nsports the lover whom she has betrayed
than one whom she has no thought of surrendering. There are, moreover,
in these tragedies unexpected accidents, which so affect even the
hardest nature that calculations are cast aside, and the old loyalty
resumes a temporary sway. Nor must we fail to insist again upon the
traditions wherein this last Cleopatra was born and bred. She came from
a stock whose women played with love and with life as if they were mere
counters. To hesitate whether such a scion of such a house would have
delayed to discard Antony and to assume another passion is to show small
appreciation of the effects of heredity and of example. Dion tells us
that she arrived in Alexandria before the news of her defeat, pretended
a victory, and took the occasion of committing many murders, in order to
get rid of secret opponents, and also to gather wealth by confiscation
of their goods, for both she and Antony, who came along the coast of
Libya, seem still to have thought of defending the inaccessible Egypt,
and making terms for themselves and their children with the conqueror.
But Antony's efforts completely failed; no one would rally to his
standard. And meanwhile the false Queen had begun to send presents to
Caesar and encourage him to treat with her. But when he bluntly proposed
to her to murder Antony as the price of her reconciliation with himself,
and when he even declared by proxy that he was in love with her, he
clearly made a rash move in this game of diplomacy, though Dion says he
persuaded her of his love, and that accordingly she betrayed to him the
fortress of Pelusium, the key of the country. Dion also differs from
Plutarch in repeatedly ascribing to Octavian great anxiety to secure the
treasures which Cleopatra had with her, and which she was likely to
destroy by fire if driven to despair.

The historian may well leave to the biographer, nay, to the poet, the
affecting details of the closing scenes of Cleopatra's life. In the
fourth and fifth acts of _Antony and Cleopatra_ Shakespeare has
reproduced every detail of Plutarch's narrative, which was drawn from
that of her physician Olympos. Her fascinations were not dead, for they
swayed Dolabella to play false to his master so far as to warn her of
his intentions, and leave her time for her dignified and royal end. But
if these Hellenistic queens knew how to die, they knew not how to live.
Even the penultimate scene of the tragedy, when she presents an