Famous Affinities of History | Page 4

was exceedingly handsome, and bad companions led him into the
pursuit of vicious pleasure. He had scarcely come of age when he found
that he owed the enormous sum of two hundred and fifty talents,
equivalent to half a million dollars in the money of to-day. But he was
much more than a mere man of pleasure, given over to drinking and to
dissipation. Men might tell of his escapades, as when he drove about
the streets of Rome in a common cab, dangling his legs out of the
window while he shouted forth drunken songs of revelry. This was not
the whole of Antony. Joining the Roman army in Syria, he showed
himself to be a soldier of great personal bravery, a clever strategist, and
also humane and merciful in the hour of victory.
Unlike most Romans, Antony wore a full beard. His forehead was large,
and his nose was of the distinctive Roman type. His look was so bold

and masculine that people likened him to Hercules. His democratic
manners endeared him to the army. He wore a plain tunic covered with
a large, coarse mantle, and carried a huge sword at his side, despising
ostentation. Even his faults and follies added to his popularity. He
would sit down at the common soldiers' mess and drink with them,
telling them stories and clapping them on the back. He spent money
like water, quickly recognizing any daring deed which his legionaries
performed. In this respect he was like Napoleon; and, like Napoleon, he
had a vein of florid eloquence which was criticized by literary men, but
which went straight to the heart of the private soldier. In a word, he was
a powerful, virile, passionate, able man, rough, as were nearly all his
countrymen, but strong and true.
It was to this general that Cleopatra was to answer, and with a firm
reliance on the charms which had subdued Antony's great commander,
Caesar, she set out in person for Cilicia, in Asia Minor, sailing up the
river Cydnus to the place where Antony was encamped with his army.
Making all allowance for the exaggeration of historians, there can be no
doubt that she appeared to him like some dreamy vision. Her barge was
gilded, and was wafted on its way by swelling sails of Tyrian purple.
The oars which smote the water were of shining silver. As she drew
near the Roman general's camp the languorous music of flutes and
harps breathed forth a strain of invitation.
Cleopatra herself lay upon a divan set upon the deck of the barge
beneath a canopy of woven gold. She was dressed to resemble Venus,
while girls about her personated nymphs and Graces. Delicate perfumes
diffused themselves from the vessel; and at last, as she drew near the
shore, all the people for miles about were gathered there, leaving
Antony to sit alone in the tribunal where he was dispensing justice.
Word was brought to him that Venus had come to feast with Bacchus.
Antony, though still suspicious of Cleopatra, sent her an invitation to
dine with him in state. With graceful tact she sent him a
counter-invitation, and he came. The magnificence of his reception
dazzled the man who had so long known only a soldier's fare, or at
most the crude entertainments which he had enjoyed in Rome. A

marvelous display of lights was made. Thousands upon thousands of
candles shone brilliantly, arranged in squares and circles; while the
banquet itself was one that symbolized the studied luxury of the East.
At this time Cleopatra was twenty-seven years of age--a period of life
which modern physiologists have called the crisis in a woman's growth.
She had never really loved before, since she had given herself to Caesar,
not because she cared for him, but to save her kingdom. She now came
into the presence of one whose manly beauty and strong passions were
matched by her own subtlety and appealing charm.
When Antony addressed her he felt himself a rustic in her presence.
Almost resentful, he betook himself to the coarse language of the camp.
Cleopatra, with marvelous adaptability, took her tone from his, and
thus in a moment put him at his ease. Ferrero, who takes a most
unfavorable view of her character and personality, nevertheless
explains the secret of her fascination:
Herself utterly cold and callous, insensitive by nature to the flame of
true devotion, Cleopatra was one of those women gifted with an
unerring instinct for all the various roads to men's affections. She could
be the shrinking, modest girl, too shy to reveal her half-unconscious
emotions of jealousy and depression and self-abandonment, or a
woman carried away by the sweep of a fiery and uncontrollable passion.
She could tickle the esthetic sensibilities of her victims by rich and