



Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.










FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY


THE ROMANCE OF DEVOTION


BY

LYNDON ORR



VOLUME I OF IV.





CONTENTS


  THE STORY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
  ABELARD AND HELOISE
  QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE EARL OF LEICESTER
  MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AND LORD BOTHWELL
  QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN AND THE MARQUIS MONALDESCHI
  KING CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN
  MAURICE OF SAXONY AND ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR
  THE STORY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART




THE STORY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


Of all love stories that are known to human history, the love story of
Antony and Cleopatra has been for nineteen centuries the most
remarkable. It has tasked the resources of the plastic and the graphic
arts. It has been made the theme of poets and of prose narrators. It
has appeared and reappeared in a thousand forms, and it appeals as much
to the imagination to-day as it did when Antony deserted his almost
victorious troops and hastened in a swift galley from Actium in pursuit
of Cleopatra.

The wonder of the story is explained by its extraordinary nature. Many
men in private life have lost fortune and fame for the love of woman.
Kings have incurred the odium of their people, and have cared nothing
for it in comparison with the joys of sense that come from the
lingering caresses and clinging kisses. Cold-blooded statesmen, such as
Parnell, have lost the leadership of their party and have gone down in
history with a clouded name because of the fascination exercised upon
them by some woman, often far from beautiful, and yet possessing the
mysterious power which makes the triumphs of statesmanship seem slight
in comparison with the swiftly flying hours of pleasure.

But in the case of Antony and Cleopatra alone do we find a man flinging
away not merely the triumphs of civic honors or the headship of a
state, but much more than these--the mastery of what was practically
the world--in answer to the promptings of a woman's will. Hence the
story of the Roman triumvir and the Egyptian queen is not like any
other story that has yet been told. The sacrifice involved in it was so
overwhelming, so instantaneous, and so complete as to set this
narrative above all others. Shakespeare's genius has touched it with
the glory of a great imagination. Dryden, using it in the finest of his
plays, expressed its nature in the title "All for Love."

The distinguished Italian historian, Signor Ferrero, the author of many
books, has tried hard to eliminate nearly all the romantic elements
from the tale, and to have us see in it not the triumph of love, but
the blindness of ambition. Under his handling it becomes almost a
sordid drama of man's pursuit of power and of woman's selfishness. Let
us review the story as it remains, even after we have taken full
account of Ferrero's criticism. Has the world for nineteen hundred
years been blinded by a show of sentiment? Has it so absolutely been
misled by those who lived and wrote in the days which followed closely
on the events that make up this extraordinary narrative?

In answering these questions we must consider, in the first place, the
scene, and, in the second place, the psychology of the two central
characters who for so long a time have been regarded as the very
embodiment of unchecked passion.

As to the scene, it must be remembered that the Egypt of those days was
not Egyptian as we understand the word, but rather Greek. Cleopatra
herself was of Greek descent. The kingdom of Egypt had been created by
a general of Alexander the Great after that splendid warrior's death.
Its capital, the most brilliant city of the Greco-Roman world, had been
founded by Alexander himself, who gave to it his name. With his own
hands he traced out the limits of the city and issued the most
peremptory orders that it should be made the metropolis of the entire
world. The orders of a king cannot give enduring greatness to a city;
but Alexander's keen eye and marvelous brain saw at once that the site
of Alexandria was such that a great commercial community planted there
would live and flourish throughout out succeeding ages. He was right;
for within a century this new capital of Egypt leaped to the forefront
among the exchanges of the world's commerce, while everything that art
could do was lavished on its embellishment.

Alexandria lay upon a projecting tongue of land so situated that the
whole trade of the Mediterranean centered there. Down the Nile there
floated to its gates the barbaric wealth of Africa. To it came the
treasures of the East, brought from afar by caravans--silks from China,
spices and pearls from India, and enormous masses of gold and silver
from lands scarcely known. In its harbor were the vessels of every
country, from Asia in the East to Spain and Gaul and even Britain in
the West.

When Cleopatra, a young girl of seventeen, succeeded to the throne of
Egypt the population of Alexandria amounted to a million souls. The
customs duties collected at the port would, in terms of modern money,
amount each year to more than thirty million dollars, even though the
imposts were not heavy. The people, who may be described as Greek at
the top and Oriental at the bottom, were boisterous and
pleasure-loving, devoted to splendid spectacles, with horse-racing,
gambling, and dissipation; yet at the same time they were an artistic
people, loving music passionately, and by no means idle, since one part
of the city was devoted to large and prosperous manufactories of linen,
paper, glass, and muslin.

To the outward eye Alexandria was extremely beautiful. Through its
entire length ran two great boulevards, shaded and diversified by
mighty trees and parterres of multicolored flowers, amid which
fountains plashed and costly marbles gleamed. One-fifth of the whole
city was known as the Royal Residence. In it were the palaces of the
reigning family, the great museum, and the famous library which the
Arabs later burned. There were parks and gardens brilliant with
tropical foliage and adorned with the masterpieces of Grecian
sculpture, while sphinxes and obelisks gave a suggestion of Oriental
strangeness. As one looked seaward his eye beheld over the blue water
the snow-white rocks of the sheltering island, Pharos, on which was
reared a lighthouse four hundred feet in height and justly numbered
among the seven wonders of the world. Altogether, Alexandria was a city
of wealth, of beauty, of stirring life, of excitement, and of pleasure.
Ferrero has aptly likened it to Paris--not so much the Paris of to-day
as the Paris of forty years ago, when the Second Empire flourished in
all its splendor as the home of joy and strange delights.

Over the country of which Alexandria was the capital Cleopatra came to
reign at seventeen. Following the odd custom which the Greek dynasty of
the Ptolemies had inherited from their Egyptian predecessors, she was
betrothed to her own brother. He, however, was a mere child of less
than twelve, and was under the control of evil counselors, who, in his
name, gained control of the capital and drove Cleopatra into exile.
Until then she had been a mere girl; but now the spirit of a woman who
was wronged blazed up in her and called out all her latent powers.
Hastening to Syria, she gathered about herself an army and led it
against her foes.

But meanwhile Julius Caesar, the greatest man of ancient times, had
arrived at Alexandria backed by an army of his veterans. Against him no
resistance would avail. Then came a brief moment during which the
Egyptian king and the Egyptian queen each strove to win the favor of
the Roman imperator. The king and his advisers had many arts, and so
had Cleopatra. One thing, however, she possessed which struck the
balance in her favor, and this was a woman's fascination.

According to the story, Caesar was unwilling to receive her. There came
into his presence, as he sat in the palace, a group of slaves bearing a
long roll of matting, bound carefully and seeming to contain some
precious work of art. The slaves made signs that they were bearing a
gift to Caesar. The master of Egypt bade them unwrap the gift that he
might see it. They did so, and out of the wrapping came Cleopatra--a
radiant vision, appealing, irresistible. Next morning it became known
everywhere that Cleopatra had remained in Caesar's quarters through the
night and that her enemies were now his enemies. In desperation they
rushed upon his legions, casting aside all pretense of amity. There
ensued a fierce contest, but the revolt was quenched in blood.

This was a crucial moment in Cleopatra's life. She had sacrificed all
that a woman has to give; but she had not done so from any love of
pleasure or from wantonness. She was queen of Egypt, and she had
redeemed her kingdom and kept it by her sacrifice. One should not
condemn her too severely. In a sense, her act was one of heroism like
that of Judith in the tent of Holofernes. But beyond all question it
changed her character. It taught her the secret of her own great power.
Henceforth she was no longer a mere girl, nor a woman of the ordinary
type. Her contact with so great a mind as Caesar's quickened her
intellect. Her knowledge that, by the charms of sense, she had mastered
even him transformed her into a strange and wonderful creature. She
learned to study the weaknesses of men, to play on their emotions, to
appeal to every subtle taste and fancy. In her were blended mental
power and that illusive, indefinable gift which is called charm.

For Cleopatra was never beautiful. Signor Ferrero seems to think this
fact to be discovery of his own, but it was set down by Plutarch in a
very striking passage written less than a century after Cleopatra and
Antony died. We may quote here what the Greek historian said of her:

Her actual beauty was far from being so remarkable that none could be
compared with her, nor was it such that it would strike your fancy when
you saw her first. Yet the influence of her presence, if you lingered
near her, was irresistible. Her attractive personality, joined with the
charm of her conversation, and the individual touch that she gave to
everything she said or did, were utterly bewitching. It was delightful
merely to hear the music of her voice, with which, like an instrument
of many strings, she could pass from one language to another.

Ca