The merchant's tale was comforting, however. On hearing that Octavia was a widow, with two children; that she was without beauty and devoid of charm, with no power to kindle passion in a man's heart, Cleopatra had a moment of relief. Her anger had not died out, nor her bitter rancour against the lover who had deceived and betrayed her; she was, however, beginning to understand that this marriage had merely been a matter of political stratagem, a means of accomplishing Antony's designs.
In spite of this conviction, her fits of depression during the first few weeks after the news had come to her were so terrible that at times she felt that she must give up the struggle. She had always thought herself immune from jealousy, because of her conscious superiority over all other women. Now, little by little, it was eating into her heart. How could she be sure that Octavia was really a fright? that she had no power to charm? Was it true that her thick-set body had no attraction for Antony? After all, she had nothing to depend on but the word of a common man in the street. She recalled the affection that Antony had had for the hideous Fulvia; why should he not care for this new wife who was at least amiable and virtuous? Day by day this poison was entering into her soul.
At last she was so tortured by this canker of jealousy that she determined to put it away from her. By stupendous effort she tried to make herself believe that her love for Antony was dead, that she had never really cared for him and that consequently his marriage was a matter of indifference to her. In order to convince both herself and the world of this indifference she resumed her former life of dissipation with the young men of her court. Restrained no longer by those burning bonds that had kept her true to Antony, she went recklessly from one excess to another. Each involved a new degradation, each exhausted her by its gross intoxication, but nowhere could she find that oblivion for which her feverish heart longed. Crush, profane, trample on it, as she would, the memory of her cherished idol could not be rooted out. With inexhaustible persistence it pursued her; even in the warm embrace of her most ardent adorers, it came to make her shiver with horror at her own disloyalty to her lover. Wherever she went his dear image would appear suddenly before her, would cover her with his reproachful glance, as though he asked: "Why are you acting as though all were over between us? In spite of this seeming separation we are bound together in spirit for all eternity. Like ships, scattered for a time by the tempest, we shall surely come together again."
Her eyes smarted with tears as she invented excuses for her faithless lover. Surely he had been forced into this marriage for political reasons and against his will. Who had gained by this trap save Octavius? Who else would profit by this unholy alliance? This scheme had been devised by that cunning fellow that he might make his sister a sentinel to watch over Antony and report his doings to his colleague. The brute! Half vexed, half tenderly, she would again invoke the loved image, addressing him in imagination: "How guileless you were! You who had every right to rule, who could have chosen your mate and controlled the world—why should you play such a petty part, be made to obey like a little child? Oh! the pity of it!"
And then a ray of hope gleamed. That same weakness which had taken her lover away from her arms might be used to restore him to her. Her kisses were indelibly printed on his forehead; why should she not re-kindle that fire which was probably still smouldering? And in one of those ecstasies, which were like a torch touched by a passing spark, she cried aloud: "I will tempt him back again! The hour is not far off when I shall carry him away from Rome, from his wife, from Octavius, from all who have thought that they were stronger than I."
She did not trust simply to that thread, which, like a new Ariadne, she had put in her Theseus's hands. She put all her resources to work to carry out her purpose. Octavius had his spies; she would have hers. These she despatched immediately, with orders to keep close watch over Antony; to learn the innermost secrets of his household; to leave no stone unturned to discover all that was going on there.
The first accounts sent back by these agents brought her only added distress. Apparently the newly wedded couple were happy and living in perfect harmony. She declined to be discouraged by these reports, however. "If I exhaust all the men in my kingdom," she said, "I will place spies in every corner and in time they will surely find the crack in his armour!"
When she first heard of the disagreements between the brothers-in-law, especially of the silly quarrel over the cock-fight, she was delighted. At last she had found the long-looked-for crack, and that would destroy the whole household, make it fall in ruins. She knew Antony too well to believe that he would tolerate a rival for any length of time. Her chief object now was to entice him away from Rome. With untiring diligence she organized a secret society composed of courtesans, freedmen, and court attendants. She instructed these to call Antony's attention to certain familiar things sent from the Bruchium; to the fragrance of perfumes associated with his days spent there with her; by a word spoken at the right moment to set him dreaming of those months in Egypt. The dealers in oracles also had their mission. They were to encourage the Triumvir to consult them, and, as though all Nature were speaking through them with one voice, they were told to repeat the famous words of his horoscope: "The star of your fortune is at its zenith, but the star of Octavius seeks to eclipse it. Your glory fears his glory, your power will diminish when the two stars come together."
Other influences were also working in unison with Cleopatra. If certain of his friends, like Ahenobarbus and Pollion, had urged Antony's marriage with Octavia and had jeered at this man of valour being subject to the yoke of Egypt's queen, others, more far-sighted, divined that some day she would regain her sovereignty over him. Among these latter was Quintus Dellius, he who had arranged the affair at Tarsus. He understood this passionate woman better than any one else and knew that she was capable of any deed to gain possession of her lover. There was also Fonteius Capito, a subtle observer of human nature, who had written before Antony had been wedded a year: "Yes, Antony's marriage is apparently a happy one, but that he is beginning to be bored by it is evident to every one." These two men thought it wise to forestall future developments and they kept up a close correspondence with the Queen, keeping her in touch with everything that could be of interest to her. She was not only informed of the most intimate details of Antony's household, but of all the governmental complications against which the Triumvir had to fight. The increasing boldness of the Parthian invasions, the coast pillage of the pirates of Sextus Pompey, the uprisings of the poorer classes, their refusals to pay the taxes. All these disturbances in Roman territory gave her fresh reasons for hope. The day she heard that Antony was leaving his wife to her maternal duties and sailing for Athens, she was overcome with joy.
The game was not yet won, but at least she was no longer tormented by visions of Octavia happy in the arms of her husband. Those two were separated and Antony's wife, desolate in her loneliness, would now suffer as she had done. If Cleopatra were not entirely comforted by this knowledge, it at any rate helped her to bear her own trials more patiently!