B
By deposing Lepidus, Octavius had changed the triumvirate into a duumvirate, and the empire became divided between himself and Antony. But the domination of the East satisfied the pride of Antony no better than the domination of the West sufficed for the ambition of Octavius. Though twice deferred, the civil war remained inevitable. In his extreme caution, Octavius would still have delayed it; in his folly, Antony precipitated it. He despised Octavius as a general; his flatterers and his soldiers, who adored him, predicted victory to his arms; Cleopatra, who retained the angry recollection of the insolent reception by the Romans, burned to avenge it, and confiding in the sword of Antony, she already swore “By the justice which she would soon dispense at the Capitol.”11 Antony began by overwhelming Octavius with reproaches and dark threats. His clients, who were numerous in Rome, his friends, his emissaries sent from Egypt, made themselves busy in enhancing with the people his grievances, real and supposed. Octavius, said they, has robbed Sextus Pompey of Sicily without dividing the spoils with his colleague: he has not even restored the hundred and twenty triremes borrowed for that war; he has deposed Lepidus and retained for himself alone the provinces, the legions, and the ships of war that had been assigned to that triumvir; he has distributed to his own soldiers nearly all the public lands of Italy, without keeping any for the veterans of Antony. Every act of the government of Octavius was criticized and incriminated. The people were reminded that he was crushing Italy under the weight of taxes; he was accused of aiming at sovereign power. They even went the length of saying that the true heir of CÆsar was not Octavius, his nephew, but CÆsar’s own son CÆsarion, and that a second will of the Dictator would some day be forthcoming. According to Dion Cassius, Antony, by his formal recognition of CÆsarion as the legitimate son of CÆsar, had raised to a climax the uneasiness and anger of Octavius.
Meanwhile Octavius bided his time; his preparations for war were not complete, and Antony was still popular in Rome, where he maintained very many clients, protected by Octavia his wife. She, in spite of the insult inflicted by Antony, was still wholly devoted to him; in vain, on her return from Greece, had Octavius besought her to forget her husband and to quit his dwelling; she had utterly refused to do so. She continued to reside in that famous mansion, once the property of the great Pompey, there educating with equal care and tenderness her own children by Antony and those of his first wife. The clients of Antony and the friends he sent from Alexandria were sure of finding support and assistance from Octavia; she even obtained favors for them from Octavius, irritated though he might be; finally she incessantly assumed in his presence the defense of Antony, excusing both faults and follies, and declaring that it was a hateful thing for two great emperors to incite Romans to slay each other, the one to avenge personal wrongs, the other for the love of a foreign woman.
Octavius, who took for his motto: “That which is well done is done quickly enough,” sat celeriter feri quidquid fiat satis bene, appeared to give way to the prayers of Octavia; but if he made no haste to declare war he was preparing it slowly, and preparing also public opinion. He made the most of Antony’s disgraceful life in Egypt—his enslavement by Cleopatra. It was said in the senate, in the army, among the people, “Antony is no longer a Roman; he is the slave of the queen of Egypt, the incestuous daughter of the LagidÆ: his country is Alexandria and thither he would transfer the capital of the empire; his gods are Knouph with the ram’s head, Ra of the vulture beak, the dog-headed Anubis—latrans Anubis; his counselors are the eunuch Mardion, Charmion, and Iras, the tire-woman of that Cleopatra on whom he has promised to bestow Rome.” These idle tales inspired the Romans with a sentiment of horror which still survives in the verses of the poets of that period: “Among our eagles,” says Horace, “the sun beholds, O infamy, the base standard of an Egyptian woman.... Romans sold to a woman blush not to bear arms for her.... In the intoxication of her success and the madness of her hopes, this monster—monstrum illud—dreams the fall of the Capitol, and is preparing with her troops of despicable slaves and eunuchs the funeral rites of the empire.” “Thus,” writes Propertius, “this royal prostitute—meretrix regina—eternal disgrace of the blood of Philip, would force the Tiber to endure the menaces of the Nile, and thrust aside the Roman trumpets to make way for the shrieking sistra (Egyptian timbrels).”12
Domitius Ænobarbus and C. Sossius were elected consuls 32 B.C. Both were partisans of Antony, and made vain attempts to save him by unmasking Octavius to the senate, but the majority declared against them. Dreading the anger of the implacable Perusian lover of justice they went into exile with several of the senators. They could not at once join Antony, who was in Armenia, negotiating the marriage of his very youthful son, Alexander, with Jotapa, daughter of the king of Media. They announced to him by letter that Octavius was hastening his preparations, and that immediate hostilities might be expected. Antony, like a good general, determined, in order to get the start of his enemy, to carry the war into Italy. He immediately sent Canidius with sixteen legions to the sea-coast of Asia Minor, and himself proceeded to Ephesus, where all his allies were directed to unite their contingents. Cleopatra was the first to arrive, with two hundred vessels of from three to ten banks of oars, and a war subsidy of twenty thousand talents (one hundred thousand francs).
It would have been better for Antony had this fleet remained in Egyptian waters, this money in the treasury of the LagidÆ, and Cleopatra herself in Alexandria. This bewitching but fatal being brought to the Roman camp her gorgeous licentiousness and her unbridled desire of pleasure. At Ephesus where she landed, at Samos whither they afterwards proceeded, the mad follies of Alexandria were renewed. The constant arrivals of kings, governors, deputations from cities bringing to Antony troops and vessels served as a pretext for magnificent feasts and innumerable dramatic representations. A thousand comedians and rope-dancers were collected, and whilst the whole world, says Plutarch, echoed with the noise of arms and the groans of men, at Samos nothing was heard but laughter and the music of flutes and citharÆ. Time passed quickly in these pleasures, and there was not an hour to lose if the offensive were to be taken. Until then the friends and captains of Antony, Dellius, Marcus Silanus, Titius, Plancus, all equally yielding to the seductions of Cleopatra, had made no effort to separate their leader from this fatal woman. Now the great game was to be played, and in this game they staked, as it were, their lives against the dominion of the world. They appealed to Antony. Ænobarbus, the only one of the Antonites who had never hailed Cleopatra as queen, was spokesman, and declared plainly that the Egyptian must be sent back to Alexandria till the close of the war. Antony promised to send her. Unfortunately for him, Cleopatra heard of this proceeding. Now less than ever would she leave Antony alone, exposed to the final appeals of Octavia her former successful rival; she knew too well the vacillating mind and weak soul of Antony. Would he have strength to refuse a reconciliation so much desired in the camp as well as at Rome, which would consolidate its threatened power and secure peace to the empire? Cleopatra won over Canidius, after Ænobarbus the most noted captain of the army of the East; and by dint of prayers, coquetry, and money, it is said, she persuaded him to espouse her cause. He represented to Antony that it was neither just nor wise to send away an ally who furnished to the war supplies so considerable; that he would thus alienate the Egyptians, whose ships formed the main strength of the fleet. He added that Cleopatra was, in the council, inferior to none of the kings who were to fight under the orders of Antony; she, who had so long governed alone so great an empire, and who, since they had been associated together, had acquired still greater experience in affairs. He talked against reason, but he spoke in accordance with the heart of Antony, and Cleopatra remained with the army.
Meanwhile the friends that still remained to Antony in Rome despatched one of their number, Geminius, to make a last attempt to free him from his mistress. Geminius for days tried in vain to see Antony alone. Cleopatra, who suspected the Roman of working in the interests of Octavia, never left her lover for an instant. At length, at the close of a supper, Antony, half-drunk, called upon Geminius to declare instantly the object of his coming. “The matters of which I have to speak,” replied Geminius angrily, “cannot be discussed after drinking; but what I can tell you as well drunk as sober is that all would be well if Cleopatra returned to Egypt.” In a rage, the queen exclaimed: “You do well to speak before the torture compels it.” Antony was no less enraged. The next day Geminius, feeling by no means in safety, reËmbarked for Italy.
The vindictive Egyptian also bore malice against the friends of Antony who had joined with Ænobarbus to procure her departure. Sarcasms, offenses, insults, and ill offices were all employed by her so effectually that Silanus, Dellius (her former lover, it is said), and Plancus and Titius, both persons of consular dignity, abandoned the party of Antony.
As much to revenge themselves on their former leader as to conciliate their new master, Plancus and Titius on their return to Rome revealed to Octavius certain clauses in the will of Antony, the divulging of which would complete his ruin in the minds of the people. Antony, recognizing CÆsarion as the son of CÆsar, was dividing the Roman East among his other children and the queen of Egypt, and willed that even should he die in Rome, his body should be transported to Alexandria and delivered to Cleopatra. The two officers added that they were positive as to these dispositions, as, at the desire of Antony, they themselves had read the will, had affixed their seal, and had deposited it in the college of the Vestals. Octavius demanded the will. The Vestals declared that they would not give it up, but that if he would come and take it himself they could not prevent him. Octavius felt no scruple in doing so; he took the will and read it before the Senate. The Conscript Fathers, it must be confessed, were no less indignant at the violation of the will of Antony than at the contents of the document itself. Octavius, however, had the excuse of acting for the good of the people. The skillful and patient politician was about to attain his end. He procured also a senatus-consultum (a judgment of the Senate), by which Antony was deposed from the consular dignity, and the same day, January 1, 31 B.C., he declared war, not on Antony, but on the queen of Egypt. This was a last tribute to public opinion—CÆsar would not risk the odium of arming Roman against Roman.
He knew well that Antony would not desert Cleopatra, and therefore by conducting his legions against the detested Egyptian, he would throw on Antony the responsibility of the civil war.
Antony and Cleopatra passed at Athens the autumn of 32 and part of the winter of 31 B.C. Whilst their soldiers were exhausting all the cities of Greece by enormous requisitions, and completing their crews by means of the press-gang, dragging sons from their mothers, and husbands from their wives, the lovers continued to lead their gay life. Spectacles, public games, interminable feasts, and mad orgies incessantly succeeded each other. Jealous of the memory which Octavia had left in Athens, where her beauty was still talked of, Cleopatra would fain have effaced it by her pomp, her flatteries, and her largesses to the people. The Athenians, setting little value on honors, even now somewhat obsolete, which it was in their power to bestow, determined to offer Cleopatra the “Freedom of the City,” and decreed that a statue should be erected to her. The decree was presented to her by deputies, among whom figured Antony as an Athenian citizen. The document was read to the queen, after which her virtues and merits were eulogized in an eloquent address. The vanity of Cleopatra was gratified, but her hatred unappeased. She exacted from Antony his repudiation of Octavia, and that from Athens itself, that city where the couple had spent three happy years, he should send to Rome his command for her to depart from his house. Octavia quitted it, clad in mourning and weeping, and leading with her the two children of Antony. The unhappy woman loved him still.13
