direct consent. Antony
had no wish to break with Octavian until he could feel confident of
success; and, moreover, his attention was directed at this time more
keenly to the question of the conquest of Parthia than to that of the
destruction of Octavian. The great Dictator had stirred his imagination
in regard to the Parthians, and possibly the project of the invasion
of India was already exercising his mind, as it certainly did in later
years.[89] His plans therefore, in broad outline, now seem to have been
grouped into three movements: firstly, the formation of an offensive
and defensive alliance with Cleopatra, in order that her money, men,
and ships might be placed at his disposal; secondly, the invasion
of Parthia, so that the glory of his victories and the loot of the
conquered country might raise his prestige to the highest point; and
thirdly, the picking of a quarrel with Octavian, in order that he might
sweep him from the face of the earth, thereby leaving himself ruler
of the world. Then, like Cæsar, he would probably proclaim himself
King, would marry Cleopatra, and would establish a royal dynasty, his
successor being either his stepson, the Dictator’s child, or the future
son of his marriage with the Queen of Egypt should their union be
fruitful.

Filled with these hopes, which corresponded so closely to those of
Cleopatra, Antony prepared to go to Alexandria in the autumn of the
year B.C. 41, intent on sealing the alliance with the Queen of Egypt.
He arranged for a certain Decidius Saxa, one of the late Dictator’s
chosen generals, to be placed in command of the forces in Syria; and
it was this officer’s duty to keep him informed of the movements of
the Parthians, and to prepare for the coming campaign against them.
The King of Parthia, Orodes by name, had engaged the services of a
Roman renegade named Quintus Labienus, a former colleague of Cassius
and Brutus; and this man was now working in conjunction with Pacorus,
the King’s son, in organising the Parthian armies and preparing them
for an offensive movement against the neighbouring Roman provinces.
There seemed thus to be no doubt that war would speedily break out, and
Antony was therefore very anxious to put himself in possession of the
Egyptian military and naval resources as quickly as possible.

[Illustration:

    _Vatican._]      [_Photograph by Anderson._

OCTAVIAN.]

He was about to set sail for Alexandria when news seems to have reached
him that the troubles in Rome were coming to a head, and that his
brother Lucius Antonius, and his wife Fulvia, were preparing to attack
Octavian. He must therefore have hesitated in deciding whether he
should return to Rome or not. He must have been considerably annoyed
at the turn which events had taken, for he knew well enough that he
was not then in a position to wage a successful war against Octavian;
and he was much afraid of being involved in a contest which would
probably lead to his own downfall. If he returned to Italy it was
possible that he might be able to patch up the quarrel, and to effect
a reconciliation which should keep the world at peace until the time
when he himself desired war. But if he failed in his pacific efforts,
a conflict would ensue for which he was not prepared. It seems to me,
therefore, that he thought it more desirable that he should keep clear
of the quarrel, and should show himself to be absorbed in eastern
questions. By going over to Egypt for a few weeks, not only would
he detach himself from the embarrassing tactics of his party in Rome,
but he would also raise forces and money, nominally for his Parthian
campaign, which would be of immense service to him should Octavian
press the quarrel to a conclusive issue. Moreover, there can be little
question that to Antony the thought of meeting his stern wife again
and of being obliged to live once more under her powerful scrutiny
was very distasteful; whereas, on the other hand, he looked forward
with youthful enthusiasm to a repetition of the charming entertainment
provided by Cleopatra. Antony was no great statesman or diplomatist;
and jolly overgrown boy that he was, his effective actions were at all
times largely dictated by his pleasurable desires. The Queen of Egypt
had made a most disconcerting appeal to that spontaneous nature, which,
in matters of this kind, required little encouragement from without;
and now the fact that it seemed wise at the time to keep away from Rome
served as full warrant for the manœuvre which his ambition and his
heart jointly urged upon him.

Early in the winter of B.C. 41, therefore, he made his way to
Alexandria, and was received by Cleopatra into the beautiful Lochias
Palace as a most profoundly honoured guest. All the resources of that
sumptuous establishment were concerted for his amusement, and it was
not long before the affairs of the Roman world were relegated to the
back of his genial mind. In the case of Cleopatra, however, there was
no such laxity. The Queen’s ambitions, fired by Cæsar, had been stirred
into renewed flame by her success at Tarsus; and she was determined
to make Antony the champion of her cause. From the moment when she
had realised his pliability and his susceptibility to her overtures,
she had made up her mind to join forces with him in an attempt upon
the throne of the Roman Empire; and it was now her business both
to fascinate him by her personal charms and, by the nature of her
entertainments, to demonstrate to him her wealth and power.

“It would be trifling without end,” says Plutarch, “to give a
particular account of Antony’s follies at Alexandria.” For several
weeks he gave himself up to amusements of the most frivolous character,
and to the enjoyment of a life more luxurious than any he had ever
known. His own family had been simple in their style of living, and
although he had taught himself much in this regard, and had expended a
great deal of money on lavish entertainments, there were no means of
obtaining in Rome a splendour which could compare with the magnificence
of these Alexandrian festivities. His friends, too, many of whom were
common actresses and comedians, had not been brilliant tutors in the
arts of entertainment; nor had they encouraged him to provide them so
much with refined luxury as with good strong drink and jovial company.
Now, however, in Cleopatra’s palace, Antony found himself surrounded on
all sides by the devices and appliances of the most advanced culture of
the age; and an appeal was made to his senses which would have put the
efforts even of the extravagant Lucullus to shame. Alexandria has been
called “the Paris of the ancient world,”[90] and it is not difficult to
understand the glamour which it cast upon the imagination of the lusty
Roman, who, for the first time in his life, found himself surrounded by
a group of cultured men and women highly practised in the art of living
sumptuously. Moreover, he was received by Cleopatra as prospective
lord of all he surveyed, for the Queen seems to have shown him quite
clearly that all these things would be his if he would but cast in his
lot with her.

Antony quickly adapted his manners to those of the Alexandrians.
He set aside his Roman dress and clothed himself in the square-cut
Greek costume, putting upon his feet the white Attic shoes known as
_phæcasium_. He seems to have spoken the Greek language well; and he
now made himself diplomatically agreeable to the Grecian nobles who
frequented the court. He constantly visited the meeting-places of
learned men, spending much time in the temples and in the Museum; and
thereby he won for himself an assured position in the brilliant society
of the Queen’s Alexandrian court, which, in spite of its devotion to
the pleasant follies of civilisation, prided itself upon its culture
and learning.

Meanwhile he did not hesitate to endear himself by every means in his
power to Cleopatra. He knew that she desired him, for dynastic reasons,
to become her legal husband, and that there was no other man in the
world, from her point of view, so suitable for the position of her
consort. He knew, also, that as a young “widow,” whose first union had
been so short-lived, Cleopatra was eagerly desirous of a satisfactory
marriage which should give her the comfort of a strong companion upon
whom to lean in her many hours of anxiety, and an ardent lover to whom
she could turn in her loneliness. He knew that she was attracted by
his herculean strength and brave appearance; and it must have been
apparent to him from the first that he could without much exertion win
her devotion almost as easily as the great Cæsar had done. The Queen
was young, passionate, and exceedingly lonely; and it did not require
any keen perception on his part to show him how great was her need,
both for political and for personal reasons, of a reliable marriage.
He therefore paid court to his hostess with confidence; and it was not
long before she surrendered herself to him with all the eagerness and
whole-hearted interest of her warm, impulsive nature.

The union was at once sanctioned by the court and the priesthood, and
was converted in Egypt into as legal a marriage as that with Cæsar had
been. There can be little doubt that Cleopatra obtained from him some
sort of promise that he would not desert her; and at this time she must
have felt herself able to trust him as implicitly as she had trusted
the great Dictator. Cæsar had not played her false; he had taken her to
Rome and had made no secret of his intention to raise her to the throne
by his side. In like manner she believed that Antony, virtually Cæsar’s
successor, would create an empire over which they should jointly rule;
and she must have rejoiced in her successful capture of his heart,
whereby she had obtained both a good-natured, handsome lover and a bold
political champion.

In the union between these two powerful personages the historian
may thus see both a diplomatic and a romantic amalgamation. Neither
Cleopatra nor Antony seem to me yet to have been very deeply in love,
but I fancy each was stirred by the attractions of the other, and
each believed for the moment that the gods had provided the mate so
long awaited. Cleopatra with her dainty beauty, and Antony with his
magnificent physique, must have appeared to be admirably matched by
Nature; while their royal and famous destinies could not, in the eyes
of the material world, have been more closely allied.

We have seen how Antony allowed his more refined instincts full play
in Alexandria, and how, in order to win the Queen’s admiration, he
showed himself devoted to the society of learned men. In like manner
Cleopatra gave full vent to the more frivolous side of her nature, in
order to render herself attractive to her Roman comrade, whose boyish
love of tomfoolery was so pronounced. Sometimes in the darkness of
the night, as we have already seen, she would dress herself in the
clothes of a peasant woman, and disguising Antony in the garments
of a slave, she would lead him through the streets of the city in
search of adventure. They would knock ominously at the doors or
windows of unknown houses, and disappear like ghosts when they were
opened. Occasionally, of course, they were caught by the doorkeepers
or servants, and, as Plutarch says, “were very scurvily answered and
sometimes even beaten severely, though most people guessed who they
were.”

Cleopatra provided all manner of amusements for her companion. She
would ride and hunt with him in the desert beyond the city walls,
boat and fish with him on the sea or the Mareotic Lake, romp with
him through the halls of the Palace, watch him wrestle, fence, and
exercise himself in arms, play dice with him, drink with him, and
fascinate him by the arts of love. The following story presents a
characteristic picture of the jovial life led by them in Alexandria
during this memorable winter. Antony had been fishing from one of the
vessels in the harbour; but, failing to make any catches, he employed
a diver to descend into the water and to attach newly-caught fishes
to his hook, which he then landed amidst the applause of Cleopatra
and her friends. The Queen, however, soon guessed what was happening,
and at once invited a number of persons to come on the next day to
witness Antony’s dexterity. She then procured some preserved fish
which had come from the Black Sea, and instructed a slave to dive
under the vessel and to attach one to the hook as soon as it should
strike the water. This having been done, Antony drew to the surface the
salted fish, the appearance of which was greeted with hearty laughter;
whereupon Cleopatra, turning to the discomfited angler, tactfully said,
“Leave the fishing-rod, general, to us poor sovereigns of Pharos and
Canopus: _your_ game is cities, provinces, and kingdoms.”

During this winter Antony and the Queen together founded a kind of
society or club which they named the _Amimetobioi_, or Inimitable
Livers, the members of which entertained one another in turn each day
in the most extravagant manner. Antony, it would seem probable, was
the president of this society; and two inscriptions have been found in
which he is named “The Inimitable,” perhaps not without reference to
this office. A story told by a certain Philotas, a medical student at
that time residing in Alexandria, will best illustrate the prodigality
of the feasts provided by the members of this club. Philotas was one
day visiting the kitchens of Cleopatra’s palace, and was surprised to
see no less than eight wild boars roasting whole. “You evidently have
a great number of guests to-day,” he said to the cook; to which the
latter replied, “No, there are not above twelve to dine, but the meat
has to be served up just roasted to a turn: and maybe Antony will wish
to dine now, maybe not for an hour; yet if anything is even one minute
ill-timed it will be spoilt, so that not one but many meals must be in
readiness, as it is impossible to guess at his dining-hour.”

As an example of the food served at these Alexandrian banquets, I
may be permitted to give a list of the dishes provided some years
previously at a dinner given in Rome by Mucius Lentulus Niger, at which
Julius Cæsar had been one of the guests; but it is to be remembered
that Cleopatra’s feasts are thought to have been far more prodigious
than any known in Rome. The _menu_ is as follows: Sea-hedgehogs;
oysters; mussels; sphondyli; fieldfares with asparagus; fattened fowls;
oyster and mussel pasties; black and white sea-acorns; sphondyli again;
glycimarides; sea-nettles; becaficoes; roe-ribs; boar’s ribs; fowls
dressed with flour; becaficoes again; purple shell-fish of two kinds;
sow’s udder; boar’s head; fish pasties; ducks; boiled teals; hares;
roasted fowls; starch-pastry; and Pontic pastry. Varro, in one of his
satires, mentions some of the most noted foreign delicacies which were
to be found upon the tables of the rich. These include peacocks from
Samos; grouse from Phrygia; cranes from Melos; kids from Ambracia;
tunny-fish from Chalcedon; murænas from the Straits of Gades; ass-fish
from Pessinus; oysters and scallops from Tarentum; sturgeons from
Rhodes; scarus-fish from Cilicia; nuts from Thasos; and acorns from
Spain. The vegetables then known included most of those now eaten, with
the notable exception, of course, of potatoes.[91] The main meal of
the day, the _cœna_, was often prolonged into a drinking party, known
as _commissatio_, at which an _Arbiter bibendi_, or Master of Revels,
was appointed by the throwing of dice, whose duty it was to mix the
wine in a large bowl. The diners lay upon couches usually arranged
round three sides of the table, and they ate their food with their
fingers. Chaplets of flowers were placed upon their heads, cinnamon
was sprinkled upon the hair, and sweet perfumes were thrown upon their
bodies, and sometimes even mixed with the wines. During the meals
the guests were entertained by the performances of dancing-girls,
musicians, actors, acrobats, clowns, dwarfs, or even gladiators; and
afterwards dice-throwing and other games of chance were indulged in.
The decoration of the rooms and the splendour of the furniture and
plate were always very carefully considered, Cleopatra’s banquets being
specially noteworthy for the magnificence of the table services. These
dishes and drinking-vessels, which the Queen was wont modestly to
describe as her _Kerama_ or “earthenware,” were usually made of gold
and silver encrusted with precious stones; and so famous were they for
their beauty of workmanship that three centuries later they formed
still a standard of perfection, Queen Zenobia of Palmyra being related
to have collected them eagerly for her own use.

Thus, with feasting, merry-making, and amusements of all kinds,
the winter slipped by. To a large extent Plutarch is justified in
stating that in Alexandria Antony “squandered that most costly of all
valuables, time”; but the months were not altogether wasted. He and
Cleopatra had cemented their alliance by living together in the most
intimate relations; and both now thought it probable that when the time
came for the attempted overthrow of Octavian they would fight their
battle side by side. By becoming Cleopatra’s lover, and by appealing to
the purely instinctive side of her nature, Antony had obtained from her
the whole-hearted promise of Egypt’s support in all his undertakings;
and these happy winter months in Alexandria could not have seemed to
him to be wasted when each day the powerful young Queen come to be more
completely at his beck and call. The course of Cleopatra’s love for
Antony seems to have followed almost precisely the same lines as had
her love for Julius Cæsar. Inspired at first by a political motive,
she had come to feel a genuine and romantic affection for her Roman
consort; and the intimacies which ensued, though largely due to the
weaknesses of the flesh, seemed to find full justification in the fact
that her dynastic ambitions were furthered by this means. Cleopatra
thought of Antony as her husband, and she wished to be regarded as
his wife. The fact that no public marriage had taken place was of
little consequence; for she, as goddess and Queen, must have felt
herself exempt from the common law, and at perfect liberty to contract
whatever union seemed desirable to her for the good of her country and
dynasty, and for the satisfaction of her own womanly instincts. Early
in the year B.C. 40 she and Antony became aware that their union was
to be fruitful; and this fact must have made Cleopatra more than ever
anxious to keep Antony in Alexandria with her, and to bind him to her
by causing him to be recognised as her consort. He was not willing,
however, to assume the rank and status of King of Egypt; for such a
move would inevitably precipitate the quarrel with Octavian, and he
would then be obliged to stake all on an immediate war with the faction
which would assuredly come to be recognised as the legitimate Roman
party. This unwillingness on his part to bind himself to her must
have caused her some misgiving; and, as the winter drew to a close, I
think that the Queen must have felt somewhat apprehensive in regard to
Antony’s sincerity.

Setting aside all sentimental factors in the situation, and leaving out
of consideration for the moment all physical causes of the alliance,
it will be seen that Antony’s position was now more satisfactory than
was that of the often sorely perplexed Queen. By spending the winter at
Alexandria the Roman Triumvir had kept himself aloof from the political
troubles in Italy at a time when his presence at home might have
complicated matters to his own disadvantage; he had obtained the full
support of Egyptian wealth and Egyptian arms should he require them;
and he had prepared the way for a definite marriage with Cleopatra at
the moment when he should desire her partnership in the foundation of
a great monarchy such as that for which Julius Cæsar had striven. He
had not yet irrevocably compromised himself, and he was free to return
to his Roman order of life with superficially clean hands. Nobody in
Rome would think the less of him for having combined a certain amount
of pleasure with the obvious business which had called him to Egypt;
and his friends would certainly be as easily persuaded to accept the
political excuses which he would advance for his lengthy residence in
Alexandria as the Cæsarian party had been to admit those put forward
by the great Dictator under very similar circumstances. Like Julius
Cæsar and like Pompey, Antony was certainly justified in making himself
the patron of the wealthy Egyptian court; and all Roman statesmen were
aware how desirable it was at this juncture for a party leader to
cement an alliance with the powerful Queen of that country.

On the part of Cleopatra, however, the circumstances were far less
happy. She had staked all on the alliance with Antony--her personal
honour and prestige as well as her dynasty’s future; and in return
for her great gifts she must have been beginning to feel that
she had received nothing save vague promises and unsatisfactory
assurances. Without Antony’s help not only would she lose all hope
of an Egypto-Roman throne for herself and her son Cæsarion, but she
would inevitably fail to keep Egypt from absorption into the Roman
dominions. There were only two mighty leaders at that time in the
Roman world--Octavian and Antony; and Octavian was her relentless
enemy, for the reason that her son Cæsarion was his rival in the
claim on the Dictator’s worldly and political estate. Failing the
support of Antony there were no means of retaining her country’s
liberty, except perhaps by the desperate eventuality of some sort
of alliance with Parthia. It must have occurred to her that Egypt,
with its growing trade with southern India, might join forces with
Parthia, whose influence in northern India must have been great, and
might thus effect an amalgamation of nations hostile to Rome, which
in a vast semicircle should include Egypt, Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia,
India, Scythia, Parthia, Armenia, Syria, and perhaps Asia Minor. Such
a combination might be expected to sweep Rome from the face of the
earth; but the difficulties in the way of the huge union were almost
insuperable, and the alliance with Antony was infinitely more tangible.
Yet, towards the end of the winter, she must constantly have asked
herself whether she could trust Antony, to whom she had given so much.
She loved him, she had given herself to him; but she must have known
him to be unreliable, inconsequent, and, in certain aspects, merely an
overgrown boy. The stakes for which she was fighting were so absolutely
essential to herself and to her country: the champion whose services
she had enlisted was so light-hearted, so reluctant to pledge himself.
And now that she was about to bear him a son, and thus to bring before
his wayward notice the grave responsibilities which she felt he had
so flippantly undertaken, would he stand by her as Cæsar had done, or
would he desert her?

Her feelings may be imagined, therefore, when in February B.C. 40,
Antony told her that he had received disconcerting news from Rome and
from Syria, and that he must leave her at once. The news from Rome does
not appear to have been very definite, but it gave him to understand
that his wife and his brother had come to actual blows with Octavian,
and, being worsted, had fled from Italy. From Syria, however, came a
very urgent despatch, in regard to which there could be no doubts.
Some of the Syrian princes whom he had deposed in the previous autumn,
together with Antigonus, whose claims to the throne of Palestine he had
rejected, had made an alliance with the Parthians and were marching
down from the north-east against Decimus Saxa, the governor of Syria.
The Roman forces in that country were few in number, consisting for the
most part of the remnants of the army of Brutus and Cassius; and they
could hardly be expected to put up a good fight against the invaders.
Antony’s own trusted legions were now stationed in Italy, Gaul, and
Macedonia; and there were many grave reasons for their retention in
their present quarters. The situation, therefore, was very serious,
and Antony was obliged to bring his pleasant visit to Alexandria to an
abrupt end. Plutarch describes him as “rousing himself with difficulty
from sleep, and shaking off the fumes of wine” in preparation for his
departure; but I do not think that his winter had been so debauched
as these words suggest. He had combined business and pleasure, as
the saying is, and at times had lost sight of the one in his eager
prosecution of the other; but, looking at the matter purely from a
hygienic point of view, it seems probable that the hunting, riding, and
military exercises of which Plutarch speaks, had kept him in a fairly
healthy condition in spite of the stupendous character of the meals set
before him.

The parting of Antony and Cleopatra early in March must have contained
in it an element of real tragedy. He could not tell what difficulties
were in store for him, and at the moment he had not asked the Queen for
any military help. He must have bade her lie low until he was able to
tell her in what manner she could best help their cause; and thereby
he consigned her to a period of deep anxiety and sustained worry. In
loneliness she would have to face her coming confinement, and, like a
deserted courtesan, would have to nurse a fatherless child. She would
have to hold her throne without the comfort of a husband’s advice; and
in all things she would once more be obliged to live the dreary life of
a solitary unmated Queen. It was a miserable prospect, but, as will be
seen in the following chapter, the actual event proved to be far more
distressing than she had expected; for, as Antony sailed out of the
harbour of Alexandria, and was shut out from sight behind the mighty
tower of Pharos, Cleopatra did not know that she would not see his face
again for four long years.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE ALLIANCE RENEWED BETWEEN CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY.


In the autumn of the year B.C. 40, some six months after the departure
of Antony, Cleopatra gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, whom
she named Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene, the Sun and the
Moon. With this event she passes almost entirely from the pages of
history for more than three years, and we hear hardly anything of
her doings until the beginning of B.C. 36. During this time she must
have been considerably occupied in governing her own kingdom and
in watching, with a kind of despair, the complicated events in the
Roman world. Despatches from Europe must have come to her from time
to time telling of the progress of affairs, but almost all the news
which she thus received was disappointing and disconcerting to her;
and one must suppose that she passed these years in very deep sadness
and depression. I do not think that any historian has attempted to
point out to his readers the painful condition of disillusionment in
which the little Queen now found herself. When Antony left her she
must have expected him either to return soon to her, or presently to
send his lieutenants to bring her to him; but the weeks passed and no
such event took place. While she suffered all the misery of lonely
childbirth, her consort was engaged in absorbing affairs in which she
played no immediate part; and it seems certain that in the stress of
his desperate circumstances the inconsequent Antony had put her almost
entirely from his thoughts.

When he left her in the spring of B.C. 40 he sailed straight across the
Mediterranean to Tyre, where he learnt to his dismay that practically
all Syria and Phœnicia had fallen into the hands of the Parthians, and
that there was no chance of resisting their advance successfully with
the troops now holding the few remaining seaport towns. He therefore
hastened with 200 ships by Cyprus and Rhodes to Greece, abandoning
Syria for the time being to the enemy. Arriving at Ephesus, he heard
details of the troubles in Italy; how his supporters had been besieged
by Octavian in Perugia, which had at length been captured; and how
all his friends and relatives had fled from Italy. His wife Fulvia,
he was told, escorted by 3000 cavalry, had sailed from Brundisium for
Greece, and would soon join him there; and his mother, Julia, had fled
to the popular hero, Sextus Pompeius, the outlawed son of the great
Pompey, who had received her very kindly. Thus, not only was Italy shut
to Antony, since Octavian was now sole master of the country, but he
seemed likely also to be turned out of his eastern provinces by the
advance of the Parthians. His position was a desperate one; and he must
now have both reproached himself very deeply for his waste of time in
Alexandria and blamed his relations for their impetuosity in making war
against Octavian.

Towards the end of June Antony arrived in Athens, and there he was
obliged to go through the ordeal of meeting the domineering Fulvia,
of whom he was not a little afraid, more especially in view of his
notorious intrigue with the Queen of Egypt. The ensuing interviews
between them must have been of a very painful character. Fulvia
probably bitterly reproved her errant husband for deserting her and
for remaining so long with Cleopatra, while Antony must have abused
her roundly for making so disastrous a mess of his affairs in Italy.
Ultimately the unfortunate woman seems to have been crushed and
dispirited by Antony’s continued anger; and having fallen ill while
staying at Sicyon, some sixty miles west of Athens, and lacking the
desire to live, she there died in the month of August. Meanwhile
Antony, having made an alliance with Sextus Pompeius, was ravaging
the coasts of Italy in a rather futile attempt to regain some of his
lost prestige; but no sooner was the death of Fulvia announced than he
shifted the entire blame for the war on to his late wife’s shoulders,
and speedily made his peace with Octavian. The two rivals met at
Brundisium in September B.C. 40, and a treaty was made between them by
which the peace of the Roman world was expected to be assured for some
years to come. It was arranged that Octavian should remain autocrat
in Italy, and should hold all the European provinces, including
Dalmatia and Illyria; and that Antony should be master of the East,
his dominions comprising Macedonia, Greece, Bithynia, Asia, Syria,
and Cyrene. The remaining provinces of North Africa, west of Cyrene,
fell to the lot of the third Triumvir, the insignificant Lepidus. This
treaty was sealed by the marriage of Antony with Octavia, the sister
of Octavian, a young woman who had been left a widow some months
previously, and the wedding was celebrated in Rome in October B.C. 40,
the populace showing peculiar pleasure at seeing the two rivals, whose
quarrels had caused such bloodshed and misery, thus fraternising in the
streets of the capital.

The consternation of Cleopatra, when the news of Antony’s marriage
reached her, must have been sad to witness. The twins whom she had
borne to him were but a few weeks old at the time when their father’s
perfidy was thus made known to her; and bitterly must she have chided
herself for ever putting her trust in so unstable a man. It now seemed
to her that he had come to Alexandria as it were to fleece her of her
wealth, and she, falling a victim to his false protestations of love,
had given her all to him, only to be deserted when most she needed him.
With the news of his marriage, her hopes of obtaining a vast kingdom
for herself and for Cæsar’s son were driven from her mind, and her
plans for the future had to be diverted into other directions. She must
have determined at once to give no more assistance to Antony, either in
money or in materials of war; and we have no evidence of any such help
being offered to him in the military operations which ensued during the
next two years. Cleopatra had perhaps known Antony’s new wife in Rome,
and certainly she must have heard much of her charms and her goodness.
Plutarch tells us that Octavia was younger and more beautiful than the
Queen, and one may therefore understand how greatly Cleopatra must have
suffered at this time. Not only was her heart heavy with the thought
of the miscarriage of all her schemes, but her mind it would seem was
aflame with womanly jealousy.

In the following year, B.C. 39, by the force of public opinion,
Sextus Pompeius was admitted to the general peace, the daughter of the
sea-rover marrying Marcellus, the son of Octavian. The agreement was
made at Misenum (not far from Naples), and was celebrated by a banquet
which was given by Sextus Pompeius on board his flag-ship, a galley
of six banks of oars, “the only house,” as the host declared, “that
Pompey is heir to of his father’s.” During the feast the guests drank
heavily, and presently many irresponsible jests began to be made in
regard to Antony and Cleopatra. Antony very naturally was annoyed at
the remarks which were passed, and there seems to have been some danger
of a fracas. Observing this, a pirate-chief named Menas, who was one
of the guests, whispered to Sextus: “Shall I cut the cables and make
you master of the whole Roman Empire?” “Menas,” replied he, after a
moment’s thought, “this might have been done without telling me, but
now we must rest content. I cannot break my word.” Thus Antony was
saved from assassination, and incidentally it may be remarked that had
he been done to death at this time, history would probably have had
to record an alliance between Sextus and Cleopatra directed against
Octavian, which might have been as fruitful of romantic incident as was
the story which has here to be related. We hear vaguely of some sort
of negotiations between Sextus and the Queen, and it is very probable
that with his rise to a position of importance Cleopatra would have
attempted to make an alliance with this son of Egypt’s former patron.

In September B.C. 39, Octavia presented Antony with a daughter who was
called Antonia, and who subsequently became the grandmother of the
Emperor Nero. Shortly after this he took up his quarters at Athens,
where he threw himself as keenly into the life of the Athenians as he
had into that of the Alexandrians. He dressed himself in the Greek
manner, with certain Oriental touches, and it was noticed that he
ceased to take any interest in Roman affairs. He feasted sumptuously,
drank heavily, spent a very great deal of money, and wasted any
amount of time. The habits of the East appealed to him, and in his
administration he adopted the methods sometimes practised by Greeks
in the Orient. He abolished the Roman governorships in many of the
provinces under his control, converting them into vassal kingdoms. Thus
Herod was created King of Judea; Darius, son of Pharnaces, was made
King of Pontus; Amyntas was raised to the throne of Pisidia; Polemo
was given the crown of Lycaonia, and so on. His rule was mild and
kindly, though despotic; and on all sides he was hailed as the jolly
god Dionysos, or Bacchus, come to earth. Like Julius Cæsar, he was
quite willing to accept divinity, and he even went so far as personally
to take the place of the statue of Dionysos in the temple of that
god, and to go through the mystical ceremony of marriage to Athene at
Athens. His popularity was immense, and this assumption of a godhead
was received quite favourably by the Athenians; but when one of his
generals, Ventidius Bassus, who had been sent to check the advance of
the Parthians, returned with the news that he had completely defeated
them, public enthusiasm knew no bounds, and Antony was fêted and
entertained in the most astonishing manner.

The contrast between Antony’s benevolent government of his eastern
provinces and Octavian’s conduct in the west was striking. Octavian was
a curious-tempered man, morose, quietly cruel, and secretly vicious.
So many persons were tortured and crucified by him that he came to be
known as the “Executioner.” His manner was imperturbable and always
controlled in public; but in private life at this time he indulged
in the wildest debauches, gambled, and surrounded himself with the
lowest companions. His rule in Italy in these days constituted a Reign
of Terror; and large numbers of the populace hated the very sight of
him. His appearance was unimposing, for he was somewhat short and was
careless in his deportment; while, although his face was handsome, it
had certain very marked defects. His complexion was very sallow and
unhealthy, his skin being covered with spots, and his teeth were much
decayed; but his eyes were large and remarkably brilliant, a fact of
which he was peculiarly proud. He did not look well groomed or clean,
and he was notably averse to taking a bath, though he did not object
to an occasional steaming, or Turkish bath, as we should now call it.
He was eccentric in his dress, though precise and correct in business
affairs. He disliked the sunshine, and always wore a broad-brimmed
hat to protect his head from its brilliancy; but at the same time he
detested cold weather, and in winter he is said to have worn a thick
toga, at least four tunics, a shirt, and a flannel stomacher, while
his legs and thighs were swathed in yards of warm cloth. In spite of
this he was constantly suffering from colds in his head, and was always
sneezing and snuffling. His liver, too, was generally out of order, a
fact to which perhaps his ill-temper may be attributed. His clothes
were all made at home by his wife and sister, and fitted him badly;
and his light-brown, curly hair always looked unbrushed. He was a poor
general, but an able statesman; and his cold nature, which was lacking
in all ardour as was his personality in all magnetism, caused him to be
better fitted for the office than for the public platform. He was not
what would now be called a gentleman: he was, indeed, very distinctly a
parvenu. His grandfather had been a wealthy money-lender of bourgeois
origin, and his father had raised himself by this ill-gotten wealth to
a position in Roman society, and had married into Cæsar’s family.

These facts were not calculated to give him much of a position in
public esteem: and there was no question at this time that Antony
was the popular hero, while Sextus Pompeius, the former outlaw, was
fast rising in favour. In the spring of B.C. 38 Octavian decided
to make war upon this roving son of the great Pompey, and he asked
Antony to aid him in the undertaking. The latter made some attempt to
prevent the war, but his efforts were not successful. In the following
July, to the delight of a large number of Romans, Octavian was badly
defeated by Sextus; and Cæsar’s nephew thus lost a very considerable
amount of prestige. At about the same time Antony’s reputation made
an equally extensive gain, for in June Ventidius Bassus, acting under
Antony’s directions, again defeated the Parthians, Pacorus, the King’s
son, being killed in the battle. The news stirred the Romans to wild
enthusiasm. At last, after sixteen years, Crassus[92] had been avenged;
and Antony appeared to have put into execution with the utmost ease
the plans of the late Dictator in regard to the Parthians, while, on
the other hand, Octavian, the Dictator’s nephew, had failed even to
suppress the sea-roving Pompeians. A Triumph was decreed both for
Antony and for Ventidius, and before the end of the year this took
place.

In January B.C. 37 the Triumvirate, which had then expired, was renewed
for a period of five years, in spite of a very considerable amount of
friction between the happy-go-lucky Antony and the morose Octavian. At
length these quarrels were patched up by means of an agreement whereby
Antony gave Octavian 130 ships with which to fight Sextus Pompeius, and
Octavian handed over some 21,000 legionaries to Antony for his Parthian
war. In this agreement it will be observed that Antony, in order to
obtain troops, sacrificed the man who had befriended his mother and who
had assisted his cause against Octavian at a time when his fortunes
were at a low ebb; and it must be presumed, therefore, that his desire
to conquer Parthia and to penetrate far into the Orient was now of
such absorbing importance to him that all other considerations were
abrogated by it. Antony, in fact, enthusiastically contemplating an
enlarged eastern empire, desired to have no part in the concerns of the
west; and he cared not one jot what fate awaited his late ally, Sextus,
who, he felt, was certain in any case ultimately to go down before
Octavian. He was beginning, indeed, to trouble himself very little in
regard to Octavian either; for he now seems to have thought that, when
the Orient had been conquered and consolidated, he would probably be
able to capture the Occident also from the cruel hands of his unpopular
rival with little difficulty. Two years previously he had found it
necessary to keep himself on friendly terms with Octavian at all costs,
and for this reason he had abandoned Cleopatra with brutal callousness.
Now, however, his position was such that he was able to defy Cæsar’s
nephew, and the presentation to him of the 130 ships was no more than
a shrewd business deal, whereby he had obtained a new contingent of
troops. One sees that his thoughts were turning once more towards the
Queen of Egypt; and he seems at this time to have recalled to mind both
the pleasure afforded him by her brilliant society and the importance
to himself of the position which she held in eastern affairs. The
Egyptian navy was large and well-equipped, and the deficiency in his
own fleet due to his gift to Octavian might easily be made good by the
Queen.

In the autumn of B.C. 37 these considerations bore their inevitable
fruit. On his way to Corfu, in pursuit of his Parthian schemes, he
came to the conclusion that he would once and for all cut himself off
from Rome until that day when he should return to it as the earth’s
conqueror. He therefore sent his wife Octavia back to Italy, determined
never to see her again; and at the same time he despatched a certain
Fonteius Capito to Alexandria to invite Cleopatra to meet him in Syria.
Octavia was a woman of extreme sweetness, goodness, and domesticity.
Her gentle influence always made for peace; and her invariable good
behaviour and meekness must have almost driven Antony crazy. No doubt
she wanted to make his clothes for him, as she had made those of her
brother; and she seems always to have been anxious to bring before his
notice, in her sweet way, the charms of old-fashioned, respectable,
family life, a condition which absolutely nauseated Antony. She now
accepted her marching orders with a wifely meekness which can hardly
command one’s respect; and in pathetic obedience she returned forthwith
to Rome. I cannot help thinking that if only she had now shown some
spirit, and had been able to substitute energy for sweetness in the
movements of her mind, the history of the period would have been
entirely altered.

It must surely be clear to the impartial reader that Antony’s change of
attitude was due more to political than to romantic considerations.[93]
We have heard so much of the arts of seduction practised by Cleopatra
that it is not easy at first to rid the mind of the traditional
interpretation of this reunion; and we are, at the outset, inclined
to accept Plutarch’s definition of the affair when he tells us that
“Antony’s passion for Cleopatra, which better thoughts had seemed to
have lulled and charmed into oblivion, now gathered strength again,
and broke into flame; and like Plato’s restive and rebellious horse
of the human soul, flinging off all good and wholesome counsel, and
fairly breaking loose, he sent Fonteius Capito to bring her into
Syria.” But it is to be remembered that this “passion” for the Queen
had not been strong enough to hold him from marrying Octavia a few
months after he had left the arms of Cleopatra; and now three and a
half years had passed since he had seen the Queen,--a period which,
to a memory so short as Antony’s, constituted a very complete hiatus
in this particular love-story. So slight, indeed, was his affection
for her at this time that, in speaking of the twins with which she
had presented him, he made the famous remark already quoted, that he
had no intention of confining his hopes of progeny to any one woman,
but, like his ancestor Hercules, he hoped to let nature take her will
with him, the best way of circulating noble blood through the world
being thus personally to beget in every country a new line of kings.
Antony doubtless looked forward with youthful excitement to a renewal
of his relations with the Queen, and, to some extent, it may be true
that he now joyously broke loose from the gentle, and, for that
reason, galling, bonds of domesticity; but actually he purposed, for
political reasons, to make a definite alliance with Cleopatra, and it
is unreasonable to suppose that any flames of ungoverned passion burnt
within his jolly heart at this time.

On Cleopatra’s side the case was somewhat different. The stress of
bitter experience had knocked out of her all that harum-scarum attitude
towards life which had been her marked characteristic in earlier years;
and she was no longer able to play with her fortune nor to romp through
her days as formerly she had done. Antony, whom in her way she had
loved, had cruelly deserted her, and now was asking for a renewal of
her favours. Could she believe (for no doubt such was his excuse) that
his long absence from her and his marriage to another woman were purely
political manœuvres which had in no way interfered with the continuity
of his love for her? Could she put her trust in him this second time?
Could she, on the other hand, manage her complicated affairs without
him? Evidently he was now omnipotent in the East; Parthia was likely
to go down before him; and Octavian’s sombre figure was already almost
entirely eclipsed by this new Dionysos, save only in little Italy
itself. Would there be any hope of enlarging her dominions, or even
of retaining those she already possessed, without his assistance?
Such questions could only have one solution. She must come to an
absolutely definite understanding with Antony, and must make a binding
agreement with him. In a word, if there was to be any renewal of their
relationship, he must marry her. There must be no more diplomatic
manœuvring, which, to her, meant desertion, misery, and painful
anxiety. He must become the open enemy of Octavian, and, with her help,
must aim at the conquest both of the limitless East and of the entire
West. He must act in all things as the successor of the divine Julius
Cæsar, and the heir to their joint power must be Cæsar’s son, the
little Cæsarion, now a growing boy of over ten years of age.

With this determination fixed in her mind she accepted the invitation
presented to her by Fonteius Capito, and set sail for Syria. A few
weeks later, towards the end of the year B.C. 37, she met Antony in
the city of Antioch; and at once she set herself to the execution of
her decision. History does not tell us what passed between them at
their first interviews; but it may be supposed that Antony excused his
previous conduct on political grounds, and made it clear to the Queen
that he now desired a definite and lasting alliance with her; while
Cleopatra, on her part, intimated her willingness to unite herself with
him, provided that the contract was made legal and binding on both
sides.

The fact that she obtained Antony’s consent to an agreement which was
in every way to her advantage, not only shows what a high value was
set by Antony upon Egypt’s friendship at this time, but it also proves
how great were her powers of persuasion. It must be remembered that
Cleopatra had been for over three years a wronged woman, deserted
by her lover, despairing of ever obtaining the recognition of her
son’s claims upon Rome, and almost hopeless even of retaining the
independence of Egypt. Now she had the pluck to demand from him all
manner of increased rights and privileges and the confirmation of
all her dynastic hopes; and, to her great joy, Antony was willing
to accede to her wishes. I have already shown that he did not really
love her with a passion so deep that his sober judgment was obscured
thereby, and the agreement is therefore to be attributed more to the
Queen’s shrewd bargaining, and to her very understandable anxiety
not to be duped once more by her fickle lover. She must have worked
upon Antony’s feelings by telling him of her genuine distress; and at
the same time she must warmly have confirmed his estimate of Egypt’s
importance to him at this juncture.

The terms of the agreement appear to me to have been as follows:--

Firstly, it seems to have been arranged that a legal marriage should be
contracted between them according to Egyptian custom. We have already
seen how, many years previously, Julius Cæsar had countenanced a law
designed to legalise his proposed marriage with Cleopatra, by the terms
of which he would have been able to marry more than one wife;[94] and
Antony now seems to have based his attitude upon a somewhat similar
understanding. The marriage would not be announced to the Senate in
Rome, since he intended no longer to regard himself as subject to the
old Roman Law in these matters; but in Egypt it would be accepted as a
legal and terrestrial confirmation of the so-called celestial union of
B.C. 40.

Secondly, it was agreed that Antony should not assume the title
of King of Egypt, but should call himself _Autocrator_--_i.e._,
“absolute ruler,” of the entire East. The word αὐτοκράτωρ was a fair
Greek equivalent of the Roman _Imperator_, a title which, it will be
remembered, was made hereditary in Julius Cæsar’s behalf, and which
was probably intended by him to obtain its subsequent significance
of “Emperor.” Antony would not adopt the title of βασιλεύς or _rex_,
which was always objectionable to Roman ears; nor was the word
_Imperator_ quite distinguished enough, since it was held by all
commanders-in-chief of Roman armies. But the title _Autocrator_ was
significant of omnipotence; and it is to be noted that from this time
onwards every “Pharaoh” of Egypt was called by that name, which in
hieroglyphs reads _Aut’k’r’d’r_. Antony also retained for the time
being his title of Triumvir.

Thirdly, Antony probably promised to regard Cæsarion, the son of
Cleopatra and Julius Cæsar, as the rightful heir to the throne;[95]
and he agreed to give his own children by the Queen the minor kingdoms
within their empire.

[Illustration:

    CLEOPATRA’S POSSESSIONS
    IN RELATION TO
    THE ROMAN WORLD

    _William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh_           W. & A. K. Johnston,
                                            Limited, Edinburgh & London.
]

Fourthly, Antony appears to have promised to increase the extent of
Egyptian power to that which existed fourteen hundred years previously,
in the days of the mighty Pharaohs of the Eighteenth dynasty. He
therefore gave to the Queen Sinai; Arabia, including probably the
rock-city of Petra; the east coast of the Dead Sea; part of the valley
of the Jordan and the City of Jericho; perhaps a portion of Samaria and
Galilee; the Phœnician coast, with the exception of the free cities of
Tyre and Sidon; the Lebanon; probably the north coast of Syria; part of
Cilicia, perhaps including Tarsus; the island of Cyprus; and a part of
Crete. The Kingdom of Judea, ruled by Herod, was thus enclosed within
Cleopatra’s dominions; but the deduction of this valuable land from the
Egyptian sphere was compensated for by the addition of the Cilician
territory, which had always lain beyond Egypt’s frontiers, even in
the days of the great Pharaohs.

Lastly, in return for these gifts Cleopatra must have undertaken to
place all the financial and military resources of Egypt at Antony’s
disposal whenever he should need them.

As soon as this agreement was made I think there can be little doubt
that Cleopatra and Antony were quietly married;[96] and in celebration
of the event coins were struck, showing their two heads, and inscribed
with both their names, she being called Queen and he Autocrator. In
honour of the occasion, moreover, Cleopatra began a new dating of the
years of her reign; and on a coin minted six years later, the heads
of Antony and the Queen are shown with the inscription, “In the reign
of Queen Cleopatra, in the 21st, which is also the 6th, year of the
goddess.” It will be remembered that Cleopatra came to the throne in
the summer of B.C. 51, and therefore the 21st year of her reign would
begin after the summer of B.C. 31, which period would also be the close
of the 6th year dating from this alliance at Antioch at the end of B.C.
37. Thus these coins must have been struck in the autumn of B.C. 31,
at which time the beginning of the 21st year of Cleopatra’s reign as
Queen of Egypt coincided with the end of the 6th year of her reign with
Antony. There are, of course, many arguments to be advanced against the
theory that she was now definitely married; but in view of the facts
that their two heads now appear on the coins, that Antony now settled
upon her this vast estate, that she began a new dating to her reign,
that Antony henceforth lived with her, and that, as we know from his
letter to Octavian,[97] he spoke of her afterwards as his _wife_, I
do not think that there is any good reason for postponing the wedding
until a later period.

The winter was spent quietly at Antioch, Antony being busily engaged
in preparations for his new Parthian campaign which was to bring
him, he hoped, such enormous prestige and popularity in the Roman
world. The city was the metropolis of Syria, and at this time must
already have been recognised as the third city of the world, ranking
immediately below Rome and Alexandria. The residential quarter, called
Daphnæ, was covered with thick groves of laurels and cypresses for ten
miles around, and a thousand little streams ran down from the hills
and passed under the shade of the trees where, even in the height
of summer, it was always cool. The city was famous for its art and
learning, and was a centre eminently suited to Cleopatra’s tastes.
The months passed by without much event. The Queen is said to have
tried to persuade Antony to dethrone Herod and to add Judea to her
new dominions, but this he would not do, and he begged her not to
meddle with Herod’s affairs, a correction which she at once accepted,
thereafter acting with great cordiality to the Jewish King.

In March B.C. 26, Antony set out for the war, Cleopatra accompanying
him as far as Zeugma, a town on the Euphrates, near the Armenian
frontier, a march of about 150 miles from Antioch. It is probable that
she wished to go through the whole campaign by his side, for, at a
later date, we find her again attempting to remain by him under similar
circumstances; but at Zeugma a discovery seems to have been made in
regard to her condition which necessitated her going back to Egypt,
there to await his triumphant return. In spite of the anxieties and
disappointments of her life the Queen had retained her energy and pluck
in a marked degree, and she was now no less hardy and daring than she
had been in the days when Julius Cæsar had found her invading Egypt at
the head of her Syrian army. She enjoyed the open life of a campaign,
and she took pleasure in the dangers which had to be faced. An ancient
writer, Florus, has described her, as we have already noticed, as
being “free from all womanly fear,” and this attempt to go to the wars
with her husband is an indication that the audacity and dash so often
noticeable in her actions had not been impaired by her misfortunes. She
does not appear to have been altogether in favour of the expedition,
for it seemed a risky undertaking, and one which would cost her a great
deal of money, but the adventure of it appealed to her, and added that
quality of excitement to her days which seems to have been so necessary
to her existence. Antony, however, fond as he was of her, could not
have appreciated the honour of her company at such a time; and he must
have been not a little relieved when he saw her retreating cavalcade
disappear along the road to Antioch.

From Antioch Cleopatra made her way up the valley of the Orontes
to Apamea, whence she travelled past Arethusa and Emesa to the
Anti-Lebanon, and so to Damascus. From here she seems to have crossed
to the Sea of Galilee, and thence along the river Jordan to Jericho.
Hereabouts she was met by the handsome and adventurous Herod, who came
to her in order that they might arrive at some agreement in regard
to the portions of Judea which Antony had given to her; and, after
some bargaining, it was finally decided that Herod should rent these
territories from her for a certain sum of money. Jericho’s tropical
climate produced great abundance of palms, henna, sometimes known as
camphire, myrobalan or _zukkûm_, and balsam, the “balm of Gilead,” so
much prized as perfume and for medicinal purposes. Josephus speaks
of Jericho as a “divine region,” and strategically it was the key of
Palestine. It may be understood, therefore, how annoying it must have
been to Herod to be dispossessed of this jewel of his crown; and it
is said that, after he had rented it from Cleopatra, it became his
favourite place of residence. The transaction being settled, the Queen
seems to have continued her journey to Egypt, at the Jewish King’s
invitation, by way of Jerusalem and Gaza--that is to say, across
the Kingdom of Judea; but no sooner had she set her foot on Jewish
territory than Herod conceived the plan of seizing her and putting her
to death. The road from Jericho to Jerusalem ascends the steep, wild
mountain-side, and zigzags upwards through rugged and bare scenery.
It would have been a simple matter to ambush the Queen in one of the
desolate ravines through which she had to pass, and the blame might be
placed with the brigands who infested these regions. He pointed out to
his advisers, as Josephus tells us, that Cleopatra by reason of her
enormous influence upon the affairs of Rome had become a menace to all
minor sovereigns; and now that he had her in his power he could, with
the greatest ease, rid the world of a woman who had become irksome
to them all, and thereby deliver them from a very multitude of evils
and misfortunes. He told them that Cleopatra was actually turning her
beautiful eyes upon himself, and he doubted not but that she would make
an attempt upon his virtue before he had got her across his southern
frontier. He argued that Antony would in the long-run come to thank him
for her murder; for it was apparent that she would never be a faithful
friend to him, but would desert him at the moment when he should most
stand in need of her fidelity. The councillors, however, were appalled
at the King’s proposal, and implored him not to put it into execution.
“They laid hard at him,” says _naïf_ Josephus, “and begged him to
undertake nothing rashly; for that Antony would never bear it, no, not
though any one should lay evidently before his eyes that it was for his
own advantage. This woman was of the supremest dignity of any of her
sex at that time in the world; and such an undertaking would appear to
deserve condemnation on account of the insolence Herod must take upon
himself in doing it.”

The Jewish King, therefore, giving up his treacherous scheme, politely
escorted Cleopatra to the frontier fortress of Pelusium, and thus she
came unscathed to Alexandria, where she settled down to await the birth
of her fourth child. It is perhaps worth noting that she is said to
have brought back to Egypt from Jericho many cuttings of the balsam
shrubs, and planted them at Heliopolis, near the modern Cairo.[98] The
Queen’s mind must now have been full of optimism. Antony had collected
an enormous army, and already, she supposed, he must have penetrated
far into Parthia. In spite of her previous fears, she now expected
that he would return to her covered with glory, having opened the road
through Persia to India and the fabulous East. Rome would hail him
as their hero and idol, and the unpopular Octavian would sink into
insignificance. Then he would claim for himself and for her the throne
of the West as well as that of the Orient, and at last her little son
Cæsarion, as their heir, would come into his own.

With such hopes as these to support her, Cleopatra passed through her
time of waiting; and in the late autumn she gave birth to a boy, whom
she named Ptolemy, according to the custom of her house. But ere she
had yet fully recovered her strength she received despatches from
Antony, breaking to her the appalling news that his campaign had been
a disastrous failure, and that he had reached northern Syria with only
a remnant of his grand army, clad in rags, emaciated by hunger and
illness, and totally lacking in funds. He implored her to come to his
aid, and to bring him money wherewith to pay his disheartened soldiers,
and he told her that he would await her coming upon the Syrian coast
somewhere between Sidon and Berytus.

Once more the unfortunate Queen’s hopes were dashed to the ground; but
pluckily rising to the occasion, she collected money, clothes, and
munitions of war, and set out with all possible speed to her husband’s
relief.

The history of the disaster is soon told. From Zeugma Antony had
marched to the plateau of Erzeroum, where he had reviewed his enormous
army, consisting of 60,000 Roman foot (including Spaniards and Gauls),
10,000 Roman horse, and some 30,000 troops of other nationalities,
including 13,000 horse and foot supplied by Artavasdes, King of
Armenia, and a strong force provided by King Polemo of Pontus. An
immense number of heavy engines of war had been collected; and these
were despatched towards Media along the valley of the Araxes, together
with the contingents from Armenia and Pontus and two Roman legions.
Antony himself, with the main army, marched by a more direct route
across northern Assyria into Media, being impatient to attack the
enemy. The news of his approach in such force, says Plutarch, not only
alarmed the Parthians but filled North India with fear, and, indeed,
made all Asia shake. It was generally supposed that he would march in
triumph through Persia; and there must have been considerable talk as
to whether he would carry his arms, like Alexander the Great, into
India, where Cleopatra’s ships, coming across the high sea trade-route
from Egypt, would meet him with money and supplies. Towards the
end of August, Antony reached the city of Phraaspa, the capital of
Media-Atropatene, and there he awaited the arrival of his siege-train
and its accompanying contingent. He had expected that the city would
speedily surrender, but in this he was mistaken; and, ere he had
settled down to the business of a protracted siege, he received the
news that his second army had been attacked and defeated, that his
entire siege-train had been captured, that the King of Armenia had fled
with the remnant of his forces back to his own country, and that the
King of Pontus had been taken prisoner. In spite of this crushing loss,
however, Antony bravely determined to continue the siege; but soon the
arrival of the Parthian army, fresh from its victory, began to cause
him great discomfort, and his lines were constantly harassed from the
outside by bodies of the famous Parthian cavalry, though not once did
the enemy allow a general battle to take place. At last, in October, he
was obliged to open negotiations with the enemy; for, in view of the
general lack of provisions and the deep despondency of the troops, the
approach of winter could not be contemplated without the utmost dread.
He therefore sent a message to the Parthian King stating that if the
prisoners captured from Crassus were handed over, together with the
lost eagles, he would raise the siege and depart. The enemy refused
these terms, but declared that if Antony would retire, his retreat
would not be molested; and to this the Romans agreed. The Parthians,
however, did not keep their word; and as the weary legionaries crossed
the snow-covered mountains they were attacked again and again by the
fierce tribesmen, who ambushed them at every pass, and followed in
their rear to cut off stragglers. The intense cold, the lack of food,
and the extreme weariness of the troops, caused the number of these
stragglers to be very great; and besides the thousands of men who were
thus cut off or killed in the daily fighting, a great number perished
from exposure and want of food. At one period so great was the scarcity
of provisions that a loaf of bread was worth its weight in silver;
and it was at this time that large numbers of men, having devoured a
certain root which seemed to be edible, went mad and died. “He that had
eaten of this root,” says Plutarch, “remembered nothing in the world,
and employed himself only in moving great stones from one place to
another, which he did with as much earnestness and industry as if it
had been a business of the greatest consequence; and thus through all
the camp there was nothing to be seen but men grubbing upon the ground
at stones, which they carried from place to place, until in the end
they vomited and died.” This account, though of course exaggerated and
confused, gives a vivid picture of the distressed legionaries, some
dying of this poison, some going mad, some perishing from exposure and
vainly endeavouring to build themselves a shelter from the biting wind.

All through the long and terrible march Antony behaved with consummate
bravery and endurance. He shared every hardship with his men, and when
the camp was pitched at night he went from tent to tent, talking to the
legionaries, and cheering them with encouraging words. His sympathy and
concern for the wounded was that of the tenderest woman; and he would
throw himself down beside sufferers and burst into uncontrolled tears.
The men adored him; and even those who were at the point of death,
arousing themselves in his presence, called him by every respectful and
endearing name. “They seized his hands,” says Plutarch, “with joyful
faces, bidding him go and see to himself and not be concerned about
them; calling him their Emperor and their General, and saying that
if only he were well they were safe.” Many times Antony was heard to
exclaim, “O, the ten thousand!” as though in admiration for Xenophon’s
famous retreat, which was even more arduous than his own. On one
occasion so serious was the situation that he made one of his slaves,
named Rhamnus, take an oath that in the event of a general massacre he
would run his sword through his body, and cut off his head, in order
that he might neither be captured alive nor be recognised when dead.

At last, after twenty-seven terrible days, during which they had beaten
off the Parthians no less than eighteen times, they crossed the Araxes
and brought the eagles safely into Armenia. Here, making a review of
the army, Antony found that he had lost 20,000 foot and 4000 horse, the
majority of which had died of exposure and illness. Their troubles,
however, were by no means at an end; for although the enemy had now
been left behind, the snows of winter had still to be faced, and the
march through Armenia into Syria was fraught with difficulties. By the
time that the coast was reached eight thousand more men had perished;
and the army which finally went into winter quarters at a place known
as the White Village, between Sidon and Berytus, was but the tattered
remnant of the great host which had set out so bravely in the previous
spring. Yet it may be said that had not Antony proved himself so
dauntless a leader, not one man would have escaped from those terrible
mountains, but all would have shared the doom of Crassus and his
ill-fated expedition.

At the White Village Antony eagerly awaited the coming of Cleopatra;
yet so ashamed was he at his failure, and so unhappy at the thought of
her reproaches for his ill-success, that he turned in despair to the
false comfort of the wine-jar, and daily drank himself into a state of
oblivious intoxication. When not in a condition of coma he was nervous
and restless. He could not endure the tediousness of a long meal, but
would start up from table and run down to the sea-shore to scan the
horizon for a sight of her sails. Both he and his officers were haggard
and unkempt, his men being clad in rags; and it was in this condition
that Cleopatra found them when at last her fleet sailed into the bay,
bringing clothing, provisions, and money.




CHAPTER XV.

THE PREPARATIONS OF CLEOPATRA AND ANTONY FOR THE OVERTHROW OF OCTAVIAN.


When Cleopatra carried Antony back to Alexandria to recuperate after
his exertions, it seems to me that she spoke to him very directly in
regard to his future plans. She seems to have pointed out to him that
Roman attempts to conquer Parthia always ended in failure, and that
it was a sheer waste of money, men, and time to endeavour to obtain
possession of a country so vast and having such limitless resources.
Wars of this kind exhausted their funds and gave them nothing in
return. Would it not be much better, therefore, at once to concentrate
all their energies upon the overthrow of Octavian and the capture
of Rome? Antony had proved his popularity with his men and their
confidence in him and his powers as a leader, for he had performed with
ultimate success that most difficult feat of generalship--an orderly
retreat. Surely, therefore, it would be wise to expend no further
portion of their not unlimited means upon their eastern schemes, but
to concentrate their full attention first upon Italy. The Parthians,
after all, had been turned out of Armenia and Syria, and they might now
be left severely alone within their own country until that day when
Antony would march against them, in accordance with the prophecies of
the Sibylline Books, as King of Rome. Cleopatra had never favoured the
Parthian expedition, though she had helped to finance it as being part
of Julius Cæsar’s original design; and she had accepted as reasonable
the argument put forward by Antony, that if successful it would enhance
enormously his prestige and ensure his acceptance as a popular hero in
Rome. The war, however, had been disastrous, and it would be better now
to abandon the whole scheme than to risk a further catastrophe. Antony,
fagged out and suffering from the effects of his severe drinking-bout,
appears to have acquiesced in these arguments; and it seems that he
arrived in Alexandria with the intention of recuperating his resources
for a year or two in view of his coming quarrel with Octavian. In Syria
he had received news of the events which had occurred in Rome during
his absence at the wars. Octavian had at last defeated Sextus Pompeius,
who had fled to Mytilene; and Lepidus, the third Triumvir, had retired
into private life, leaving his province of Africa in Octavian’s hands.
His rival, therefore, now held the West in complete subjection, and it
was not unlikely that he himself would presently pick a quarrel with
Antony.

The comforts of the Alexandrian Palace, and the pleasures of
Cleopatra’s brilliant society, must have come to Antony as an
entrancing change after the rigours of his campaign; and the remainder
of the winter, no doubt, slipped by in happy ease. The stern affairs of
life, however, seem to have checked any repetition of the frivolities
of his earlier stay in the Egyptian capital; and we now hear nothing
of the Inimitable Livers or of their prodigious entertainments.
Antony wrote a long letter to Rome, giving a more or less glowing
account of the war, and stating that in many respects it had been
very successful. Early in the new year, B.C. 35, Sextus Pompeius
attempted to open negotiations with the Egyptian court; but the envoys
whom he sent to Alexandria failed to secure any favourable response.
Antony, on the other hand, learnt from them that Sextus was engaged
in a secret correspondence with the Parthians, and was attempting to
corrupt Domitius Ahenobarbus, his lieutenant in Asia. Thereupon he and
Cleopatra determined to capture this buccaneering son of the great
Pompey and to put him to death. The order was carried out by a certain
Titius, who effected the arrest in Phrygia; and Sextus was executed in
Miletus shortly afterwards. This action was likely to be extremely ill
received in Rome, for the outlaw, in the manner of a Robin Hood, had
always been immensely popular; and for this reason Antony never seems
to have admitted his responsibility for it, the order being generally
said to have been signed by his lieutenant, Plancus.

Shortly after this the whole course of events was suddenly altered
by the arrival in Alexandria of no less a personage than the King
of Pontus, who, it will be remembered, had been captured by the
Parthians[99] at the outset of Antony’s late campaign, and had been
held prisoner by the King of Media. The latter now sent him to Egypt
with the news that the lately allied kingdoms of Media and Parthia
had come to blows; and the King of Media proposed that Antony should
help him to overthrow his rival. This announcement caused the greatest
upheaval in Cleopatra’s palace. Here was an unexpected opportunity to
conquer the terrible Parthians with comparative ease; for Media had
always been their powerful ally, and the Roman arms had come to grief
on former occasions in Median territory. Cleopatra, however, fearing
the duplicity of these eastern monarchs, and having set her heart on
the immediate overthrow of Octavian, whose power was now so distinctly
on the increase, tried to dissuade her husband from this second
campaign, and begged him to take no further risks in that direction.
As a tentative measure Antony sent a despatch to Artavasdes, the King
of Armenia, who had deserted him after his defeat in Media, ordering
him to come to Alexandria without delay, presumably to discuss the
situation. Artavasdes, however, showed no desire to place himself in
the hands of his overlord whom he had thus betrayed, and preferred to
seek safety, if necessary, in his own hills or to throw in his lot with
the Parthians.

Antony was deaf to Cleopatra’s advice; and at length accepting the
proposal conveyed by the King of Pontus, he prepared to set out at once
for the north-east. Thereupon Cleopatra made up her mind to accompany
him; and in the late spring they set out together for Syria. No sooner
had they arrived in that country, however, than Antony received the
disconcerting news that his Roman wife Octavia was on her way to join
him once more, and proposed to meet him in Greece. It appears that
her brother Octavian had chosen this means of bringing his quarrel
with Antony to an issue; for if she were not well received he would
have just cause for denouncing her errant husband as a deserter; and
in order to show how justly he himself was dealing he despatched
with Octavia two thousand legionaries and some munitions of war. As
a matter of fact the legionaries served actually as a bodyguard for
Octavia,[100] while their ultimate presentation to Antony was to be
regarded partly as a payment for the number of his ships which had
been destroyed in Octavian’s war against Sextus, and partly as a sort
of formal present from one autocrat to another. Antony at once sent a
letter to Octavia telling her to remain at Athens, as he was going to
Media; and in reply to this Octavia despatched a family friend, named
Niger, to ask Antony what she should do with the troops and supplies.
Niger had the hardihood to speak openly in regard to Octavia’s
treatment, and to praise her very highly for her noble and quiet
bearing in her great distress; but Antony was in no mood to listen to
him, and sent him about his business with no satisfactory reply. At the
same time he appears to have been very sorry for Octavia, and there can
be little doubt that, had such a thing been possible, he would have
liked to see her for a short time, if only to save her from the added
insult of his present attitude. He was an irresponsible boy in these
matters, and so long as everybody was happy he really did not care very
deeply which woman he lived with, though he was now, it would seem,
extremely devoted to Cleopatra, and very dependent upon her lively
society.

The Queen, of course, was considerably alarmed by this new development,
for she could not be sure whether Antony would stand by the solemn
compact he had made with her at Antioch, or whether he would once
more prove a fickle friend. She realised very clearly that the insult
offered to Octavia would precipitate the war between East and West,
and she seems to have felt even more strongly than before that Antony
would be ill advised at this critical juncture to enter into any
further Parthian complication. To her mind it was absolutely essential
that she should carry him safely back to Alexandria, where he would be,
on the one hand, well out of reach of Octavia, and, on the other, far
removed from the temptation of pursuing his Oriental schemes. Antony,
however, was as eager to be at his old enemy once more as a beaten boy
might have been to revenge himself upon his rival; and the thought
of giving up this opportunity for vengeance in order to prepare for
an immediate fight with Octavian was extremely distasteful to him.
Everything now seemed to be favourable for a successful invasion of
Parthia. Not only had he the support of the King of Media, but the
fickle King of Armenia had thought it wise at the last moment to make
his peace with Antony, and the new agreement was to be sealed by the
betrothal of his daughter to Antony’s little son Alexander Helios.
Cleopatra, however, did not care so much about the conquest of Parthia
as she did for the overthrow of her son’s rival, who seemed to have
usurped the estate which ought to have passed from the great Cæsar to
Cæsarion and herself; and she endeavoured now, with every art at her
disposal, to prevent Antony taking any further risk in the East, and
to urge his return to Alexandria. “She feigned to be dying of love
for Antony,” says Plutarch, “bringing her body down by slender diet.
When he entered the room she fixed her eyes upon him in adoration,
and when he left she seemed to languish and half faint away. She took
great pains that he should see her in tears, and, as soon as he noticed
it, she hastily dried them and turned away, as if it were her wish
that he should know nothing of it. Meanwhile Cleopatra’s agents were
not slow to forward her design, upbraiding Antony with his unfeeling
hard-hearted nature for thus letting a woman perish whose soul depended
upon him and him alone. Octavia, it was true, was his wife; but
Cleopatra, the sovereign queen of many nations, had been contented with
the name of his mistress,[101] and if she were bereaved of him she
would not survive the loss.”

In this manner she prevailed upon him at last to give up the proposed
war; nor must we censure her too severely for her piece of acting. She
was playing a desperate game at this time. She had persuaded Antony to
turn his back upon Octavia in a manner which could but be final; and
yet immediately after this, as though oblivious to the consequences of
his action, he was eager to go off to Persia at a time when Octavian
would probably attempt to declare him an enemy of the Roman people. Of
course, in reality the Queen was no more deeply in love with Antony
than he with her; but he was absolutely essential to the realisation
of her hopes, and the necessity of a speedy trial of strength with
Octavian became daily more urgent. For this he must prepare by a quiet
collecting of funds and munitions, and all other projects must be given
up.

Very reluctantly, therefore, Antony returned to Alexandria, and
there he spent the winter of B.C. 35-34 in soberly governing his
vast possessions. In the following spring, however, he determined to
secure Armenia and Media for his own ends; and when he transferred
his headquarters to Syria for the summer season[102] he again sent
word to King Artavasdes to meet him in order to discuss the affairs
of Parthia. The Armenian king, however, seems to have been intriguing
against Antony during the winter; and now he declined to place himself
in Roman hands lest he might suffer the consequence of his duplicity.
Thereupon Antony advanced rapidly into Armenia, took the King prisoner,
seized his treasure, pillaged his lands, and declared the country to be
henceforth a Roman province. The loot obtained in this rapid campaign
was very great. The legionaries seized upon every object of value which
they observed: and they even plundered the ancient temple of Anaitis in
Acilisene, laying hands on the statue of the goddess which was made of
pure gold, and pounding it into pieces for purposes of division.

On his return to Syria Antony entered into negotiations with the King
of Media, the result of which was that the Median Princess Iotapa
was married to the little Alexander Helios, whose betrothal to the
King of Armenia’s daughter had, of course, terminated with the late
war. As we shall presently see, it is probable that the King of Media
had consented to make the youthful couple his heirs to the throne of
Media, for it would seem that he had no son; and thus Antony is seen
to have once more put into practice his jesting scheme of founding
royal dynasties of his own flesh and blood in many lands. Antony then
returned to Alexandria, well satisfied with his summer’s work, but
“with his thoughts,” as Plutarch says, “now taken up with the coming
civil war.” Octavia had returned to Rome, and had made no secret of
her ill-treatment. Her brother, therefore, told her to leave Antony’s
house, thus to show her resentment against him; but she would not do
this, nor did she permit Octavian to make war upon her husband on
her account, for, she declared, it would be intolerable to have it
said that two women, herself and Cleopatra, had been the cause of
such a terrific contest. Nevertheless, there was little chance of the
quarrel being patched up; and Antony must have realised now the wisdom
of Cleopatra’s objection to an expensive and exhausting campaign in
Parthia.

On his return to Alexandria in the autumn of B.C. 34, Antony set
the Roman world agog by celebrating his triumph over Armenia in the
Egyptian capital. Never before had a Roman General held a formal
Triumph outside Rome; and Antony’s action appeared to be a definite
proclamation that Alexandria had become the rival, if not the
successor, of Rome as the capital of the world. It will be remembered
that Julius Cæsar had talked of removing the seat of government from
Rome to Alexandria; and now it seemed that Antony had transferred
the capital, at any rate of the Eastern Empire, to that city, and
was regarding it as his home. Alexandria was certainly far more
conveniently situated than Rome for the government of the world. It
must be remembered that the barbaric western countries--the unexplored
Germania, the newly conquered Gallia, the insignificant Britannia, the
wild Hispania, and others--were not of nearly such value as were the
civilised eastern provinces; and thus Rome stood on the far western
outskirts of the important dominions she governed. From Alexandria a
march of 600 or 800 miles brought one to Antioch or to Tarsus; whereas
Rome was nearly three times as far from these great centres. The
southern Peloponnesus was, by way of Crete, considerably nearer to
Alexandria than it was to Rome by way of Brundisium. Ephesus and other
cities of Asia Minor could be reached more quickly by land or sea from
Egypt than they could from Rome. Rhodes, Lycia, Bithynia, Galatia,
Pamphylia, Cilicia, Cappadocia, Pontus, Armenia, Commagene, Crete,
Cyprus, and many other great and important lands, were all closer to
Alexandria than to Rome; while Thrace and Byzantium, by the land or
sea route, were about equidistant from either capital. As a city, too,
Alexandria was far more magnificent, more cultivated, more healthy,
more wealthy in trade, and more “go-ahead” than Rome. Thus there was
really very good ground for supposing that Antony, by holding his
Triumph here, was proclaiming a definite transference of his home and
of the seat of government; and one may imagine the anxiety which it
caused in Italy.

The Triumph was a particularly gorgeous ceremony. At the head of the
procession there seems to have marched a body of Roman legionaries,
whose shields were inscribed with the large C which is said to have
stood for “Cleopatra,” but which, with equal probability, may have
stood for “Cæsar,” that is to say, for the legitimate Cæsarian cause.
Antony rode in the customary chariot drawn by four white horses, and
before him walked the unfortunate King Artavasdes loaded with golden
chains, together with his queen and their sons. Behind the chariot
walked a long procession of Armenian captives, and after these came the
usual cars loaded with the spoils of war. Then followed a number of
municipal deputations drawn from vassal cities, each carrying a golden
crown or chaplet which had been voted to Antony in commemoration of
his conquest. Roman legionaries, Egyptian troops, and several eastern
contingents, brought up the rear.

The procession seems to have set out in the sunshine of the morning
from the Royal Palace on the Lochias Promontory, and to have skirted
the harbour as far as the temple of Neptune. It then travelled probably
through the Forum, past the stately buildings and luxuriant gardens of
the Regia, and so out into the Street of Canopus at about the point
where the great mound of the Paneum rose up against the blue sky, its
ascending pathway packed with spectators. Turning now to the west, the
procession moved slowly along this broad paved street, the colonnades
on either side being massed with sightseers. On the right-hand side
the walls of the Sema, or Royal Mausoleum, were passed, where lay the
bones of Alexander the Great; and on the left the long porticos of
the Gymnasium and the Law Courts formed a shaded stand for hundreds
of people of the upper classes. On the other side of the road the
colonnades and windows of the Museum were crowded, I suppose, with the
professors and students who had come with their families to witness
the spectacle. Some distance farther along, the procession turned to
the south, and proceeded along the broad Street of Serapis, at the end
of which, on high ground, stood the splendid building of the Serapeum.
Here Cleopatra and her court, together with the high functionaries of
Alexandria, were gathered, while the priests and priestesses of Serapis
were massed on either side of the street and upon the broad steps which
led up to the porticos of the temple. At this point Antony dismounted
from his chariot; and probably amidst the shouts of the spectators and
the shaking of hundreds of systra, he ascended to the temple to offer
the prescribed sacrifice to Serapis, as in Rome he would have done
to Jupiter Capitolinus. This accomplished he returned to the court
in front of the sacred building, where a platform had been erected,
the sides of which were plated with silver. On this platform, upon a
throne of gold, sat Cleopatra, clad in the robes of Isis or Venus; and
to her feet Antony now led the royal captives of Armenia, all hot and
dusty from their long walk, and dejected by the continuous booing and
jeering of the crowds through which they had passed. Artavasdes was no
barbarian: he was a refined and cultured man, to whose sensitive nature
the ordeal must have been most terrible. He was something of a poet,
and in his time had written plays and tragedies not without merit. He
was now told to abase himself before Cleopatra, and to salute her as
a goddess; but this he totally refused to do, and, in spite of some
rough handling by his guards, he persisted in standing upright before
her and in addressing her simply by her name. In Rome it was customary
at the conclusion of a Triumph to put to death the royal captives
who had been exhibited in the procession; and now that he had openly
insulted the Queen of Egypt he could not have expected to see another
sun rise. Antony and Cleopatra, however, appear to have been touched
at his dignified attitude; and neither he nor his family were
harmed. Instead, they were treated with some show of honour,[103] and
thereafter were held as state prisoners in the Egyptian capital.

[Illustration:

    _British Museum._]        [_Photograph by Macbeth._

ANTONIA, THE DAUGHTER OF ANTONY.]

The Triumph ended, a vast banquet was given to all the inhabitants of
Alexandria; and late in the afternoon a second ceremony was held in the
grounds of the Gymnasium. Here again a silver-covered platform had been
erected, upon which two large and four smaller thrones of gold had been
set up; and, when the company was assembled, Antony, Cleopatra, and her
children took their seats upon them. Certain formalities having been
observed, Antony arose to address the crowd; and, after referring no
doubt to his victories, he proceeded to confer upon the Queen and her
offspring a series of startling honours. He appears to have proclaimed
Cleopatra sovereign of Egypt, and of the dominions which he had
bestowed upon her at Antioch nearly three years previously. He named
Cæsarion, the son of Julius Cæsar, co-regent with his mother, and gave
him the mighty title of King of Kings.[104] Cæsarion was now thirteen
and a half years of age; and since, as Suetonius remarks, he resembled
his father, the great Dictator, in a remarkable manner, Antony’s
feelings must have been strangely complicated as he now conferred upon
him these vast honours. To Alexander Helios, his own child, Antony next
gave the kingdom of Armenia; the kingdom of Media, presumably after the
death of the reigning monarch, whose daughter had just been married to
him; and ultimately the kingdom of Parthia, provided that it had been
conquered. This seems to have been arranged by treaty with the King of
Media in the previous summer,[105] the agreement probably being that,
on the death of that monarch, Alexander Helios and the Median heiress,
Iotapa, should ascend the amalgamated thrones of Armenia, Media, and
Parthia, Antony promising in return to assist in the conquest of
the last-named country. The boy was now six years of age, and his
chubby little figure had been dressed for the occasion in Median or
Armenian costume. Upon his head he wore the high, stiff tiara of these
countries, from the back of which depended a flap of cloth covering his
neck; his body was clothed in a sleeved tunic, over which was worn a
flowing cloak, thrown over one shoulder and hanging in graceful folds
at the back; and his legs were covered by the long, loosely-fitting
trousers worn very generally throughout Persia. To Cleopatra Selene,
Alexander’s twin-sister, Antony gave Cyrenaica, Libya, and as much of
the north-African coast as was in his gift; and finally he proclaimed
the small Ptolemy King of Phœnicia, northern Syria, and Cilicia. This
little boy, only two years of age, had been dressed up for the occasion
in Macedonian costume, and wore the national mantle, the boots, and
the cap encircled with the diadem, in the manner made customary by
the successors of Alexander. At the end of this surprising ceremony
the children, having saluted their parents, were each surrounded by a
bodyguard composed of men belonging to the nations over whom they were
to rule; and at last all returned in state to the Palace as the sun set
behind the Harbour of the Happy Return.

In celebration of the occasion coins were struck bearing the
inscription _Cleopatræ reginæ regum filiorum regum_--“Of Cleopatra
the Queen, and of the Kings the children of Kings.” Antony perhaps
also caused a bronze statue to be made, representing his son Alexander
Helios dressed in the royal costume of his new kingdom, for a figure
has recently been discovered which appears to represent the boy in this
manner. He then wrote an account of the whole affair to the Senate in
Rome, together with a report on his Armenian war; and in a covering
letter he told his agents to obtain a formal ratification of the
changes which he had made in the distribution of the thrones in his
dominions. The news was received in Italy with astonishment, and in
official circles the greatest exasperation was felt. Antony’s agents
very wisely decided not to read the despatches to the Senate; but
Octavian insisted, and after much wrangling their contents were at last
publicly declared. Stories at once began to circulate in which Antony
figured as a kind of Oriental Sultan, living at Alexandria a life of
voluptuous degeneracy. He was declared to be constantly drunken; and,
since no such charge could be brought against Cleopatra, the Queen was
said to keep sober by means of a magical ring of amethyst, which had
the virtue of dispelling the fumes of wine from the head of the wearer.

There can, indeed, be little doubt that Antony was very intemperate
at this period. He was worried to distraction by the approach of the
great war with Octavian; and he must have felt that his popularity in
Rome was now very much at stake. While waiting for events to shape
themselves, therefore, he attempted to free his mind from its anxieties
by heavy drinking; but in so doing, it would seem from subsequent
events, he began to lose the place in Cleopatra’s esteem which he
had formerly held. She herself did not ever drink much wine, if we
may judge from the fact, just now quoted, that she was at all times
notably sober; and she must have watched with increasing uneasiness the
dissolute habits of the man upon whom she was obliged to rely for the
fulfilment of her ambitions.

The fact that he was ceasing to be a Roman, and was daily becoming
more like an Oriental potentate, did not trouble her so much. It
differentiated him, of course, from the great Dictator, whose memory
became more dear to her as she contrasted his activities with Antony’s
growing laziness; but all her life she had been accustomed to the
ways of Eastern monarchs, and she could not have been much shocked
at her husband’s new method of life, except in so far as it modified
his abilities as an active leader of men. Now that the quarrel with
Octavian was coming to a head, her throne and her very existence
depended on Antony’s ability to inspire and to command; and I dare say
a limited adoption of the manners of the East made him more agreeable
to the people with whom he had to deal. “Cleopatra,” says the violently
partisan Florus, “asked of the drunken general as the price of her love
the Roman Empire, and Antony promised it to her, as though Romans were
easier to conquer than Parthians.... Forgetting his country, his name,
his toga, and the insignia of his office, he had degenerated wholly,
in thought, feeling, and dress, into that monster of whom we know. In
his hand was a golden sceptre, at his side a scimitar; his purple robes
were clasped with great jewels; and he wore a diadem upon his head so
that he might be a King to match the Queen he loved.”

The Palace at Alexandria had been much embellished and decorated
during recent years; and it was now a fitting setting for the
ponderous movements of this burly monarch of the East. Lucan tells
us how sumptuous a place the royal home had come to be. The ceilings
were fretted and inlaid, and gold-foil hid the rafters. The walls and
pillars were mainly made of fine marble, but a considerable amount
of purple porphyry[106] and agate were used in the decoration. The
flooring of some of the halls was of onyx or alabaster; ebony was
used as freely as common wood; and ivory was to be seen on all sides.
The doors were ornamented with tortoise-shells brought from India and
studded with emeralds. The couches and chairs were encrusted with gems;
much of the furniture was shining with jasper and carnelian; and there
were many priceless tables of carved ivory. The coverings were bright
with Tyrian dye, shining with spangled gold, or fiery with cochineal.
About the halls walked slaves, chosen for their good looks. Some were
dark-skinned, others were white; some had the crisp black hair of the
Ethiopians; others the golden or flaxen locks of Gaul and Germania.
Pliny tells us that Antony bought two boys for £800 each, and that they
were supposed to be twins, but that actually they came from different
countries. Of Cleopatra, Lucan writes: “She breathes heavily beneath
the weight of her ornaments; and her white breasts shine through the
Sidonian fabric which, wrought in close texture by the sley of the
Chinese, the needle of the workmen of the Nile has separated, loosening
the warp by stretching out the web.” The newly-developed trade with
India had filled the Palace with the luxurious fabrics of the Orient;
and the Greek, or even Egyptian, character of the materials and objects
in daily use was beginning to be lost in the medley of heterogenous
articles drawn from all parts of the world.

Amidst these theatrical surroundings Antony acted, with a kind of
childish extravagance, the part of the half-divine Autocrator of the
East. When he was sober his mind must have been full of cares and
anxieties; but on the many occasions when he was somewhat intoxicated
he behaved himself in the manner of an overgrown boy. He delighted
in the general recognition of his identity with Bacchus or Dionysos;
and he loved to hear himself spoken of as the new “Liber Pater.” In
the festivals of that deity he was driven through the streets of
Alexandria in a car constructed like that traditionally used by the
bibulous god; a golden crown upon his head, often poised, it would
seem, at a peculiar angle, garlands of ivy tossed about his shoulders,
buskins on his feet, and the thyrsus in his hand. In this manner he was
trundled along the stately Street of Canopus, surrounded by leaping
women and prancing men, the crowds on either side of the road shouting
and yelling their merry salutations to him. A temple in his honour
was begun in the Regia at Alexandria, just to the west of the Forum;
but this was not completed until some years afterwards, when it was
converted into a shrine in honour of Octavian, and was known as the
Cæsareum. On one occasion he assigned the part of the sea-god Glaucus
to his friend Plancus, who forthwith danced about at a banquet, naked
and painted blue, a chaplet of sea-weed upon his head and a fish-tail
tied from his waist.

Antony had never troubled himself much in regard to his dignity; and
now, in the character of the jolly ruler of the East, he was quite
unmindful of his appearance in the eyes of serious men. Often he was
to be seen walking on foot by the side of Cleopatra’s chariot, talking
to the eunuchs and servants who followed in her train. He caused the
Queen to give him the post of Superintendent of the Games,--a position
which was not considered to be particularly honourable. It is apparent
that her company had become very essential to him, and much notice
was taken of the fact that he now accompanied her wherever she went.
He rode through the streets at her side, conducted the official and
religious ceremonies for her, or sat by her when she was trying cases
in the public tribunal. Sometimes when he himself was alone upon
the judicial bench, looking out of the window in the midst of some
intricate judgment and by chance seeing Cleopatra’s chariot passing by
across the square, he would without explanation start up from his seat,
run over to her, and walk back to the Palace at her side, leaving the
magistrate, police, and prisoners in open-mouthed astonishment.

We hear nothing in regard to Antony’s relations with his children, and
it is difficult to picture him as he appeared in the family circle. His
stepson Cæsarion, his two sons Alexander and Ptolemy, and his daughter
Cleopatra, were all at this time residing in the Palace; and moreover
his son by Fulvia, Antyllus, a boy somewhat younger than Cæsarion, had
now come to live with him in Alexandria. It is probable that he was an
affectionate and indulgent father; and there must have been many happy
scenes enacted in the royal nurseries, which, could they have been
recorded, would have gone far to correct the popular estimate of the
nature of Antony’s home-life with Cleopatra. The Queen was his legal
wife;[107] and in contemplating the extravagances and eccentricities
of his behaviour at Alexandria, we must not lose sight of the obvious
fact that his life at this period had also its domestic aspect. He
did not admit to himself that his union with Cleopatra was in any way
scandalous; and writing to Octavian in the following year he seems to
be quite surprised that his family life should be regarded as infamous.
“Is it because I live in intimate relations with a Queen?” he asks.
“_She is my wife._ Is this a new thing with me? Have I not acted so for
these nine years?” Indeed, as compared with Octavian’s private life,
the family circle at Alexandria, in spite of Antony’s buffoonery and
heavy drinking, was by no means wholly shameful. In Rome Octavian was
at this time employing his friends to search the town for women to
amuse him, and these agents, acting on his orders, are related to have
kidnapped respectable girls, and to have torn their clothes from them,
as did the common slave-dealers, in order to ascertain whether they
were fit presents for their vile master. We hear no such stories in
regard to the jovial Antony.

A characteristic tale is told by Plutarch which illustrates the
open-handed opulence of the Alexandrian court at this time. A certain
Philotas, while dining with Antony’s son Antyllus, shut the mouth of a
rather noisy comrade by a very absurd syllogism, which made everybody
laugh. Antyllus was so delighted that he promptly made a present of a
sideboard covered with valuable plate to the embarrassed Philotas, who,
of course, refused it, not imagining that a youth of that age could
dispose in this light manner of such costly objects. Having returned
to his house, however, a friend presently arrived, bringing the plate
to him; and on his still objecting to receive it, “What ails the man?”
said the bearer of the gift. “Don’t you know that he who gives you this
is Antony’s son, who is free to give it even if it were all gold?”

Thus the winter of B.C. 34-33 passed, and in the spring of 33 Antony
set out for his summer quarters in Syria. He desired to cement the
agreement with the King of Media, in order to guard himself against a
Parthian attack while engaged in the coming war with Octavian; and for
this purpose he determined to proceed at once to the borders of that
country. Cleopatra, therefore, did not accompany him; and in this fact
we may perhaps see an indication of some loss of interest on her part,
due to her growing disrespect for him. Passing through Syria he went
north-eastwards into Armenia, and there he seems to have effected a
meeting with the King of Media. To him he now gave a large portion of
Greater Armenia, and to the King of Pontus he handed over the territory
known as Lesser Armenia. The little Median princess, Iotapa, who had
been married to the young Alexander Helios, was placed in the care of
Antony with the idea that she should be educated at Alexandria. With
her the King sent Antony a present of the eagles captured from his
army at the time when the siege-train was lost in B.C. 36; and he also
presented him with a regiment of the famous mounted archers who had
wrought so much havoc on the Roman lines in the late campaign, while
in return for these men Antony sent a detachment of legionaries to the
Median capital.

The Parthian danger being thus circumvented by this extremely
important and far-reaching compact with Media, Antony set out for
Egypt with the idea of spending the winter there once more.[108] He
took with him the little Princess Iotapa, and in the early autumn he
reached Alexandria. His news in regard to Media must have been very
satisfactory to Cleopatra, and Iotapa thenceforth became the companion
of the royal children in the Palace. But the news which he had to
relate in connection with Octavian was of the worst, and Cleopatra
must have asked him in astonishment how he could think of spending the
winter quietly in Alexandria in view of the imminence of war. In the
first place, the Triumvirate[109] came to an end at the close of the
year, and it seemed likely that Octavian would bring matters to an
issue on that date. Then Octavian had attacked him violently in the
Senate, and excited the public mind against his rival; and Antony,
hearing of this while in Armenia, wrote to him an obscene letter, much
too disgusting to quote here. To this Octavian replied in like manner.
Antony then charged him with acting unfairly, firstly, by not dividing
the spoils captured from Sextus Pompeius; secondly, by not returning
the ships which had been lent to him for the Pompeian war; thirdly,
by not sharing the province of Africa taken over after the retirement
of Lepidus; and lastly, that he had parcelled out almost all the free
land in Italy amongst his own soldiers, thus leaving none for Antony’s
legionaries. Octavian had replied that he would divide all the spoils
of war as soon as Antony gave him a share in Armenia and Egypt, while
in regard to the lands given as rewards to his legionaries, Antony’s
troops could hardly want them, since, no doubt, by now they had all
Media and Parthia to share amongst themselves. This reference to Egypt,
as though it were a province of Rome instead of an independent kingdom,
must have been deeply annoying to Cleopatra; but, on the other hand,
it was pleasant to hear that Octavian had abused Antony for living
immorally with the Queen, and that Antony had replied by stating
emphatically that she was his legal wife.

The war, thus, was now on the eve of breaking out, and Cleopatra must
have been in a fever of excitement. Antony’s vague and casual behaviour
seems, therefore, to have annoyed her very considerably; and it was not
until he had decided to take up his winter quarters at Ephesus instead
of in Egypt that harmony was restored. Once aroused, he acted with
energy. He sent messengers in all directions to gather in his forces;
and he eagerly helped Cleopatra to make her warlike preparations in
her own country. In a few weeks the arrangements were complete, and
Antony and Cleopatra set out for Ephesus early in the winter of B.C.
33, at the head of a huge assemblage of naval and military armaments
and munitions. The people of Alexandria must have realised that their
Queen was going forth upon the most marvellous adventure. Only a few
years ago they had lain prone under the heel of Italy, expecting at
any moment to be deprived of their independent existence. Now, thanks
to the skill, the tact, and the charm of their divine Queen, their
incarnate Isis-Aphrodite, they were privileged to witness the departure
of the ships, the hosts, and the captains of Egypt for the conquest of
mighty Rome. They had heard Cleopatra swear to seat herself and her son
Cæsarion in the Capitol; and there could have been few in the cheering
crowds whose hearts did not swell with pride at the thought of the
glorious future which awaited their country and their royal house.




CHAPTER XVI.

THE DECLINE OF ANTONY’S POWER.


The city of Ephesus was situated near the mouth of the river Caystrus
in the shadow of the Messogis mountains, not far south of Smyrna, and
overlooking the island of Samos. Standing on the coast of Asia Minor,
near the frontier which divided Lydia from Caria, it looked directly
across the sea to Athens, and was sheltered from the menacing coasts
of Italy by the intervening Greek peninsula. Ephesus, I need hardly
remind the reader, was famous for its temple, dedicated to Diana of the
Ephesians. The building was constructed of white marble and cypress-
and cedar-wood, and was richly ornamented with gold. Many statues
adorned its colonnades, and there were many celebrated paintings upon
its walls, including a fine picture of Alexander the Great. Diana was
here worshipped under the name Artemis, and was often identified with
Venus, with whom Cleopatra claimed identity. Here Antony and Cleopatra
collected their forces, and soon the ancient city came to be the
largest military and naval centre in the world. Cleopatra had brought
with her from Egypt a powerful fleet of two hundred ships of war,
and a host of soldiers, sailors, workmen, and slaves. She had drawn
20,000 talents (_i.e._, £4,000,000) from her treasury; and, besides
this, she had brought a vast amount of corn, foodstuffs, clothing,
arms, and munitions of war. From Syria, Armenia, and Pontus, vessels
were arriving daily with further supplies; and Antony’s own fleet of
many hundred battleships and vessels of burden was rapidly mobilising
at the mouth of the river. All day and all night the roads to the
city thundered with the tread of armed men, as the kings and rulers
of the East marched their armies to the rendezvous. Bocchus, King of
Mauritania; Tarcondimotus, ruler of Upper Cilicia; Archelaus, King of
Cappadocia; Philadelphus, King of Paphlagonia; Mithridates, King of
Commagene; Sadalas and Rhœmetalces, Kings of Thrace; Amyntas, King of
Galatia, and many other great rulers, responded to the call to arms,
and hastened to place their services at the disposal of Antony and his
Queen.

[Illustration: CLEOPATRA AND HER SON CÆSARION.

REPRESENTED CONVENTIONALLY UPON A WALL OF THE TEMPLE OF DENDERA]

One cannot help wondering whether these mighty men realised for what
they were about to fight. They were flocking to the standard of a man
who had held supreme power over their countries for many years, and
whose rule had been kindly and easy. They owed a great deal to him,--in
some cases their very thrones; and, were he now to be defeated by his
rival, they would probably fall with him. Success, however, seemed
certain in view of Antony’s enormous forces; and they therefore felt
that the assistance which they gave would undoubtedly bear abundant
fruit, and that their reward would be great. Antony, of course, told
them, perhaps with his tongue in his cheek, that he was fighting to
some extent on behalf of the Roman Republic, in order to free the
country from the oppression of an autocratic rule, and to restore the
old constitution. He was not such a fool as to admit that he was
aiming at a throne: Julius Cæsar had been assassinated on that very
account, and a declaration of this kind would likewise alienate a large
number of his supporters in Rome. He still had numerous friends in the
capital, men who disliked the forbidding personality of Octavian, and
who admired his own frank and open manners. Moreover, a considerable
body supported him in memory of the great Dictator, regarding Antony
as the guardian of young Cæsarion, whose rights they had at heart. A
story, of which we have already heard, had been circulated in regard
to Julius Cæsar’s will. It was said that the document which decreed
Octavian the heir was not the Dictator’s last testament, but that he
had made a later will in favour of Cleopatra’s son, Cæsarion, which
had been suppressed, probably by Calpurnia. Thus, to many of his Roman
friends, Antony was fighting to carry out the Dictator’s wishes, and to
overthrow the usurping Octavian. Was this, one asks, the justification
which he placed before the consideration of the vassal kings? At any
rate Dion Cassius states definitely that Antony’s recognition of
Cæsarion’s right to this great inheritance was the real cause of the
war.

It does not seem to me that this point is fully recognised by
historians; but it is very apparent that Antony’s position at Ephesus
would have been almost untenable without a justification such as that
of the championing of Cæsarion. It was plain to every eastern eye that
he was acting in conjunction with Egypt and with Cleopatra; and all men
now knew that the Queen was his legal wife. It was obvious that, if
successful, he would enter Rome with the Queen of Egypt by his side.
Yet, at the same time, he was denying that he intended to establish a
monarchy in Rome on the lines proposed by the Dictator, and he was
talking a great deal of rubbish about reviving the Republic. There
is, surely, only one way in which these divergent interests could be
made to fit into a scheme capable of satisfying both his Roman and
his Oriental supporters, and would serve as a professed justification
for the war: he was going to establish the Dictator’s son, Cæsarion,
in his father’s seat, and to turn out the wrongful heir, Octavian. He
himself would be the boy’s guardian, and would act, at any rate in
Italy, on republican lines. Cleopatra, as his wife, would doff her
crown while in Italy, but would assume it once more within her own
dominions, just as Julius Cæsar had proposed to do in the last year of
his life.[110] Of course it must have been recognised that the throne
of Rome would ultimately be offered to him, and that he would hand it
on to Cæsarion in due course, thus founding a dynasty of the blood of
the divine Julius; but this fact was kept severely in the background.
If Cæsarion and his cause had not formed part of the _casus belli_,
it is unlikely that Antony would have been at all widely supported in
Rome; and what man would have tolerated the armed presence of Cleopatra
and her Egyptians, save in her capacity as mother of the claimant and
wife of the claimant’s guardian? Without Cæsarion, what was Antony’s
justification for the war? I can find very little. He would have been
fighting to turn out Octavian, who, in that case, would have been the
rightful and only heir; he would have been introducing Cleopatra into
Roman politics with the obvious intention of creating a throne for her,
the very step which had been Cæsar’s undoing; and he would have been
offering her royal view of life in exchange for Octavian’s republican
sentiments, not as something of which the best had to be made under
the circumstances, but as a habit of mind desirable in itself. His
apparent deference to Cleopatra, and the manner in which she shared
his supremacy, must have been liable to cause much offence in Rome and
in Ephesus, and would never have been tolerated had she not been put
forward as Julius Cæsar’s widow and the mother of his son.

The armies marching into the city comprised soldiers of almost every
nation. There were nineteen Roman legions; troops of Gauls and Germans;
contingents of Moorish, Egyptian, Sudanese, Arab, and Bedouin warriors;
the wild tribesmen from Media; hardy Armenians; barbaric fighting men
from the coast of the Black Sea; Greeks, Jews, and Syrians. The streets
of the city were packed with men in every kind of costume, bearing all
manner of arms, and talking a hundred languages. Never, probably, in
the world’s history had so many nationalities been gathered together;
and Cleopatra’s heart must have been nigh bursting with feminine pride
and gratification at the knowledge that in reality she had been the
cause of the great mobilisation. They had come together at Antony’s
bidding, it is true; but they had come to fight her battles. They
were here to vindicate her honour, to place her upon the throne of
the World. With their forests of swords and spears they were about
to justify those nights, nearly sixteen years ago, when, as the wild
little queen of little Egypt, she lay in the arms of Rome’s mighty
old reprobate. In those far-off days she was fighting to retain the
independence of her small country and her dynasty: now she was Queen
of dominions more extensive than any governed by the proudest of the
Pharaohs, and she would soon see her royal house raised to a height
never before attained by man. It was her custom at this time to use as
an oath the words, “As surely as I shall one day administer justice on
the Capitol”; and, proudly acting the part of hostess in Ephesus, she
must have felt that the great day was very near. Already the Ephesians
were hailing her as their Queen, and the deference paid to her by the
vassal kings was very marked.

In the spring of B.C. 32 some four hundred Roman senators arrived at
Antony’s headquarters. These men stated that Octavian, after denouncing
his rival in the Senate, had advised all who were on the enemy’s side
to quit the city, whereupon they had set sail for Ephesus, leaving
behind them some seven or eight hundred senators who either held with
Octavian or pursued a non-committal policy. War had not yet been
declared, but no declaration seemed now to be necessary.

[Illustration:

    A Map
    Illustrating the War between
    Cleopatra and Octavian.

    _William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh_           W. & A. K. Johnston,
                                            Limited, Edinburgh & London.
]

With the arrival of the senators trouble began to brew in the camp.
Cleopatra’s power and authority were much resented by the new-comers,
to whom the existing situation was something of a revelation. They had
not realised that the Queen of Egypt was playing an active part in
the preparations, and many of them speedily recognised the fact that
Antony, as Autocrat of the East and husband of Cleopatra, was hardly
the man to restore a republican government to Rome. It was not long
before some of them began to show their dislike of the Queen and to
hint that she ought to retire into the background, at any rate for the
time being. There was one old soldier, Cnæus Domitius Ahenobarbus,
the representative of an ancient republican family, who would
never acknowledge Cleopatra’s right to the supremacy which she had
attained, nor, on any occasion, would he address her by her title,
but always called her simply by her name. This man at length told
Antony in the most direct manner that he ought to send Cleopatra back
to Egypt, there to await the conclusion of the war. He seems to have
pointed out that her presence with the army gave a false impression,
and would be liable to alienate the sympathies of many of his Roman
friends. He suggested, perhaps, that the Queen should vacate her place
in favour of Cæsarion, whose rights few denied. Antony, seeing the
wisdom of this advice, told Cleopatra to return to Alexandria; but
she, in great alarm, is said to have bribed Publius Canidius, one of
Antony’s most trusted councillors, to plead with him on her behalf--the
result being that the proposal of Domitius Ahenobarbus was discarded,
and the Queen remained with the army. Publius Canidius had pointed out
to Antony that the Egyptian fleet would fight much more willingly if
their Queen were with them, and Egyptian money would be more readily
obtained if she herself were felt to be in need of it. “And, besides,”
said he, “I do not see to which of the kings who have joined this
expedition Cleopatra is inferior in wisdom; for she has for a long time
governed by herself a vast kingdom, and has learnt in your company the
handling of great affairs.”[111]

The Queen’s continuance at Ephesus and her connection with the war was
the cause of great dissensions, and the Roman senators began to range
themselves into two distinct parties: those who fell in with Antony’s
schemes, and those who now favoured a reconciliation with Octavian as
a means of ridding Roman politics of Cleopatra’s disturbing influence.
When the efforts of the peacemakers came to her ears her annoyance
must have been intense. Were all her hopes to be dashed to the ground
just because a few stiff-backed senators disliked the idea of a foreign
sovereign concerning herself with republican politics? She no longer
trusted Antony, for it seemed apparent to her that he was, at heart,
striving only for his own aggrandisement, and was prepared to push her
into the background at the moment when her interests threatened to
injure his own. It was she who had incited him into warfare, who had
kept him up to the mark, aroused him to his duties, and financed to
a large extent his present operations; and yet he was, even at this
eleventh hour, half-minded to listen to those who urged him to make
peace. Only recently he had made some sort of offer to Octavian to lay
down his arms if the latter would do likewise. At the time Cleopatra
had probably thought this simply a diplomatic move designed to gain
popularity; but now she seems to have questioned seriously Antony’s
desire for war, and to have asked herself whether he would not much
prefer peace, quietness, and leisure wherein to drink and feast to
his jovial heart’s content. Yet war was essential to her ambitions,
and to the realisation of the rights of her son. If Octavian were not
overthrown, she would never have any sense of security; and with all
her heart she desired to come to a safe harbour after these years of
storm and stress.

It will be seen, then, that to her the need of preventing peace was
paramount. She therefore made one last effort in this direction;
and, bringing all her arts and devices to bear upon her husband, she
began to persuade him to issue a writ casting off Octavia and thereby
insulting Octavian beyond the limits of apology. As soon as the scheme
came to the ears of the peace party pressure was brought to bear on
Antony to effect a reconciliation with Octavia; and the unfortunate
man appears to have been badgered and pestered by both factions until
he must have been heartily sick of the subject. Cleopatra’s councils,
however, at last prevailed to this extent, that Antony decided to
make a forward movement and to cross the sea to Greece, thus bringing
hostilities a step nearer. At the end of April he sailed over from
Ephesus to the island of Samos, leaving a part of the army behind him.
Here he remained for two or three weeks, during which time, in reaction
after his worries, he indulged in a round of dissipations. He had told
his various vassals to bring with them to the rendezvous their leading
actors and comedians, so that the great gathering should not lack
amusement; and now these players were shipped across to Samos, there
to perform before this audience of kings and rulers. These sovereigns
competed with one another in the giving of superb banquets, but we
do not now hear of any such extravagances on the part of Cleopatra,
who was probably far too anxious, and too sobered, to give any
extraordinary attention to her duties as hostess. Splendid sacrifices
were offered to the gods in the island temples, each city contributing
an ox for this purpose; and the sacred buildings must have resounded
with invocations to almost every popular deity of the east and west.
The contrast was striking between the brilliancy and festivity at Samos
and the anxiety and dejection of the cities of the rest of the world,
which had been bereft of their soldiers and their money, and were about
to be plunged into all the horrors of internecine warfare. “While
pretty nearly the whole world,” says Plutarch, “was filled with groans
and lamentations, this one island for some days resounded with piping
and harping, theatres filling, and choruses playing; so that men began
to ask themselves what would be done to celebrate victory when they
went to such an expense of festivity at the opening of the war.”

Towards the end of May the great assemblage crossed over the sea to
Athens, and here Antony and Cleopatra held their court. The Queen’s
mind was now, I fancy, in a very disturbed condition, owing to the
ominous dissensions arising from her presence with the army, and to the
lack of confidence which she was feeling in her husband’s sincerity.
I think it very probable that they were not on the best of terms with
one another at this time, and, although Antony was perhaps a good deal
more devoted to the Queen than he had been before, there may have been
some bickering and actual quarrelling. Cleopatra desired the divorce
of Octavia and immediate war, but Antony on his part was seemingly
disinclined to take any decisive steps. He was, in fact, in a very
great dilemma. He had, apparently, promised the Queen that if he were
victorious he would at once aim for the monarchy proposed by Julius
Cæsar, and would arrange for Cæsarion to succeed in due course to the
throne; but now it had been pointed out to him by the majority of the
senators who were with him that he was earnestly expected to restore
the republic, and to celebrate his victory by becoming once more an
ordinary citizen. In early life he would have faced these difficulties
with a light heart, and devised some means of turning the situation
to his own advantage. Now, however, the power of his will had been
undermined by excessive drinking; and, moreover, he had come to be
extremely dependent upon Cleopatra in all things. He was very fond of
her, and was becoming daily more maudlin in his affections. He was now
nearly fifty years old; and, with the decrease of his vitality, he had
ceased to be so promiscuous in affairs of the heart, centering his
interest more wholly upon the Queen, though she herself was no longer
very youthful, being at this time some thirty-eight years of age. His
quarrels with her seemed to have distressed him very much, and in
his weakened condition, her growing disrespect for him caused him to
be more devotedly her slave. He seems to have watched with a sort of
bibulous admiration her masterly and energetic handling of affairs, and
he was anxious to do his best to retain her affection for him, which
he could see, was on the wane. To the dauntless heart of a woman like
Cleopatra, however, no appeal could be made save by manly strength and
powerful determination; and one seems to observe the growth in the
Queen’s mind of a kind of horror at the rapid degeneration of the man
whom she had loved and trusted.

To make matters worse, there arrived at Athens Antony’s
fourteen-year-old son, Antyllus, whom we have already met at
Alexandria. He had recently been in Rome, where he had been kindly
treated by the dutiful Octavia, whose attitude to all her husband’s
children was invariably generous and noble. Antony regarded this
boy, it would seem, with great affection, and had caused him to be
proclaimed an hereditary prince. The lad became something of a rival to
Cæsarion, to whom Cleopatra was devotedly attached; and one may perhaps
see in his presence at Athens a further cause for dissension.

At length, however, early in June the Queen persuaded Antony to take
the final step, and to divorce Octavia. Having placed the matter
before his senators, by whom the question was angrily discussed, he
sent messengers to Rome to serve Octavia with the order of ejection
from his house; and at the same time he issued a command to the troops
still at Ephesus to cross at once to Greece. This was tantamount to
a declaration of war, and Cleopatra’s mind must have been extremely
relieved thereby. No sooner, however, had this step been taken than
many of Antony’s Roman friends appear to have come to him in the
greatest alarm, pointing out that the brutal treatment of Octavia, who
had won all men’s sympathy by her quiet and dutiful behaviour, would
turn from him a great number of his supporters in Italy, and would
be received as a clear indication of his subserviency to Cleopatra.
They implored him to correct this impression; and Antony, harassed and
confused, thereupon made a speech to his Roman legions promising them
that within two months of their final victory he would re-establish the
republic.

The announcement must have come as a shock to Cleopatra, and must have
shown her clearly that Antony was playing a double game. She realised,
no doubt, that the promise did not necessitate the abandonment of their
designs in regard to the monarchy; for, after establishing the old
constitution, Antony would have plenty of time in which to build the
foundations of a throne. Yet the declaration unnerved her, and caused
her to recognise with more clarity the great divergence between her
autocratic sentiments and the democratic principles of the country
she was attempting to bring under her sway. She saw that, little by
little, the basis upon which the project of the war was founded was
being changed. At first the great justification for hostilities had
been the ousting of Octavian from the estate belonging by right to her
son, Cæsarion. Now the talk was all of liberty, of democracy, and of
the restoration of republican institutions.

Her overwrought feelings, however, were somewhat soothed by Antony’s
personal behaviour, which at this time was anything but democratic.
He was allowing himself to be recognised as a divine personage by
the Athenians, and he insisted on the payment of the most royal
and celestial honours to Cleopatra, of whom he was at this time
inordinately proud. The Queen was, indeed, in these days supreme, and
the early authors are all agreed that Antony was to a large extent
under her thumb. The Athenians, recognising her as their fellow-Greek,
were eager to admit her omnipotence. They caused her statue to be set
up in the Acropolis near that already erected to Antony; they hailed
her as Aphrodite; they voted her all manner of municipal honours,
and, to announce the fact, sent a deputation to her which was headed
by Antony in his _rôle_ as a freeman of the city. Octavia, it will be
remembered, had resided at Athens some years previously, and had been
much liked by the citizens; but the memory of her quiet and pathetic
figure was quickly obliterated by the presence of the splendid little
Queen of Egypt who sat by Antony’s side at the head of a gathering of
kings and princes. Already she seemed to be Queen of the Earth; for,
acting as hostess to all these monarchs, speaking to each in his own
language, and entertaining them with her brilliant wit, she appeared
to be the leading spirit both in their festivities and in their
councils.

Antony, meanwhile, having quieted the dissensions amongst his
supporters, gave himself up to merry-making in his habitual manner;
and presently he caused the Athenians to recognise him formally as
Dionysos, or Bacchus, come down to earth. In anticipation of a certain
Bacchic day of festival he set all the carpenters in the city to make a
huge skeleton roof over the big theatre, this being then covered with
green branches and vines, as in the caves sacred to this god; and from
these branches hundreds of drums, faun-skins, and other Bacchic toys
and symbols were suspended. On the festal day Antony sat himself, with
his friends around him, in the middle of the theatre, the afternoon sun
splashing down upon them through the interlaced greenery; and thus, in
the guise of Bacchus, he presided at a wild drinking-bout, hundreds
of astonished Athenians watching him from around the theatre. When
darkness had fallen the city was illuminated, and, in the light of a
thousand torches and lanterns, Antony rollicked up to the Acropolis,
where he was proclaimed as the god himself.

Many were the banquets given at this time both by Antony and
Cleopatra, and the behaviour of the former was often uproarious and
undignified. On one state occasion he caused much excitement by going
across to Cleopatra in the middle of the meal and rubbing her feet, a
ministration always performed by a slave, and now undertaken by him, it
is said, to fulfil a wager. He was always heedless of public opinion,
and at this period of his life the habit of indifference to comment
had grown upon him to a startling extent. Frequently he would rudely
interrupt an audience which he was giving to one of the vassal kings by
receiving and openly reading some message from Cleopatra written upon
a tablet of onyx or crystal; and once when Furnius, a famous orator,
was pleading a case before him, he brought the eloquent speech to an
abrupt end by hurrying off to join the Queen outside, having entirely
forgotten, it would seem, that the orator’s arguments were being
addressed to himself.

An event now occurred which threw the whole of the Antonian party into
a state of the utmost anxiety. Two of the leading men at that time in
Athens deserted and went over to Octavian. One of these, Titius, has
already been noticed in connection with the arrest and execution of
Sextus Pompeius; the other, Plancus, was the man who made so great a
fool of himself at Alexandria when he painted himself blue and danced
naked about the room, as has been described already.[112] Velleius
speaks of him as “the meanest flatterer of the Queen, a man more
obsequious than any slave”; and one need not be surprised, therefore,
that Cleopatra was rude to him, which was the cause, so he said, of his
desertion. These two men had both been witnesses to Antony’s will, a
copy of which had been deposited with the Vestal Virgins; and as soon
as they were come to Rome they informed Octavian of its contents, who
promptly went to the temple of Vesta, seized the document, and, a few
days later, read it out to the Senate. Many senators were scandalised
at the proceedings; but they were, nevertheless, curious to hear what
the will set forth, and therefore did not oppose the reading. The only
clause, however, out of which Octavian was able to make much capital
was that wherein Antony stated that if he were to die in Rome he
desired his body, after being carried in state through the Forum, to be
sent to Alexandria, there to be buried beside Cleopatra.

The two deserters now began to spread throughout Italy all manner
of stories derogatory to Antony, and to heap abuse upon the Queen,
whom they described as having complete ascendancy over her husband,
due, they were sure, to the magical love-potions which she secretly
administered to him. When we consider that the accusations made by
disreputable tattlers, such as Plancus, were all concerned with
Antony’s devotion to her, we may realise how little there really was to
be brought against her. Antony, they said, was under her magical spell;
he had allowed the Ephesians to hail her as Queen; she had forced
him to present to her the library of Pergamum (a city not far from
Ephesus), consisting of 200,000 volumes; he was wont to become drunken
while she, of course by magic, remained sober; he had become her slave
and even rubbed her feet always for her, and so on. Such rubbishy tales
as these were the basis upon which the fabulous story of Cleopatra’s
terrible wickedness was founded, and presently we hear her spoken of as
“the harlot queen of incestuous Canopus, who aspired to set up against
Jupiter the barking Anubis, and to drown the Roman trumpet with her
jangling systrum.”[113]

The friends of Antony in Rome, alarmed by the hostile attitude of the
majority of the public, sent a certain Geminius to Athens to warn their
leader that he would soon be proclaimed an enemy of the State. On his
arrival at the headquarters, he was thought to be an agent of Octavia,
and both Cleopatra and Antony treated him with considerable coldness,
assigning to him the least important place at their banquets, and
making him a continual butt for their most biting remarks. For some
time he bore this treatment patiently; but at length one night, when
both he and Antony were somewhat intoxicated, the latter asked him
point-blank what was his business at Athens, and Geminius, springing to
his feet, replied that he would keep that until a soberer hour, but one
thing he would say here and now, drunk or sober, that if only the Queen
would go back to Egypt all would be well with their cause. At this
Antony was furious, but Cleopatra, keeping her temper, said in her most
scathing manner: “You have done well, Geminius, to tell your secret
without being put to torture.” A day or two later he slipped away from
Athens and hurried back to Rome.

The next man to desert was Marcus Silanus, formerly an officer of
Julius Cæsar in Gaul, who also carried to Rome stories of Cleopatra’s
power and Antony’s weakness. Shortly after this Octavian issued a
formal declaration of war, not, however, against Antony but against
Cleopatra. The decree deprived Antony of his offices and his authority,
because, it declared, he had allowed a woman to exercise it in
his place. Octavian added that Antony had evidently drunk potions
which had bereft him of his senses, and that the generals against
whom the Romans would fight would be the Egyptian court-eunuchs,
Mardion and Potheinos;[114] Cleopatra’s hair-dressing girl, Iras,
and her attendant, Charmion; for these nowadays were Antony’s chief
state-councillors. The Queen was thus made to realise that her
husband’s cause in Rome was suffering very seriously from her presence
with the army; but, at the same time, were she now to return to Egypt
she knew that Antony might play her false, and the fact that war
had not been declared upon him but upon her would give him an easy
loophole for escape. To counteract the prevailing impression in Italy
Antony despatched a large number of agents who were to attempt to turn
popular opinion in his favour, and meanwhile he disposed his army for
the final struggle. He had decided to wait for Octavian to attack him,
partly because he felt confident in the ability of his great fleet to
destroy the enemy before ever it could land on the shores of Greece,
and partly because he believed that Octavian’s forces would become
disaffected long before they could be brought across the sea. The state
of war would be felt in Italy very soon, whereas in Greece and Asia
Minor it would hardly make any difference to the price of provisions.
Egypt alone would supply enough corn to feed the whole army, while
Italy would soon starve; and Egypt would provide money for the regular
payment of the troops, while Octavian did not know where to turn for
cash. Indeed, so great was the distress in Italy, and so great the
likelihood of mutinies in the enemy’s army, that Antony did not expect
to have to fight a big battle on land. For this reason he had felt
it safe to leave four of his legions at Cyrene, four in Egypt, and
three in Syria; and he linked up the whole of the sea-coast around the
eastern Mediterranean with small garrisons. The army which he kept with
him in Greece consisted of some 100,000 foot and 12,000 horse, a force
which must certainly have seemed adequate, since it was greater than
that of the enemy. Octavian had at least 250 ships of war, 80,000 foot,
and 12,000 horse.

When winter approached Cleopatra and Antony advanced with the whole
army from Athens to Patrae, and there went into winter quarters. Patrae
stood near the mouth of the Gulf of Corinth, on the Achaian side, not
much more than 200 miles from the Italian coast. The fleet, meanwhile,
was sent farther north to the Gulf of Ambracia, which formed a huge
natural harbour with a narrow entrance; and outposts were placed at
Corcyra, the modern Corfu, some 70 miles from the Italian coast. In
the period of waiting which followed, when the storms of winter made
warfare almost out of the question, Antony and Octavian exchanged
several pugnacious messages. Octavian, constrained by the restlessness
of his men and the difficulty of providing for them during the winter,
is said to have written to Antony asking him not to protract the war,
but to come over to Italy and fight him at once. He even promised not
to oppose his disembarkation, but to offer him battle only when he was
quite prepared to meet him with his full forces. Antony replied by
challenging Octavian to a single combat, although, as he stated, he
was already an elderly man. This challenge Octavian refused to accept,
and thereupon Antony invited him to bring his army over to the plains
to Pharsalia and to fight him there, where Julius Cæsar and Pompey had
fought nearly seventeen years before. This offer was likewise refused;
and thereafter the two huge armies settled down once more to glare at
one another across the Ionian Sea.

Octavian now sent a message to Greece inviting the Roman senators
who were still with Antony to return to Rome where they would be well
received; and this offer must have found many ready ears, though none
yet dared to act upon it. Several of these senators felt disgust at
their leader’s intemperate habits, and were deeply jealous of the power
of Cleopatra, whose influence did not seem likely to serve the cause of
the Republic. The declaring of war against the Queen and not against
themselves had touched them sharply, and to add to their discomfort
in this regard news now came across the sea that Octavian, in making
his official sacrifices to the gods at the opening of hostilities, had
employed the ritual observed before a campaign against a _foreign_
enemy. He had stood, as the ancient rites of Rome prescribed, before
the temple of Bellona in the Campus Martius, and, clad in the robes of
a Fetial priest, had thrown the javelin, as a declaration that war was
undertaken against an alien enemy.

Now came disconcerting rumours from the Gulf of Ambracia which could
not be kept secret. During the winter the supplies had run out, and
all manner of diseases had attacked the rowing-slaves and sailors, the
result being that nearly a third of their number had perished. To fill
their places Antony had ordered his officers to press into service
every man on whom they could lay their hands. Peasants, farm hands,
harvesters, ploughboys, donkey-drivers, and even common travellers had
been seized upon and thrust into the ships, but still their complements
were incomplete, and many of them were unfit for action. The news
caused the greatest anxiety in the camp, and when, in March B.C. 31,
the cessation of the storms of winter brought the opening of actual
hostilities close at hand, there was many a man at Patrae who wished
with all his heart that he were safe in his own country.

The first blow was struck by Octavian, who sent a flying squadron
across the open sea to the south coast of Greece, under the command of
his great friend Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. This force seized Methone,
and appeared to be seeking a landing-place for the main army; and
Antony at once prepared to march down and hold the coast against the
expected attack. But while his eyes were turned in this direction
Octavian slipped across with his army from Brindisi and Tarentum to
Corcyra, and thence to the mainland, marching down through Epirus
towards the Gulf of Ambracia, thus menacing the ill-manned fleet
lying in those waters. Antony thereupon hastened northwards with all
possible speed, and arrived at the promontory of Actium, which formed
the southern side of the mouth of the Gulf, almost at the same moment
at which Octavian reached the opposite, or northern, promontory.
Realising that an attack was about to be made upon the fleet, Antony
drew his ships up in battle array, manning them where necessary with
legionaries; and thereupon Octavian gave up the project of immediate
battle. Antony then settled himself down on his southern promontory
where he formed an enormous camp, and a few days later he was joined
there by Cleopatra.




CHAPTER XVII.

THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM AND THE FLIGHT TO EGYPT.


The story of the battle of Actium has troubled historians of all
periods, and no one has been able to offer a satisfactory explanation
of the startling incidents which occurred in it or of the events
which led up to them. I am not able to accept the ingenious theory
set forward by Ferrero, nor is it easy to agree wholly with the
explanations given by classical authors. In the following chapter
I relate the events as I think they occurred, but of course my
interpretation is open to question. The reader, however, may refer to
the early authors to check my statements; and there he will find, as no
doubt he has already observed in other parts of this volume, that while
the incidents and facts all have the authority of these early writers,
the theories which explain them, representing my own opinion, are
frankly open to discussion.

For the time being Octavian did not care to be at too close quarters to
Antony, and he therefore fortified himself in a position a few miles
back from the actual entrance to the Gulf of Ambracia. Antony at once
shipped a part of his army across from Actium to the north side of
the great harbour’s mouth, and thus placed himself in command of the
passage into the inland water. Octavian soon threw up impregnable
earthworks around his camp, and built a wall down to the shore of the
Ionian Sea, so that the enemy could not interfere with the landing
of his supplies, all of which had to come from across the water. He
stationed his ships in such a position that they could command the
entrance to the Gulf of Ambracia; and, these vessels proving to be
extremely well manned and handled, Antony soon found that his own fleet
was actually bottled up in the Gulf, and could not pass into the open
sea without fighting every inch of the passage out through the narrow
fairway. Octavian was thus in command of the Ionian Sea, and was free
to receive provisions or munitions of war day by day from Italy. He
could not, however, leave his fortified camp, for Antony commanded all
the country around him. Thus, while Octavian blockaded Antony’s fleet
in the Gulf, Antony besieged Octavian’s army in their camp; and while
Octavian commanded the open sea and obtained his supplies freely from
Italy, Antony commanded the land and received his provisions without
interruption from Greece. A deadlock therefore ensued, and neither side
was able to make a hostile move. It seems clear to me that a decisive
battle could only be brought on by one of two manœuvres: either Antony
must retire from Actium and induce Octavian to come after him into
Greece, or else his fleet must fight its way out of the Gulf and cut
off Octavian’s supplies, thus starving him into surrender. Many of
Antony’s generals were of opinion that the former movement should be
undertaken, and they pressed him to retire and thus draw Octavian from
his stronghold. Cleopatra, however, appears to have been in favour of
breaking the blockade and regaining possession of the sea. She may have
considered Antony’s army to be composed of too many nationalities to
make success on land absolutely assured, and any retreat at this moment
might easily be misinterpreted and might lead to desertions. On the
other hand, she had confidence in her Egyptian fleet and in Antony’s
own ships, if, by cutting down their number, their crews could be
brought up to the full complement; and she believed that with, say,
300 vessels Octavian’s blockade could be forced, and his own position
subjected to the same treatment. I gather that this plan, however, was
hotly opposed by Domitius Ahenobarbus and others; and, since a loss of
time was not likely to alter the situation to their disadvantage, no
movement was yet made.

Some time in June Antony sent a squadron of cavalry round the shores
of the Gulf to try to cut off Octavian’s water-supply, but the move
was not attended with much success and was abandoned. Shortly after
this the deserter Titius defeated a small body of Antony’s cavalry,
and Agrippa captured a few of his ships which had been cruising from
stations outside the Gulf; whereupon Octavian sent despatches to Rome
announcing these successes as important victories, and stating that
he had trapped Antony’s fleet within the Gulf. He also sent agents
into Greece to try to shake the confidence of the inhabitants in his
enemy, and these men appear to have been partially successful in their
endeavours.

These small victories of Octavian seem to have unnerved Antony, and
to have had a dispiriting effect upon the army. Cleopatra, too, must
have been particularly depressed by them, for they seemed to be a
confirmation of the several ominous and inauspicious occurrences
which had recently taken place. An Egyptian soothsayer had once told
Antony that his genius would go down before that of Octavian; and
Cleopatra, having watched her husband’s rapid deterioration in the
last two years, now feared that the man’s words were indeed true. News
had lately come from Athens that a violent hurricane had torn down
the statue of Bacchus, the god whom Antony impersonated, from a group
representing the Battle of the Giants; and two colossal statues of
Fumenes and Attalus, each of which was inscribed with Antony’s name,
had also been knocked over during the same cyclone. This news recalled
the fact that a few months previously at Patrae the temple of Hercules,
the ancestor of Antony, had been struck by lightning; and at about the
same time a small township founded by him at Pisaurum, on the east
coast of Italy, north of Ancona, had been destroyed by an earthquake.
These and other ill-omened accidents had a very depressing effect on
Cleopatra’s spirits, and her constant quarrels with Antony and his
generals seem to have caused her to be in a state of great nervous
tension. Towards the end of July or early in August, when the low-lying
ground on which their camp was pitched became infested with mosquitos,
and when the damp heat of summer had set the tempers of everybody on
edge, the quarrels in regard to the conduct of the campaign broke out
with renewed fury. Domitius Ahenobarbus, Dellius, Amyntas, and others,
again urged Antony to retire inland and to fight a pitched battle with
Octavian as soon as he should come after them. Cleopatra, however,
still appears to have considered that the forcing of the blockade was
the most important operation to be undertaken, and this she urged upon
her undecided husband. It was of course a risky undertaking, but by
reason of the very danger it made a strong appeal to Cleopatra’s mind.
If their fleet could destroy that of Octavian, they would have him
caught in his stronghold as in a trap. They would not even have to wait
for the surrender; but, leaving eighty or a hundred thousand men to
prevent his escape, they might sail over to Italy with twenty or thirty
thousand legionaries and take possession of empty Rome. There was not
a senator nor a military force in the capital, for Octavian had lately
made the entire senate in Rome come over to his camp, in order to give
tone to his proceedings; and, when once Octavian’s sea-power had been
destroyed, Antony and Cleopatra would be free to ride unchecked into
Rome while the enemy was starved into surrender in Greece. A single
naval battle, and Rome would be theirs! This, surely, was better than a
slow and ponderous retreat into the interior.

Antony, however, could not persuade his generals to agree to this.
The risk was great, they seem to have argued; and even if they were
victorious, was he going to march into Rome with Cleopatra by his side?
The citizens would never stand it, after the stories they had heard in
regard to the Queen’s magical power over him. Let her go back to Egypt,
nor any longer remain to undermine Antony’s popularity. How could he
appear to the world as a good republican with royal Cleopatra’s arm
linked in his? By abandoning the idea of a naval battle the Egyptian
fleet could be dispensed with, and could be allowed to depart to Egypt
if it succeeded in running the blockade. Cleopatra had supplied ships
but hardly any soldiers, and a land battle could be fought without her
aid, and therefore without cause for criticism; nor would Octavian any
longer be able to say that he was waging war against Cleopatra and not
against Antony. The money which she had supplied for the campaign was
almost exhausted, and thus she was of no further use to the cause. Let
Antony then give up the projected naval battle, and order the Queen
to go back quickly with her ships to her own country: for thus, and
thus only, could the disaffected republican element in their army be
brought into line. Cleopatra, they said, had been the moving spirit in
the war; Cleopatra had supplied the money; it was against Cleopatra
that Octavian had declared war; it was Cleopatra’s name, and the false
stories regarding her, which had aroused Rome to Octavian’s support; it
was Cleopatra who was now said on all sides to be supreme in command
of the whole army; and it was of Cleopatra that every senator, every
vassal king, and every general, was furiously jealous. Unless she were
made to go, the whole cause was lost.

Antony seems to have realised the justice of these arguments, and to
have promised to try to persuade his wife to retire to Egypt to await
the outcome of the war; and he was further strengthened in this resolve
when even Canidius, who had all along favoured the keeping of Cleopatra
with the army, now urged him to ask her to leave them to fight their
own battle. He therefore told the Queen, it would seem, that he desired
her to go, pointing out that in this way alone could victory be secured.

Cleopatra, I take it, was furious. She did not trust Antony, and she
appears to have been very doubtful whether he would still champion her
cause after victory. She even doubted that he would be victorious. He
was now but the wreck of the man he had once been, for a too lifelike
impersonation of the god Bacchus had played havoc with his nerves and
with his character. He had no longer the strength and the determination
necessary for the founding of an imperial throne in Rome; and she felt
that, even if he were successful in arms against Octavian, he would
make but a poor regent for her son Cæsarion. Having used her money
and her ships for his war, he might abandon her cause; and the fact
that they were fighting for Cæsar’s son and heir, which had already
been placed in the background, might be for ever banished. It must
have seemed madness for her to leave her husband at this critical
juncture. In order to prevent further desertions he would probably
proclaim his republican principles as soon as her back was turned;
and, in his drunken weakness, he might commit himself so deeply that
he would never be able to go back upon his democratic promises. Since
she was unpopular with his generals, he would perhaps at once tell them
that she was nothing to him; and for the sake of assuring victory he
might even divorce her. Of course, it was obvious that he was devoted
to her, and relied on her in all matters, seeming to be utterly lost
without her; but, for all she knew, his ambition might be stronger than
his love. She therefore refused absolutely to go; and Antony was too
kind-hearted, and perhaps too much afraid of her anger, to press the
matter.

His talk with her, however, seems to have decided him to break the
blockade as soon as possible, and at the same time to invest Octavian’s
lines so that he could not escape from the stronghold which would
become his death-trap. Once master of the sea, he would, at any rate,
have opened a path for Cleopatra’s departure, and she could retire
unmolested with her fleet to her own country. He therefore hurried on
the manning of his ships, and at the same time sent Dellius and Amyntas
into Thrace to recruit a force of cavalry to supplement those at his
disposal. Cleopatra pointed out to him that the ground upon which
their camp was pitched at Actium was extremely unhealthy, and if they
remained there much longer the troops would be decimated by malaria;
and she seems perhaps to have urged him to move round to the north of
the Gulf of Ambracia, in order both to obtain more healthy conditions
for the army and to invest more closely the camp of Octavian in
preparation for the naval fight. Domitius Ahenobarbus was still hotly
opposed to this fight; and now, finding that not only was Cleopatra to
be allowed to remain with the army, but also that her plan of breaking
the blockade was to be adopted, instead of that of the retreat inland,
he was deeply incensed, and could no longer bear to remain in the same
camp with the Queen. Going on board a vessel, therefore, as he said,
for the sake of his health, he slipped over to Octavian’s lines and
offered his services to the enemy. He did not live, however, to enjoy
the favourable consequences of his change, for, having contracted a
fever while at Actium, he died before the battle of that name was
fought.

This desertion, which occurred probably early in August, came as a
terrible shock to Antony, and he seems to have accused his wife of
being the cause of it, which undoubtedly she was. This time he insisted
more vehemently on her leaving the army and retiring to Egypt; and
thereupon a violent quarrel ensued, which lasted, I think, without
cessation during the remainder of their stay in Greece. At first,
it seems to me, the Queen positively refused to leave him, and she
probably accused him of wishing to abandon her cause. With a sneer, she
may have reminded him that his compact with her, and his arrangements
for an Egypto-Roman monarchy, were made at a time when he had, to a
great extent, cut himself off from Rome and when he required financial
aid; but now he had four hundred respectable republican senators to
influence him, and, no doubt, their support at this juncture was far
more valuable to him than her own. He had deserted her once before, and
she was quite prepared for him to do so again.

Her anger, mistrust, and unhappiness must have distressed Antony
deeply, and he would, perhaps, have given way once again had not three
more desertions from his camp taken place. The King of Paphlagonia,
jealous, apparently, of Cleopatra’s power, slipped across to Octavian’s
lines, carrying thither an account of the dissensions in Antony’s
camp. The two others, a Roman senator named Quintus Postumius, and an
Arab chieftain from Emesa, named Iamblichus, were both caught; and, to
terrify those who might intend to go over to the enemy, both were put
to death, the one being torn to pieces and the other tortured. Every
day Octavian’s cause was growing in popularity, and Antony was being
subjected to greater ridicule for his subserviency to the little Queen
of Egypt, who appeared to direct all his councils and who now seemed to
frighten him by her anger. Octavian’s men were becoming self-confident
and even audacious. On one occasion while Antony, accompanied by an
officer, was walking at night down to the harbour between the two
ramparts which he had thrown up to guard the road, some of the enemy’s
men crept over the wall and laid in wait for him. As they sprang up
from their ambush, however, they seized Antony’s attendant officer in
mistake for himself, and, by a rapid flight down the road, he was able
to escape.

Thoroughly unnerved by the course events were taking, he again
ordered the Queen to retire to Egypt; and at last, stung by Antony’s
reproaches, Cleopatra made up her mind to go and to take her fleet with
her. Having formed this decision, she appears to have treated Antony
with the utmost hostility; and he, being in a highly nervous condition,
began to fear that she might kill him. Her great eyes seemed to blaze
with anger when she looked upon him, and the contempt which she now
felt for him was shown in the expression of her face. He appears to
have cowered before her in the manner of a naughty boy, and to have
told his friends that he believed she would murder him in her wrath.
On hearing this, Cleopatra decided to teach him a lesson which he
should not forget. One night at supper, she caused her goblet to be
filled from the same wine-jar from which all had been drinking, and
having herself drunk some of the wine, she handed the cup to Antony
as though in token of reconciliation; and he, eagerly raising it to
his mouth, was about to place his lips where those of the Queen had
rested a moment before, when, as though to add grace to her act, she
took the wreath of flowers from her hair and dipped it into the wine.
Antony again lifted the cup, but suddenly Cleopatra dashed it from his
hand, telling him that the wine was poisoned. Antony appears to have
protested that she was mistaken, since she herself had just drunk from
the same cup; but Cleopatra calmly explained that the wreath which she
had dipped into the wine as she handed it to him was poisoned, and that
she had chosen this means of showing him how baseless were his fears
for his life, for that, did she wish to rid herself of him, she could
do so at any moment by some such subtle means. “I could have killed
you at any time,” she said, “if I could have done without you.”

The Queen, I imagine, now carried herself very proudly and
disdainfully, regarding Antony’s insistence on her departure as a
breach of faith. In her own mind she must have feared lest he would
actually abandon her, and the anxiety in regard to the future of her
country and dynasty must have gnawed at her heart all day and all
night; but to him she seems only to have shown coldness and contempt,
thus driving him to a condition of complete wretchedness. He did not
dare, however, to alter his decision in regard to her departure, for
he seems to have admitted some of his senators and generals into the
secret of this coming event, and it had much quieted the volcanic
atmosphere so long prevalent in the camp. I am of opinion that the plan
upon which he and his wife had agreed was as follows: Having invested
Octavian’s lines more closely, and having taken all steps to prevent
him issuing from his stronghold, the pick of Antony’s legionaries would
be embarked upon as many of the vessels in the Gulf of Ambracia as were
seaworthy, and these warships would force their way out and destroy
Octavian’s fleet. As soon as this was done an assault would be made on
the enemy’s position by sea and land; and Cleopatra, taking with her
the Egyptian fleet, could then sail away to Alexandria, leaving Antony
to enter Rome alone.

This scheme, in my opinion, presented the only possible means by
which the Antonian army could rid itself of Egyptian influence. If
Cleopatra was made to retire overland by way of Asia Minor and Syria,
not only would her passage through these countries be regarded by the
inhabitants as a flight, thus causing instant panic and revolt, but
also the Egyptian fleet would still remain in the Gulf of Ambracia to
show by its presence that Cleopatra and her Kingdom of Egypt were yet
the main factors in the war. On the other hand, if the Queen retired by
sea with her ships, a naval battle designed to force the blockade would
have to be fought in order to permit her to escape by that route. Thus,
the republican demand that the Queen should go to her own country, and
Cleopatra’s own reiterated proposal that the war should be decided by
a sea-fight, here concurred in determining Antony to stake all upon a
naval engagement.

This being settled, Antony announced to the army that the fleet should
break the blockade on August 29, but the fact that the Egyptian ships
were to depart immediately after the battle was not made known, save to
a few. A great many of the vessels were ill furnished for the fight,
and were much under-manned; and Antony now ordered these to be burnt,
for, though they were useless to him, they might be of value to the
enemy, and might be seized by them while the fleet was away scouring
the Ionian Sea. Sixty of the best Egyptian vessels, and at least
three hundred[115] other ships, were made ready for the contest; and
during these preparations it was no easy matter to keep the secret of
the Egyptian departure from leaking out. In order to cross to Egypt
Cleopatra’s sixty ships required their large sails, but these sails
would not under ordinary circumstances be taken into battle; and in
order that the Egyptian vessels should not be made conspicuous by alone
preparing for a long voyage, thereby causing suspicions to arise, all
the fleet was ordered to ship its big sails; Antony, therefore, having
to explain that they would be required in the pursuit of the enemy.
Another difficulty arose from the fact that Cleopatra had to ship her
baggage, including her plate and jewels; but this was ultimately done
under cover of darkness without arousing suspicion.

Many of the generals, not realising that the naval battle was largely
forced upon Antony by those who desired to rid his party of the
Egyptians, were much opposed to the scheme; and one infantry officer,
pointing to the many scars and marks of wounds which his body bore,
implored Antony to fight upon land. “O General,” he said, “what have
our wounds and our swords done to displease you, that you should give
your confidence to rotten timbers? Let Egyptians and Phœnicians fight
on the sea; but give us the land, where we well know how to die where
we stand or else gain the victory.” Antony, however, gave him no reply,
but made a motion with his hand as though to bid him be of good courage.

On August 28 twenty thousand legionaries and two thousand archers were
embarked upon the ships of war[116] in preparation for the morrow’s
battle. The vessels were much larger than those of Octavian, some of
them having as many as ten banks of oars; and it seemed likely that
victory would be on their side. On the next day, however, the sea was
extremely rough, and the battle had to be postponed. The storm proved
to be of great violence, and all question of breaking the blockade had
to be abandoned for the next four days. The delay was found to be a
very heavy strain upon the nerves of all concerned, and so great was
the anxiety of the two important generals, Dellius[117] and Amyntas,
that they both deserted to Octavian’s lines, the latter taking with him
two thousand Galatian cavalry. Dellius had probably heard rumours about
the proposed departure of Cleopatra, and he was able to tell Octavian
something of the plans for the battle. In after years he stated that
his desertion was partly due to his fear of the Queen, for he believed
her to be angry with him for having once remarked that Antony’s
friends were served with sour wine, whereas even Sarmentus, Octavian’s
_delicia_, or page, drank Falernian. One may understand Cleopatra’s
annoyance at this hint that money and supplies were running short, more
especially since this must actually have been the fact.

On September 1st the storm abated, and in the evening Antony went from
ship to ship encouraging his men. Octavian, informed by Dellius, also
prepared for battle, embarking eight legions and five pretorian cohorts
upon his ships of war, which seem to have been more numerous, but much
smaller, than those of Antony.

The morning of September 2nd was calm, and at an early hour Octavian’s
workmanlike ships stationed themselves about three-quarters of a mile
from the mouth of the Gulf of Ambracia, where they were watched by the
eyes of both armies. They were formed into three divisions, the left
wing being commanded by Agrippa, the centre by Lucius Arruntius, and
the right wing by Octavian. At about noon Antony’s huge men-o’-war
began to pass out from the harbour, under cover of the troops and
engines of war stationed upon the two promontories. Octavian seems to
have thought that it would be difficult to attack them in the straits,
and therefore he retired out to sea, giving his enemies the opportunity
of forming up for battle. This was speedily done, the fleet being
divided, like Octavian’s, into three squadrons, C. Sossius moving
against Octavian, Marcus Insteius opposing Arruntius, and Antony facing
Agrippa. The sixty Egyptian ships, under Cleopatra’s command, were the
last to leave the Gulf, and formed up behind the central division.

Antony appears to have arranged with Cleopatra that her ships should
give him full assistance in the fight, and should sail for Egypt as
soon as the victory was won. He intended, no doubt, to board her
flagship at the close of the battle and to bid her farewell. They had
separated that morning, it would seem from subsequent events, with
anger and bitterness. Cleopatra, I imagine, had once more told him how
distasteful was her coming departure to her, and had shown him how
little she trusted him. She had bewailed the misery of her life and
the bitterness of her disillusionment. She had accused him of wishing
to abandon her cause, and she had, no doubt, called him coward and
traitor. Very possibly in her anger she had told him that she was
leaving him with delight, having found him wholly degenerate, and
that she hoped never to see his face again. Her accusations, I fancy,
had stung Antony to bitter retorts; and they had departed, each to
their own flagship, with cruel words upon their lips and fury in their
minds. Antony’s nature, however, always boyish, impulsive, and quickly
repentant, could not bear with equanimity so painful a scene with the
woman to whom he was really devoted, and as he passed out to battle
he must have been consumed by the desire to ask her forgiveness. The
thought, if I understand him aright, was awful to him that they should
thus separate in anger; and being probably a little intoxicated, the
contemplation of his coming loneliness reduced him almost to tears. He
was perhaps a little cheered by the thought that when next he saw her
the battle would probably be won, and he would appear to her in the
_rôle_ of conqueror--a theatrical situation which made an appeal to his
dramatic instincts; yet, in the meantime, I think he was as miserable
as any young lover who had quarrelled with his sweetheart.

The battle was opened by the advance of Antony’s left wing, and
Agrippa’s attempt to outflank it with his right. Antony’s other
divisions then moved forward, and the fight became general. “When they
engaged,” writes Plutarch, “there was no ramming or charging of one
ship into another, because Antony’s vessels, by reason of their great
bulk, were incapable of the speed to make the stroke effectual, and, on
the other side, Octavian’s ships dared not charge, prow to prow, into
Antony’s, which were all armed with solid masses and spikes of brass,
nor did they care even to run in on their sides, which were so strongly
built with great squared pieces of timber, fastened together with iron
bolts, that their own vessels’ bows would certainly have been shattered
upon them. Thus the engagement resembled a land fight, or, to speak
more properly, the assault and defence of a fortified place; for there
were always three or four of Octavian’s vessels around each one of
Antony’s, pressing upon them with spears, javelins, poles, and several
inventions of fire which they flung into them, Antony’s men using
catapults also to hurl down missiles from their wooden towers.”

The fight raged for three or four hours, but gradually the awful truth
was borne in upon Antony and Cleopatra, that Octavian’s little ships
were winning the day. Antony’s flagship was so closely hemmed in on
all sides that he himself was kept busily occupied, and he had no time
to think clearly. But as, one by one, his ships were fired, sunk, or
captured, his desperation seems to have become more acute. If his
fleet were defeated and destroyed, would his army stand firm? That
was the question which must have drummed in his head, as in an agony
of apprehension he watched the confused battle and listened to the
clash of arms and the cries and shouts of the combatants. Cleopatra,
meanwhile, after being subjected to much battering by the enemy,
had perhaps freed her flagship for a moment from the attentions of
Octavian’s little warships, and, in manœuvring for a better position,
she was able to obtain a full view of the situation. With growing
horror she observed the struggle around Antony’s flagship, and heard
the cheers of the enemy as some huge vessel struck or was set on
fire. Her Egyptian fleet had probably suffered heavily, though her
sailors would hardly have fought with the same audacity as had those
under Antony’s command. As she surveyed the appalling scene no doubt
remained in her mind that Octavian had beaten them, and she must even
have feared that Antony would be killed or captured. The anxieties
which had harassed her overwrought brain during the last few weeks as
to her husband’s intentions in regard to her position and that of her
son Cæsarion, were now displaced by the more frightful thought that
the opportunity would never be given to him of proving his constancy;
for, here and now, he would meet his end. Her anger against him for his
vacillation, her contempt for the increasing weakness of his character,
and her misgivings in regard to his ability to direct his forces in
view of the growing intemperance of his habits, were now combined in
the one staggering certainty that defeat and ruin awaited him. He had
told her to go back to Egypt, he had ordered her to take herself off
with her fleet at the end of the battle. That end seemed to her already
in sight. It was not from a riotous scene of victory, however, that she
was to retire, nor was she to carry over to Alexandria the tidings of
her triumph with which to cover the shame of her banishment from her
husband’s side; but now she would have to sail away from the spectacle
of the wreck of their cause, and free herself by flight from a man who,
no longer a champion of her rights, had become an encumbrance to the
movement of her ambitions.

In the late afternoon, while yet the victory was actually undecided,
although there could have been no hope for the Antonian party left in
Cleopatra’s weary mind, a strong wind from the north sprang up, blowing
straight from unconquered Rome towards distant Egypt. The sea grew
rough, and the waves beat against the sides of the Queen’s flagship,
causing an increase of confusion in the battle. As the wind blew in
her face, suddenly, it seems to me, the thought came to her that the
moment had arrived for her departure. Antony had told her with furious
words to go: why, then, should she wait? In another hour, probably, he
would be captured or killed, and she, too, would be taken prisoner, to
be marched in degradation to the Capitol whereon she had hoped to sit
enthroned. She would pay her husband back in his own coin: she would
desert him as he had deserted her. She would not stand by him to await
an immediate downfall. Though he was sodden with wine, she herself
was still full of life. She would rise above her troubles, as she had
always risen before. She would cast him off, and begin her life once
more. Her throne should not be taken from her at one blow. She would,
at this moment, obey Antony’s command and go; and in distant Egypt she
would endeavour to start again in the pursuit of that dynastic security
which had proved so intangible a vision.

Having arrived at this decision she ordered the signal to be given
to her scattered ships, and hoisting sail she passed right through
the combatants, and made off down the wind, followed by her damaged
fleet. At that moment, it seems, Antony had freed his flagship from
the surrounding galleys, and thus obtained an uninterrupted view of
the Queen’s departure. His feelings must have overwhelmed him,--anger,
misery, remorse, and despair flooding his confused mind. Cleopatra was
leaving him to his fate: she was obeying the order which he ought never
to have given her, and he would not see her face again. All the grace,
the charm, the beauty which had so enslaved him, was being taken from
him; and alone he would have to face the horrors of probable defeat.
He had relied of late so entirely upon her that her receding ships
struck a kind of terror into his degenerate mind. It was intolerable to
him, moreover, that she should leave him without one word of farewell,
and that the weight of his cruelty and anger should be the last
impression received by her. He could not let her depart unreconciled
and unforgiving; he must go after her, if only to see her for a moment.
Yet what did it matter if he did not return to the battle? There
was little hope of victory. His fevered and exhausted mind saw no
favourable incident in the fight which raged around him. Disgrace and
ruin stared him in the face; and the sooner he fled from the horror of
defeat the better would be his chance of retaining his reason.

“Here it was,” says Plutarch, “that Antony showed to all the world that
he was no longer actuated by the thoughts and motives of a commander
or a man, or indeed by his own judgment at all; and what was once
said in jest, that the soul of a lover lives in the loved one’s body,
he proved to be a serious truth. For, as if he had been born part of
her, and must move with her wheresoever she went, as soon as he saw
her ships sailing away he abandoned all that were fighting and laying
down their lives for him, and followed after her.” Hailing one of his
fastest galleys, he quickly boarded her and told the captain to go
after Cleopatra’s flagship with all possible speed. He took with him
only two persons, Alexander the Syrian, and a certain Scellias. It was
not long before the galley, rowed by five banks of oars, overhauled
the retreating Egyptians, and Cleopatra then learnt that Antony had
followed her and had abandoned the fight. Her feelings may be imagined.
Her leaving the battle had, then, terminated the struggle, and her
retreat had removed the last hope of victory from the Antonians. Antony
was a ruined and defeated man, and a speedy death was the best thing
he could hope for; but not so easily was she to be rid of him. He was
going to cling to her to the end: she would never be able to shake
herself clear of him, but, drowning, he would drag her down with him.
Yet he was her husband, and she could not abandon him in defeat as in
victory he had wished to abandon her. She therefore signalled to him
to come aboard; and having done this she retired to her cabin, refusing
to see him or speak to him. Antony, having been helped on to the deck,
was too dazed to ask to be taken to her, and too miserable to wish to
be approached by her. He walked, as in a dream, to the prow of the
ship, and there seating himself, buried his face in his hands, uttering
not a word.

Thus some hours passed, but after it had grown dark the beat of the
oars of several galleys was heard behind them, and presently the hull
of the foremost vessel loomed out of the darkness. The commotion on
board and the shouts across the water aroused Antony. For a moment he
seems to have thought that the pursuing ships were bringing him some
message from Actium--perhaps that the tide of battle had turned in
his favour. He therefore ordered the captain to turn about to meet
them, and to be ready to give battle if they belonged to the enemy;
and, standing in the prow, he called across the black waters: “Who is
this that follows Antony?” Through the darkness a voice responded: “I
am Eurycles, the son of Lachares, come to revenge my father’s death.”
Antony had caused Lachares to be beheaded for robbery, although he
came of the noblest family in the Peloponnese; and his son had fitted
out a galley at his own expense and had sworn to avenge his father.
Eurycles could now be seen standing upon his deck, and handling a lance
as though about to hurl it; but a moment later, by some mistake which
must have been due to the darkness, he had charged with terrific force
into another Egyptian vessel which was sailing close to the flagship.
The blow turned her round, and in the darkness and confusion which
followed, Cleopatra’s captain was able to get away. The other vessel,
however, was captured, together with a great quantity of gold plate and
rich furniture which she was carrying back to Egypt.

When the danger was passed Antony sat himself down once more in the
prow, nor did he move from that part of the ship for three whole days.
Hour after hour he sat staring out to sea, his hands idly folded
before him, his mind dazed by his utter despair. By his own folly he
had lost everything, and he had carried down with him in his fall all
the hope, all the ambition, and all the fortune of Cleopatra. It is
surprising that he did not at once put an end to his life, for his
misery was pitiable; yet, when at last the port of Tænarus was reached,
at the southern end of the Greek peninsula, he was still seated at the
prow, his eyes fixed before him. At length, however, Iras, Charmion,
and other of Cleopatra’s women induced the Queen to invite him to
her cabin; and after much persuasion they consented to speak to one
another, and, later, to sup and sleep together. Cleopatra could not but
pity her wretched husband, now so sobered and terribly conscious of
the full meaning of his position; and I imagine that she gave him what
consolation she could.[118]

As their ship lay at anchor several vessels came into the harbour,
bringing fugitives from Actium; and these reported to him that his
fleet was entirely destroyed or captured, more than five thousand
of his men having been killed, but that the army stood firm and had
not at once surrendered. At this news Cleopatra, who had not been
wholly crushed under the weight of her misfortunes, seems to have
advised Antony to try to save some remnant of his forces, and to send
messengers to Canidius to march his legions with all speed through
Macedonia into Asia Minor. This he did; and then, sending for those
of his friends who had come into the port, he begged them to leave
him and Cleopatra to their fate, and to give their whole attention to
their own safety. He and the Queen handed to the fugitives a large sum
of money and numerous dishes and cups of gold and silver wherewith to
purchase their security; and he wrote letters in their behalf to his
steward at Corinth, that he should provide for them until they had made
their peace with Octavian. In deep dejection these defeated officers
attempted to refuse the gifts, but Antony, pressing them to accept,
“cheered them,” as Plutarch says, “with all the goodness and humanity
imaginable,” so that they could not refrain from tears. At length the
fleet put out to sea once more, and set sail for the coast of Egypt,
arriving many days later at Parætonium, a desolate spot some 160 miles
west of Alexandria, where a small Roman garrison was stationed.[119]
Here Antony decided to stay for a time in hiding, while the braver
Cleopatra went on to the capital to face her people; and for the next
few weeks he remained in the great solitude of this desert station.
A few mud huts, a palm-tree or two, and a little fort constituted
the dreary settlement, which in the damp heat of September must have
presented a colourless scene of peculiarly depressing aspect. This part
of the coast is absolutely barren, and only those who have visited
these regions in the summer-time can realise the strange melancholy,
the complete loneliness, of this sun-scorched outpost. The slow,
breaking waves beat upon the beach with the steady insistence of a
tolling bell which counts out a man’s life; the desert rolls back from
the bleak sea-shore, carrying the eye to the leaden haze of the far
horizon; and overhead the sun beats down from a sky which is, as it
were, deadened by the heat. In surroundings such as these heart-broken
Antony remained for several weeks, daily wandering along the beach
accompanied only by two friends, one, a certain Aristocrates, a Greek
rhetorician, and the other the Roman soldier Lucilius, who, fighting
on the side of the enemy at Philippi, as we have read, had heroically
prevented the capture of the defeated Brutus, and had been pardoned by
Antony as a reward for his courage, remaining thereafter, and until the
last, his devoted friend.

At length one of his ships, putting into the little port, seems to
have brought him the news of events at Actium. After his flight the
battered remnant of his fleet, having continued the fight until sunset,
sailed back into the Gulf of Ambracia; and next day Octavian invited
them and the army to surrender on easy terms. No one, however, would
believe that Antony had fled, and the offer was refused. Next day,
however, some of the vassal kings laid down their arms, and, after a
week of suspense, Canidius fled. Part of the legions scattered into
Macedonia, and on September 9th the remainder surrendered together with
the fleet. Octavian then sailed round to Athens, and there received the
submission of every city in Greece, with the exception of Corinth. He
at once began a general massacre of Antony’s adherents, and, to save
their skins, the townspeople in every district heaped honours upon the
conqueror, erecting statues to him and decreeing him all manner of
civic distinctions. Shortly after this a messenger reached Antony from
the west stating that the legions left in North Africa had also gone
over to Octavian; and thereupon he attempted to commit suicide. He was,
however, restrained by his two faithful friends; and in the deepest
dejection he was at last persuaded by them to sail for Alexandria, once
more to comfort himself with the presence of Cleopatra.




CHAPTER XVIII.

CLEOPATRA’S ATTEMPT TO BEGIN AGAIN.


Crushed and broken by her misfortunes, it might have been expected that
Cleopatra would now give up the fight. She was not made, however, of
ordinary stuff; and she could not yet bring herself to believe that
her cause was hopeless. On her voyage across the Mediterranean she
seems to have pulled herself together after the first shock of defeat;
and, with that wonderful recuperative power, of which we have already
seen many instances in her life, she appears, so to speak, to have
regained her feet, standing up once more, eager and defiant, to face
the world. The defeat of Antony, though it postponed for many years all
chance of obtaining a footing in Rome, did not altogether preclude that
possibility. He would now probably kill himself, and though the thought
of his suicide must have been very distressing to her, she could but
feel that she would be well rid of him. A drunken and discredited
outlaw with a price upon his head was not a desirable consort for a
Queen; and he had long since ceased to make an appeal to any quality in
her, save to her pity. Octavian would hunt him down, and would not rest
until he had driven him to the land of the shades; but she herself
might possibly be spared and her throne be saved in recognition of the
fact that she had been the great Dictator’s “wife.” Then, some chance
occurrence, such as the death of Octavian, might give her son Cæsarion
the opportunity of putting himself forward once more as Cæsar’s heir.

Antony was now a terrible encumbrance. His presence with her endangered
her own life, and, what was more important, imperilled the existence of
her royal dynasty. Had he not the courage, like defeated Cato at Utica,
like her uncle Ptolemy of Cyprus, like Brutus after Philippi, and
like hundreds of others, to kill himself and so end his misfortunes?
It is to be remembered that suicide after disaster was a doctrine
emphatically preached throughout the civilised world at this time, and
so frequently was it practised that it was felt to be far less terrible
than we are now accustomed to think it. The popular spectacle of
gladiatorial fights, the many wars conducted in recent years, and the
numerous political murders and massacres, had made people very familiar
with violent death. The case of Arria, the wife of Pætus, is an
illustration of the light manner in which the termination of life was
regarded. Her husband having been condemned to death, Arria determined
to anticipate the executioner; and therefore, having driven a dagger
into her breast, she coolly handed the weapon to him, with the casual
words, _Paete non dole_, “It isn’t painful.”[120] I do not think,
therefore, that Cleopatra need be blamed if she now hoped that Antony
would make his exit from the stage of life.

Her fertile brain turned to the consideration of other means of
holding her throne should Octavian’s clemency not be extended to her.
Her dominant hope was now the keeping of Egypt independent of Rome. The
founding of an Egypto-Roman empire having been indefinitely postponed
by the defeat at Actium, her whole energies would have to be given to
the retention of some sort of crown for her son. The dominions which
Antony had given her she could hardly expect to hold: but for Egypt,
her birthright, she must fight while breath remained in her body. Under
this inspiration her thoughts turned to the Orient, to Media, Persia,
Parthia, and India. Was there not some means of forming an alliance
with one or all of these distant countries, thereby strengthening her
position? Her son Alexander Helios was prospective King of Media. Could
not she find in Persia or India an extension of the dominions which she
could hand on to Cæsarion? And could not some great amalgamation of
these nations, which had never been conquered by Rome, be effected?

I imagine that her thoughts ran in these channels as she sailed over
the sea; but when she had dropped Antony at Parætonium and was heading
for Alexandria the more immediate question of her entry into the
capital must have filled her mind. It was essential to prevent the news
of the defeat from being spread in the capital until after she had once
more obtained control of affairs. She therefore seems to have arranged
to sail into the harbour some days before the arrival of the fleet, and
she caused her flagship to be decorated as though in celebration of
a victory. Her arrival took place at about the end of September B.C.
31; and, with music playing, sailors dancing, and pennants flying, the
ship passed under the shadow of the white Pharos and entered the Great
Harbour. Having moored the vessel at the steps of the Palace, Cleopatra
was carried ashore in royal state, and was soon safely ensconced behind
the walls of the Lochias. She brought, no doubt, written orders from
Antony to the legions stationed in Alexandria; and, relying on the
loyalty of these troops, she soon took the sternest measures to prevent
any revolt or rioting in the city as the news of the disaster began to
filter through. Several prominent citizens who attempted to stir up
trouble were promptly arrested and put to death; and by the time that
full confirmation of the news of the defeat had arrived, Cleopatra was
in absolute control of the situation.

[Illustration:

    _British Museum._]   [_Photograph by Macbeth._

CLEOPATRA.]

She now began to carry out her schemes in regard to the East, in
pursuance of which her first step was, naturally, the confirmation of
her treaty with the King of Media. It will be remembered that the elder
son of Cleopatra and Antony, Alexander Helios, had been married to
the King of Media’s daughter, on the understanding, apparently, that
he should be heir to the kingdoms of Media and Armenia. The little
princess was now living at Alexandria; and it will be recalled that
Artavasdes, the dethroned King of Armenia, the greater part of whose
kingdom had been handed over to Media, remained a prisoner in the
Egyptian capital, where he had been incarcerated since the Triumph
in B.C. 34, three years previously. The defeat of Antony, however,
would probably cause the reinstatement of the rulers deposed by him;
and it seemed very probable that Octavian would restore Artavasdes to
his lost kingdom, and that Media, on the other hand, by reason of its
support of the Antonian party, would be stripped of as much territory
as the Romans dared to seize. In order to prevent this by removing
the claimant to the Armenian throne, and perhaps owing to some attempt
on the part of Artavasdes to escape or to communicate with Octavian,
Cleopatra ordered him to be put to death; and she thereupon sent an
embassy to Media bearing his head to the King as a token of her good
faith.[121] I think it is probable that at the same time she sent the
little Alexander and his child-wife Iotapa to the Median court in order
that they might there live in safety; and there can be little doubt
that she made various proposals to the King for joint action.

She then began an undertaking which Plutarch describes as “a most bold
and wonderful enterprise.” The northernmost inlet of the Red Sea, the
modern Gulf of Suez, was separated from the waters of the Mediterranean
by a belt of low-lying desert not more than thirty-five miles in
breadth. Across the northern side of this isthmus the Pelusian branch
of the Nile passed from the Delta down to the Mediterranean. Somewhat
further south lay the Lakes of Balah and Timsah, and between these
and the Gulf of Suez lay the so-called Bitter Lakes. These pieces of
water had been linked together by a canal opened nearly five hundred
years previously by the great Persian conqueror Darius I., who had
thus sent his ships through from one sea to the other by a route
not far divergent from that of the modern Suez Canal. King Ptolemy
Philadelphus, three hundred years later, had reopened the waterway,
and had built a great system of locks at its southern end, near the
fortress of Clysma;[122] but now a large part of the canal had become
blocked up once more by the encroaching sand, and any vessel which had
to be transported from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea would have to
be dragged for several miles over the desert. In spite of the enormous
labour involved, however, Cleopatra determined to transfer immediately
all her battleships which had survived Actium to the Red Sea, where
they would be safe from the clutches of Octavian, and would be in a
position to sail to India or to Southern Persia whenever she might
require them to do so. She also began with startling energy to build
other vessels at Suez, in the hope of there fitting out an imposing
fleet. Plutarch states simply that her object was to go “with her
soldiers and her treasure to secure herself a home where she might live
in peace, far away from war and slavery”; but, viewing the enterprise
in connection with the embassy to Media, it appears to me that she
had determined to put into partial execution the schemes of which she
seems to have talked with Julius Cæsar while he was staying with her in
Alexandria,[123] in regard to the conquest of the East.

Media, Parthia, and India were all outside the influence of Rome. Of
these countries Media was now bound to Egypt by the closest ties of
blood, while India was engaged in a thriving trade with Cleopatra’s
kingdom. Parthia, now the enemy of Media, lay somewhere between these
vast lands; and if the Egyptian fleet could sail round the coasts of
Arabia and effect a junction with the Median armies in the Persian
Gulf, some sort of support might be given to the allies by the Indian
States, and Parthia could be conquered or frightened into joining the
confederacy. Syria and Armenia could then be controlled, and once more
the fight with the West might be undertaken. In the meantime these
far countries offered a safe hiding-place for herself and her family;
and having, as I suppose, despatched her son Alexander to his future
kingdom of Media, she now began to consider the sending of her beloved
Cæsarion to India,[124] there to prepare the way for the approach of
her fleet.

In these great schemes Antony played no part. During their undertaking
he was wandering about the desolate shores of Parætonium, engrossed
in his misfortunes and bemoaning the ingratitude of his generals and
friends whom, in forgetfulness of his own behaviour at Actium, he
accused of deserting him. Cleopatra, as she toiled at the organisation
of her new projects, and struggled by every means, fair or foul, to
raise money for the great task, must have heartily wished her husband
out of the way; and it must have been with very mixed feelings that she
presently received the news of his approach. On his arrival, perhaps
in November, he was astonished at the Queen’s activities; but, being
opposed to the idea of keeping up the struggle and of setting out for
the East, he tried to discourage her by talking hopefully about the
loyalty of the various garrisons of whose desertion he had not yet
heard. He seems also to have pointed out to her that some sort of
peace might be made with Octavian, which would secure her throne to
her family; and, in one way and another, he managed to dishearten her
and to dull her energies. He himself desired now to retire from public
life, and to take up his residence in some city, such as Athens, where
he might live in the obscurity of private citizenship. He well knew
the contempt in which Cleopatra held him, and at this time he thought
it would be best, in the long-run, if he left her to her fate. At all
events, he seems to have earnestly hoped that she would not expect him
to set out on any further adventures; and in this his views must have
met hers, for she could have had no use for him. Her son Cæsarion was
growing to manhood, and in the energy of his youth he would be worth a
hundred degenerate Antonys.

An unexpected check, however, was put to her schemes, and once
again misfortune seemed to dog her steps. The Nabathæan Arabs from
the neighbourhood of Petra, being on bad terms with the Egyptians,
raided the new docks at Suez and, driving off the troops stationed
there, burnt the first galleys which had been dragged across from the
Mediterranean and those which were being built in the docks. Cleopatra
could not spare troops enough to protect the work, and therefore the
great enterprise had to be abandoned.

Shortly after this Canidius himself arrived in Alexandria, apparently
bringing the news that all Antony’s troops in all parts of the
dominions had surrendered to Octavian, and that nothing now remained to
him save Egypt and its forces. Thereupon, by the code of honour then
in recognition, Antony ought most certainly to have killed himself;
but a new idea had entered his head, appealing to his sentimental and
theatrical nature. He decided that he would not die, but would live,
like Timon of Athens, the enemy of all men. He would build himself a
little house, the walls buffeted by the rolling swell of the sea; and
there in solitude he would count out the days of his life, his hand
turned against all men. There was a pier jutting out into the Great
Harbour[125] just to the west of the Island of Antirrhodos, close to
the Forum and the Temple of Neptune. Though a powerful construction,
some three hundred yards long, it does not appear to have been then in
use; and Antony hit upon the idea of repairing it and building himself
a little villa at its extreme end, wherein he might dwell in solitude.
Cleopatra was far too much occupied with the business of life to care
what her husband did; and she seems to have humoured him as she would
a child, and to have caused a nice little house to be built for him
on this site, which, in honour of the misanthrope whom Antony desired
to emulate, she named the Timonium. It appears that she was entirely
estranged from him at this time, and he was, no doubt, glad enough to
remove himself from the scorn of her eyes and tongue. From his new
dwelling he could look across the water to Cleopatra’s palace; and at
night the blaze of the Pharos beacon, and the many gleaming windows on
the Lochias Promontory and around the harbour, all reflected with the
stars in the dark water, must have formed a spectacle romantic enough
for any dreamer. In the daytime he could watch the vessels entering or
leaving the port; and behind him the noise and bustle of Cleopatra’s
busy Alexandrians was wafted to his ears to serve as a correct subject
for his Timonian curses.

The famous Timon, I need hardly say, was a citizen of Athens, who
lived during the days of the Peloponnesian war, and figures in
the comedies of Aristophanes and Plato. He heartily detested his
fellow-men, his only two associates being Alcibiades, whom he esteemed
because he was likely to do so much mischief to Athens, and Apemantus,
who also was a confirmed misanthrope. Once when Timon and Apemantus
were celebrating a drinking festival alone together, the latter,
wishing to show how much he appreciated the fact that no other of his
hated fellow-men was present, remarked: “What a pleasant little party,
Timon!” “Well, it would be,” replied Timon, “if _you_ were not here.”
Upon another occasion, during an assembly in the public meeting-place,
Timon mounted into the speaker’s place and addressed the crowd. “Men
of Athens,” he said, “I have a little plot of ground, and in it grows
a fig-tree, from the branches of which many citizens have been pleased
to hang themselves; and now, having resolved to build on that site, I
wish to announce it publicly, that any of you who may so wish may go
and hang yourselves there before I cut it down.” Before his death he
composed two epitaphs, one of which reads--

      “Timon, the misanthrope, am I below,
       Go, and revile me, stranger--only _go_!”

The other, which was inscribed upon his tomb, reads--

      “Freed from a tedious life, I lie below.
       Ask not my name, but take my curse and go.”

Such was the man whom Antony now desired to imitate; and for the
present the fallen Autocrator may be left seated in glum solitude,
while Cleopatra’s eager struggle for her throne occupies our attention.
The Queen’s activities were now directed to urgent affairs of State.
She engaged herself in sending embassies to the various neighbouring
kingdoms in the attempt to confirm her earlier friendships. Alexandria
and Egypt had to be governed with extreme firmness, in order to
prevent any insurrections or riots in these critical days; and, at
the same time, her subjects had to be heavily taxed so that she might
raise money for her projects. The task of government must have been
peculiarly anxious, and the dread of the impending reckoning with
Octavian hung over her like a dark cloud. It was quite certain that
Octavian would presently invade Egypt; but for the moment he was
prevented from doing so, mainly by financial embarrassments. After his
visit to Athens he had crossed into Asia Minor, and now he was making
arrangements for an advance through Syria to Egypt, as soon as he
should have collected enough money for the expedition.

Towards the close of the year B.C. 31, the Jewish King Herod seems
to have come to Alexandria to discuss the situation with Antony, his
former friend and patron. Herod’s dislike of Cleopatra, and his desire
to put her to death when she was passing through his country, will be
recalled;[126] and now, after paying the necessary compliments to the
Queen, he appears to have engaged himself in earnest conversation with
Antony, perhaps visiting him in his sea-girt hermitage. Josephus tells
us that he urged the fallen triumvir to arrange for the assassination
of Cleopatra, declaring that only by so doing could he hope to have
his life spared by Octavian. Antony, however, would not entertain
this proposal, for, though anxious to escape his impending doom, he
was not prepared to do so at the cost of his wife. Herod’s object,
of course, was to rid his horizon of the fascinating queen, who might
very possibly play upon Octavian’s sympathies and retain her Egyptian
and Syrian dominions, thus remaining an objectionable and exacting
neighbour to the kingdom of Judea. But failing to obtain Antony’s
co-operation in this plot, he returned to Jerusalem, and presently
sailed for Rhodes to pay his respects to Octavian. Antony, hearing of
his intention, sent after him a certain Alexis of Laodicea, to urge
him not to abandon his cause, This Alexis had been instrumental in
persuading Antony to divorce Octavia, and Cleopatra had often used
him in persuading her husband to actions in regard to which he was
undetermined; but he now showed the misapplication of the trust placed
in him both by Antony and the Queen, for he did not return to Egypt
from Herod’s court, going on instead to place himself at the disposal
of Octavian. His connection with Octavia’s divorce, however, had
not been forgotten by her revengeful brother, and his treachery was
rewarded by a summary death. Herod, meanwhile, by boldly admitting
that he had been Antony’s friend, but was now prepared to change his
allegiance, managed to win the favour of the conqueror, and his throne
was not taken from him, although practically all the other kings and
princes who had assisted Antony were dispossessed.

About the beginning of February B.C. 30, Octavian returned to Italy
to quell certain disturbances arising from his inability to pay his
disbanded troops, and there he stayed about a month, sailing once more
for Asia Minor early in March. Dion tells us that the news of his
voyage to Rome and that of his return to Asia Minor were received
simultaneously in Alexandria, probably late in April; but I think it
very unlikely that the news of the first voyage was so long delayed,
and, at any rate, some rumours of Octavian’s retirement to Rome must
have filtered through to Cleopatra during the month of March.

The news of this respite once more fired the Queen with hope, and
she determined to make the best possible use of this precious gift
of time. It will be remembered that her son Cæsarion, if I am not in
error, was born at the beginning of July B.C. 47;[127] but a short
time afterwards, some eighty days were added to the calendar in order
to correct the existing inexactitude,[128] the real anniversary of
the boy’s birthday thereby being made to fall at about the middle of
April.[129] The preparations for the celebration in this year B.C.
30, of his seventeenth birthday, were thus beginning to be put into
motion at the time when Octavian was still thought to be struggling in
Rome with his discontented troops. Cleopatra therefore determined to
mark the festival by very great splendour, and to celebrate it more
particularly by a public declaration of the fact that Cæsarion was now
of age. I do not think it can be determined with certainty whether or
not the seventeenth birthday was the customary age at which the state
of manhood was supposed to be reached by an Egyptian sovereign, but
it may certainly be said that the coming of age was seldom, if ever,
postponed to a later period. Cleopatra seems to have wished to make a
very particular point of this fact of her son’s majority, which would
demonstrate to the Alexandrians, as Dion says, “that they now had
a man as King.” Let the public think, if they were so minded, that
she herself was a defeated and condemned woman; but from this time
onwards they had a grown man to lead them, a son of the divine Julius
Cæsar, for whose rights she had fought while he was a boy, but who was
henceforth capable of defending himself. Whatever her own fate might
be, her son would, at any rate, have a better chance of retaining his
throne by being firmly established upon it in the capacity of a grown
man. In future she herself could work, as it were, behind the scenes,
and her son could carry on the great task which she had so long striven
to accomplish.

When the news of the coming celebrations was conveyed to Antony in
his hermitage, he seems to have been much disturbed by it. Cæsarion
and his rights had been to a large extent the cause of his ruin, and
he must have been somewhat frightened at the audacity of the Queen in
thus giving Octavian further cause for annoyance. Here was Alexandria
preparing to celebrate in the most triumphant manner the coming of
age of Octavian’s rival, the claimant to Julius Cæsar’s powers and
estate. Was the move to be regarded as clever policy or as reckless
effrontery? Leaving the passive solitude of his little Timonium, he
seems to have entered once more into active discussions with Cleopatra;
and as a result of these conversations, he appears to have received
the impression that his wife’s desire was now to resign her power to a
large extent into her son’s hands, thus leaving to the energy of youth
the labours which middle age had failed to accomplish. This aspect
of the movement appealed to him, and he determined in like manner to
be represented in future by a younger generation. His son by Fulvia,
Antyllus, who was a year or so younger than Cæsarion, was living in
the Alexandrian Palace; and Antony therefore arranged with Cleopatra
that the two youths should together be declared of age (_ephebi_),
Antyllus thenceforth being authorised to wear the legal dress of
Roman manhood. Cleopatra then appears to have persuaded her husband
to give up his ridiculous affectation of misanthropy, and either
to make himself useful in organising her schemes of defence, or to
leave Egypt altogether. Antony was by this time heartily tired of his
solitary life, and he was glad enough to abandon his Timonian pose.
He therefore took up his residence once more in the Palace, and both
he and Cleopatra made some attempt to renew their old relationship.
Their paths had diverged, however, too far ever to resume any sort of
unity. Antony had brooded in solitude over his supposed wrongs, and he
now regarded his wife with a sort of suspicion; and she, on her part,
accepted him no longer as her equal, but as a creature deserving her
contempt, though arousing to some extent her generous pity.

The birthday celebrations were conducted on the most magnificent lines,
and the whole city was given over to feasting and revelling for many
days. The impending storm was put away from the minds of all, and it
would have been indeed difficult for a visitor to Alexandria during
that time to believe that he had entered a city whose rulers had
recently been defeated by an enemy already preparing to invade Egypt
itself. Cleopatra, in fact, could not be brought to admit that the
game was up; and in spite of the misery and anxiety weighing upon her
mind she kept a cheerful and hopeful demeanour which ought to have
won for her the admiration of all historians. Antony, on the other
hand, was completely demoralised by the situation; and the birthday
festivities having whetted his appetite once more for the pleasures
of riotous living, he decided to bring his life to a close in a
round of mad dissipation. Calling together the members of the order
of Inimitable Livers, the banqueting club which he had founded some
years before,[130] he invited them to sign their names to the roll of
membership of a new society which he named the _Synapotha-noumenoi_ or
the “Die-togethers.” “Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow
we die,” must have been his motto; and he seems to have thrown himself
into this new phase with as much shallow profundity as he had displayed
in his adoption of the Timonian pose. Having no longer a world-wide
audience before whom he could play the jovial _rôle_ of Bacchus or
Hercules, he now acted his dramatic parts before the eyes of an inner
love of pretence; and with a kind of honest and boyish charlatanism
he paraded the halls of the Palace in the grim but not original
character of the reveller who banqueted with his good friend Death.
Antony actually had no intention of dying: he hoped to be allowed to
retire, like his late colleague, Lepidus, the third triumvir, into an
unmolested private life; but the paradoxical situation in which he now
found himself, that of a state prisoner sent back, as it were, on bail
to the luxuries of his home, could not fail to be turned to account by
this “colossal child.”

Cleopatra, on the other hand, was prepared for all eventualities; and,
while she hoped somehow to be able to win her way out of her dilemma,
she did not fail to make ready for the death which she might have
to face. The news of Octavian’s return to Asia Minor was presently
received in Alexandria, and she must have felt that her chances of
successfully circumventing her difficulties were remote. She therefore
busied herself in making a collection of all manner of poisonous drugs,
and she often went down to the dungeons to make eager experiments
upon the persons of condemned criminals. Anxiously she watched the
death-struggles of the prisoners to whom the different poisons had
been administered, discarding those drugs which produced pain and
convulsions, and continuing her tests and trials with those which
appeared to offer an easy liberation from life. She also experimented
with venomous snakes, subjecting animals and human beings to their
poisonous bites; and Plutarch tells us that “she pretty well satisfied
herself that nothing was comparable to the bite of the asp, which,
without causing convulsion or groaning, brought on a heavy drowsiness
and coma, with a gentle perspiration on the face, the senses being
stupefied by degrees, and the victim being apparently sensible of no
pain, but only annoyed when disturbed or awakened, like one who is in
a profound natural sleep.”[131] If the worst came to the worst, she
decided that she would take her life in this manner; and this question
being settled, she turned her undivided attention once more to the
problems which beset her.

By May Octavian had marched into Syria, where all the garrisons
surrendered to him. He sent Cornelius Gallus to take command of the
legions which had surrendered to him in North Africa, and this army had
now taken possession of Parætonium, where Antony had stayed after his
flight from Actium. The news that this frontier fortress had passed
into the hands of the enemy had not yet reached Alexandria, but that
of Octavian’s advance through Syria was already known in the city, and
must have caused the greatest anxiety. Cleopatra thereupon decided upon
a bold and dignified course of action. Towards the end of May she sent
her son Cæsarion, with his tutor Rhodon, up the Nile to Koptos,[132]
and thence across the desert to the port of Berenice, where as many
ships as she could collect were ordered to be in waiting for him.
The young Cæsar travelled, it would seem, in considerable state, and
carried with him a huge sum of money. He was expected to arrive at
Berenice by about the end of June; and when, towards the middle of
July,[133] the merchants journeying to India began to set out upon
their long voyage, it was arranged that he should also set sail for
those distant lands, there to make friends with the Kings of Hindustan,
and perhaps to organise the great amalgamation of eastern nations of
which Cleopatra had so often dreamed. She herself decided to remain at
Alexandria, first to negotiate with Octavian for the retention of her
throne, and in the event of this proving unsuccessful, to fight him to
the death. No thought of flight entered her mind;[134] and though, with
a mother’s solicitous care, she made these adventurous arrangements for
the safety of her beloved son, it does not seem to have occurred to
her to accompany him to the East, where she might have expected at any
rate to find a temporary harbour of refuge. Her parting with him must
have been one of the most unhappy events of her unfortunate life. For
his safety and for his rights she had struggled for seventeen years;
and now it was necessary to send him with the Indian merchants across
perilous seas to strange lands in order to save him from the clutches
of his successful rival Octavian, while she herself remained to face
their enemies and to fight for their joint throne. Her thoughts in
these days of distress were turning once more to the memory of the
boy’s father, the great Julius Cæsar, for often, it would seem, she
gazed at his pictures or read over again the letters which he had
written to her; and now as she despatched the young Cæsar upon his
distant voyage to those lands which had always so keenly interested
his father, she must have invoked the aid of that deified spirit which
all the Roman world worshipped as Divus Julius, and, in an agony of
supplication, must have implored him to come to the assistance of his
only earthly son and heir.




CHAPTER XIX.

OCTAVIAN’S INVASION OF EGYPT AND THE DEATH OF ANTONY.


The historian must feel some reluctance in discrediting the romantic
story of the attachment of Cleopatra and Antony at this period; but
nevertheless the fact cannot be denied that they had now decided to
live apart from one another, and there seems very little doubt that
each regarded the other with distrust and suspicion. Antony had lived
so long alone in his Timonium that he was altogether out of touch with
his wife’s projects; and she, on her part, had not, for many a month,
admitted him fully into her confidence. Their relationship was marked,
on his side, by mistrust, and on hers, by disdainful pity; and I can
find no indication of that romantic passage, hand-in-hand to their
doom, which has come to be regarded as the grand finale of their tragic
tale. In its place, however, I would offer the spectacle of the lonely
and courageous fight made by the little Queen against her fate, which
must surely command the admiration of all men. Her husband having so
signally failed her, the whole burden of the government of her country
and of the organisation of her defence seems to have fallen upon
her shoulders. Day and night she must have been harassed by fearful
anxieties, and haunted by the thought of her probable doom; yet she
conducted herself with undaunted courage, never deigning to consider
the question of flight, and never once turning from the pathway of that
personal and dynastic ambition which seems to me hardly able to be
distinguished from her real duty to her country.

When Octavian was preparing in Syria, during the month of June B.C.
30, to invade Egypt, both Cleopatra and Antony attempted to open
negotiations with him. They sent a certain Greek named Euphronius, who
had been a tutor to one of the young princes, to the enemy bearing
messages from them both. Cleopatra asked that, in return for her
surrender, her son Cæsarion might be allowed to retain the throne of
Egypt; but Antony prayed only that he might be allowed to live the life
of a private man, either at Alexandria or else in Athens. With this
embassy Cleopatra sent her crown, her sceptre, and her state-chariot,
in the hope that Octavian would bestow them again upon her son, if not
upon herself. The mission, however, was a partial failure. Octavian
would not listen to any proposals in regard to Antony; but to Cleopatra
he sent a secret message, conveyed by one of his freedmen, named
Thyrsus, indicating that he was well-disposed towards her, and would
be inclined to leave her in possession of Egypt, if only she would
cause Antony to be put to death. Actually, Octavian had no intention
of showing any particular mercy to Cleopatra, and his suggestions were
intended to deceive her. He seems to have made up his mind how to act.
Antony would have to be murdered or made to take his own life: it would
be awkward to have to condemn him to death and formally to execute
him. Cæsarion, his rival, would also have to meet with a violent end.
Cleopatra ought to be captured alive so that he might display her
in his Triumph, after which she would be sent into exile, while her
country and its wealth would fall into his hands, the loot serving for
the payment of his troops. In all his subsequent dealings with the
Queen we shall observe his anxiety to take her alive, while towards
Antony he will be seen to show a relentless hostility.

The freedman Thyrsus was a personage of tact and understanding, and
with Cleopatra he was able to discuss the situation in all its aspects.
The Queen was striving by every means to retain her throne, and she
was quite capable of paying Octavian back in his own coin, deceiving
him and leading him to suppose that she would trust herself to his
mercy. She showed great attention to Thyrsus, giving him lengthy
audiences, and treating him with considerable honour; and Antony, not
being admitted to their secret discussions, grew daily more angry and
suspicious. It is not likely that Cleopatra consented to the proposed
assassination of her husband, but the situation was such that she could
have had no great objection to the thought of his suicide, and I dare
say she discussed quite frankly with Thyrsus the means of reminding
him of his honourable obligations. It is said by Dion Cassius that
Octavian actually conveyed messages of an amorous nature to Cleopatra,
but this is probably incorrect, though Thyrsus may well have hinted
that his master’s heart had been touched by the brave manner in which
she had faced her misfortunes, and that he was eager to win her regard.
Possibly a rumour of the nature of their conferences reached Antony, or
maybe his jealousy was aroused by the freedman’s confidential attitude
to the Queen; for he became even more suspicious than he had been
before, and he appears to have conducted himself as though his mind
were in a condition of extreme exasperation. Suddenly he caused Thyrsus
to be seized by some of his men, and soundly thrashed, after which he
sent him back to Octavian with a letter explaining his action. “The
man’s inquisitive, impertinent ways provoked me,” he wrote, “and in my
circumstances I cannot be expected to be very patient. But if it offend
you, you have got my freedman, Hipparchus, with you: hang him up and
whip him to make us even.” Hipparchus had probably deserted from Antony
to Octavian, and the whipping of Thyrsus and the suggested retaliation
constituted a piece of grim humour which seems to have appealed at
once to Cleopatra’s instincts. The audacity of the action was of the
kind which most delighted her; and she immediately began to pay more
respect to her husband, who, she thus found, was still capable of
asserting himself in a kingly manner. Plutarch tells us that to clear
herself of his suspicions, which were quite unfounded, she now paid
him more attention and humoured him in every way; and it seems that
her change of attitude put new courage into his heart, substituting
a brave bearing for that dejection of carriage which had lately been
so noticeable. She seemed anxious to prove to him that she would not
play him false, and to make her attitude clear to Octavian. When the
anniversary of her birthday had occurred in the previous winter she had
celebrated it very quietly; but Antony’s birthday, which fell at about
this time of year, she celebrated in the most elaborate manner, giving
great presents to all those who had enjoyed her hospitality. It was as
though she desired all men to know that so long as Antony played the
man, and entered into this last fight with that spirit of adventure
which always marked her own actions, she would stand by him to the
last; but that if he lacked the spirit to make a bid for success, then
she could but wish him well out of her way. The thrashing of Thyrsus
proved to be the occasion of a temporary reconciliation between the
Queen and her husband,[135] and for a time Antony acted with something
of his old energy and courage.

Hearing that the army under Cornelius Gallus was marching through
Cyrenaica, the modern Tripoli, towards the western frontier of Egypt,
he hastened with a few ships to Parætonium in order to secure the
defence of that place. But on landing and approaching the walls of the
fortress and calling upon the commander to come out to him, his voice
was drowned by a blare of trumpets from within. A few minutes later the
garrison made a sortie, chased him and his men back to the harbour,
set fire to some of his ships, and drove him with considerable loss
from their shores. On returning to Alexandria he heard that Octavian
was approaching Pelusium, the corresponding fortress on the eastern
frontier of Egypt, which was under the command of a certain officer
named Seleucus; and shortly after this, towards the middle of July, the
news arrived that that stronghold had surrendered.

Thereupon Antony, whose nerves were in a very highly-strung condition,
furiously accused Cleopatra of having betrayed him by arranging
secretly with Seleucus to hand over the fortress to Octavian in
the hope of placating the approaching enemy. Cleopatra denied the
accusation, and, to prove the truth of her words, she caused the wife
and children of Seleucus to be arrested and handed over to her husband,
that he might put them to death if it were shown that she had had any
secret correspondence with the traitor,[136] a fact which seems to
prove her innocence conclusively.

Antony’s suspicions, however, unnerved him once more, and drove the
flickering courage from his heart. Dispirited and agitated, he sent
Euphronius to Octavian a second time, accompanied on this occasion
by the young Antyllus, and provided with a large sum of money with
which he hoped to placate his enemy. Octavian took the money but would
not listen to the pleading of Antyllus on behalf of his father. The
embassy must have been most distasteful to Cleopatra, who could not
easily understand how a man could fall so low as to attempt to buy
off his enemy with gold--and gold, let it be remembered, belonging
to his wife. Her surprise and pain, however, must have been greatly
increased when she discovered that Antony had next sent in chains to
Octavian a certain ex-senator, named Turullius, who had been one of the
murderers of Julius Cæsar, and was, in fact, the last survivor of all
the assassins, each one of the others having met his death as though
by the hand of a vengeful Providence. Turullius had now come into
Antony’s power, and, since Cleopatra’s son was Julius Cæsar’s heir,
the man ought to have been handed over to the Queen for punishment.
Instead, however, Antony had sent him on to his enemy in a manner
which could only suggest that he admitted Octavian’s right to act
as the Dictator’s representative. Octavian at once put Turullius to
death, thereby performing the last necessary act of vengeance in behalf
of the murdered Cæsar; but to Antony he did not so much as send an
acknowledgment of the prisoner’s reception. Receiving no assurance of
mercy, Antony appears for a time to have thought of flying to Spain or
to some other country where he could hide, or could carry on a guerilla
warfare, until some change in the politics of Rome should enable him
to reappear. His nobler nature, however, at length asserted itself,
owing to the example set by Cleopatra, who was determined now to defend
her capital; and once more he pulled himself together, as though to
stand by the Queen’s side until the end. Their position, though bad,
was not desperate. Alexandria was a strongly fortified city. The four
Roman legions which had been left in Egypt during the war in Greece
were still in the city; the Macedonian household troops were also
stationed there; and no doubt a considerable body of Egyptian soldiers
were garrisoned within the walls; while in the harbour lay the fleet
which had retired from Actium, together with numerous other ships of
war. Thus a formidable force was in readiness to defend the metropolis,
and these men were so highly paid with the never-ending wealth of the
Egyptian treasury that they were in much happier condition than were
the legionaries of Octavian, whose wages were months overdue.

Cleopatra, nevertheless, did not expect to come through the ordeal
alive; and although Octavian continued to send her assurances of his
goodwill, the price which he asked for her safety was invariably the
head of Antony, and this she was not prepared to pay. I do not think
that the Queen’s temptation in this regard has been properly observed.
Dion Cassius emphatically states that Octavian promised her that if she
would kill Antony he would grant her both personal safety and the full
maintenance of her undiminished authority; and Plutarch, with equal
clearness, says that Octavian told her that there was no reasonable
favour which she might not expect from him if only she would put Antony
to death, or even expel him from his safe refuge in Egypt. Antony had
proved himself a broken reed; he had acted in a most cowardly manner;
he was generally drunk and always unreliable; and he appeared to be of
no further use to her or to her cause. Yet, although his removal meant
immunity to herself, she was too loyal, too proud, to sanction his
assassination; and her action practically amounted to this, that she
defied Octavian, telling him that if he wanted her drunken husband’s
useless head he must break down the walls of her city and hunt for it.

In accordance with the custom of the age the Queen had built herself,
during recent years, a tomb and mortuary temple wherein her body should
rest after death and her spirit should receive the usual sacrifices
and priestly ministrations. This mausoleum, according to Plutarch,
was surrounded by other buildings, apparently prepared for the royal
family and for members of the court. They were not set up within
the precincts of the Sema, or royal necropolis, which stood at the
side of the Street of Canopus, but were erected beside the temple of
Isis-Aphrodite, a building rising at the edge of the sea on the eastern
side of the Lochias Promontory. I gather from the remarks of Plutarch
that the Queen’s tomb actually formed part of the temple buildings;
and, if this be so, Cleopatra must have had it in mind to be laid to
rest within the precincts of the sanctuary of the goddess with whom
she was identified. Thus, after her death, the worshippers in the
temple of Isis would make their supplications, as it were, to her own
spirit, and her mortal remains would become holy relics of their patron
goddess.[137] The mausoleum was remarkable for its height and for the
beauty of its workmanship. It was probably constructed of valuable
marbles, and appears to have consisted of several chambers. On the
ground floor I should imagine that a pillared hall, entered through a
double door of decorated cedar-wood, led to an inner shrine wherein the
sarcophagus stood ready to receive the Queen’s body; and that from this
hall a flight of stone stairs ascended to the upper chambers, whose
flooring was formed of the great blocks of granite which constituted
the roofing of the hall below. There was, perhaps, a third storey, the
chambers of which, like those on the floor below, were intended to
be used by the mortuary priests for the preparation of the incense,
the offerings, and the vestments employed in their ceremonies. The
large open casements in the walls of these upper chambers must have
overlooked the sea on the one side and the courts of the Temple of
Isis on the other; but, as was usual in Egyptianised buildings, there
were no windows of any size in the lower hall and sanctuary, the light
being admitted through the doorway and through small apertures close
to the ceiling. The heat of these July days did not penetrate to any
uncomfortable degree into this stone-built mausoleum, and the cool
sea-wind must have blown continuously through the upper rooms, while
the brilliant sunlight outside was here subdued and softened in its
reflection upon the marble walls. The rhythmic beat of the breakers
upon the stone embankment below the eastern windows, and the shrill
cries of the gulls, echoed through the rooms; while from the western
side the chanting of the priests in the adjoining temple, and the more
distant hubbub of the town, intruded into the cool recesses of these
wind-swept chambers like the sounds of a forsaken world.

[Illustration:

    _Glyptothek, Munich._]        [_Photograph by Bruckmann._

OCTAVIAN]

Here Cleopatra decided to take up her residence so soon as Octavian
should lay successful siege to the walls of the city. She had
determined that in the event of defeat she would destroy herself; and,
with this prospect in view, she now caused her treasures of gold,
silver, ebony, ivory, and cinnamon, and her jewellery of pearls,
emeralds, and precious stones, to be carried into the mausoleum, where
they were laid upon a pyre of <DW19>s and tow erected on the stone
floor of one of the upper rooms. If it should be necessary for her to
put an end to her miseries, she had decided to set the fangs of the
deadly asp into her flesh, and, with her last efforts, to fire the
tow, thus consuming her body and her wealth in a single conflagration.
Meanwhile, however, she remained in the Palace, and busied herself in
the preparations of the defence of the city.

In the last days of July Octavian’s forces arrived before the walls,
and took up their quarters in and around the Hippodromos, which stood
upon rocky ground to the east of the city. Faced with the crisis,
Antony once more showed the flickering remnants of his former courage.
Gathering his troops together he made a bold sortie from the city,
and attacking Octavian’s cavalry, routed them with great slaughter
and chased them back to their camp. He then returned to the Palace,
where, meeting Cleopatra while still he was clad in his dusty and
blood-stained armour, he threw his arms about her small form and kissed
her in the sight of all men. He then commended to her especial favour
one of his officers who had greatly distinguished himself in the fight;
and the Queen at once presented the man with a magnificent helmet and
breastplate of gold. That very night this officer donned his golden
armour and fled to the camp of Octavian.

Upon the next morning Antony, with somewhat boyish effrontery, sent
a messenger to Octavian challenging him to single combat, as he had
done before the battle of Actium; but to this his enemy replied with
the scathing remark that “he might find several other ways of ending
his life.” He thereupon decided to bring matters to a conclusion by
a pitched battle on land and sea, rather than await the issue of a
protracted siege; and, Cleopatra having agreed to this plan, orders
were given for a general engagement upon August 1st. On the night
before this date Antony, whose courage did not now fail him, bade the
servants help him liberally at supper and not to be sparing with the
wine, for that on the morrow they might be serving a new master, while
he himself, the incarnation of Bacchus, the god of wine and festivity,
lay dead upon the battlefield. At this his friends who were around him
began to weep, but Antony hastily explained to them that he did not
in the least expect to die, but hoped rather to lead them to glorious
victory.

Late that night, when complete stillness had fallen upon the star-lit
city, and the sea-wind had dropped, giving place to the hot silence of
the summer darkness, on a sudden was heard the distant sound of pipes
and cymbals, and of voices singing a rollicking tune. Nearer they
came, and presently the pattering of dancing feet could be heard, while
the shouts and cries of a multitude were blended with the wild music of
a bacchanal song. The tumultuous procession, as Plutarch described it,
seemed to take its course right through the middle of the city towards
the Gate of Canopus; and there the commotion was most loudly heard.
Then, suddenly, the sounds passed out, and were heard no more. But all
those who had listened in the darkness to the wild music were assured
that they had heard the passage of Bacchus as he and his ghostly
attendants marched away from the army of his fallen incarnation, and
joined that of the victorious Octavian.[138]

The next morning, as soon as it was light, Antony marched his troops
out of the eastern gates of the city, and formed them up on rising
ground between the walls and the Hippodromos, a short distance back
from the sea. From this position he watched his fleet sail out from
the Great Harbour and make towards Octavian’s ships, which were
arrayed near the shore, two or three miles east of the city; but, to
his dismay, the Alexandrian vessels made no attempt to deliver an
attack upon the enemy as he had ordered them to do. Instead, they
saluted Octavian’s fleet with their oars, and, on receiving a similar
salutation in response, joined up with the enemy, all sailing thereupon
towards the Great Harbour. Meanwhile, from his elevated position Antony
saw the whole of his cavalry suddenly gallop over to Octavian’s lines,
and he thus found himself left only with his infantry, who, of course,
were no match for the enemy. It was useless to struggle further,
and, giving up all hope, he fled back into the city, crying out that
Cleopatra had betrayed him. As he rushed into the Palace, followed by
his distracted officers, smiting his brow and calling down curses on
the woman who, he declared, had delivered him into the hands of enemies
made for her sake, the Queen fled before him from her apartments, as
though she feared that in his fury and despair he might cut her down
with his sword. Alone with her two waiting-women, Iras and Charmion,
she ran as fast as she could through the empty halls and corridors
of the Palace, and at length, crossing the deserted courtyard, she
reached the mausoleum adjoining the temple of Isis. The officials,
servants, and guards, it would seem, had all fled at the moment when
the cry had arisen that the fleet and the cavalry had deserted; and
there were probably but a few scared priests in the vicinity of the
temple, who could hardly have recognised the Queen as she panted to
the open door of the tomb, deserted by the usual custodians. The three
women rushed into the dimly-lighted hall, bolting and barring the door
behind them, and no doubt barricading it with benches, offering-tables,
and other pieces of sacerdotal furniture. They then made their way to
the habitable rooms on the upper floor, where they must have flung
themselves down upon the rich couches in a sort of delirium of horror
and excitement, Cleopatra herself preparing for immediate suicide. From
the window they must have seen some of Antony’s staff hastening towards
them, for presently they were able to send a message to tell him that
the Queen was on the point of killing herself. After a short time,
however, when the tumult in her brain had somewhat subsided, Cleopatra
made up her mind to wait awhile before taking the final step, so
that she might ascertain Octavian’s attitude towards her; and, having
determined upon this course of action, she seems to have composed
herself as best she could, while through the eastern windows, her eyes
staring over the summer sea, she watched the Egyptian ships and those
of the enemy rowing side by side into the Great Harbour.

There is no reason to suppose that Cleopatra had betrayed her husband,
or that she was in any way a party to the desertions which had just
taken place. The sudden collapse of their resistance, while yet it
was but mid-morning, must have come to her as a staggering shock; and
Antony’s accusations were doubtless felt to be only in keeping with
the erratic behaviour which had characterised his last years. On the
previous day Antony had offered a large sum of money to every one of
Octavian’s legionaries who should desert; and it is more than likely
that Octavian had made a similar offer to the Egyptian sailors and
soldiers. Only a year previously these sailors had fraternised with
the Romans of the Antonian party in the Gulf of Ambracia, and the
latter, having deserted to Octavian after the battle of Actium, were
now present in large numbers amongst the opposing fleet. The Egyptians
were thus called upon to fight with their friends whose hospitality
they had often accepted, and whose fighting qualities, now that they
were combined with Octavian’s victorious forces, they had every reason
to appreciate. Their desertion, therefore, needed no suggestion on the
part of Cleopatra: it was almost inevitable.

Antony, however, was far too distracted and overwrought to guard his
tongue, and he seems to have paced his apartments in the Palace in a
condition bordering upon madness, cursing Cleopatra and her country,
and calling down imprecations upon all who had deserted him. Presently
those of his staff who had followed the Queen to her mausoleum brought
him the news that she had killed herself, for so they had interpreted
her message; and instantly Antony’s fury seems to have left him, the
shock having caused a collapse of his energy. At first he was probably
dazed by the tidings; but when their full significance had penetrated
to his bewildered brain there was no place left for anger or suspicion.
“Now Antony,” he cried, “why delay longer? Fate has taken away the only
thing for which you could say you still wanted to live.” And with these
words he rushed into his bedchamber, eagerly tearing off his armour,
and calling upon his slave Eros to assist him. Then, as he bared the
upper part of his body, he was heard to talk aloud to the Queen, whom
he believed to be dead. “Cleopatra,” he said, “I am not sad to be
parted from you now, for I shall soon be with you; but it troubles me
that so great a general should have been found to have slower courage
than a woman.” Not long previously he had made Eros solemnly promise
to kill him when he should order him to do so; and now, turning to
him, he gave him that order, reminding him of his oath. Eros drew his
sword, as though he intended to do as he was bid, but suddenly turning
round, he drove the blade into his own breast, and fell dying upon
the floor. Thereupon Antony bent down over him and cried to him as he
lost consciousness, “Well done, Eros! Well done!” Then, picking up the
sword, he added, “You have shown your master how to do what you had not
the heart to do yourself;” and so saying, he drove the sword upwards
into his breast from below the ribs, and fell back upon his bed.

The wound, however, was not immediately mortal, and presently, the
flow of blood having ceased, he recovered consciousness. Some of the
Egyptian servants had gathered around him, and now he implored them to
put him out of his pain. But when they realised that he was not dead
they rushed from the room, leaving him groaning and writhing where he
lay. Some of them must have carried the news to the Queen as she sat
at the window of the mausoleum, for, a few moments later, a certain
Diomedes, one of her secretaries, came to Antony telling him that
she had not yet killed herself, and that she desired his body to be
brought to her. Thereupon Antony eagerly gave orders to the servants
to carry him to her, and they, lifting him in their arms, placed him
upon an improvised stretcher and hurried with him to the mausoleum.
A crowd seems now to have collected around the door of the building,
and when the Queen saw the group of men bringing her husband to her,
she must have feared lest some of them, seeking a reward, would seize
her as soon as they had entered her stronghold and carry her alive to
Octavian. Perhaps, also, it was a difficult matter to shoot back the
bolts of the door which in her excitement she had managed to drive
deep into their sockets. She, therefore, was unable to admit Antony
into the mausoleum; and there he lay below her window, groaning and
entreating her to let him die in her arms. In the words of Plutarch,
Cleopatra thereupon “let down ropes and cords to which Antony was
fastened; and she and her two women, the only persons she had allowed
to enter the mausoleum, drew him up. Those who were present say that
nothing was ever more sad than this spectacle, to see Antony, covered
all over with blood and just expiring, thus drawn up, still holding up
his hands to her, and raising up his body with the little force he had
left. And, indeed, it was no easy task for the women; for Cleopatra,
with all her strength clinging to the rope and straining at it with
her head bent towards the ground, with difficulty pulled him up, while
those below encouraged her with their cries and joined in all her
efforts and anxiety.” The window must have been a considerable distance
from the ground, and I do not think that the three women could ever
have succeeded in raising Antony’s great weight so far had not those
below fetched ladders, I suppose, and helped to lift him up to her,
thereafter, no doubt, watching the terrible scene from the head of
these ladders outside the window.

Dragging him through the window the women carried him to the bed,
upon which he probably swooned away after the agonies of the ascent.
Cleopatra was distracted by the pitiful sight, and fell into
uncontrolled weeping. Beating her breast and tearing her clothes, she
made some attempts, at the same time, to stanch the scarlet stream
which flowed from his wound; and soon her face and neck were smeared
with his blood. Flinging herself down by his side she called him her
lord, her husband, and her emperor. All her pity and much of her old
love for him was aroused by his terrible sufferings, and so intent
was she upon his pain that her own desperate situation was entirely
forgotten. At last Antony came to his senses, and called for wine to
drink; after which, having revived somewhat, he attempted to soothe
the Queen’s wild lamentations, telling her to make her terms with
Octavian, so far as might honourably be done, and advising her to trust
only a certain Proculeius amongst all the friends of the conqueror.
With his last breath, he begged her, says Plutarch, “not to pity him in
this last turn of fate, but rather to rejoice for him in remembrance
of his past happiness, who had been of all men the most illustrious
and powerful, and in the end had fallen not ignobly, a Roman by a
Roman vanquished.” With these words he lay back upon the bed, and soon
had breathed his last in the arms of the woman whose interests he had
so poorly served, and whom now he left to face alone the last great
struggle for her throne and for the welfare of her son.




CHAPTER XX.

THE DEATH OF CLEOPATRA AND THE TRIUMPH OF OCTAVIAN.


Cleopatra’s situation was at this moment terrible in the extreme. The
blood-stained body of her husband lay stretched upon the bed, covered
by her torn garments which she had thrown over it. Charmion and Iras,
her two waiting-women, were probably huddled in the corner of the
room, beating their breasts and wailing as was the Greek habit at such
a time. Below the open window a few Romans and Egyptians appear to
have gathered in the sun-baked courtyard; and, I think, the ladders
still rested against the wall where they had been placed by those who
had helped to raise Antony up to the Queen. It must now have been
early afternoon, and the sunlight of the August day, no doubt, beat
into the room, lighting the disarranged furniture and revealing the
wet blood-stains upon the tumbled carpets over which the dying man’s
heavy body had been dragged. From the one side the surge of the sea
penetrated into the chamber; from the other the shouts of Octavian’s
soldiers and the clattering of their arms came to Cleopatra’s ears,
telling her of the enemy’s arrival in the Palace. She might expect
at any moment to be asked to surrender, and more than probably an
attempt would be made to capture her by means of an entry through the
window. She had determined, however, never to be made prisoner in this
manner, and she had, no doubt, given it to be clearly understood that
any effort to seize her would be her signal for firing the funeral
pyre which had been erected in the adjoining room and destroying
herself upon it. To be made a captive probably meant her degradation
at Octavian’s Triumph and the loss of her throne; but to surrender by
mutual arrangement might assure her personal safety and the continuity
of her dynasty. With this in view, it seems likely that she now armed
her two women to resist any assault upon the windows, and told them
to warn all who attempted to climb the ladders that she, with her
priceless jewellery and treasures, would be engulfed in the flames
before ever they had reached to the level of her place of refuge.

Antony had been dead but a few minutes when Proculeius, of whom he had
spoken to Cleopatra just before he expired, arrived upon the scene,
demanding, in the name of Octavian, an audience with the Queen. He
knocked upon the barred door of the main entrance to the mausoleum,
calling upon Cleopatra to admit him, and the sound must have echoed
through the hall below and come to her ears, where she listened at the
top of the stairs, like some ominous summons from the powers of the
Underworld; but, fearing that she might be taken prisoner, she did not
dare open to him, even if she could have shot back the heavy bolts, and
she must have paced to and fro beside her husband’s corpse in an agony
of indecision. At last, however, she ran down the marble staircase
to the dimly-lighted hall below, and, standing beside the barricade
which she had constructed against the inner side of the door, called
out to Proculeius by name. He answered her from the outside, and in
this manner they held a short parley with one another, she offering
to surrender if she could receive Octavian’s word that her Kingdom of
Egypt would be given to her son Cæsarion, and Proculeius replying only
with the assurance that Octavian was to be trusted to act with clemency
towards her. This was not satisfactory to her, and presently the Roman
officer returned to his master, leaving Cleopatra undisturbed until
late in the afternoon. He described the Queen’s situation to Octavian,
and pointed out to him that it would probably not be difficult to
effect an entrance to the mausoleum by means of the ladders, and
that, with speed and a little manœuvring, Cleopatra could be seized
before she had time to fire the pyre. Thereupon Octavian sent him with
Cornelius Gallus,[139] who had now reached Alexandria, to attempt her
capture, and the latter went straight to the door of the mausoleum,
knocking upon it to summon the Queen. Cleopatra at once went down the
stairs and entered into conversation with Cornelius Gallus through the
closed door; and it would seem that her two women, perhaps eager to
hear what was said, left their post at the window of the upper room
and stood upon the steps behind her. As soon as the Queen was heard to
be talking and reiterating her conditions of surrender, Proculeius ran
round to the other side of the building, and, adjusting the ladders,
climbed rapidly up to the window, followed by two other Roman officers.
Entering the disordered room, he ran past the dead body of Antony
and hurried down the stairs, at the bottom of which he encountered
Charmion and Iras, while beyond them in the dim light of the hall he
saw Cleopatra standing at the shut door, her back turned to him. One
of the women uttered a cry, when she saw Proculeius, and called out to
her mistress: “Unhappy Cleopatra, you are taken prisoner!” At this the
Queen sprang round, and, seeing the Roman officer, snatched a dagger
from its sheath at her waist and raised it for the stroke which should
terminate the horror of her life. Proculeius, however, was too quick
for her. He sprang at her with a force which must have hurled her back
against the door, and, seizing her wrist, shook the dagger from her
small hand. Then, holding her two arms at her side, he caused his men
to shake her dress and to search her for hidden weapons or poison.
“For shame, Cleopatra,” he said to her, scolding her for attempting to
take her life; “you wrong yourself and Octavian very much in trying
to rob him of so good an opportunity of showing his clemency, and you
would make the world believe that the most humane of generals was a
faithless and implacable enemy.” He then seems to have ordered his
officers to remove the barriers and to open the door of the mausoleum,
whereupon Cornelius Gallus and his men were able to assist him to guard
the Queen and her two women. Shortly after this, Octavian’s freedman,
Epaphroditus, arrived with orders to treat Cleopatra with all possible
gentleness and civility, but to take the strictest precautions to
prevent her injuring herself; and, acting on these instructions, the
Roman officers seem to have lodged the Queen under guard in one of the
upper rooms of the mausoleum, after having made a thorough search for
hidden weapons or poisons.

Just before sunset Octavian made his formal entry into Alexandria.
He wished to impress the people of the city with the fact of his
benevolent and peace-loving nature, and therefore he made a certain
Alexandrian philosopher named Areius, for whom he had a liking, ride
with him in his chariot. As the triumphal procession passed along the
beautiful Street of Canopus, Octavian was seen by the agitated citizens
to be holding the philosopher’s hand and talking to him in the most
gentle manner. Stories soon went the rounds that when the conqueror had
received the news of Antony’s death he had shed tears of sorrow, and
had read over to his staff some of his enemy’s furious letters to him
and his own moderate replies, thus showing how the quarrel had been
forced upon him. Orders now seem to have been issued forbidding all
outrage or looting; and presently the frightened Alexandrians ventured
from their hiding-places, most of the local magnates being ordered to
gather themselves together in the Gymnasium. Here, in the twilight,
Octavian rose to address them; and as he did so, they all prostrated
themselves upon the ground before him in abject humiliation. Commanding
them to rise, he told them that he freely acquitted them of all blame:
firstly, in memory of the great Alexander who had founded their city;
secondly, for the sake of the city itself which was so large and
beautiful; thirdly, in honour of their god Serapis;[140] and lastly, to
gratify his dear friend Areius, at whose request he was about to spare
many lives.

Having thus calmed the citizens, who now must have hailed him as a kind
of deliverer and saviour, he retired to his quarters, whence, in his
sardonic manner, he appears to have issued orders for the immediate
slaughter of those members of the court of Cleopatra and Antony for
whom Areius had not any particular liking. The unfortunate Antyllus,
Antony’s son, having been betrayed to Octavian by his faithless tutor
Theodorus, was at once put to death in the temple erected by Cleopatra
to Julius Cæsar, whither he had fled. As the executioner cut off the
boy’s head, Theodorus contrived to steal a valuable jewel which hung
round his neck; but the theft was discovered, and he was carried before
Octavian, who ordered him to be crucified forthwith. A strict guard
was set over the two children of Cleopatra, Ptolemy and Cleopatra
Selene,[141] who were still in Alexandria; and Octavian seems to have
given Cleopatra to understand that if she attempted to kill herself
he would put these two children to death. Thus he was able to assure
himself that she would refrain from taking her life, for, as Plutarch
says, “before such engines her purpose (to destroy herself) shook and
gave way.”

Antony’s body was now, I suppose, prepared for burial. Though
mummification was still often practised in Alexandria by Greeks and
Egyptians, I do not think that any elaborate attempt was made to embalm
the corpse, and it was probably ready for the funeral rites within a
few days. Out of respect to the dead general a number of Roman officers
and foreign potentates who were with Octavian’s army begged to be
allowed to perform these rites at their own expense; but in deference
to Cleopatra’s wishes the body was left in the Queen’s hands, and
instructions were issued that her orders were to be obeyed in regard to
the funeral. Thus Antony was buried, with every mark of royal splendour
and pomp, in a tomb which had probably long been prepared for him, not
far from his wife’s mausoleum. Cleopatra followed him to his grave, a
tragic, piteous little figure, surrounded by a group of her lamenting
ladies; and, while the priests burnt their incense and uttered their
droning chants, the Queen’s fragile hands ruthlessly beat her breasts
as she called upon the dead man by his name. In these last terrible
hours only the happier character of her relationship with Antony was
remembered, and the recollection of her many disagreements with him
were banished from her mind by the piteous scenes of his death, and by
the thought of his last tender words to her as he lay groaning upon her
bed. In her extreme loneliness she must have now desired his buoyant
company of earlier years with an intensity which she could hardly have
felt during his lifetime; and it must have been difficult indeed for
her to refrain from putting an end to her miserable life upon the grave
of her dead lover. Yet Octavian’s threat in regard to her children held
her hand; and, moreover, even in her utter distress, she had not yet
abandoned her hope of saving Egypt from the clutch of Rome. Her own
dominion, she knew, was over, and the best fate which she herself could
hope for was that of an unmolested exile; yet Octavian’s attitude to
her indicated in every way that he would be willing to leave the throne
to her descendants. She did not know how falsely he was acting towards
her, how he was making every effort to encourage hope in her heart in
order that he might bring her alive to Rome to be exhibited in chains
to the jeering populace. She did not understand that his messages of
encouragement, and even of affection, to her were written with sardonic
cunning, that his cheerful assurances in regard to her children
were made at a time when he was probably actually sending messages
post-haste to Berenice to attempt to recall Cæsarion in order to put
him to death. She did not understand Octavian’s character: perhaps she
had never even seen him; and she hoped somehow to make a last appeal to
him. She had played her wonderful game for the amalgamation of Egypt
and Rome into one vast kingdom, ruled by her descendants and those of
the great Julius Cæsar, and she had lost. But there was yet hope that
out of the general wreck she might save the one asset with which she
had started her operations--the independent throne of Egypt; and to
accomplish this she must live on for a while longer, and must face with
bravery the nightmare of her existence.

Coming back, after the funeral, to her rooms in the mausoleum, wherein
she had now decided to take up her residence, she fell into a high
fever; and there upon her bed she lay in delirium for several days. She
suffered, moreover, very considerable pain, due to the inflammation and
ulceration caused by the blows which she had rained upon her delicate
body in the abandonment of her despair. Over and over again she was
heard to utter in her delirium the desolate cry, “I _will not_ be
exhibited in his Triumph,” and in her distress she begged repeatedly
to be allowed to die. At one time she refused all food, and begged
her doctor, a certain Olympus, to help her to pass quietly out of the
world.[142] Octavian, however, hearing of her increasing weakness,
warned her once more that unless she made an effort to live he would
not be lenient to her children; whereupon, as though galvanised into
life by this pressure upon her maternal instincts, she made the
necessary struggle to recover, obediently swallowing the medicine and
stimulants which were given to her.

Thus the hot August days passed by, and at length the Queen, now
fragile and haggard, was able to move about once more. Her age at this
time was thirty-eight years, and she must have lost that freshness
of youth which had been her notable quality; but her brilliant eyes
had now perhaps gained in wonder by the pallor of her face, and
the careless arrangement of her dark hair must have enhanced her
tragic beauty. The seductive tones of her voice could not have been
diminished, and that peculiar quality of elusiveness may well have been
accentuated by her illness and by the nervous strain through which
she had passed. Indeed, her personal charm was still so great that a
certain Cornelius Dolabella, one of the Roman officers whose duty it
was to keep watch over her, speedily became her devoted servant, and
was induced to promise that he would report to her any plans in regard
to her welfare which Octavian should disclose.

On August 28th, as she lay upon a small pallet-bed in the upper room,
gazing in utter desolation, as I imagine, over the blue waters of the
Mediterranean, her women ran in to her to tell her that Octavian had
come to pay his respects to her. He had not yet visited her, for he had
very correctly avoided her previous to and during Antony’s funeral;
and since that time she had been too ill to receive him. Now, however,
she was convalescent, and the conqueror had arrived unexpectedly
to congratulate her, as etiquette demanded, upon her recovery. He
walked into the room before the Queen had time to prepare herself;
and Plutarch describes how, “on his entering, she sprang from her
bed, having nothing on but the one garment next her body, and flung
herself at his feet, her hair and face looking wild and disfigured, her
voice trembling, and her eyes sunken and dark. The marks of the blows
which she had rained upon herself were visible about her breast, and
altogether her whole person seemed to be no less afflicted than was
her spirit. But for all this, her old charm and the boldness of her
youthful beauty had not wholly left her, and, in spite of her present
condition, still shone out from within and allowed itself to appear in
all the expressions of her face.”

The picture of the distraught little Queen, her dark hair tumbled over
her face, her loose garment slipping from her white shoulders, as she
crouches at the feet of this cold, unhealthy-looking man, who stands
somewhat awkwardly before her, is one which must distress the mind
of the historian who has watched the course of Cleopatra’s warfare
against the representative of Rome. Yet in this scene we are able to
discern her but stripped of the regal and formal accessories which
have often caused her to appear more imposing and awe-inspiring than
actually her character justified. She was essentially a woman, and
now, in her condition of physical weakness, she acted precisely as any
other overwrought member of her sex might have behaved under similar
circumstances. Her wonderful pluck had almost deserted her, and her
persistence of purpose was lost in the wreck of all her hopes. We have
often heard her described as a calculating woman, who lived her life in
studied and callous voluptuousness, and who died in unbending dignity;
but, as I have tried to indicate in this volume, the Queen’s nature was
essentially feminine--highly-strung, and liable to rapid changes from
joy to despair. Keen, independent, and fearless though she was, she
was never a completely self-reliant woman, and in circumstances such as
those which are now being recorded we obtain a view of her character,
which shows her to have been capable of needing desperately the help
and sympathy of others.

Octavian raised her to her feet, and, assisting her once more on to
her bed, sat himself down beside her. At first she talked to him in a
rambling manner, justifying her past movements, and attributing certain
actions, such, I suppose, as her hiding in the mausoleum, to her fear
of Antony; but when Octavian pointed out to her the discrepancies in
her statements she made no longer any attempt to excuse her conduct,
begging him only not to take her throne from her son, and telling him
that she was willing enough to live if only he would insure the safety
of her country and dynasty, and would be merciful to her children.
Then, rising from the bed, she brought to Octavian a number of letters
written to her by Julius Cæsar, and also one or two portraits of him
painted for her during his lifetime. “You know,” she said,[143] “how
much I was with your father,[144] and you are aware that it was he
who placed the crown of Egypt upon my head; but, so that you may know
something of our private affairs, please read these letters. They are
all written to me with his own hand.”

Octavian must have turned the letters over with some curiosity, but he
does not seem to have shown a desire to read them; and, seeing this,
Cleopatra cried: “Of what use are all these letters to me? Yet I seem
to see him living again in them.” The thought of her old lover and
friend, and the memories recalled by the letters and portraits before
her seem to have unnerved her; and, being in so overwrought and weak
a condition, she now broke down completely. Between her sobs she was
heard to exclaim, “Oh, I wish to God you were still alive,” as though
referring to Julius Cæsar.

Octavian appears to have consoled her as best he could; and at length
she seems to have agreed that, in return for his clemency, she would
place herself entirely in his hands, and would hand over to him without
reserve all her property. One of her stewards, named Seleucus, happened
to be awaiting her orders in the mausoleum at the time, and, sending
for him, she told him to hand over to Octavian the list which they
together had lately made of her jewellery and valuables, and which now
lay with her other papers in the room. Seleucus seems to have read
the document to Octavian; but, wishing to ingratiate himself with his
new master, and thinking that loyalty to Cleopatra no longer paid, he
volunteered the information that various articles were omitted from
the list, and that the Queen was purposely secreting these for her own
advantage. At this Cleopatra sprang from her bed, and, dashing at the
astonished steward, seized him by the hair, shook him to and fro, and
furiously slapped his face. So outraged and overwrought was she that
she might well have done the man some serious injury had not Octavian,
who could not refrain from laughing, withheld her and led her back to
her seat. “Really it is very hard,” she exclaimed to her visitor, “when
you do me the honour to come to see me in this condition I am in, that
I should be accused by one of my own servants of setting aside some
women’s trinkets--not so as to adorn my unhappy self, you may be sure,
but so that I might have some little presents by me to give to your
sister Octavia and your wife Livia, that by their intercession I might
hope to find you to some extent disposed to mercy.”

Cæsar was delighted to hear her talk in this manner, for it seemed to
indicate that she was desirous of continuing to live; and he was most
anxious that she should do so, partly, as I have said, that he might
have the satisfaction of parading her in chains through the streets of
Rome, and partly, perhaps, in order to show, thereafter, his clemency
and his respect to the late Dictator’s memory by refraining from
putting her to death. He therefore told her that she might dispose of
these articles of jewellery as she liked; and, promising that his usage
of her would be merciful beyond her expectation, he brought his visit
to a close, well satisfied that he had won her confidence, and that he
had entirely deceived her. In this, however, he was mistaken, and he
was himself deceived by her.

Cleopatra had observed from his words and manner that he wished to
exhibit her in Rome, and that he had little intention of allowing
her son Cæsarion to reign in her place, but purposed to seize Egypt
on behalf of Rome. Far from reassuring her, the interview had left
her with the certainty that the doom of the dynasty was sealed; and
already she saw clearly that there was nothing left for which to live.
Presently a messenger from Cornelius Dolabella came to her, and broke
the secret news to her that Octavian, finding her now recovered from
her illness, had decided to ship her off to Rome with her two children
in three days’ time or less. It is possible, also, that Dolabella was
already able to tell her that there was no hope for her son Cæsarion,
for that Octavian had decided to kill him so soon as he could lay hands
on him, realising, at the instance of his Alexandrian friend Areius,
that it was unwise to leave at large one who claimed to be the rightful
successor of the great Dictator.

On hearing this news the Queen determined to kill herself at once, for
her despair was such that the fact of existence had become intolerable
to her. In her mind she must have pictured Octavian’s Triumph in Rome,
in which she and her children would figure as the chief exhibits. She
would be led in chains up to the Capitol, even as she had watched her
sister Arsinoe paraded in the Triumph of Julius Cæsar; and she could
hear in imagination the jeers and groans of the townspeople, who
would not fail to remind her of her former boast that she would one
day sit in royal judgment where then she would be standing in abject
humiliation. The thought, which of itself was more than she could bear,
was coupled with the certainty that, were she to prolong her life, she
would have to suffer also the shock of her beloved son’s cruel murder,
for already his death seemed inevitable.

Having therefore made up her mind, she sent a message to Octavian
asking his permission for her to visit Antony’s tomb, in order to
make the usual oblations to his spirit. This was granted to her, and
upon the next morning, August 29th, she was carried in her litter to
the grave, accompanied by her women. Arriving at the spot she threw
herself upon the gravestone, embracing it in a very passion of woe.
“Oh, dearest Antony,” she cried, the tears streaming down her face, “it
is not long since with these hands I buried you. Then they were free;
now I am a captive; and I pay these last duties to you with a guard
upon me, for fear that my natural griefs and sorrows should impair my
servile body and make it less fit to be exhibited in their Triumph over
you. Expect no further offerings or libations from me, Antony; these
are the last honours that Cleopatra will be able to pay to your memory,
for she is to be hurried far away from you. Nothing could part us while
we lived, but death seems to threaten to divide us. You, a Roman born,
have found a grave in Egypt. I, an Egyptian, am to seek that favour,
and none but that, in your country. But if the gods below, with whom
you now are dwelling, can or will do anything for me, since those above
have betrayed us, do not allow your living wife to be abandoned, let me
not be led in Triumph to your shame; but hide me, hide me: bury me here
with you. For amongst all my bitter misfortunes nothing has been so
terrible as this brief time that I have lived away from you.”[145]

For some moments she lay upon the tombstone passionately kissing it,
her past quarrels with the dead man all forgotten in her desire for his
companionship now in her loneliness, and only her earlier love for him
being remembered in the tumult of her mind. Then, rising and placing
some wreaths of flowers upon the grave, she entered her litter and was
carried back to the mausoleum.

[Illustration:

    _Vatican._]      [_Photograph by Anderson._

THE NILE.

AN EXAMPLE OF ALEXANDRIAN ART.]

As soon as she had arrived she ordered her bath to be prepared, and
having been washed and scented, her hair being carefully plaited around
her head, she lay down upon a couch and partook of a sumptuous meal.
After this she wrote a short letter to Octavian, asking that she might
be buried in the same tomb with Antony; and, this being despatched, she
ordered everybody to leave the mausoleum with the exception of Charmion
and Iras, as though she did not wish to be disturbed in her afternoon’s
siesta. The doors were then closed, and the sentries mounted guard on
the outside in the usual manner.

When Octavian read the letter which Cleopatra’s messenger had brought
him, he realised at once what had happened, and hastened to the
mausoleum. Changing his mind, however, he sent some of his officers in
his place, who, on their arrival, found the sentries apprehensive of
nothing. Bursting open the door they ran up the stairs to the upper
chamber, and immediately their worst fears were realised. Cleopatra,
already dead, lay stretched upon her bed of gold, arrayed in her
Grecian robes of state, and decked with all her regal jewels, the royal
diadem of the Ptolemies encircling her brow. Upon the floor at her feet
Iras was just breathing her last; and Charmion, scarce able to stand,
was tottering at the bedside, trying to adjust the Queen’s crown.

One of the Roman officers exclaimed angrily: “Charmion, was this well
done of your lady?” Charmion, supporting herself beside the royal
couch, turned her ashen face towards the speaker. “Very well done,” she
gasped, “and as befitted the descendant of so many Kings”; and with
these words she fell dead beside the Queen.

The Roman officers, having despatched messengers to inform Octavian
of the tragedy, seem to have instituted an immediate inquiry as to
the means by which the deaths had taken place.[146] At first the
sentries could offer no information, but at length the fact was
elicited that a peasant carrying a basket of figs had been allowed to
enter the mausoleum, as it was understood that the fruit was for the
Queen’s meal. The soldiers declared that they had lifted the leaves
with which the fruit was covered and had remarked on the fineness of
the figs, whereupon the peasant had laughed and had invited them to
take some, which they had refused to do. It was perhaps known that
Cleopatra had expressed a preference for death by the bite of an
asp,[147] and it was therefore thought that perhaps one of these small
snakes had been brought to her concealed under the figs. A search was
made for the snake, and one of the soldiers stated that he thought he
saw a snake-track leading from the mausoleum over the sand towards
the sea. An attendant who had admitted the peasant seems now to have
reported that when Cleopatra saw the figs she exclaimed, “So here it
is!” a piece of evidence which gave some colour to the theory. Others
suggested that the asp had been kept at hand for some days in a vase,
and that the Queen had, at the end, teased it until she had made it
strike at her. An examination of the body showed nothing except two
very slight marks upon the arm, which might possibly have been caused
by the bite of a snake. On the other hand, it was suggested that the
Queen might have carried some form of poison in a hollow hair-comb or
other similar article; and this theory must have received some support
from the fact that there were the three deaths to account for.

Presently Octavian seems to have arrived, and he at once sent for
snake-doctors, _Psylli_, to suck the poison from the wound; but
they came too late to save her. Though Octavian expressed his great
disappointment at her death, he could not refrain from showing his
admiration for the manner in which it had occurred. Personally, he
appears to have favoured the theory that her end was caused by the
bite of the asp, and afterwards in his Triumph he caused a figure of
Cleopatra to be exhibited with a snake about her arm. Though it is
thus quite impossible to state with certainty how it occurred, there
is no reason to contradict the now generally accepted story of the
introduction of the asp in the basket of figs. I have no doubt that the
Queen had other poisons in her possession, which were perhaps used by
her two faithful women; and it is to be understood that the strategy
of the figs, if employed at all, was resorted to only in order that
she herself might die by the means which her earlier experiments had
commended to her.

Octavian now gave orders that the Queen should be buried with full
honours beside Antony, where she had wished to lie. He had sent
messengers, it would seem, to Berenice to attempt to stop the departure
of Cæsarion for India, having heard, no doubt, that the young man had
decided to remain in that town until the last possible moment. His
tutor, Rhodon, counselled him to trust himself to Octavian; and, acting
upon this advice, they returned to Alexandria, where they seem to have
arrived very shortly after Cleopatra’s death. Octavian immediately
ordered Cæsarion to be executed, his excuse being that it was dangerous
for _two Cæsars_ to be in the world together; and thus died the last
of the Ptolemaic Pharaohs of Egypt, the son and only real heir of the
great Julius Cæsar. The two other children who remained in the Palace,
Ptolemy and Cleopatra Selene, were shipped off to Rome as soon as
possible, and messengers seem to have been despatched to Media to take
possession of Alexander Helios who had probably been sent thither, as
we have already seen.

In my opinion, Octavian now decided to take over Egypt as a kind of
personal possession. He did not wish to cause a revolution in the
country by proclaiming it a Roman province; and he seems to have
appreciated the ceaseless efforts of Cleopatra and her subjects to
prevent the absorption of the kingdom in this manner. He therefore
decided upon a novel course of action. While not allowing himself to
be crowned as actual King of Egypt, he assumed that office by tacit
agreement with the Egyptian priesthood. He seems to have claimed, in
fact, to be heir to the throne of the Ptolemies. Julius Cæsar had been
recognised as Cleopatra’s husband in Egypt, and he, Octavian, was
Cæsar’s adopted son and heir. After the elimination of Cleopatra’s
three surviving children he was, therefore, the rightful claimant
to the Egyptian throne. The Egyptians at once accepted him as their
sovereign, and upon the walls of their temples we constantly find his
name inscribed in hieroglyphics as “King of Upper and Lower Egypt,
Son of the Sun, Cæsar, living for ever, beloved of Ptah and Isis.”
He is also called by the title Autocrator, which he took over from
Antony, and which, in the Egyptian inscriptions, was recognised as
a kind of hereditary royal name, being written within the Pharaonic
cartouche.[148] His descendants, the Emperors of Rome, were thus
successively Kings of Egypt, as though heads of the reigning dynasty;
and each Emperor as he ascended the Roman throne was hailed as Monarch
of Egypt, and was called in all Egyptian inscriptions “Pharaoh” and
“Son of the Sun.” The Egyptians, therefore, with the acquiescence of
Octavian, came to regard themselves not as vassals of Rome, but as
subjects of their own King, who happened at the same time to be Emperor
of Rome; and thus the great Egypto-Roman Empire for which Cleopatra had
struggled actually came into existence. All Emperors of Rome came to
be recognised in Egypt not as sovereigns of a foreign empire of which
Egypt was a part, but as _actual Pharaohs of Egyptian dominions of
which Rome was a part_.

The ancient dynasties had passed away, the Amenophis and Thutmosis
family, the house of Rameses, the line of Psammetichus, and many
another had disappeared. And now, in like manner, the house of the
Ptolemies had fallen, and the throne of Egypt was occupied by the
dynasty of the Cæsars. This dynasty, as it were, supplied Rome with her
monarchs; and the fact that Octavian was hailed by Egyptians as King
of Egypt long before he was recognised by Romans as Emperor of Rome,
gave the latter throne a kind of Pharaonic origin in the eyes of the
vain Egyptians. It has usually been supposed that Egypt became a Roman
province; but it was never declared to be such. Octavian arranged that
it should be governed by a _praefectus_, who was to act in the manner
of a viceroy,[149] and he retained the greater part of the Ptolemaic
revenues as his personal property. While later in Rome he pretended
that Cleopatra’s kingdom had been annexed, in Egypt it was distinctly
understood that the country was still a monarchy.

He treated the Queen’s memory with respect, since he was carrying on
her line; and he would not allow her statues to be overthrown.[150]
All her splendid treasures, however, and the gold and silver plate and
ornaments were melted down and converted into money with which to pay
the Roman soldiers. The royal lands were seized, the palaces largely
stripped of their wealth; and when at last Octavian returned to Rome in
the spring of B.C. 29, he had become a fabulously rich man.

On August 13th, 14th, and 15th of the same year three great Triumphs
were celebrated, the first day being devoted to the European conquests,
the second to Actium, and the third to the Egyptian victory. A statue
of Cleopatra, the asp clinging to her arm, was dragged through the
streets of the capital, and the Queen’s twin children, Alexander Helios
and Cleopatra Selene, were made to walk in captivity in the procession.
Images representing Nilus and Egypt were carried along, and an enormous
quantity of interesting loot was heaped up on the triumphal cars.
The poet Propertius tells us how in fancy he saw “the necks of kings
bound with golden chains, and the fleet of Actium sailing up the Via
Sacra.” All men became unbalanced by enthusiasm, and stories derogatory
to Cleopatra were spread on all sides. Horace, in a wonderful ode,
expressed the public sentiments, and denounced the unfortunate Queen
as an enemy of Rome. Honours were heaped upon Octavian; and soon
afterwards he was given the title of Augustus, and was named _Divi
filius_, as being heir of _Divus Julius_. He took great delight in
lauding the memory of the great Dictator, who was now accepted as one
of the gods of the Roman world; and it is a significant fact that he
revived and reorganised the Lupercalia, as though he were in some
manner honouring Cæsar thereby.[151]

Meanwhile the three children of Cleopatra and Antony found a generous
refuge in the house of Octavia, Antony’s discarded wife. With admirable
tact Octavian seems to have insisted upon this solution of the
difficulty as to what to do with them. Their execution would have been
deeply resented by the Egyptians, and, since Octavian was now posing
as the legal heir to the throne of Egypt, the dynastic successor of
Cleopatra, and not a foreign usurper, it was well that his own sister
should look after these members of the royal family. Octavia, always
meek and dutiful, accepted the arrangement nobly, and was probably
unvaryingly kind to these children of her faithless husband, whom
she brought up with her two daughters, Antonia Major and Minor, and
Julius Antonius, the second son of Antony and Fulvia, and brother of
the murdered Antyllus. When the little Cleopatra Selene grew up she
was married to Juba, the King of Numidia, a learned and scholarly
monarch, who was later made King of Mauretania. The son of this
marriage was named Ptolemy, and succeeded his father about A.D. 19. He
was murdered by Caligula, who, by the strange workings of Fate, was
also a descendant of Antony. We do not know what became of Alexander
Helios and his brother Ptolemy. Tacitus tells us[152] that Antonius
Felix, Procurator of Judæa under the Emperor Nero, married (as his
second wife) Drusilla, a granddaughter of Cleopatra and Antony, who
was probably another of the Mauretanian family. Octavia died in B.C.
11. Antony’s son, Julius Antonius, in B.C. 2, was put to death for his
immoral relations with Octavian’s own daughter Julia, she herself being
banished to the barren island of Pandateria. Octavian himself, covered
with honours and full of years, died in A.D. 14, being succeeded upon
the thrones of Egypt and of Rome by Tiberius, his son.

During the latter part of the reign of Octavian, or Augustus, as one
must call him, the influence of Alexandria upon the life of Rome began
to be felt in an astonishing degree; and so greatly did Egyptian
thought alter the conditions in the capital that it might well be
fancied that the spirit of the dead Cleopatra was presiding over
that throne which she had striven to ascend. Ferrero goes so far as
to suggest that the main ideas of splendid monarchic government and
sumptuous Oriental refinement which now developed in Rome were due to
the direct influence of Alexandria, and perhaps to the fact that the
new emperors were primarily Kings of Egypt. Alexandrian artists and
artisans swarmed over the sea to Italy, and the hundreds of Romans who
had snatched estates for themselves in Egypt travelled frequently to
that country on business, and unconsciously familiarised themselves
with its arts and crafts. Alexandrian sculpture and painting was seen
in every villa, and the poetry and literature of the Alexandrian school
were read by all fashionable persons. Every Roman wanted to employ
Alexandrians to decorate his house, everybody studied the manners and
refinements of the Græco-Egyptians. The old austerity went to pieces
before the buoyancy of Cleopatra’s subjects, just as the aloofness of
London has disappeared under the Continental invasion of the last few
years.

Thus it may be said that the Egypto-Roman Empire of Cleopatra’s dreams
came to be founded in actual fact, with this difference, that its
monarchs were sprung from the line of Octavian, Cæsar’s nephew, and not
from that of Cæsarion, Cæsar’s son. But while Egypt and Alexandria thus
played such an important part in the creation of the Roman monarchy,
the memory of Cleopatra, from whose brain and whose influence the new
life had proceeded, was yearly more painfully vilified. She came to
be the enemy of this Orientalised Rome, which still thought itself
Occidental; and her struggle with Octavian was remembered as the evil
crisis through which the party of the Cæsars had passed. Abuse was
heaped upon her, and stories were invented in regard to her licentious
habits. It is upon this insecure basis that the world’s estimate of
the character of Cleopatra is founded; and it is necessary for every
student of these times at the outset of his studies to rid his mind of
the impression which he will have obtained from these polluted sources.
Having shut out from his memory the stinging words of Propertius
and the fierce lines of Horace, written in the excess of his joy at
the close of the period of warfare which had endangered his little
country estate, the reader will be in a position to judge whether the
interpretation of Cleopatra’s character and actions, which I have laid
before him, is to be considered as unduly lenient, and whether I have
made unfair use of the merciful prerogative of the historian, in
behalf of an often lonely and sorely tried woman, who fought all her
life for the fulfilment of a patriotic and splendid ambition, and who
died in a manner “befitting the descendant of so many kings.”


THE END.


PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.




GENEALOGY OF THE PTOLEMIES.


[Illustration:
                                     LAGOS.
                                       |
                                       +--------+
                                                |
            FIRST HUSBAND. = BERENICE I., = PTOLEMY I.,
                           | grandniece   |  Soter I.,
                           | of Antipater | a General of
                           | of Macedon.  | Alexander the
                           |              | Great, afterwards
                           |              | King of Egypt.
                           |              |
          +----------------+      +-------+-----+
          |                       |             |
        MAGAS, = APAMA       ARSINOE II., = PTOLEMY II.,   =  ARSINOE I.,
         King  |   of        second wife    Philadelphus,  |  first wife,
          of   | Syria.      and sister,    King of Egypt. |  daughter of
       Cyrene. |             first                         |  Lysimachos,
               |             _married_ to                  |  King of
               |             Lysimachos,                   |  Thrace.
               |             King of Thrace.               |
               |                                           |
               +---------------+             +-------------+
                               |             |
                          BERENICE II. = PTOLEMY III.,
                                       | Euergetes I.,
                                       | King of Egypt.
                                       |
                             +---------+-------+-------------------+
                             |                 |                   |
  ANTIOCHOS              PTOLEMY IV.,  =  ARSINOE III.           MAGAS.
  the Great,              Philopator,  |
   King of              King of Egypt. |
   Syria.                              |
     |                                 |
     +-----+             +-------------+
           |             |
      CLEOPATRA I. = PTOLEMY V.,
                   | Epiphanes,
                   | King of Egypt.
                   |
             +-----+------------------+----------------+--------+
             |                        |                |        |
         PTOLEMY VI.,             PTOLEMY VII.  = CLEOPATRA II. |
           Eupator,                Philometor,  |               |
        King of Egypt.           King of Egypt. |               |
                                                |               |
                                                |               |
          +----------------------------+--------+               |
          |                            |                        |
      PTOLEMY VIII.,            CLEOPATRA III. = PTOLEMY IX.,   |
      Neos Philopator,                         | Euergetes II., |
      King of Egypt.                           | King of Egypt. |
                                               |                |
             +----------------+----------------+-----+          |
             |                |                      |          |
  N.N. = PTOLEMY X.,   = CLEOPATRA IV.            SELENE.       |
         Soter II.,    |                                        |
        King of Egypt. |                                        |
                       |                                        |
        +------------+-+----------------+--------+              |
        |            |                  |        |              |
  CLEOPATRA V. = PTOLEMY XIII.,  = N.N. |  BERENICE III. = PTOLEMY XI.,
               |  Neos Dionysos, |      |                | Alexander I.,
               |    “Auletes.”   |      |                | King of Egypt.
               |                 |      |                |
               |                 |   PTOLEMY,            |
               |                 |   King of             |
               |                 |   Cyprus.             |
               |                 |                   PTOLEMY XII.,
               |                 |                   Alexander II.,
               |                 |                   King of Egypt.
       +-------+-------+         +-------+
       |               |                 |
  CLEOPATRA VI.   BERENICE IV.,          |
                  _married_ Archelaus,   |
                  High Priest of         |
                  Komana.                |
                                         |
      +-----------+-------+--------------+----------+
      |           |       |                         |
  PTOLEMY XV.,    |  ARSINOE IV.    JULIUS = *CLEOPATRA VII.* = MARCUS
  King of Egypt.  |                 CÆSAR. |                  | ANTONIUS.
                  |                        |                  |
              PTOLEMY XIV.,                |                  |
              King of Egypt.               |                  |
                                       CÆSARION,              |
                                     Ptolemy XVI.,            |
                                     King of Egypt.           |
                                                              |
         +-----------------------+----------------------+-----+
         |                       |                      |
  ALEXANDER HELIOS,         CLEOPATRA = JUBA,        PTOLEMY.
  _married_ Iotapa           SELENE.  | King of
      of Media.                       | Mauretania.
                                      |
                          +-----------+-------+
                          |                  ?|
                      PTOLEMY,            DRUSILLA. = ANTONIUS FELIX,
                      King of                       |  Procurator of
                    Mauretania.                     |     Judæa.
                                                    |
                                                    ^
]




FOOTNOTES


[1] Dickens.

[2] Sergeant.

[3] The Egyptian reliefs upon the walls of Dendereh temple and
elsewhere show conventional representations of the Queen which are not
to be regarded as real portraits. The so-called head of the Queen in
the Alexandria Museum probably does not represent her at all, as most
archæologists will readily admit.

[4] This island has now become part of the mainland.

[5] For a restoration of the lighthouse, see the work of H. Thiersch.

[6] Josephus.

[7] The first Ptolemy brought the body of Alexander to Alexandria, and
deposited it, so it is said, in a golden sarcophagus; but this was
believed to have been stolen, and the alabaster one substituted.

[8] Surely not 200 feet, as is sometimes said.

[9] Some years later, after it had been popularised by Augustus.

[10] Plutarch: Cæsar.

[11] Bell. Civ. III. 47.

[12] Susemihl. Geschichte der griechischen Litteratur in der
Alexandrinerzeit.

[13] In hieroglyphs the name reads _Kleopadra_. It is a Greek name,
meaning “Glory of her Race.”

[14] Representations of Cleopatra or other sovereigns of the dynasty
dressed in Egyptian costume are probably simply traditional.

[15] Mommsen.

[16] Or do I wrong the hero of Utica?

[17] Porphyry says he died in the eighth year of Cleopatra’s reign, and
Josephus states that he was fifteen years of age at his death. This
would make him about seven years old at Cleopatra’s accession, which
seems probable enough.

[18] He had been Consul with Julius Cæsar in 59.

[19] The end of September, owing to irregularities in the calendar, of
which we shall presently hear more, corresponded to the middle of July.

[20] According to Plutarch and others; but the incident is not
mentioned in Cæsar’s memoirs.

[21] I do not know any record of what became of the 2000 men of
Pompey’s bodyguard. They probably fled back to Europe on the death of
their commanding officer.

[22] As Consul he would have been entitled to twelve lictors, as
Dictator to twenty-four; but we are not told which number he employed
on this occasion.

[23] I quote the telling phrase used by Warde Fowler in his ‘Social
Life at Rome.’

[24] In interpreting the situation thus, I am aware that I place
myself at variance with the accepted view which attributes to Cæsar an
eagerness to return quickly to Rome.

[25] It is not certain whether the 2000 horse are to be included or not
in the total of 20,000.

[26] In spite of the statement to the contrary in De Bello Alexandrino.

[27] So the early writers state.

[28] Page 235.

[29] It is usually stated that Cæsar remained in Egypt chiefly because
he was in need of money, as is suggested by Dion, xlii. 9 and 34; Oros,
vi. 15, 29, and Plutarch, 48. But the small sum which he took from the
Egyptians is against this theory.

[30] In ancient Egypt the princes and princesses often had male
“nurses,” the title being an exceedingly honourable one. The Egyptian
phrase sometimes reads “great nurse and nourisher,” and M. Lefebvre
tells me that in a Fayoum inscription the tutor of Ptolemy Alexander is
called τροφεὺς καὶ τιθηνὸς Ἀλεξάνδρου.

[31] Plutarch.

[32] See p. 31.

[33] Note also (p. 112) Cæsar’s departure with his army from the
besieged Palace.

[34] This was actually some time in January.

[35] Just as the British Army of Occupation now in Egypt was originally
stationed there to support the Khedive upon his throne and to keep
order.

[36] Corresponding to the actual season of February.

[37] Pliny, vi. 26.

[38] Pliny, vi. 26.

[39] Page 57.

[40] It has generally been stated that Cæsar left Egypt before the
birth of Cæsarion, an opinion which, in view of the fact that Appian
says he remained nine months in Egypt, has always seemed to me
improbable; for it is surely more than a coincidence that he delayed
his departure from Egypt until the very month in which Cleopatra’s
and his child was to be expected to arrive, he having met her in the
previous October. Plutarch’s statement may be interpreted as meaning
that Cæsar departed to Syria after the birth of his son. I think that
Cicero’s remark, in a letter dated in June B.C. 47, that there was
a serious hindrance to Cæsar’s departure from Alexandria, refers to
the event for which he was waiting. Those who suggest that Cæsar did
_not_ remain in Egypt so long are obliged to deny that the authors are
correct in stating that he went up the Nile; and they have to disregard
the positive statement of Appian that the Dictator’s visit lasted nine
months. Moreover, the date of the celebration of Cæsarion’s seventeenth
birthday (as recorded on p. 361) is a further indication that he was
born no later than the beginning of July.

[41] It has generally been thought that this was simply a pleasure
cruise up the Nile; but the number of ships (given by Appian) indicates
that many troops were employed, and the troops are referred to by
Suetonius also.

[42] The _thalamegos_ described by Athenæus was not that used on this
occasion, but the description will serve to give an idea of its luxury.

[43] Athenæus, v. 37. The number of banks of oars and the measurements,
as given by him, are probably exaggerated.

[44] It was presented to the British Government, and now stands on the
Thames Embankment in London. It is known as “Cleopatra’s Needle.”

[45] Cicero, A. xi. 17. 13.

[46] He could have performed the journey in five days or less with a
favourable wind.

[47] Notably Dr Mahaffy.

[48] Judging by the remark of the commentator on Lucan, ‘Pharsalia,’ x.
521.

[49] A coin inscribed with the words _Ægypto capta_ was struck after
his return to Rome (Goltzius: de re Numm.)

[50] Houssaye, ‘Aspasie, Cleopatre, Theodora,’ p. 91, for example, says
that society was shocked at a Roman being in love with an Egyptian; and
Sergeant, ‘Cleopatra of Egypt,’ writes: “It was as an Egyptian that
Cleopatra offended the Romans.”

[51] Horace’s Ode was written after the engineered talk of the “eastern
peril” had done its work--_i.e._, after Actium.

[52] Ad Atticum, xv. 15.

[53] I think this fact may be regarded as an argument in favour of the
opinion that Cleopatra had been in Rome already several weeks.

[54] Venus and Isis were identified in Rome also.

[55] As, for example, when the actor Diphilus alluded to Pompey in the
words “Nostra miseria tu es--Magnus” (Cicero, Ad Att. ii. 19).

[56] I use the words of Oman.

[57] Pliny (vi. 26) says that some £400,000 in money was conveyed to
India each year in exchange for goods which were sold for one hundred
times that amount.

[58] Horace, Od. 1, 2.

[59] Ferrero writes: “The Queen of Egypt plays a strange and
significant part in the tragedy of the Roman Republic.... She desired
to become Cæsar’s wife, and she hoped to awaken in him the passion for
kingship.” But this is a passing comment.

[60] No Englishman is troubled by the knowledge that the mother of his
king is a Dane, and no Spaniard is worried by the thought that his
sovereign has married an Englishwoman. The kinship between Roman and
Greek was as close as these.

[61] Porphyry, writing several generations later, states that he died
by Cleopatra’s treachery; but he is evidently simply quoting Josephus.
Porphyry says that he died in the eighth year of Cleopatra’s reign and
the fourth year of his own reign. This is confirmed by an inscription
which I observed in Prof. Petrie’s collection and published in ‘Receuil
de Traveaux’. This records an event which took place “In the ninth year
of the reign of Cleopatra ... [a lacuna] ... Cæsarion.” The lacuna
probably reads, “... and in the first (or second) year of the reign of
...” This inscription shows that in the Queen’s ninth year Cæsarion was
already her consort, which confirms Porphyry’s statement.

[62] Kaiser, Czar, &c.

[63] Cymbeline.

[64] Both Hammonios and Sarapion are common Egyptian names.

[65] This may mean that Cleopatra had gone to some other part of Rome
either permanently or temporarily.

[66] Suetonius: Cæsar, 76.

[67] The action _februare_ means “to purify,” here used probably to
signify the magical expurgation of the person struck and the banishing
of the evil influences which prevented fertility.

[68] Compare also the whip carried by a Sixth Dynasty noble named Ipe,
Cairo Museum, No. 61, which seems more than a simple fly-flap.

[69] The Egyptian word is _mes_.

[70] Plutarch: Brutus.

[71] According to Suetonius, the Queen had now been sent back to Egypt,
but a letter from Cicero, written in the following month, shows that
she was in Rome until then.

[72] The site is near the present Campo dei Fiori.

[73] Plutarch: Cæsar.

[74] Page 162.

[75] Appian.

[76] Some authors state that he cried “Et tu, Brute”; others that the
words “my son” were added; while yet others do not record any words at
all.

[77] Ferrero has shown that March 19th was a day of _feriae publicae_,
when the funeral could not take place. It could not well have been
postponed later than the next day after this.

[78] Page 170.

[79] Which, as will be seen, he ultimately attempted to do.

[80] See page 235, where I suggest that Serapion had possibly decided
to throw in his lot with Arsinoe, who perhaps claimed the kingdom of
Cyprus, and to assist the party of Brutus and Cassius against that of
Antony which Cleopatra would probably support.

[81] Found at Tor Sapienza, outside the Porta Maggiore. The best gold
and silver coins of Antony, issued by Cnæus Domitius Ahenobarbus,
correspond with the bust in all essentials.

[82] It is satisfactory to read that Lucilius remained his devoted
friend until the end.

[83] St Paul was also trained in this school.

[84] The elephant’s head I describe from that seen upon the Queen’s
vessel shown upon the coins.

[85] The recipe for the preparation of incense of about this period is
inscribed upon a wall of the temple of Philæ, and shows a vast number
of ingredients.

[86] Plutarch: Antony.

[87] Hor. 1. ii. Sat. 3.

[88] Josephus says Ephesus, Appian Miletus.

[89] Page 275.

[90] Ferrero.

[91] Marquardt: Privatleben, p. 409.

[92] Page 59.

[93] Prof. Ferrero and others have already pointed this out.

[94] Page 160.

[95] See pp. 196, 197, 291, 305.

[96] The suggestion that an actual marriage took place was first made
by Letronne, was confirmed by Kromayer, and was accepted by Ferrero.

[97] Page 298.

[98] Brocardus: Descriptio Terræ Sanctæ, xiii.

[99] Page 275.

[100] Fulvia, it will be remembered (page 255), employed 3000 cavalry
as a bodyguard under similar circumstances.

[101] This passage is sometimes quoted to show that no definite
marriage had taken place at Antioch; but it only indicates that the
marriage to Cleopatra was not accepted as legal in Rome.

[102] For the governing of his Eastern Empire Antony found it
convenient to make his headquarters at Alexandria during the winter and
Syria during the summer, and his movements to and fro were not due to
pressing circumstances. The whole Court moved with him, just as, for
example, at the present day the Viceregal Court of India moves from
Calcutta to Simla. Thutmosis III. and other great Pharaohs of Egypt had
gone over to Syria in the summer in this manner.

[103] Velleius Paterculus.

[104] I here adopt the statement of Dion, and not that of Plutarch.

[105] Page 286.

[106] I suppose the “purple stone” referred to by Lucan was the famous
imperial porphyry from the quarries of Gebel Dukhan, though I am not
certain that the stone was used as early as this. Cf. my expedition to
these quarries described in my ‘Travels in the Upper Egyptian Deserts.’

[107] Even Athenæus refers to Antony as being _married_ to Cleopatra;
and the reader must remember that, not the fact of the marriage, but
only the date at which it occurred, is at all open to question. I do
not think this is generally recognised.

[108] Ferrero thinks he went direct to Ephesus, but Bouché-Leclercq and
others are of opinion that he went first to Alexandria, and with this I
agree.

[109] Page 262.

[110] Page 162.

[111] Plutarch.

[112] Page 296.

[113] Propertius. Canopus was an Egyptian port with a reputation much
like that once held by the modern Port Said. Anubis was the Egyptian
jackal-god, connected with the ritual of the dead.

[114] An earlier eunuch of the same name, it will be remembered, played
an important part in Cleopatra’s youth.

[115] The numbers given by the early authors are very contradictory,
but Plutarch states that Octavian reported the capture of three hundred
ships.

[116] Not upon the sixty Egyptian ships, as Plutarch states: that is
an evident mistake, as the proportion of numbers per ship will at once
show.

[117] The fact that Dellius knew something of the plans for the battle
fixes the date of his desertion to this period, as Ferrero has pointed
out.

[118] Dion Cassius states (though he afterwards contradicts himself by
speaking of the Queen’s panic) that Antony had agreed to fly to Egypt
with Cleopatra, and this view is upheld by Ferrero, Bouché-Leclercq,
and others; but I do not consider it probable. One can understand
Antony flying after the departing Queen in the agony and excitement of
the moment; but it is difficult to believe that such a movement was the
outcome of a carefully considered plan of action, for all are agreed
that previous to the battle of Actium his chances of success had been
very fair. If the two had arranged to retire to Egypt together, why was
Cleopatra’s treasure, but not his own, shipped; and why did they refuse
to speak to one another for three whole days? Ferrero thinks that he
had arranged amicably with Cleopatra to retire to Egypt with her, and
that the naval battle had not gone much against him; but surely it is
difficult to suppose that he would deliberately desert his huge army
and his undefeated navy for strategic reasons.

[119] Scholz: Reise zwischen Alex. und Parætonium.

[120] Pliny, Epist. iii. 16.

[121] In a very similar manner Herod, who had taken the part of
Antony and who now feared that Octavian would dethrone him in favour
of the earlier sovereign, Hyrcanus, put that claimant to death, so
that Octavian, as Josephus indicates, should not find it easy to fill
Herod’s place.

[122] I found the remains of this fortress on an island behind the
Governorat at Suez.

[123] Page 116.

[124] Plutarch definitely states this, and I here use the fact as one
of the main arguments in my suppositions in regard to Cleopatra’s plans.

[125] I do not think it could have been begun to be built at this time,
although Plutarch says so: it would have taken many months to complete.
It was more probably already in existence.

[126] Page 272.

[127] Page 130.

[128] Page 147.

[129] I do not think that the celebrations of this anniversary which
now took place could possibly have occurred later than the middle of
April, and therefore Cæsarion could not have been born later than the
beginning of July, an argument which bears on the length of Julius
Cæsar’s stay in Egypt, discussed on page 128. It seems always to
have been thought that the holding of the anniversary this year was
anti-dated for political reasons, but it will be seen that the actual
date was adhered to.

[130] Page 246.

[131] I fancy that the word asp is used in error, for I should think it
much more probable that the deadly little horned viper was meant.

[132] In view of the activities of the Arabs of Petra, it is unlikely
that she sent him by the sea route from Suez, which was little used by
the merchants.

[133] Page 118.

[134] When dying she is said to have regretted that she did not seek
safety in flight.

[135] This seems clearly indicated by Plutarch.

[136] Dion Cassius suggests that Cleopatra did attempt to play into
Octavian’s hands, but the accusation is quite unfounded, and is an
obvious one to make against the hated enemy.

[137] This fact, the significance of which has been overlooked, is
an interesting indication of Cleopatra’s definite claim to be a
manifestation of Venus-Aphrodite-Isis. See pp. 121, 144, 228.

[138] The sounds perhaps came from Octavian’s outposts, which were just
outside the Gate of Canopus.

[139] Page 366.

[140] Plutarch does not give Serapis as one of the reasons of
Octavian’s clemency, but Dion says this was so.

[141] Page 355.

[142] Plutarch tells us that this doctor wrote a full account of these
last scenes, from which he evidently quotes.

[143] Dion Cassius.

[144] Octavian now always spoke of the Dictator as his father, and he
called himself “Cæsar.”

[145] Plutarch. It is very probable that Cleopatra’s doctor, Olympus,
was by her side, and afterwards wrote these words down in the diary
which we know Plutarch used.

[146] The following evidence as to the manner of the Queen’s death
is given by Plutarch, and it is clear that it was the result of an
investigation such as I have described.

[147] Page 365.

[148] In hieroglyphs this reads _Aut’k’r’d’r K’s’r’s_.

[149] Strabo, xvii. i. 14; Tacitus, Hist. i. 11.

[150] This was said to have been due to a bribe received from one of
Cleopatra’s friends, but it was more probably political.

[151] Page 174.

[152] Tacitus, Hist., v. 9.




Transcriber’s Notes


Text on cover added by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain. The
original cover appears at the beginning of some versions of this eBook;
in this version, it is represented by “[Illustration]”.

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Page 8: The quotation beginning with “had an irrestible charm” had no
closing quotation mark. Transcriber added one after “her voice when she
spoke.” It may belong earlier, after “certain piquancy.”

In the Genealogy Chart, “CLEOPATRA VII.” was printed in all-caps
boldface, which is represented here by asterisks. Other all-caps names
originally were printed in small-caps.

Footnote 129, originally footnote 3 on page 361: “anti-dated” was
printed that way.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life and Times of Cleopatra, Queen
of Egypt, by Arthur E.P. Brome Weigall

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