she regains her empire over Antony, Cleopatra never lets him leave her again, but keeps him always in sight, knowing that he is only to be retained by the continual witchery of her presence. She follows the army, heedless of all the embarrassment that her presence entails in the execution of strategic plans; in spite of Enobarbus, who can speak plainly enough when he chooses, and strongly inveighs against her appearance in the camp. Antony, however, justifies her presence and approves of it, and covers her with his protection. But he does more than this, and if it were not for the account given by the historian, his conduct in the matter would be taken as an invention of the poet's, so incredible are the lengths to which the blindness of his love leads him-for he actually gives up the ordering of the battle to Cleopatra. On land all the chances were in his favour-he held victory in his hand,-but it was the whim of the Egyptian Queen to insist upon a naval combat, and, contrary to the advice of all his captains, Antony decides to fight at sea. In the midst of the engagement and while the advantage seems equally divided on either side, suddenly, to the amazement of the enemy, Cleopatra's sixty vessels are seen to turn, “hoist sail and fly." "Antony," says Plutarch, "was so carried away with the vain love of this woman, as if he had been glued unto her, and that she could not have removed without moving of him also. For when he saw Cleopatra's ship under sail, he forgot, forsook, and betrayed them that fought for him, and embarked upon a galley with five banks of oars, to follow her that had already begun to overthrow him, and would in the end be his utter destruction." What had happened was very simple; it was only that Cleopatra had felt frightened: she was not a woman of heroic type, and her nerves were not strong enough to bear the excitement of a battle for any length of time, -that was the whole secret. Those who seek for any other explanation of the defeat at Actium, do so because they start with the notion that on great occasions Cleopatra could be truly brave, the splendid manner of her death having acquired for her a false reputation for courage; but her supposed heroism is only a brilliant theatrical cloak wrapped round the most feminine little person, presenting the most complete contrast to all manliness of character that ever wore a crown. We have only to study closely her ending, as it is given by Shakespeare, and the mask falls-the woman remains and the heroine vanishes. After his victory at Actium, Octavius endeavours to lure her away from Antony, and sends a messenger who is most graciously received by the consummate actress, and whom she charges with a submissive message to Octavius. She gives him her hand to kiss, and as he is pressing it to his lips, Antony enters. A most violent scene ensues between the exasperated lover and the frightened Queen. Twice in the play such scenes occur; a guilty love like theirs could be no continual idyl, and sin must inevitably bear its bitter fruits. Antony is superb in his rage, which is like the rage of Jupiter the Thunderer. Cleopatra bows her head and recognizes her master. He forgives her, speaks again of fighting and of conquering, and the two hearts are completely reconciled, until a fresh act of treachery or of cowardice on her part causes so terrible an explosion of anger from Antony that she rushes away, and shuts herself up with her women in her monument, and sends word to Antony that she is dead. When Antony is brought to her tower, dying from his self-inflicted wound, she does not venture to open the door, but she and her women draw him up by ropes through the window. But in spite of her precautions she is taken. First, the envoys of Octavius, and then Octavius himself make their way into the monument, and Cleopatra humbly bends the knee and speaks soft words to him. An amazing little incident, not invented by Shakespeare but to be found in Plutarch, exhibits the inherent falseness of her nature with such frank impudence. that it makes the reader smile, as it must have made Octavius himself smile. She gives up her gold and plate and jewels to Cæsar, protesting she has kept back nothing for herself, and calls upon Seleucus, her treasurer, to testify to the truth of what she says; but Seleucus is an honest-spoken man and cannot conscientiously confirm her statements. This exasperates her to such a degree that even in Cæsar's sight, and appealing to Cæsar, she exclaims against the ingratitude and perfidy of her slave, beating him and ordering him off, because he would not serve her with a convenient little lie. Cleopatra wishes for death indeed, but her wish is due neither to the loss of Antony, nor to the loss of her kingdom, nor to the loss of her liberty; all these sorrows and humilations she could have borne, but when she hears that Octavius intends taking her to Rome, all that would befall her if led in triumph through the streets of Rome, flashes through her imagination, and the bare thought of it is insufferable.* She had long been occupied with the study of poisons, seeking to discover one that would ensure a speedy and a painless death; the bites of serpents had particularly attracted her attention, and after various experiments on prisoners condemned to death, she had come to the conclusion that that of the asp was the most desirable. It produced no convulsions -nothing violent or horrible; it only caused a feeling of sleepiness, and a slight moisture on the face, and so pleasant was this drowsiness that the victim had no wish to be awaked out of it; to die like this was but another voluptuous pleasure. "Mrs. Jameson, "Characteristics of Women." For the last time she puts on her royal robe and crown, and then, taking up an asp from the basket of figs just brought to her, she applies it to her breast, saying to Charmian who utters an exclamation of horror : "Peace, peace! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, Never was self-inflicted death more soft and gentle or more suggestive of the metaphor of sleep. "She looks like sleep, As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace." The final impression left upon the mind by this woman, in whom there was no real goodness or grandeur of character, is that of a grace and a fascination that never leave her from the beginning to the end, and in her last moments, that of majesty. As an example of the magic power of beauty and of poetry Shakespeare's Cleopatra stands alone. CHAPTER XXI. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA (continued). OCTAVIUS. LEPIDUS. ENOBARBUS. OCTAVIUS. IN the whole range of historical figures it would be difficult to find one more disagreeable, more ugly, and more repulsive than Cæsar's nephew, Octavius, who afterwards became the renowned Augustus, so chanted and glorified by the poets. Not that he was a monster of wickedness; comparatively speaking at least and placed by the side of the more thorough-going ruffians who were 'members of his august family, he could hardly be called So. But from a poetical point of view this is just where his fault lies; had he been more frankly and boldly wicked he would have been less detestable. Schiller has very truly remarked that a robber gains, poetically speaking, by being also a murderer, and that a man who lowers himself in our æsthetic esteem by some paltry rascality, may raise himself by the commission of a great crime. But in a mean shivering creature, who used to regale himself upon an ounce of bread and a few dried raisins, and in winter wore four tunics under his toga, it is impossible to feel any vivid interest. Military courage, we know, was not one of his virtues. His favourite maxims, "Precaution is better than boldness," "Make haste |