Cleopatra

by Claude Ferval

To prevent his eluding her, Cleopatra had gone to meet her lover on the coast of Asia. She profited by the occasion to investigate her various interests there. Judea had a special fascination for her. That Judea of which she had not been able to obtain possession, but whose king paid her millions in tribute. Perhaps, too, she had a curiosity to meet the beautiful Mariamne, who was reputed to have such an irresistible fascination for Herod.

It was not without dire misgivings that these sovereigns learned of the forthcoming visit to their household of the bold and dangerous mistress of Antony. To be sure, it was protected by their faithful devotion, as well as by the holy memory of the Queen of Sheba's visit to Solomon, but Cleopatra's reputation was widespread. She, however, was too well aware of the relations between Herod and Antony to run any risk of offending the former. It was even whispered that she had a natural feminine desire to try her witcheries on the reputedly invulnerable heart of Judea's King, and that these coquetries came very near ending her life.

Like all women in love, Mariamne was morbidly jealous. She was furious at the intrusion of a woman, less beautiful perhaps than herself, but whose rich bronze hair, milk-white skin, and shining dark eyes had led astray the hearts of so many men. One evening when they had retired to their own apartments, after having been entertained by a series of songs and dances from Cleopatra, in which she had displayed all her marvellous power to charm, Mariamne observed that her husband was absent-minded. Promptly her thoughts flew to the sorceress of Egypt, and her smouldering suspicion kindled into flame: "You are thinking of her!" roared the enraged lioness, and heedless of Herod's sincere denial she demanded that Cleopatra be put to death on the instant.

To kill the Queen of Egypt! The ally of Rome! Such an act would entail fatal consequences. If Herod demurred it was not because his bloodthirsty soul baulked at either poison or poignard. It was not because the siren songs had touched his senses. No, he too hated her, for her yoke weighed heavily on his avaricious soul. He desired to get rid of her, but he scarcely dared run so tremendous a risk.

Mariamne used all the wiles of the serpent of Eden; she coaxed, she cajoled: "Do you not see that this woman is a menace to the whole world? Antony himself would be safer if he were free!" But the King was difficult to move. He argued, he resisted, and finally chose the part of prudence. In place of the amorous homage that she had been hoping to call forth, he loaded her with valuable gifts, and, without letting her suspect how near she had come to losing her life, he escorted her to the frontier, like a respectful vassal.

During those days that Cleopatra had spent near the Temple of Temples had this learned pupil of Apollodorus any desire to read the sacred books? Did she understand that the time for the birth of the Messiah was drawing near? Had she any intuition that out of this land of Judea, which she was oppressing like a despot, would rise the new sovereignty of Christianity from the ruins of the world of her day? Did she see the end of that civilization of which she was the fairest representative? Probably not, for, like all those who are devoured by ambition, Cleopatra thought only of her own aggrandizement, of the fulfilment of her glorious dreams. It would have been inconceivable to her mind, reared in the traditions of Egypt and of Greece, that what had taken centuries to build up would vanish like a bit of straw.

Besides, this was the time for hopeful visions rather than for misgivings. Antony was returning as victor. It was the moment to announce their marriage, to prove her sole dominion over the mighty conqueror. She awaited him eagerly, trembling with joyful anticipation.

When Antony caught sight of her on the Libyan slopes, a flower amongst flowers, her arms outspread to welcome him, her luscious mouth ready for his kisses, all thought of his duty to Rome was effaced in a moment. He saw her alone; his idol, his beloved, and his only wish was to follow where she led, to share his triumphs with her, and to add to her kingdoms the new kingdoms that he had just conquered. A squadron awaited them at the mouth of the Orontes and they set sail for Alexandria.

It was beyond belief that a Roman general should fail to bring the spoils of war to Rome. It was for Rome alone that he had fought and conquered. To Rome only belonged the privilege of conferring the triumph. But Antony had a reckless disregard for all these traditions. He was drunk with the homage of the Orient; her prostrate kings, her incense, the statues that she had erected in his honour. He felt a veritable giant and he meant to show his pride of achievement by an act of outrageous audacity. He planned to duplicate, on the banks of the Nile, the magnificent ceremonies with which Rome welcomed her returning conquerors on the banks of the Tiber.

Egyptian splendour equalled, if it did not exceed, that of Rome. On this occasion everyone was anxious to contribute his share to the gorgeous spectacle, for the insult to the Italian capital aroused keen delight in the heart of the Alexandrians. Every house was decorated; every citizen brought offerings; every woman wore her finest apparel and all her available jewels. It was a variegated crowd that assembled on the parade grounds to greet the Victor.