Cleopatra the Great

by Joann Fletcher

  As Egypt’s most potent legend became Cleopatra’s political policy, the contemporary Roman historian Diodorus Siculus related that ‘Isis lived with her brother and husband Osiris, and when he died she vowed she would never accept the partnership of another man. She avenged her husband’s murder and continued thereafter to rule entirely according to the laws. In sum, she was responsible for the most and greatest benefactions to all mankind.’ The arrangement allowed Cleopatra to assume Isis’ all-encompassing male-female duality in which she claimed, ‘I have acted as a man although I was a woman in order to make Osiris’ name survive on earth’, and as far afield as the Greek islands Isis’ devotees claimed ‘she has made the power of women equal to that of men’.

  From nurturing mother goddess to a deity believed to be more powerful than a thousand soldiers, Isis appeared with her sacred creature, the snake, wrapped round her forearm ‘in her role as supreme magician slaying Osiris’ enemies’. This was no doubt replicated by means of a pair of golden snake bracelets — such jewellery was tremendously popular throughout Ptolemaic and Roman times, often worn in matching pairs on the forearms so that the snakes might appear to travel up the right arm and down the left. Perhaps it was teamed with jewellery incorporating Caesar’s portrait in the same way that the Ptolemies’ gold coin images were placed on richly bejewelled necklaces and girdles. Caesar’s own golden image was certainly worn on rings featuring a small offering jug for the libations made to his divine soul.

  Even though his ashes were buried in the family tomb in Rome, his soul was sustained within Egypt where Cleopatra, sharing Isis’ power of raising the dead at least in spirit, resumed her programme of temple building. Caesar’s memory was maintained in time-honoured Egyptian fashion within her magnificent Caesareum, reinforcing Caesarion’s paternity in stone.

  Built close to the royal palace complex on Alexandria’s seafront, it resembled in some ways the temple the second Ptolemy had built in memory of his own deceased and deified partner Arsinoe II. Cleopatra seems to have been sufficiently inspired by the ancient obelisk set up before her ancestors’ temple that she planned to duplicate the feature using a pair of 200-ton rose granite obelisks from Heliopolis. The 1400-year-old ‘Cleopatra’s Needles’ were eventually erected 60 metres apart at either side of the Caesareum’s grand entrance, and the temple’s 150m-wide frontage facing the harbour stretched back 70 metres within its own manicured parkland. With massive foundations supporting some sort of multi-level superstructure such as a terraced sanctuary, it was by far the most impressive of Cleopatra’s Alexandrian buildings, ‘the like of which had never been seen before’. The Jewish philosopher Philo later claimed ‘there is elsewhere no precinct like this temple, situated on an elevation facing the harbours renowned for their excellent moorage; it is huge and conspicuous, decorated on an unparalleled scale with dedicated offerings, surrounded by a girdle of pictures and statues in silver and gold, forming a precinct of enormous breadth, embellished with porticoes, libraries, chambers, groves, gateways, broad walks and courts and everything adorned with the beauty that the most lavish expenditure could provide’.

  Based on fragments of an inscription from the Caesareum which stated ‘when climbing the second staircase, below the right-hand portico, next to the temple of Venus, in which stood a marble statue of the goddess’, it seems highly likely that Cleopatra replicated the programme of statuary set up in Caesar’s Venus temple in the Forum. But alongside figures of the goddess and Cleopatra, the central figure of the Caesareum was ‘the image of the god Julius’, perhaps comparable with another statue of Caesar carved from southern Egyptian schist, its green colour evoking Osiris’ green skin to represent resurrection. Newly discovered granite figures of Caesarion may also have been part of such a family group.

  Cleopatra was also planning a complementary building known as the Cleopatreion, presumably one of her cult centres within Alexandria still known as Cleopatra’s Baths, and the two buildings emphasising the connection between the individuals they honoured. Caesar’s earlier support for the city’s Jewish community was reflected in the synagogue built during Cleopatra and Caesarion’s joint reign and dedicated to ‘the Great God that heareth’. Cleopatra and her son also renewed a grant of asylum to Jews, issuing the decree ‘on the orders of the female king and the male king’ in both Greek and Latin, the use of Latin a nod to Caesar’s pro-Jewish feelings and underlining the monarchs’ relationship with Rome.

  Cleopatra is likely to have toured her kingdom again, this time in the company of her new co-ruler Caesarion to show herself to her people as mother of Horus, and they may well have travelled to the heart of the Delta to Leontopolis (modern Tell el-Muqdam). Its name meant ‘City of the Lions’ and its temple to the lion god Mihos (Greek Miysis) was adorned with limestone sculptures of the recumbent creatures, embellished with bronze lion-themed furniture, fittings and offering vessels. There was even a live lion, the god’s sacred creature, kept within the temple precincts: it was entertained by the clergy who recited poetry, chanted, played music and even danced for the animal’s pleasure. Elaborate ceremonials involving the monarch referred to the pharaoh as ‘nisw pa maai’, ‘the Lion King’, and each sacred creature was equated with both Mihos and Horus. At death the lion then became Osiris and was mummified. A limestone stela dated to the joint reign of Cleopatra and Caesarion emphasises the way in which the mummified lions were revered by the royals, evidence of yet another animal cult used by Cleopatra as part of her religious and political strategy.

  Yet Cleopatra concentrated most of her building projects in the south, where she presumably travelled with Caesarion to oversee more work on the Isis-Hathor temple at Dendera. As draughtsmen were set to work on the vast expanse of outer wall, massive yet meticulous scenes of Cleopatra and Caesarion offering to Isis and Horus were duplicated with an almost mirror image in which the royal pair also made offerings to Hathor and her son Ihy. Such towering propaganda equated Cleopatra with the temple’s chief deity, Isis-Hathor, the single-parent goddess whose union with an absent father had produced a single son named here as ‘Uniter of the Two Lands’, a traditional phrase referring to northern and southern Egypt which might now equally apply to Egypt and Rome. Cleopatra also had her son shown in the dual crown of a united Egypt, and most significantly of all, she placed the images of her son in front of her own, announcing to the world the order of rightful succession.

  High above these potent scenes, Cleopatra’s elaborate suite of rooftop shrines created for Osiris’ resurrection had suddenly taken on particular significance. She carried out her sacred duties within their walls, intoning words dating back twenty-three centuries as she encouraged her dead husband to live, Osiris, live! May the listless one rise up — I am Isis!’ Reassuring him that ‘Horus comes at your call Osiris, you will be placed upon his arms, you will be safe in your power’, Cleopatra-Isis resurrected the powers of the dead Caesar-Osiris who would live for ever through their son Caesarion-Horus in an eternal cycle of continuity.

  More than likely progressing south to Thebes, Cleopatra must have been keen to acknowledge the part played by her capable governor Kallimachos during her absence and no doubt also to show that she was back in control. At the sandstone temple of Hathor-Isis on the west bank at Deir el-Medina, where her father Auletes had undertaken work, a large granite stela inscribed in both Greek and Egyptian demotic was set up, its accompanying images showing Caesarion worshipping Amun-Ra while Cleopatra in the distinctive Geb crown of horns and feathers worshipped the war god Montu, both male deities representing aspects of Julius Caesar previously acknowledged in his lifetime.

  This same identification was also clear at Montu’s cult centre of Hermonthis a few miles to the south, where Cleopatra’s daringly innovative birth house had been embellished with extraordinary scenes of Caesarion’s divine conception and birth in which Caesar actually appeared as Amun-Ra in order to impregnate Cleopatra in the timehonoured fashion of the pharaohs. The building had by now entered
a second phase of construction, in which a high entrance kiosk with elegant multiple columns was added to an already imposing facade. Cleopatra’s plans for a final phase of construction featuring a second such kiosk would raise the height to over 50 feet. With a series of slim columns featuring the repeated figure of the dwarf god Bes, favourite deity of women in labour, accompanied by cartouches of Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XV Caesarion, this stunning creation was typical of Cleopatra’s architectural vision.

  Finally in the deep south at the Ptolemies’ spiritual home, Edfu, Cleopatra knew it was vital to make her son’s presence felt as the living representative of all Ptolemies past. In the shade of the great entrance pylon of Auletes, where his towering images brought order to the land, two majestic Horus falcons in granite flanking the temple entrance protected the small male figure recently identified as the young pharaoh Caesarion.

  Such active policies not only ensured Caesarion’s birthright; the invocation of Egypt’s traditional deities would bring maximum protection to the boy at a time when childhood ailments were commonly fatal. It was an acknowledged fact among the ancient medical profession that dysentery ‘carries off mostly children up to age of 10’, and the environment was also filled with hazards ranging from the extreme climate to the prevalence of snakes, scorpions and crocodiles. One inscription mourned the loss of a one-year-old boy whose ‘body lies in the sand, but his soul has gone to its own land’, such baby burials often including their toys and even feeding bottles.

  Yet Caesarion was considered to be in the very safest of hands, since Living Isis was regarded as the pre-eminent deity of healthcare and able to cure everything from snakebite to blindness. By Ptolemaic times the clergy of Isis were medical practitioners who knew by heart the six-part medical treatises covering anatomy, pathology, surgery, pharmacology, ophthalmology and gynaecology, all contained in temple texts known collectively as the Book of Thoth. Spells many centuries old invoked the aid of the goddess: ‘Isis, Great Mage, heal me and release me from all things bad and evil and belonging to Seth, from the demonic fatal illnesses, as you saved and freed your son Horus’. Isis’ invention of drugs and medicines was also recognised by the classical world, who prescribed a drug named after her as a panacea to stop bleeding, cure headaches and heal ulcers, lesions, fractures and bites.

  Nevertheless, Cleopatra needed to draw on all her powers when the Nile once more failed to rise sufficiently in 43 BC. AS the threat of famine loomed large, not to mention the bad press, the huge grain reserves in Alexandria’s royal warehouses were redistributed while anti-famine measures implemented by her epistrategos Kallimachos down in Thebes were so successful that he was honoured with statues and public festivals. And to prevent any exploitation of temple supplies, Cleopatra sent out firm reminders to her tax officials to honour the traditional tax exemptions she had made to the temples or face the consequences.

  The floods of 42 and 41 BC also fell short, and disease became such a problem that Cleopatra’s medical advisor Dioscurides Phakas embarked on pioneering research into bubonic plague. She herself continued to work on a more esoteric level to placate the wrath of the lioness deity Sekhmet, ‘Lady of Plague’, as revealed by an uninscribed stela portraying a royal figure, almost certainly Cleopatra, playing her sistrum rattles to appease the great plague bringer herself in the presence of Heka, the personification of magic.

  It may have been more than coincidence that Taimhotep, wife of the Memphis high priest Pasherenptah, died in 42 BC aged only thirty-one. Following her mummification, her burial in the family vault at Sakkara was marked by a large funerary stela inscribed with the lengthiest and ‘most explicit laments over death’ known from Egypt, composed by her brother Horemhotep. The dead woman told her husband, ‘do not weary of drinking, eating, getting drunk and making love — make holiday and follow your heart day and night!’ Her words were accompanied by exquisite images of Taimhotep worshipping Isis and Osiris, Horus and his fellow gods, including the Apis bull, in what were ‘perhaps the finest examples of private relief ever made in the Ptolemaic period’.

  It is certainly true that Cleopatra’s subjects could employ the very best artists, the great revival in native art exemplified by such masterpieces as a colossal black diorite statue head that quite possibly represented Pasherenptah and a handsome young Egyptian man with unruly curls carved with consummate skill in green schist. With such quality even exceeded in royal imagery, a superb bronze figurine of a Greek-style Horus made in Alexandria most likely represented Caesarion; while the breathtaking Tazza Farnese bowl, made of Indian sardonyx, featured a cameo of the Nile as a male god holding a cornucopia alongside Isis in the royal diadem reclining nonchalantly against the head of a sphinx and Horus carrying a bag of seed.

  An allegory of Cleopatra-Isis and Caesarion-Horus uniting with the powers of the Nile to bring much-needed fertility back to Egypt, such artworks conveyed a further political message: Cleopatra’s portrayal of her son as Horus ‘Avenger of his Father’ Osiris carried with it the underlying notion of vengeance. And since Caesarion was raised by Cleopatra to perform his filial duties and take his father’s place, they were both drawn into the approaching storm which would engulf the ancient world in bloodshed.

  Just as Caesar had predicted, his murder sparked another civil war as his assassins were hunted down by the two men who vied to succeed him, his deputy Antonius, backed by Caesar’s troops and money, and his posthumously adopted heir Octavian, who had arrived back from Macedonia in early May to claim his new name before the Senate. Understandably, Octavian demanded the money Caesar had left him. But Antonius, who was determined to retain power, brushed him aside.

  The two men could not have been more different in terms of temperament, ideology and certainly outward appearance. Although his youthful looks had been matured by his thirty-nine years, Antonius ‘had a very good and noble appearance; his beard was well grown, his forehead large, and his nose aquiline, giving him altogether a bold, masculine look that reminded people of the faces of Hercules in paintings and sculptures’. This description is considerably removed from the bull-necked gargoyle image on some of his coin portraits, which were predominantly used to emphasise particular qualities rather than to provide a photographic likeness. His fondness for dressing up as Herakles was nevertheless regarded as decidedly odd by his enemies and his emulation of Alexander the antithesis of proper Roman behaviour, as was his devotion to Dionysos, the Eastern god of ‘deviant masculinity’.

  Yet the more Antony swaggered around in his exotic if ambiguous attire, the more his rival Octavian championed the manly garb of Apollo and Mars. Although the idea of armed combat made him physically ill and his famously puny body fell short of the virile gods he sought to emulate, he compensated by wearing several layers of underclothes beneath his toga. Even his shoes ‘had rather thick soles to make him look taller’, and although it was said that ‘one did not realise how small a man he was, unless someone tall stood close to him’, he presumably kept his distance from the strapping Antonius whenever possible.

  Octavian certainly ‘lacked glamour and panache, still more the vigorous masculinity of a Mark Antony. Puny, sickly, cowardly — the type is recognisable, as is the ruthlessness which often co-exists with physical cowardice. What commands admiration is high moral courage and a firm grasp of reality.’ His lack of military prowess and valour were more than overcome by a brilliant political mind, complete lack of scruples, and an incredibly fortunate legacy.

  Determined to emphasise this legacy at every opportunity, the eighteen-year-old Octavian set up a statue of Caesar in the family temple of Venus Genetrix which also housed the image of Cleopatra. He won over the people by putting on public games in Caesar’s honour, and the timely appearance of a comet seen an hour before sunset for seven consecutive days was identified as Caesar’s soul elevated into the heavens. It was dubbed the ‘sidus Iulium’ in the grand tradition of Egypt’s ancient stellar beliefs, in which the souls of dead pharaohs were believed t
o rise up from their pyramids and become ‘Imperishable Stars’. The Romans claimed that Caesar’s soul had been transformed into the star, thereafter shown above his head in posthumous portrayals, including his new statue in Venus’ temple.

  In the same way that Cleopatra maintained her own links with Caesar, Octavian used his divine connections to become ‘divi films’, ‘the son of a god’, albeit by adoption. Although his use of Caesar’s name at every opportunity clearly annoyed Antonius, who told him, ‘You, boy, owe everything to your name’, Octavian was nevertheless feted by the remaining Republicans as an essential counterbalance to Antonius. Still naively hoping he would restore the Republic, Cicero declared that ‘Octavian is an excellent boy, of whom I personally have high hopes for the future.’

  As Octavian played along to benefit from Cicero’s remaining political influence and receive a good press, Antonius was continuously attacked. When he was appointed priest of Caesar’s cult, Cicero denounced him as a ‘loathsome man! Equally loathsome as priest of a tyrant or priest of a dead human being!’ Refusing to attend the Senate meeting that Antonius had called for 1 September 44 BC, Cicero then launched into further virulent attacks in the first of a series of speeches which he dubbed the ‘Philippics’ after the similar diatribes that the Athenian orator Demosthenes had launched three centuries earlier against the growing powers of Alexander’s father, Philip of Macedon. Yet regardless of Cicero’s feelings for either of them, Antonius and Octavian initially joined forces to deal with the assassins whom Cicero had already met, encouraging Brutus and Cassius to take up minor postings in Crete and Cyrene offered by some in the Senate to get them out of Rome and away from Caesar’s supporters.