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diff --git a/3329-h/3329-h.htm b/3329-h/3329-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fbf49d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/3329-h/3329-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7024 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Caesar and Cleopatra, by George Bernard Shaw + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + p.noindent {text-indent: 0em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + div.songouter /* for centering a verse/poem (see also div.content) */ + {margin:1em 0em 1em 0em; text-align: center;} + div.songinner /* contains text to be centered inside a box3 div */ + {display: inline-block; text-align: left; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Caesar and Cleopatra, by George Bernard Shaw + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Caesar and Cleopatra + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + +Release Date: January 23, 2009 [EBook #3329] +Last Updated: December 10, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA *** + + + + +Produced by Eve Sobol, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By George Bernard Shaw + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT V </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES TO CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <p> + <i>An October night on the Syrian border of Egypt towards the end of the + XXXIII Dynasty, in the year 706 by Roman computation, afterwards reckoned + by Christian computation as 48 B.C. A great radiance of silver fire, the + dawn of a moonlit night, is rising in the east. The stars and the + cloudless sky are our own contemporaries, nineteen and a half centuries + younger than we know them; but you would not guess that from their + appearance. Below them are two notable drawbacks of civilization: a + palace, and soldiers. The palace, an old, low, Syrian building of whitened + mud, is not so ugly as Buckingham Palace; and the officers in the + courtyard are more highly civilized than modern English officers: for + example, they do not dig up the corpses of their dead enemies and mutilate + them, as we dug up Cromwell and the Mahdi. They are in two groups: one + intent on the gambling of their captain Belzanor, a warrior of fifty, who, + with his spear on the ground beside his knee, is stooping to throw dice + with a sly-looking young Persian recruit; the other gathered about a + guardsman who has just finished telling a naughty story (still current in + English barracks) at which they are laughing uproariously. They are about + a dozen in number, all highly aristocratic young Egyptian guardsmen, + handsomely equipped with weapons and armor, very unEnglish in point of not + being ashamed of and uncomfortable in their professional dress; on the + contrary, rather ostentatiously and arrogantly warlike, as valuing + themselves on their military caste.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Belzanor is a typical veteran, tough and wilful; prompt, capable and + crafty where brute force will serve; helpless and boyish when it will not: + an effective sergeant, an incompetent general, a deplorable dictator. + Would, if influentially connected, be employed in the two last capacities + by a modern European State on the strength of his success in the first. Is + rather to be pitied just now in view of the fact that Julius Caesar is + invading his country. Not knowing this, is intent on his game with the + Persian, whom, as a foreigner, he considers quite capable of cheating him.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>His subalterns are mostly handsome young fellows whose interest in the + game and the story symbolizes with tolerable completeness the main + interests in life of which they are conscious. Their spears are leaning + against the walls, or lying on the ground ready to their hands. The corner + of the courtyard forms a triangle of which one side is the front of the + palace, with a doorway, the other a wall with a gateway. The storytellers + are on the palace side: the gamblers, on the gateway side. Close to the + gateway, against the wall, is a stone block high enough to enable a Nubian + sentinel, standing on it, to look over the wall. The yard is lighted by a + torch stuck in the wall. As the laughter from the group round the + storyteller dies away, the kneeling Persian, winning the throw, snatches + up the stake from the ground.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br/> + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. By Apis, Persian, thy gods are good to thee. + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN. Try yet again, O captain. Double or quits! + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. No more. I am not in the vein. + </p> + <p> + THE SENTINEL (<i>poising his javelin as he peers over the wall</i>). Stand. Who + goes there? + </p> + <p><i> + They all start, listening. A strange voice replies from without. + </i></p> + <p> + VOICE. The bearer of evil tidings. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>calling to the sentry</i>). Pass him. + </p> + <p> + THE SENTINEL (<i>grounding his javelin</i>). Draw near, O bearer of evil + tidings. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>pocketing the dice and picking up his spear</i>). Let us receive + this man with honor. He bears evil tidings. + </p> + <p><i> + The guardsmen seize their spears and gather about the gate, leaving a way + through for the new comer. + </i></p> + <p> + PERSIAN (<i>rising from his knee</i>). Are evil tidings, then, honorable? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. O barbarous Persian, hear my instruction. In Egypt the bearer of + good tidings is sacrificed to the gods as a thank offering; but no god will + accept the blood of the messenger of evil. When we have good tidings, we + are careful to send them in the mouth of the cheapest slave we can find. + Evil tidings are borne by young noblemen who desire to bring themselves + into notice. (<i>They join the rest at the gate.</i>) + </p> + <p> + THE SENTINEL. Pass, O young captain; and bow the head in the House of the + Queen. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Go anoint thy javelin with fat of swine, O Blackamoor; for before + morning the Romans will make thee eat it to the very butt. + </p> + <p><i> + The owner of the voice, a fairhaired dandy, dressed in a different fashion + to that affected by the guardsmen, but no less extravagantly, comes + through the gateway laughing. He is somewhat battlestained; and his left + forearm, bandaged, comes through a torn sleeve. In his right hand he + carries a Roman sword in its sheath. He swaggers down the courtyard, the + Persian on his right, Belzanor on his left, and the guardsmen crowding + down behind him. + </i></p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Who art thou that laughest in the House of Cleopatra the Queen, + and in the teeth of Belzanor, the captain of her guard? + </p> + <p> + THE NEW COMER. I am Bel Affris, descended from the gods. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>ceremoniously</i>). Hail, cousin! + </p> + <p> + ALL (<i>except the Persian</i>). Hail, cousin! + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. All the Queen’s guards are descended from the gods, O stranger, + save myself. I am Persian, and descended from many kings. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>to the guardsmen</i>). Hail, cousins! (<i>To the Persian, + condescendingly</i>) Hail, mortal! + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. You have been in battle, Bel Affris; and you are a soldier among + soldiers. You will not let the Queen’s women have the first of your + tidings. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. I have no tidings, except that we shall have our throats cut + presently, women, soldiers, and all. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN (<i>to Belzanor</i>). I told you so. + </p> + <p> + THE SENTINEL (<i>who has been listening</i>). Woe, alas! + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>calling to him</i>). Peace, peace, poor Ethiop: destiny is with + the gods who painted thee black. (<i>To Belzanor</i>) What has this mortal + (<i>indicating the Persian</i>) told you? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. He says that the Roman Julius Caesar, who has landed on our + shores with a handful of followers, will make himself master of Egypt. He + is afraid of the Roman soldiers. (<i>The guardsmen laugh with boisterous + scorn.</i>) Peasants, brought up to scare crows and follow the plough. Sons of + smiths and millers and tanners! And we nobles, consecrated to arms, + descended from the gods! + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Belzanor: the gods are not always good to their poor relations. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>hotly, to the Persian</i>). Man to man, are we worse than the slaves + of Caesar? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>stepping between them</i>). Listen, cousin. Man to man, we + Egyptians are as gods above the Romans. + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN (<i>exultingly</i>). Aha! + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. But this Caesar does not pit man against man: he throws a + legion at you where you are weakest as he throws a stone from a catapult; + and that legion is as a man with one head, a thousand arms, and no + religion. I have fought against them; and I know. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>derisively</i>). Were you frightened, cousin? + </p> + <p><i> + The guardsmen roar with laughter, their eyes sparkling at the wit of their + captain. + </i></p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. No, cousin; but I was beaten. They were frightened (perhaps); + but they scattered us like chaff. + </p> + <p><i> + The guardsmen, much damped, utter a growl of contemptuous disgust. + </i></p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Could you not die? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. No: that was too easy to be worthy of a descendant of the + gods. Besides, there was no time: all was over in a moment. The attack + came just where we least expected it. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. That shews that the Romans are cowards. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. They care nothing about cowardice, these Romans: they fight to + win. The pride and honor of war are nothing to them. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Tell us the tale of the battle. What befell? + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN (<i>gathering eagerly round Bel Affris</i>). Ay: the tale of the + battle. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Know then, that I am a novice in the guard of the temple of Ra + in Memphis, serving neither Cleopatra nor her brother Ptolemy, but only + the high gods. We went a journey to inquire of Ptolemy why he had driven + Cleopatra into Syria, and how we of Egypt should deal with the Roman + Pompey, newly come to our shores after his defeat by Caesar at Pharsalia. + What, think ye, did we learn? Even that Caesar is coming also in hot + pursuit of his foe, and that Ptolemy has slain Pompey, whose severed head + he holds in readiness to present to the conqueror. (<i>Sensation among the + guardsmen.</i>) Nay, more: we found that Caesar is already come; for we had + not made half a day’s journey on our way back when we came upon a city + rabble flying from his legions, whose landing they had gone out to + withstand. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. And ye, the temple guard! Did you not withstand these legions? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. What man could, that we did. But there came the sound of a + trumpet whose voice was as the cursing of a black mountain. Then saw we a + moving wall of shields coming towards us. You know how the heart burns + when you charge a fortified wall; but how if the fortified wall were to + charge <i>you</i>? + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN (<i>exulting in having told them so</i>). Did I not say it? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. When the wall came nigh, it changed into a line of men—common + fellows enough, with helmets, leather tunics, and breastplates. Every man + of them flung his javelin: the one that came my way drove through my + shield as through a papyrus—lo there! (<i>he points to the bandage on + his left arm</i>) and would have gone through my neck had I not stooped. They + were charging at the double then, and were upon us with short swords + almost as soon as their javelins. When a man is close to you with such a + sword, you can do nothing with our weapons: they are all too long. + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN. What did you do? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Doubled my fist and smote my Roman on the sharpness of his + jaw. He was but mortal after all: he lay down in a stupor; and I took his + sword and laid it on. (<i>Drawing the sword</i>) Lo! a Roman sword with Roman + blood on it! + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN (<i>approvingly</i>). Good! (<i>They take the sword and hand it round, + examining it curiously.</i>) + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN. And your men? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Fled. Scattered like sheep. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>furiously</i>). The cowardly slaves! Leaving the descendants of the + gods to be butchered! + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>with acid coolness</i>). The descendants of the gods did not stay + to be butchered, cousin. The battle was not to the strong; but the race + was to the swift. The Romans, who have no chariots, sent a cloud of + horsemen in pursuit, and slew multitudes. Then our high priest’s captain + rallied a dozen descendants of the gods and exhorted us to die fighting. I + said to myself: surely it is safer to stand than to lose my breath and be + stabbed in the back; so I joined our captain and stood. Then the Romans + treated us with respect; for no man attacks a lion when the field is full + of sheep, except for the pride and honor of war, of which these Romans + know nothing. So we escaped with our lives; and I am come to warn you that + you must open your gates to Caesar; for his advance guard is scarce an + hour behind me; and not an Egyptian warrior is left standing between you + and his legions. + </p> + <p> + THE SENTINEL. Woe, alas! (<i>He throws down his javelin and flies into the + palace.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Nail him to the door, quick! (<i>The guardsmen rush for him with + their spears; but he is too quick for them.</i>) Now this news will run + through the palace like fire through stubble. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. What shall we do to save the women from the Romans? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Why not kill them? + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Because we should have to pay blood money for some of them. + Better let the Romans kill them: it is cheaper. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>awestruck at his brain power</i>). O subtle one! O serpent! + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. But your Queen? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. True: we must carry off Cleopatra. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Will ye not await her command? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Command! a girl of sixteen! Not we. At Memphis ye deem her a + Queen: here we know better. I will take her on the crupper of my horse. + When we soldiers have carried her out of Caesar’s reach, then the priests + and the nurses and the rest of them can pretend she is a queen again, and + put their commands into her mouth. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Listen to me, Belzanor. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Speak, O subtle beyond thy years. + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN. Cleopatra’s brother Ptolemy is at war with her. Let us sell + her to him. + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN. O subtle one! O serpent! + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. We dare not. We are descended from the gods; but Cleopatra is + descended from the river Nile; and the lands of our fathers will grow no + grain if the Nile rises not to water them. Without our father’s gifts we + should live the lives of dogs. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. It is true: the Queen’s guard cannot live on its pay. But hear me + further, O ye kinsmen of Osiris. + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN. Speak, O subtle one. Hear the serpent begotten! + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Have I heretofore spoken truly to you of Caesar, when you thought + I mocked you? + </p> + <p> + GUARDSMEN. Truly, truly. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>reluctantly admitting it</i>). So Bel Affris says. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Hear more of him, then. This Caesar is a great lover of women: he + makes them his friends and counselors. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Faugh! This rule of women will be the ruin of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + THE PERSIAN. Let it rather be the ruin of Rome! Caesar grows old now: he + is past fifty and full of labors and battles. He is too old for the young + women; and the old women are too wise to worship him. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Take heed, Persian. Caesar is by this time almost within + earshot. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Cleopatra is not yet a woman: neither is she wise. But she + already troubles men’s wisdom. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Ay: that is because she is descended from the river Nile and a + black kitten of the sacred White Cat. What then? + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Why, sell her secretly to Ptolemy, and then offer ourselves to + Caesar as volunteers to fight for the overthrow of her brother and the + rescue of our Queen, the Great Granddaughter of the Nile. + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN. O serpent! + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. He will listen to us if we come with her picture in our mouths. + He will conquer and kill her brother, and reign in Egypt with Cleopatra + for his Queen. And we shall be her guard. + </p> + <p> + GUARDSMEN. O subtlest of all the serpents! O admiration! O wisdom! + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. He will also have arrived before you have done talking, O word + spinner. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. That is true. (<i>An affrighted uproar in the palace interrupts + him.</i>) Quick: the flight has begun: guard the door. (<i>They rush to the door + and form a cordon before it with their spears. A mob of women-servants and + nurses surges out. Those in front recoil from the spears, screaming to + those behind to keep back. Belzanor’s voice dominates the disturbance as + he shouts</i>) Back there. In again, unprofitable cattle. + </p> + <p> + THE GUARDSMEN. Back, unprofitable cattle. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Send us out Ftatateeta, the Queen’s chief nurse. + </p> + <p> + THE WOMEN (<i>calling into the palace</i>). Ftatateeta, Ftatateeta. Come, come. + Speak to Belzanor. + </p> + <p> + A WOMAN. Oh, keep back. You are thrusting me on the spearheads. + </p> + <p><i> + A huge grim woman, her face covered with a network of tiny wrinkles, and + her eyes old, large, and wise; sinewy handed, very tall, very strong; with + the mouth of a bloodhound and the jaws of a bulldog, appears on the + threshold. She is dressed like a person of consequence in the palace, and + confronts the guardsmen insolently. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Make way for the Queen’s chief nurse. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>with solemn arrogance</i>). Ftatateeta: I am Belzanor, the captain + of the Queen’s guard, descended from the gods. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>retorting his arrogance with interest</i>). Belzanor: I am + Ftatateeta, the Queen’s chief nurse; and your divine ancestors were proud + to be painted on the wall in the pyramids of the kings whom my fathers + served. + </p> + <p><i> + The women laugh triumphantly. + </i></p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>with grim humor</i>). Ftatateeta: daughter of a long-tongued, + swivel-eyed chameleon, the Romans are at hand. (<i>A cry of terror from the + women: they would fly but for the spears.</i>) Not even the descendants of the + gods can resist them; for they have each man seven arms, each carrying + seven spears. The blood in their veins is boiling quicksilver; and their + wives become mothers in three hours, and are slain and eaten the next day. + </p> + <p><i> + A shudder of horror from the women. Ftatateeta, despising them and + scorning the soldiers, pushes her way through the crowd and confronts the + spear points undismayed. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Then fly and save yourselves, O cowardly sons of the cheap + clay gods that are sold to fish porters; and leave us to shift for + ourselves. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Not until you have first done our bidding, O terror of manhood. + Bring out Cleopatra the Queen to us and then go whither you will. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>with a derisive laugh</i>). Now I know why the gods have taken her + out of our hands. (<i>The guardsmen start and look at one another</i>). Know, + thou foolish soldier, that the Queen has been missing since an hour past + sun down. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>furiously</i>). Hag: you have hidden her to sell to Caesar or her + brother. (<i>He grasps her by the left wrist, and drags her, helped by a few + of the guard, to the middle of the courtyard, where, as they fling her on + her knees, he draws a murderous looking knife.</i>) Where is she? Where is + she? or— (<i>He threatens to cut her throat.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>savagely</i>). Touch me, dog; and the Nile will not rise on your + fields for seven times seven years of famine. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>frightened, but desperate</i>). I will sacrifice: I will pay. Or + stay. (<i>To the Persian</i>) You, O subtle one: your father’s lands lie far from + the Nile. Slay her. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN (<i>threatening her with his knife</i>). Persia has but one god; yet he + loves the blood of old women. Where is Cleopatra? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Persian: as Osiris lives, I do not know. I chid her for + bringing evil days upon us by talking to the sacred cats of the priests, + and carrying them in her arms. I told her she would be left alone here + when the Romans came as a punishment for her disobedience. And now she is + gone—run away—hidden. I speak the truth. I call Osiris to + witness—— + </p> + <p> + THE WOMEN (<i>protesting officiously</i>). She speaks the truth, Belzanor. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. You have frightened the child: she is hiding. Search—quick—into + the palace—search every corner. + </p> + <p><i> + The guards, led by Belzanor, shoulder their way into the palace through + the flying crowd of women, who escape through the courtyard gate. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>screaming</i>). Sacrilege! Men in the Queen’s chambers! Sa— + (<i>Her voice dies away as the Persian puts his knife to her throat.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>laying a hand on Ftatateeta’s left shoulder</i>). Forbear her yet + a moment, Persian. (<i>To Ftatateeta, very significantly</i>) Mother: your gods + are asleep or away hunting; and the sword is at your throat. Bring us to + where the Queen is hid, and you shall live. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>contemptuously</i>). Who shall stay the sword in the hand of a + fool, if the high gods put it there? Listen to me, ye young men without + understanding. Cleopatra fears me; but she fears the Romans more. There is + but one power greater in her eyes than the wrath of the Queen’s nurse and + the cruelty of Caesar; and that is the power of the Sphinx that sits in + the desert watching the way to the sea. What she would have it know, she + tells into the ears of the sacred cats; and on her birthday she sacrifices + to it and decks it with poppies. Go ye therefore into the desert and seek + Cleopatra in the shadow of the Sphinx; and on your heads see to it that no + harm comes to her. + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS (<i>to the Persian</i>). May we believe this, O subtle one? + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Which way come the Romans? + </p> + <p> + BEL AFFRIS. Over the desert, from the sea, by this very Sphinx. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN (<i>to Ftatateeta</i>). O mother of guile! O aspic’s tongue! You have + made up this tale so that we two may go into the desert and perish on the + spears of the Romans. (<i>Lifting his knife</i>) Taste death. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Not from thee, baby. (<i>She snatches his ankle from under him + and flies stooping along the palace wall, vanishing in the darkness within + its precinct. Bel Affris roars with laughter as the Persian tumbles. The + guardsmen rush out of the palace with Belzanor and a mob of fugitives, + mostly carrying bundles.</i>) + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Have you found Cleopatra? + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. She is gone. We have searched every corner. + </p> + <p> + THE NUBIAN SENTINEL (<i>appearing at the door of the palace</i>). Woe! Alas! Fly, + fly! + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. What is the matter now? + </p> + <p> + THE NUBIAN SENTINEL. The sacred white cat has been stolen. + </p> + <p> + ALL. Woe! Woe! + (<i>General panic. They all fly with cries of consternation. The torch is + thrown down and extinguished in the rush. Darkness. The noise of the + fugitives dies away. Dead silence. Suspense. Then the blackness and + stillness breaks softly into silver mist and strange airs as the windswept + harp of Memnon plays at the dawning of the moon. It rises full over the + desert; and a vast horizon comes into relief, broken by a huge shape which + soon reveals itself in the spreading radiance as a Sphinx pedestalled on + the sands. The light still clears, until the upraised eyes of the image + are distinguished looking straight forward and upward in infinite fearless + vigil, and a mass of color between its great paws defines itself as a heap + of red poppies on which a girl lies motionless, her silken vest heaving + gently and regularly with the breathing of a dreamless sleeper, and her + braided hair glittering in a shaft of moonlight like a bird’s wing.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Suddenly there comes from afar a vaguely fearful sound (it might be the + bellow of a Minotaur softened by great distance) and Memnon’s music stops. + Silence: then a few faint high-ringing trumpet notes. Then silence again. + Then a man comes from the south with stealing steps, ravished by the + mystery of the night, all wonder, and halts, lost in contemplation, + opposite the left flank of the Sphinx, whose bosom, with its burden, is + hidden from him by its massive shoulder.)</i> + </p> + <p> + THE MAN. Hail, Sphinx: salutation from Julius Caesar! I have wandered in + many lands, seeking the lost regions from which my birth into this world + exiled me, and the company of creatures such as I myself. I have found + flocks and pastures, men and cities, but no other Caesar, no air native to + me, no man kindred to me, none who can do my day’s deed, and think my + night’s thought. In the little world yonder, Sphinx, my place is as high + as yours in this great desert; only I wander, and you sit still; I + conquer, and you endure; I work and wonder, you watch and wait; I look up + and am dazzled, look down and am darkened, look round and am puzzled, + whilst your eyes never turn from looking out—out of the world—to + the lost region—the home from which we have strayed. Sphinx, you and + I, strangers to the race of men, are no strangers to one another: have I + not been conscious of you and of this place since I was born? Rome is a + madman’s dream: this is my Reality. These starry lamps of yours I have + seen from afar in Gaul, in Britain, in Spain, in Thessaly, signalling + great secrets to some eternal sentinel below, whose post I never could + find. And here at last is their sentinel—an image of the constant + and immortal part of my life, silent, full of thoughts, alone in the + silver desert. Sphinx, Sphinx: I have climbed mountains at night to hear + in the distance the stealthy footfall of the winds that chase your sands + in forbidden play—our invisible children, O Sphinx, laughing in + whispers. My way hither was the way of destiny; for I am he of whose + genius you are the symbol: part brute, part woman, and part God—nothing + of man in me at all. Have I read your riddle, Sphinx? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL (<i>who has wakened, and peeped cautiously from her nest to see who + is speaking</i>). Old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>starting violently, and clutching his sword</i>). Immortal gods! + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Old gentleman: don’t run away. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>stupefied</i>). “Old gentleman: don’t run away!!!” This! To Julius + Caesar! + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL (<i>urgently</i>). Old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Sphinx: you presume on your centuries. I am younger than you, + though your voice is but a girl’s voice as yet. + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Climb up here, quickly; or the Romans will come and eat you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>running forward past the Sphinx’s shoulder, and seeing her</i>). A + child at its breast! A divine child! + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Come up quickly. You must get up at its side and creep round. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>amazed</i>). Who are you? + </p> + <p> + THE GIRL. Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Queen of the Gypsies, you mean. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You must not be disrespectful to me, or the Sphinx will let the + Romans eat you. Come up. It is quite cosy here. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to himself</i>). What a dream! What a magnificent dream! Only let me + not wake, and I will conquer ten continents to pay for dreaming it out to + the end. (<i>He climbs to the Sphinx’s flank, and presently reappears to her + on the pedestal, stepping round its right shoulder.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Take care. That’s right. Now sit down: you may have its other + paw. (<i>She seats herself comfortably on its left paw.</i>) It is very powerful + and will protect us; but (<i>shivering, and with plaintive loneliness</i>) it + would not take any notice of me or keep me company. I am glad you have + come: I was very lonely. Did you happen to see a white cat anywhere? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>sitting slowly down on the right paw in extreme wonderment</i>). Have + you lost one? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes: the sacred white cat: is it not dreadful? I brought him + here to sacrifice him to the Sphinx; but when we got a little way from the + city a black cat called him, and he jumped out of my arms and ran away to + it. Do you think that the black cat can have been my + great-great-great-grandmother? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>staring at her</i>). Your great-great-great-grandmother! Well, why + not? Nothing would surprise me on this night of nights. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I think it must have been. My great-grandmother’s + great-grandmother was a black kitten of the sacred white cat; and the + river Nile made her his seventh wife. That is why my hair is so wavy. And + I always want to be let do as I like, no matter whether it is the will of + the gods or not: that is because my blood is made with Nile water. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What are you doing here at this time of night? Do you live here? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Of course not: I am the Queen; and I shall live in the palace + at Alexandria when I have killed my brother, who drove me out of it. When + I am old enough I shall do just what I like. I shall be able to poison the + slaves and see them wriggle, and pretend to Ftatateeta that she is going + to be put into the fiery furnace. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hm! Meanwhile why are you not at home and in bed? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Because the Romans are coming to eat us all. <i>You</i> are not at + home and in bed either. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with conviction</i>). Yes I am. I live in a tent; and I am now in that + tent, fast asleep and dreaming. Do you suppose that I believe you are + real, you impossible little dream witch? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>giggling and leaning trustfully towards him</i>). You are a funny + old gentleman. I like you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ah, that spoils the dream. Why don’t you dream that I am young? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I wish you were; only I think I should be more afraid of you. I + like men, especially young men with round strong arms; but I am afraid of + them. You are old and rather thin and stringy; but you have a nice voice; + and I like to have somebody to talk to, though I think you are a little + mad. It is the moon that makes you talk to yourself in that silly way. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What! you heard that, did you? I was saying my prayers to the + great Sphinx. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But this isn’t the great Sphinx. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>much disappointed, looking up at the statue</i>). What! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. This is only a dear little kitten of the Sphinx. Why, the great + Sphinx is so big that it has a temple between its paws. This is my pet + Sphinx. Tell me: do you think the Romans have any sorcerers who could take + us away from the Sphinx by magic? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Why? Are you afraid of the Romans? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>very seriously</i>). Oh, they would eat us if they caught us. They + are barbarians. Their chief is called Julius Caesar. His father was a + tiger and his mother a burning mountain; and his nose is like an + elephant’s trunk. (<i>Caesar involuntarily rubs his nose.</i>) They all have long + noses, and ivory tusks, and little tails, and seven arms with a hundred + arrows in each; and they live on human flesh. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Would you like me to shew you a real Roman? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>terrified</i>). No. You are frightening me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No matter: this is only a dream—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>excitedly</i>). It is not a dream: it is not a dream. See, see. + (<i>She plucks a pin from her hair and jabs it repeatedly into his arm.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ffff—Stop. (<i>Wrathfully</i>) How dare you? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>abashed</i>). You said you were dreaming. (<i>Whimpering</i>) I only + wanted to shew you—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>gently</i>). Come, come: don’t cry. A queen mustn’t cry. (<i>He rubs his + arm, wondering at the reality of the smart.</i>) Am I awake? (<i>He strikes his + hand against the Sphinx to test its solidity. It feels so real that he + begins to be alarmed, and says perplexedly</i>) Yes, I—(<i>quite + panic-stricken</i>) no: impossible: madness, madness! (<i>Desperately</i>) Back to + camp—to camp. (<i>He rises to spring down from the pedestal.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>flinging her arms in terror round him</i>). No: you shan’t leave + me. No, no, no: don’t go. I’m afraid—afraid of the Romans. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>as the conviction that he is really awake forces itself on him</i>). + Cleopatra: can you see my face well? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes. It is so white in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Are you sure it is the moonlight that makes me look whiter than an + Egyptian? (<i>Grimly</i>) Do you notice that I have a rather long nose? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>recoiling, paralyzed by a terrible suspicion</i>). Oh! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It is a Roman nose, Cleopatra. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Ah! (<i>With a piercing scream she springs up; darts round the + left shoulder of the Sphinx; scrambles down to the sand; and falls on her + knees in frantic supplication, shrieking</i>) Bite him in two, Sphinx: bite + him in two. I meant to sacrifice the white cat—I did indeed—I + (<i>Caesar, who has slipped down from the pedestal, touches her on the + shoulder</i>) Ah! (<i>She buries her head in her arms.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cleopatra: shall I teach you a way to prevent Caesar from eating + you? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>clinging to him piteously</i>). Oh do, do, do. I will steal + Ftatateeta’s jewels and give them to you. I will make the river Nile water + your lands twice a year. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Peace, peace, my child. Your gods are afraid of the Romans: you + see the Sphinx dare not bite me, nor prevent me carrying you off to Julius + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>in pleading murmurings</i>). You won’t, you won’t. You said you + wouldn’t. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Caesar never eats women. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>springing up full of hope</i>). What! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>impressively</i>). But he eats girls (<i>she relapses</i>) and cats. Now you + are a silly little girl; and you are descended from the black kitten. You + are both a girl and a cat. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>trembling</i>). And will he eat me? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes; unless you make him believe that you are a woman. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Oh, you must get a sorcerer to make a woman of me. Are you a + sorcerer? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Perhaps. But it will take a long time; and this very night you + must stand face to face with Caesar in the palace of your fathers. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No, no. I daren’t. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Whatever dread may be in your soul—however terrible Caesar + may be to you—you must confront him as a brave woman and a great + queen; and you must feel no fear. If your hand shakes: if your voice + quavers; then—night and death! (<i>She moans.</i>) But if he thinks you + worthy to rule, he will set you on the throne by his side and make you the + real ruler of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>despairingly</i>). No: he will find me out: he will find me out. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>rather mournfully</i>). He is easily deceived by women. Their eyes + dazzle him; and he sees them not as they are, but as he wishes them to + appear to him. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>hopefully</i>). Then we will cheat him. I will put on Ftatateeta’s + head-dress; and he will think me quite an old woman. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. If you do that he will eat you at one mouthful. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But I will give him a cake with my magic opal and seven hairs + of the white cat baked in it; and—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>abruptly</i>). Pah! you are a little fool. He will eat your cake and + you too. (<i>He turns contemptuously from her.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>running after him and clinging to him</i>). Oh, please, <i>please</i>! I + will do whatever you tell me. I will be good! I will be your slave. (<i>Again + the terrible bellowing note sounds across the desert, now closer at hand. + It is the bucina, the Roman war trumpet.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hark! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>trembling</i>). What was that? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Caesar’s voice. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pulling at his hand</i>). Let us run away. Come. Oh, come. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You are safe with me until you stand on your throne to receive + Caesar. Now lead me thither. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>only too glad to get away</i>). I will, I will. (<i>Again the bucina.</i>) + Oh, come, come, come: the gods are angry. Do you feel the earth shaking? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It is the tread of Caesar’s legions. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>drawing him away</i>). This way, quickly. And let us look for the + white cat as we go. It is he that has turned you into a Roman. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Incorrigible, oh, incorrigible! Away! (<i>He follows her, the bucina + sounding louder as they steal across the desert. The moonlight wanes: the + horizon again shows black against the sky, broken only by the fantastic + silhouette of the Sphinx. The sky itself vanishes in darkness, from which + there is no relief until the gleam of a distant torch falls on great + Egyptian pillars supporting the roof of a majestic corridor. At the + further end of this corridor a Nubian slave appears carrying the torch. + Caesar, still led by Cleopatra, follows him. They come down the corridor, + Caesar peering keenly about at the strange architecture, and at the pillar + shadows between which, as the passing torch makes them hurry noiselessly + backwards, figures of men with wings and hawks’ heads, and vast black + marble cats, seem to flit in and out of ambush. Further along, the wall + turns a corner and makes a spacious transept in which Caesar sees, on his + right, a throne, and behind the throne a door. On each side of the throne + is a slender pillar with a lamp on it.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What place is this? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. This is where I sit on the throne when I am allowed to wear my + crown and robes. (<i>The slave holds his torch to shew the throne.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Order the slave to light the lamps. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>shyly</i>). Do you think I may? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Of course. You are the Queen. (<i>She hesitates.</i>) Go on. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>timidly, to the slave</i>). Light all the lamps. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>suddenly coming from behind the throne</i>). Stop. (<i>The slave + stops. She turns sternly to Cleopatra, who quails like a naughty child.</i>) + Who is this you have with you; and how dare you order the lamps to be + lighted without my permission? (<i>Cleopatra is dumb with apprehension.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Who is she? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Ftatateeta. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>arrogantly</i>). Chief nurse to—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>cutting her short</i>). I speak to the Queen. Be silent. (<i>To + Cleopatra</i>) Is this how your servants know their places? Send her away; and + you (<i>to the slave</i>) do as the Queen has bidden. (<i>The slave lights the + lamps. Meanwhile Cleopatra stands hesitating, afraid of Ftatateeta.</i>) You + are the Queen: send her away. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>cajoling</i>). Ftatateeta, dear: you must go away—just for a + little. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You are not commanding her to go away: you are begging her. You + are no Queen. You will be eaten. Farewell. (<i>He turns to go.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>clutching him</i>). No, no, no. Don’t leave me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. A Roman does not stay with queens who are afraid of their slaves. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I am not afraid. Indeed I am not afraid. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. We shall see who is afraid here. (<i>Menacingly</i>) Cleopatra—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. On your knees, woman: am I also a child that you dare trifle with + me? (<i>He points to the floor at Cleopatra’s feet. Ftatateeta, half cowed, + half savage, hesitates. Caesar calls to the Nubian</i>) Slave. (<i>The Nubian + comes to him.</i>) Can you cut off a head? (<i>The Nubian nods and grins + ecstatically, showing all his teeth. Caesar takes his sword by the + scabbard, ready to offer the hilt to the Nubian, and turns again to + Ftatateeta, repeating his gesture.</i>) Have you remembered yourself, + mistress? + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta, crushed, kneels before Cleopatra, who can hardly believe her + eyes. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>hoarsely</i>). O Queen, forget not thy servant in the days of thy + greatness. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>blazing with excitement</i>). Go. Begone. Go away. (<i>Ftatateeta + rises with stooped head, and moves backwards towards the door. Cleopatra + watches her submission eagerly, almost clapping her hands, which are + trembling. Suddenly she cries</i>) Give me something to beat her with. (<i>She + snatches a snake-skin from the throne and dashes after Ftatateeta, + whirling it like a scourge in the air. Caesar makes a bound and manages to + catch her and hold her while Ftatateeta escapes.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You scratch, kitten, do you? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>breaking from him</i>). I <i>will</i> beat somebody. I will beat <i>him</i>. (<i>She + attacks the slave.</i>) There, there, there! (<i>The slave flies for his life up + the corridor and vanishes. She throws the snake-skin away and jumps on the + step of the throne with her arms waving, crying</i>) I am a real Queen at last—a + real, real Queen! Cleopatra the Queen! (<i>Caesar shakes his head dubiously, + the advantage of the change seeming open to question from the point of + view of the general welfare of Egypt. She turns and looks at him + exultantly. Then she jumps down from the step, runs to him, and flings her + arms round him rapturously, crying</i>) Oh, I love you for making me a Queen. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. But queens love only kings. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I will make all the men I love kings. I will make you a king. I + will have many young kings, with round, strong arms; and when I am tired + of them I will whip them to death; but you shall always be my king: my + nice, kind, wise, good old king. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Oh, my wrinkles, my wrinkles! And my child’s heart! You will be + the most dangerous of all Caesar’s conquests. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>appalled</i>). Caesar! I forgot Caesar. (<i>Anxiously</i>) You will tell + him that I am a Queen, will you not?—a real Queen. Listen! (<i>stealthily + coaxing him</i>) let us run away and hide until Caesar is gone. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. If you fear Caesar, you are no true Queen; and though you were to + hide beneath a pyramid, he would go straight to it and lift it with one + hand. And then—! (<i>He chops his teeth together.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>trembling</i>). Oh! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Be afraid if you dare. (<i>The note of the bucina resounds again in + the distance. She moans with fear. Caesar exalts in it, exclaiming</i>) Aha! + Caesar approaches the throne of Cleopatra. Come: take your place. (<i>He + takes her hand and leads her to the throne. She is too downcast to speak.</i>) + Ho, there, Teetatota. How do you call your slaves? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>spiritlessly, as she sinks on the throne and cowers there, + shaking</i>). Clap your hands. + </p> + <p><i> + He claps his hands. Ftatateeta returns. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Bring the Queen’s robes, and her crown, and her women; and prepare + her. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>eagerly—recovering herself a little</i>). Yes, the crown, + Ftatateeta: I shall wear the crown. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. For whom must the Queen put on her state? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. For a citizen of Rome. A king of kings, Totateeta. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>stamping at her</i>). How dare you ask questions? Go and do as you + are told. (<i>Ftatateeta goes out with a grim smile. Cleopatra goes on + eagerly, to Caesar</i>) Caesar will know that I am a Queen when he sees my + crown and robes, will he not? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No. How shall he know that you are not a slave dressed up in the + Queen’s ornaments? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You must tell him. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. He will not ask me. He will know Cleopatra by her pride, her + courage, her majesty, and her beauty. (<i>She looks very doubtful.</i>) Are you + trembling? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>shivering with dread</i>). No, I—I—(<i>in a very sickly + voice</i>) No. + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta and three women come in with the regalia. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Of all the Queen’s women, these three alone are left. The rest + are fled. (<i>They begin to deck Cleopatra, who submits, pale and + motionless.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Good, good. Three are enough. Poor Caesar generally has to dress + himself. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>contemptuously</i>). The Queen of Egypt is not a Roman barbarian. + (<i>To Cleopatra</i>) Be brave, my nursling. Hold up your head before this + stranger. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>admiring Cleopatra, and placing the crown on her head</i>). Is it + sweet or bitter to be a Queen, Cleopatra? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Bitter. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cast out fear; and you will conquer Caesar. Tota: are the Romans + at hand? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. They are at hand; and the guard has fled. + </p> + <p> + THE WOMEN (<i>wailing subduedly</i>). Woe to us! + </p> + <p><i> + The Nubian comes running down the hall. + </i></p> + <p> + NUBIAN. The Romans are in the courtyard. (<i>He bolts through the door. With + a shriek, the women fly after him. Ftatateeta’s jaw expresses savage + resolution: she does not budge. Cleopatra can hardly restrain herself from + following them. Caesar grips her wrist, and looks steadfastly at her. She + stands like a martyr.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. The Queen must face Caesar alone. Answer “So be it.” + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>white</i>). So be it. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>releasing her</i>). Good. + </p> + <p><i> + A tramp and tumult of armed men is heard. Cleopatra’s terror increases. + The bucina sounds close at hand, followed by a formidable clangor of + trumpets. This is too much for Cleopatra: she utters a cry and darts + towards the door. Ftatateeta stops her ruthlessly. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. You are my nursling. You have said “So be it”; and if you die + for it, you must make the Queen’s word good. (<i>She hands Cleopatra to + Caesar, who takes her back, almost beside herself with apprehension, to + the throne.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Now, if you quail—! (<i>He seats himself on the throne.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + She stands on the step, all but unconscious, waiting for death. The Roman + soldiers troop in tumultuously through the corridor, headed by their + ensign with his eagle, and their bucinator, a burly fellow with his + instrument coiled round his body, its brazen bell shaped like the head of + a howling wolf. When they reach the transept, they stare in amazement at + the throne; dress into ordered rank opposite it; draw their swords and + lift them in the air with a shout of</i> Hail, Caesar. <i>Cleopatra turns and + stares wildly at Caesar; grasps the situation; and, with a great sob of + relief, falls into his arms. + </i></p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <p><i> + Alexandria. A hall on the first floor of the Palace, ending in a loggia + approached by two steps. Through the arches of the loggia the + Mediterranean can be seen, bright in the morning sun. The clean lofty + walls, painted with a procession of the Egyptian theocracy, presented in + profile as flat ornament, and the absence of mirrors, sham perspectives, + stuffy upholstery and textiles, make the place handsome, wholesome, simple + and cool, or, as a rich English manufacturer would express it, poor, bare, + ridiculous and unhomely. For Tottenham Court Road civilization is to this + Egyptian civilization as glass bead and tattoo civilization is to + Tottenham Court Road. + </i></p> + <p> + <i>The young king Ptolemy Dionysus (aged ten) is at the top of the steps, on + his way in through the loggia, led by his guardian Pothinus, who has him + by the hand. The court is assembled to receive him. It is made up of men + and women (some of the women being officials) of various complexions and + races, mostly Egyptian; some of them, comparatively fair, from lower + Egypt; some, much darker, from upper Egypt; with a few Greeks and Jews. + Prominent in a group on Ptolemy’s right hand is Theodotus, Ptolemy’s + tutor. Another group, on Ptolemy’s left, is headed by Achillas, the + general of Ptolemy’s troops. Theodotus is a little old man, whose features + are as cramped and wizened as his limbs, except his tall straight + forehead, which occupies more space than all the rest of his face. He + maintains an air of magpie keenness and profundity, listening to what the + others say with the sarcastic vigilance of a philosopher listening to the + exercises of his disciples. Achillas is a tall handsome man of + thirty-five, with a fine black beard curled like the coat of a poodle. + Apparently not a clever man, but distinguished and dignified. Pothinus is + a vigorous man of fifty, a eunuch, passionate, energetic and quick witted, + but of common mind and character; impatient and unable to control his + temper. He has fine tawny hair, like fur. Ptolemy, the King, looks much + older than an English boy of ten; but he has the childish air, the habit + of being in leading strings, the mixture of impotence and petulance, the + appearance of being excessively washed, combed and dressed by other hands, + which is exhibited by court-bred princes of all ages.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>All receive the King with reverences. He comes down the steps to a chair + of state which stands a little to his right, the only seat in the hall. + Taking his place before it, he looks nervously for instructions to + Pothinus, who places himself at his left hand.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br/> + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. The King of Egypt has a word to speak. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>in a squeak which he makes impressive by sheer + self-opinionativeness</i>). Peace for the King’s word! + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>without any vocal inflexions: he is evidently repeating a + lesson</i>). Take notice of this all of you. I am the firstborn son of Auletes + the Flute Blower who was your King. My sister Berenice drove him from his + throne and reigned in his stead but—but (<i>he hesitates</i>)—— + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>stealthily prompting</i>).—but the gods would not suffer—— + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY. Yes—the gods would not suffer—not suffer—(<i>he stops; + then, crestfallen</i>) I forget what the gods would not suffer. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Let Pothinus, the King’s guardian, speak for the King. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>suppressing his impatience with difficulty</i>). The King wished to + say that the gods would not suffer the impiety of his sister to go + unpunished. + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>hastily</i>). Yes: I remember the rest of it. (<i>He resumes his + monotone</i>). Therefore the gods sent a stranger, one Mark Antony, a Roman + captain of horsemen, across the sands of the desert and he set my father + again upon the throne. And my father took Berenice my sister and struck + her head off. And now that my father is dead yet another of his daughters, + my sister Cleopatra, would snatch the kingdom from me and reign in my + place. But the gods would not suffer (<i>Pothinus coughs admonitorily</i>)—the + gods—the gods would not suffer—— + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>prompting</i>).—will not maintain—— + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY. Oh yes—will not maintain such iniquity, they will give her + head to the axe even as her sister’s. But with the help of the witch + Ftatateeta she hath cast a spell on the Roman Julius Caesar to make him + uphold her false pretence to rule in Egypt. Take notice then that I will + not suffer—that I will not suffer—(<i>pettishly, to Pothinus</i>) What + is it that I will not suffer? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>suddenly exploding with all the force and emphasis of political + passion</i>). The King will not suffer a foreigner to take from him the throne + of our Egypt. (<i>A shout of applause.</i>) Tell the King, Achillas, how many + soldiers and horsemen follow the Roman? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Let the King’s general speak! + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. But two Roman legions, O King. Three thousand soldiers and + scarce a thousand horsemen. + </p> + <p><i> + The court breaks into derisive laughter; and a great chattering begins, + amid which Rufio, a Roman officer, appears in the loggia. He is a burly, + black-bearded man of middle age, very blunt, prompt and rough, with small + clear eyes, and plump nose and cheeks, which, however, like the rest of + his flesh, are in ironhard condition. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>from the steps</i>). Peace, ho! (<i>The laughter and chatter cease + abruptly.</i>) Caesar approaches. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>with much presence of mind</i>). The King permits the Roman + commander to enter! + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar, plainly dressed, but wearing an oak wreath to conceal his + baldness, enters from, the loggia, attended by Britannus, his secretary, a + Briton, about forty, tall, solemn, and already slightly bald, with a + heavy, drooping, hazel-colored moustache trained so as to lose its ends in + a pair of trim whiskers. He is carefully dressed in blue, with portfolio, + inkhorn, and reed pen at his girdle. His serious air and sense of the + importance of the business in hand is in marked contrast to the kindly + interest of Caesar, who looks at the scene, which is new to him, with the + frank curiosity of a child, and then turns to the King’s chair: Britannus + and Rufio posting themselves near the steps at the other side. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>looking at Pothinus and Ptolemy</i>). Which is the King? the man or + the boy? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I am Pothinus, the guardian of my lord the King. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>patting Ptolemy kindly on the shoulder</i>). So you are the King. Dull + work at your age, eh? (<i>To Pothinus</i>) your servant, Pothinus. (<i>He turns away + unconcernedly and comes slowly along the middle of the hall, looking from + side to side at the courtiers until he reaches Achillas.</i>) And this + gentleman? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Achillas, the King’s general. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Achillas, very friendly</i>). A general, eh? I am a general myself. + But I began too old, too old. Health and many victories, Achillas! + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. As the gods will, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>turning to Theodotus</i>). And you, sir, are——? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Theodotus, the King’s tutor. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You teach men how to be kings, Theodotus. That is very clever of + you. (<i>Looking at the gods on the walls as he turns away from Theodotus and + goes up again to Pothinus.</i>) And this place? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. The council chamber of the chancellors of the King’s treasury, + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ah! That reminds me. I want some money. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. The King’s treasury is poor, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes: I notice that there is but one chair in it. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>shouting gruffly</i>). Bring a chair there, some of you, for Caesar. + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>rising shyly to offer his chair</i>). Caesar—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>kindly</i>). No, no, my boy: that is your chair of state. Sit down. + </p> + <p><i> + He makes Ptolemy sit down again. Meanwhile Rufio, looking about him, sees + in the nearest corner an image of the god Ra, represented as a seated man + with the head of a hawk. Before the image is a bronze tripod, about as + large as a three-legged stool, with a stick of incense burning on it. + Rufio, with Roman resourcefulness and indifference to foreign + superstitions, promptly seizes the tripod; shakes off the incense; blows + away the ash; and dumps it down behind Caesar, nearly in the middle of the + hall. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. Sit on that, Caesar. + </p> + <p><i> + A shiver runs through the court, followed by a hissing whisper of</i> + Sacrilege! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>seating himself</i>). Now, Pothinus, to business. I am badly in want + of money. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>disapproving of these informal expressions</i>). My master would + say that there is a lawful debt due to Rome by Egypt, contracted by the + King’s deceased father to the Triumvirate; and that it is Caesar’s duty to + his country to require immediate payment. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>blandly</i>). Ah, I forgot. I have not made my companions known here. + Pothinus: this is Britannus, my secretary. He is an islander from the + western end of the world, a day’s voyage from Gaul. (<i>Britannus bows + stiffly.</i>) This gentleman is Rufio, my comrade in arms. (<i>Rufio nods.</i>) + Pothinus: I want 1,600 talents. + </p> + <p><i> + The courtiers, appalled, murmur loudly, and Theodotus and Achillas appeal + mutely to one another against so monstrous a demand. + </i></p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>aghast</i>). Forty million sesterces! Impossible. There is not so + much money in the King’s treasury. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>encouragingly</i>). <i>Only</i> sixteen hundred talents, Pothinus. Why count + it in sesterces? A sestertius is only worth a loaf of bread. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. And a talent is worth a racehorse. I say it is impossible. We + have been at strife here, because the King’s sister Cleopatra falsely + claims his throne. The King’s taxes have not been collected for a whole + year. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes they have, Pothinus. My officers have been collecting them all + the morning. (<i>Renewed whisper and sensation, not without some stifled + laughter, among the courtiers.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>bluntly</i>). You must pay, Pothinus. Why waste words? You are getting + off cheaply enough. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>bitterly</i>). Is it possible that Caesar, the conqueror of the + world, has time to occupy himself with such a trifle as our taxes? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. My friend: taxes are the chief business of a conqueror of the + world. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Then take warning, Caesar. This day, the treasures of the + temples and the gold of the King’s treasury will be sent to the mint to be + melted down for our ransom in the sight of the people. They shall see us + sitting under bare walls and drinking from wooden cups. And their wrath be + on your head, Caesar, if you force us to this sacrilege! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Do not fear, Pothinus: the people know how well wine tastes in + wooden cups. In return for your bounty, I will settle this dispute about + the throne for you, if you will. What say you? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. If I say no, will that hinder you? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>defiantly</i>). No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You say the matter has been at issue for a year, Pothinus. May I + have ten minutes at it? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. You will do your pleasure, doubtless. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Good! But first, let us have Cleopatra here. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. She is not in Alexandria: she is fled into Syria. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I think not. (<i>To Rufio</i>) Call Totateeta. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>calling</i>). Ho there, Teetatota. + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta enters the loggia, and stands arrogantly at the top of the + steps. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Who pronounces the name of Ftatateeta, the Queen’s chief + nurse? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Nobody can pronounce it, Tota, except yourself. Where is your + mistress? + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra, who is hiding behind Ftafateeta, peeps out at them, laughing. + Caesar rises. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Will the Queen favor us with her presence for a moment? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pushing Ftatateeta aside and standing haughtily on the brink of + the steps</i>). Am I to behave like a Queen? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes. + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra immediately comes down to the chair of state; seizes Ptolemy and + drags him out of his seat; then takes his place in the chair. Ftatateeta + seats herself on the step of the loggia, and sits there, watching the + scene with sybilline intensity. + </i></p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>mortified, and struggling with his tears</i>). Caesar: this is how + she treats me always. If I am a King why is she allowed to take everything + from me? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You are not to be King, you little cry-baby. You are to be + eaten by the Romans. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>touched by Ptolemy’s distress</i>). Come here, my boy, and stand by + me. + </p> + <p><i> + Ptolemy goes over to Caesar, who, resuming his seat on the tripod, takes + the boy’s hand to encourage him. Cleopatra, furiously jealous, rises and + glares at them. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with flaming cheeks</i>). Take your throne: I don’t want it. (<i>She + flings away from the chair, and approaches Ptolemy, who shrinks from her.</i>) + Go this instant and sit down in your place. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Go, Ptolemy. Always take a throne when it is offered to you. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. I hope you will have the good sense to follow your own advice when + we return to Rome, Caesar. + </p> + <p><i> + Ptolemy slowly goes back to the throne, giving Cleopatra a wide berth, in + evident fear of her hands. She takes his place beside Caesar. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Pothinus—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>interrupting him</i>). Are you not going to speak to me? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Be quiet. Open your mouth again before I give you leave; and you + shall be eaten. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I am not afraid. A queen must not be afraid. Eat my husband + there, if you like: <i>he</i> is afraid. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>starting</i>). Your husband! What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pointing to Ptolemy</i>). That little thing. + </p> + <p><i> + The two Romans and the Briton stare at one another in amazement. + </i></p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Caesar: you are a stranger here, and not conversant with our + laws. The kings and queens of Egypt may not marry except with their own + royal blood. Ptolemy and Cleopatra are born king and consort just as they + are born brother and sister. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>shocked</i>). Caesar: this is not proper. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>outraged</i>). How! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>recovering his self-possession</i>). Pardon him, Theodotus: he is a + barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the + laws of nature. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. On the contrary, Caesar, it is these Egyptians who are + barbarians; and you do wrong to encourage them. I say it is a scandal. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Scandal or not, my friend, it opens the gate of peace. (<i>He rises + and addresses Pothinus seriously.</i>) Pothinus: hear what I propose. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Hear Caesar there. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ptolemy and Cleopatra shall reign jointly in Egypt. + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. What of the King’s younger brother and Cleopatra’s younger + sister? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>explaining</i>). There is another little Ptolemy, Caesar: so they tell + me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, the little Ptolemy can marry the other sister; and we will + make them both a present of Cyprus. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>impatiently</i>). Cyprus is of no use to anybody. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No matter: you shall have it for the sake of peace. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>unconsciously anticipating a later statesman</i>). Peace with + honor, Pothinus. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>mutinously</i>). Caesar: be honest. The money you demand is the + price of our freedom. Take it; and leave us to settle our own affairs. + </p> + <p> + THE BOLDER COURTIERS (<i>encouraged by Pothinus’s tone and Caesar’s + quietness</i>). Yes, yes. Egypt for the Egyptians! + </p> + <p><i> + The conference now becomes an altercation, the Egyptians becoming more and + more heated. Caesar remains unruffled; but Rufio grows fiercer and + doggeder, and Britannus haughtily indignant. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>contemptuously</i>). Egypt for the Egyptians! Do you forget that there + is a Roman army of occupation here, left by Aulus Gabinius when he set up + your toy king for you? + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS (<i>suddenly asserting himself</i>). And now under <i>my</i> command. <i>I</i> am the + Roman general here, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>tickled by the humor of the situation</i>). And also the Egyptian + general, eh? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>triumphantly</i>). That is so, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Achillas</i>). So you can make war on the Egyptians in the name of + Rome, and on the Romans—on <i>me</i>, if necessary—in the name of + Egypt? + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. That is so, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. And which side are you on at present, if I may presume to ask, + general? + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. On the side of the right and of the gods. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hm! How many men have you? + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS. That will appear when I take the field. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>truculently</i>). Are your men Romans? If not, it matters not how many + there are, provided you are no stronger than 500 to ten. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. It is useless to try to bluff us, Rufio. Caesar has been + defeated before and may be defeated again. A few weeks ago Caesar was + flying for his life before Pompey: a few months hence he may be flying for + his life before Cato and Juba of Numidia, the African King. + </p> + <p> + ACHILLAS (<i>following up Pothinus’s speech menacingly</i>). What can you do with + 4,000 men? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>following up Achillas’s speech with a raucous squeak</i>). And + without money? Away with you. + </p> + <p> + ALL THE COURTIERS (<i>shouting fiercely and crowding towards Caesar</i>). Away + with you. Egypt for the Egyptians! Begone. + </p> + <p><i> + Rufio bites his beard, too angry to speak. Caesar sits on comfortably as + if he were at breakfast, and the cat were clamoring for a piece of + Finnan-haddie. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Why do you let them talk to you like that, Caesar? Are you + afraid? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Why, my dear, what they say is quite true. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But if you go away, I shall not be Queen. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I shall not go away until you are Queen. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Achillas: if you are not a fool, you will take that girl whilst + she is under your hand. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>daring them</i>). Why not take Caesar as well, Achillas? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>retorting the defiance with interest</i>). Well said, Rufio. Why + not? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Try, Achillas. (<i>Calling</i>) Guard there. + </p> + <p><i> + The loggia immediately fills with Caesar’s soldiers, who stand, sword in + hand, at the top of the steps, waiting the word to charge from their + centurion, who carries a cudgel. For a moment the Egyptians face them + proudly: then they retire sullenly to their former places. + </i></p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. You are Caesar’s prisoners, all of you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>benevolently</i>). Oh no, no, no. By no means. Caesar’s guests, + gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Won’t you cut their heads off? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What! Cut off your brother’s head? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Why not? He would cut off mine, if he got the chance. Wouldn’t + you, Ptolemy? + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>pale and obstinate</i>). I would. I will, too, when I grow up. + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra is rent by a struggle between her newly-acquired dignity as a + queen, and a strong impulse to put out her tongue at him. She takes no + part in the scene which follows, but watches it with curiosity and wonder, + fidgeting with the restlessness of a child, and sitting down on Caesar’s + tripod when he rises. + </i></p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Caesar: if you attempt to detain us—— + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. He will succeed, Egyptian: make up your mind to that. We hold the + palace, the beach, and the eastern harbor. The road to Rome is open; and + you shall travel it if Caesar chooses. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>courteously</i>). I could do no less, Pothinus, to secure the retreat + of my own soldiers. I am accountable for every life among them. But you + are free to go. So are all here, and in the palace. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>aghast at this clemency</i>). What! Renegades and all? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>softening the expression</i>). Roman army of occupation and all, + Rufio. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>desperately</i>). Then I make a last appeal to Caesar’s justice. I + shall call a witness to prove that but for us, the Roman army of + occupation, led by the greatest soldier in the world, would now have + Caesar at its mercy. (<i>Calling through the loggia</i>) Ho, there, Lucius + Septimius (<i>Caesar starts, deeply moved</i>): if my voice can reach you, come + forth and testify before Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>shrinking</i>). No, no. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Yes, I say. Let the military tribune bear witness. + </p> + <p><i> + Lucius Septimius, a clean shaven, trim athlete of about 40, with + symmetrical features, resolute mouth, and handsome, thin Roman nose, in + the dress of a Roman officer, comes in through the loggia and confronts + Caesar, who hides his face with his robe for a moment; then, mastering + himself, drops it, and confronts the tribune with dignity. + </i></p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Bear witness, Lucius Septimius. Caesar came hither in pursuit of + his foe. Did we shelter his foe? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. As Pompey’s foot touched the Egyptian shore, his head fell by the + stroke of my sword. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>with viperish relish</i>). Under the eyes of his wife and child! + Remember that, Caesar! They saw it from the ship he had just left. We have + given you a full and sweet measure of vengeance. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with horror</i>). Vengeance! + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Our first gift to you, as your galley came into the roadstead, + was the head of your rival for the empire of the world. Bear witness, + Lucius Septimius: is it not so? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. It is so. With this hand, that slew Pompey, I placed his head at + the feet of Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Murderer! So would you have slain Caesar, had Pompey been + victorious at Pharsalia. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. Woe to the vanquished, Caesar! When I served Pompey, I slew as + good men as he, only because he conquered them. His turn came at last. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>flatteringly</i>). The deed was not yours, Caesar, but ours—nay, + mine; for it was done by my counsel. Thanks to us, you keep your + reputation for clemency, and have your vengeance too. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Vengeance! Vengeance!! Oh, if I could stoop to vengeance, what + would I not exact from you as the price of this murdered man’s blood. + (<i>They shrink back, appalled and disconcerted.</i>) Was he not my son-in-law, + my ancient friend, for 20 years the master of great Rome, for 30 years the + compeller of victory? Did not I, as a Roman, share his glory? Was the Fate + that forced us to fight for the mastery of the world, of our making? Am I + Julius Caesar, or am I a wolf, that you fling to me the grey head of the + old soldier, the laurelled conqueror, the mighty Roman, treacherously + struck down by this callous ruffian, and then claim my gratitude for it! + (<i>To Lucius Septimius</i>) Begone: you fill me with horror. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS (<i>cold and undaunted</i>). Pshaw! You have seen severed heads before, + Caesar, and severed right hands too, I think; some thousands of them, in + Gaul, after you vanquished Vercingetorix. Did you spare him, with all your + clemency? Was that vengeance? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No, by the gods! would that it had been! Vengeance at least is + human. No, I say: those severed right hands, and the brave Vercingetorix + basely strangled in a vault beneath the Capitol, were (<i>with shuddering + satire</i>) a wise severity, a necessary protection to the commonwealth, a + duty of statesmanship—follies and fictions ten times bloodier than + honest vengeance! What a fool was I then! To think that men’s lives should + be at the mercy of such fools! (<i>Humbly</i>) Lucius Septimius, pardon me: why + should the slayer of Vercingetorix rebuke the slayer of Pompey? You are + free to go with the rest. Or stay if you will: I will find a place for you + in my service. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. The odds are against you, Caesar. I go. (<i>He turns to go out + through the loggia.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>full of wrath at seeing his prey escaping</i>). That means that he is a + Republican. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS (<i>turning defiantly on the loggia steps</i>). And what are you? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. A Caesarian, like all Caesar’s soldiers. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>courteously</i>). Lucius: believe me, Caesar is no Caesarian. Were + Rome a true republic, then were Caesar the first of Republicans. But you + have made your choice. Farewell. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. Farewell. Come, Achillas, whilst there is yet time. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar, seeing that Rufio’s temper threatens to get the worse of him, puts + his hand on his shoulder and brings him down the hall out of harm’s way, + Britannus accompanying them and posting himself on Caesar’s right hand. + This movement brings the three in a little group to the place occupied by + Achillas, who moves haughtily away and joins Theodotus on the other side. + Lucius Septimius goes out through the soldiers in the loggia. Pothinus, + Theodotus and Achillas follow him with the courtiers, very mistrustful of + the soldiers, who close up in their rear and go out after them, keeping + them moving without much ceremony. The King is left in his chair, piteous, + obstinate, with twitching face and fingers. During these movements Rufio + maintains an energetic grumbling, as follows:— + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>as Lucius departs</i>). Do you suppose he would let us go if he had our + heads in his hands? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I have no right to suppose that his ways are any baser than mine. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Psha! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Rufio: if I take Lucius Septimius for my model, and become exactly + like him, ceasing to be Caesar, will you serve me still? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: this is not good sense. Your duty to Rome demands that + her enemies should be prevented from doing further mischief. (<i>Caesar, + whose delight in the moral eye-to-business of his British secretary is + inexhaustible, smiles intelligently.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. It is no use talking to him, Britannus: you may save your breath to + cool your porridge. But mark this, Caesar. Clemency is very well for you; + but what is it for your soldiers, who have to fight to-morrow the men you + spared yesterday? You may give what orders you please; but I tell you that + your next victory will be a massacre, thanks to your clemency. <i>I</i>, for one, + will take no prisoners. I will kill my enemies in the field; and then you + can preach as much clemency as you please: I shall never have to fight + them again. And now, with your leave, I will see these gentry off the + premises. (<i>He turns to go.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>turning also and seeing Ptolemy</i>). What! Have they left the boy + alone! Oh shame, shame! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>taking Ptolemy’s hand and making him rise</i>). Come, your majesty! + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>to Caesar, drawing away his hand from Rufio</i>). Is he turning me + out of my palace? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>grimly</i>). You are welcome to stay if you wish. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>kindly</i>). Go, my boy. I will not harm you; but you will be safer + away, among your friends. Here you are in the lion’s mouth. + </p> + <p> + PTOLEMY (<i>turning to go</i>). It is not the lion I fear, but (<i>looking at Rufio</i>) + the jackal. (<i>He goes out through the loggia.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>laughing approvingly</i>). Brave boy! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>jealous of Caesar’s approbation, calling after Ptolemy</i>). Little + silly. You think that very clever. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Britannus: Attend the King. Give him in charge to that Pothinus + fellow. (<i>Britannus goes out after Ptolemy.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>pointing to Cleopatra</i>). And this piece of goods? What is to be done + with <i>her</i>? However, I suppose I may leave that to you. (<i>He goes out through + the loggia.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>flushing suddenly and turning on Caesar</i>). Did you mean me to go + with the rest? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>a little preoccupied, goes with a sigh to Ptolemy’s chair, whilst + she waits for his answer with red cheeks and clenched fists</i>). You are free + to do just as you please, Cleopatra. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Then you do not care whether I stay or not? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>smiling</i>). Of course I had rather you stayed. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Much, <i>much</i> rather? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>nodding</i>). Much, much rather. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Then I consent to stay, because I am asked. But I do not want + to, mind. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. That is quite understood. (<i>Calling</i>) Totateeta. + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta, still seated, turns her eyes on him with a sinister + expression, but does not move. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with a splutter of laughter</i>). Her name is not Totateeta: it is + Ftatateeta. (<i>Calling</i>) Ftatateeta. (<i>Ftatateeta instantly rises and comes to + Cleopatra.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>stumbling over the name</i>). Tfatafeeta will forgive the erring + tongue of a Roman. Tota: the Queen will hold her state here in Alexandria. + Engage women to attend upon her; and do all that is needful. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Am I then the mistress of the Queen’s household? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>sharply</i>). No: <i>I</i> am the mistress of the Queen’s household. Go + and do as you are told, or I will have you thrown into the Nile this very + afternoon, to poison the poor crocodiles. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>shocked</i>). Oh no, no. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Oh yes, yes. You are very sentimental, Caesar; but you are + clever; and if you do as I tell you, you will soon learn to govern. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar, quite dumbfounded by this impertinence, turns in his chair and + stares at her. + </i></p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta, smiling grimly, and showing a splendid set of teeth, goes, + leaving them alone together. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cleopatra: I really think I must eat you, after all. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>kneeling beside him and looking at him with eager interest, + half real, half affected to shew how intelligent she is</i>). You must not + talk to me now as if I were a child. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You have been growing up since the Sphinx introduced us the other + night; and you think you know more than I do already. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>taken down, and anxious to justify herself</i>). No: that would be + very silly of me: of course I know that. But—(<i>suddenly</i>) are you angry + with me? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>only half believing him</i>). Then why are you so thoughtful? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>rising</i>). I have work to do, Cleopatra. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>drawing back</i>). Work! (<i>Offended</i>) You are tired of talking to me; + and that is your excuse to get away from me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>sitting down again to appease her</i>). Well, well: another minute. + But then—work! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Work! What nonsense! You must remember that you are a King now: + I have made you one. Kings don’t work. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Oh! Who told you that, little kitten? Eh? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. My father was King of Egypt; and he never worked. But he was a + great king, and cut off my sister’s head because she rebelled against him + and took the throne from him. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well; and how did he get his throne back again? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>eagerly, her eyes lighting up</i>). I will tell you. A beautiful + young man, with strong round arms, came over the desert with many + horsemen, and slew my sister’s husband and gave my father back his throne. + (<i>Wistfully</i>) I was only twelve then. Oh, I wish he would come again, now + that I am a Queen. I would make him my husband. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It might be managed, perhaps; for it was I who sent that beautiful + young man to help your father. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>enraptured</i>). You know him! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>nodding</i>). I do. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Has he come with you? (<i>Caesar shakes his head: she is cruelly + disappointed.</i>) Oh, I wish he had, I wish he had. If only I were a little + older; so that he might not think me a mere kitten, as you do! But perhaps + that is because <i>you</i> are old. He is many, <i>many</i> years younger than you, is + he not? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>as if swallowing a pill</i>). He is somewhat younger. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Would he be my husband, do you think, if I asked him? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Very likely. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But I should not like to ask him. Could you not persuade him to + ask me—without knowing that I wanted him to? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>touched by her innocence of the beautiful young man’s character</i>). + My poor child! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Why do you say that as if you were sorry for me? Does he love + anyone else? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I am afraid so. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>tearfully</i>). Then I shall not be his first love. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Not quite the first. He is greatly admired by women. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I wish I could be the first. But if he loves me, I will make + him kill all the rest. Tell me: is he still beautiful? Do his strong round + arms shine in the sun like marble? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. He is in excellent condition—considering how much he eats + and drinks. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Oh, you must not say common, earthly things about him; for I + love him. He is a god. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. He is a great captain of horsemen, and swifter of foot than any + other Roman. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. What is his real name? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>puzzled</i>). His <i>real</i> name? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes. I always call him Horus, because Horus is the most + beautiful of our gods. But I want to know his real name. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. His name is Mark Antony. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>musically</i>). Mark Antony, Mark Antony, Mark Antony! What a + beautiful name! (<i>She throws her arms round Caesar’s neck.</i>) Oh, how I love + you for sending him to help my father! Did you love my father very much? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No, my child; but your father, as you say, never worked. I always + work. So when he lost his crown he had to promise me 16,000 talents to get + it back for him. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Did he ever pay you? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Not in full. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. He was quite right: it was too dear. The whole world is not + worth 16,000 talents. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. That is perhaps true, Cleopatra. Those Egyptians who work paid as + much of it as he could drag from them. The rest is still due. But as I + most likely shall not get it, I must go back to my work. So you must run + away for a little and send my secretary to me. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>coaxing</i>). No: I want to stay and hear you talk about Mark + Antony. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. But if I do not get to work, Pothinus and the rest of them will + cut us off from the harbor; and then the way from Rome will be blocked. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No matter: I don’t want you to go back to Rome. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. But you want Mark Antony to come from it. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>springing up</i>). Oh yes, yes, yes: I forgot. Go quickly and work, + Caesar; and keep the way over the sea open for my Mark Antony. (<i>She runs + out through the loggia, kissing her hand to Mark Antony across the sea.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>going briskly up the middle of the hall to the loggia steps</i>). Ho, + Britannus. (<i>He is startled by the entry of a wounded Roman soldier, who + confronts him from the upper step.</i>) What now? + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER (<i>pointing to his bandaged head</i>). This, Caesar; and two of my + comrades killed in the market place. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>quiet but attending</i>). Ay. Why? + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. There is an army come to Alexandria, calling itself the Roman + army. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. The Roman army of occupation. Ay? + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. Commanded by one Achillas. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well? + </p> + <p> + SOLDIER. The citizens rose against us when the army entered the gates. I + was with two others in the market place when the news came. They set upon + us. I cut my way out; and here I am. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Good. I am glad to see you alive. (<i>Rufio enters the loggia + hastily, passing behind the soldier to look out through one of the arches + at the quay beneath.</i>) Rufio, we are besieged. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What! Already? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Now or to-morrow: what does it matter? We <i>shall</i> be besieged. + </p> + <p><i> + Britannus runs in. + </i></p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>anticipating him</i>). Yes: I know. (<i>Rufio and Britannus come down the + hall from the loggia at opposite sides, past Caesar, who waits for a + moment near the step to say to the soldier.</i>) Comrade: give the word to + turn out on the beach and stand by the boats. Get your wound attended to. + Go. (<i>The soldier hurries out. Caesar comes down the hall between Rufio and + Britannus</i>) Rufio: we have some ships in the west harbor. Burn them. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>staring</i>). Burn them!! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Take every boat we have in the east harbor, and seize the Pharos—that + island with the lighthouse. Leave half our men behind to hold the beach + and the quay outside this palace: that is the way home. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>disapproving strongly</i>). Are we to give up the city? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. We have not got it, Rufio. This palace we have; and—what is + that building next door? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. The theatre. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. We will have that too: it commands the strand. For the rest, Egypt + for the Egyptians! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Well, you know best, I suppose. Is that all? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. That is all. Are those ships burnt yet? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Be easy: I shall waste no more time. (<i>He runs out.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: Pothinus demands speech of you. It’s my opinion he + needs a lesson. His manner is most insolent. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Where is he? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. He waits without. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ho there! Admit Pothinus. + </p> + <p><i> + Pothinus appears in the loggia, and comes down the hall very haughtily to + Caesar’s left hand. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, Pothinus? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I have brought you our ultimatum, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ultimatum! The door was open: you should have gone out through it + before you declared war. You are my prisoner now. (<i>He goes to the chair + and loosens his toga.</i>) + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>scornfully</i>). I <i>your</i> prisoner! Do you know that you are in + Alexandria, and that King Ptolemy, with an army outnumbering your little + troop a hundred to one, is in possession of Alexandria? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>unconcernedly taking off his toga and throwing it on the chair</i>). + Well, my friend, get out if you can. And tell your friends not to kill any + more Romans in the market place. Otherwise my soldiers, who do not share + my celebrated clemency, will probably kill you. Britannus: pass the word + to the guard; and fetch my armor. (<i>Britannus runs out. Rufio returns.</i>) + Well? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>pointing from the loggia to a cloud of smoke drifting over the + harbor</i>). See there! (<i>Pothinus runs eagerly up the steps to look out.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What, ablaze already! Impossible! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Yes, five good ships, and a barge laden with oil grappled to each. + But it is not my doing: the Egyptians have saved me the trouble. They have + captured the west harbor. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>anxiously</i>). And the east harbor? The lighthouse, Rufio? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>with a sudden splutter of raging ill usage, coming down to Caesar + and scolding him</i>). Can I embark a legion in five minutes? The first cohort + is already on the beach. We can do no more. If you want faster work, come + and do it yourself? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>soothing him</i>). Good, good. Patience, Rufio, patience. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Patience! Who is impatient here, you or I? Would I be here, if I + could not oversee them from that balcony? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Forgive me, Rufio; and (<i>anxiously</i>) hurry them as much as—— + </p> + <p><i> + He is interrupted by an outcry as of an old man in the extremity of + misfortune. It draws near rapidly; and Theodotus rushes in, tearing his + hair, and squeaking the most lamentable exclamations. Rufio steps back to + stare at him, amazed at his frantic condition. Pothinus turns to listen. + </i></p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>on the steps, with uplifted arms</i>). Horror unspeakable! Woe, + alas! Help! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What now? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>frowning</i>). Who is slain? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Slain! Oh, worse than the death of ten thousand men! Loss + irreparable to mankind! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What has happened, man? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>rushing down the hall between them</i>). The fire has spread from + your ships. The first of the seven wonders of the world perishes. The + library of Alexandria is in flames. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Psha! (<i>Quite relieved, he goes up to the loggia and watches the + preparations of the troops on the beach.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Is that all? + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>unable to believe his senses</i>). All! Caesar: will you go down to + posterity as a barbarous soldier too ignorant to know the value of books? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Theodotus: I am an author myself; and I tell you it is better that + the Egyptians should live their lives than dream them away with the help + of books. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>kneeling, with genuine literary emotion: the passion of the + pedant</i>). Caesar: once in ten generations of men, the world gains an + immortal book. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>inflexible</i>). If it did not flatter mankind, the common executioner + would burn it. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. Without history, death would lay you beside your meanest + soldier. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Death will do that in any case. I ask no better grave. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. What is burning there is the memory of mankind. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. A shameful memory. Let it burn. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>wildly</i>). Will you destroy the past? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ay, and build the future with its ruins. (<i>Theodotus, in despair, + strikes himself on the temples with his fists.</i>) But harken, Theodotus, + teacher of kings: you who valued Pompey’s head no more than a shepherd + values an onion, and who now kneel to me, with tears in your old eyes, to + plead for a few sheepskins scrawled with errors. I cannot spare you a man + or a bucket of water just now; but you shall pass freely out of the + palace. Now, away with you to Achillas; and borrow his legions to put out + the fire. (<i>He hurries him to the steps.</i>) + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>significantly</i>). You understand, Theodotus: I remain a prisoner. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS. A prisoner! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Will you stay to talk whilst the memory of mankind is burning? + (<i>Calling through the loggia</i>) Ho there! Pass Theodotus out. (<i>To Theodotus</i>) + Away with you. + </p> + <p> + THEODOTUS (<i>to Pothinus</i>). I must go to save the library. (<i>He hurries out.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Follow him to the gate, Pothinus. Bid him urge your people to kill + no more of my soldiers, for your sake. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. My life will cost you dear if you take it, Caesar. (<i>He goes out + after Theodotus.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + Rufio, absorbed in watching the embarkation, does not notice the departure + of the two Egyptians. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>shouting from the loggia to the beach</i>). All ready, there? + </p> + <p> + A CENTURION (<i>from below</i>). All ready. We wait for Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Tell them Caesar is coming—the rogues! (<i>Calling</i>) + Britannicus. (<i>This magniloquent version of his secretary’s name is one of + Caesar’s jokes. In later years it would have meant, quite seriously and + officially, Conqueror of Britain.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>calling down</i>). Push off, all except the longboat. Stand by it to + embark, Caesar’s guard there. (<i>He leaves the balcony and comes down into + the hall.</i>) Where are those Egyptians? Is this more clemency? Have you let + them go? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>chuckling</i>). I have let Theodotus go to save the library. We must + respect literature, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>raging</i>). Folly on folly’s head! I believe if you could bring back + all the dead of Spain, Gaul and Thessaly to life, you would do it that we + might have the trouble of fighting them over again. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Might not the gods destroy the world if their only thought were to + be at peace next year? (<i>Rufio, out of all patience, turns away in anger. + Caesar suddenly grips his sleeve, and adds slyly in his ear.</i>) Besides, my + friend: every Egyptian we imprison means imprisoning two Roman soldiers to + guard him. Eh? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Agh! I might have known there was some fox’s trick behind your fine + talking. (<i>He gets away from Caesar with an ill-humored shrug, and goes to + the balcony for another look at the preparations; finally goes out.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Is Britannus asleep? I sent him for my armor an hour ago. + (<i>Calling</i>) Britannicus, thou British islander. Britannicus! + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra runs in through the loggia with Caesar’s helmet and sword, + snatched from Britannus, who follows her with a cuirass and greaves. They + come down to Caesar, she to his left hand, Britannus to his right. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I am going to dress you, Caesar. Sit down. (<i>He obeys.</i>) These + Roman helmets are so becoming! (<i>She takes off his wreath.</i>) Oh! (<i>She bursts + out laughing at him.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What are you laughing at? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You’re bald (<i>beginning with a big B, and ending with a + splutter</i>). + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>almost annoyed</i>). Cleopatra! (<i>He rises, for the convenience of + Britannus, who puts the cuirass on him.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. So that is why you wear the wreath—to hide it. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Peace, Egyptian: they are the bays of the conqueror. (<i>He + buckles the cuirass.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Peace, thou: islander! (<i>To Caesar</i>) You should rub your head + with strong spirits of sugar, Caesar. That will make it grow. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with a wry face</i>). Cleopatra: do you like to be reminded that you + are very young? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pouting</i>). No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>sitting down again, and setting out his leg for Britannus, who + kneels to put on his greaves</i>). Neither do I like to be reminded that I am—middle + aged. Let me give you ten of my superfluous years. That will make you 26 + and leave me only—no matter. Is it a bargain? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Agreed. 26, mind. (<i>She puts the helmet on him.</i>) Oh! How nice! + You look only about 50 in it! + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>Looking up severely at Cleopatra</i>). You must not speak in this + manner to Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Is it true that when Caesar caught you on that island, you were + painted all over blue? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Blue is the color worn by all Britons of good standing. In war + we stain our bodies blue; so that though our enemies may strip us of our + clothes and our lives, they cannot strip us of our respectability. (<i>He + rises.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with Caesar’s sword</i>). Let me hang this on. Now you look + splendid. Have they made any statues of you in Rome? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes, many statues. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You must send for one and give it to me. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>coming back into the loggia, more impatient than ever</i>). Now Caesar: + have you done talking? The moment your foot is aboard there will be no + holding our men back: the boats will race one another for the lighthouse. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>drawing his sword and trying the edge</i>). Is this well set to-day, + Britannicus? At Pharsalia it was as blunt as a barrel-hoop. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. It will split one of the Egyptian’s hairs to-day, Caesar. I + have set it myself. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>suddenly throwing her arms in terror round Caesar</i>). Oh, you are + not really going into battle to be killed? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No, Cleopatra. No man goes to battle to be killed. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But they <i>do</i> get killed. My sister’s husband was killed in + battle. You must not go. Let <i>him</i> go (<i>pointing to Rufio. They all laugh at + her</i>). Oh please, <i>please</i> don’t go. What will happen to <i>me</i> if you never come + back? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>gravely</i>). Are you afraid? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>shrinking</i>). No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with quiet authority</i>). Go to the balcony; and you shall see us + take the Pharos. You must learn to look on battles. Go. (<i>She goes, + downcast, and looks out from the balcony.</i>) That is well. Now, Rufio. + March. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>suddenly clapping her hands</i>). Oh, you will not be able to go! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Why? What now? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. They are drying up the harbor with buckets—a multitude of + soldiers—over there (<i>pointing out across the sea to her left</i>)—they + are dipping up the water. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>hastening to look</i>). It is true. The Egyptian army! Crawling over + the edge of the west harbor like locusts. (<i>With sudden anger he strides + down to Caesar.</i>) This is your accursed clemency, Caesar. Theodotus has + brought them. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>delighted at his own cleverness</i>). I meant him to, Rufio. They have + come to put out the fire. The library will keep them busy whilst we seize + the lighthouse. Eh? (<i>He rushes out buoyantly through the loggia, followed + by Britannus.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>disgustedly</i>). More foxing! Agh! (<i>He rushes off. A shout from the + soldiers announces the appearance of Caesar below.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>below</i>). All aboard. Give way there. (<i>Another shout.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>waving her scarf through the loggia arch</i>). Goodbye, goodbye, + dear Caesar. Come back safe. Goodbye! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <p><i> + The edge of the quay in front of the palace, looking out west over the + east harbor of Alexandria to Pharos island, just off the end of which, and + connected with it by a narrow mole, is the famous lighthouse, a gigantic + square tower of white marble diminishing in size storey by storey to the + top, on which stands a cresset beacon. The island is joined to the main + land by the Heptastadium, a great mole or causeway five miles long + bounding the harbor on the south. + </i></p> + <p><i> + In the middle of the quay a Roman sentinel stands on guard, pilum in hand, + looking out to the lighthouse with strained attention, his left hand + shading his eyes. The pilum is a stout wooden shaft 4½ feet long, with an + iron spit about three feet long fixed in it. The sentinel is so absorbed + that he does not notice the approach from the north end of the quay of + four Egyptian market porters carrying rolls of carpet, preceded by + Ftatateeta and Apollodorus the Sicilian. Apollodorus is a dashing young + man of about 24, handsome and debonair, dressed with deliberate + æstheticism in the most delicate purples and dove greys, with ornaments of + bronze, oxydized silver, and stones of jade and agate. His sword, designed + as carefully as a medieval cross, has a blued blade showing through an + openwork scabbard of purple leather and filagree. The porters, conducted + by Ftatateeta, pass along the quay behind the sentinel to the steps of the + palace, where they put down their bales and squat on the ground. + Apollodorus does not pass along with them: he halts, amused by the + preoccupation of the sentinel. + </i></p> + <p> + <br/> + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>calling to the sentinel</i>). Who goes there, eh? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>starting violently and turning with his pilum at the charge, + revealing himself as a small, wiry, sandy-haired, conscientious young man + with an elderly face</i>). What’s this? Stand. Who are you? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I am Apollodorus the Sicilian. Why, man, what are you + dreaming of? Since I came through the lines beyond the theatre there, I + have brought my caravan past three sentinels, all so busy staring at the + lighthouse that not one of them challenged me. Is this Roman discipline? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. We are not here to watch the land but the sea. Caesar has just + landed on the Pharos. (<i>Looking at Ftatateeta</i>) What have you here? Who is + this piece of Egyptian crockery? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Apollodorus: rebuke this Roman dog; and bid him bridle his + tongue in the presence of Ftatateeta, the mistress of the Queen’s + household. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. My friend: this is a great lady, who stands high with Caesar. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>not at all impressed, pointing to the carpets</i>). And what is all + this truck? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Carpets for the furnishing of the Queen’s apartments in the + palace. I have picked them from the best carpets in the world; and the + Queen shall choose the best of my choosing. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. So you are the carpet merchant? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>hurt</i>). My friend: I am a patrician. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. A patrician! A patrician keeping a shop instead of following + arms! + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I do not keep a shop. Mine is a temple of the arts. I am a + worshipper of beauty. My calling is to choose beautiful things for + beautiful Queens. My motto is Art for Art’s sake. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. That is not the password. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. It is a universal password. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. I know nothing about universal passwords. Either give me the + password for the day or get back to your shop. + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta, roused by his hostile tone, steals towards the edge of the + quay with the step of a panther, and gets behind him. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. How if I do neither? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Then I will drive this pilum through you. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. At your service, my friend. (<i>He draws his sword, and springs + to his guard with unruffled grace.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>suddenly seizing the sentinel’s arms from behind</i>). Thrust your + knife into the dog’s throat, Apollodorus. (<i>The chivalrous Apollodorus + laughingly shakes his head; breaks ground away from the sentinel towards + the palace; and lowers his point.</i>) + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>struggling vainly</i>). Curse on you! Let me go. Help ho! + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>lifting him from the ground</i>). Stab the little Roman reptile. + Spit him on your sword. + </p> + <p><i> + A couple of Roman soldiers, with a centurion, come running along the edge + of the quay from the north end. They rescue their comrade, and throw off + Ftatateeta, who is sent reeling away on the left hand of the sentinel. + </i></p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>an unattractive man of fifty, short in his speech and manners, + with a vine wood cudgel in his hand</i>). How now? What is all this? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>to Apollodorus</i>). Why did you not stab him? There was time! + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Centurion: I am here by order of the Queen to—— + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>interrupting him</i>). The Queen! Yes, yes: (<i>to the sentinel</i>) pass + him in. Pass all these bazaar people in to the Queen, with their goods. + But mind you pass no one out that you have not passed in—not even + the Queen herself. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. This old woman is dangerous: she is as strong as three men. She + wanted the merchant to stab me. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Centurion: I am not a merchant. I am a patrician and a votary + of art. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION. Is the woman your wife? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>horrified</i>). No, no! (<i>Correcting himself politely</i>) Not that + the lady is not a striking figure in her own way. But (<i>emphatically</i>) she + is <i>not</i> my wife. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>to the Centurion</i>). Roman: I am Ftatateeta, the mistress of the + Queen’s household. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION. Keep your hands off our men, mistress; or I will have you + pitched into the harbor, though you were as strong as ten men. (<i>To his + men</i>) To your posts: march! (<i>He returns with his men the way they came.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>looking malignantly after him</i>). We shall see whom Isis loves + best: her servant Ftatateeta or a dog of a Roman. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>to Apollodorus, with a wave of his pilum towards the palace</i>). + Pass in there; and keep your distance. (<i>Turning to Ftatateeta</i>) Come within + a yard of me, you old crocodile; and I will give you this (<i>the pilum</i>) in + your jaws. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>calling from the palace</i>). Ftatateeta, Ftatateeta. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>Looking up, scandalized</i>). Go from the window, go from the + window. There are men here. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I am coming down. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>distracted</i>). No, no. What are you dreaming of? O ye gods, ye + gods! Apollodorus: bid your men pick up your bales; and in with me + quickly. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Obey the mistress of the Queen’s household. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>impatiently, as the porters stoop to lift the bales</i>). Quick, + quick: she will be out upon us. (<i>Cleopatra comes from the palace and runs + across the quay to Ftatateeta.</i>) Oh that ever I was born! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>eagerly</i>). Ftatateeta: I have thought of something. I want a + boat—at once. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. A boat! No, no: you cannot. Apollodorus: speak to the Queen. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>gallantly</i>). Beautiful Queen: I am Apollodorus the Sicilian, + your servant, from the bazaar. I have brought you the three most beautiful + Persian carpets in the world to choose from. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I have no time for carpets to-day. Get me a boat. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. What whim is this? You cannot go on the water except in the + royal barge. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Royalty, Ftatateeta, lies not in the barge but in the Queen. + (<i>To Cleopatra</i>) The touch of your majesty’s foot on the gunwale of the + meanest boat in the harbor will make it royal. (<i>He turns to the harbor and + calls seaward</i>) Ho there, boatman! Pull in to the steps. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Apollodorus: you are my perfect knight; and I will always buy + my carpets through you. (<i>Apollodorus bows joyously. An oar appears above + the quay; and the boatman, a bullet-headed, vivacious, grinning fellow, + burnt almost black by the sun, comes up a flight of steps from the water + on the sentinel’s right, oar in hand, and waits at the top.</i>) Can you row, + Apollodorus? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. My oars shall be your majesty’s wings. Whither shall I row my + Queen? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. To the lighthouse. Come. (<i>She makes for the steps.</i>) + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>opposing her with his pilum at the charge</i>). Stand. You cannot + pass. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>flushing angrily</i>). How dare you? Do you know that I am the + Queen? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. I have my orders. You cannot pass. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I will make Caesar have you killed if you do not obey me. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. He will do worse to me if I disobey my officer. Stand back. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Ftatateeta: strangle him. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>alarmed—looking apprehensively at Ftatateeta, and + brandishing his pilum</i>). Keep off, there. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>running to Apollodorus</i>). Apollodorus: make your slaves help us. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I shall not need their help, lady. (<i>He draws his sword.</i>) Now + soldier: choose which weapon you will defend yourself with. Shall it be + sword against pilum, or sword against sword? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Roman against Sicilian, curse you. Take that. (<i>He hurls his + pilum at Apollodorus, who drops expertly on one knee. The pilum passes + whizzing over his head and falls harmless. Apollodorus, with a cry of + triumph, springs up and attacks the sentinel, who draws his sword and + defends himself, crying</i>) Ho there, guard. Help! + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra, half frightened, half delighted, takes refuge near the palace, + where the porters are squatting among the bales. The boatman, alarmed, + hurries down the steps out of harm’s way, but stops, with his head just + visible above the edge of the quay, to watch the fight. The sentinel is + handicapped by his fear of an attack in the rear from Ftatateeta. His + swordsmanship, which is of a rough and ready sort, is heavily taxed, as he + has occasionally to strike at her to keep her off between a blow and a + guard with Apollodorus. The Centurion returns with several soldiers. + Apollodorus springs back towards Cleopatra as this reinforcement confronts + him. + </i></p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>coming to the sentinel’s right hand</i>). What is this? What now? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>panting</i>). I could do well enough for myself if it weren’t for + the old woman. Keep her off me: that is all the help I need. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION. Make your report, soldier. What has happened? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Centurion: he would have slain the Queen. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>bluntly</i>). I would, sooner than let her pass. She wanted to take + boat, and go—so she said—to the lighthouse. I stopped her, as + I was ordered to; and she set this fellow on me. (<i>He goes to pick up his + pilum and returns to his place with it.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>turning to Cleopatra</i>). Cleopatra: I am loth to offend you; but + without Caesar’s express order we dare not let you pass beyond the Roman + lines. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Well, Centurion; and has not the lighthouse been within the + Roman lines since Caesar landed there? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes, yes. Answer that, if you can. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>to Apollodorus</i>). As for you, Apollodorus, you may thank the + gods that you are not nailed to the palace door with a pilum for your + meddling. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>urbanely</i>). My military friend, I was not born to be slain by + so ugly a weapon. When I fall, it will be (<i>holding up his sword</i>) by this + white queen of arms, the only weapon fit for an artist. And now that you + are convinced that we do not want to go beyond the lines, let me finish + killing your sentinel and depart with the Queen. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>as the sentinel makes an angry demonstration</i>). Peace there. + Cleopatra. I must abide by my orders, and not by the subtleties of this + Sicilian. You must withdraw into the palace and examine your carpets + there. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pouting</i>). I will not: I am the Queen. Caesar does not speak to + me as you do. Have Caesar’s centurions changed manners with his scullions? + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>sulkily</i>). I do my duty. That is enough for me. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Majesty: when a stupid man is doing something he is ashamed + of, he always declares that it is his duty. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>angry</i>). Apollodorus—— + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>interrupting him with defiant elegance</i>). I will make amends + for that insult with my sword at fitting time and place. Who says artist, + says duelist. (<i>To Cleopatra</i>) Hear my counsel, star of the east. Until word + comes to these soldiers from Caesar himself, you are a prisoner. Let me go + to him with a message from you, and a present; and before the sun has + stooped half way to the arms of the sea, I will bring you back Caesar’s + order of release. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>sneering at him</i>). And you will sell the Queen the present, no + doubt. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Centurion: the Queen shall have from me, without payment, as + the unforced tribute of Sicilian taste to Egyptian beauty, the richest of + these carpets for her present to Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>exultantly, to the Centurion</i>). Now you see what an ignorant + common creature you are! + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>curtly</i>). Well, a fool and his wares are soon parted. (<i>He turns + to his men</i>) Two more men to this post here; and see that no one leaves + the palace but this man and his merchandize. If he draws his sword again + inside the lines, kill him. To your posts. March. + </p> + <p><i> + He goes out, leaving two auxiliary sentinels with the other. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>with polite goodfellowship</i>). My friends: will you not enter + the palace and bury our quarrel in a bowl of wine? (<i>He takes out his + purse, jingling the coins in it.</i>) The Queen has presents for you all. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>very sulky</i>). You heard our orders. Get about your business. + </p> + <p> + FIRST AUXILIARY. Yes: you ought to know better. Off with you. + </p> + <p> + SECOND AUXILIARY (<i>looking longingly at the purse—this sentinel is a + hooknosed man, unlike his comrade, who is squab faced</i>). Do not tantalize a + poor man. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>to Cleopatra</i>). Pearl of Queens: the Centurion is at hand; and + the Roman soldier is incorruptible when his officer is looking. I must + carry your word to Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>who has been meditating among the carpets</i>). Are these carpets + very heavy? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. It matters not how heavy. There are plenty of porters. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. How do they put the carpets into boats? Do they throw them + down? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Not into small boats, majesty. It would sink them. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Not into that man’s boat, for instance? (<i>Pointing to the + boatman.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. No. Too small. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But you can take a carpet to Caesar in it if I send one? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Assuredly. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. And you will have it carried gently down the steps and take + great care of it? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Depend on me. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Great, <i>great</i> care? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. More than of my own body. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You will promise me not to let the porters drop it or throw it + about? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Place the most delicate glass goblet in the palace in the + heart of the roll, Queen; and if it be broken, my head shall pay for it. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Good. Come, Ftatateeta. (<i>Ftatateeta comes to her. Apollodorus + offers to squire them into the palace.</i>) No, Apollodorus, you must not + come. I will choose a carpet for myself. You must wait here. (<i>She runs + into the palace.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>to the porters</i>). Follow this lady (<i>indicating Ftatateeta</i>); + and obey her. + </p> + <p><i> + The porters rise and take up their bales. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>addressing the porters as if they were vermin</i>). This way. And + take your shoes off before you put your feet on those stairs. + </p> + <p><i> + She goes in, followed by the porters with the carpets. Meanwhile + Apollodorus goes to the edge of the quay and looks out over the harbor. + The sentinels keep their eyes on him malignantly. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>addressing the sentinel</i>). My friend—— + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>rudely</i>). Silence there. + </p> + <p> + FIRST AUXILIARY. Shut your muzzle, you. + </p> + <p> + SECOND AUXILIARY (<i>in a half whisper, glancing apprehensively towards the + north end of the quay</i>). Can’t you wait a bit? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Patience, worthy three-headed donkey. (<i>They mutter + ferociously; but he is not at all intimidated.</i>) Listen: were you set here + to watch me, or to watch the Egyptians? + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. We know our duty. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Then why don’t you do it? There’s something going on over + there. (<i>Pointing southwestward to the mole.</i>) + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>sulkily</i>). I do not need to be told what to do by the like of + you. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Blockhead. (<i>He begins shouting</i>) Ho there, Centurion. Hoiho! + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Curse your meddling. (<i>Shouting</i>) Hoiho! Alarm! Alarm! + </p> + <p> + FIRST AND SECOND AUXILIARIES. Alarm! alarm! Hoiho! + </p> + <p><i> + The Centurion comes running in with his guard. + </i></p> + <p> + CENTURION. What now? Has the old woman attacked you again? (<i>Seeing + Apollodorus</i>) Are <i>you</i> here still? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>pointing as before</i>). See there. The Egyptians are moving. + They are going to recapture the Pharos. They will attack by sea and land: + by land along the great mole; by sea from the west harbor. Stir + yourselves, my military friends: the hunt is up. (<i>A clangor of trumpets + from several points along the quay.</i>) Aha! I told you so. + </p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>quickly</i>). The two extra men pass the alarm to the south posts. + One man keep guard here. The rest with me—quick. + </p> + <p><i> + The two auxiliary sentinels run off to the south. The Centurion and his + guard run off northward; and immediately afterwards the bucina sounds. The + four porters come from the palace carrying a carpet, followed by + Ftatateeta. + </i></p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>handling his pilum apprehensively</i>). You again! (<i>The porters + stop.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Peace, Roman fellow: you are now single-handed. Apollodorus: + this carpet is Cleopatra’s present to Caesar. It has rolled up in it ten + precious goblets of the thinnest Iberian crystal, and a hundred eggs of + the sacred blue pigeon. On your honor, let not one of them be broken. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. On my head be it. (<i>To the porters</i>) Into the boat with them + carefully. + </p> + <p><i> + The porters carry the carpet to the steps. + </i></p> + <p> + FIRST PORTER (<i>looking down at the boat</i>). Beware what you do, sir. Those + eggs of which the lady speaks must weigh more than a pound apiece. This + boat is too small for such a load. + </p> + <p> + BOATMAN (<i>excitedly rushing up the steps</i>). Oh thou injurious porter! Oh + thou unnatural son of a she-camel! (<i>To Apollodorus</i>) My boat, sir, hath + often carried five men. Shall it not carry your lordship and a bale of + pigeons’ eggs? (<i>To the porter</i>) Thou mangey dromedary, the gods shall + punish thee for this envious wickedness. + </p> + <p> + FIRST PORTER (<i>stolidly</i>). I cannot quit this bale now to beat thee; but + another day I will lie in wait for thee. + </p> + <p> + APPOLODORUS (<i>going between them</i>). Peace there. If the boat were but a + single plank, I would get to Caesar on it. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>anxiously</i>). In the name of the gods, Apollodorus, run no risks + with that bale. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Fear not, thou venerable grotesque: I guess its great worth. + (<i>To the porters</i>) Down with it, I say; and gently; or ye shall eat nothing + but stick for ten days. + </p> + <p><i> + The boatman goes down the steps, followed by the porters with the bale: + Ftatateeta and Apollodorus watching from the edge. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Gently, my sons, my children—(<i>with sudden alarm</i>) + gently, ye dogs. Lay it level in the stern—so—’tis well. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>screaming down at one of the porters</i>). Do not step on it, do + not step on it. Oh thou brute beast! + </p> + <p> + FIRST PORTER (<i>ascending</i>). Be not excited, mistress: all is well. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>panting</i>). All well! Oh, thou hast given my heart a turn! (<i>She + clutches her side, gasping.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + The four porters have now come up and are waiting at the stairhead to be + paid. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Here, ye hungry ones. (<i>He gives money to the first porter, + who holds it in his hand to shew to the others. They crowd greedily to see + how much it is, quite prepared, after the Eastern fashion, to protest to + heaven against their patron’s stinginess. But his liberality overpowers + them.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FIRST PORTER. O bounteous prince! + </p> + <p> + SECOND PORTER. O lord of the bazaar! + </p> + <p> + THIRD PORTER. O favored of the gods! + </p> + <p> + FOURTH PORTER. O father to all the porters of the market! + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>enviously, threatening them fiercely with his pilum</i>). Hence, + dogs: off. Out of this. (<i>They fly before him northward along the quay.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Farewell, Ftatateeta. I shall be at the lighthouse before the + Egyptians. (<i>He descends the steps.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. The gods speed thee and protect my nursling! + </p> + <p><i> + The sentry returns from chasing the porters and looks down at the boat, + standing near the stairhead lest Ftatateeta should attempt to escape. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>from beneath, as the boat moves off</i>). Farewell, valiant pilum + pitcher. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Farewell shopkeeper. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Ha, ha! Pull, thou brave boatman, pull. Soho-o-o-o-o! (<i>He + begins to sing in barcarolle measure to the rhythm of the oars</i>) + </p> + <div class="songouter"> + <div class="songinner"> + My heart, my heart, spread out thy wings:<br/> + Shake off thy heavy load of love— + </div> + </div> + <p> + Give me the oars, O son of a snail. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL (<i>threatening Ftatateeta</i>). Now mistress: back to your henhouse. In + with you. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>falling on her knees and stretching her hands over the + waters</i>). Gods of the seas, bear her safely to the shore! + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Bear <i>who</i> safely? What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>looking darkly at him</i>). Gods of Egypt and of Vengeance, let + this Roman fool be beaten like a dog by his captain for suffering her to + be taken over the waters. + </p> + <p> + SENTINEL. Accursed one: is she then in the boat? (<i>He calls over the sea</i>) + Hoiho, there, boatman! Hoiho! + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>singing in the distance</i>). + </p> + <div class="songouter"> + <div class="songinner"> + My heart, my heart, be whole and free:<br/> + Love is thine only enemy. + </div> + </div> + <p><i> + Meanwhile Rufio, the morning’s fighting done, sits munching dates on a + faggot of brushwood outside the door of the lighthouse, which towers + gigantic to the clouds on his left. His helmet, full of dates, is between + his knees; and a leathern bottle of wine is by his side. Behind him the + great stone pedestal of the lighthouse is shut in from the open sea by a + low stone parapet, with a couple of steps in the middle to the broad + coping. A huge chain with a hook hangs down from the lighthouse crane + above his head. Faggots like the one he sits on lie beneath it ready to be + drawn up to feed the beacon. + </i></p> + <p><i> + Caesar is standing on the step at the parapet looking out anxiously, + evidently ill at ease. Britannus comes out of the lighthouse door. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. Well, my British islander. Have you been up to the top? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. I have. I reckon it at 200 feet high. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Anybody up there? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. One elderly Tyrian to work the crane; and his son, a well + conducted youth of 14. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>looking at the chain</i>). What! An old man and a boy work that! Twenty + men, you mean. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Two only, I assure you. They have counterweights, and a machine + with boiling water in it which I do not understand: it is not of British + design. They use it to haul up barrels of oil and faggots to burn in the + brazier on the roof. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. But—— + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Excuse me: I came down because there are messengers coming + along the mole to us from the island. I must see what their business is. + (<i>He hurries out past the lighthouse.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>coming away from the parapet, shivering and out of sorts</i>). Rufio: + this has been a mad expedition. We shall be beaten. I wish I knew how our + men are getting on with that barricade across the great mole. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>angrily</i>). Must I leave my food and go starving to bring you a + report? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>soothing him nervously</i>). No, Rufio, no. Eat, my son. Eat. (<i>He + takes another turn, Rufio chewing dates meanwhile.</i>) The Egyptians cannot + be such fools as not to storm the barricade and swoop down on us here + before it is finished. It is the first time I have ever run an avoidable + risk. I should not have come to Egypt. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. An hour ago you were all for victory. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>apologetically</i>). Yes: I was a fool—rash, Rufio—boyish. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Boyish! Not a bit of it. Here. (<i>Offering him a handful of dates.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What are these for? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. To eat. That’s what’s the matter with you. When a man comes to your + age, he runs down before his midday meal. Eat and drink; and then have + another look at our chances. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>taking the dates</i>). My age! (<i>He shakes his head and bites a date.</i>) + Yes, Rufio: I am an old man—worn out now—true, quite true. (<i>He + gives way to melancholy contemplation, and eats another date.</i>) Achillas is + still in his prime: Ptolemy is a boy. (<i>He eats another date, and plucks up + a little.</i>) Well, every dog has his day; and I have had mine: I cannot + complain. (<i>With sudden cheerfulness</i>) These dates are not bad, Rufio. + (<i>Britannus returns, greatly excited, with a leathern bag. Caesar is + himself again in a moment.</i>) What now? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>triumphantly</i>). Our brave Rhodian mariners have captured a + treasure. There! (<i>He throws the bag down at Caesar’s feet.</i>) Our enemies + are delivered into our hands. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. In that bag? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Wait till you hear, Caesar. This bag contains all the letters + which have passed between Pompey’s party and the army of occupation here. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>impatient of Caesar’s slowness to grasp the situation</i>). Well, + we shall now know who your foes are. The name of every man who has plotted + against you since you crossed the Rubicon may be in these papers, for all + we know. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Put them in the fire. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Put them—(<i>he gasps</i>)!!!! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. In the fire. Would you have me waste the next three years of my + life in proscribing and condemning men who will be my friends when I have + proved that my friendship is worth more than Pompey’s was—than + Cato’s is. O incorrigible British islander: am I a bull dog, to seek + quarrels merely to shew how stubborn my jaws are? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. But your honor—the honor of Rome—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I do not make human sacrifices to my honor, as your Druids do. + Since you will not burn these, at least I can drown them. (<i>He picks up the + bag and throws it over the parapet into the sea.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: this is mere eccentricity. Are traitors to be allowed + to go free for the sake of a paradox? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>rising</i>). Caesar: when the islander has finished preaching, call me + again. I am going to have a look at the boiling water machine. (<i>He goes + into the lighthouse.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>with genuine feeling</i>). O Caesar, my great master, if I could + but persuade you to regard life seriously, as men do in my country! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Do they truly do so, Britannus? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Have you not been there? Have you not seen them? What Briton + speaks as you do in your moments of levity? What Briton neglects to attend + the services at the sacred grove? What Briton wears clothes of many colors + as you do, instead of plain blue, as all solid, well esteemed men should? + These are moral questions with us. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, well, my friend: some day I shall settle down and have a + blue toga, perhaps. Meanwhile, I must get on as best I can in my + flippant Roman way. (<i>Apollodorus comes past the lighthouse.</i>) What now? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>turning quickly, and challenging the stranger with official + haughtiness</i>). What is this? Who are you? How did you come here? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Calm yourself, my friend: I am not going to eat you. I have + come by boat, from Alexandria, with precious gifts for Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. From Alexandria! + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>severely</i>). That is Caesar, sir. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>appearing at the lighthouse door</i>). What’s the matter now? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Hail, great Caesar! I am Apollodorus the Sicilian, an artist. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. An artist! Why have they admitted this vagabond? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Peace, man. Apollodorus is a famous patrician amateur. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>disconcerted</i>). I crave the gentleman’s pardon. (<i>To Caesar</i>) I + understood him to say that he was a professional. (<i>Somewhat out of + countenance, he allows Apollodorus to approach Caesar, changing places + with him. Rufio, after looking Apollodorus up and down with marked + disparagement, goes to the other side of the platform.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You are welcome, Apollodorus. What is your business? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. First, to deliver to you a present from the Queen of Queens. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Who is that? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Cleopatra of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>taking him into his confidence in his most winning manner</i>). + Apollodorus: this is no time for playing with presents. Pray you, go back + to the Queen, and tell her that if all goes well I shall return to the + palace this evening. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Caesar: I cannot return. As I approached the lighthouse, some + fool threw a great leathern bag into the sea. It broke the nose of my + boat; and I had hardly time to get myself and my charge to the shore + before the poor little cockleshell sank. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I am sorry, Apollodorus. The fool shall be rebuked. Well, well: + what have you brought me? The Queen will be hurt if I do not look at it. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Have we time to waste on this trumpery? The Queen is only a child. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Just so: that is why we must not disappoint her. What is the + present, Apollodorus? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Caesar: it is a Persian carpet—a beauty! And in it are—so + I am told—pigeons’ eggs and crystal goblets and fragile precious + things. I dare not for my head have it carried up that narrow ladder from + the causeway. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Swing it up by the crane, then. We will send the eggs to the cook; + drink our wine from the goblets; and the carpet will make a bed for + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. The crane! Caesar: I have sworn to tender this bale of carpet + as I tender my own life. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>cheerfully</i>). Then let them swing you up at the same time; and if + the chain breaks, you and the pigeons’ eggs will perish together. (<i>He goes + to the chain and looks up along it, examining it curiously.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>to Britannus</i>). Is Caesar serious? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. His manner is frivolous because he is an Italian; but he means + what he says. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Serious or not, he spake well. Give me a squad of soldiers to + work the crane. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Leave the crane to me. Go and await the descent of the chain. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Good. You will presently see me there (<i>turning to them all + and pointing with an eloquent gesture to the sky above the parapet</i>) rising + like the sun with my treasure. + </p> + <p><i> + He goes back the way he came. Britannus goes into the lighthouse. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>ill-humoredly</i>). Are you really going to wait here for this foolery, + Caesar? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>backing away from the crane as it gives signs of working</i>). Why + not? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. The Egyptians will let you know why not if they have the sense to + make a rush from the shore end of the mole before our barricade is + finished. And here we are waiting like children to see a carpet full of + pigeons’ eggs. + </p> + <p><i> + The chain rattles, and is drawn up high enough to clear the parapet. It + then swings round out of sight behind the lighthouse. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Fear not, my son Rufio. When the first Egyptian takes his first + step along the mole, the alarm will sound; and we two will reach the + barricade from our end before the Egyptians reach it from their end—we + two, Rufio: I, the old man, and you, his biggest boy. And the old man will + be there first. So peace; and give me some more dates. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>from the causeway below</i>). Soho, haul away. So-ho-o-o-o! (<i>The + chain is drawn up and comes round again from behind the lighthouse. + Apollodorus is swinging in the air with his bale of carpet at the end of + it. He breaks into song as he soars above the parapet.</i>) + </p> + <div class="songouter"> + <div class="songinner"> + Aloft, aloft, behold the blue<br/> + That never shone in woman’s eyes— + </div> + </div> + <p class="noindent"> + Easy there: stop her. (<i>He ceases to rise.</i>) Further round! (<i>The chain comes + forward above the platform.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>calling up</i>). Lower away there. (<i>The chain and its load begin to + descend.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>calling up</i>). Gently—slowly—mind the eggs. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>calling up</i>). Easy there—slowly—slowly. + </p> + <p><i> + Apollodorus and the bale are deposited safely on the flags in the middle + of the platform. Rufio and Caesar help Apollodorus to cast off the chain + from the bale. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. Haul up. + </p> + <p><i> + The chain rises clear of their heads with a rattle. Britannus comes from + the lighthouse and helps them to uncord the carpet. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>when the cords are loose</i>). Stand off, my friends: let Caesar + see. (<i>He throws the carpet open.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Nothing but a heap of shawls. Where are the pigeons’ eggs? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Approach, Caesar; and search for them among the shawls. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>drawing his sword</i>). Ha, treachery! Keep back, Caesar: I saw the + shawl move: there is something alive there. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>drawing his sword</i>). It is a serpent. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Dares Caesar thrust his hand into the sack where the serpent + moves? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>turning on him</i>). Treacherous dog—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Peace. Put up your swords. Apollodorus: your serpent seems to + breathe very regularly. (<i>He thrusts his hand under the shawls and draws + out a bare arm.</i>) This is a pretty little snake. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>drawing out the other arm</i>). Let us have the rest of you. + </p> + <p><i> + They pull Cleopatra up by the wrists into a sitting position. Britannus, + scandalized, sheathes his sword with a drive of protest. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>gasping</i>). Oh, I’m smothered. Oh, Caesar; a man stood on me in + the boat; and a great sack of something fell upon me out of the sky; and + then the boat sank, and then I was swung up into the air and bumped down. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>petting her as she rises and takes refuge on his breast</i>). Well, + never mind: here you are safe and sound at last. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay; and now that she is here, what are we to do with her? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. She cannot stay here, Caesar, without the companionship of some + matron. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>jealously, to Caesar, who is obviously perplexed</i>). Aren’t you + glad to see me? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Yes, yes; <i>I</i> am very glad. But Rufio is very angry; and Britannus + is shocked. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>contemptuously</i>). You can have their heads cut off, can you not? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. They would not be so useful with their heads cut off as they are + now, my sea bird. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>to Cleopatra</i>). We shall have to go away presently and cut some of + your Egyptians’ heads off. How will you like being left here with the + chance of being captured by that little brother of yours if we are beaten? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But you mustn’t leave me alone. Caesar you will not leave me + alone, will you? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What! Not when the trumpet sounds and all our lives depend on + Caesar’s being at the barricade before the Egyptians reach it? Eh? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Let them lose their lives: they are only soldiers. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>gravely</i>). Cleopatra: when that trumpet sounds, we must take every + man his life in his hand, and throw it in the face of Death. And of my + soldiers who have trusted me there is not one whose hand I shall not hold + more sacred than your head. (<i>Cleopatra is overwhelmed. Her eyes fill with + tears.</i>) Apollodorus: you must take her back to the palace. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Am I a dolphin, Caesar, to cross the seas with young ladies + on my back? My boat is sunk: all yours are either at the barricade or have + returned to the city. I will hail one if I can: that is all I can do. (<i>He + goes back to the causeway.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>struggling with her tears</i>). It does not matter. I will not go + back. Nobody cares for me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cleopatra—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You want me to be killed. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>still more gravely</i>). My poor child: your life matters little here + to anyone but yourself. (<i>She gives way altogether at this, casting herself + down on the faggots weeping. Suddenly a great tumult is heard in the + distance, bucinas and trumpets sounding through a storm of shouting. + Britannus rushes to the parapet and looks along the mole. Caesar and Rufio + turn to one another with quick intelligence.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Come, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>scrambling to her knees and clinging to him</i>). No, no. Do not + leave me, Caesar. (<i>He snatches his skirt from her clutch.</i>) Oh! + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>from the parapet</i>). Caesar: we are cut off. The Egyptians have + landed from the west harbor between us and the barricade!!! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>running to see</i>). Curses! It is true. We are caught like rats in a + trap. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>ruthfully</i>). Rufio, Rufio: my men at the barricade are between the + sea party and the shore party. I have murdered them. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>coming back from the parapet to Caesar’s right hand</i>). Ay: that + comes of fooling with this girl here. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>coming up quickly from the causeway</i>). Look over the parapet, + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. We have looked, my friend. We must defend ourselves here. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I have thrown the ladder into the sea. They cannot get in + without it. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay; and we cannot get out. Have you thought of that? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Not get out! Why not? You have ships in the east harbor. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>hopefully, at the parapet</i>). The Rhodian galleys are standing in + towards us already. (<i>Caesar quickly joins Britannus at the parapet.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>to Apollodorus, impatiently</i>). And by what road are we to walk to + the galleys, pray? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>with gay, defiant rhetoric</i>). By the road that leads + everywhere—the diamond path of the sun and moon. Have you never seen + the child’s shadow play of The Broken Bridge? “Ducks and geese with ease + get over”—eh? (<i>He throws away his cloak and cap, and binds his sword + on his back.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What are you talking about? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I will shew you. (<i>Calling to Britannus</i>) How far off is the + nearest galley? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Fifty fathom. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No, no: they are further off than they seem in this clear air to + your British eyes. Nearly quarter of a mile, Apollodorus. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Good. Defend yourselves here until I send you a boat from + that galley. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Have you wings, perhaps? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Water wings, soldier. Behold! + </p> + <p><i> + He runs up the steps between Caesar and Britannus to the coping of the + parapet; springs into the air; and plunges head foremost into the sea. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>like a schoolboy—wildly excited</i>). Bravo, bravo! (<i>Throwing + off his cloak</i>) By Jupiter, I will do that too. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>seizing him</i>). You are mad. You shall not. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Why not? Can I not swim as well as he? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>frantic</i>). Can an old fool dive and swim like a young one? He is + twenty-five and you are fifty. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>breaking loose from Rufio</i>). Old!!! + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>shocked</i>). Rufio: you forget yourself. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I will race you to the galley for a week’s pay, father Rufio. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But me! me!! me!!! What is to become of <i>me</i>? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I will carry you on my back to the galley like a dolphin. Rufio: + when you see me rise to the surface, throw her in: I will answer for her. + And then in with you after her, both of you. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No, no, NO. I shall be drowned. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: I am a man and a Briton, not a fish. I must have a + boat. I cannot swim. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Neither can I. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Britannus</i>). Stay here, then, alone, until I recapture the + lighthouse: I will not forget you. Now, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. You have made up your mind to this folly? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. The Egyptians have made it up for me. What else is there to do? + And mind where you jump: I do not want to get your fourteen stone in the + small of my back as I come up. (<i>He runs up the steps and stands on the + coping.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>anxiously</i>). One last word, Caesar. Do not let yourself be seen + in the fashionable part of Alexandria until you have changed your clothes. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>calling over the sea</i>). Ho, Apollodorus: (<i>he points skyward and + quotes the barcarolle</i>) + </p> + <div class="songouter"> + <div class="songinner"> + The white upon the blue above— + </div> + </div> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>swimming in the distance</i>) + </p> + <div class="songouter"> + <div class="songinner"> + Is purple on the green below— + </div> + </div> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>exultantly</i>). Aha! (<i>He plunges into the sea.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>running excitedly to the steps</i>). Oh, let me see. He will be + drowned. (<i>Rufio seizes her.</i>) Ah—ah—ah—ah! (<i>He pitches + her screaming into the sea. Rufio and Britannus roar with laughter.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>looking down after her</i>). He has got her. (<i>To Britannus</i>) Hold the + fort, Briton. Caesar will not forget you. (<i>He springs off.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>running to the steps to watch them as they swim</i>). All safe, + Rufio? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>swimming</i>). All safe. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>swimming further of</i>). Take refuge up there by the beacon; and pile + the fuel on the trap door, Britannus. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>calling in reply</i>). I will first do so, and then commend myself + to my country’s gods. (<i>A sound of cheering from the sea. Britannus gives + full vent to his excitement</i>) The boat has reached him: Hip, hip, hip, + hurrah! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <p><i> + Cleopatra’s sousing in the east harbor of Alexandria was in October 48 B. + C. In March 47 she is passing the afternoon in her boudoir in the palace, + among a bevy of her ladies, listening to a slave girl who is playing the + harp in the middle of the room. The harpist’s master, an old musician, + with a lined face, prominent brows, white beard, moustache and eyebrows + twisted and horned at the ends, and a consciously keen and pretentious + expression, is squatting on the floor close to her on her right, watching + her performance. Ftatateeta is in attendance near the door, in front of a + group of female slaves. Except the harp player all are seated: Cleopatra + in a chair opposite the door on the other side of the room; the rest on + the ground. Cleopatra’s ladies are all young, the most conspicuous being + Charmian and Iras, her favorites. Charmian is a hatchet faced, terra cotta + colored little goblin, swift in her movements, and neatly finished at the + hands and feet. Iras is a plump, goodnatured creature, rather fatuous, + with a profusion of red hair, and a tendency to giggle on the slightest + provocation. + </i></p> + <p> + <br/> + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Can I—— + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>insolently, to the player</i>). Peace, thou! The Queen speaks. + (<i>The player stops.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>to the old musician</i>). I want to learn to play the harp with my + own hands. Caesar loves music. Can you teach me? + </p> + <p> + MUSICIAN. Assuredly I and no one else can teach the Queen. Have I not + discovered the lost method of the ancient Egyptians, who could make a + pyramid tremble by touching a bass string? All the other teachers are + quacks: I have exposed them repeatedly. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Good: you shall teach me. How long will it take? + </p> + <p> + MUSICIAN. Not very long: only four years. Your Majesty must first become + proficient in the philosophy of Pythagoras. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Has she (<i>indicating the slave</i>) become proficient in the + philosophy of Pythagoras? + </p> + <p> + MUSICIAN. Oh, she is but a slave. She learns as a dog learns. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Well, then, I will learn as a dog learns; for she plays better + than you. You shall give me a lesson every day for a fortnight. (<i>The + musician hastily scrambles to his feet and bows profoundly.</i>) After that, + whenever I strike a false note you shall be flogged; and if I strike so + many that there is not time to flog you, you shall be thrown into the Nile + to feed the crocodiles. Give the girl a piece of gold; and send them away. + </p> + <p> + MUSICIAN (<i>much taken aback</i>). But true art will not be thus forced. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>pushing him out</i>). What is this? Answering the Queen, forsooth. + Out with you. + </p> + <p><i> + He is pushed out by Ftatateeta, the girl following with her harp, amid the + laughter of the ladies and slaves. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Now, can any of you amuse me? Have you any stories or any news? + </p> + <p> + IRAS. Ftatateeta—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Oh, Ftatateeta, Ftatateeta, always Ftatateeta. Some new tale to + set me against her. + </p> + <p> + IRAS. No: this time Ftatateeta has been virtuous. (<i>All the ladies laugh—not + the slaves.</i>) Pothinus has been trying to bribe her to let him speak with + you. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>wrathfully</i>). Ha! you all sell audiences with me, as if I saw + whom you please, and not whom I please. I should like to know how much of + her gold piece that harp girl will have to give up before she leaves the + palace. + </p> + <p> + IRAS. We can easily find out that for you. + </p> + <p><i> + The ladies laugh. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>frowning</i>). You laugh; but take care, take care. I will find out + some day how to make myself served as Caesar is served. + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. Old hooknose! (<i>They laugh again.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>revolted</i>). Silence. Charmian: do not you be a silly little + Egyptian fool. Do you know why I allow you all to chatter impertinently + just as you please, instead of treating you as Ftatateeta would treat you + if she were Queen? + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. Because you try to imitate Caesar in everything; and he lets + everybody say what they please to him. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No; but because I asked him one day why he did so; and he said + “Let your women talk; and you will learn something from them.” What have I + to learn from them? I said. “What they <i>are</i>,” said he; and oh! you should + have seen his eye as he said it. You would have curled up, you shallow + things. (<i>They laugh. She turns fiercely on Iras</i>) At whom are you laughing—at + me or at Caesar? + </p> + <p> + IRAS. At Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. If you were not a fool, you would laugh at me; and if you were + not a coward you would not be afraid to tell me so. (<i>Ftatateeta returns.</i>) + Ftatateeta: they tell me that Pothinus has offered you a bribe to admit + him to my presence. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>protesting</i>). Now by my father’s gods—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>cutting her short despotically</i>). Have I not told you not to + deny things? You would spend the day calling your father’s gods to witness + to your virtues if I let you. Go take the bribe; and bring in Pothinus. + (<i>Ftatateeta is about to reply.</i>) Don’t answer me. Go. + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta goes out; and Cleopatra rises and begins to prowl to and fro + between her chair and the door, meditating. All rise and stand. + </i></p> + <p> + IRAS (<i>as she reluctantly rises</i>). Heigho! I wish Caesar were back in Rome. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>threateningly</i>). It will be a bad day for you all when he goes. + Oh, if I were not ashamed to let him see that I am as cruel at heart as my + father, I would make you repent that speech! Why do you wish him away? + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. He makes you so terribly prosy and serious and learned and + philosophical. It is worse than being religious, at <i>our</i> ages. (<i>The ladies + laugh.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Cease that endless cackling, will you. Hold your tongues. + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN (<i>with mock resignation</i>). Well, well: we must try to live up to + Caesar. + </p> + <p><i> + They laugh again. Cleopatra rages silently as she continues to prowl to + and fro. Ftatateeta comes back with Pothinus, who halts on the threshold. + </i></p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>at the door</i>). Pothinus craves the ear of the—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. There, there: that will do: let him come in. + (<i>She resumes her seat. All sit down except Pothinus, who advances to the + middle of the room. Ftatateeta takes her former place.</i>) Well, Pothinus: + what is the latest news from your rebel friends? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>haughtily</i>). I am no friend of rebellion. And a prisoner does not + receive news. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You are no more a prisoner than I am—than Caesar is. + These six months we have been besieged in this palace by my subjects. You + are allowed to walk on the beach among the soldiers. Can I go further + myself, or can Caesar? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. You are but a child, Cleopatra, and do not understand these + matters. + </p> + <p><i> + The ladies laugh. Cleopatra looks inscrutably at him. + </i></p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. I see you do not know the latest news, Pothinus. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. What is that? + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. That Cleopatra is no longer a child. Shall I tell you how to + grow much older, and much, <i>much</i> wiser in one day? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I should prefer to grow wiser without growing older. + </p> + <p> + CHARMIAN. Well, go up to the top of the lighthouse; and get somebody to + take you by the hair and throw you into the sea. (<i>The ladies laugh.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. She is right, Pothinus: you will come to the shore with much + conceit washed out of you. (<i>The ladies laugh. Cleopatra rises + impatiently.</i>) Begone, all of you. I will speak with Pothinus alone. Drive + them out, Ftatateeta. (<i>They run out laughing. Ftatateeta shuts the door on + them.</i>) What are <i>you</i> waiting for? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. It is not meet that the Queen remain alone with—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>interrupting her</i>). Ftatateeta: must I sacrifice you to your + father’s gods to teach you that <i>I</i> am Queen of Egypt, and not you? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>indignantly</i>). You are like the rest of them. You want to be + what these Romans call a New Woman. (<i>She goes out, banging the door.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>sitting down again</i>). Now, Pothinus: why did you bribe + Ftatateeta to bring you hither? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>studying her gravely</i>). Cleopatra: what they tell me is true. You + are changed. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Do you speak with Caesar every day for six months: and <i>you</i> will + be changed. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. It is the common talk that you are infatuated with this old man. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Infatuated? What does that mean? Made foolish, is it not? Oh + no: I wish I were. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. You wish you were made foolish! How so? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. When I was foolish, I did what I liked, except when Ftatateeta + beat me; and even then I cheated her and did it by stealth. Now that + Caesar has made me wise, it is no use my liking or disliking; I do what + must be done, and have no time to attend to myself. That is not happiness; + but it is greatness. If Caesar were gone, I think I could govern the + Egyptians; for what Caesar is to me, I am to the fools around me. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>looking hard at her</i>). Cleopatra: this may be the vanity of + youth. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No, no: it is not that I am so clever, but that the others are + so stupid. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>musingly</i>). Truly, that is the great secret. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Well, now tell me what you came to say? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>embarrassed</i>). I! Nothing. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Nothing! + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. At least—to beg for my liberty: that is all. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. For that you would have knelt to Caesar. No, Pothinus: you came + with some plan that depended on Cleopatra being a little nursery kitten. + Now that Cleopatra is a Queen, the plan is upset. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>bowing his head submissively</i>). It is so. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>exultant</i>). Aha! + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>raising his eyes keenly to hers</i>). Is Cleopatra then indeed a + Queen, and no longer Caesar’s prisoner and slave? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Pothinus: we are all Caesar’s slaves—all we in this land + of Egypt—whether we will or no. And she who is wise enough to know + this will reign when Caesar departs. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. You harp on Caesar’s departure. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. What if I do? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Does he not love you? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Love me! Pothinus: Caesar loves no one. Who are those we love? + Only those whom we do not hate: all people are strangers and enemies to us + except those we love. But it is not so with Caesar. He has no hatred in + him: he makes friends with everyone as he does with dogs and children. His + kindness to me is a wonder: neither mother, father, nor nurse have ever + taken so much care for me, or thrown open their thoughts to me so freely. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Well: is not this love? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. What! When he will do as much for the first girl he meets on + his way back to Rome? Ask his slave, Britannus: he has been just as good + to him. Nay, ask his very horse! His kindness is not for anything in <i>me</i>: + it is in his own nature. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. But how can you be sure that he does not love you as men love + women? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Because I cannot make him jealous. I have tried. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Hm! Perhaps I should have asked, then, do <i>you</i> love <i>him</i>? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Can one love a god? Besides, I love another Roman: one whom I + saw long before Caesar—no god, but a man—one who can love and + hate—one whom I can hurt and who would hurt me. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Does Caesar know this? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. And he is not angry. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. He promises to send him to Egypt to please me! + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I do not understand this man. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with superb contempt</i>). <i>You</i> understand Caesar! How could you? + (<i>Proudly</i>) I do—by instinct. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>deferentially, after a moment’s thought</i>). Your Majesty caused me + to be admitted to-day. What message has the Queen for me? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. This. You think that by making my brother king, you will rule + in Egypt, because you are his guardian and he is a little silly. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. The Queen is pleased to say so. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. The Queen is pleased to say this also. That Caesar will eat up + you, and Achillas, and my brother, as a cat eats up mice; and that he will + put on this land of Egypt as a shepherd puts on his garment. And when he + has done that, he will return to Rome, and leave Cleopatra here as his + viceroy. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>breaking out wrathfully</i>). That he will never do. We have a + thousand men to his ten; and we will drive him and his beggarly legions + into the sea. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with scorn, getting up to go</i>). You rant like any common fellow. + Go, then, and marshal your thousands; and make haste; for Mithridates of + Pergamos is at hand with reinforcements for Caesar. Caesar has held you at + bay with two legions: we shall see what he will do with twenty. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Cleopatra—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Enough, enough: Caesar has spoiled me for talking to weak + things like you. (<i>She goes out. Pothinus, with a gesture of rage, is + following, when Ftatateeta enters and stops him.</i>) + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Let me go forth from this hateful place. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. What angers you? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. The curse of all the gods of Egypt be upon her! She has sold her + country to the Roman, that she may buy it back from him with her kisses. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Fool: did she not tell you that she would have Caesar gone? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. You listened? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. I took care that some honest woman should be at hand whilst + you were with her. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Now by the gods—— + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. Enough of your gods! Caesar’s gods are all powerful here. It + is no use <i>you</i> coming to Cleopatra: you are only an Egyptian. She will not + listen to any of her own race: she treats us all as children. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. May she perish for it! + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>balefully</i>). May your tongue wither for that wish! Go! send for + Lucius Septimius, the slayer of Pompey. He is a Roman: may be she will + listen to him. Begone! + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>darkly</i>). I know to whom I must go now. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>suspiciously</i>). To whom, then? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. To a greater Roman than Lucius. And mark this, mistress. You + thought, before Caesar came, that Egypt should presently be ruled by you + and your crew in the name of Cleopatra. I set myself against it—— + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>interrupting him—wrangling</i>). Ay; that it might be ruled + by you and <i>your</i> crew in the name of Ptolemy. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Better me, or even you, than a woman with a Roman heart; and + that is what Cleopatra is now become. Whilst I live, she shall never rule. + So guide yourself accordingly. (<i>He goes out.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + It is by this time drawing on to dinner time. The table is laid on the + roof of the palace; and thither Rufio is now climbing, ushered by a + majestic palace official, wand of office in hand, and followed by a slave + carrying an inlaid stool. After many stairs they emerge at last into a + massive colonnade on the roof. Light curtains are drawn between the + columns on the north and east to soften the westering sun. The official + leads Rufio to one of these shaded sections. A cord for pulling the + curtains apart hangs down between the pillars. + </i></p> + <p> + THE OFFICIAL (<i>bowing</i>). The Roman commander will await Caesar here. + </p> + <p><i> + The slave sets down the stool near the southernmost column, and slips out + through the curtains. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>sitting down, a little blown</i>). Pouf! That was a climb. How high + have we come? + </p> + <p> + THE OFFICIAL. We are on the palace roof, O Beloved of Victory! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Good! the Beloved of Victory has no more stairs to get up. + </p> + <p><i> + A second official enters from the opposite end, walking backwards. + </i></p> + <p> + THE SECOND OFFICIAL. Caesar approaches. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar, fresh from the bath, clad in a new tunic of purple silk, comes in, + beaming and festive, followed by two slaves carrying a light couch, which + is hardly more than an elaborately designed bench. They place it near the + northmost of the two curtained columns. When this is done they slip out + through the curtains; and the two officials, formally bowing, follow them. + Rufio rises to receive Caesar. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>coming over to him</i>). Why, Rufio! (<i>Surveying his dress with an air + of admiring astonishment</i>) A new baldrick! A new golden pommel to your + sword! And you have had your hair cut! But not your beard—? + impossible! (<i>He sniffs at Rufio’s beard.</i>) Yes, perfumed, by Jupiter + Olympus! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>growling</i>). Well: is it to please myself? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>affectionately</i>). No, my son Rufio, but to please me—to + celebrate my birthday. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>contemptuously</i>). Your birthday! You always have a birthday when + there is a pretty girl to be flattered or an ambassador to be conciliated. + We had seven of them in ten months last year. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>contritely</i>). It is true, Rufio! I shall never break myself of + these petty deceits. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Who is to dine with us—besides Cleopatra? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Apollodorus the Sicilian. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. That popinjay! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Come! the popinjay is an amusing dog—tells a story; sings a + song; and saves us the trouble of flattering the Queen. What does she care + for old politicians and campfed bears like us? No: Apollodorus is good + company, Rufio, good company. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Well, he can swim a bit and fence a bit: he might be worse, if he + only knew how to hold his tongue. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. The gods forbid he should ever learn! Oh, this military life! this + tedious, brutal life of action! That is the worst of us Romans: we are + mere doers and drudgers: a swarm of bees turned into men. Give me a good + talker—one with wit and imagination enough to live without + continually doing something! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay! a nice time he would have of it with you when dinner was over! + Have you noticed that I am before my time? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Aha! I thought that meant something. What is it? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Can we be overheard here? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Our privacy invites eavesdropping. I can remedy that. (<i>He claps + his hands twice. The curtains are drawn, revealing the roof garden with a + banqueting table set across in the middle for four persons, one at each + end, and two side by side. The side next Caesar and Rufio is blocked with + golden wine vessels and basins. A gorgeous major-domo is superintending + the laying of the table by a staff of slaves. The colonnade goes round the + garden at both sides to the further end, where a gap in it, like a great + gateway, leaves the view open to the sky beyond the western edge of the + roof, except in the middle, where a life size image of Ra, seated on a + huge plinth, towers up, with hawk head and crown of asp and disk. His + altar, which stands at his feet, is a single white stone.</i>) Now everybody + can see us, nobody will think of listening to us. (<i>He sits down on the + bench left by the two slaves.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>sitting down on his stool</i>). Pothinus wants to speak to you. I + advise you to see him: there is some plotting going on here among the + women. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Who is Pothinus? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. The fellow with hair like squirrel’s fur—the little King’s + bear leader, whom you kept prisoner. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>annoyed</i>). And has he not escaped? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>rising imperiously</i>). Why not? You have been guarding this man + instead of watching the enemy. Have I not told you always to let prisoners + escape unless there are special orders to the contrary? Are there not + enough mouths to be fed without him? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Yes; and if you would have a little sense and let me cut his + throat, you would save his rations. Anyhow, he <i>won’t</i> escape. Three + sentries have told him they would put a pilum through him if they saw him + again. What more can they do? He prefers to stay and spy on us. So would I + if I had to do with generals subject to fits of clemency. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>resuming his seat, argued down</i>). Hm! And so he wants to see me. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay. I have brought him with me. He is waiting there (<i>jerking his + thumb over his shoulder</i>) under guard. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. And you want me to see him? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>obstinately</i>). I don’t want anything. I daresay you will do what you + like. Don’t put it on to me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with an air of doing it expressly to indulge Rufio</i>). Well, well: + let us have him. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>calling</i>). Ho there, guard! Release your man and send him up. + (<i>Beckoning</i>) Come along! + </p> + <p><i> + Pothinus enters and stops mistrustfully between the two, looking from one + to the other. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>graciously</i>). Ah, Pothinus! You are welcome. And what is the news + this afternoon? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Caesar: I come to warn you of a danger, and to make you an + offer. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Never mind the danger. Make the offer. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Never mind the offer. What’s the danger? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Caesar: you think that Cleopatra is devoted to you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>gravely</i>). My friend: I already know what I think. Come to your + offer. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I will deal plainly. I know not by what strange gods you have + been enabled to defend a palace and a few yards of beach against a city + and an army. Since we cut you off from Lake Mareotis, and you dug wells in + the salt sea sand and brought up buckets of fresh water from them, we have + known that your gods are irresistible, and that you are a worker of + miracles. I no longer threaten you—— + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>sarcastically</i>). Very handsome of you, indeed. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. So be it: you are the master. Our gods sent the north west winds + to keep you in our hands; but you have been too strong for them. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>gently urging him to come to the point</i>). Yes, yes, my friend. But + what then? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Spit it out, man. What have you to say? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. I have to say that you have a traitress in your camp. Cleopatra—— + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO (<i>at the table, announcing</i>). The Queen! (<i>Caesar and Rufio + rise.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>aside to Pothinus</i>). You should have spat it out sooner, you fool. + Now it is too late. + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra, in gorgeous raiment, enters in state through the gap in the + colonnade, and comes down past the image of Ra and past the table to + Caesar. Her retinue, headed by Ftatateeta, joins the staff at the table. + Caesar gives Cleopatra his seat, which she takes. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>quickly, seeing Pothinus</i>). What is <i>he</i> doing here? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>seating himself beside her, in the most amiable of tempers</i>). Just + going to tell me something about you. You shall hear it. Proceed, + Pothinus. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>disconcerted</i>). Caesar— (<i>He stammers.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, out with it. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. What I have to say is for your ear, not for the Queen’s. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with subdued ferocity</i>). There are means of making you speak. + Take care. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>defiantly</i>). Caesar does not employ those means. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. My friend: when a man has anything to tell in this world, the + difficulty is not to make him tell it, but to prevent him from telling it + too often. Let me celebrate my birthday by setting you free. Farewell: + we’ll not meet again. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>angrily</i>). Caesar: this mercy is foolish. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>to Caesar</i>). Will you not give me a private audience? Your life + may depend on it. (<i>Caesar rises loftily.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>aside to Pothinus</i>). Ass! Now we shall have some heroics. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>oratorically</i>). Pothinus—— + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>interrupting him</i>). Caesar: the dinner will spoil if you begin + preaching your favourite sermon about life and death. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>priggishly</i>). Peace, Rufio. I desire to hear Caesar. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>bluntly</i>). Your Majesty has heard it before. You repeated it to + Apollodorus last week; and he thought it was all your own. (<i>Caesar’s + dignity collapses. Much tickled, he sits down again and looks roguishly at + Cleopatra, who is furious. Rufio calls as before</i>) Ho there, guard! Pass + the prisoner out. He is released. (<i>To Pothinus</i>) Now off with you. You have + lost your chance. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>his temper overcoming his prudence</i>). I <i>will</i> speak. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Cleopatra</i>). You see. Torture would not have wrung a word from + him. + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. Caesar: you have taught Cleopatra the arts by which the Romans + govern the world. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Alas! they cannot even govern themselves. What then? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. What then? Are you so besotted with her beauty that you do not + see that she is impatient to reign in Egypt alone, and that her heart is + set on your departure? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>rising</i>). Liar! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>shocked</i>). What! Protestations! Contradictions! + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>ashamed, but trembling with suppressed rage</i>). No. I do not + deign to contradict. Let him talk. (<i>She sits down again.</i>) + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS. From her own lips I have heard it. You are to be her catspaw: + you are to tear the crown from her brother’s head and set it on her own, + delivering us all into her hand—delivering yourself also. And then + Caesar can return to Rome, or depart through the gate of death, which is + nearer and surer. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>calmly</i>). Well, my friend; and is not this very natural? + </p> + <p> + POTHINUS (<i>astonished</i>). Natural! Then you do not resent treachery? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Resent! O thou foolish Egyptian, what have I to do with + resentment? Do I resent the wind when it chills me, or the night when it + makes me stumble in the darkness? Shall I resent youth when it turns from + age, and ambition when it turns from servitude? To tell me such a story as + this is but to tell me that the sun will rise to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>unable to contain herself</i>). But it is false—false. I + swear it. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It is true, though you swore it a thousand times, and believed all + you swore. (<i>She is convulsed with emotion. To screen her, he rises and + takes Pothinus to Rufio, saying</i>) Come, Rufio: let us see Pothinus past the + guard. I have a word to say to him. (<i>Aside to them</i>) We must give the Queen + a moment to recover herself. (<i>Aloud</i>) Come. (<i>He takes Pothinus and Rufio + out with him, conversing with them meanwhile.</i>) Tell your friends, + Pothinus, that they must not think I am opposed to a reasonable settlement + of the country’s affairs— (<i>They pass out of hearing.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>in a stifled whisper</i>). Ftatateeta, Ftatateeta. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>hurrying to her from the table and petting her</i>). Peace, child: + be comforted—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>interrupting her</i>). Can they hear us? + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. No, dear heart, no. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Listen to me. If he leaves the Palace alive, never see my face + again. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. He? Poth—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>striking her on the mouth</i>). Strike his life out as I strike his + name from your lips. Dash him down from the wall. Break him on the stones. + Kill, kill, <i>kill</i> him. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>shewing all her teeth</i>). The dog shall perish. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Fail in this, and you go out from before me forever. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>resolutely</i>). So be it. You shall not see my face until his + eyes are darkened. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar comes back, with Apollodorus, exquisitely dressed, and Rufio. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>to Ftatateeta</i>). Come soon—soon. (<i>Ftatateeta turns her + meaning eyes for a moment on her mistress; then goes grimly away past Ra + and out. Cleopatra runs like a gazelle to Caesar.</i>) So you have come back + to me, Caesar. (<i>Caressingly</i>) I thought you were angry. Welcome, + Apollodorus. (<i>She gives him her hand to kiss, with her other arm about + Caesar.</i>) + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Cleopatra grows more womanly beautiful from week to week. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Truth, Apollodorus? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Far, far short of the truth! Friend Rufio threw a pearl into + the sea: Caesar fished up a diamond. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Caesar fished up a touch of rheumatism, my friend. Come: to + dinner! to dinner! (<i>They move towards the table.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>skipping like a young fawn</i>). Yes, to dinner. I have ordered + <i>such</i> a dinner for you, Caesar! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Ay? What are we to have? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Peacocks’ brains. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>as if his mouth watered</i>). Peacocks’ brains, Apollodorus! + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Not for me. I prefer nightingales’ tongues. (<i>He goes to one + of the two covers set side by side.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Roast boar, Rufio! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>gluttonously</i>). Good! (<i>He goes to the seat next Apollodorus, on his + left.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>looking at his seat, which is at the end of the table, to Ra’s + left hand</i>). What has become of my leathern cushion? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>at the opposite end</i>). I have got new ones for you. + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO. These cushions, Caesar, are of Maltese gauze, stuffed with + rose leaves. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Rose leaves! Am I a caterpillar? (<i>He throws the cushions away and + seats himself on the leather mattress underneath.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. What a shame! My new cushions! + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO (<i>at Caesar’s elbow</i>). What shall we serve to whet Caesar’s + appetite? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What have you got? + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO. Sea hedgehogs, black and white sea acorns, sea nettles, + beccaficoes, purple shellfish—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Any oysters? + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO. Assuredly. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. <i>British</i> oysters? + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO (<i>assenting</i>). British oysters, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Oysters, then. (<i>The Major-Domo signs to a slave at each order; and + the slave goes out to execute it.</i>) I have been in Britain—that + western land of romance—the last piece of earth on the edge of the + ocean that surrounds the world. I went there in search of its famous + pearls. The British pearl was a fable; but in searching for it I found the + British oyster. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. All posterity will bless you for it. (<i>To the Major-Domo</i>) Sea + hedgehogs for me. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Is there nothing solid to begin with? + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO. Fieldfares with asparagus—— + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>interrupting</i>). Fattened fowls! have some fattened fowls, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay, that will do. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>greedily</i>). Fieldfares for me. + </p> + <p> + THE MAJOR-DOMO. Caesar will deign to choose his wine? Sicilian, Lesbian, + Chian—— + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>contemptuously</i>). All Greek. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Who would drink Roman wine when he could get Greek? Try the + Lesbian, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Bring me my barley water. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>with intense disgust</i>). Ugh! Bring <i>me</i> my Falernian. (<i>The Falernian + is presently brought to him.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pouting</i>). It is waste of time giving you dinners, Caesar. My + scullions would not condescend to your diet. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>relenting</i>). Well, well: let us try the Lesbian. (<i>The Major-Domo + fills Caesar’s goblet; then Cleopatra’s and Apollodorus’s.</i>) But when I + return to Rome, I will make laws against these extravagances. I will even + get the laws carried out. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>coaxingly</i>). Never mind. To-day you are to be like other people: + idle, luxurious, and kind. (<i>She stretches her hand to him along the + table.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, for once I will sacrifice my comfort—(<i>kissing her hand</i>) + there! (<i>He takes a draught of wine.</i>) Now are you satisfied? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. And you no longer believe that I long for your departure for + Rome? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I no longer believe anything. My brains are asleep. Besides, who + knows whether I shall return to Rome? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>alarmed</i>). How? Eh? What? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What has Rome to shew me that I have not seen already? One year of + Rome is like another, except that I grow older, whilst the crowd in the + Appian Way is always the same age. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. It is no better here in Egypt. The old men, when they are + tired of life, say “We have seen everything except the source of the + Nile.” + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>his imagination catching fire</i>). And why not see that? Cleopatra: + will you come with me and track the flood to its cradle in the heart of + the regions of mystery? Shall we leave Rome behind us—Rome, that has + achieved greatness only to learn how greatness destroys nations of men who + are not great! Shall I make you a new kingdom, and build you a holy city + there in the great unknown? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>rapturously</i>). Yes, yes. You shall. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay: now he will conquer Africa with two legions before we come to + the roast boar. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Come: no scoffing, this is a noble scheme: in it Caesar is no + longer merely the conquering soldier, but the creative poet-artist. Let us + name the holy city, and consecrate it with Lesbian Wine. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cleopatra shall name it herself. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. It shall be called Caesar’s Gift to his Beloved. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. No, no. Something vaster than that—something universal, + like the starry firmament. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>prosaically</i>). Why not simply The Cradle of the Nile? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No: the Nile is my ancestor; and he is a god. Oh! I have + thought of something. The Nile shall name it himself. Let us call upon + him. (<i>To the Major-Domo</i>) Send for him. (<i>The three men stare at one + another; but the Major-Domo goes out as if he had received the most + matter-of-fact order.</i>) And (<i>to the retinue</i>) away with you all. + </p> + <p><i> + The retinue withdraws, making obeisance. + </i></p> + <p><i> + A priest enters, carrying a miniature sphinx with a tiny tripod before it. + A morsel of incense is smoking in the tripod. The priest comes to the + table and places the image in the middle of it. The light begins to change + to the magenta purple of the Egyptian sunset, as if the god had brought a + strange colored shadow with him. The three men are determined not to be + impressed; but they feel curious in spite of themselves. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. What hocus-pocus is this? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You shall see. And it is <i>not</i> hocus-pocus. To do it properly, we + should kill something to please him; but perhaps he will answer Caesar + without that if we spill some wine to him. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>turning his head to look up over his shoulder at Ra</i>). Why not + appeal to our hawkheaded friend here? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>nervously</i>). Sh! He will hear you and be angry. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>phlegmatically</i>). The source of the Nile is out of his district, I + expect. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No: I will have my city named by nobody but my dear little + sphinx, because it was in its arms that Caesar found me asleep. (<i>She + languishes at Caesar; then turns curtly to the priest.</i>) Go. I am a + priestess, and have power to take your charge from you. (<i>The priest makes + a reverence and goes out.</i>) Now let us call on the Nile all together. + Perhaps he will rap on the table. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What! Table rapping! Are such superstitions still believed in this + year 707 of the Republic? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. It is no superstition: our priests learn lots of things from + the tables. Is it not so, Apollodorus? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Yes: I profess myself a converted man. When Cleopatra is + priestess, Apollodorus is devotee. Propose the conjuration. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You must say with me “Send us thy voice, Father Nile.” + </p> + <p> + ALL FOUR (<i>holding their glasses together before the idol</i>). Send us thy + voice, Father Nile. + </p> + <p><i> + The death cry of a man in mortal terror and agony answers them. Appalled, + the men set down their glasses, and listen. Silence. The purple deepens in + the sky. Caesar, glancing at Cleopatra, catches her pouring out her wine + before the god, with gleaming eyes, and mute assurances of gratitude and + worship. Apollodorus springs up and runs to the edge of the roof to peer + down and listen. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>looking piercingly at Cleopatra</i>). What was that? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>petulantly</i>). Nothing. They are beating some slave. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Nothing! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. A man with a knife in him, I’ll swear. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>rising</i>). A murder! + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>at the back, waving his hand for silence</i>). S-sh! Silence. Did + you hear that? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Another cry? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>returning to the table</i>). No, a thud. Something fell on the + beach, I think. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>grimly, as he rises</i>). Something with bones in it, eh? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>shuddering</i>). Hush, hush, Rufio. (<i>He leaves the table and returns + to the colonnade: Rufio following at his left elbow, and Apollodorus at + the other side.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>still in her place at the table</i>). Will you leave me, Caesar? + Apollodorus: are you going? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Faith, dearest Queen, my appetite is gone. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Go down to the courtyard, Apollodorus; and find out what has + happened. + </p> + <p><i> + Apollodorus nods and goes out, making for the staircase by which Rufio + ascended. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Your soldiers have killed somebody, perhaps. What does it + matter? + </p> + <p><i> + The murmur of a crowd rises from the beach below. Caesar and Rufio look at + one another. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. This must be seen to. (<i>He is about to follow Apollodorus when + Rufio stops him with a hand on his arm as Ftatateeta comes back by the far + end of the roof, with dragging steps, a drowsy satiety in her eyes and in + the corners of the bloodhound lips. For a moment Caesar suspects that she + is drunk with wine. Not so Rufio: he knows well the red vintage that has + inebriated her.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>in a low tone</i>). There is some mischief between those two. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. The Queen looks again on the face of her servant. + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra looks at her for a moment with an exultant reflection of her + murderous expression. Then she flings her arms round her; kisses her + repeatedly and savagely; and tears off her jewels and heaps them on her. + The two men turn from the spectacle to look at one another. Ftatateeta + drags herself sleepily to the altar; kneels before Ra; and remains there + in prayer. Caesar goes to Cleopatra, leaving Rufio in the colonnade. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with searching earnestness</i>). Cleopatra: what has happened? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>in mortal dread of him, but with her utmost cajolery</i>). Nothing, + dearest Caesar. (<i>With sickly sweetness, her voice almost failing</i>) Nothing. + I am innocent. (<i>She approaches him affectionately</i>) Dear Caesar: are you + angry with me? Why do you look at me so? I have been here with you all the + time. How can I know what has happened? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>reflectively</i>). That is true. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>greatly relieved, trying to caress him</i>). Of course it is true. + (<i>He does not respond to the caress.</i>) <i>You</i> know it is true, Rufio. + </p> + <p><i> + The murmur without suddenly swells to a roar and subsides. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. I shall know presently. (<i>He makes for the altar in the burly trot + that serves him for a stride, and touches Ftatateeta on the shoulder.</i>) + Now, mistress: I shall want you. (<i>He orders her, with a gesture, to go + before him.</i>) + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA (<i>rising and glowering at him</i>). My place is with the Queen. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. She has done no harm, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Rufio</i>). Let her stay. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>sitting down on the altar</i>). Very well. Then my place is here too; + and you can see what is the matter for yourself. The city is in a pretty + uproar, it seems. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with grave displeasure</i>). Rufio: there is a time for obedience. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. And there is a time for obstinacy. (<i>He folds his arms doggedly.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>to Cleopatra</i>). Send her away. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>whining in her eagerness to propitiate him</i>). Yes, I will. I + will do whatever you ask me, Caesar, always, because I love you. + Ftatateeta: go away. + </p> + <p> + FTATATEETA. The Queen’s word is my will. I shall be at hand for the + Queen’s call. (<i>She goes out past Ra, as she came.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>following her</i>). Remember, Caesar, <i>your</i> bodyguard also is within + call. (<i>He follows her out.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra, presuming upon Caesar’s submission to Rufio, leaves the table + and sits down on the bench in the colonnade. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Why do you allow Rufio to treat you so? You should teach him + his place. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Teach him to be my enemy, and to hide his thoughts from me as you + are now hiding yours. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>her fears returning</i>). Why do you say that, Caesar? Indeed, + indeed, I am not hiding anything. You are wrong to treat me like this. + (<i>She stifles a sob.</i>) I am only a child; and you turn into stone because + you think some one has been killed. I cannot bear it. (<i>She purposely + breaks down and weeps. He looks at her with profound sadness and complete + coldness. She looks up to see what effect she is producing. Seeing that he + is unmoved, she sits up, pretending to struggle with her emotion and to + put it bravely away.</i>) But there: I know you hate tears: you shall not be + troubled with them. I know you are not angry, but only sad; only I am so + silly, I cannot help being hurt when you speak coldly. Of course you are + quite right: it is dreadful to think of anyone being killed or even hurt; + and I hope nothing really serious has— (<i>Her voice dies away under + his contemptuous penetration.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What has frightened you into this? What have you done? (<i>A trumpet + sounds on the beach below.</i>) Aha! That sounds like the answer. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>sinking back trembling on the bench and covering her face with + her hands</i>). I have not betrayed you, Caesar: I swear it. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I know that. I have not trusted you. (<i>He turns from her, and is + about to go out when Apollodorus and Britannus drag in Lucius Septimius to + him. Rufio follows. Caesar shudders.</i>) Again, Pompey’s murderer! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. The town has gone mad, I think. They are for tearing the palace + down and driving us into the sea straight away. We laid hold of this + renegade in clearing them out of the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Release him. (<i>They let go his arms.</i>) What has offended the + citizens, Lucius Septimius? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. What did you expect, Caesar? Pothinus was a favorite of theirs. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What has happened to Pothinus? I set him free, here, not half an + hour ago. Did they not pass him out? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. Ay, through the gallery arch sixty feet above ground, with three + inches of steel in his ribs. He is as dead as Pompey. We are quits now, as + to killing—you and I. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. (<i>shocked</i>). Assassinated!—our prisoner, our guest! (<i>He turns + reproachfully on Rufio</i>) Rufio—— + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>emphatically—anticipating the question</i>). Whoever did it was a + wise man and a friend of yours (<i>Cleopatra is qreatly emboldened</i>); but none + of <i>us</i> had a hand in it. So it is no use to frown at me. (<i>Caesar turns and + looks at Cleopatra.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>violently—rising</i>). He was slain by order of the Queen of + Egypt. I am not Julius Caesar the dreamer, who allows every slave to + insult him. Rufio has said I did well: now the others shall judge me too. + (<i>She turns to the others.</i>) This Pothinus sought to make me conspire with + him to betray Caesar to Achillas and Ptolemy. I refused; and he cursed me + and came privily to Caesar to accuse me of his own treachery. I caught him + in the act; and he insulted me—<i>me</i>, the Queen! to my face. Caesar + would not avenge me: he spoke him fair and set him free. Was I right to + avenge myself? Speak, Lucius. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. I do not gainsay it. But you will get little thanks from Caesar + for it. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Speak, Apollodorus. Was I wrong? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I have only one word of blame, most beautiful. You should + have called upon me, your knight; and in fair duel I should have slain the + slanderer. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>passionately</i>). I will be judged by your very slave, Caesar. + Britannus: speak. Was I wrong? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Were treachery, falsehood, and disloyalty left unpunished, + society must become like an arena full of wild beasts, tearing one another + to pieces. Caesar is in the wrong. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with quiet bitterness</i>). And so the verdict is against me, it + seems. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>vehemently</i>). Listen to me, Caesar. If one man in all Alexandria + can be found to say that I did wrong, I swear to have myself crucified on + the door of the palace by my own slaves. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. If one man in all the world can be found, now or forever, to <i>know</i> + that you did wrong, that man will have either to conquer the world as I + have, or be crucified by it. (<i>The uproar in the streets again reaches + them.</i>) Do you hear? These knockers at your gate are also believers in + vengeance and in stabbing. You have slain their leader: it is right that + they shall slay you. If you doubt it, ask your four counselors here. And + then in the name of that <i>right</i> (<i>He emphasizes the word with great scorn.</i>) + shall I not slay them for murdering their Queen, and be slain in my turn + by their countrymen as the invader of their fatherland? Can Rome do less + then than slay these slayers too, to shew the world how Rome avenges her + sons and her honor? And so, to the end of history, murder shall breed + murder, always in the name of right and honor and peace, until the gods + are tired of blood and create a race that can understand. (<i>Fierce uproar. + Cleopatra becomes white with terror.</i>) Hearken, you who must not be + insulted. Go near enough to catch their words: you will find them bitterer + than the tongue of Pothinus. (<i>Loftily wrapping himself up in an + impenetrable dignity.</i>) Let the Queen of Egypt now give her orders for + vengeance, and take her measures for defence; for she has renounced + Caesar. (<i>He turns to go.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>terrified, running to him and falling on her knees</i>). You will + not desert me, Caesar. You will defend the palace. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You have taken the powers of life and death upon you. I am only a + dreamer. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. But they will kill me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. And why not? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. In pity—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Pity! What! Has it come to this so suddenly, that nothing can save + you now but pity? Did it save Pothinus? + </p> + <p><i> + She rises, wringing her hands, and goes back to the bench in despair. + Apollodorus shews his sympathy with her by quietly posting himself behind + the bench. The sky has by this time become the most vivid purple, and soon + begins to change to a glowing pale orange, against which the colonnade and + the great image shew darklier and darklier. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. Caesar: enough of preaching. The enemy is at the gate. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>turning on him and giving way to his wrath</i>). Ay; and what has held + him baffled at the gate all these months? Was it my folly, as you deem it, + or your wisdom? In this Egyptian Red Sea of blood, whose hand has held all + your heads above the waves? (<i>Turning on Cleopatra</i>) And yet, when Caesar + says to such an one, “Friend, go free,” you, clinging for your little life + to my sword, dare steal out and stab him in the back? And you, soldiers + and gentlemen, and honest servants as you forget that you are, applaud + this assassination, and say “Caesar is in the wrong.” By the gods, I am + tempted to open my hand and let you all sink into the flood. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>with a ray of cunning hope</i>). But, Caesar, if you do, you will + perish yourself. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar’s eyes blaze. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>greatly alarmed</i>). Now, by great Jove, you filthy little Egyptian + rat, that is the very word to make him walk out alone into the city and + leave us here to be cut to pieces. (<i>Desperately, to Caesar</i>) Will you + desert us because we are a parcel of fools? I mean no harm by killing: I + do it as a dog kills a cat, by instinct. We are all dogs at your heels; + but we have served you faithfully. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>relenting</i>). Alas, Rufio, my son, my son: as dogs we are like to + perish now in the streets. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>at his post behind Cleopatra’s seat</i>). Caesar, what you say + has an Olympian ring in it: it must be right; for it is fine art. But I am + still on the side of Cleopatra. If we must die, she shall not want the + devotion of a man’s heart nor the strength of a man’s arm. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>sobbing</i>). But I don’t want to die. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>sadly</i>). Oh, ignoble, ignoble! + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS (<i>coming forward between Caesar and Cleopatra</i>). Hearken to me, + Caesar. It may be ignoble; but I also mean to live as long as I can. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, my friend, you are likely to outlive Caesar. Is it any magic + of mine, think you, that has kept your army and this whole city at bay for + so long? Yesterday, what quarrel had they with me that they should risk + their lives against me? But to-day we have flung them down their hero, + murdered; and now every man of them is set upon clearing out this nest of + assassins—for such we are and no more. Take courage then; and + sharpen your sword. Pompey’s head has fallen; and Caesar’s head is ripe. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Does Caesar despair? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with infinite pride</i>). He who has never hoped can never despair. + Caesar, in good or bad fortune, looks his fate in the face. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. Look it in the face, then; and it will smile as it always has on + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with involuntary haughtiness</i>). Do you presume to encourage me? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. I offer you my services. I will change sides if you will have me. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>suddenly coming down to earth again, and looking sharply at him, + divining that there is something behind the offer</i>). What! At this point? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS (<i>firmly</i>). At this point. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Do you suppose Caesar is mad, to trust you? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. I do not ask him to trust me until he is victorious. I ask for my + life, and for a command in Caesar’s army. And since Caesar is a fair + dealer, I will pay in advance. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Pay! How? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. With a piece of good news for you. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar divines the news in a flash. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. What news? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>with an elate and buoyant energy which makes Cleopatra sit up and + stare</i>). What news! What news, did you say, my son Rufio? The relief has + arrived: what other news remains for us? Is it not so, Lucius Septimius? + Mithridates of Pergamos is on the march. + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. He has taken Pelusium. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>delighted</i>). Lucius Septimius: you are henceforth my officer. + Rufio: the Egyptians must have sent every soldier from the city to prevent + Mithridates crossing the Nile. There is nothing in the streets now but mob—mob! + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. It is so. Mithridates is marching by the great road to Memphis to + cross above the Delta. Achillas will fight him there. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>all audacity</i>). Achillas shall fight Caesar there. See, Rufio. (<i>He + runs to the table; snatches a napkin; and draws a plan on it with his + finger dipped in wine, whilst Rufio and Lucius Septimius crowd about him + to watch, all looking closely, for the light is now almost gone.</i>) Here is + the palace (<i>pointing to his plan</i>): here is the theatre. You (<i>to Rufio</i>) + take twenty men and pretend to go by <i>that</i> street (<i>pointing it out</i>); and + whilst they are stoning you, out go the cohorts by this and this. My + streets are right, are they, Lucius? + </p> + <p> + LUCIUS. Ay, that is the fig market—— + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>too much excited to listen to him</i>). I saw them the day we arrived. + Good! (<i>He throws the napkin on the table and comes down again into the + colonnade.</i>) Away, Britannus: tell Petronius that within an hour half our + forces must take ship for the western lake. See to my horse and armor. + (<i>Britannus runs out.</i>) With the rest, <i>I</i> shall march round the lake and up + the Nile to meet Mithridates. Away, Lucius; and give the word. + </p> + <p><i> + Lucius hurries out after Britannus. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. Come: this is something like business. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>buoyantly</i>). Is it not, my only son? (<i>He claps his hands. The + slaves hurry in to the table.</i>) No more of this mawkish reveling: away with + all this stuff: shut it out of my sight and be off with you. (<i>The slaves + begin to remove the table; and the curtains are drawn, shutting in the + colonnade.</i>) You understand about the streets, Rufio? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Ay, I think I do. I will get through them, at all events. + </p> + <p><i> + The bucina sounds busily in the courtyard beneath. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. Come, then: we must talk to the troops and hearten them. You down + to the beach: I to the courtyard. (<i>He makes for the staircase.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>rising from her seat, where she has been quite neglected all + this time, and stretching out her hands timidly to him</i>). Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>turning</i>). Eh? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Have you forgotten me? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. (<i>indulgently</i>). I am busy now, my child, busy. When I return your + affairs shall be settled. Farewell; and be good and patient. + </p> + <p><i> + He goes, preoccupied and quite indifferent. She stands with clenched + fists, in speechless rage and humiliation. + </i></p> + <p> + RUFIO. That game is played and lost, Cleopatra. The woman always gets the + worst of it. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>haughtily</i>). Go. Follow your master. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>in her ear, with rough familiarity</i>). A word first. Tell your + executioner that if Pothinus had been properly killed—<i>in the throat</i>—he + would not have called out. Your man bungled his work. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>enigmatically</i>). How do you know it was a man? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>startled, and puzzled</i>). It was not you: you were with us when it + happened. (<i>She turns her back scornfully on him. He shakes his head, and + draws the curtains to go out. It is now a magnificent moonlit night. The + table has been removed. Ftatateeta is seen in the light of the moon and + stars, again in prayer before the white altar-stone of Ra. Rufio starts; + closes the curtains again softly; and says in a low voice to Cleopatra</i>) + Was it she? With her own hand? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>threateningly</i>). Whoever it was, let my enemies beware of her. + Look to it, Rufio, you who dare make the Queen of Egypt a fool before + Caesar. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>looking grimly at her</i>). I will look to it, Cleopatra. (<i>He nods in + confirmation of the promise, and slips out through the curtains, loosening + his sword in its sheath as he goes.</i>) + </p> + <p> + ROMAN SOLDIERS (<i>in the courtyard below</i>). Hail, Caesar! Hail, hail! + </p> + <p><i> + Cleopatra listens. The bucina sounds again, followed by several trumpets. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>wringing her hands and calling</i>). Ftatateeta. Ftatateeta. It is + dark; and I am alone. Come to me. (<i>Silence.</i>) Ftatateeta. (<i>Louder.</i>) + Ftatateeta. (<i>Silence. In a panic she snatches the cord and pulls the + curtains apart.</i>) + </p> + <p><i> + Ftatateeta is lying dead on the altar of Ra, with her throat cut. Her + blood deluges the white stone. + </i></p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT V + </h2> + <p><i> + High noon. Festival and military pageant on the esplanade before the + palace. In the east harbor Caesar’s galley, so gorgeously decorated that + it seems to be rigged with flowers, is along-side the quay, close to the + steps Apollodorus descended when he embarked with the carpet. A Roman + guard is posted there in charge of a gangway, whence a red floorcloth is + laid down the middle of the esplanade, turning off to the north opposite + the central gate in the palace front, which shuts in the esplanade on the + south side. The broad steps of the gate, crowded with Cleopatra’s ladies, + all in their gayest attire, are like a flower garden. The façade is lined + by her guard, officered by the same gallants to whom Bel Affris announced + the coming of Caesar six months before in the old palace on the Syrian + border. The north side is lined by Roman soldiers, with the townsfolk on + tiptoe behind them, peering over their heads at the cleared esplanade, in + which the officers stroll about, chatting. Among these are Belzanor and + the Persian; also the Centurion, vinewood cudgel in hand, battle worn, + thick-booted, and much outshone, both socially and decoratively, by the + Egyptian officers. + </i></p> + <p><i> + Apollodorus makes his way through the townsfolk and calls to the officers + from behind the Roman line. + </i></p> + <p> + <br/> + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Hullo! May I pass? + </p> + <p> + CENTURION. Pass Apollodorus the Sicilian there! (<i>The soldiers let him + through.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Is Caesar at hand? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Not yet. He is still in the market place. I could not stand + any more of the roaring of the soldiers! After half an hour of the + enthusiasm of an army, one feels the need of a little sea air. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Tell us the news. Hath he slain the priests? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. Not he. They met him in the market place with ashes on their + heads and their gods in their hands. They placed the gods at his feet. The + only one that was worth looking at was Apis: a miracle of gold and ivory + work. By my advice he offered the chief priest two talents for it. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>appalled</i>). Apis the all-knowing for two talents! What said the + chief priest? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. He invoked the mercy of Apis, and asked for five. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. There will be famine and tempest in the land for this. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Pooh! Why did not Apis cause Caesar to be vanquished by Achillas? + Any fresh news from the war, Apollodorus? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. The little King Ptolemy was drowned. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. Drowned! How? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. With the rest of them. Caesar attacked them from three sides + at once and swept them into the Nile. Ptolemy’s barge sank. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. A marvelous man, this Caesar! Will he come soon, think you? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. He was settling the Jewish question when I left. + </p> + <p><i> + A flourish of trumpets from the north, and commotion among the townsfolk, + announces the approach of Caesar. + </i></p> + <p> + PERSIAN. He has made short work of them. Here he comes. (<i>He hurries to his + post in front of the Egyptian lines.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>following him</i>). Ho there! Caesar comes. + </p> + <p><i> + The soldiers stand at attention, and dress their lines. Apollodorus goes + to the Egyptian line. + </i></p> + <p> + CENTURION (<i>hurrying to the gangway guard</i>). Attention there! Caesar comes. + </p> + <p><i> + Caesar arrives in state with Rufio: Britannus following. The soldiers + receive him with enthusiastic shouting. + </i></p> + <p> + CAESAR. I see my ship awaits me. The hour of Caesar’s farewell to Egypt + has arrived. And now, Rufio, what remains to be done before I go? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>at his left hand</i>). You have not yet appointed a Roman governor for + this province. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>Looking whimsically at him, but speaking with perfect gravity</i>). + What say you to Mithridates of Pergamos, my reliever and rescuer, the + great son of Eupator? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Why, that you will want him elsewhere. Do you forget that you have + some three or four armies to conquer on your way home? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Indeed! Well, what say you to yourself? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>incredulously</i>). I! I a governor! What are you dreaming of? Do you + not know that I am only the son of a freedman? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>affectionately</i>). Has not Caesar called you his son? (<i>Calling to + the whole assembly</i>) Peace awhile there; and hear me. + </p> + <p> + THE ROMAN SOLDIERS. Hear Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hear the service, quality, rank and name of the Roman governor. By + service, Caesar’s shield; by quality, Caesar’s friend; by rank, a Roman + soldier. (<i>The Roman soldiers give a triumphant shout.</i>) By name, Rufio. + (<i>They shout again.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>kissing Caesar’s hand</i>). Ay: I am Caesar’s shield; but of what use + shall I be when I am no longer on Caesar’s arm? Well, no matter— (<i>He + becomes husky, and turns away to recover himself.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Where is that British Islander of mine? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS (<i>coming forward on Caesar’s right hand</i>). Here, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Who bade you, pray, thrust yourself into the battle of the Delta, + uttering the barbarous cries of your native land, and affirming yourself a + match for any four of the Egyptians, to whom you applied unseemly + epithets? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: I ask you to excuse the language that escaped me in the + heat of the moment. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. And how did you, who cannot swim, cross the canal with us when we + stormed the camp? + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: I clung to the tail of your horse. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. These are not the deeds of a slave, Britannicus, but of a free + man. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Caesar: I was born free. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. But they call you Caesar’s slave. + </p> + <p> + BRITANNUS. Only as Caesar’s slave have I found real freedom. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>moved</i>). Well said. Ungrateful that I am, I was about to set you + free; but now I will not part from you for a million talents. (<i>He claps + him friendly on the shoulder. Britannus, gratified, but a trifle + shamefaced, takes his hand and kisses it sheepishly.</i>) + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR (<i>to the Persian</i>). This Roman knows how to make men serve him. + </p> + <p> + PERSIAN. Ay: men too humble to become dangerous rivals to him. + </p> + <p> + BELZANOR. O subtle one! O cynic! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>seeing Apollodorus in the Egyptian corner and calling to him</i>). + Apollodorus: I leave the art of Egypt in your charge. Remember: Rome loves + art and will encourage it ungrudgingly. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. I understand, Caesar. Rome will produce no art itself; but it + will buy up and take away whatever the other nations produce. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What! Rome produces no art! Is peace not an art? is war not an + art? is government not an art? is civilization not an art? All these we + give you in exchange for a few ornaments. You will have the best of the + bargain. (<i>Turning to Rufio</i>) And now, what else have I to do before I + embark? (<i>Trying to recollect</i>) There is something I cannot remember: what + <i>can</i> it be? Well, well: it must remain undone: we must not waste this + favorable wind. Farewell, Rufio. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Caesar: I am loth to let you go to Rome without your shield. There + are too many daggers there. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It matters not: I shall finish my life’s work on my way back; and + then I shall have lived long enough. Besides: I have always disliked the + idea of dying: I had rather be killed. Farewell. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>with a sigh, raising his hands and giving Caesar up as + incorrigible</i>). Farewell. (<i>They shake hands.</i>) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>waving his hand to Apollodorus</i>). Farewell, Apollodorus, and my + friends, all of you. Aboard! + </p> + <p><i> + The gangway is run out from the quay to the ship. As Caesar moves towards + it, Cleopatra, cold and tragic, cunningly dressed in black, without + ornaments or decoration of any kind, and thus making a striking figure + among the brilliantly dressed bevy of ladies as she passes through it, + comes from the palace and stands on the steps. Caesar does not see her + until she speaks. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Has Cleopatra no part in this leave taking? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>enlightened</i>). Ah, I <i>knew</i> there was something. (<i>To Rufio</i>) How could + you let me forget her, Rufio? (<i>Hastening to her</i>) Had I gone without seeing + you, I should never have forgiven myself. (<i>He takes her hands, and brings + her into the middle of the esplanade. She submits stonily.</i>) Is this + mourning for me? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>remorsefully</i>). Ah, that was thoughtless of me! It is for your + brother. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. No. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. For whom, then? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Ask the Roman governor whom you have left us. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Rufio? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Yes: Rufio. (<i>She points at him with deadly scorn.</i>) He who is to + rule here in Caesar’s name, in Caesar’s way, according to Caesar’s boasted + laws of life. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>dubiously</i>). He is to rule as he can, Cleopatra. He has taken the + work upon him, and will do it in his own way. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Not in your way, then? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>puzzled</i>). What do you mean by my way? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Without punishment. Without revenge. Without judgment. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>approvingly</i>). Ay: that is the right way, the great way, the only + possible way in the end. (<i>To Rufio</i>) Believe it, Rufio, if you can. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Why, I believe it, Caesar. You have convinced me of it long ago. + But look you. You are sailing for Numidia to-day. Now tell me: if you meet + a hungry lion there, you will not punish it for wanting to eat you? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>wondering what he is driving at</i>). No. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Nor revenge upon it the blood of those it has already eaten. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Nor judge it for its guiltiness. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No. + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. What, then, will you do to save your life from it? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>promptly</i>). Kill it, man, without malice, just as it would kill me. + What does this parable of the lion mean? + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. Why, Cleopatra had a tigress that killed men at bidding. I thought + she might bid it kill you some day. Well, had I not been Caesar’s pupil, + what pious things might I not have done to that tigress? I might have + punished it. I might have revenged Pothinus on it. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>interjects</i>). Pothinus! + </p> + <p> + RUFIO (<i>continuing</i>). I might have judged it. But I put all these follies + behind me; and, without malice, only cut its throat. And that is why + Cleopatra comes to you in mourning. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>vehemently</i>). He has shed the blood of my servant Ftatateeta. On + your head be it as upon his, Caesar, if you hold him free of it. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>energetically</i>). On my head be it, then; for it was well done. + Rufio: had you set yourself in the seat of the judge, and with hateful + ceremonies and appeals to the gods handed that woman over to some hired + executioner to be slain before the people in the name of justice, never + again would I have touched your hand without a shudder. But this was + natural slaying: I feel no horror at it. + </p> + <p><i> + Rufio, satisfied, nods at Cleopatra, mutely inviting her to mark that. + </i></p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>pettish and childish in her impotence</i>). No: not when a Roman + slays an Egyptian. All the world will now see how unjust and corrupt + Caesar is. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>taking her handy coaxingly</i>). Come: do not be angry with me. I am + sorry for that poor Totateeta. (<i>She laughs in spite of herself.</i>) Aha! you + are laughing. Does that mean reconciliation? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>angry with herself for laughing</i>). No, <i>no</i>, NO!! But it is so + ridiculous to hear you call her Totateeta. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. What! As much a child as ever, Cleopatra! Have I not made a woman + of you after all? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. Oh, it is you who are a great baby: you make me seem silly + because you will not behave seriously. But you have treated me badly; and + I do not forgive you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Bid me farewell. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I will not. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (<i>coaxing</i>). I will send you a beautiful present from Rome. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>proudly</i>). Beauty from Rome to Egypt indeed! What can Rome give + <i>me</i> that Egypt cannot give me? + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. That is true, Caesar. If the present is to be really + beautiful, I shall have to buy it for you in Alexandria. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You are forgetting the treasures for which Rome is most famous, my + friend. You cannot buy <i>them</i> in Alexandria. + </p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS. What are they, Caesar? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Her sons. Come, Cleopatra: forgive me and bid me farewell; and I + will send you a man, Roman from head to heel and Roman of the noblest; not + old and ripe for the knife; not lean in the arms and cold in the heart; + not hiding a bald head under his conqueror’s laurels; not stooped with the + weight of the world on his shoulders; but brisk and fresh, strong and + young, hoping in the morning, fighting in the day, and reveling in the + evening. Will you take such an one in exchange for Caesar? + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA (<i>palpitating</i>). His name, his name? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Shall it be Mark Antony? (<i>She throws herself in his arms.</i>) + </p> + <p> + RUFIO. You are a bad hand at a bargain, mistress, if you will swap Caesar + for Antony. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. So now you are satisfied. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. You will not forget. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. I will not forget. Farewell: I do not think we shall meet again. + Farewell. (<i>He kisses her on the forehead. She is much affected and begins + to sniff. He embarks.</i>) + </p> + <p> + THE ROMAN SOLDIERS (<i>as he sets his foot on the gangway</i>). Hail, Caesar; and + farewell! + </p> + <p><i> + He reaches the ship and returns Rufio’s wave of the hand. + </i></p> + <p> + APOLLODORUS (<i>to Cleopatra</i>). No tears, dearest Queen: they stab your + servant to the heart. He will return some day. + </p> + <p> + CLEOPATRA. I hope not. But I can’t help crying, all the same. (<i>She waves + her handkerchief to Caesar; and the ship begins to move.</i>) + </p> + <p> + THE ROMAN SOLDIERS (<i>drawing their swords and raising them in the air</i>). + Hail, Caesar! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTES TO CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA + </h2> + <h3> + CLEOPATRA’S CURE FOR BALDNESS + </h3> + <p> + For the sake of conciseness in a hurried situation I have made Cleopatra + recommend rum. This, I am afraid, is an anachronism: the only real one in + the play. To balance it, I give a couple of the remedies she actually + believed in. They are quoted by Galen from Cleopatra’s book on Cosmetic. + </p> + <p> + “For bald patches, powder red sulphuret of arsenic and take it up with oak + gum, as much as it will bear. Put on a rag and apply, having soaped the + place well first. I have mixed the above with a foam of nitre, and it + worked well.” + </p> + <p> + Several other receipts follow, ending with: “The following is the best of + all, acting for fallen hairs, when applied with oil or pomatum; acts also + for falling off of eyelashes or for people getting bald all over. It is + wonderful. Of domestic mice burnt, one part; of vine rag burnt, one part; + of horse’s teeth burnt, one part; of bear’s grease one; of deer’s marrow + one; of reed bark one. To be pounded when dry, and mixed with plenty of + honey til it gets the consistency of honey; then the bear’s grease and + marrow to be mixed (when melted), the medicine to be put in a brass flask, + and the bald part rubbed til it sprouts.” + </p> + <p> + Concerning these ingredients, my fellow-dramatist, Gilbert Murray, who, as + a Professor of Greek, has applied to classical antiquity the methods of + high scholarship (my own method is pure divination), writes to me as + follows: “Some of this I don’t understand, and possibly Galen did not, as + he quotes your heroine’s own language. Foam of nitre is, I think, + something like soapsuds. Reed bark is an odd expression. It might mean the + outside membrane of a reed: I do not know what it ought to be called. In + the burnt mice receipt I take that you first mixed the solid powders with + honey, and then added the grease. I expect Cleopatra preferred it because + in most of the others you have to lacerate the skin, prick it, or rub it + till it bleeds. I do not know what vine rag is. I translate literally.” + </p> + <h3> + APPARENT ANACHRONISMS + </h3> + <p> + The only way to write a play which shall convey to the general public an + impression of antiquity is to make the characters speak blank verse and + abstain from reference to steam, telegraphy, or any of the material + conditions of their existence. The more ignorant men are, the more + convinced are they that their little parish and their little chapel is an + apex which civilization and philosophy have painfully struggled up the + pyramid of time from a desert of savagery. Savagery, they think, became + barbarism; barbarism became ancient civilization; ancient civilization + became Pauline Christianity; Pauline Christianity became Roman + Catholicism; Roman Catholicism became the Dark Ages; and the Dark Ages + were finally enlightened by the Protestant instincts of the English race. + The whole process is summed up as Progress with a capital P. And any + elderly gentleman of Progressive temperament will testify that the + improvement since he was a boy is enormous. + </p> + <p> + Now if we count the generations of Progressive elderly gentlemen since, + say, Plato, and add together the successive enormous improvements to which + each of them has testified, it will strike us at once as an unaccountable + fact that the world, instead of having been improved in 67 generations out + all recognition, presents, on the whole, a rather less dignified + appearance in Ibsen’s Enemy of the People than in Plato’s Republic. And in + truth, the period of time covered by history is far too short to allow of + any perceptible progress in the popular sense of Evolution of the Human + Species. The notion that there has been any such Progress since Caesar’s + time (less than 20 centuries) is too absurd for discussion. All the + savagery, barbarism, dark ages and the rest of it of which we have any + record as existing in the past, exists at the present moment. A British + carpenter or stonemason may point out that he gets twice as much money for + his labor as his father did in the same trade, and that his suburban + house, with its bath, its cottage piano, its drawingroom suite, and its + album of photographs, would have shamed the plainness of his + grandmother’s. But the descendants of feudal barons, living in squalid + lodgings on a salary of fifteen shillings a week instead of in castles on + princely revenues, do not congratulate the world on the change. Such + changes, in fact, are not to the point. It has been known, as far back as + our records go, that man running wild in the woods is different to man + kennelled in a city slum; that a dog seems to understand a shepherd better + than a hewer of wood and drawer of water can understand an astronomer; and + that breeding, gentle nurture and luxurious food and shelter will produce + a kind of man with whom the common laborer is socially incompatible. The + same thing is true of horses and dogs. Now there is clearly room for great + changes in the world by increasing the percentage of individuals who are + carefully bred and gently nurtured, even to finally making the most of + every man and woman born. But that possibility existed in the days of the + Hittites as much as it does to-day. It does not give the slightest real + support to the common assumption that the civilized contemporaries of the + Hittites were unlike their civilized descendants to-day. + </p> + <p> + This would appear the tritest commonplace if it were not that the ordinary + citizen’s ignorance of the past combines with his idealization of the + present to mislead and flatter him. Our latest book on the new railway + across Asia describes the dulness of the Siberian farmer and the vulgar + pursepride of the Siberian man of business without the least consciousness + that the sting of contemptuous instances given might have been saved by + writing simply “Farmers and provincial plutocrats in Siberia are exactly + what they are in England.” The latest professor descanting on the + civilization of the Western Empire in the fifth century feels bound to + assume, in the teeth of his own researches, that the Christian was one + sort of animal and the Pagan another. It might as well be assumed, as + indeed it generally is assumed by implication, that a murder committed + with a poisoned arrow is different to a murder committed with a Mauser + rifle. All such notions are illusions. Go back to the first syllable of + recorded time, and there you will find your Christian and your Pagan, your + yokel and your poet, helot and hero, Don Quixote and Sancho, Tamino and + Papageno, Newton and bushman unable to count eleven, all alive and + contemporaneous, and all convinced that they are heirs of all the ages and + the privileged recipients of <i>the</i> truth (all others damnable heresies), + just as you have them to-day, flourishing in countries each of which is + the bravest and best that ever sprang at Heaven’s command from out of the + azure main. + </p> + <p> + Again, there is the illusion of “increased command over Nature,” meaning + that cotton is cheap and that ten miles of country road on a bicycle have + replaced four on foot. But even if man’s increased command over Nature + included any increased command over himself (the only sort of command + relevant to his evolution into a higher being), the fact remains that it + is only by running away from the increased command over Nature to country + places where Nature is still in primitive command over Man that he can + recover from the effects of the smoke, the stench, the foul air, the + overcrowding, the racket, the ugliness, the dirt which the cheap cotton + costs us. If manufacturing activity means Progress, the town must be more + advanced than the country; and the field laborers and village artizans of + to-day must be much less changed from the servants of Job than the + proletariat of modern London from the proletariat of Caesar’s Rome. Yet + the cockney proletarian is so inferior to the village laborer that it is + only by steady recruiting from the country that London is kept alive. This + does not seem as if the change since Job’s time were Progress in the + popular sense: quite the reverse. The common stock of discoveries in + physics has accumulated a little: that is all. + </p> + <p> + One more illustration. Is the Englishman prepared to admit that the + American is his superior as a human being? I ask this question because the + scarcity of labor in America relatively to the demand for it has led to a + development of machinery there, and a consequent “increase of command over + Nature” which makes many of our English methods appear almost medieval to + the up-to-date Chicagoan. This means that the American has an advantage + over the Englishman of exactly the same nature that the Englishman has + over the contemporaries of Cicero. Is the Englishman prepared to draw the + same conclusion in both cases? I think not. The American, of course, will + draw it cheerfully; but I must then ask him whether, since a modern negro + has a greater “command over Nature” than Washington had, we are also to + accept the conclusion, involved in his former one, that humanity has + progressed from Washington to the <i>fin de siècle</i> negro. + </p> + <p> + Finally, I would point out that if life is crowned by its success and + devotion in industrial organization and ingenuity, we had better worship + the ant and the bee (as moralists urge us to do in our childhood), and + humble ourselves before the arrogance of the birds of Aristophanes. + </p> + <p> + My reason then for ignoring the popular conception of Progress in Caesar + and Cleopatra is that there is no reason to suppose that any Progress has + taken place since their time. But even if I shared the popular delusion, I + do not see that I could have made any essential difference in the play. I + can only imitate humanity as I know it. Nobody knows whether Shakespear + thought that ancient Athenian joiners, weavers, or bellows menders were + any different from Elizabethan ones; but it is quite certain that he + could not have made them so, unless, indeed, he had played the literary + man and made Quince say, not “Is all our company here?” but “Bottom: was + not that Socrates that passed us at the Piræus with Glaucon and + Polemarchus on his way to the house of Kephalus.” And so on. + </p> + <h3> + CLEOPATRA + </h3> + <p> + Cleopatra was only sixteen when Caesar went to Egypt; but in Egypt sixteen + is a riper age than it is in England. The childishness I have ascribed to + her, as far as it is childishness of character and not lack of experience, + is not a matter of years. It may be observed in our own climate at the + present day in many women of fifty. It is a mistake to suppose that the + difference between wisdom and folly has anything to do with the difference + between physical age and physical youth. Some women are younger at seventy + than most women at seventeen. + </p> + <p> + It must be borne in mind, too, that Cleopatra was a queen, and was + therefore not the typical Greek-cultured, educated Egyptian lady of her + time. To represent her by any such type would be as absurd as to represent + George IV by a type founded on the attainments of Sir Isaac Newton. It is + true that an ordinarily well educated Alexandrian girl of her time would + no more have believed bogey stories about the Romans than the daughter of + a modern Oxford professor would believe them about the Germans (though, by + the way, it is possible to talk great nonsense at Oxford about foreigners + when we are at war with them). But I do not feel bound to believe that + Cleopatra was well educated. Her father, the illustrious Flute Blower, was + not at all a parent of the Oxford professor type. And Cleopatra was a chip + of the old block. + </p> + <h3> + BRITANNUS + </h3> + <p> + I find among those who have read this play in manuscript a strong + conviction that an ancient Briton could not possibly have been like a + modern one. I see no reason to adopt this curious view. It is true that + the Roman and Norman conquests must have for a time disturbed the normal + British type produced by the climate. But Britannus, born before these + events, represents the unadulterated Briton who fought Caesar and + impressed Roman observers much as we should expect the ancestors of Mr. + Podsnap to impress the cultivated Italians of their time. + </p> + <p> + I am told that it is not scientific to treat national character as a + product of climate. This only shews the wide difference between common + knowledge and the intellectual game called science. We have men of exactly + the same stock, and speaking the same language, growing in Great Britain, + in Ireland, and in America. The result is three of the most distinctly + marked nationalities under the sun. Racial characteristics are quite + another matter. The difference between a Jew and a Gentile has nothing to + do with the difference between an Englishman and a German. The + characteristics of Britannus are local characteristics, not race + characteristics. In an ancient Briton they would, I take it, be + exaggerated, since modern Britain, disforested, drained, urbanified and + consequently cosmopolized, is presumably less characteristically British + than Caesar’s Britain. + </p> + <p> + And again I ask does anyone who, in the light of a competent knowledge of + his own age, has studied history from contemporary documents, believe that + 67 generations of promiscuous marriage have made any appreciable + difference in the human fauna of these isles? Certainly I do not. + </p> + <h3> + JULIUS CAESAR + </h3> + <p> + As to Caesar himself, I have purposely avoided the usual anachronism of + going to Caesar’s books, and concluding that the style is the man. That is + only true of authors who have the specific literary genius, and have + practised long enough to attain complete self-expression in letters. It is + not true even on these conditions in an age when literature is conceived + as a game of style, and not as a vehicle of self-expression by the author. + Now Caesar was an amateur stylist writing books of travel and campaign + histories in a style so impersonal that the authenticity of the later + volumes is disputed. They reveal some of his qualities just as the Voyage + of a Naturalist Round the World reveals some of Darwin’s, without + expressing his private personality. An Englishman reading them would say + that Caesar was a man of great common sense and good taste, meaning + thereby a man without originality or moral courage. + </p> + <p> + In exhibiting Caesar as a much more various person than the historian of + the Gallic wars, I hope I have not succumbed unconsciously to the dramatic + illusion to which all great men owe part of their reputation and some the + whole of it. I admit that reputations gained in war are specially + questionable. Able civilians taking up the profession of arms, like Caesar + and Cromwell, in middle age, have snatched all its laurels from opponent + commanders bred to it, apparently because capable persons engaged in + military pursuits are so scarce that the existence of two of them at the + same time in the same hemisphere is extremely rare. The capacity of any + conqueror is therefore more likely than not to be an illusion produced by + the incapacity of his adversary. At all events, Caesar might have won his + battles without being wiser than Charles XII or Nelson or Joan of Arc, who + were, like most modern “self-made” millionaires, half-witted geniuses, + enjoying the worship accorded by all races to certain forms of insanity. + But Caesar’s victories were only advertisements for an eminence that would + never have become popular without them. Caesar is greater off the battle + field than on it. Nelson off his quarterdeck was so quaintly out of the + question that when his head was injured at the battle of the Nile, and his + conduct became for some years openly scandalous, the difference was not + important enough to be noticed. It may, however, be said that peace hath + her illusory reputations no less than war. And it is certainly true that + in civil life mere capacity for work—the power of killing a dozen + secretaries under you, so to speak, as a life-or-death courier kills + horses—enables men with common ideas and superstitions to distance + all competitors in the strife of political ambition. It was this power of + work that astonished Cicero as the most prodigious of Caesar’s gifts, as + it astonished later observers in Napoleon before it wore him out. How if + Caesar were nothing but a Nelson and a Gladstone combined! a prodigy of + vitality without any special quality of mind! nay, with ideas that were + worn out before he was born, as Nelson’s and Gladstone’s were! I have + considered that possibility too, and rejected it. I cannot cite all the + stories about Caesar which seem to me to shew that he was genuinely + original; but let me at least point out that I have been careful to + attribute nothing but originality to him. Originality gives a man an air + of frankness, generosity, and magnanimity by enabling him to estimate the + value of truth, money, or success in any particular instance quite + independently of convention and moral generalization. He therefore will + not, in the ordinary Treasury bench fashion, tell a lie which everybody + knows to be a lie (<i>and consequently expects him as a matter of good taste + to tell</i>). His lies are not found out: they pass for candors. He + understands the paradox of money, and gives it away when he can get most + for it: in other words, when its value is least, which is just when a + common man tries hardest to get it. He knows that the real moment of + success is not the moment apparent to the crowd. Hence, in order to + produce an impression of complete disinterestedness and magnanimity, he + has only to act with entire selfishness; and this is perhaps the only + sense in which a man can be said to be <i>naturally</i> great. It is in this + sense that I have represented Caesar as great. Having virtue, he has no + need of goodness. He is neither forgiving, frank, nor generous, because a + man who is too great to resent has nothing to forgive; a man who says + things that other people are afraid to say need be no more frank than + Bismarck was; and there is no generosity in giving things you do not want + to people of whom you intend to make use. This distinction between virtue + and goodness is not understood in England: hence the poverty of our drama + in heroes. Our stage attempts at them are mere goody-goodies. Goodness, in + its popular British sense of self-denial, implies that man is vicious by + nature, and that supreme goodness is supreme martyrdom. Not sharing that + pious opinion, I have not given countenance to it in any of my plays. In + this I follow the precedent of the ancient myths, which represent the hero + as vanquishing his enemies, not in fair fight, but with enchanted sword, + superequine horse and magical invulnerability, the possession of which, + from the vulgar moralistic point of view, robs his exploits of any merit + whatever. + </p> + <p> + As to Caesar’s sense of humor, there is no more reason to assume that he + lacked it than to assume that he was deaf or blind. It is said that on the + occasion of his assassination by a conspiracy of moralists (it is always + your moralist who makes assassination a duty, on the scaffold or off it), + he defended himself until the good Brutus struck him, when he exclaimed + “What! you too, Brutus!” and disdained further fight. If this be true, he + must have been an incorrigible comedian. But even if we waive this story, + or accept the traditional sentimental interpretation of it, there is still + abundant evidence of his lightheartedness and adventurousness. Indeed it + is clear from his whole history that what has been called his ambition was + an instinct for exploration. He had much more of Columbus and Franklin in + him than of Henry V. + </p> + <p> + However, nobody need deny Caesar a share, at least, of the qualities I + have attributed to him. All men, much more Julius Caesars, possess all + qualities in some degree. The really interesting question is whether I am + right in assuming that the way to produce an impression of greatness is by + exhibiting a man, not as mortifying his nature by doing his duty, in the + manner which our system of putting little men into great positions (not + having enough great men in our influential families to go round) forces us + to inculcate, but by simply doing what he naturally wants to do. For this + raises the question whether our world has not been wrong in its moral + theory for the last 2,500 years or so. It must be a constant puzzle to + many of us that the Christian era, so excellent in its intentions, should + have been practically such a very discreditable episode in the history of + the race. I doubt if this is altogether due to the vulgar and sanguinary + sensationalism of our religious legends, with their substitution of gross + physical torments and public executions for the passion of humanity. + Islam, substituting voluptuousness for torment (a merely superficial + difference, it is true) has done no better. It may have been the failure + of Christianity to emancipate itself from expiatory theories of moral + responsibility, guilt, innocence, reward, punishment, and the rest of it, + that baffled its intention of changing the world. But these are bound up + in all philosophies of creation as opposed to cosmism. They may therefore + be regarded as the price we pay for popular religion. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Caesar and Cleopatra, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAESAR AND CLEOPATRA *** + +***** This file should be named 3329-h.htm or 3329-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/2/3329/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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