Part 7

A little lower upon this gorgeous throne sat three children. The eldest was Cæsario, the son of Cleopatra and Julius Cæsar; the two younger were Alexander and Ptolemy, sons of Antony and Cleopatra. Cæsario was dressed as a young Egyptian prince; while the younger boys wore the costumes of the countries over which they were to reign. After the people had assembled in the palace, by the command of Antony, heralds proclaimed Cleopatra queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya, and Cœlosyria, in conjunction with her son Cæsario. The young princes Alexander and Ptolemy were also proclaimed “kings of kings”; and to Alexander, the elder, Antony gave the kingdoms of Armenia and Media, with Parthia, when Antony should have conquered it. To the younger, Ptolemy, the kingdoms of Syria, Phoenicia, and Cilicia were given. After the proclamation the three young princes knelt before Cleopatra and Antony, and made them royal obeisance, kissing their hands. To each of them was afterwards assigned a regiment of guards and a retinue of youths chosen from the principal families in the several countries.

Cæsar now advanced with his army against Antony. Cleopatra, having furnished him with troops and ships,—which, together with his own land forces, formed a large army,—they departed to Ephesus, and thence to Samos, where, notwithstanding their impending peril, they passed many days in feasting and pleasure. The island became such a scene of riot and revelry that the people exclaimed in astonishment, “If Antony celebrates such festivities before going into battle, by what means could he express his joy should he obtain the victory?”

Antony and Cleopatra, with a magnificent retinue, then went to Athens. As Octavia had been formerly received by the Athenians with marked attentions, Cleopatra determined that she would outvie her rival. She accordingly lavished such costly gifts and immense sums of money amongst the Athenians, that they were amazed, and decreed to her the most exalted honors. They sent an imposing embassy to her, and Antony himself, in the character of an Athenian citizen, was one of the ambassadors.

It was during one of the gorgeous feasts celebrated at Samos that the following incident is supposed to have occurred.

Notwithstanding Cleopatra’s professed fondness for Antony, he began at length to fear that in some moment of anger or treachery she might poison him. He therefore ordered that all of the viands served at these banquets should be first tasted by one of his servants before he partook of them. Cleopatra, perceiving this mistrust, determined to teach him how completely he was in her power if she chose to do him harm.

She therefore ordered the stems of the flowers to be poisoned, which formed the wreaths worn by Antony and herself at table according to the Egyptian custom, and in the midst of the feast she proposed that they should pluck the flowers from their crowns and drink them in their wine. Antony readily consented, and breaking off many of the blossoms from his wreath, he threw them in his glass and raised it to his lips to drink.

But Cleopatra quickly seized his uplifted arm and exclaimed: “I am the poisoner against whom you take such mighty precautions. If it were possible for me to live without you, judge now whether I wanted either opportunity or reason for such action.” She thereupon immediately ordered that a prisoner, already condemned to die, should be brought into the apartment, and the cup which Antony had been about to taste was given him, and Cleopatra commanded that he should drink its contents; after taking which, the slave immediately expired.

At length Antony and Cleopatra set forth with their entire fleet to meet their Roman foes. This fleet consisted of five hundred ships of war of great size and peculiar construction; but they were illy manned, as Antony was not able to secure mariners enough, and had been obliged to employ husbandmen, artisans, muleteers, and even boys. On board the fleet were two hundred thousand foot and twelve thousand horse. The kings of many countries had joined their forces in behalf of Cleopatra, and troops had been sent from Libya, Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Comagena, Thrace, Pontus, Judea, Lycaonia, Galatia, and Media. Though all the ships were imposing, none equalled the magnificence of Cleopatra’s galley with its purple sails glittering with gold; while flags and banners floated in the breeze, and trumpets, drums, cymbals, and other instruments filled the air with gay and inspiring strains of martial music. Antony followed her in a galley little less splendid.

Cleopatra was flushed with triumph. Accompanied by one of the most renowned generals of the world, she proudly threatened the powerful Roman capital, and even dared to imagine that she could subdue the world and reign sole mistress of the greatest kingdoms of the earth.

Octavius Cæsar had only two hundred and fifty ships, and eighty thousand foot and twelve thousand horse. But his war-galleys were perfectly manned with experienced seamen, and his troops were old veterans in many illustrious wars.

By the advice of Cleopatra, Antony determined to risk all in a naval battle rather than a land conflict. Had he chosen the latter, his superior numbers might have turned the tide in his favor.

The important battle was fought upon the 2d of September, in the Gulf of Ambracia, near the city of Actium. While the battle was raging, and Antony’s chances of success were equal with those of Cæsar, Cleopatra turned and fled in fright, drawing after her the entire Egyptian squadron.

Antony, perceiving her flight, forgot everything in his wild impulse to follow her; and turning his galley, he ignominiously pursued her, leaving his soldiers to carry on the conflict. So bravely did they fight, even after this shameful desertion of their leader, that Cæsar with great difficulty gained the victory.

When Cleopatra perceived that Antony was following her, she commanded her admiral to stop her galley until Antony reached its side, when Antony was taken on board. But so great was his mortification and remorse that he would neither see her nor speak to her for three days; after which time she regained her old ascendancy, and they returned to Alexandria, where they gave themselves up anew to pleasure and feasting, even though they knew that Cæsar was already pursuing them.

Cleopatra now formed a very extraordinary design. She ordered that her ships, which were in the Mediterranean Sea, should be carried over the isthmus into the Red Sea; and she then determined to take all her treasures, and escape beyond the reach of Cæsar. But the Arabians having burned several of her ships, she abandoned the plan. She now resolved to be treacherous to Antony, and to gain the favor of Cæsar. Though she loved Antony to madness, her ambition was stronger than her love. She thereupon persuaded Antony to send ambassadors to Cæsar to sue for peace; and with them she sent officers of her own, who were bribed to treat separately with Cæsar on her behalf. Octavius Cæsar gave her reason to hope, if she would sacrifice Antony to him.

Now followed a time of vacillating love and ambition, despair and dissimulation. To dispel Antony’s suspicions she increased her caressing attentions, and spent her time in providing the most extravagant banquets and amusements.

Meanwhile, with a presentiment of her impending doom, she made special studies of all sorts of poisons, to discern, if possible, which would occasion the most speedy and painless death. She also experimented regarding the effects of the bites of the most poisonous reptiles and insects, using for her victims animals or condemned prisoners. At length she discovered that the asp was the only one whose bite occasioned neither torture nor convulsions, the victim being speedily stupefied, and dying in a seemingly painless sleep.

Antony and Cleopatra now formed a new compact, called “Synapothanumenon,” signifying the order and agreement of those who will die together, in substitution for their former order of existence, called “Amimetobion,” meaning “no life comparable.”

News at length reached Alexandria that Cæsar had appeared before Pelusium, and that the city had fallen into his hands. It is said that this capture was obtained through the treachery of Cleopatra, who sent secret word to her governor there to surrender the place. Then, to clear herself from the rumors of this treason, she put the wife and children of the governor into Antony’s hands that he might revenge himself by putting them to death. Thus had vice and ambition robbed this Egyptian queen of all the charms of innocence and womanly tenderness, until she had become almost fiend-like in her cruelty and selfishness. Thus can the spirit of selfish ambition become a serpent in the heart, poisoning all its nobler aspirations. The beautiful, fascinating Cleopatra was fast becoming as great a monster of crime as her atrocious ancestors.

Adjoining the temple of Isis, Cleopatra had caused a magnificent tomb to be built for herself, and thither she ordered all her most precious treasures to be brought. She there stored her gold, silver, jewels, ebony, ivory, and a large quantity of costly perfumes and aromatic woods. She also sent to this mausoleum an immense quantity of flax, tow, torches, and other combustibles, which she ordered stored in the lower apartments of the tomb, that they might be in readiness should she determine to destroy herself and treasures by fire rather than allow them to fall into the hands of her enemies.

Cæsar, hearing of these preparations made by the Egyptian queen, was fearful lest she might escape him, with all her treasures, and constantly sent her messages offering her promises of generous treatment when he should reach Alexandria.

Antony, knowing nothing of this double dealing, prepared for a good defence. Cæsar had now advanced to the city, and encamped near the Hippodrome. Antony made a vigorous sally; and having severely repulsed the enemy, he returned victorious to the city. But this was the last effort of his expiring valor. On the morrow, after spending the night at a magnificent banquet provided by Cleopatra in honor of his recent success, Antony resolved to attack Cæsar by sea and land. Having drawn up his land force, he stood with them on an eminence, watching the advance of his galleys, which were to make the first attack. What was his horror and chagrin, however, to behold Cleopatra’s admiral strike his flag, and go over with his entire fleet to the enemy. This treason opened the eyes of Antony to the perfidy of the queen. With one expiring impulse of warlike valor, he sent to challenge Cæsar to single combat. But Cæsar sent answer, that if Antony was weary of life, there were other ways to die. Finding himself thus ridiculed by Cæsar and betrayed by Cleopatra, Antony rushed in wild rage to the palace to avenge himself upon the perfidious woman for whom he had bartered country and honor. Any excuse which we might have made for the actions of Cleopatra heretofore, on the plea that she was impelled by her mad love for Antony, can no longer shield her treachery and crime. It is poor Antony now who, in spite of all his outrageous conduct, claims our sympathy. He had bartered everything in life for the love of this woman, only to find himself basely deserted by her in his hour of greatest trouble. Her selfish ambition was paramount to her love, and overshadows her last days with infamy.

Cleopatra, foreseeing that Antony would seek her in a rage, upon discovering her treachery, had retired into her tomb, with two women attendants, and caused Antony to be told that she had killed herself. No sooner had Antony heard this news than his hate was again conquered by his love, and lamenting her death with sobs and tears, he shut himself up in his palace, with one slave, named Eros. He thereupon commanded Eros to plunge his dagger into his heart, as he no longer desired to live. But the faithful slave, unwilling to obey this dreadful command, took the dagger, but stabbed himself with it, and fell dead at his master’s feet. Antony then exclaimed, “Shall a slave and a woman teach me how to die!” and immediately thrust his sword into his side, and fell bleeding to the floor.

Just then an officer arrived, who had been sent by Cleopatra to inform him that she was not dead, as reported. As soon as Antony heard the beloved name of Cleopatra, he opened his dying eyes and begged to be taken to her, that he might expire in her arms. Bleeding and dying, he was carried to her tomb. Even then Cleopatra’s selfish fear overcame her love, and she would not allow the doors to be opened, lest her enemies might surprise her; but she appeared at a high window, from which she let down ropes to draw him up. Antony was made fast to the ropes by his attendants below, and then Cleopatra and her two women, who were the only persons with her in the tomb, endeavored to draw up the dying Antony. It was a piteous sight. With his eyes even now glazed in death, Antony cast an imploring look upon the face of the woman whom he loved more than life or earthly honors. The handsome face of the Egyptian queen was distorted by her grief and her severe efforts to draw up the bleeding body of the dying Antony. When they had lifted him within the window, Cleopatra laid him on a bed, and bathed the blood from his face, caressing him with fond kisses, and calling him endearing names. While she thus wailed and mourned, she cut off his hair, according to an Egyptian superstition that it afforded relief to the dying. Antony, recovering consciousness for a few moments, sought only to comfort her, telling her he died happy, as he was in her arms.

“And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian! Glorious sorceress of the Nile, Light the path to Stygian horrors With the splendors of thy smile. Give the Cæsar crowns and arches, Let his brow the laurel twine; I can scorn the Senate’s triumphs, Triumphing in love like thine. Isis and Osiris guard thee! Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!”

Cæsar allowed Cleopatra to bury Antony with royal honors; and afterwards he went himself to pay her a visit. He found Cleopatra overwhelmed with grief. She had refused food, and endeavored to starve herself to death; but Cæsar had sent her word that he would put her children to death if she should harm herself, and so she had reluctantly allowed herself to be ministered unto by her physician. But she had bruised her face, arms, and breast in her paroxysms of grief, and when Cæsar entered her apartment, he was shocked at her appearance. Her hair was loose and disordered, her countenance wild and haggard, and her arms and breast horribly disfigured with wounds and bruises, while her former lustrous eyes were red and swollen by excessive weeping.

At first, Cleopatra endeavored to vindicate her conduct; but finding that Cæsar was not awed by her hitherto irresistible power, she broke down completely, and with tears and lamentations sought to appeal to his pity. Cæsar assured her that she would be treated with kindness and generosity, and he left her, thinking that she desired to live, and that his coming triumph would be graced by her presence.

“Octavius little knew the subtle intrigues of Cleopatra. She had deluded him; not he, her. The waning charms of Cleopatra, dimmed by grief and sorrow, might not appeal to the sensuous side of Octavius’s nature, but he was not proof against the subtle and practised skill of her mental abilities, by which she wielded the judgments of men according to her will.”

Cleopatra now determined to destroy herself, that she might not have to endure the ignominy of serving as an ornament to Cæsar’s triumphal celebrations when he returned to Rome. Once before, Cæsar had sent a messenger to speak with her at the door of her tomb, while a second officer placed a ladder against the wall and entered her window, as he had been ordered to search her apartment, lest she had some weapons concealed with which she might harm herself. Whereupon, one of her women cried out, “O unfortunate Cleopatra, you are taken!” Cleopatra, seeing the officers, drew a dagger from her girdle, and was about to stab herself, but the officer caught her arm and took from her the weapon, and afterwards searched the room and shook her robes, lest she should have concealed some other weapon or poison with which she could destroy herself. A guard was then set in her tomb, to watch her constantly. But with all these precautions, Cleopatra outwitted them. She sent to Cæsar, and begged that he would allow her to go and pay the last honors at the tomb of Antony and take her final leave of him.

Cæsar having granted this request, she went with her women, bearing chaplets and wreaths of flowers, which they placed upon the tomb amidst wailings and lamentations. When Cleopatra returned to her apartments after this sad ceremony, she appeared more composed than usual. After taking a bath, she arrayed herself with all her queenly magnificence; and having ordered a sumptuous repast, served with the customary splendor, she partook of it with seeming calmness.

Afterwards, ordering all attendants to retire from her presence, with the exception of two trusty waiting-women, she wrote a letter to Cæsar, and then asked for a basket of figs which a servant had just brought to her.

When the guards stopped him at the door, he displayed the fruit, and declared that the queen desired them for her dinner; and thus they were allowed to be sent in.

After Cleopatra had examined the figs, she laid down upon her couch, and soon after appeared to have fallen asleep. The poison from the bite of the asp, which had been carefully hidden amongst the figs, and which had stung her upon the arm, which she held to it for that purpose, immediately reached her heart, and killed her almost instantly, and without seeming pain.

When Cæsar received her letter, in which Cleopatra requested that she might be buried by the side of Antony, his suspicions were aroused, lest she contemplated killing herself, and he sent officers quickly to her apartments. But when they opened the doors, they found Cleopatra lying dead upon her bed of gold, arrayed in all her royal robes, and one of her women already lying dead at her feet.

The other attendant, named Charmian, was arranging the diadem upon the brow of her beloved mistress, and decking her form with flowers.

Seeing which, one of the soldiers exclaimed:—

“Is that well done, Charmian?”

“Very well,” she replied, “and meet for a princess descended from so many noble kings.”

As she spoke these words, she, too, fell dead at her mistress’s side. Both of these faithful slaves had probably poisoned themselves, also, that they might die with their much-loved queen.

Cleopatra was buried in royal state by the side of Antony, according to her request.

Cæsar, deprived of her much-desired presence in his triumphal procession, ordered a statue of gold to be made of the famous Egyptian queen, which was carried before his chariot in his after-triumphs. The arm of this statue was adorned with a golden asp, signifying the supposed cause of Cleopatra’s death.

Cleopatra died at thirty-nine years of age, having reigned twenty-two years. Cæsar caused all the statues of Antony to be thrown down; but those of Cleopatra were spared, as an officer who had been many years in her service paid one thousand talents that they might not be destroyed.

After Cleopatra’s death Egypt was reduced to a province of the Roman Empire. The reign of the Ptolemies had continued two hundred and ninety-three years.

Cæsario, the son of Cleopatra and Julius Cæsar, was put to death by Octavius Cæsar; but her younger children were taken to Rome and treated with kindness.

Thus perished the famous Cleopatra, whose marvellous attractions and enchanting fascinations of beauty and unequalled display of pomp and royal magnificence make parts of her story to read like the wonderful tales of the Arabian Nights; but whose selfish ambition, treachery, and sins shrouded her last terrible end in the impenetrable blackness of hopeless despair.

ZENOBIA.

A.D. 260.

“She had all the royal makings of a Queen.”—SHAKESPEARE.

LIKE an enchanted island rising suddenly before the vision in mid-ocean, so did superb Palmyra of the East burst upon the sight in the midst of an ocean of sands, and cause the tired traveller, who had toiled painfully across the weary wastes of the Syrian desert, to pause spellbound and enraptured before the picture of unrivalled loveliness which suddenly met his gaze, as he looked towards the high land and waving groves of palm-trees which marked the site of the magnificent Palmyra, “the Tadmor in the wilderness,” said to have been founded by Solomon as a resting-place for caravans in the midst of the trackless desert.

Over sixteen hundred years ago this famous city flourished, in the zenith of its gorgeous magnificence. Even Rome paid homage to its power and beauty, and Roman emperors thought it not beneath them to seek alliance with the illustrious sovereign of this alluring realm.

Flanked by high hills on the east, the city filled the entire plain below, as far as the eye could reach, both north and south. Studded with groups of lofty palm-trees shooting up among its temples and palaces of glistening white marble, while magnificent structures of the purest marble adorned the groves which surrounded the city proper for miles in every direction, it appeared at the same time all city and all country; and from a little distance one could not determine the line which divided country from city.

The prospect seemed to the beholder the fair Elysian Fields, for it appeared almost too glorious for the mere earth-born; while from its midst the vast Temple of the Sun stretched upwards its thousand columns of glistening marble towards the heavens, which bent above them its dazzlingly blue vault flooded with the golden effulgence of the mid-day sun, or glowing with the rich tints of an oriental sunset.

This renowned Temple of the Sun was a marvel of man’s architectural skill and genius. It was of dazzling white marble, and of Ionic design. Around the central portion of the building rose slender pyramids,—pointed obelisks,—domes of the most graceful proportions, columns, arches, and lofty towers, innumerable in number, and of matchless beauty. The genius of Greece had contributed to the beauty of this Palm City of the desert, for on every side it was adorned with Grecian art and architecture.

Nor was the Temple of the Sun its only marvel. About half a Roman mile from the temple was situated the Long Portico. This building was devoted to pleasure and trade. Amongst its interminable ranges of Corinthian columns the busy multitudes passed in ceaseless processions, pursuing their various avocations or seeking amusement. Here the merchants assembled, and exhibited their rich stuffs gathered from all parts of the known world. There, also, the mountebanks resorted, and amused the crowds of idle rich with their fantastic tricks. Strangers from all the known countries might have been seen, attired in their varied and picturesque national costumes. A continuous throng of natives from all climes passed to and fro, along the spacious corridors, between the graceful, fluted columns surmounted by the rich entablature whereon were carved the achievements of Alexander.

Nor were these the only points of interest in this fascinating city. The royal palace rose in the midst, so vast, and with so many shining turrets and massive towers, that it seemed a city within a city.