The Life and Times of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt / A Study in the Origin of the Roman Empire

by Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

In accordance with the custom of the age the Queen had built herself, during recent years, a tomb and mortuary temple wherein her body should rest after death and her spirit should receive the usual sacrifices and priestly ministrations. This mausoleum, according to Plutarch, was surrounded by other buildings, apparently prepared for the royal family and for members of the court. They were not set up within the precincts of the Sema, or royal necropolis, which stood at the side of the Street of Canopus, but were erected beside the temple of Isis-Aphrodite, a building rising at the edge of the sea on the eastern side of the Lochias Promontory. I gather from the remarks of Plutarch that the Queen’s tomb actually formed part of the temple buildings; and, if this be so, Cleopatra must have had it in mind to be laid to rest within the precincts of the sanctuary of the goddess with whom she was identified. Thus, after her death, the worshippers in the temple of Isis would make their supplications, as it were, to her own spirit, and her mortal remains would become holy relics of their patron goddess.[137] The mausoleum was remarkable for its height and for the beauty of its workmanship. It was probably constructed of valuable marbles, and appears to have consisted of several chambers. On the ground floor I should imagine that a pillared hall, entered through a double door of decorated cedar-wood, led to an inner shrine wherein the sarcophagus stood ready to receive the Queen’s body; and that from this hall a flight of stone stairs ascended to the upper chambers, whose flooring was formed of the great blocks of granite which constituted the roofing of the hall below. There was, perhaps, a third storey, the chambers of which, like those on the floor below, were intended to be used by the mortuary priests for the preparation of the incense, the offerings, and the vestments employed in their ceremonies. The large open casements in the walls of these upper chambers must have overlooked the sea on the one side and the courts of the Temple of Isis on the other; but, as was usual in Egyptianised buildings, there were no windows of any size in the lower hall and sanctuary, the light being admitted through the doorway and through small apertures close to the ceiling. The heat of these July days did not penetrate to any uncomfortable degree into this stone-built mausoleum, and the cool sea-wind must have blown continuously through the upper rooms, while the brilliant sunlight outside was here subdued and softened in its reflection upon the marble walls. The rhythmic beat of the breakers upon the stone embankment below the eastern windows, and the shrill cries of the gulls, echoed through the rooms; while from the western side the chanting of the priests in the adjoining temple, and the more distant hubbub of the town, intruded into the cool recesses of these wind-swept chambers like the sounds of a forsaken world.

Glyptothek, Munich.]

[Photograph by Bruckmann.

OCTAVIAN

Here Cleopatra decided to take up her residence so soon as Octavian should lay successful siege to the walls of the city. She had determined that in the event of defeat she would destroy herself; and, with this prospect in view, she now caused her treasures of gold, silver, ebony, ivory, and cinnamon, and her jewellery of pearls, emeralds, and precious stones, to be carried into the mausoleum, where they were laid upon a pyre of faggots and tow erected on the stone floor of one of the upper rooms. If it should be necessary for her to put an end to her miseries, she had decided to set the fangs of the deadly asp into her flesh, and, with her last efforts, to fire the tow, thus consuming her body and her wealth in a single conflagration. Meanwhile, however, she remained in the Palace, and busied herself in the preparations of the defence of the city.

In the last days of July Octavian’s forces arrived before the walls, and took up their quarters in and around the Hippodromos, which stood upon rocky ground to the east of the city. Faced with the crisis, Antony once more showed the flickering remnants of his former courage. Gathering his troops together he made a bold sortie from the city, and attacking Octavian’s cavalry, routed them with great slaughter and chased them back to their camp. He then returned to the Palace, where, meeting Cleopatra while still he was clad in his dusty and blood-stained armour, he threw his arms about her small form and kissed her in the sight of all men. He then commended to her especial favour one of his officers who had greatly distinguished himself in the fight; and the Queen at once presented the man with a magnificent helmet and breastplate of gold. That very night this officer donned his golden armour and fled to the camp of Octavian.

Upon the next morning Antony, with somewhat boyish effrontery, sent a messenger to Octavian challenging him to single combat, as he had done before the battle of Actium; but to this his enemy replied with the scathing remark that “he might find several other ways of ending his life.” He thereupon decided to bring matters to a conclusion by a pitched battle on land and sea, rather than await the issue of a protracted siege; and, Cleopatra having agreed to this plan, orders were given for a general engagement upon August 1st. On the night before this date Antony, whose courage did not now fail him, bade the servants help him liberally at supper and not to be sparing with the wine, for that on the morrow they might be serving a new master, while he himself, the incarnation of Bacchus, the god of wine and festivity, lay dead upon the battlefield. At this his friends who were around him began to weep, but Antony hastily explained to them that he did not in the least expect to die, but hoped rather to lead them to glorious victory.

Late that night, when complete stillness had fallen upon the star-lit city, and the sea-wind had dropped, giving place to the hot silence of the summer darkness, on a sudden was heard the distant sound of pipes and cymbals, and of voices singing a rollicking tune. Nearer they came, and presently the pattering of dancing feet could be heard, while the shouts and cries of a multitude were blended with the wild music of a bacchanal song. The tumultuous procession, as Plutarch described it, seemed to take its course right through the middle of the city towards the Gate of Canopus; and there the commotion was most loudly heard. Then, suddenly, the sounds passed out, and were heard no more. But all those who had listened in the darkness to the wild music were assured that they had heard the passage of Bacchus as he and his ghostly attendants marched away from the army of his fallen incarnation, and joined that of the victorious Octavian.[138]

The next morning, as soon as it was light, Antony marched his troops out of the eastern gates of the city, and formed them up on rising ground between the walls and the Hippodromos, a short distance back from the sea. From this position he watched his fleet sail out from the Great Harbour and make towards Octavian’s ships, which were arrayed near the shore, two or three miles east of the city; but, to his dismay, the Alexandrian vessels made no attempt to deliver an attack upon the enemy as he had ordered them to do. Instead, they saluted Octavian’s fleet with their oars, and, on receiving a similar salutation in response, joined up with the enemy, all sailing thereupon towards the Great Harbour. Meanwhile, from his elevated position Antony saw the whole of his cavalry suddenly gallop over to Octavian’s lines, and he thus found himself left only with his infantry, who, of course, were no match for the enemy. It was useless to struggle further, and, giving up all hope, he fled back into the city, crying out that Cleopatra had betrayed him. As he rushed into the Palace, followed by his distracted officers, smiting his brow and calling down curses on the woman who, he declared, had delivered him into the hands of enemies made for her sake, the Queen fled before him from her apartments, as though she feared that in his fury and despair he might cut her down with his sword. Alone with her two waiting-women, Iras and Charmion, she ran as fast as she could through the empty halls and corridors of the Palace, and at length, crossing the deserted courtyard, she reached the mausoleum adjoining the temple of Isis. The officials, servants, and guards, it would seem, had all fled at the moment when the cry had arisen that the fleet and the cavalry had deserted; and there were probably but a few scared priests in the vicinity of the temple, who could hardly have recognised the Queen as she panted to the open door of the tomb, deserted by the usual custodians. The three women rushed into the dimly-lighted hall, bolting and barring the door behind them, and no doubt barricading it with benches, offering-tables, and other pieces of sacerdotal furniture. They then made their way to the habitable rooms on the upper floor, where they must have flung themselves down upon the rich couches in a sort of delirium of horror and excitement, Cleopatra herself preparing for immediate suicide. From the window they must have seen some of Antony’s staff hastening towards them, for presently they were able to send a message to tell him that the Queen was on the point of killing herself. After a short time, however, when the tumult in her brain had somewhat subsided, Cleopatra made up her mind to wait awhile before taking the final step, so that she might ascertain Octavian’s attitude towards her; and, having determined upon this course of action, she seems to have composed herself as best she could, while through the eastern windows, her eyes staring over the summer sea, she watched the Egyptian ships and those of the enemy rowing side by side into the Great Harbour.