Part 2
In those days, as in our own, sailing along the borders of the Nile, with the monuments of the Pharaohs on either side, was a fascinating experience. Aristocrats of wealth, princes from the Orient, artists from Asia Minor and Greece--after exploring the treasures of Alexandria--alike found rare pleasure in sailing in the luxurious Egyptian barges under the smiling skies. These voyages meant weeks of restful leisure and enjoyment.
The barge of Cleopatra was a floating palace. The charming apartments of the Bruchium were reproduced in miniature. The various vessels which accompanied it accommodated a large staff, not of servants alone, but bands of dancers, poets, musicians, who were engaged to while away the time and make life an enchanting dream.
Winter was at hand; that season of snow and frost which, in less fortunate lands, plunges people in gloom; when all the fields are in mourning and the shivering trees wave their naked branches in distress. But there was no depression along the sunny route chosen by our travellers. Propelled by the steady rowing of fifty Nubians pulling on oars of ebony, they glided along, intoxicated with freedom, happiness, space, as toward a Promised Land, and at each stopping-place the golden sun seemed to shine with a richer glow.
All at once, after the leagues of emerald foliage of the first few days, the vegetation grew scanty, the barge slipped along between barren shores, and the country, as far as the distant horizon, was a vast stretch of sand covered with arid hillocks, like volutes of silver, which melted away in the mist. Here and there groups of aloes waved their sharp, blade-like branches, or clusters of date trees shook their feathery plumes, like giant torches about to burst into flame.
As the barge approached Memphis more buildings were seen: temples with broad columns, shining palaces of glittering whiteness, giant gateways like mighty mountains, all mirrored in the waters of the sacred river.
The barge dropped anchor opposite the Pyramids. Cæsar was filled with wondering admiration at the mighty skill which had reared these colossal tombs. He who, as a disciple of Plato, attached so little importance to the needs of the body, and who believed that immortality was attained only by the beauty which came from the soul, asked himself what thoughts had stirred the mind of a Cheops or a Chephren concerning the mystery of Death? Had they regarded it as the true life, and the earthly one merely as a passage leading to it? Had they raised these temples in honour of Death, or, indignant at its devastations, was it in defiance of it that they had erected these formidable triangles?
Among the countless mysterious monuments on the plains about Memphis, the great Sphinx of Gizeh has always aroused the keenest wonder and curiosity. Cleopatra had caught a glimpse of it in the distance on her adventurous flight and now she was overjoyed at letting Cæsar compare her delicate grace with its tremendous proportions. The sun was setting behind the Libyan hills when they drew near the Sphinx. Lying on her bed of sand, the monster seemed about to emerge from a vast beach beside a congealed ocean. Although looking toward the East, her enigmatic smile already hidden in the shadow, her tawny back was touched by the last rays of the setting sun, which made her like a living creature.
Recalling the question that OEdipus, anxious concerning his future, had put to that other Sphinx long ago, the Dictator, whose destiny also was uncertain, was tempted to interrogate this one. Would she reply? Mystery of mysteries! Quivering at the touch of the warm young body at his side, looking at the reddish moon, breathing in the strange soul of the night, even had some wise counsel been whispered in his ear he was hardly in a state to heed it. The voice of love was too overpowering, he was deaf to all else.
On the thirtieth day of their voyage the lovers reached Philæ, that pearl in its double setting of blue sky and blue water, both so pure, so transparent, that it was difficult to tell which was the reflection of the other, which has inspired the poets of every age. Those who once entered there went no further to seek an earthly paradise. To tarry, pitch their tent, and forget in the worship of its beauty all that had fretted and distracted them elsewhere, was the ardent desire of every artist who landed there. Only a few, however, were allowed to carry it out.
From remote ages the island had been in possession of the priests of Isis, who did not tolerate the intrusion of profane outsiders. Guardians of a temple which the religious fervour of its worshippers had made the richest in all Egypt, these priests of the holy goddess allowed no interference with their rights; no one else was permitted to share the revenue, which was the largest in the land.
In many of the sanctuaries, however, the religious rites were in no way disturbed by the addition of worldly goods; consequently the arrival of the royal visitors was regarded as a godsend. Barges, filled with musicians, were sent down the river to welcome them, and along the banks a procession of priests greeted them with sacred songs. They were forced to attend the services in the temple, listen to orations, and receive committees bearing gifts. To celebrate their coming, goats were sacrificed and the blood of doves ran red.
The official reception over, Cleopatra requested that she and Cæsar be left alone, quite undisturbed by any formalities, since that was their chief desire. During the heat of the day they remained indoors, where the spray from numerous fountains made the air comparatively cool. They amused themselves watching the blue, white, and pink lotus buds open their delicate petals, both lost in a delicious languor in which cares, plans, ambitions, were all forgotten.
The young Queen, however, never for a moment forgot the secret object of this voyage, which was to bind her great protector to her by indelible memories and make Egypt's interests his own. In the evenings they loitered along the garden paths, breathing the honey-scented fragrance of the tropical violets, or lingered in the shadowy groves whose branches sent showers of gold dust on their heads. Here, in response to her lover's tender speeches, she would reply, in a tone of almost childish terror: "Oh! yes, of course my country is the most beautiful in all the world, but it is so difficult to govern it." And Cæsar, moved by the frailty of the slender arm about his neck, would with deep earnestness pledge her the perpetual and all-powerful support of his own country.
Although this absence from public life could not be prolonged indefinitely, these lovers wished at least to commemorate the happy memory of these days together. A plan for a temple was drawn up, and, before leaving the island, in a space surrounded by oleander trees, where birds of brilliant plumage flitted in and out, they laid the corner-stone. Two thousand years have gone by, and the pilgrims who in each succeeding age have visited the paradise of Philæ have gazed in admiration on the exquisite marble colonnade of pure Corinthian design which stands there in delicate beauty. The name of no goddess is carved upon its stone, but each pilgrim knows to whom it is dedicated.
At Alexandria a delegation awaited Cæsar. When Rome heard that the conqueror of the Pharaohs, the hero on whom his country's hopes relied, was dallying with a new Circe, there was general consternation. Did he think that he could defy Fate? What his good fortune and his genius had built, his neglect could destroy. What would happen if the allies of Pompey, knowing that Cæsar was distracted by a love affair, should mobilize new troops? The more daring among these were already on the alert and threats were in the air.
However sweet a pillow a woman's breast may be, a man of Cæsar's stamp is roused by the call of his friends: "Your honour is at stake." At the sound of the voice of those who had come to seek him, the lover started from his sleep. He knew that all his mighty deeds would count for nothing if he did not respond to the appeal of the hour. He must go at once. He would go, but he must have time to break the tidings to the woman who had put her trust in him. With all possible tenderness he told Cleopatra of the coming separation.
"Ah!" she cried, "you wish to unwind my arms from about your neck?" and with a passionate gesture she held him closer, and Cæsar, strong against the world, was weak against his loved one. He hesitated; then, happily remembering the maxim which had guided him through life: "The first, always, and everywhere," his courage came again. He was not an ordinary voluptuary whose instinct was his master. His noble temperament demanded action and the strain of public life was essential to him. "Shall I," he muttered, "who have looked on mankind as a vile herd, become by cowardly inertia like unto those I scorn?"
Cleopatra was overcome with grief at the thought of losing him. How would she fare with Cæsar far away? Who would protect and defend her? Who would help her to govern her capricious and deceitful people? She was about to become a mother and, relying on this new tie which would bind her lover to her, she made him promise not to leave her before the birth of her child.
And Cæsar was much interested in the expected birth; what he had said to her regarding the coming child had given Cleopatra ground for the most exalted hopes. It had been a source of keen regret to him that none of his three wives had given him an heir. He had been particularly anxious since the death of his daughter Julia, and the consequent loss of her fortune. To whom should he leave his boundless wealth, that vast estate that he owned in Umbria? Who would carry on the divine race of the Cæsars?
To be sure, his sister Atia had a son, Octavius, but this nephew was in delicate health, of a weak, undecided character, which did not promise a brilliant future. Who could tell whether the coming bastard would not be a more worthy heir to the glorious fortunes of the Emperor?
The baby was born on the very eve of the day that the friends of Cæsar, worn out with waiting, had made him agree to set sail. It was a boy! By wonderful chance the scarcely-formed features of the tiny creature showed an undeniable resemblance to those of his father. The hearts of those who are beginning to grow old are naturally easily moved, and the Emperor's joy in his new-born son was very evident. He decided to call him Cæsarion and promised to adopt him. In a touching farewell scene, filled with reproaches and protestations, Cleopatra expressed the cherished desire of her heart: "Make me your wife, O Cæsar!" Her dainty head, adorned with her restored crown, was filled with new aspirations. She was no longer content with ruling the country of her ancestors. It had lost prestige and was now scarcely more than a commercial power. Her secret dream was to link her destiny with that of the master of the Roman Empire.
At first Cæsar was alarmed at this suggestion. In the royal palace on the Aventine, Calpurnia, his lawful wife, awaited his return. Cleopatra herself was married, bound by the tradition of her line. But what were such obstacles to the youthful heroine who had measured the world and found it none too large for her ambitions? She laid stress on what it would mean to them both, this contract which, uniting the vast riches of the one with the warlike genius of the other, would make all things possible for them.
The prospect was magnificent and Cæsar was tempted. He understood how well it fitted in with his own passion for his royal mistress. But would Rome allow him to carry it out? One of the strictest laws of the Roman Senate forbade the marriage of Patricians with foreigners. "But are you not above the law?" said the loved voice of the temptress. What man could resist being placed in the ranks of the gods?
It was the moment of farewell. Overcome, Cæsar took Cleopatra in a final embrace. There was no formal engagement but, with the departure of her lover, she felt the solemnity of a betrothal.
Left alone, her imagination ran riot; and she was lost in fantastic dreams. She had visions of a Rome humiliated, submissive to the will of Alexandria. Vassals crouched at her feet, coming to lay down their arms and present the keys of their different capitals. Multitudes passed before her, and she fancied she heard her name coupled with that of Cæsar, amidst general acclamation. Happy in such dreams, her solitude was transformed, it was no longer a desolate, arid plain; the stage changed and the coveted goal seemed more real than the dull present.
Once free from the sorcery which the dark, velvet eyes of the Egyptian had thrown over him, Cæsar was himself again; shrewd, clear-minded, quick at wise decisions. His eagle eye took in things at a glance. The conditions were far from being what they had been at Pharsalus. No longer dreading him, the army of Pompey had had time to reorganize. It was threatening him on every side. The danger seemed more imminent in the Orient; so, before returning to Italy, the Emperor set sail for Asia Minor and began by destroying the enemy's fleet which was blocking the entrance to the Cydnus; then, with an army of tried veterans, from whom he could demand miracles, he attacked Caius Cassius at Ephesus, Pharnaces at Zela, returned to Africa and there won the battle of Thapsus. After having gained vast sums from the terrified rulers, in exchange for certain territories which he granted the enemy, he reëntered Rome, laden with spoils, to calm the malcontents.
Triumph awaited Cæsar, such a triumph as the Via Sacra had never seen before. Beholding him crowned with laurels, followed by a procession of captive kings, and greater than them all, by the illustrious Vercingetorix, who represented the opposing armies of Gaul, the Roman people forgot their grievances. Around his chariot, on which was inscribed in letters of gold the famous phrase, _Veni, vidi, vici_, the crowd flocked with the enthusiasm of children welcoming a long-lost father. The Aristocracy was more reserved; it was to the People that the Dictator looked for support; it was to improve their conditions that his first reforms were brought about. But he understood this unstable mass, and the sudden changes that their whims effected, too thoroughly to confine his reforms to serious benefits alone. To amuse the populace has always been the surest means of holding it. Consequently Cæsar ordered festivals and banquets. In every quarter of the city wheat was distributed, and oil and wine were provided in abundance. There was acting of plays; the circuses were filled with crowds, eager to watch the slaughter of gladiators and look on as the blood flowed from the wounded beasts. The orgy lasted forty days and during all that time there was but one opinion. Cæsar was the _Illustrious_, the _Invincible_, the _beloved Father of his Country_. Every title and every honour was bestowed upon him. He was Consul, Dictator for Ten Years. He received the insignia of the great Pontiff. His chair of state was placed above all the other chairs, and on the statue erected to him in the temple of Jupiter the word "God" was chiselled.
At Alexandria, however, things were not going so smoothly. In spite of the troops which Cæsar had left, under the command of Calvinus, to maintain order, seditious outbreaks occurred. More or less openly the Queen was accused of having decoyed the alien, of having become the mistress of a Roman, and of compromising the honour of the kingdom by declaring him to be the father of her child. Did she mean to put as future king over the Egyptians one who was not of their own race? Such accusations would have had no weight with any one strong enough to ignore them. But Cleopatra was not yet the dauntless ruler who later on was to defy public opinion and lead her own armies to battle. At twenty years of age she was sensitive; she shuddered at these whispers of revolution. The protector who had restored her throne and made her respected thereon was no longer at her side; she was uneasy. Could she always withstand these snares, these threats, these uprisings? Until now Cæsar's influence, even in his absence, had been strong enough to shield her. But if these insurrectionists should think her deserted, dependent only on her own resources, of what attempt would they not be capable? Besides, foul rumours were abroad. It was said that during the expedition in Africa the Emperor had amused himself with the Queen Eunonia. Was it possible? So soon after leaving her bosom where he had sworn to be faithful to her forever? Ah, how powerless is woman when her lover is no longer within reach of her encircling arms!
But the distance between them was not impassable. If it were true, as his letters declared, that Cæsar loved her still and was desolate at being so far away from her, why should she not go to him? The desire to strengthen, lest it become too lax, the bond which united them was mixed with a certain curiosity in regard to Rome itself. Rome, her hereditary foe; that rival against whom perpetual vigilance was needed. Seen at close quarters a rival is less deadly, for one can find ways of opposing her. Cleopatra decided to suggest the visit to Cæsar.
After a year's absence from her, his letters declared that he cared for her as deeply as ever. If he had been attracted by the Queen of Numidia, it had been but a passing fancy, or rather the need, through some diversion, to escape the memories which were taking too much of his time. Burdened with grave responsibilities, did he have any right to be so absorbed in his love affairs? Indeed he was always going back, sometimes with a degree of intensity over which he had no control, to the affecting scenes at the Bruchium, or recalling the hours when he had been lulled to slumber by the soothing waters of the Nile.
Cæsar did not agree immediately, however, to the proposed visit. To have the Queen of Egypt come to Rome was a serious undertaking. He would not wish to run the risk until everything had been made smooth for the trip. The gravest difficulty lay in the natural antipathy of the Romans to everyone who wore a crown. It might almost be said that this sentiment was so deeply rooted that the mere approach of royalty seemed to endanger the monarchy. Now Cleopatra was an especial object of distrust. She was known to be ambitious, and no one had forgotten the spell she had cast over Cæsar. The discontent that had been felt momentarily toward him was now directed against her. In order to clear the one they accused the other, and the blame fell upon her. A woman must have had strange powers to have kept the Emperor away from his own country for such a long time; to have detained him at such a great distance from those who had the strongest claims upon him!
How far was it wise to bring his mistress amongst such adverse opinions? Cæsar put the question to himself. He did not dare to expose her to a hostile reception; still less could he afford to disregard the enemies who were ready to resent his shortest absence in order to go to her.
And so the days went by and Cleopatra was filled with grief and indignation.
It was from her that the final decision came which solved the vexed question. Pretending that the conditions of her treaty with Rome had never been settled, she offered to come in person to discuss several disputable clauses. In order to obtain the title of _socius republicæ_ (ally of the Republic) it was not in the least necessary for the Queen to go herself: the different ambassadors could have attended to the matter; but the Roman Senate, flattered by her preferring to deal directly with it, extended her an invitation. The trick had succeeded. There was nothing more to do but to start on the journey.
The June sun was shining brilliantly. With her Forum alive, her windows crowded, the multitudes ranged along the principal thoroughfares, Rome seemed to be holding a festival. Defiance, however, rather than sympathy, was the spirit of the crowd. Many strange stories were afloat concerning the coming visitor. To some, she was a courtesan, glittering with pearls and gold; to others, she was a sorceress, whose evil influence drove to distraction all those who came near her. For the majority, Cleopatra was simply the alien, the woman from the East, that is to say, the thing that the Roman people despised more than anything on earth. The procession was composed of black slaves wearing gold ear-rings; of eunuchs clothed in long robes, like those worn by women; of ministers with their heavy wigs; of half-naked soldiers (whose heads, adorned with antennae, resembled huge insects). When it began to file past, there were shouts of laughter. Derision greeted the appearance of the astronomers, whose pointed caps seemed reaching toward the sky, and the priests muffled in panther skins. The jeering grew louder at the sight of the standards on which sacred images were painted. What, those jackals, those hawks, those cows! They were meant for gods? And the Latin commonsense rebelled against a religion debased by such emblems.
But in the midst of the flashing splendour of spears and shields, the royal litter was seen. Silence reigned and all eyes were fixed on Cleopatra with her baby in her arms. This child, a cause of embarrassment to her at Alexandria, it was on his winning smile, on his astonishing likeness to Cæsar, that she had relied to gain a warm welcome from the Romans. And she was not mistaken. At this time Cæsar was the idol of Rome. Everything he did was approved, and if there were covert sneers and occasionally harsh criticisms, no one would have dared openly to attack his invited guests.
However beautiful she might be, the Queen of Egypt could not hope to please a people so infatuated with themselves as were the Romans, who looked on their own race as superior to all others. With her golden complexion, her eyes so painted with antimony that they seemed to touch her temples, her vivid red lips, her curious headdress, from which a snake of gold peered forth; her transparent tunic, which left her bosom bare, Cleopatra shocked and scandalized the Roman people. But, as Cæsar's orders made graciousness obligatory, they pretended to be absorbed in the tiny Cæsarion, whose fair skin and quick, intelligent expression indicated his divine ancestry.
Moreover, in order that there should be no mistake in regard to the respect due Cleopatra and her son, Cæsar had installed them in the palace which he had just had built on the left side of the Tiber, overlooking the magnificent gardens along the edge of the hill of Janiculum; those gardens which were left to the populace in his will, which generous gift the day after his death brought the people to their knees, in tears, to look upon his blood-stained toga.
On finding herself, at last, the honoured guest of Rome, Cleopatra felt that keen pleasure of achievement which follows a hard struggle for success. In spite of all obstacles she had, to her entire satisfaction, accomplished the first part of her undertaking.