Part 13

Like all her ancestors she had a love for building. She went from city to city with a host of architects, engineers, and artists, to see that the old temples were kept in proper repair. Those at Edfu, Hermonthis, and Coptis were rebuilt under her direction. The one at Dendera, which she enlarged, still shows her portrait carved on its tablets. She restored the Library at Alexandria and began the Cæsarium, whose excavated ruins reveal her admiration for Greek art. The last of the obelisks was erected during her reign: that Cleopatra's Needle, which, two thousand years later, was transported to the borders of the Thames, and now mournfully lifts its once rosy sides to the sooty skies of the British metropolis.

All these activities, however, could not make Cleopatra forget the aching void in her heart. In the midst of ceremonials, festivals, travels, she was continually asking herself: "What has become of Antony? Where is he? Has he forgotten me?"

Separation between lovers is endurable only if there is a steady interchange of letters. When Antony first left Egypt a galley came from Brindisi every ten days bringing long letters. In the beginning these were infinitely tender, filled with the solicitous grief that showed his anxiety in his absence. They reëchoed every expression of devotion which Cleopatra's letters contained. "Waking and sleeping you are always with me. I seek your presence everywhere and I feel that you are near," he wrote repeatedly. He said that public affairs were going forward satisfactorily and announced that, in order to hasten his return, he intended to put these in Pollion's care, as he understood all the details concerning them, while he himself was going at once to Syria and Palestine to reëstablish the authority which his long absence had compromised.

Since he could not be with her, Cleopatra much preferred having her lover in Asia Minor. That was where they were to come together again, in that country so like her own in climate, customs, habits of dress and tastes. There he would be reminded of her at every turn, whereas in Italy everything was different. By one of those unfailing feminine instincts, she felt that in Rome some unlooked-for turn of events would bring her disaster. She had never seen Octavius, but the fact that he was Cæsar's heir made him the rival and enemy of her little Cæsarion. Anything that occurred in Italy aroused her suspicion, and she could only hope that Antony, easily led and trustful as he was, would never fail to be on his guard.

Cleopatra's various enterprises were interrupted, for the time being, by the birth of twins, to whom she gave the somewhat pretentious names of Helios and Selene. It seemed the propitious moment to remind Antony of the projected marriage which they had planned together and which was essential for the future protection of these children.

He responded by joyous and elaborate felicitations, saying that he was eager to legitimatize his claim to fatherhood as soon as possible. In confirmation of this assurance his messenger brought the young mother a coffer of carved gold, containing two pearls of perfect shape and wonderful orient, with the written words: "My lips have covered these with kisses, as I should love to cover your beautiful breasts, which are moulded in their likeness."

Such demonstrations made Cleopatra very happy. She loved--she was loved. That was enough for the present, and the future stretched before her like a flaming torch.

Then Antony's letters began to come less frequently. But what of that? He had left the coast; he was in the interior of the country, absorbed in necessary military details which left him little leisure for writing. Besides, he was remote from cities and consequently not exposed to the temptations of town life; why should she have any fears?

Her confidence that all was well was confirmed by the arrival of a Roman galley, sent from Asia, about the middle of the autumn. It brought neither gifts nor the customary sealed roll which the Queen was in the habit of seeing in the messenger's hand long before he reached her side. This time a courier came, requesting an audience with her. Cleopatra's heart throbbed with hope and fear. Her eyes sought those of the man who had so recently looked on her lover.

"How long since you have seen the Imperator?" she demanded.

"Twenty days, Madame."

"Where was he then?"

"At Samosata, on the border of the Commagene."

Her eager questions followed each other breathlessly. "How did he look? Was he sad or gay? What did he say to you? What message has he sent to me?"

This courier, Menecratus, was a freedman who had Antony's confidence, and whom long association with the Imperator had trained in the art of making a pleasing impression. He had abundant tact and discretion, an ideal interpreter for his master. He gave the following account to the Queen:

"When I went to receive the Imperator's orders he was neither sad nor gay. His face was radiant with that divine energy which is seen in the visage of Mars. The country all around him showed the marks of war. There were chariots, mules, troops of soldiers, shields glittering in the sun. He was holding the bridle of his fierce charger, which he was about to mount, in one hand; the other was on the pommel of his saddle. 'By the sacred geese which fly over the Capitol,' he said, 'go and report what you have seen. Tell Cleopatra that Mark Antony goes forth to conquer new kingdoms that he will soon lay at her feet.'"

So once again Cleopatra was comforted. Her lover was fighting for her sake; he was preparing for their future. Victory was in his path, and soon he would come back to her, so crowned with glory, so powerful in his conquests, that nothing, no one, could prevent the fulfilment of their magnificent plans.

The winter mists, however, were now obscuring the sea; all navigation was suspended. For more than three months there had been no tidings from Antony. The faith of Cleopatra was woven of a tissue so fragile that constant renewing was needed to keep the fabric whole. She was overwhelmed by a melancholy dread of possible disaster. The final date of his return was approaching. If he were not there! As she had no actual reasons to explain this persistent silence she tormented herself with the most rueful theories. He was the victim of poisoned arrows, a fatal fall, shipwreck; all these filled her imagination with depressing visions. She could not bear to be alone for a moment. Either Iras or Charmian was required to be in constant attendance. She kept them under a perpetual fire of questions, as an outlet for her own fears.

"The end of the year is close at hand, my Charmian. Why have I no word of his return?"

"Without doubt, Madame, he is planning to give you a happy surprise." The beautiful young Athenian girl spent hours at the feet of her mistress, her violet eyes fixed upon the Queen's anxious face, trying to reassure her.

But as the weary days dragged on and no news came, the ominous menace, that seemed to threaten her from afar, drew nearer and the Queen was more difficult to comfort. One day she caught at Iras's hand, as though a sudden fear had come to her: "Can he have ceased to care for me? Has he put another woman in my place?"

"But Madame, he has known Cleopatra, what other woman could he find to take your place?" replied the Persian girl.

These fancies, vague at first, were now becoming cruel certainties. Travellers from Rome reported that Antony had returned from Asia, made his peace with Octavius, and the price of that peace was also known!

The tragic scene in which Cleopatra learns of her lover's marriage; the tears and passion which Shakespeare describes in words that make his stage a living world, leave nothing more to be told. By the silence, that interminable silence, which surrounded her, the Queen at last comprehended that dire misfortune had come to her. Her attendants tried to keep the truth back. No one of them could muster courage to speak. Was the news so horrible? Her mind leaped to the most terrible thing of all: "Is he dead? Has death frozen the warmest heart that ever throbbed?"

"No, no, Madame," Charmian cried, "Antony is alive, he is well." The Queen breathed again, but the dreaded disaster rushed to her mind. He had deserted her, then. Her agonized eyes put the question that her lips could not frame. No one answered. Everyone turned away and Charmian stammered incoherently.

"Iras, tell me, what is it?"

"There is nothing known definitely, Madame."

"But I insist on knowing definitely and at once," said Cleopatra, in a tone that suffered no denial.

The man who had brought the tidings was summoned. He proved to be a merchant, in Alexandria on his own business. He had gossiped, as all travellers do, bringing news from one town to the next. He was puzzled at being called to the palace.

"What is this tale? Speak out," commanded the Queen. Her look was terrifying. But the man had no sense of responsibility in repeating a story which was the subject of general discussion in Rome.

"Antony is married?" On hearing of this wedding with Octavia, which had been celebrated with the utmost pomp and magnificence, Cleopatra was beside herself with rage. Her pride, her dignity, her position, were as nothing. She was practically delirious with fury. She looked wildly around for someone on whom to wreak her vengeance. Those who were nearest to her shrank back in terror. It was the unfortunate wretch, whose only crime had been to bear ill-tidings, on whom her wrath fell. He was cursed, beaten, threatened with death. It was the natural outburst of her passionate nature, accustomed to command all, and who, for the first time, was confronted by overpowering misfortune and injury.

Was there no refuge from her torment? Could not the laws of the universe be altered? The first moments were horrible; a burst of tears followed her access of rage and she fainted. The servants fled, filling the whole palace with wailings. The doctors pressed forward, as though to aid someone in mortal need. Charmian was at her side.

"For the love of the gods, Madame, do not give your enemies the joy of seeing you crushed by this sorrow. Do not let them know how this blow has pierced your heart!"

"My Queen, my Queen, be brave!" whispered Iras, holding a handkerchief with some drops of stimulant to Cleopatra's lips. Gradually she grew calmer; she regained her self-control, but the wild frenzy was succeeded by a stupor. She felt as though a bottomless abyss had opened suddenly at her feet. "How can this be?" she murmured dully. "I trusted him and he told me that I meant all the world to him!" Her thoughts turned to the woman who had stolen her happiness. That sister of Octavius, Octavia--what kind of creature was she? The fierce desire to know the whole truth, in all its bitter details, surged in her breast, with the same violence that had caused her to pour out the stream of threats and curses so short a while before.

But the traveller was nowhere to be seen. Taking advantage of the confusion that followed the Queen's fainting fit he had fled. A diligent search revealed him, hidden in the hold of a ship. He had taken refuge there, deciding to give up the affairs that had brought him to Alexandria and, thankful to escape with his life, was hoping to get away on the ship without being detected.

He was terrified at being caught and it took repeated assurances that he would not be further punished to induce him to speak again. Fear had taught him discretion; he had learned that when speaking to the great and mighty it was wise to say only what they desired to hear. The plain truth was a crime. He showed the manners of a practised courtier when he had his second audience with Cleopatra.

The Queen, too, had undergone a great change. A sad, compelling curiosity dominated all other feelings. She was like a wanderer, lost in a dark wood, who seeks only light.

"Tell me something about Octavia," she said, with a gentleness that veiled the autocratic command. "You have seen her and know whether she is beautiful. Has she a wonderful expression? Is she dark or fair? What is the colour of her hair?" But however adroitly her questions might be put, this man, in whose ears her curses still rang, who was yet bruised from her shower of blows, would give no direct reply. According to him Octavia was a fright. Her eyes were dull, her hair scanty and fastened with austere, ash-coloured fillets.

"How old is she?" queried Cleopatra, still in the depths of despair, for however fascinating a deserted mistress may be, in her eyes the new love, though in reality a scarecrow, has all the attractiveness of a pure maiden whose unsullied youth is like to a fragrant garden in which her lover, or her husband, may wander at will to gather the flowers of happiness.

The merchant's tale was comforting, however. On hearing that Octavia was a widow, with two children; that she was without beauty and devoid of charm, with no power to kindle passion in a man's heart, Cleopatra had a moment of relief. Her anger had not died out, nor her bitter rancour against the lover who had deceived and betrayed her; she was, however, beginning to understand that this marriage had merely been a matter of political stratagem, a means of accomplishing Antony's designs.

In spite of this conviction, her fits of depression during the first few weeks after the news had come to her were so terrible that at times she felt that she must give up the struggle. She had always thought herself immune from jealousy, because of her conscious superiority over all other women. Now, little by little, it was eating into her heart. How could she be sure that Octavia was really a fright? that she had no power to charm? Was it true that her thick-set body had no attraction for Antony? After all, she had nothing to depend on but the word of a common man in the street. She recalled the affection that Antony had had for the hideous Fulvia; why should he not care for this new wife who was at least amiable and virtuous? Day by day this poison was entering into her soul.

At last she was so tortured by this canker of jealousy that she determined to put it away from her. By stupendous effort she tried to make herself believe that her love for Antony was dead, that she had never really cared for him and that consequently his marriage was a matter of indifference to her. In order to convince both herself and the world of this indifference she resumed her former life of dissipation with the young men of her court. Restrained no longer by those burning bonds that had kept her true to Antony, she went recklessly from one excess to another. Each involved a new degradation, each exhausted her by its gross intoxication, but nowhere could she find that oblivion for which her feverish heart longed. Crush, profane, trample on it, as she would, the memory of her cherished idol could not be rooted out. With inexhaustible persistence it pursued her; even in the warm embrace of her most ardent adorers, it came to make her shiver with horror at her own disloyalty to her lover. Wherever she went his dear image would appear suddenly before her, would cover her with his reproachful glance, as though he asked: "Why are you acting as though all were over between us? In spite of this seeming separation we are bound together in spirit for all eternity. Like ships, scattered for a time by the tempest, we shall surely come together again."

Her eyes smarted with tears as she invented excuses for her faithless lover. Surely he had been forced into this marriage for political reasons and against his will. Who had gained by this trap save Octavius? Who else would profit by this unholy alliance? This scheme had been devised by that cunning fellow that he might make his sister a sentinel to watch over Antony and report his doings to his colleague. The brute! Half vexed, half tenderly, she would again invoke the loved image, addressing him in imagination: "How guileless you were! You who had every right to rule, who could have chosen your mate and controlled the world--why should you play such a petty part, be made to obey like a little child? Oh! the pity of it!"

And then a ray of hope gleamed. That same weakness which had taken her lover away from her arms might be used to restore him to her. Her kisses were indelibly printed on his forehead; why should she not re-kindle that fire which was probably still smouldering? And in one of those ecstasies, which were like a torch touched by a passing spark, she cried aloud: "I will tempt him back again! The hour is not far off when I shall carry him away from Rome, from his wife, from Octavius, from all who have thought that they were stronger than I."

She did not trust simply to that thread, which, like a new Ariadne, she had put in her Theseus's hands. She put all her resources to work to carry out her purpose. Octavius had his spies; she would have hers. These she despatched immediately, with orders to keep close watch over Antony; to learn the innermost secrets of his household; to leave no stone unturned to discover all that was going on there.

The first accounts sent back by these agents brought her only added distress. Apparently the newly wedded couple were happy and living in perfect harmony. She declined to be discouraged by these reports, however. "If I exhaust all the men in my kingdom," she said, "I will place spies in every corner and in time they will surely find the crack in his armour!"

When she first heard of the disagreements between the brothers-in-law, especially of the silly quarrel over the cock-fight, she was delighted. At last she had found the long-looked-for crack, and that would destroy the whole household, make it fall in ruins. She knew Antony too well to believe that he would tolerate a rival for any length of time. Her chief object now was to entice him away from Rome. With untiring diligence she organized a secret society composed of courtesans, freedmen, and court attendants. She instructed these to call Antony's attention to certain familiar things sent from the Bruchium; to the fragrance of perfumes associated with his days spent there with her; by a word spoken at the right moment to set him dreaming of those months in Egypt. The dealers in oracles also had their mission. They were to encourage the Triumvir to consult them, and, as though all Nature were speaking through them with one voice, they were told to repeat the famous words of his horoscope: "The star of your fortune is at its zenith, but the star of Octavius seeks to eclipse it. Your glory fears his glory, your power will diminish when the two stars come together."

Other influences were also working in unison with Cleopatra. If certain of his friends, like Ahenobarbus and Pollion, had urged Antony's marriage with Octavia and had jeered at this man of valour being subject to the yoke of Egypt's queen, others, more far-sighted, divined that some day she would regain her sovereignty over him. Among these latter was Quintus Dellius, he who had arranged the affair at Tarsus. He understood this passionate woman better than any one else and knew that she was capable of any deed to gain possession of her lover. There was also Fonteius Capito, a subtle observer of human nature, who had written before Antony had been wedded a year: "Yes, Antony's marriage is apparently a happy one, but that he is beginning to be bored by it is evident to every one." These two men thought it wise to forestall future developments and they kept up a close correspondence with the Queen, keeping her in touch with everything that could be of interest to her. She was not only informed of the most intimate details of Antony's household, but of all the governmental complications against which the Triumvir had to fight. The increasing boldness of the Parthian invasions, the coast pillage of the pirates of Sextus Pompey, the uprisings of the poorer classes, their refusals to pay the taxes. All these disturbances in Roman territory gave her fresh reasons for hope. The day she heard that Antony was leaving his wife to her maternal duties and sailing for Athens, she was overcome with joy.

The game was not yet won, but at least she was no longer tormented by visions of Octavia happy in the arms of her husband. Those two were separated and Antony's wife, desolate in her loneliness, would now suffer as she had done. If Cleopatra were not entirely comforted by this knowledge, it at any rate helped her to bear her own trials more patiently!

Stirred by alternate emotions, she sometimes felt as though all were lost; then again she exulted in the thought that her sorrows were almost over. The most cruel moment was when she heard of the reconciliation at Tarentum. She had been following with intense interest all the details of the fray and its results, and was planning to gather up the fragments of these broken alliances and construct a new power therefrom, and now this disappointment had come. It was a severe lesson and would have discouraged any one made of less stern stuff than this indomitable woman. She had, however, a gift of clairvoyance which could not be deceived for any length of time. Although the treaty to renew peace between the brothers-in-law was formally drawn up, although it was sealed with offerings to the gods, libations, and festivals, and, more important still, by betrothals of offspring which doubled and trebled the many bonds between the families of Julius and Antony, it was very evident that this reconciliation would only be a temporary alliance.

Antony had fulfilled his part of the contract at once. A hundred brass-prowed triremes, twenty despatch boats, and as many lighter vessels, lying in the harbour at Tarentum, had already been given over to Octavius. And what had Octavius offered in exchange? Promises, nothing but promises. Sixteen legions and a quantity of war supplies had been agreed upon in the treaty, but as yet none of these had materialized. There was nothing to do but trust in the good faith of Octavius, and to those who knew him there seemed small chance of these promises being carried out.

But Antony was confident that they would be. His own loyalty made him often the dupe of other people. At this time he was especially trustful, for he had Octavia as an intermediary and there could be no possible doubt as to her sincerity. He had no misgivings on that score and, counting on the promised reinforcements being forthcoming when required, he gave himself up to his own ambitious plans and left Italy for Antioch.

His wife went with him as far as Corcyra, proud of having been able to serve him, and more tenderly devoted to him than ever. There they parted, he to go on with his preparations for his coming campaign, she to return to Rome and see that the conditions of the treaty were carried out as promptly as possible.

Antony's first object was to procure money. Since the Imperators had persistently ravaged the cities and country, violated the temples and over-taxed the people, this necessary commodity of war had grown very scarce. To extort it from Italy was impossible. Greece had been exploited to its utmost resources. The provinces of Asia still remained; rich always, as a result of the advanced, scientific agriculture which made the land yield abundantly. But the land owners had been exasperated by toiling for Roman profit and there was a general effort to evade the taxes by violence and fraud. Many of these offenders had been executed for opposing the law, and these conditions had brought about disastrous results.