[Photograph by Macbeth.
CLEOPATRA.
She now began to carry out her schemes in regard to the East, in pursuance of which her first step was, naturally, the confirmation of her treaty with the King of Media. It will be remembered that the elder son of Cleopatra and Antony, Alexander Helios, had been married to the King of Media’s daughter, on the understanding, apparently, that he should be heir to the kingdoms of Media and Armenia. The little princess was now living at Alexandria; and it will be recalled that Artavasdes, the dethroned King of Armenia, the greater part of whose kingdom had been handed over to Media, remained a prisoner in the Egyptian capital, where he had been incarcerated since the Triumph in B.C. 34, three years previously. The defeat of Antony, however, would probably cause the reinstatement of the rulers deposed by him; and it seemed very probable that Octavian would restore Artavasdes to his lost kingdom, and that Media, on the other hand, by reason of its support of the Antonian party, would be stripped of as much territory as the Romans dared to seize. In order to prevent this by removing the claimant to the Armenian throne, and perhaps owing to some attempt on the part of Artavasdes to escape or to communicate with Octavian, Cleopatra ordered him to be put to death; and she thereupon sent an embassy to Media bearing his head to the King as a token of her good faith.[121] I think it is probable that at the same time she sent the little Alexander and his child-wife Iotapa to the Median court in order that they might there live in safety; and there can be little doubt that she made various proposals to the King for joint action.
She then began an undertaking which Plutarch describes as “a most bold and wonderful enterprise.” The northernmost inlet of the Red Sea, the modern Gulf of Suez, was separated from the waters of the Mediterranean by a belt of low-lying desert not more than thirty-five miles in breadth. Across the northern side of this isthmus the Pelusian branch of the Nile passed from the Delta down to the Mediterranean. Somewhat further south lay the Lakes of Balah and Timsah, and between these and the Gulf of Suez lay the so-called Bitter Lakes. These pieces of water had been linked together by a canal opened nearly five hundred years previously by the great Persian conqueror Darius I., who had thus sent his ships through from one sea to the other by a route not far divergent from that of the modern Suez Canal. King Ptolemy Philadelphus, three hundred years later, had reopened the waterway, and had built a great system of locks at its southern end, near the fortress of Clysma;[122] but now a large part of the canal had become blocked up once more by the encroaching sand, and any vessel which had to be transported from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea would have to be dragged for several miles over the desert. In spite of the enormous labour involved, however, Cleopatra determined to transfer immediately all her battleships which had survived Actium to the Red Sea, where they would be safe from the clutches of Octavian, and would be in a position to sail to India or to Southern Persia whenever she might require them to do so. She also began with startling energy to build other vessels at Suez, in the hope of there fitting out an imposing fleet. Plutarch states simply that her object was to go “with her soldiers and her treasure to secure herself a home where she might live in peace, far away from war and slavery”; but, viewing the enterprise in connection with the embassy to Media, it appears to me that she had determined to put into partial execution the schemes of which she seems to have talked with Julius Cæsar while he was staying with her in Alexandria,[123] in regard to the conquest of the East.
Media, Parthia, and India were all outside the influence of Rome. Of these countries Media was now bound to Egypt by the closest ties of blood, while India was engaged in a thriving trade with Cleopatra’s kingdom. Parthia, now the enemy of Media, lay somewhere between these vast lands; and if the Egyptian fleet could sail round the coasts of Arabia and effect a junction with the Median armies in the Persian Gulf, some sort of support might be given to the allies by the Indian States, and Parthia could be conquered or frightened into joining the confederacy. Syria and Armenia could then be controlled, and once more the fight with the West might be undertaken. In the meantime these far countries offered a safe hiding-place for herself and her family; and having, as I suppose, despatched her son Alexander to his future kingdom of Media, she now began to consider the sending of her beloved Cæsarion to India,[124] there to prepare the way for the approach of her fleet.
In these great schemes Antony played no part. During their undertaking he was wandering about the desolate shores of Parætonium, engrossed in his misfortunes and bemoaning the ingratitude of his generals and friends whom, in forgetfulness of his own behaviour at Actium, he accused of deserting him. Cleopatra, as she toiled at the organisation of her new projects, and struggled by every means, fair or foul, to raise money for the great task, must have heartily wished her husband out of the way; and it must have been with very mixed feelings that she presently received the news of his approach. On his arrival, perhaps in November, he was astonished at the Queen’s activities; but, being opposed to the idea of keeping up the struggle and of setting out for the East, he tried to discourage her by talking hopefully about the loyalty of the various garrisons of whose desertion he had not yet heard. He seems also to have pointed out to her that some sort of peace might be made with Octavian, which would secure her throne to her family; and, in one way and another, he managed to dishearten her and to dull her energies. He himself desired now to retire from public life, and to take up his residence in some city, such as Athens, where he might live in the obscurity of private citizenship. He well knew the contempt in which Cleopatra held him, and at this time he thought it would be best, in the long-run, if he left her to her fate. At all events, he seems to have earnestly hoped that she would not expect him to set out on any further adventures; and in this his views must have met hers, for she could have had no use for him. Her son Cæsarion was growing to manhood, and in the energy of his youth he would be worth a hundred degenerate Antonys.
An unexpected check, however, was put to her schemes, and once again misfortune seemed to dog her steps. The Nabathæan Arabs from the neighbourhood of Petra, being on bad terms with the Egyptians, raided the new docks at Suez and, driving off the troops stationed there, burnt the first galleys which had been dragged across from the Mediterranean and those which were being built in the docks. Cleopatra could not spare troops enough to protect the work, and therefore the great enterprise had to be abandoned.
Shortly after this Canidius himself arrived in Alexandria, apparently bringing the news that all Antony’s troops in all parts of the dominions had surrendered to Octavian, and that nothing now remained to him save Egypt and its forces. Thereupon, by the code of honour then in recognition, Antony ought most certainly to have killed himself; but a new idea had entered his head, appealing to his sentimental and theatrical nature. He decided that he would not die, but would live, like Timon of Athens, the enemy of all men. He would build himself a little house, the walls buffeted by the rolling swell of the sea; and there in solitude he would count out the days of his life, his hand turned against all men. There was a pier jutting out into the Great Harbour[125] just to the west of the Island of Antirrhodos, close to the Forum and the Temple of Neptune. Though a powerful construction, some three hundred yards long, it does not appear to have been then in use; and Antony hit upon the idea of repairing it and building himself a little villa at its extreme end, wherein he might dwell in solitude. Cleopatra was far too much occupied with the business of life to care what her husband did; and she seems to have humoured him as she would a child, and to have caused a nice little house to be built for him on this site, which, in honour of the misanthrope whom Antony desired to emulate, she named the Timonium. It appears that she was entirely estranged from him at this time, and he was, no doubt, glad enough to remove himself from the scorn of her eyes and tongue. From his new dwelling he could look across the water to Cleopatra’s palace; and at night the blaze of the Pharos beacon, and the many gleaming windows on the Lochias Promontory and around the harbour, all reflected with the stars in the dark water, must have formed a spectacle romantic enough for any dreamer. In the daytime he could watch the vessels entering or leaving the port; and behind him the noise and bustle of Cleopatra’s busy Alexandrians was wafted to his ears to serve as a correct subject for his Timonian curses.
The famous Timon, I need hardly say, was a citizen of Athens, who lived during the days of the Peloponnesian war, and figures in the comedies of Aristophanes and Plato. He heartily detested his fellow-men, his only two associates being Alcibiades, whom he esteemed because he was likely to do so much mischief to Athens, and Apemantus, who also was a confirmed misanthrope. Once when Timon and Apemantus were celebrating a drinking festival alone together, the latter, wishing to show how much he appreciated the fact that no other of his hated fellow-men was present, remarked: “What a pleasant little party, Timon!” “Well, it would be,” replied Timon, “if you were not here.” Upon another occasion, during an assembly in the public meeting-place, Timon mounted into the speaker’s place and addressed the crowd. “Men of Athens,” he said, “I have a little plot of ground, and in it grows a fig-tree, from the branches of which many citizens have been pleased to hang themselves; and now, having resolved to build on that site, I wish to announce it publicly, that any of you who may so wish may go and hang yourselves there before I cut it down.” Before his death he composed two epitaphs, one of which reads—
“Timon, the misanthrope, am I below,
Go, and revile me, stranger—only go!”