Now again came Cleopatra’s opportunity. Antony, victorious in the battle of Philippi, turned his attention to the East, and summoned Cleopatra before him, she being accused, as it has been seen, perhaps untruly, of sending aid to his rival, Cassius. Antony was of the party of Caesar, had delivered his funeral oration and was in a sense his successor. Like Caesar, also he had a fair and devoted wife, the noble Fulvia, but no legal bonds could resist “the Sorceress of the Nile.”

Dellius, Antony’s messenger, at once foresaw the probable result of a meeting between his master and the fascinating Egyptian, advised her to go in her “best style” and vaunted his chief as the “gentlest and kindliest of soldiers.” But Cleopatra was no subservient slave to hasten at the first bidding, and, disregarding many summons, took her own time and way to comply.

Her interview with Antony was in singular contrast with her first meeting with Caesar. As a fugitive and suppliant she conquered the one, with regal pomp and magnificence the other. Perhaps each method appealed most directly to the man she had to deal with, and her keen perception indicated the different modes. CÆsar might have shown himself less malleable to the dominant queen, Antony to the pleading and powerless maiden.

Josephus speaks of her corrupting Antony with her “love trick,” and says he was bewitched and utterly conquered by her charms—her “tricks” were of large and magnificent description. She made great preparations and gathered together splendid ornaments and costly gifts. At last, with full and well deserved confidence in her own powers of fascination she started. Plutarch’s words will best describe the gorgeous pageant she devised. “She came sailing up the River Cydnus” (Antony was in Cilicia) “in a barge with gilded stem and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and pipes and harps. She herself lay all along under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a picture, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like sea Nymphs and Graces, some steered at the rudder, some working at the ropes. The perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with multitudes.” The people vacated the whole place and hastened to gaze upon the wondrous and beautiful sight, while Antony remained alone, awaiting the humble petitioner whom perhaps he expected to appear before him. But finally as Cleopatra intended he went to her.

“He found the preparations to receive him magnificent beyond expression, but nothing so admirable as the number of lights, for on a sudden there was let down together so great a number of branches with lights in them so ingeniously disposed, some in squares, some in circles, that the whole thing was a spectacle that has seldom been equalled for beauty.”

This beginning was the keynote of their future intercourse, amusements, banquets, entertainments of all sorts. Cleopatra sent Antony the whole gold service which he admired, and, according to the familiar story, dissolved her pearl earring in a cup of vinegar or sour wine, which she made him drink. Pleasure was the goddess whom they worshipped. Unworthy though it might be of her fine powers and abilities, this was perhaps the happiest time of Cleopatra’s life. Antony tried to vie with her in the splendor of his entertainments, but laughingly confessed she far outdid him.

Something like true love for him seems to have inspired the fickle queen. Caesar was but three years dead, but he was unmourned and forgotten. Antony was a handsome man of fine and attractive appearance and is thus described: “His beard was well grown, his forehead large and his nose aquiline, giving him altogether a bold, masculine look that reminded people of the face of Hercules in painting and sculpture.”

He was of the type that is most apt to win general regard generous and lavish, if not always just or honest, free and easy in manner to his inferiors, full of jokes and raillery and ready to drink and gamble with almost any one. Physically the two, the man and the woman, were splendid specimens of the human race. Morally what can be said of them?

Meanwhile Antony’s wife was fighting his battles at Rome and beseeching him to return, which he finally promised to do, but the Circe who held him in thrall willed rather that he should go with her to Alexandria, and prevailed, for he basely yielded to her arguments and spent the winter there, giving himself with her wholly up to the pursuit of pleasure in every form and the wildest revelry.

The inferior officers must have fulfilled their duties more faithfully than their superiors or the whole land would have been plunged in anarchy and destruction. The laws were administered, industry and commerce flourished, and Alexandria continued to be a large, populous and busy city, full of life and animation and adorned with many magnificent buildings. The Pharos steadily cast its beneficent light across the waters to be a guide to mariners; the Temple of Serapis, on its high platform, called attention to the worship of the gods; the Library was as yet the casket of valuable treasures; the Museum was thronged with students and scholars; palaces and public buildings adorned the beautiful streets, forts and castles, breakwaters and harbor were laid out and perfected and Alexandria was alone rivalled by Rome.

The gods, too, no matter what might be the moral aspect of the private life of royalty, were worshipped and revered, and with the temples of Denderah and PhilÆ the name of Cleopatra VI is especially associated. Though less gigantic than some of the others, the Temple of Hathor, the Goddess of Love, at Denderah, with that at Philae were none the less beautiful. Here at Dendera or Denderah, the Tentyra of the Greeks, a yearly festival was conducted with great splendor. The original edifice dated back to the earliest period of Egyptian history; it was added to and altered by the monarchs of the Twelfth Dynasty, by Thothmes III and by Rameses II and III. It is said to have contained no less than twelve crypts. On the site of this old building the later Ptolemies had re-erected a newer structure, and it is here, on the southern, rear wall was found the conventional portrait of Cleopatra VI, as Isis, and her son Caesarion.

The exquisite beauty of the ruins at Philae still charm the beholder—graceful columns and feathery palms, like cameos against the radiant blue of the sky, the river softly lapping at their feet. We can imagine the splendor and magnificence of it all, when in the completeness of its perfection and the queenly Venus with her attendant train of followers, adding its artistic and picturesque human element to the scene.

Thus in gaiety and revel the Roman soldier, forgetful of his duties, and his fair enchantress, passed the time. Says Plutarch further of Cleopatra: “Plato admits four sorts of flattery, but she had a thousand. Were Antony serious or disposed to mirth she had at any moment some new delight or charm to meet his wishes; at every turn she was upon him, drank with him, hunted with him, and when he exercised in arms she was there to see. At night she would go rambling with him to disturb and torment people at their doors and windows, dressed like a servant woman, for Anthony also went in servant’s disguise.” But it is further added that “the Alexandrians in general all liked it well enough and joined good humoredly and kindly in his frolic and play, saying they were much obliged to Antony for acting the tragic parts at Rome and keeping his comedy for them.”

The story of the fishing party is among the more innocent of these frolics. Antony, not having good luck, secretly caused divers to put fishes upon his hook, which Cleopatra discovering, got beforehand with him and had a salted, dried fish put on, which of course caused much amusement and merriment when drawn to the surface, and “the laughing queen” is reported to have said, “Leave the fishing, General, to us poor sovereigns of Pharos and Canopus; your game is cities, kingdoms and provinces!”

But the blackest stain upon this period is the murder of the poor princess, Arsinoe, who had taken refuge at Miletus, in the temple of Artemis Leucophryne, and who was put to death there by Antony’s orders, at the instigation of Cleopatra. Perhaps beautiful and attractive also, if to a less extent, how different were the experiences of the two sisters! It seems strange that Arsinoe was not already the wife of and under the protection of some powerful noble or king—but Fate decreed differently.

Their mad existence could not continue forever and matters at Rome grew so serious for Antony that he finally tore himself away from his enchantress and returned. His wife came to meet him, but died on the journey, so that legally he was now a free man. One almost wonders that he did not marry Cleopatra and try to make himself king of Egypt, as the first Ptolemy had done. But probably his reason forbade the attempt, and old relations once more began to hold sway. He made peace with the new Caesar, Octavian, Julius’ nephew, and accepted his offer of his half-sister, Octavia, the recent widow of Caius Marcellus, for his wife, the Senate dispensing with the law which obliged a widow to pay the respect of ten months of single life to her late husband. Octavia was a fine and beautiful woman, and is spoken of as serious and gentle, worthy of a better fate than to be the mate of Antony. For a time, however, she won his regard and an influence for good over him, recalling him to his better self, and a return to public duties, till Antony undertook the campaign against Parthion, and came once more within reach of his former enslaver.

For four years he seems to have been separated from Cleopatra, who had borne him twins, and with strange patience bided her time. She is said to have maintained the claims of her eldest son Caesarion and during all this time to have made no demands on Antony. He had left her, spite of all she had done, or could do, to detain him, and wounded, mortified and indignant, perhaps, she held her peace.

Pride is sometimes as strong a motive as love itself. So far solace she turned, as so many before her had done, to the building and repairing of temples.

Ebers has assumed in the preface to his “Cleopatra” that the colossal pair, hand in hand, found at Alexandria in 1892, of which the female figure is fairly preserved, represent Antony and Cleopatra. Once within reach of her, Antony’s old passion revived, and he sent for her to Syria. Very differently she acted from the first time he had summoned her; she needed no second bidding, but came at his call, and all was as before between them. He made her numerous and valuable gifts, acknowledged the twins as his own, giving them the names of Alexander and Cleopatra, and as surnames the titles of “Sun” and “Moon,” and utterly broke loose from all his obligations. Once more Cleopatra triumphed.

She then returned to Egypt, while Antony went further afield; she in the interval going in state to Jerusalem, to visit Herod the Great. Says another writer in “The Greek World Under Roman Sway:” “The scene at Herod’s palace must have been inimitable. The display of counter fascinations between the two tigers, their voluptuous natures mutually attracted, their hatred giving to each the deep interest in the other which so often turns to mutual passion while it incites to conquest, the grace and finish of their manners, concealing a ruthless ferocity, the splendor of their appointments—what more dramatic picture can we imagine in history?”

But in this instance Cleopatra did not make the usual conquest, though she doubtless exerted all her powers. Although (under unjust accusation) he was eventually persuaded to put her to death, Herod was at that time passionately attached to his wife, Mariamme, and withstood Cleopatra’s fascinations. The reunion of Antony and Cleopatra was most alarming to him, and he even consulted his council as to whether she, being in his power, he might dare to make away with her, but the dread of Antony’s vengeance prevented, and with much polite attention and many gifts, she was escorted back to Egypt.

Antony’s campaign against Parthia was a failure, but as before two women stood ready to assist him. Cleopatra on the one hand, accused of having violated tombs and robbed temples, perhaps for this very purpose, hastened to Syria to meet him, with provisions and clothing for his distressed army, while on the other Octavia came to Athens with even larger supplies. But as against Fulvia, so now, Cleopatra was victor, and Antony accompanied her to Alexandria. Again he gave himself up to his mad infatuation, incensing the Romans (who regarded Cleopatra with horror and aversion) at every step.

Plutarch gives us a graphic picture: “Assembling the people in the exercise grounds and causing two golden thrones to be placed on a platform of silver, the one for him, the other for Cleopatra, and at their feet lower down for their children, he proclaimed Cleopatra Queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya and Coele-Syria, and with her co-jointly Caesarion, the reported son of the former Caesar. His own sons by Cleopatra (she bore him two sons and a daughter) were to have the style of ‘king of kings;’ to Alexander he gave Armenia and Media, with Parthia, so soon as it should be overcome; to Ptolemy, Phoenicia, Syria and Cilicia. Alexander was brought before the people in Median costume, the tiara and upright peak, and Ptolemy in boots and mantle and Macedonian cap, done about with the diadem, for this was the habit of the successors of Alexander, as the other was of the Medes and Armenians. As soon as they had saluted their parents the one was received by a guard of Macedonians, the other by one of Armenians.” Cleopatra was then, as at other times when she appeared in public, dressed in the habit of the goddess Isis.

These theatrical performances were doubtless entertaining to the people, who, in all countries, love public shows, as well to the principals who never seemed to tire of their masquerading and lulled to rest complaints and dissatisfaction, with the existing order of things. For now Antony and Cleopatra proceeded to Athens to enact similar scenes. The people there were said to be attached to and to have paid great regard to Octavia, and Cleopatra claimed the like honors.

But the folly of Antony’s course was raising against him a powerful faction, and CÆsar Octavian did everything to augment this feeling and prepared for war. Cleopatra now put all the resources of her kingdom at Antony’s command and insisted on accompanying him to battle, herself in charge of the Egyptian fleet. They went to Samos and to Actium, where Antony gathered together his army and it is said would have fought on land, but Cleopatra insisted that the strength of the rivals should be tested at sea. One dominant thought possessed her, as strong, or stronger, than her love for Antony—it was an invincible dread of being taken captive by and made to grace the triumph of the brother of the outraged Octavia. At sea she might hope to escape as she could not on land. It was this doubtless, more than cowardice, for however wicked she certainly was a brave woman and not lacking in physical courage, that made her at the first evidence that the battle was going against Antony, turn her vessel’s prow and seek safety in flight.

Losing heart and head at once Antony blindly followed. For years Cleopatra had been his inspiration, his passion, his lode-star; where else to fly he knew not, his old world was, all too deservedly, against him. Yet it was not now for joyance that he sought, though he followed her; he steeled his heart against her sorceries, and shut himself up in morbid communings with his own spirit. He would not see her and for some time it was in vain that her maidens pleaded with and tried to comfort him.

It seemed for the moment as if Cleopatra’s power, she who “governed men by change” had failed. Her heart cried out,

But a reconciliation finally ensued. Not to be at peace with Cleopatra was to give up his last hope, and apparently his only chance for a renewal of life and power. His army, deserted by its officers, made submission to CÆsar, who thus remained complete victor.

Arrived in Africa, Cleopatra proceeded to Alexandria, while Antony remained alone, wandering about in comparative solitude, with only one of two friends. Reaching home, the queen pretended to have conquered rather than been defeated, and proceeded to put to death people, official and otherwise, of whom she wished to be rid. Not for one moment does she seem to have sat down and given up to despair, as did Antony. One project after another was entered upon and put in execution, and when Antony, weary of wandering, at last joined her again, he found her busy endeavoring to have her fleet dragged across the Isthmus of Suez, from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea, that she might escape to the other side and find a place of refuge and safety. But the Arabians burnt her ships and she was forced to abandon her gigantic scheme. She also sent embassies to CÆsar, praying that she might be allowed to retain Egypt for herself and her children and that Antony might dwell there or in Athens as a private individual. CÆsar professed to be willing to grant her anything that was reasonable, but was inexorable as regards Antony. If she would murder Antony, get him out of the way by whatever means, then her own prospects would be better.

But wicked, ambitious, and cruel as Cleopatra undoubtedly was, the most sincere sentiment of her wayward life seems her attachment to Antony. To this she clung, preferring to share his fate—even death itself, than abandon or kill him. Nevertheless Antony was jealous and suspicious of her, and once more shut himself up in moody solitude. That her star had set, the knell of her doom sounded, Cleopatra must have clearly foreseen, but to the very end she held her head proudly and showed unbroken spirit. Not for her in modern parlance was “the white feather.” Once more and for the last time she tempted Antony to her side. It must have been impossible for him to withhold his meed of admiration from this undaunted soul. Once more it was for them both, “Let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die!” and they plunged into the same revelry, almost on the brink, as it were, of the grave. For them life had held little that was better, but the fine flavor of earlier times must have departed and there could not but be bitterness in their souls as they partook of their “dead sea fruit.”

Cleopatra now completed her tomb, which, like so many Egyptian monarchs, she had begun before; in which she gathered together all her treasures and made strange experiments, with various poisons, on her unfortunate slaves, seeking to know how death might be most easily attained. While inexorable fate in the person of the world conqueror, Octavius CÆsar, moved steadily and surely towards the besotted pair, Cleopatra would not put herself in the power of the conqueror, she would not grace his triumph. Rather than that welcome death!

CÆsar on his part was most anxious to possess himself of her valuables and to prevent her from killing herself, as he feared she might do, and continued to send her plausible messages, but she did not trust him. He had taken Pelusium and now advanced to invest Alexandria. The toils were tightening around the tiger queen, like the iron tower which enshrouded the prisoner and daily grew smaller, so misfortune closed in upon her. She deserved her fate, she had even done much to provoke it, but one cannot withhold some pity and admiration from the dauntless, if wicked, woman.

Antony plucked up his spirit and made one successful sally against the surrounding host, but it was but the dying flicker of the candle; defeat followed, and his fleet and troops deserted to the conqueror. He accused Cleopatra of treachery, rushing through the streets and decrying her aloud in his mad fury. She fled and shut herself up with her maidens and attendants in her well guarded tomb, while Antony retired to his palace. She then caused word to be sent to him that she had committed suicide, and a wave of tenderness overwhelmed him, while he lauded her bravery and begged his attendant to kill him, but the faithful servant only thrust his sword into his own body, and fell dead at his master’s feet. In despair Antony wounded himself, but not at once fatally, and word being brought him that Cleopatra still lived, he demanded and entreated to be carried to her.

Fearful of CÆsar’s emissaries, she refused to unbar the great stone door, but she and her maidens drew her dying lover up to the balcony, exerting all their strength, and laid his on a bed, where he expired in her arms.

Like a requiem mournfully seems to float in fragmentary cadence,

Then she gave herself up to a passionate grief, of which we cannot doubt the sincerity, children—country—all was forgotten in her wild outburst of sorrow, and still the pitiful story drew to its close. Cleopatra attempted suicide, but CÆsar’s messengers having now reached the upper story, with scaling ladders, arrived in time to prevent, and drew her dagger away, even threatening her with the destruction of all her children if she did not desist. Now for a space she changed her policy, but probably never her mind, which was evidently bent on self-destruction. She arrayed herself in fine garments and received CÆsar, delivering over to him, nominally, all her treasures, but flying into a furious passion with a servant who betrayed that she was withholding a part; alternate gusts of fury and grief swayed the now enfeebled and broken body, and the tormented soul. At one instant she drew herself up in queenly dignity, at another threw herself at CÆsar’s feet, bathed in tears. He raised and tried to reassure her, pretending that he intended her no harm, but never relinquishing the fixed purpose of having her grace his triumph. While she, on her part, allowing herself to seem comforted, was equally unchanged in her determination. ’Tis said that during this interview Octavius kept his eyes upon the ground that neither the sight of her beauty nor her grief might move him.

And now comes the last act of the theatrical and tragic story. A basket of figs was sent up to the queen, and hidden in that, or in the apartment, was the asp, the messenger of death. Crowned and arrayed as for a festival she laid herself upon the bed where Antony had expired, and received a bite from the irritated snake, which she had tormented to his fatal task, she breathed her last. The passionate devotion she had inspired was proven by the self-destruction of her two maidens, Iras and Charmian, both of whom followed her example. Many old stories have been, by modern criticism and research, proved to be mythical tales, but this seems to hold its own. She had written a pitiful entreaty to CÆsar that she might be buried in the same tomb with Antony, the last proof that her love for him was indeed a true affection. No sooner had Octavius received this than he suspected her design, and again sent his messengers, if possible, to prevent it. But they were too late, and we close with Plutarch’s words: “Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet and Charmian, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mistress’ diadem.” The picture is very touching. “And,” continues the narrative, “when one that came in said, ‘Was this well done of your lady, Charmian?’ ‘Perfectly well,’ she answered, ‘and as became the daughter of so many kings.’ And as she said this she fell dead by the bedside.”

Thus the curtain was rung down on the last act of the tragedy. Though faded in bloom, and torn with emotions the still beautiful queen, in all the statuesque majesty of death, lay upon her couch, while as in life her faithful maidens bore her company. So expired the last and most noted queen of Egypt and Rome, long virtually master, took full possession. Balked in his scheme of carrying Cleopatra captive, CÆsar showed what his fixed determination had been by having a golden statue of her made, with the asp upon her arm, and carried in his triumphal procession.

Of the fate of Cleopatra’s children, history makes brief mention. The young CÆsarion, whose rights his mother had always so carefully guarded, had been sent away with his tutor to the town of far Berenike, but the faithless man betrayed him to Octavian, who had both him and Antony’s son, Antyllus, who had been declared an hereditary prince, cruelly murdered. The younger children, though they soon pass from the records and are lost to sight, had perchance a happier fate. The young princess Cleopatra, Antony’s daughter, who doubtless possessed at least a portion of her mother’s beauty, was married to Juba, the so-called “literary king” of Mauritania, and Octavian, having removed those members of the family that he considered in any way dangerous to his own autocratic authority, permitted the sister to carry with her the two younger brothers, Alexander and Ptolemy, and thus the once mighty kingdom of Egypt lay prostrate under the foot of the temporary master of the world and became a Roman province; and the history of the Ptolemy race virtually ends with that of the world renowned queen, as Tennyson says, “a name forever.”