The Nilus would have risen before his time,
And flooded at our nod.”
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.