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Title: Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt Author: Jacob Abbott * A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook * eBook No.: 1400591h.html Language: English Date first posted: Feb 2014 Most recent update: Feb 2014 This eBook was produced by Roy Glashan. Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular paper edition. Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this file. This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.auGO TO Project Gutenberg Australia HOME PAGE
Sculpture of Cleopatra as an Egyptian Goddess, late 1st
Century B.C.
Map: Scene of Cleopatra's History
Cleopatra was by birth an Egyptian; by ancestry and descent she was a
Greek. Thus, while Alexandria and the delta of the Nile formed the scene of
the most important events and incidents of her history, it was the blood of
Macedon which flowed in her veins. Her character and action are marked by the
genius, the courage, the originality, and the impulsiveness pertaining to the
stock from which she sprung. The events of her history, on the other hand,
and the peculiar character of her adventures, her sufferings, and her sins,
were determined by the circumstances with which she was surrounded, and the
influences which were brought to bear upon her in the soft and voluptuous
clime where the scenes of her early life were laid.
Egypt has always been considered as physically the most remarkable country
on the globe. It is a long and narrow valley of verdure and fruitfulness,
completely insulated from the rest of the habitable world. It is more
completely insulated, in fact, than any literal island could be, inasmuch as
deserts are more impassable than seas. The very existence of Egypt is a most
extraordinary phenomenon. If we could but soar with the wings of an eagle
into the air, and look down upon the scene, so as to observe the operation of
that grand and yet simple process by which this long and wonderful valley,
teeming so profusely with animal and vegetable life, has been formed, and is
annually revivified and renewed, in the midst of surrounding wastes of
silence, desolation, and death, we should gaze upon it with never-ceasing
admiration and pleasure. We have not the wings of the eagle, but the
generalizations of science furnish us with a sort of substitute for them. The
long series of patient, careful, and sagacious observations, which have been
continued now for two thousand years, bring us results, by means of which,
through our powers of mental conception, we may take a comprehensive survey
of the whole scene, analogous, in some respects, to that which direct and
actual vision would afford us, if we could look down upon it from the eagle's
point of view. It is, however, somewhat humiliating to our pride of intellect
to reflect that long-continued philosophical investigations and learned
scientific research are, in such a case as this, after all, in some sense,
only a sort of substitute for wings. A human mind connected with a pair of
eagle's wings would have solved the mystery of Egypt in a week; whereas
science, philosophy, and research, confined to the surface of the ground,
have been occupied for twenty centuries in accomplishing the undertaking.
It is found at last that both the existence of Egypt itself, and its
strange insulation in the midst of boundless tracts of dry and barren sand,
depend upon certain remarkable results of the general laws of rain. The water
which is taken up by the atmosphere from the surface of the sea and of the
land by evaporation, falls again, under certain circumstances, in showers of
rain, the frequency and copiousness of which vary very much in different
portions of the earth. As a general principle, rains are much more frequent
and abundant near the equator than in temperate climes, and they grow less
and less so as we approach the poles. This might naturally have been
expected; for, under the burning sun of the equator, the evaporation of water
must necessarily go on with immensely greater rapidity than in the colder
zones, and all the water which is taken up must, of course, again come
down.
It is not, however, wholly by the latitude of the region in which the
evaporation takes place that the quantity of rain which falls from the
atmosphere is determined; for the condition on which the falling back, in
rain, of the water which has been taken up by evaporation mainly depends, is
the cooling of the atmospheric stratum which contains it; and this effect is
produced in very various ways, and many different causes operate to modify
it. Sometimes the stratum is cooled by being wafted over ranges of mountains;
sometimes by encountering and becoming mingled with cooler currents of air;
and sometimes, again, by being driven in winds toward a higher, and,
consequently, cooler latitude. If, on the other hand, air moves from cold
mountains toward warm and sunny plains, or from higher latitudes to lower, or
if, among the various currents into which it falls, it becomes mixed with air
warmer than itself, its capacity for containing vapor in solution is
increased, and, consequently, instead of releasing its hold upon the waters
which it has already in possession, it becomes thirsty for more. It moves
over a country, under these circumstances, as a warm and drying wind. Under a
reverse of circumstances it would have formed drifting mists, or, perhaps,
even copious showers of rain.
It will be evident, from these considerations, that the frequency of the
showers, and the quantity of the rain which will fall, in the various regions
respectively which the surface of the earth presents, must depend on the
combined influence of many causes, such as the warmth of the climate, the
proximity and the direction of mountains and of seas, the character of the
prevailing winds, and the reflecting qualities of the soil. These and other
similar causes, it is found, do, in fact, produce a vast difference in the
quantity of rain which falls in different regions. In the northern part of
South America, where the land is bordered on every hand by vast tropical
seas, which load the hot and thirsty air with vapor, and where the mighty
Cordillera of the Andes rears its icy summits to chill and precipitate the
vapors again, a quantity of rain amounting to more than ten feet in
perpendicular height falls in a year. At St. Petersburg, on the other hand,
the quantity thus falling in a year is but little more than one foot. The
immense deluge which pours down from the clouds in South America would, if
the water were to remain where it fell, wholly submerge and inundate the
country. As it is, in flowing off through the valleys to the sea, the united
torrents form the greatest river on the globe—the Amazon; and the
vegetation, stimulated by the heat, and nourished by the abundant and
incessant supplies of moisture, becomes so rank, and loads the earth with
such an entangled and matted mass of trunks, and stems, and twining wreaths
and vines, that man is almost excluded from the scene. The boundless forests
become a vast and almost impenetrable jungle, abandoned to wild beasts,
noxious reptiles, and huge and ferocious birds of prey.
Of course, the district of St. Petersburg, with its icy winter, its low
and powerless sun, and its twelve inches of annual rain, must necessarily
present, in all its phenomena of vegetable and animal life, a striking
contrast to the exuberant prolificness of New Grenada. It is, however, after
all, not absolutely the opposite extreme. There are certain regions on the
surface of the earth that are actually rainless; and it is these which
present us with the true and real contrast to the luxuriant vegetation and
teeming life of the country of the Amazon. In these rainless regions all is
necessarily silence, desolation, and death. No plant can grow; no animal can
live. Man, too, is forever and hopelessly excluded. If the exuberant
abundance of animal and vegetable life shut him out, in some measure, from
regions which an excess of heat and moisture render too prolific, the total
absence of them still more effectually forbids him a home in these. They
become, therefore, vast wastes of dry and barren sands in which no root can
find nourishment, and of dreary rocks to which not even a lichen can
cling.
The most extensive and remarkable rainless region on the earth is a vast
tract extending through the interior and northern part of Africa, and the
southwestern part of Asia. The Red Sea penetrates into this tract from the
south, and thus breaks the outline and continuity of its form, without,
however, altering, or essentially modifying its character. It divides it,
however, and to the different portions which this division forms, different
names have been given. The Asiatic portion is called Arabia Deserta; the
African tract has received the name of Sahara; while between these two, in
the neighborhood of Egypt, the barren region is called simply the
desert. The whole tract is marked, however, throughout, with one
all-pervading character: the absence of vegetable, and, consequently, of
animal life, on account of the absence of rain. The rising of a range of
lofty mountains in the center of it, to produce a precipitation of moisture
from the air, would probably transform the whole of the vast waste into as
verdant, and fertile, and populous a region I as any on the globe.
Map: The Rainless Region
As it is, there are no such mountains. The whole tract is nearly level,
and so little elevated above the sea, that, at the distance of many hundred
miles in the interior, the land rises only to the height of a few hundred
feet above the surface of the Mediterranean; whereas in New Grenada, at less
than one hundred miles from the sea, the chain of the Andes rises to
elevations of from ten to fifteen thousand feet. Such an ascent as that of a
few hundred feet in hundreds of miles would be wholly imperceptible to any
ordinary mode of observation; and the great rainless region, accordingly, of
Africa and Asia is, as it appears to the traveler, one vast plain, a thousand
miles wide and five thousand miles long, with only one considerable
interruption to the dead monotony which reigns, with that exception, every
where over the immense expanse of silence and solitude. The single interval
of fruitfulness and life is the valley of the Nile.
There are, however, in fact, three interruptions to the continuity of this
plain, though only one of them constitutes any considerable interruption to
its barrenness. They are all of them valleys, extending from north to south,
and lying side by side. The most easterly of these valleys is so deep that
the waters of the ocean flow into it from the south, forming a long and
narrow inlet called the Red Sea. As this inlet communicates freely with the
ocean, it is always nearly of the same level, and as the evaporation from it
is not sufficient to produce rain, it does not even fertilize its own shores.
Its presence varies the dreary scenery of the landscape, it is true, by
giving us surging waters to look upon instead of driving sands; but this is
all. With the exception of the spectacle of an English steamer passing, at
weary intervals, over its dreary expanse, and some moldering remains of
ancient cities on its eastern shore, it affords scarcely any indications of
life. It does very little, therefore, to relieve the monotonous aspect of
solitude and desolation which reigns over the region into which it has
intruded.
The most westerly of the three valleys to which we have alluded is only a
slight depression of the surface of the land marked by a line of
oases. The depression is not sufficient to admit the waters of the
Mediterranean, nor are there any rains over any portion of the valley which
it forms sufficient to make it the bed of a stream. Springs issue, however,
here and there, in several places, from the ground, and, percolating through
the sands along the valley, give fertility to little dells, long and narrow,
which, by the contrast that they form with the surrounding desolation, seem
to the traveler to possess the verdure and beauty of Paradise. There is a
line of these oases extending along this westerly depression, and some of
them are of considerable extent. The oasis of Siweh, on which stood the
far-famed temple of Jupiter Ammon, was many miles in extent, and was said to
have contained in ancient times a population of eight thousand souls. Thus,
while the most easterly of the three valleys which we have named was sunk so
low as to admit the ocean to flow freely into it, the most westerly was so
slightly depressed that it gained only a circumscribed and limited fertility
through the springs, which, in the lowest portions of it, oozed from the
ground. The third valley—the central one—remains now to be
described.
The reader will observe, by referring once more to the map, that south of
the great rainless region of which we are speaking, there lie groups and
ranges of mountains in Abyssinia, called the Mountains of the Moon. These
mountains are near the equator, and the relation which they sustain to the
surrounding seas, and to currents of wind which blow in that quarter of the
world, is such, that they bring down from the atmosphere, especially in
certain seasons of the year, vast and continual torrents of rain. The water
which thus falls drenches the mountain sides and deluges the valleys. There
is a great portion of it which can not flow to the southward or eastward
toward the sea, as the whole country consists, in those directions, of
continuous tracts of elevated land. The rush of water thus turns to the
northward, and, pressing on across the desert through the great central
valley which we have referred to above, it finds an outlet, at last, in the
Mediterranean, at a point two thousand miles distant from the place where the
immense condenser drew it from the skies. The river thus created is the Nile.
It is formed, in a word, by the surplus waters of a district inundated with
rains, in their progress across a rainless desert, seeking the sea.
If the surplus of water upon the Abyssinian mountains had been constant
and uniform, the stream, in its passage across the desert, would have
communicated very little fertility to the barren sands which it traversed.
The immediate banks of the river would have, perhaps, been fringed with
verdure, but the influence of the irrigation would have extended no further
than the water itself could have reached, by percolation through the sand.
But the flow of the water is not thus uniform and steady. In a certain season
of the year the rains are incessant, and they descend with such abundance and
profusion as almost to inundate the districts where they fall. Immense
torrents stream down the mountain sides; the valleys are deluged; plains turn
into morasses, and morasses into lakes. In a word, the country becomes half
submerged, and the accumulated mass of waters would rush with great force and
violence down the central valley of the desert, which forms their only
outlet, if the passage were narrow, and if it made any considerable descent
in its course to the sea. It is, however, not narrow, and the descent is very
small. The depression in the surface of the desert, through which the water
flows, is from five to ten miles wide, and, though it is nearly two thousand
miles from the rainy district across the desert to the sea, the country for
the whole distance is almost level. There is only sufficient descent,
especially for the last thousand miles, to determine a very gentle current to
the northward in the waters of the stream.
Under these circumstances, the immense quantity of water which falls in
the rainy district in these inundating tropical showers, expands over the
whole valley, and forms for a time an immense lake, extending in length
across the whole breadth of the desert. This lake is, of course, from five to
ten miles wide, and a thousand miles long. The water in it is shallow and
turbid, and it has a gentle current toward the north. The rains, at length,
in a great measure cease; but it requires some months for the water to run
off and leave the valley dry. As soon as it is gone, there springs up from
the whole surface of the ground which has been thus submerged a most rank and
luxuriant vegetation.
This vegetation, now wholly regulated and controlled by the hand of man,
must have been, in its original and primeval state, of a very peculiar
character. It must have consisted of such plants only as could exist under
the condition of having the soil in which they grew laid, for a quarter of
the year, wholly under water. This circumstance, probably, prevented the
valley of the Nile from having been, like other fertile tracts of land,
encumbered, in its native state, with forests. For the same reason, wild
beasts could never have haunted it. There were no forests to shelter them,
and no refuge or retreat for them but the dry and barren desert, during the
period of the annual inundations. This most extraordinary valley seems thus
to have been formed and preserved by Nature herself for the special
possession of man. She herself seems to have held it in reserve for him from
the very morning of creation, refusing admission into it to every plant and
every animal that might hinder or disturb his occupancy and control. And if
he were to abandon it now for a thousand years, and then return to it once
more, he would find it just as he left it, ready for his immediate
possession. There would be no wild beasts that he must first expel, and no
tangled forests would have sprung up, that his ax must first remove. Nature
is the husbandman who keeps this garden of the world in order, and the means
and machinery by which she operates are the grand evaporating surfaces of the
seas, the beams of the tropical sun, the lofty summits of the Abyssinian
mountains, and, as the product and result of all this instrumentality, great
periodical inundations of summer rain.
For these or some other reasons Egypt has been occupied by man from the
most remote antiquity. The oldest records of the human race, made three
thousand years ago, speak of Egypt as ancient then, when they were written.
Not only is Tradition silent, but even Fable herself does not attempt to tell
the story of the origin of her population. Here stand the oldest and most
enduring monuments that human power has ever been able to raise. It is,
however, somewhat humiliating to the pride of the race to reflect that the
loftiest and proudest, as well as the most permanent and stable of all the
works which man has ever accomplished, are but the incidents and adjuncts of
a thin stratum of alluvial fertility, left upon the sands by the subsiding
waters of summer showers.
The most important portion of the alluvion of the Nile is the northern
portion, where the valley widens and opens toward the sea, forming a
triangular plain of about one hundred miles in length on each of the sides,
over which the waters of the river flow in a great number of separate creeks
and channels. The whole area forms a vast meadow, intersected every where
with slow-flowing streams of water, and presenting on its surface the most
enchanting pictures of fertility, abundance, and beauty. This region is
called the Delta of the Nile.
Map: The Delta of the Nile
The sea upon the coast is shallow, and the fertile country formed by the
deposits of the river seems to have projected somewhat beyond the line of the
coast; although, as the land has not advanced perceptibly for the last
eighteen hundred years, it may be somewhat doubtful whether the whole of the
apparent protrusion is not due to the natural conformation of the coast,
rather than to any changes made by the action of the river.
The Delta of the Nile is so level itself, and so little raised above the
level of the Mediterranean, that the land seems almost a continuation of the
same surface with the sea, only, instead of blue waters topped with
white-crested waves, we have broad tracts of waving grain, and gentle swells
of land crowned with hamlets and villages. In approaching the coast, the
navigator has no distant view of all this verdure and beauty. It lies so low
that it continues beneath the horizon until the ship is close upon the shore.
The first landmarks, in fact, which the seaman makes, are the tops of trees
growing apparently out of the water, or the summit of an obelisk, or the
capital of a pillar, marking the site of some ancient and dilapidated
city.
The most easterly of the channels by which the waters of the river find
their way through the Delta to the sea, is called, as it will be seen marked
upon the map, the Pelusiac branch. It forms almost the boundary of the
fertile region of the Delta on the eastern side. There was an ancient city
named Pelusium near the mouth of it. This was, of course, the first Egyptian
city reached by those who arrived by land from the eastward, traveling along
the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. On account of its thus marking the
eastern frontier of the country, it became a point of great importance, and
is often mentioned in the histories of ancient times.
The westernmost mouth of the Nile, on the other hand, was called the
Canopic mouth. The distance along the coast from the Canopic mouth to
Pelusium was about a hundred miles. The outline of the coast was formerly, as
it still continues to be, very irregular, and the water shallow. Extended
banks of sand protruded into the sea, and the sea itself, as if in
retaliation, formed innumerable creeks, and inlets, and lagoons in the land.
Along this irregular and uncertain boundary the waters of the Nile and the
surges of the Mediterranean kept up an eternal war, with energies so nearly
equal, that now, after the lapse of eighteen hundred years since the state of
the contest began to be recorded, neither side has been found to have gained
any perceptible advantage over the other. The river brings the sands down,
and the sea drives them incessantly back, keeping the whole line of the shore
in such a condition as to make it extremely dangerous and difficult of access
to man.
It will be obvious, from this description of the valley of the Nile, that
it formed a country which was in ancient times isolated and secluded, in a
very striking manner, from all the rest of the world. It was wholly shut in
by deserts, on every side, by land; and the shoals, and sand-bars, and other
dangers of navigation which marked the line of the coast, seemed to forbid
approach by sea. Here it remained for many ages, under the rule of its own
native ancient kings. Its population was peaceful and industrious. Its
scholars were famed throughout the world for their learning, their science,
and their philosophy. It was in these ages, before other nations had intruded
upon its peaceful seclusion, that the Pyramids were built, and the enormous
monoliths carved, and those vast temples reared whose ruined columns are now
the wonder of mankind. During these remote ages, too, Egypt was, as now, the
land of perpetual fertility and abundance. There would always be corn in
Egypt, wherever else famine might rage. The neighboring nations and tribes in
Arabia, Palestine, and Syria, found their way to it, accordingly, across the
deserts on the eastern side, when driven by want, and thus opened a way of
communication. At length the Persian monarchs, after extending their empire
westward to the Mediterranean, found access by the same road to Pelusium, and
thence overran and conquered the country. At last, about two hundred and
fifty years before the time of Cleopatra, Alexander the Great, when he
subverted the Persian empire, took possession of Egypt, and annexed it, among
the other Persian provinces, to his own dominions. At the division of
Alexander's empire, after his death, Egypt fell to one of his generals, named
Ptolemy. Ptolemy made it his kingdom, and left it, at his death, to his
heirs. A long line of sovereigns succeeded him, known in history as the
dynasty of the Ptolemies—Greek princes, reigning over an Egyptian
realm. Cleopatra was the daughter of the eleventh in the line.
The capital of the Ptolemies was Alexandria. Until the time of Alexander's
conquest, Egypt had no sea-port. There were several landing-places along the
coast, but no proper harbor. In fact, Egypt had then so little commercial
intercourse with the rest of the world, that she scarcely needed any.
Alexander's engineers, however, in exploring the shore, found a point not far
from the Canopic mouth of the Nile where the water was deep, and where there
was an anchorage ground protected by an island. Alexander founded a city
there, which he called by his own name. He perfected the harbor by artificial
excavations and embankments. A lofty light-house was reared, which formed a
landmark by day, and exhibited a blazing star by night to guide the galleys
of the Mediterranean in. A canal was made to connect the port with the Nile,
and warehouses were erected to contain the stores of merchandise. In a word,
Alexandria became at once a great commercial capital. It was the seat, for
several centuries, of the magnificent government of the Ptolemies; and so
well was its situation chosen for the purposes intended, that it still
continues, after the lapse of twenty centuries of revolution and change, one
of the principal emporiums of the commerce of the East.
The Birthday Present
In the midst of this scene of festivity and pleasure, it was announced to
the queen that a large box had arrived for her. The box was brought into the
apartment. It had the appearance of containing some magnificent present, sent
in at that time by some friend in honor of the occasion. The curiosity of the
queen was excited to know what the mysterious coffer might contain. She
ordered it to be opened; and the guests gathered around, each eager to obtain
the first glimpse of the contents. The lid was removed, and a cloth beneath
it was raised, when, to the unutterable horror of all who witnessed the
spectacle, there was seen the head and hands of Cleopatra's beautiful boy,
lying among masses of human flesh, which consisted of the rest of his body
cut into pieces. The head had been left entire, that the wretched mother
might recognize in the pale and lifeless features the countenance of her son.
Physcon had sent the box to Alexandria, with orders that it should be
retained until the evening of the birth-day, and then presented publicly to
Cleopatra in the midst of the festivities of the scene. The shrieks and cries
with which she filled the apartments of the palace at the first sight of the
dreadful spectacle, and the agony of long-continued and inconsolable grief
which followed, showed how well the cruel contrivance of the tyrant was
fitted to accomplish its end.
It gives us no pleasure to write, and we are sure it can give our readers
no pleasure to peruse, such shocking stories of bloody cruelty as these. It
is necessary, however, to a just appreciation of the character of the great
subject of this history, that we should understand the nature of the domestic
influences that reigned in the family from which she sprung. In fact, it is
due, as a matter of simple justice to her, that we should know what these
influences were, and what were the examples set before her in her early life;
since the privileges and advantages which the young enjoy in their early
years, and, on the other hand, the evil influences under which they suffer,
are to be taken very seriously into the account when we are passing judgment
upon the follies and sins into which they subsequently fall.
The monster Physcon lived, it is true, two or three generations before the
great Cleopatra; but the character of the intermediate generations, until the
time of her birth, continued much the same. In fact, the cruelty, corruption,
and vice which reigned in every branch of the royal family increased rather
than diminished. The beautiful niece of Physcon, who, at the time of her
compulsory marriage with him, evinced such an aversion to the monster, had
become, at the period of her husband's death, as great a monster of ambition,
selfishness, and cruelty as he. She had two sons, Lathyrus and Alexander.
Physcon, when he died, left the kingdom of Egypt to her by will, authorizing
her to associate with her in the government whichever of these two sons she
might choose. The oldest was best entitled to this privilege, by his priority
of birth; but she preferred the youngest, as she thought that her own power
would be more absolute in reigning in conjunction with him, since he would be
more completely under her control. The leading powers, however, in
Alexandria, resisted this plan, and insisted on Cleopatra's associating her
oldest son, Lathyrus, with her in the government of the realm. They compelled
her to recall Lathyrus from the banishment into which she had sent him, and
to put him nominally upon the throne. Cleopatra yielded to this necessity,
but she forced her son to repudiate his wife, and to take, instead, another
woman, whom she fancied she could make more subservient to her will. The
mother and the son went on together for a time, Lathyrus being nominally
king, though her determination that she would rule, and his struggles to
resist her intolerable tyranny, made their wretched household the scene of
terrible and perpetual quarrels. At last Cleopatra seized a number of
Lathyrus's servants, the eunuchs who were employed in various offices about
the palace, and after wounding and mutilating them in a horrible manner, she
exhibited them to the populace, saying that it was Lathyrus that had
inflicted the cruel injuries upon the sufferers, and calling upon them to
arise and punish him for his crimes. In this and in other similar ways she
awakened among the people of the court and of the city such an animosity
against Lathyrus, that they expelled him from the country. There followed a
long series of cruel and bloody wars between the mother and the son, in the
course of which each party perpetrated against the other almost every
imaginable deed of atrocity and crime. Alexander, the youngest son, was so
afraid of his terrible mother, that he did not dare to remain in Alexandria
with her, but went into a sort of banishment of his own accord. He, however,
finally returned to Egypt. His mother immediately supposed that he was
intending to disturb her possession of power, and resolved to destroy him. He
became acquainted with her designs, and, grown desperate by the
long-continued pressure of her intolerable tyranny, he resolved to bring the
anxiety and terror in which he lived to an end by killing her. This he did,
and then fled the country. Lathyrus, his brother, then returned, and reigned
for the rest of his days in a tolerable degree of quietness and peace. At
length Lathyrus died, and left the kingdom to his son, Ptolemy Auletes, who
was the great Cleopatra's father.
We can not soften the picture which is exhibited to our view in the
history of this celebrated family, by regarding the mother of Auletes, in the
masculine and merciless traits and principles which she displayed so
energetically throughout her terrible career, as an exception to the general
character of the princesses who appeared from time to time in the line. In
ambition, selfishness, unnatural and reckless cruelty, and utter disregard of
every virtuous principle and of every domestic tie, she was but the type and
representative of all the rest.
She had two daughters, for example, who were the consistent and worthy
followers of such a mother. A passage in the lives of these sisters
illustrates very forcibly the kind of sisterly affection which prevailed in
the family of the Ptolemies. The case was this:
There were two princes of Syria, a country lying northeast of the
Mediterranean Sea, and so not very far from Egypt, who, though they were
brothers, were in a state of most deadly hostility to each other. One had
attempted to poison the other, and afterward a war had broken out between
them, and all Syria was suffering from the ravages of their armies. One of
the sisters, of whom we have been speaking, married one of these princes. Her
name was Tryphena. After some time, but yet while the unnatural war was still
raging between the two brothers, Cleopatra, the other sister—the same
Cleopatra, in fact, that had been divorced from Lathyrus at the instance of
his mother—espoused the other brother. Tryphena was exceedingly
incensed against Cleopatra for marrying her husband's mortal foe, and the
implacable hostility and hate of the sisters was thenceforth added to that
which the brothers had before exhibited, to complete the display of unnatural
and parricidal passion which this shameful contest presented to the
world.
In fact, Tryphena from this time seemed to feel a new and highly-excited
interest in the contest, from her eager desire to revenge herself on her
sister. She watched the progress of it, and took an active part in pressing
forward the active prosecution of the war. The party of her husband, either
from this or some other causes, seemed to be gaining the day. The husband of
Cleopatra was driven from one part of the country to another, and at length,
in order to provide for the security of his wife, he left her in Antioch, a
large and strongly-fortified city, where he supposed that she would be safe,
while he himself was engaged in prosecuting the war in other quarters where
his presence seemed to be required.
On learning that her sister was at Antioch, Tryphena urged her husband to
attack the place. He accordingly advanced with a strong detachment of the
army, and besieged and took the city. Cleopatra would, of course, have fallen
into his hands as a captive; but, to escape this fate, she fled to a temple
for refuge. A temple was considered, in those days, an inviolable sanctuary.
The soldiers accordingly left her there. Tryphena, however, made a request
that her husband would deliver the unhappy fugitive into her hands. She was
determined, she said, to kill her. Her husband remonstrated with her against
this atrocious proposal. "It would be a wholly useless act of cruelty," said
he, "to destroy her life. She can do us no possible harm in the future
progress of the war, while to murder her under these circumstances will only
exasperate her husband and her friends, and nerve them with new strength for
the remainder of the contest. And then, besides, she has taken refuge in a
temple; and if we violate that sanctuary, we shall incur, by such an act of
sacrilege, the implacable displeasure of heaven. Consider, too, that she is
your sister, and for you to kill her would be to commit an unnatural and
wholly inexcusable crime."
So saying, he commanded Tryphena to say no more upon the subject, for he
would on no account consent that Cleopatra should suffer any injury
whatever.
This refusal on the part of her husband to comply with her request only
inflamed Tryphena's insane resentment and anger the more. In fact, the
earnestness with which he espoused her sister's cause, and the interest which
he seemed to feel in her fate, aroused Tryphena's jealousy. She believed, or
pretended to believe, that her husband was influenced by a sentiment of love
in so warmly defending her. The object of her hate, from being simply an
enemy, became now, in her view, a rival, and she resolved that, at all
hazards, she should be destroyed. She accordingly ordered a body of desperate
soldiers to break into the temple and seize her. Cleopatra fled in terror to
the altar, and clung to it with such convulsive force that the soldiers cut
her hands off before they could tear her away, and then, maddened by her
resistance and the sight of blood, they stabbed her again and again upon the
floor of the temple, where she fell. The appalling shrieks with which the
wretched victim filled the air in the first moments of her flight and her
terror, subsided, as her life ebbed away, into the most awful imprecations of
the judgments of heaven upon the head of the unnatural sister whose
implacable hate had destroyed her.
Antony Crossing the Desert
In fact, Berenice and her government, when they heard of the arrival of
Antony and Ptolemy at Pelusium, of the fall of that city, and of the approach
of Gabinius with an overwhelming force of Roman soldiers, were struck with
dismay. Archelaus, the husband of Berenice, had been, in former years, a
personal friend of Antony's. Antony considered, in fact, that they were
friends still, though required by what the historian calls their duty to
fight each other for the possession of the kingdom. The government of
Berenice raised an army. Archelaus took command of it, and advanced to meet
the enemy. In the mean time, Gabinius arrived with the main body of the Roman
troops, and commenced his march, in conjunction with Antony, toward the
capital. As they were obliged to make a circuit to the southward, in order to
avoid the inlets and lagoons which, on the northern coast of Egypt, penetrate
for some distance into the land, their course led them through the heart of
the Delta. Many battles were fought, the Romans every where gaining the
victory. The Egyptian soldiers were, in fact, discontented and mutinous,
perhaps, in part, because they considered the government on the side of which
they were compelled to engage as, after all, a usurpation. At length a great
final battle was fought, which settled the controversy. Archelaus was slain
upon the field, and Berenice was taken prisoner; their government was wholly
overthrown, and the way was opened for the march of the Roman armies to
Alexandria.
Mark Antony, when judged by our standards, was certainly, as well as
Ptolemy, a depraved and vicious man; but his depravity was of a very
different type from that of Cleopatra's father. The difference in the men, in
one respect, was very clearly evinced by the objects toward which their
interest and attention were respectively turned after this great battle.
While the contest had been going on, the king and queen of Egypt, Archelaus
and Berenice, were, of course, in the view both of Antony and Ptolemy, the
two most conspicuous personages in the army of their enemies; and while
Antony would naturally watch with the greatest interest the fate of his
friend, the king, Ptolemy, would as naturally follow with the highest concern
the destiny of his daughter. Accordingly, when the battle was over, while the
mind of Ptolemy might, as we should naturally expect, be chiefly occupied by
the fact that his daughter was made a captive, Antony's, we might
suppose, would be engrossed by the tidings that his friend had been
slain.
The one rejoiced and the other mourned. Antony sought for the body of his
friend on the field of battle, and when it was found, he gave himself wholly
to the work of providing for it a most magnificent burial. He seemed, at the
funeral, to lament the death of his ancient comrade with real and unaffected
grief. Ptolemy, on the other hand, was overwhelmed with joy at finding his
daughter his captive. The long-wished-for hour for the gratification of his
revenge had come at last, and the first use which he made of his power when
he was put in possession of it at Alexandria was to order his daughter to be
beheaded.
Cleopatra Entering the Palace of Cæsar
The conversation which Cæsar held with Cleopatra deepened the impression
which her first appearance had made upon him. Her intelligence and animation,
the originality of her ideas, and the point and pertinency of her mode of
expressing them, made her, independently of her personal charms, an
exceedingly entertaining and agreeable companion. She, in fact, completely
won the great conqueror's heart; and, through the strong attachment to her
which he immediately formed, he became wholly disqualified to act impartially
between her and her brother in regard to their respective rights to the
crown. We call Ptolemy Cleopatra's brother; for, though he was also, in fact,
her husband, still, as he was only ten or twelve years of age at the time of
Cleopatra's expulsion from Alexandria, the marriage had been probably
regarded, thus far, only as a mere matter of form. Cæsar was now about
fifty-two. He had a wife, named Calpurnia, to whom he had been married about
ten years. She was living, at this time, in an unostentatious and quiet
manner at Rome. She was a lady of an amiable and gentle character, devotedly
attached to her husband, patient and forbearing in respect to his faults, and
often anxious and unhappy at the thought of the difficulties and dangers in
which his ardent and unbounded ambition so often involved him.
Cæsar immediately began to take a very strong interest in Cleopatra's
cause. He treated her personally with the fondest attention, and it was
impossible for her not to reciprocate in some degree the kind feeling with
which he regarded her. It was, in fact, something altogether new to her to
have a warm and devoted friend, espousing her cause, tendering her
protection, and seeking in every way to promote her happiness. Her father had
all his life neglected her. Her brother, of years and understanding totally
inferior to hers, whom she had been compelled to make her husband, had become
her mortal enemy. It is true that, in depriving her of her inheritance and
expelling her from her native land, he had been only the tool and instrument
of more designing men. This, however, far from improving the point of view
from which she regarded him, made him appear not only hateful, but
contemptible too. All the officers of government, also, in the Alexandrian
court had turned against her, because they had supposed that they could
control her brother more easily if she were away. Thus she had always been
surrounded by selfish, mercenary, and implacable foes. Now, for the first
time, she seemed to have a friend. A protector had suddenly arisen to support
and defend her—a man of very alluring person and manners, of a very
noble and generous spirit, and of the very highest station. He loved her, and
she could not refrain from loving him in return. She committed her cause
entirely into his hands, confided to him all her interests, and gave herself
up wholly into his power.
Nor was the unbounded confidence which she reposed in him undeserved, so
far as related to his efforts to restore her to her throne. The legions which
Cæsar had sent for into Syria had not yet arrived, and his situation in
Alexandria was still very defenseless and very precarious. He did not,
however, on this account, abate in the least degree the loftiness and
self-confidence of the position which he had assumed, but he commenced
immediately the work of securing Cleopatra's restoration. This quiet
assumption of the right and power to arbitrate and decide such a question as
that of the claim to the throne, in a country where he had accidentally
landed and found rival claimants disputing for the succession, while he was
still wholly destitute of the means of enforcing the superiority which he so
coolly assumed, marks the immense ascendency which the Roman power had
attained at this time in the estimation of mankind, and is, besides,
specially characteristic of the genius and disposition of Cæsar.
Very soon after Cleopatra had come to him, Cæsar sent for the young
Ptolemy, and urged upon him the duty and expediency of restoring Cleopatra.
Ptolemy was beginning now to attain an age at which he might be supposed to
have some opinion of his own on such a question. He declared himself utterly
opposed to any such design. In the course of the conversation he learned that
Cleopatra had arrived at Alexandria, and that she was then concealed in
Cæsar's palace. This intelligence awakened in his mind the greatest
excitement and indignation. He went away from Cæsar's presence in a rage. He
tore the diadem which he was accustomed to wear from his head in the streets,
threw it down, and trampled it under his feet. He declared to the people that
he was betrayed, and displayed the most violent indications of vexation and
chagrin. The chief subject of his complaint, in the attempts which he made to
awaken the popular indignation against Cæsar and the Romans, was the
disgraceful impropriety of the position which his sister had assumed in
surrendering herself as she had done to Cæsar. It is most probable, however,
unless his character was very different from that of every other Ptolemy in
the line, that what really awakened his jealousy and anger was fear of the
commanding influence and power to which Cleopatra was likely to attain
through the agency of so distinguished a protector, rather than any other
consequences of his friendship, or any real considerations of delicacy in
respect to his sister's good name or his own marital honor.
However this may be, Ptolemy, together with Pothinus and Achillas, and all
his other friends and adherents, who joined him in the terrible outcry that
he made against the coalition which he had discovered between Cleopatra and
Cæsar, succeeded in producing a very general and violent tumult throughout
the city. The populace were aroused, and began to assemble in great crowds,
and full of indignation and anger. Some knew the facts, and acted under
something like an understanding of the cause of their anger. Others only knew
that the aim of this sudden outbreak was to assault the Romans, and were
ready, on any pretext, known or unknown, to join in any deeds of violence
directed against these foreign intruders. There were others still, and these,
probably, far the larger portion, who knew nothing and understood nothing but
that there was to be tumult and a riot in and around the palaces, and were,
accordingly, eager to be there.
Ptolemy and his officers had no large body of troops in Alexandria; for
the events which had thus far occurred since Cæsar's arrival had succeeded
each other so rapidly, that a very short time had yet elapsed, and the main
army remained still at Pelusium. The main force, therefore, by which Cæsar
was now attacked, consisted of the population of the city, headed, perhaps,
by the few guards which the young king had at his command.
Cæsar, on his part, had but a small portion of his forces at the palace
where he was attacked. The rest were scattered about the city. He, however,
seems to have felt no alarm. He did not even confine himself to acting on the
defensive. He sent out a detachment of his soldiers with orders to seize
Ptolemy and bring him in a prisoner. Soldiers trained, disciplined, and armed
as the Roman veterans were, and nerved by the ardor and enthusiasm which
seemed always to animate troops which were under Cæsar's personal command,
could accomplish almost any undertaking against a mere populace, however
numerous or however furiously excited they might be. The soldiers sallied
out, seized Ptolemy, and brought him in.
The populace were at first astounded at the daring presumption of this
deed, and then exasperated at the indignity of it, considered as a violation
of the person of their sovereign. The tumult would have greatly increased,
had it not been that Cæsar—who had now attained all his ends in thus
having brought Cleopatra and Ptolemy both within his power—thought it
most expedient to allay it. He accordingly ascended to the window of a tower,
or of some other elevated portion of his palace, so high that missiles from
the mob below could not reach him, and began to make signals expressive of
his wish to address them.
When silence was obtained, he made them a speech well calculated to quiet
the excitement. He told them that he did not pretend to any right to judge
between Cleopatra and Ptolemy as their superior, but only in the performance
of the duty solemnly assigned by Ptolemy Auletes, the father, to the Roman
people, whose representative he was. Other than this he claimed no
jurisdiction in the case; and his only wish, in the discharge of the duty
which devolved upon him to consider the cause, was to settle the question in
a manner just and equitable to all the parties concerned, and thus arrest the
progress of the civil war, which, if not arrested, threatened to involve the
country in the most terrible calamities. He counseled them, therefore, to
disperse, and no longer disturb the peace of the city. He would immediately
take measures for trying the question between Cleopatra and Ptolemy, and he
did not doubt but that they would all be satisfied with his decision.
This speech, made, as it was, in the eloquent and persuasive, and yet
dignified and imposing manner for which Cæsar's harangues to turbulent
assemblies like these were so famed, produced a great effect. Some were
convinced, others were silenced; and those whose resentment and anger were
not appeased, found themselves deprived of their power by the pacification of
the rest. The mob was dispersed, and Ptolemy remained with Cleopatra in
Cæsar's custody.
The next day, Cæsar, according to his promise, convened an assembly of the
principal people of Alexandria and officers of state, and then brought out
Ptolemy and Cleopatra, that he might decide their cause. The original will
which Ptolemy Auletes had executed had been deposited in the public archives
of Alexandria, and carefully preserved there. An authentic copy of it had
been sent to Rome. Cæsar caused the original will to be brought out and read
to the assembly. The provisions of it were perfectly explicit and clear. It
required that Cleopatra and Ptolemy should be married, and then settled the
sovereign power upon them jointly, as king and queen. It recognized the Roman
commonwealth as the ally of Egypt, and constituted the Roman government the
executor of the will, and the guardian of the king and queen. In fact, so
clear and explicit was this document, that the simple reading of it seemed to
be of itself a decision of the question. When, therefore, Cæsar announced
that, in his judgment, Cleopatra was entitled to share the supreme power with
Ptolemy, and that it was his duty, as the representative of the Roman power
and the executor of the will, to protect both the king and the queen in their
respective rights, there seemed to be nothing that could be said against his
decision.
Besides Cleopatra and Ptolemy, there were two other children of Ptolemy
Auletes in the royal family at this time. One was a girl, named Arsinoë. The
other, a boy, was, singularly enough, named, like his brother, Ptolemy. These
children were quite young, but Cæsar thought that it would perhaps gratify
the Alexandrians, and lead them to acquiesce more readily in his decision, if
he were to make some royal provision for them. He accordingly proposed to
assign the island of Cyprus as a realm for them. This was literally a gift,
for Cyprus was at this time a Roman possession.[5]
[5] For the position of this island in respect to Egypt and the
neighboring countries, see map, frontispiece.
The whole assembly seemed satisfied with this decision except Pothinus. He
had been so determined and inveterate an enemy to Cleopatra, that, as he was
well aware, her restoration must end in his downfall and ruin. He went away
from the assembly moodily determining that he would not submit to the
decision, but would immediately adopt efficient measures to prevent its being
carried into effect.
Cæsar made arrangements for a series of festivals and celebrations, to
commemorate and confirm the re-establishment of a good understanding between
the king and the queen, and the consequent termination of the war. Such
celebrations, he judged, would have great influence in removing any remaining
animosities from the minds of the people, and restore the dominion of a kind
and friendly feeling throughout the city. The people fell in with these
measures, and cordially co-operated to give them effect; but Pothinus and
Achillas, though they suppressed all outward expressions of discontent, made
incessant efforts in secret to organize a party, and to form plans for
overthrowing the influence of Cæsar, and making Ptolemy again the sole and
exclusive sovereign.
Pothinus represented to all whom he could induce to listen to him that
Cæsar's real design was to make Cleopatra queen alone, and to depose Ptolemy,
and urged them to combine with him to resist a policy which would end in
bringing Egypt under the dominion of a woman. He also formed a plan, in
connection with Achillas, for ordering the army back from Pelusium. The army
consisted of thirty thousand men. If that army could be brought to Alexandria
and kept under Pothinus's orders, Cæsar and his three thousand Roman soldiers
would be, they thought, wholly at their mercy.
There was, however, one danger to be guarded against in ordering the army
to march toward the capital, and that was, that Ptolemy, while under Cæsar's
influence, might open communications with the officers, and so obtain command
of its movements, and thwart all the conspirators' designs. To prevent this,
it was arranged between Pothinus and Achillas that the latter should make his
escape from Alexandria, proceed immediately to the camp at Pelusium, resume
the command of the troops there, and conduct them himself to the capital; and
that in all these operations, and also subsequently on his arrival, he should
obey no orders unless they came to him through Pothinus himself.
Although sentinels and guards were probably stationed at the gates and
avenues leading from the city, Achillas contrived to effect his escape and to
join the army. He placed himself at the head of the forces, and commenced his
march toward the capital. Pothinus remained all the time within the city as a
spy, pretending to acquiesce in Cæsar's decision, and to be on friendly terms
with him, but really plotting for his overthrow, and obtaining all the
information which his position enabled him to command, in order that he might
co-operate with the army and Achillas when they should arrive.
All these things were done with the utmost secrecy, and so cunning and
adroit were the conspirators in forming and executing their plots, that Cæsar
seems to have had no knowledge of the measures which his enemies were taking,
until he suddenly heard that the main body of Ptolemy's army was approaching
the city, at least twenty thousand strong. In the mean time, however, the
forces which he had sent for from Syria had not arrived, and no alternative
was left but to defend the capital and himself as well as he could with the
very small force which he had at his disposal.
He determined, however, first, to try the effect of orders sent out in
Ptolemy's name to forbid the approach of the army to the city. Two officers
were accordingly intrusted with these orders, and sent out to communicate
them to Achillas. The names of these officers were Dioscorides and
Serapion.
It shows in a very striking point of view to what an incredible exaltation
the authority and consequence of a sovereign king rose in those ancient days,
in the minds of men, that Achillas, at the moment when these men made their
appearance in the camp, bearing evidently some command from Ptolemy in the
city, considered it more prudent to kill them at once, without hearing their
message, rather than to allow the orders to be delivered and then take the
responsibility of disobeying them. If he could succeed in marching to
Alexandria and in taking possession of the city, and then in expelling Cæsar
and Cleopatra and restoring Ptolemy to the exclusive possession of the
throne, he knew very well that the king would rejoice in the result, and
would overlook all irregularities on his part in the means by which he had
accomplished it, short of absolute disobedience of a known command. Whatever
might be the commands that these messengers were bringing him, he supposed
that they doubtless originated, not in Ptolemy's own free will, but that they
were dictated by the authority of Cæsar. Still, they would be commands coming
in Ptolemy's name; and the universal experience of officers serving under the
military despots of those ancient days showed that, rather than to take the
responsibility of directly disobeying a royal order once received, it was
safer to avoid receiving it by murdering the messengers.
Achillas therefore directed the officers to be seized and slain. They were
accordingly taken off and speared by the soldiers, and then the bodies were
borne away. The soldiers, however, it was found, had not done their work
effectually. There was no interest for them in such a cold-blooded
assassination, and perhaps something like a sentiment of compassion
restrained their hands. At any rate, though both the men were desperately
wounded, one only died. The other lived and recovered.
Achillas continued to advance toward the city. Cæsar, finding that the
crisis which was approaching was becoming very serious in its character,
took, himself, the whole command within the capital, and began to make the
best arrangements possible under the circumstances of the case to defend
himself there. His numbers were altogether too small to defend the whole city
against the overwhelming force which was advancing to assail it. He
accordingly intrenched his troops in the palaces and in the citadel, and in
such other parts of the city as it seemed practicable to defend. He
barricaded all the streets and avenues leading to these points, and fortified
the gates. Nor did he, while thus doing all in his power to employ the
insufficient means of defense already in his hands to the best advantage,
neglect the proper exertions for obtaining succor from abroad. He sent off
galleys to Syria, to Cyprus, to Rhodes, and to every other point accessible
from Alexandria where Roman troops might be expected to be found, urging the
authorities there to forward re-enforcements to him with the utmost possible
dispatch.
During all this time Cleopatra and Ptolemy remained in the palace with
Cæsar, both ostensibly co-operating with him in his councils and measures for
defending the city from Achillas. Cleopatra, of course, was sincere and in
earnest in this co-operation; but Ptolemy's adhesion to the common cause was
very little to be relied upon. Although, situated as he was, he was compelled
to seem to be on Cæsar's side, he must have secretly desired that Achillas
should succeed and Cæsar's plans be overthrown. Pothinus was more active,
though not less cautious in his hostility to them. He opened a secret
communication with Achillas, sending him information, from time to time, of
what took place within the walls, and of the arrangements made there for the
defense of the city against him, and gave him also directions how to proceed.
He was very wary and sagacious in all these movements, feigning all the time
to be on Cæsar's side. He pretended to be very zealously employed in aiding
Cæsar to secure more effectually the various points where attacks were to be
expected, and in maturing and completing the arrangements for defense.
But, notwithstanding all his cunning, he was detected in his double
dealing, and his career was suddenly brought to a close, before the great
final conflict came on. There was a barber in Cæsar's household, who, for
some cause or other, began to suspect Pothinus; and, having little else to
do, he employed himself in watching the eunuch's movements and reporting them
to Cæsar. Cæsar directed the barber to continue his observations. He did so;
his suspicions were soon confirmed, and at length a letter, which Pothinus
had written to Achillas, was intercepted and brought to Cæsar. This furnished
the necessary proof of what they called his guilt, and Cæsar ordered him to
be beheaded.
This circumstance produced, of course, a great excitement within the
palace, for Pothinus had been for many years the great ruling minister of
state—the king, in fact, in all but in name. His execution alarmed a
great many others, who, though in Cæsar's power, were secretly wishing that
Achillas might prevail. Among those most disturbed by these fears was a man
named Ganymede. He was the officer who had charge of Arsinoë, Cleopatra's
sister. The arrangement which Cæsar had proposed for establishing her in
conjunction with her brother Ptolemy over the island of Cyprus had not gone
into effect; for, immediately after the decision of Cæsar, the attention of
all concerned had been wholly engrossed by the tidings of the advance of the
army, and by the busy preparations which were required on all hands for the
impending contest. Arsinoë, therefore, with her governor Ganymede, remained
in the palace. Ganymede had joined Pothinus in his plots; and when Pothinus
was beheaded, he concluded that it would be safest for him to fly.
He accordingly resolved to make his escape from the city, taking Arsinoë
with him. It was a very hazardous attempt, but he succeeded in accomplishing
it. Arsinoë was very willing to go, for she was now beginning to be old
enough to feel the impulse of that insatiable and reckless ambition which
seemed to form such an essential element in the character of every son and
daughter in the whole Ptolemaic line. She was insignificant and powerless
where she was, but at the head of the army she might become immediately a
queen.
It resulted, in the first instance, as she had anticipated. Achillas and
his army received her with acclamations. Under Ganymede's influence they
decided that, as all the other members of the royal family were in durance,
being held captive by a foreign general, who had by chance obtained
possession of the capital, and were thus incapacitated for exercising the
royal power, the crown devolved upon Arsinoë; and they accordingly proclaimed
her queen.
Every thing was now prepared for a desperate and determined contest for
the crown between Cleopatra, with Cæsar for her minister and general, on the
one side, and Arsinoë, with Ganymede and Achillas for her chief officers, on
the other. The young Ptolemy, in the mean time, remained Cæsar's prisoner,
confused with the intricacies in which the quarrel had become involved, and
scarcely knowing now what to wish in respect to the issue of the contest. It
was very difficult to foresee whether it would be best for him that Cleopatra
or that Arsinoë should succeed.
View of Alexandria
There was a strong fortress situated at the head of the pier or mole
leading to the island of Pharos, which was without Cæsar's lines, and still
in the hands of the Egyptian authorities. The Egyptians thus commanded the
entrance to the mole. The island itself, also, with the fortress at the other
end of the pier, was still in the possession of the Egyptian authorities, who
seemed disposed to hold it for Achillas. The mole was very long, as the
island was nearly a mile from the shore. There was quite a little town upon
the island itself, besides the fortress or castle built there to defend the
place. The garrison of this castle was strong, and the inhabitants of the
town, too, constituted a somewhat formidable population, as they consisted of
fishermen, sailors, wreckers, and such other desperate characters as usually
congregate about such a spot. Cleopatra and Cæsar, from the windows of their
palace within the city, looked out upon this island, with the tall
light-house rising in the center of it and the castle at its base, and upon
the long and narrow isthmus connecting it with the main land, and concluded
that it was very essential that they should get possession of the post,
commanding, as it did, the entrance to the harbor.
In the harbor, too, which, as will be seen from the engraving, was on the
south side of the mole, and, consequently, on the side opposite to that from
which Achillas was advancing toward the city, there were lying a large number
of Egyptian vessels, some dismantled, and others manned and armed more or
less effectively. These vessels had not yet come into Achillas's hands, but
it would be certain that he would take possession of them as soon as he
should gain admittance to those parts of the city which Cæsar had abandoned.
This it was extremely important to prevent; for, if Achillas held this fleet,
especially if he continued to command the island of Pharos, he would be
perfect master of all the approaches to the city on the side of the sea. He
could then not only receive re-enforcements and supplies himself from that
quarter, but he could also effectually cut off the Roman army from all
possibility of receiving any. It became, therefore, as Cæsar thought,
imperiously necessary that he should protect himself from this danger. This
he did by sending out an expedition to burn all the shipping in the harbor,
and, at the same time, to take possession of a certain fort upon the island
of Pharos which commanded the entrance to the port. This undertaking was
abundantly successful. The troops burned the shipping, took the fort,
expelled the Egyptian soldiers from it, and put a Roman garrison into it
instead, and then returned in safety within Cæsar's lines. Cleopatra
witnessed these exploits from her palace windows with feelings of the highest
admiration for the energy and valor which her Roman protectors displayed.
The burning of the Egyptian ships in this action, however fortunate for
Cleopatra and Cæsar, was attended with a catastrophe which has ever since
been lamented by the whole civilized world. Some of the burning ships were
driven by the wind to the shore, where they set fire to the buildings which
were contiguous to the water. The flames spread and produced an extensive
conflagration, in the course of which the largest part of the great library
was destroyed. This library was the only general collection of the ancient
writings that ever had been made, and the loss of it was never repaired.
The destruction of the Egyptian fleet resulted also in the downfall and
ruin of Achillas. From the time of Arsinoë's arrival in the camp there had
been a constant rivalry and jealousy between himself and Ganymede, the eunuch
who had accompanied Arsinoë in her flight. Two parties had been formed in the
army, some declaring for Achillas and some for Ganymede. Arsinoë advocated
Ganymede's interests, and when, at length, the fleet was burned, she charged
Achillas with having been, by his neglect or incapacity, the cause of the
loss. Achillas was tried, condemned, and beheaded. From that time Ganymede
assumed the administration of Arsinoë's government as her minister of state
and the commander-in-chief of her armies.
About the time that these occurrences took place, the Egyptian army
advanced into those parts of the city from which Cæsar had withdrawn,
producing those terrible scenes of panic and confusion which always attend a
sudden and violent change of military possession within the precincts of a
city. Ganymede brought up his troops on every side to the walls of Cæsar's
citadels and intrenchments, and hemmed him closely in. He cut off all avenues
of approach to Cæsar's lines by land, and commenced vigorous preparations for
an assault. He constructed engines for battering down the walls. He opened
shops and established forges in every part of the city for the manufacture of
darts, spears, pikes, and all kinds of military machinery. He built towers
supported upon huge wheels, with the design of filling them with armed men
when finally ready to make his assault upon Cæsar's lines, and moving them up
to the walls of the citadels and palaces, so as to give to his soldiers the
advantage of a lofty elevation in making their attacks. He levied
contributions on the rich citizens for the necessary funds, and provided
himself with men by pressing all the artisans, laborers, and men capable of
bearing arms into his service. He sent messengers back into the interior of
the country, in every direction, summoning the people to arms, and calling
for contributions of money and military stores.
These messengers were instructed to urge upon the people that, unless
Cæsar and his army were at once expelled from Alexandria, there was imminent
danger that the national independence of Egypt would be forever destroyed.
The Romans, they were to say, had extended their conquests over almost all
the rest of the world. They had sent one army into Egypt before, under the
command of Mark Antony, under the pretense of restoring Ptolemy Auletes to
the throne. Now another commander, with another force, had come, offering
some other pretexts for interfering in their affairs. These Roman
encroachments, the messengers were to say, would end in the complete
subjugation of Egypt to a foreign power, unless the people of the country
aroused themselves to meet the danger manfully, and to expel the
intruders.
As Cæsar had possession of the island of Pharos and of the harbor,
Ganymede could not cut him off from receiving such re-enforcements of men and
arms as he might make arrangements for obtaining beyond the sea; nor could he
curtail his supply of food, as the granaries and magazines within Cæsar's
quarter of the city contained almost inexhaustible stores of corn. There was
one remaining point essential to the subsistence of an army besieged, and
that was an abundant supply of water. The palaces and citadels which Cæsar
occupied were supplied with water by means of numerous subterranean
aqueducts, which conveyed the water from the Nile to vast cisterns built
under ground, whence it was raised by buckets and hydraulic engines for use.
In reflecting upon this circumstance, Ganymede conceived the design of
secretly digging a canal, so as to turn the waters of the sea by means of it
into these aqueducts. This plan he carried into effect. The consequence was,
that the water in the cisterns was gradually changed. It became first
brackish, then more and more salt and bitter, until, at length, it was wholly
impossible to use it. For some time the army within could not understand
these changes; and when, at length, they discovered the cause, the soldiers
were panic-stricken at the thought that they were now apparently wholly at
the mercy of their enemies, since, without supplies of water, they must all
immediately perish. They considered it hopeless to attempt any longer to hold
out, and urged Cæsar to evacuate the city, embark on board his galleys, and
proceed to sea.
Instead of doing this, however, Cæsar, ordering all other operations to be
suspended, employed the whole laboring force of his command, under the
direction of the captains of the several companies, in digging wells in every
part of his quarter of the city. Fresh water, he said, was almost invariably
found, at a moderate depth, upon sea-coasts, even upon ground lying in very
close proximity with the sea. The diggings were successful. Fresh water, in
great abundance, was found. Thus this danger was passed, and the men's fears
effectually relieved.
A short time after these transactions occurred, there came into the harbor
one day, from along the shore west of the city, a small sloop, bringing the
intelligence that a squadron of transports had arrived upon the coast to the
westward of Alexandria, and had anchored there, being unable to come up to
the city on account of an easterly wind which prevailed at that season of the
year. This squadron was one which had been sent across the Mediterranean with
arms, ammunition, and military stores for Cæsar, in answer to requisitions
which he had made immediately after he had landed. The transports being thus
wind-bound on the coast, and having nearly exhausted their supplies of water,
were in distress; and they accordingly sent forward the sloop, which was
probably propelled by oars, to make known their situation to Cæsar, and to
ask for succor. Cæsar immediately went, himself, on board of one of his
galleys, and ordering the remainder of his little fleet to follow him, he set
sail out of the harbor, and then turned to the westward, with a view of
proceeding along the coast to the place where the transports were lying.
All this was done secretly. The land is so low in the vicinity of
Alexandria that boats or galleys are out of sight from it at a very short
distance from the shore. In fact, travelers say that, in coming upon the
coast, the illusion produced by the spherical form of the surface of the
water and the low and level character of the coast is such that one seems
actually to descend from the sea to the land. Cæsar might therefore have
easily kept his expedition a secret, had it not been that, in order to be
provided with a supply of water for the transports immediately on reaching
them, he stopped at a solitary part of the coast, at some distance from
Alexandria, and sent a party a little way into the interior in search for
water. This party were discovered by the country people, and were intercepted
by a troop of horse and made prisoners. From these prisoners the Egyptians
learned that Cæsar himself was on the coast with a small squadron of galleys.
The tidings spread in all directions. The people flocked together from every
quarter. They hastily collected all the boats and vessels which could be
obtained at the villages in that region and from the various branches of the
Nile. In the mean time, Cæsar had gone on to the anchorage ground of the
squadron, and had taken the transports in tow to bring them to the city; for
the galleys, being propelled by oars, were in a measure independent of the
wind. On his return, he found quite a formidable naval armament assembled to
dispute the passage.
A severe conflict ensued, but Cæsar was victorious. The navy which the
Egyptians had so suddenly got together was as suddenly destroyed. Some of the
vessels were burned, others sunk, and others captured; and Cæsar returned in
triumph to the port with his transports and stores. He was welcomed with the
acclamations of his soldiers, and, still more warmly, by the joy and
gratitude of Cleopatra, who had been waiting during his absence in great
anxiety and suspense to know the result of the expedition, aware as she was
that her hero was exposing himself in it to the most imminent personal
danger.
The arrival of these re-enforcements greatly improved Cæsar's condition,
and the circumstance of their coming forced upon the mind of Ganymede a sense
of the absolute necessity that he should gain possession of the harbor if he
intended to keep Cæsar in check. He accordingly determined to take immediate
measures for forming a naval force. He sent along the coast, and ordered
every ship and galley that could be found in all the ports to be sent
immediately to Alexandria. He employed as many men as possible in and around
the city in building more. He unroofed some of the most magnificent edifices
to procure timber as a material for making benches and oars. When all was
ready, he made a grand attack upon Cæsar in the port, and a terrible contest
ensued for the possession of the harbor, the mole, the island, and the
citadels and fortresses commanding the entrances from the sea. Cæsar well
knew that this contest would be a decisive one in respect to the final result
of the war, and he accordingly went forth himself to take an active and
personal part in the conflict. He felt doubtless, too, a strong emotion of
pride and pleasure in exhibiting his prowess in the sight of Cleopatra, who
could watch the progress of the battle from the palace windows, full of
excitement at the dangers which he incurred, and of admiration at the feats
of strength and valor which he performed. During this battle the life of the
great conqueror was several times in the most imminent danger. He wore a
habit or mantle of the imperial purple, which made him a conspicuous mark for
his enemies; and, of course, wherever he went, in that place was the hottest
of the fight. Once, in the midst of a scene of most dreadful confusion and
din, he leaped from an overloaded boat into the water and swam for his life,
holding his cloak between his teeth and drawing it through the water after
him, that it might not fall into the hands of his enemies. He carried, at the
same time, as he swam, certain valuable papers which he wished to save,
holding them above his head with one hand, while he propelled himself through
the water with the other.
The result of this contest was another decisive victory for Cæsar. Not
only were the ships which the Egyptians had collected defeated and destroyed,
but the mole, with the fortresses at each extremity of it, and the island,
with the light-house and the town of Pharos, all fell into Cæsar's hands.
The Egyptians now began to be discouraged. The army and the people,
judging, as mankind always do, of the virtue of their military commanders
solely by the criterion of success, began to be tired of the rule of Ganymede
and Arsinoë. They sent secret messengers to Cæsar avowing their discontent,
and saying that, if he would liberate Ptolemy—who, it will be
recollected, had been all this time held as a sort of prisoner of state in
Cæsar's palaces—they thought that the people generally would receive
him as their sovereign, and that then an arrangement might easily be made for
an amicable adjustment of the whole controversy. Cæsar was strongly inclined
to accede to this proposal.
He accordingly called Ptolemy into his presence, and, taking him kindly by
the hand, informed him of the wishes of the people of Egypt, and gave him
permission to go. Ptolemy, however, begged not to be sent away. He professed
the strongest attachment to Cæsar, and the utmost confidence in him, and he
very much preferred, he said, to remain under his protection. Cæsar replied
that, if those were his sentiments, the separation would not be a lasting
one. "If we part as friends," he said, "we shall soon meet again." By these
and similar assurances he endeavored to encourage the young prince, and then
sent him away. Ptolemy was received by the Egyptians with great joy, and was
immediately placed at the head of the government. Instead, however, of
endeavoring to promote a settlement of the quarrel with Cæsar, he seemed to
enter into it now himself, personally, with the utmost ardor, and began at
once to make the most extensive preparations both by sea and land for a
vigorous prosecution of the war. What the result of these operations would
have been can now not be known, for the general aspect of affairs was, soon
after these transactions, totally changed by the occurrence of a new and very
important event which suddenly intervened, and which turned the attention of
all parties, both Egyptians and Romans, to the eastern quarter of the
kingdom. The tidings arrived that a large army, under the command of a
general named Mithradates, whom Cæsar had dispatched into Asia for this
purpose, had suddenly appeared at Pelusium, had captured that city, and were
now ready to march to Alexandria.
The Egyptian army immediately broke up its encampments in the neighborhood
of Alexandria, and marched to the eastward to meet these new invaders. Cæsar
followed them with all the forces that he could safely take away from the
city. He left the city in the night and unobserved, and moved across the
country with such celerity that he joined Mithradates before the forces of
Ptolemy had arrived. After various marches and maneuvers, the armies met, and
a great battle was fought. The Egyptians were defeated. Ptolemy's camp was
taken. As the Roman army burst in upon one side of it, the guards and
attendants of Ptolemy fled upon the other, clambering over the ramparts in
the utmost terror and confusion. The foremost fell headlong into the ditch
below, which was thus soon filled to the brim with the dead and the dying;
while those who came behind pressed on over the bridge thus formed, trampling
remorselessly, as they fled, on the bodies of their comrades, who lay
writhing, struggling, and shrieking beneath their feet. Those who escaped
reached the river. They crowded together into a boat which lay at the bank
and pushed off from the shore. The boat was overloaded, and it sank as soon
as it left the land. The Romans drew the bodies which floated to the shore up
upon the bank again, and they found among them one, which, by the royal
cuirass which was upon it, the customary badge and armor of the Egyptian
kings, they knew to be the body of Ptolemy.
The victory which Cæsar obtained in this battle and the death of Ptolemy
ended the war. Nothing now remained but for him to place himself at the head
of the combined forces and march back to Alexandria. The Egyptian forces
which had been left there made no resistance, and he entered the city in
triumph. He took Arsinoë prisoner. He decreed that Cleopatra should reign as
queen, and that she should marry her youngest brother, the other
Ptolemy—a boy at this time about eleven years of age. A marriage with
one so young was, of course, a mere form. Cleopatra remained, as before, the
companion of Cæsar.
Cæsar had, in the mean time, incurred great censure at Rome, and
throughout the whole Roman world, for having thus turned aside from his own
proper duties as the Roman consul, and the commander-in-chief of the armies
of the empire, to embroil himself in the quarrels of a remote and secluded
kingdom, with which the interests of the Roman commonwealth were so little
connected. His friends and the authorities at Rome were continually urging
him to return. They were especially indignant at his protracted neglect of
his own proper duties, from knowing that he was held in Egypt by a guilty
attachment to the queen—thus not only violating his obligations to the
state, but likewise inflicting upon his wife Calpurnia, and his family at
Rome, an intolerable wrong. But Cæsar was so fascinated by Cleopatra's
charms, and by the mysterious and unaccountable influence which she exercised
over him, that he paid no heed to any of these remonstrances. Even after the
war was ended he remained some months in Egypt to enjoy his favorite's
society. He would spend whole nights in her company, in feasting and revelry.
He made a splendid royal progress with her through Egypt after the war was
over, attended by a numerous train of Roman guards. He formed a plan for
taking her to Rome, and marrying her there; and he took measures for having
the laws of the city altered so as to enable him to do so, though he was
already married.
All these things produced great discontent and disaffection among Cæsar's
friends and throughout the Roman army. The Egyptians, too, strongly censured
the conduct of Cleopatra. A son was born to her about this time, whom the
Alexandrians named, from his father, Cæsarion. Cleopatra was regarded in the
new relation of mother, which she now sustained, not with interest and
sympathy, but with feelings of reproach and condemnation.
Cleopatra was all this time growing more and more accomplished and more
and more beautiful; but her vivacity and spirit, which had been so charming
while it was simple and childlike, now began to appear more forward and bold.
It is the characteristic of pure and lawful love to soften and subdue the
heart, and infuse a gentle and quiet spirit into all its action; while that
which breaks over the barriers that God and nature have marked out for it,
tends to make woman masculine and bold, to indurate all her sensibilities,
and to destroy that gentleness and timidity of demeanor which have so great
an influence in heightening her charms. Cleopatra was beginning to experience
these effects. She was indifferent to the opinions of her subjects, and was
only anxious to maintain as long as possible her guilty ascendency over
Cæsar.
Cæsar, however, finally determined to set out on his return to the
capital. Leaving Cleopatra, accordingly, a sufficient force to secure the
continuance of her power, he embarked the remainder of his forces in his
transports and galleys, and sailed away. He took the unhappy Arsinoë with
him, intending to exhibit her as a trophy of his Egyptian victories on his
arrival at Rome.
Cleopatra's Sister in the Triumphal Procession
The effect, however, upon the Roman population of seeing the unhappy
princess, overwhelmed as she was with sorrow and chagrin, as she moved slowly
along in the train, among the other emblems and trophies of violence and
plunder, proved to be by no means favorable to Cæsar. The populace were
inclined to pity her, and to sympathize with her in her sufferings. The sight
of her distress recalled, too, to their minds the dereliction from duty of
which Cæsar had been guilty of in his yielding to the enticements of
Cleopatra, and remaining so long in Egypt to the neglect of his proper duties
as a Roman minister of state. In a word, the tide of admiration for Cæsar's
military exploits which had been setting so strongly in his favor, seemed
inclined to turn, and the city was filled with murmurs against him even in
the midst of his triumphs.
In fact, the pride and vainglory which led Cæsar to make his triumphs more
splendid and imposing than any former conqueror had ever enjoyed, caused him
to overact his part so as to produce effects the reverse of his intentions.
The case of Arsinoë was one example of this. Instead of impressing the people
with a sense of the greatness of his exploits in Egypt, in deposing one queen
and bringing her captive to Rome, in order that he might place another upon
the throne in her stead, it only reproduced anew the censures and
criminations which he had deserved by his actions there, but which, had it
not been for the pitiable spectacle of Arsinoë in the train, might have been
forgotten.
There were other examples of a similar character. There were the feasts,
for instance. From the plunder which Cæsar had obtained in his various
campaigns, he expended the most enormous sums in making feasts and spectacles
for the populace at the time of his triumph. A large portion of the populace
was pleased, it is true, with the boundless indulgences thus offered to them;
but the better part of the Roman people were indignant at the waste and
extravagance which were every where displayed. For many days the whole city
of Rome presented to the view nothing but one wide-spread scene of riot and
debauchery. The people, instead of being pleased with this abundance, said
that Cæsar must have practiced the most extreme and lawless extortion to have
obtained the vast amount of money necessary to enable him to supply such
unbounded and reckless waste.
There was another way, too, by which Cæsar turned public opinion strongly
against himself, by the very means which he adopted for creating a sentiment
in his favor. The Romans, among the other barbarous amusements which were
practiced in the city, were specially fond of combats. These combats were of
various kinds. They were fought sometimes between ferocious beasts of the
same or of different species, as dogs against each other, or against bulls,
lions, or tigers. Any animals, in fact, were employed for this purpose, that
could be teased or goaded into anger and ferocity in a fight. Sometimes men
were employed in these combats—captive soldiers, that had been taken in
war, and brought to Rome to fight in the amphitheaters there as gladiators.
These men were compelled to contend sometimes with wild beasts, and sometimes
with one another. Cæsar, knowing how highly the Roman assemblies enjoyed such
scenes, determined to afford them the indulgence on a most magnificent scale,
supposing, of course, that the greater and the more dreadful the fight, the
higher would be the pleasure which the spectators would enjoy in witnessing
it. Accordingly, in making preparations for the festivities attending his
triumph, he caused a large artificial lake to be formed at a convenient place
in the vicinity of Rome, where it could be surrounded by the populace of the
city, and there he made arrangements for a naval battle. A great number of
galleys were introduced into the lake. They were of the usual size employed
in war. These galleys were manned with numerous soldiers. Tyrian captives
were put upon one side, and Egyptian upon the other; and when all was ready,
the two squadrons were ordered to approach and fight a real naval battle for
the amusement of the enormous throngs of spectators that were assembled
around. As the nations from which the combatants in this conflict were
respectively taken were hostile to each other, and as the men fought, of
course, for their lives, the engagement was attended with the usual horrors
of a desperate naval encounter. Hundreds were slain. The dead bodies of the
combatants fell from the galleys into the lake, and the waters of it were
dyed with their blood.
There were land combats, too, on the same grand scale. In one of them five
hundred foot soldiers, twenty elephants, and a troop of thirty horse were
engaged on each side. This combat, therefore, was an action greater, in
respect to the number of the combatants, than the famous battle of Lexington,
which marked the commencement of the American war; and in respect to the
slaughter which took place, it was very probably ten times greater. The
horror of these scenes proved to be too much even for the populace, fierce
and merciless as it was, which they were intended to amuse. Cæsar, in his
eagerness to outdo all former exhibitions and shows, went beyond the limits
within which the seeing of men butchered in bloody combats and dying in agony
and despair would serve for a pleasure and a pastime. The people were
shocked; and condemnations of Cæsar's cruelty were added to the other
suppressed reproaches and criminations which every where arose.
Cleopatra, during her visit to Rome, lived openly with Cæsar at his
residence, and this excited very general displeasure. In fact, while the
people pitied Arsinoë, Cleopatra, notwithstanding her beauty and her thousand
personal accomplishments and charms, was an object of general displeasure, so
far as public attention was turned toward her at all. The public mind was,
however, much engrossed by the great political movements made by Cæsar and
the ends toward which he seemed to be aiming. Men accused him of designing to
be made a king. Parties were formed for and against him; and though men did
not dare openly to utter their sentiments, their passions became the more
violent in proportion to the external force by which they were suppressed.
Mark Antony was at Rome at this time. He warmly espoused Cæsar's cause, and
encouraged his design of making himself king. He once, in fact, offered to
place a royal diadem upon Cæsar's head at some public celebration; but the
marks of public disapprobation which the act elicited caused him to
desist.
At length, however, the time arrived when Cæsar determined to cause
himself to be proclaimed king. He took advantage of a certain remarkable
conjuncture of public affairs, which can not here be particularly described,
but which seemed to him specially to favor his designs, and arrangements were
made for having him invested with the regal power by the senate. The murmurs
and the discontent of the people at the indications that the time for the
realization of their fears was drawing nigh, became more and more audible,
and at length a conspiracy was formed to put an end to the danger by
destroying the ambitious aspirant's life. Two stern and determined men,
Brutus and Cassius, were the leaders of this conspiracy. They matured their
plans, organized their band of associates, provided themselves secretly with
arms, and when the senate convened, on the day in which the decisive vote was
to have been passed, Cæsar himself presiding, they came up boldly around him
in his presidential chair, and murdered him with their daggers.
Antony, from whom the plans of the conspirators had been kept profoundly
secret, stood by, looking on stupefied and confounded while the deed was
done, but utterly unable to render his friend any protection.
Cleopatra immediately fled from the city and returned to Egypt.
Arsinoë had gone away before. Cæsar, either taking pity on her
misfortunes, or impelled, perhaps, by the force of public sentiment, which
seemed inclined to take part with her against him, set her at liberty
immediately after the ceremonies of his triumph were over. He would not,
however, allow her to return into Egypt, for fear, probably, that she might
in some way or other be the means of disturbing the government of Cleopatra.
She proceeded, accordingly, into Syria, no longer as a captive, but still as
an exile from her native land. We shall hereafter learn what became of her
there.
Calpurnia mourned the death of her husband with sincere and unaffected
grief. She bore the wrongs which she suffered as a wife with a very patient
and unrepining spirit, and loved her husband with the most devoted attachment
to the end. Nothing can be more affecting than the proofs of her tender and
anxious regard on the night immediately preceding the assassination. There
were certain slight and obscure indications of danger which her watchful
devotion to her husband led her to observe, though they eluded the notice of
all Cæsar's other friends, and they filled her with apprehension and anxiety;
and when at length the bloody body was brought home to her from the
senate-house, she was overwhelmed with grief and despair.
She had no children. She accordingly looked upon Mark Antony as her
nearest friend and protector, and in the confusion and terror which prevailed
the next day in the city, she hastily packed together the money and other
valuables contained in the house, and all her husband's books and papers, and
sent them to Antony for safe keeping.
The Entertainments at Tarsus
The next day, Antony invited Cleopatra to come and return his visit; but,
though he made every possible effort to provide a banquet as sumptuous and as
sumptuously served as hers, he failed entirely in this attempt, and
acknowledged himself completely outdone. Antony was, moreover, at these
interviews, perfectly fascinated with Cleopatra's charms. Her beauty, her
wit, her thousand accomplishments, and, above all, the tact, and adroitness,
and self-possession which she displayed in assuming at once so boldly, and
carrying out so adroitly, the idea of her social superiority over him, that
he yielded his heart almost immediately to her undisputed sway.
The first use which Cleopatra made of her power was to ask Antony, for her
sake, to order her sister Arsinoë to be slain. Arsinoë had gone, it will be
recollected, to Rome, to grace Cæsar's triumph there, and had afterward
retired to Asia, where she was now living an exile. Cleopatra, either from a
sentiment of past revenge, or else from some apprehensions of future danger,
now desired that her sister should die. Antony readily acceded to her
request. He sent an officer in search of the unhappy princess. The officer
slew her where he found her, within the precincts of a temple to which she
had fled, supposing it a sanctuary which no degree of hostility, however
extreme, would have dared to violate.
Cleopatra remained at Tarsus for some time, revolving in an incessant
round of gayety and pleasure, and living in habits of unrestrained intimacy
with Antony. She was accustomed to spend whole days and nights with him in
feasting and revelry. The immense magnificence of these entertainments,
especially on Cleopatra's part, were the wonder of the world. She seems to
have taken special pleasure in exciting Antony's surprise by the display of
her wealth and the boundless extravagance in which she indulged. At one of
her banquets, Antony was expressing his astonishment at the vast number of
gold cups, enriched with jewels, that were displayed on all sides. "Oh," said
she, "they are nothing; if you like them, you shall have them all." So
saying, she ordered her servants to carry them to Antony's house. The next
day she invited Antony again, with a large number of the chief officers of
his army and court. The table was spread with a new service of gold and
silver vessels, more extensive and splendid than that of the preceding day;
and at the close of the supper, when the company was about to depart,
Cleopatra distributed all these treasures among the guests that had been
present at the entertainment. At another of these feasts, she carried her
ostentation and display to the astonishing extreme of taking off from one of
her ear-rings a pearl of immense value and dissolving it in a cup of
vinegar,[8] which she afterward made into a drink, such as was customarily
used in those days, and then drank it. She was proceeding to do the same with
the other pearl, when some of the company arrested the proceeding, and took
the remaining pearl away.
[8] Pearls, being of the nature of shell in their composition and
structure, are soluble in certain acids.
In the mean time, while Antony was thus wasting his time in luxury and
pleasure with Cleopatra, his public duties were neglected, and every thing
was getting into confusion. Fulvia remained in Italy. Her position and her
character gave her a commanding political influence, and she exerted herself
in a very energetic manner to sustain, in that quarter of the world, the
interests of her husband's cause. She was surrounded with difficulties and
dangers, the details of which can not, however, be here particularly
described. She wrote continually to Antony, urgently entreating him to come
to Rome, and displaying in her letters all those marks of agitation and
distress which a wife would naturally feel under the circumstances in which
she was placed. The thought that her husband had been so completely drawn
away from her by the guilty arts of such a woman, and led by her to abandon
his wife and his family, and leave in neglect and confusion concerns of such
momentous magnitude as those which demanded his attention at home, produced
an excitement in her mind bordering upon phrensy. Antony was at length so far
influenced by the urgency of the case that he determined to return. He broke
up his quarters at Tarsus and moved south toward Tyre, which was a great
naval port and station in those days. Cleopatra went with him. They were to
separate at Tyre. She was to embark there for Egypt, and he for Rome.
At least that was Antony's plan, but it was not Cleopatra's. She had
determined that Antony should go with her to Alexandria. As might have been
expected, when the time came for the decision, the woman gained the day. Her
flatteries, her arts, her caresses, her tears, prevailed. After a brief
struggle between the sentiment of love on the one hand and those of ambition
and of duty combined on the other, Antony gave up the contest. Abandoning
every thing else, he surrendered himself wholly to Cleopatra's control, and
went with her to Alexandria. He spent the winter there, giving himself up
with her to every species of sensual indulgence that the most remorseless
license could tolerate, and the most unbounded wealth procure.
There seemed, in fact, to be no bounds to the extravagance and infatuation
which Antony displayed during the winter in Alexandria. Cleopatra devoted
herself to him incessantly, day and night, filling up every moment of time
with some new form of pleasure, in order that he might have no time to think
of his absent wife, or to listen to the reproaches of his conscience. Antony,
on his part, surrendered himself a willing victim to these wiles, and entered
with all his heart into the thousand plans of gayety and merry-making which
Cleopatra devised. They had each a separate establishment in the city, which
was maintained at an enormous cost, and they made a regular arrangement by
which each was the guest of the other on alternate days. These visits were
spent in games, sports, spectacles, feasting, drinking, and in every species
of riot, irregularity, and excess.
A curious instance is afforded of the accidental manner in which
intelligence in respect to the scenes and incidents of private life in those
ancient days is sometimes obtained, in a circumstance which occurred at this
time at Antony's court. It seems that there was a young medical student at
Alexandria that winter, named Philotas, who happened, in some way or other,
to have formed an acquaintance with one of Antony's domestics, a cook. Under
the guidance of this cook, Philotas went one day into the palace to see what
was to be seen. The cook took his friend into the kitchens, where, to
Philotas's great surprise, he saw, among an infinite number and variety of
other preparations, eight wild boars roasting before the fires, some being
more and some less advanced in the process. Philotas asked what great company
was to dine there that day. The cook smiled at this question, and replied
that there was to be no company at all, other than Antony's ordinary party.
"But," said the cook, in explanation, "we are obliged always to prepare
several suppers, and to have them ready in succession at different hours, for
no one can tell at what time they will order the entertainment to be served.
Sometimes, when the supper has been actually carried in, Antony and Cleopatra
will get engaged in some new turn of their diversions, and conclude not to
sit down just then to the table, and so we have to take the supper away, and
presently bring in another."
Antony had a son with him at Alexandria at this time, the child of his
wife Fulvia. The name of the son, as well as that of the father, was Antony.
He was old enough to feel some sense of shame at his father's dereliction
from duty, and to manifest some respectful regard for the rights and the
honor of his mother. Instead of this, however, he imitated his father's
example, and, in his own way, was as reckless and as extravagant as he. The
same Philotas who is above referred to was, after a time, appointed to some
office or other in the young Antony's household, so that he was accustomed to
sit at his table and share in his convivial enjoyments. He relates that once,
while they were feasting together, there was a guest present, a physician,
who was a very vain and conceited man, and so talkative that no one else had
any opportunity to speak. All the pleasure of conversation was spoiled by his
excessive garrulity. Philotas, however, at length puzzled him so completely
with a question of logic—of a kind similar to those often discussed
with great interest in ancient days—as to silence him for a time; and
young Antony was so much delighted with this feat, that he gave Philotas all
the gold and silver plate that there was upon the table, and sent all the
articles home to him, after the entertainment was over, telling him to put
his mark and stamp upon them, and lock them up.
The question with which Philotas puzzled the self-conceited physician was
this. It must be premised, however, that in those days it was considered that
cold water in an intermittent fever was extremely dangerous, except in some
peculiar cases, and in those the effect was good. Philotas then argued as
follows:﹃In cases of a certain kind it is best to give water to a patient in
an ague. All cases of ague are cases of a certain kind. Therefore it is best
in all cases to give the patient water.﹄Philotas having propounded his
argument in this way, challenged the physician to point out the fallacy of
it; and while the physician sat perplexed and puzzled in his attempts to
unravel the intricacy of it, the company enjoyed a temporary respite from his
excessive loquacity.
Philotas adds, in his account of this affair, that he sent the gold and
silver plate back to young Antony again, being afraid to keep them. Antony
said that perhaps it was as well that this should be done, since many of the
vessels were of great value on account of their rare and antique workmanship,
and his father might possibly miss them and wish to know what had become of
them.
As there were no limits, on the one hand, to the loftiness and grandeur of
the pleasures to which Antony and Cleopatra addicted themselves, so there
were none to the low and debasing tendencies which characterized them on the
other. Sometimes, at midnight, after having been spending many hours in mirth
and revelry in the palace, Antony would disguise himself in the dress of a
slave, and sally forth into the streets, excited with wine, in search of
adventures. In many cases, Cleopatra herself, similarly disguised, would go
out with him. On these excursions Antony would take pleasure in involving
himself in all sorts of difficulties and dangers—in street riots,
drunken brawls, and desperate quarrels with the populace—all for
Cleopatra's amusement and his own. Stories of these adventures would
circulate afterward among the people, some of whom would admire the free and
jovial character of their eccentric visitor, and others would despise him as
a prince degrading himself to the level of a brute.
Some of the amusements and pleasures which Antony and Cleopatra pursued
were innocent in themselves, though wholly unworthy to be made the serious
business of life by personages on whom such exalted duties rightfully
devolved. They made various excursions upon the Nile, and arranged parties of
pleasure to go out on the water in the harbor, and to various rural retreats
in the environs of the city. Once they went out on a fishing-party, in boats,
in the port. Antony was unsuccessful; and feeling chagrined that Cleopatra
should witness his ill luck, he made a secret arrangement with some of the
fishermen to dive down, where they could do so unobserved, and fasten fishes
to his hook under the water. By this plan he caught very large and fine fish
very fast. Cleopatra, however, was too wary to be easily deceived by such a
stratagem as this. She observed the maneuver, but pretended not to observe
it; she expressed, on the other hand, the greatest surprise and delight at
Antony's good luck, and the extraordinary skill which it indicated.
The next day she wished to go a fishing again, and a party was accordingly
made as on the day before. She had, however, secretly instructed another
fisherman to procure a dried and salted fish from the market, and, watching
his opportunity, to get down into the water under the boats and attach it to
the hook, before Antony's divers could get there. This plan succeeded, and
Antony, in the midst of a large and gay party that were looking on, pulled
out an excellent fish, cured and dried, such as was known to every one as an
imported article, bought in the market. It was a fish of a kind that was
brought originally from Asia Minor. The boats, and the water all around them,
resounded with the shouts of merriment and laughter which this incident
occasioned.
The Raising of Antony to the Upper Window of the
Tomb
In the mean time, Octavius had heard of the mortal wound which Antony had
given himself; for one of the by-standers had seized the sword the moment
that the deed was done, and had hastened to carry it to Octavius, and to
announce to him the death of his enemy. Octavius immediately desired to get
Cleopatra into his power. He sent a messenger, therefore, to the tomb, who
attempted to open a parley there with her. Cleopatra talked with the
messenger through the keyholes or crevices, but could not be induced to open
the door. The messenger reported these facts to Octavius. Octavius then sent
another man with the messenger, and while one was engaging the attention of
Cleopatra and her women at the door below, the other obtained ladders, and
succeeded in gaining admission into the window above. Cleopatra was warned of
the success of this stratagem by the shriek of her woman, who saw the officer
coming down the stairs. She looked around, and observing at a glance that she
was betrayed, and that the officer was coming to seize her, she drew a little
dagger from her robe, and was about to plunge it into her breast, when the
officer grasped her arm just in time to prevent the blow. He took the dagger
from her, and then examined her clothes to see that there were no other
secret weapons concealed there.
The capture of the queen being reported to Octavius, he appointed an
officer to take her into close custody. This officer was charged to treat her
with all possible courtesy, but to keep a close and constant watch over her,
and particularly to guard against allowing her any possible means or
opportunity for self-destruction.
In the mean time, Octavius took formal possession of the city, marching in
at the head of his troops with the most imposing pomp and parade. A chair of
state, magnificently decorated, was set up for him on a high elevation in a
public square; and here he sat, with circles of guards around him, while the
people of the city, assembled before him in the dress of suppliants, and
kneeling upon the pavement, begged his forgiveness, and implored him to spare
the city. These petitions the great conqueror graciously condescended to
grant.
Many of the princes and generals who had served under Antony came next to
beg the body of their commander, that they might give it an honorable burial.
These requests, however, Octavius would not accede to, saying that he could
not take the body away from Cleopatra. He, however, gave Cleopatra leave to
make such arrangements for the obsequies as she thought fit, and allowed her
to appropriate such sums of money from her treasures for this purpose as she
desired. Cleopatra accordingly made the necessary arrangements, and
superintended the execution of them; not, however, with any degree of
calmness and composure, but in a state, on the contrary, of extreme agitation
and distress. In fact, she had been living now so long under the unlimited
and unrestrained dominion of caprice and passion, that reason was pretty
effectually dethroned, and all self-control was gone. She was now nearly
forty years of age, and, though traces of her inexpressible beauty remained,
her bloom was faded, and her countenance was wan with the effects of weeping,
anxiety, and despair. She was, in a word, both in body and mind, only the
wreck and ruin of what she once had been.
When the burial ceremonies were performed, and she found that all was
over—that Antony was forever gone, and she herself hopelessly and
irremediably ruined—she gave herself up to a perfect phrensy of grief.
She beat her breast, and scratched and tore her flesh so dreadfully, in the
vain efforts which she made to kill herself, in the paroxysms of her despair,
that she was soon covered with contusions and wounds, which, becoming
inflamed and swelled, made her a shocking spectacle to see, and threw her
into a fever. She then conceived the idea of pretending to be more sick than
she was, and so refusing food and starving herself to death. She attempted to
execute this design. She rejected every medical remedy that was offered her,
and would not eat, and lived thus some days without food. Octavius, to whom
every thing relating to his captive was minutely reported by her attendants,
suspected her design. He was very unwilling that she should die, having set
his heart on exhibiting her to the Roman people, on his return to the
capital, in his triumphal procession. He accordingly sent her orders,
requiring that she should submit to the treatment prescribed by the
physician, and take her food, enforcing these his commands with a certain
threat which he imagined might have some influence over her. And what threat
does the reader imagine could possibly be devised to reach a mind so sunk, so
desperate, so wretched as hers? Every thing seemed already lost but life, and
life was only an insupportable burden. What interests, then, had she still
remaining upon which a threat could take hold?
Octavius, in looking for some avenue by which he could reach her,
reflected that she was a mother. Cæsarion, the son of Julius Cæsar, and
Alexander, Cleopatra, and Ptolemy, Antony's children, were still alive.
Octavius imagined that in the secret recesses of her wrecked and ruined soul
there might be some lingering principle of maternal affection remaining which
he could goad into life and action. He accordingly sent word to her that, if
she did not yield to the physician and take her food, he would kill every one
of her children.
The threat produced its effect. The crazed and frantic patient became
calm. She received her food. She submitted to the physician. Under his
treatment her wounds began to heal, the fever was allayed, and at length she
appeared to be gradually recovering.
When Octavius learned that Cleopatra had become composed, and seemed to be
in some sense convalescent, he resolved to pay her a visit. As he entered the
room where she was confined, which seems to have been still the upper chamber
of her tomb, he found her lying on a low and miserable bed, in a most
wretched condition, and exhibiting such a spectacle of disease and
wretchedness that he was shocked at beholding her. She appeared, in fact,
almost wholly bereft of reason. When Octavius came in, she suddenly leaped
out of the bed, half naked as she was, and covered with bruises and wounds,
and crawled miserably along to her conqueror's feet in the attitude of a
suppliant. Her hair was torn from her head, her limbs were swollen and
disfigured, and great bandages appeared here and there, indicating that there
were still worse injuries than these concealed. From the midst of all this
squalidness and misery there still beamed from her sunken eyes a great
portion of their former beauty, and her voice still possessed the same
inexpressible charm that had characterized it so strongly in the days of her
prime. Octavius made her go back to her bed again and lie down.
Cleopatra then began to talk and excuse herself for what she had done,
attributing all the blame of her conduct to Antony. Octavius, however,
interrupted her, and defended Antony from her criminations, saying to her
that it was not his fault so much as hers. She then suddenly changed her
tone, and acknowledging her sins, piteously implored mercy. She begged
Octavius to pardon and spare her, as if now she were afraid of death and
dreaded it, instead of desiring it as a boon. In a word, her mind, the victim
and the prey alternately of the most dissimilar and inconsistent passions,
was now overcome by fear. To propitiate Octavius, she brought out a list of
all her private treasures, and delivered it to him as a complete inventory of
all that she had. One of her treasurers, however, named Zeleucus, who was
standing by, said to Octavius that that list was not complete. Cleopatra had,
he alleged, reserved several things of great value, which she had not put
down upon it.
This assertion, thus suddenly exposing her duplicity, threw Cleopatra into
a violent rage. She sprang from her bed and assaulted her secretary in a most
furious manner. Octavius and the others who were there interposed, and
compelled Cleopatra to lie down again, which she did, uttering all the time
the most grievous complaints at the wretched degradation to which she was
reduced, to be insulted thus by her own servants at such a time. If she had
reserved any thing, she said, of her private treasures, it was only for
presents to some of her faithful friends, to induce them the more zealously
to intercede with Octavius in her behalf. Octavius replied by urging her to
feel no concern on the subject whatever. He freely gave her, he said, all
that she had reserved, and he promised in other respects to treat her in the
most honorable and courteous manner.
Octavius was much pleased at the result of this interview. It was obvious,
as it appeared to him, that Cleopatra had ceased to desire to die; that she
now, on the contrary, wished to live, and that he should accordingly succeed
in his desire of taking her with him to grace his triumph at Rome. He
accordingly made his arrangements for departure, and Cleopatra was notified
that in three days she was to set out, together with her children, to go into
Syria. Octavius said Syria, as he did not wish to alarm Cleopatra by speaking
of Rome. She, however, understood well where the journey, if once commenced,
would necessarily end, and she was fully determined in her own mind that she
would never go there.
She asked to be allowed to pay one parting visit to Antony's tomb. This
request was granted; and she went to the tomb with a few attendants, carrying
with her chaplets and garlands of flowers. At the tomb her grief broke forth
anew, and was as violent as ever. She bewailed her lover's death with loud
cries and lamentations, uttered while she was placing the garlands upon the
tomb, and offering the oblations and incense, which were customary in those
days, as expressions of grief. "These," said she, as she made the offerings,
"are the last tributes of affection that I can ever pay thee, my dearest,
dearest lord. I can not join thee, for I am a captive and a prisoner, and
they will not let me die. They watch me every hour, and are going to bear me
far away, to exhibit me to thine enemies, as a badge and trophy of their
triumph over thee. Oh intercede, dearest Antony, with the gods where thou art
now, since those that reign here on earth have utterly forsaken me; implore
them to save me from this fate, and let me die here in my native land, and be
buried by thy side in this tomb."
When Cleopatra returned to her apartment again after this melancholy
ceremony, she seemed to be more composed than she had been before. She went
to the bath, and then she attired herself handsomely for supper. She had
ordered supper that night to be very sumptuously served. She was at liberty
to make these arrangements, for the restrictions upon her movements, which
had been imposed at first, were now removed, her appearance and demeanor
having been for some time such as to lead Octavius to suppose that there was
no longer any danger that she would attempt self-destruction. Her
entertainment was arranged, therefore, according to her directions, in a
manner corresponding with the customs of her court when she had been a queen.
She had many attendants, and among them were two of her own women. These
women were long-tried and faithful servants and friends.
While she was at supper, a man came to the door with a basket, and wished
to enter. The guards asked him what he had in his basket. He opened it to let
them see; and, lifting up some green leaves which were laid over the top, he
showed the soldiers that the basket was filled with figs. He said that they
were for Cleopatra's supper. The soldiers admired the appearance of the figs,
saying that they were very fine and beautiful. The man asked the soldiers to
take some of them. This they declined, but allowed the man to pass in. When
the supper was ended, Cleopatra sent all of her attendants away except the
two women. They remained. After a little time, one of these women came out
with a letter for Octavius, which Cleopatra had written, and which she wished
to have immediately delivered. One of the soldiers from the guard stationed
at the gates was accordingly dispatched to carry the letter. Octavius, when
it was given to him, opened the envelope at once and read the letter, which
was written, as was customary in those days, on a small tablet of metal. He
found that it was a brief but urgent petition from Cleopatra, written
evidently in agitation and excitement, praying that he would overlook her
offense, and allow her to be buried with Antony. Octavius immediately
inferred that she had destroyed herself. He sent off some messengers at once,
with orders to go directly to her place of confinement and ascertain the
truth, intending to follow them himself immediately.
The messengers, on their arrival at the gates, found the sentinels and
soldiers quietly on guard before the door, as if all were well. On entering
Cleopatra's room, however, they beheld a shocking spectacle. Cleopatra was
lying dead upon a couch. One of her women was upon the floor, dead too. The
other, whose name was Charmion, was sitting over the body of her mistress,
fondly caressing her, arranging flowers in her hair, and adorning her diadem.
The messengers of Octavius, on witnessing this spectacle, were overcome with
amazement, and demanded of Charmion what it could mean. "It is all right,"
said Charmion.﹃Cleopatra has acted in a manner worthy of a princess
descended from so noble a line of kings.﹄As Charmion said this, she began to
sink herself, fainting, upon the bed, and almost immediately expired.
The by-standers were not only shocked at the spectacle which was thus
presented before them, but they were perplexed and confounded in their
attempts to discover by what means Cleopatra and her women had succeeded in
effecting their design. They examined the bodies, but no marks of violence
were to be discovered. They looked all around the room, but no weapons, and
no indication of any means of poison, were to be found. They discovered
something that appeared like the slimy track of an animal on the wall, toward
a window, which they thought might have been produced by an asp; but
the animal itself was nowhere to be seen. They examined the body with great
care, but no marks of any bite or sting were to be found, except that there
were two very slight and scarcely-discernible punctures on the arm, which
some persons fancied might have been so caused. The means and manner of her
death seemed to be involved in impenetrable mystery.
There were various rumors on the subject subsequently in circulation both
at Alexandria and at Rome, though the mystery was never fully solved. Some
said that there was an asp concealed among the figs which the servant man
brought in in the basket; that he brought it in that manner, by a
preconcerted arrangement between him and Cleopatra, and that, when she
received it, she placed the animal on her arm. Others say that she had a
small steel instrument like a needle, with a poisoned point, which she had
kept concealed in her hair, and that she killed herself with that, without
producing any visible wound. Another story was, that she had an asp in a box
somewhere in her apartment, which she had reserved for this occasion, and
when the time finally came, that she pricked and teased it with a golden
bodkin to make it angry, and then placed it upon her flesh and received its
sting. Which of these stories, if either of them, were true, could never be
known. It has, however, been generally believed among mankind that Cleopatra
died in some way or other by the self-inflicted sting of the asp, and
paintings and sculptures without number have been made to illustrate and
commemorate the scene.
This supposition in respect to the mode of her death is, in fact,
confirmed by the action of Octavius himself on his return to Rome, which
furnishes a strong indication of his opinion of the manner in which his
captive at last eluded him. Disappointed in not being able to exhibit the
queen herself in his triumphal train, he caused a golden statue representing
her to be made, with an image of an asp upon the arm of it, and this
sculpture he caused to be borne conspicuously before him in his grand
triumphal entry into the capital, as the token and trophy of the final
downfall of the unhappy Egyptian queen.
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