DRAMATIC VERSIONS
Cleopatre Captive, by Estienne Jodelle
In 1552 there was published in France a drama called Cleopatre Captive, which
was the first tragedy to appear in the French language. It was written by Estienne
Jodelle, ‘fieur du Lymodin,’ who was born in Paris in 1532, and died at the age
of forty-one in 1573, when Shakespeare was nine years old. In construction this
tragedy was modelled on the Drama of Seneca; in some respects it shows the influence
of the Greek tragedians also,—the Chorus shares in the dialogue, which is rare,
I think, in Seneca, and, in the Second Act, it is divided into Strophes and Antistrophes.
Its Dramatis Personæ are as follows: The Shade of Antony, Cleopatra,
Eras, Charmium, Octavian Cæsar, Agrippa, Proculeius, Chorus of Alexandrian
Women, Seleucus. The First Scene is laid in Purgatory, and consists of a soliloquy
by the Shade of Antony who laments the sad fate brought on him by the
gods, through their jealousy of his greatness; he reviews his past life, and his fatal
infatuation for Cleopatra, whom he bitterly denounces. Purgatorial fires having
already had some effect, the Ghost laments his cruel treatment of his wife, Octavia,
and furthermore,
But he is resolved that he will not remain all alone in torment; before the sun, now rising, sets, Cleopatra must die. He has appeared to her in a dream, and commanded her, after having given his corpse an honourable burial, to kill herself,“I chased my tender children from my side
And warmed that murderous serpent in my bosom
Which coiled about me, and deceived my soul,
While pouring deadly venom o'er my life. 1
”
which has really a show of justice and fair play. In the next Scene Cleopatra rehearses to Eras and Charmium, the events of her life, much in the same style as Antony had narrated his past story, but, not having had as yet the advantage of Purgatorial flames, her remorse is not so deep. She refers with terror to her dream, and decides that Antony's commands must be obeyed; moreover, every horror is to be endured rather than be taken to Rome for Cæsar's triumph. The Chorus, at the close of the Act, shows a close imitation of Seneca by beginning with a description, by no means without charm, of a sunrise and an opening day. It inevitably challenges comparison with the fine description by the Chorus at the end of the First Act in the Hercules Furens, beginning, ‘Jam rara micant sidera prono Languida ‘mundo,’ etc. In the next Act Octavius boasts to Agrippa and Proculeius of his grandeur and of his mighty exploits, beginning with the self-complacent assertion that no one under heaven's cope has been so favoured by the gods as he himself. But his career will be incomplete if he cannot take Cleopatra in triumph to Rome. Proculeius describes the manner in which he captured the queen, wherein Jodelle closely follows Plutarch. Octavius bids him dispossess Cleopatra of all thoughts of suicide. In the Third Act there is a conference between Octavius and the Queen. The latter displays the letters of Julius Cæsar, wherefrom it appears that Jodelle consulted Dion Cassius as well as Plutarch. In Cleopatra's appeals, as a queen, for compassion, in her lamentations for Antony, and in her despairing commiseration of her own bitter lot, the drama rises, I think, to its highest point of tragedy. ‘Unless,’ Cleopatra, addressing Octavius, plaintively begins:“Or' se faisant compagne en ma peine et tristesse
Qui s'est faite long temps compagne en ma liesse;
”
In this one Scene there is, I think, a tragic human cry, deeper and more sincere than is to be found in the Cleopatras of many of Jodelle's successors who have achieved more fame. Octavius remains, however, unmoved, and recounts all the misdeeds in Cleopatra's career, but finally assures her that her life and the lives of her children shall be spared. Out of gratitude the queen says that she will disclose to Octavius all the gold and jewels in her treasury. Hereupon Seleucus comes forward officiously, as he does in Plutarch (in Shakespeare Cleopatra appeals to him), and asserts that Cleopatra has concealed wealth incalculable. The Scene that follows in Plutarch, where Cleopatra falls into a rage with Seleucus, proved to Jodelle too attractive to be omitted; consequently he inserted it at length, although so much action is in general alien to the Senecan tragedy. By this one venturesome stroke Jodelle has shown his appreciation of Cleopatra's nature, and has imparted action, life, and character to his drama which give it a high place, earliest though it be of French tragedies, when compared with those subsequently written under Senecan influence, with Cleopatra for a theme. As Jodelle's Works are very scarce (the first edition appeared in 1552,—my copy is dated 1583), it may not be displeasing to reprint this fragment of the Scene. Jodelle's close adherence to Plutarch can be observed only in the original French; it would be lost in a translation. Seleucus has finished his accusation and at once Cleopatra's anger breaks forth:“Unless the grief, imprisoned in my breast,
Far, far surpassed this final plaint of mine
Thou wouldst not see thy poor slave at thy feet.
No words of mine are equal to the grief,
Which, throbbing, has consumed me all within,—
My tears, my moans, and all my heavy sighs.
Art thou surprised that this word “separation”
Has power to put my steadfastness to flight?
To separate! ye gods! I know its meaning!
If this sad war had only been foreseen,
It had been better for me, luckless queen,
To have separated from him during life.
His bitter grief could then have been prevented!
I could have warded off all cruel blows,
Because I had the means and chance, with hope
Of seeing in full secresy his face.
But now a hundred,—hundred-hundredfold
I've suffered from this bitter war; by it
I've lost my lands, my kingdom,—and my all!
And I have seen my life, and my support,
My joy, my universe, take his own life!
And, bleeding as he was, all cold and wan,
I strove to warm him with my own hot tears,
And almost separated myself from him
While death was separating him from me.
Ha Dieux, grands Dieux! Ha grands Dieux!
* * * * *
I needs must live; fear not I'll take my life.
I have not laid a scheme to kill myself.
But since 'tis right that I prolong my life
And that in me the love of life revive,
Vouchsafe to look upon this weakling, Cæsar,
Who casts herself once more before thy feet.
At least, O Cæsar, let my streaming tears
Induce a softness whence will spring my pardon.
Fast flowing drops will outwear e'en the flint,
Then on thy heart shall tears have no effect?
”
Seleucus repents, and in a dialogue with the Chorus confesses that death would be preferable to the memory which must be always his that he has so deeply wounded and offended his queen and mistress. The Fourth Act is almost wholly given up to the bitter lamentations of Cleopatra. At the close there are four lines which I think are touching: “Car entre tout le mal, peine, douleur, encombre,“
Cleopatra.
A faux meurdrier! a faux traistre, arraché
Sera le poil de ta teste cruelle.
Que pleust aux Dieux que ce fust ta ceruelle!
Tié traistre, tié.
Sel.
O Dieux!
Cl.
O chose detestable!
Vn serf vn serf!
Oct.
Mais chose esmerueillable
D'vn cœur terrible.
Cl.
Et quoy, m'accuses tu?
Me pensois tu veufue de ma vertu
Comme d'Antoine? a a traistre!
Sel.
Retiens la,
Puissant Cesar, retiens la doncq.
Cl.
Voila
Tous mes bienfaits. hou! le dueil qui m'efforce,
Donne à mon cœur langoureux telle force,
Que ie pourrois, ce me semble, froisser
Du poing tes os, & tes flancs creuasser
A coups de pied.
Oct.
O quel grinsant courage!
Mais rien n'est plus furieux que la rage
D'vn cœur de femme. Et bien, quoy, Cleopatre?
Estes vous point ia saoule de le battre!
Fuy t'en, ami, fuy t'en.
Cl.
Mais quoy, mais quoy?
Mon Empereur, est-il vn tel esmoy
Au monde encor que ce paillard me donne?
Sa lácheté ton esprit mesme estonne,
Comme ie croy, quand moy Roine d'ici,
De mon vassal suis accusee ainsi,
Que toy, Cesar, as daigné visiter.
”—p. 225, verso, ed. 1583.
Souspirs, regrets, soucis, que i' ay souffert sans nombre,
I' estime le plus grief ce bien petit de temps
Que de toy, ô Antoine, esloigner ie me sens.
” The Fifth Act is divided between Proculeius and the Chorus. The former, overwhelmed with grief, describes how he broke into the Monument and found Cleopatra and Eras dead and Charmium dying, without a trace of the cause of their death. Later on, in wondering how he shall break the news to Cæsar, he asks if it be possible that she could have died by an aspic's bite or by some secret poison. The Chorus promises to the dead Cleopatra an eternity of fame in every land which the sun beholds from his rosy dawn to his darkened rest. Comparisons between national literatures are idle; therefore, after recalling the fact that Gorboduc, our earliest tragedy, was written in 1562, just ten years after Jodelle's Cleopatre, it seems to me a sufficient conclusion that the latter as a first essay in dramatic tragedy is an origin of which any literature might be more than contented.
M. Antoine, by Robert Garnier
The next Tragedy, chronologically, wherein Cleopatra appears, is that by Robert
Garnier, conseiller dv Roy lieutenant general criminel au siege presidial & senechaussee
du Maine. It is called M. Antoine, and was published in 1578. It shared the
popularity of Garnier's other plays, which during the following century were reprinted
at the remarkable rate of an edition every two years.2 M. Antoine had the honour
of being translated by the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney's sister, in 1592.
To us, Shakespeare students, this translation is of importance. Its date renders it
possible that it may have been read by Shakespeare. But if Shakespeare ever
looked into it, I think he read no further than to the end of the Argument, where he
found the statement that Garnier had drawn his material from Plutarch,—an ample
notice that, in material for his play, the English dramatist could gain nothing from
the French.
Of course, Garnier took Seneca as his model, except that he apparently thought
that if one Chorus was good two would be better,—a luxury in which, I believe,
Seneca never indulged. Garnier has a Chorus of Egyptians and another of Cæsar's
soldiers. Inasmuch as the title of the play is M. Antoine, it will hardly suffice that
Antony should be, as in Jodelle's tragedy, a Shade, which after all may be a source of
regret. The living man appears only twice during the play. The First Act, of over
two hundred and thirty lines, is one long lugubrious monologue by him, wherein
he exalts his own fame and prowess, bewails his unjust downfall, and denounces
Cleopatra's deceitful love and treachery. His second appearance is in the Third
Act wherein, with Lucilius as an occasional interlocutor, he continues, in about the
same number of lines, the same mournful strain, but with an open confession that he
cannot emancipate himself from Cleopatra's thralldom. It is in the course of this
Act that he betrays the recent reading of his Dante when he says:
With an honesty beyond praise he puts these lines in quotation marks. The same honesty, I regret to say, is not shown by the First Chorus, in thus distinguishing the following lines:“Car rien tant ne tourmente vn hōme en sa misere
Que se representer sa fortune prospere.
”
which recall the words of the Chorus: μὴ φυ_ναι τὸν ἅραντα νικα? λόγον, etc. in the Œdipus Coloneus of Sophocles, line 1225, et seq. From the very structure of the dramas formed on the Seneca model, it is vain to expect any development of character beyond that which twenty-four hours may effect. Cleopatra appears in two Scenes, and what she is in the former she is in the latter,—a woman deeply in love with Antony, freely acknowledging that she entangled him in her snares (and a little proud of it), and completely heart-broken that Antony should think she had been treacherous to him. In describing her flight at Actium she utters two lines which remind us and merely remind us, of Shakespeare; in referring to Antony's pursuit, she says that he was“Heureux qui iamais n'eut de vie
Ou que la mort dés le berceau
Luy a, pitoyable, rauie,
L'emmaillottant dans le tombeau.
”
The reason she gives for her flight and for her decision to be in these wars, was her extreme jealousy, lest Antony should return to Octavia. See III, vii, 23, supra. In the Fourth Act Antony's death (described as in Plutarch), is narrated to Cæsar by Dercetas. The Fifth Act is devoted to Cleopatra, who takes leave of her children, and although continually asserting her intention to kill herself, we have no information as to when, or where, or how she at last fulfills it. The Act begins as follows:“‘Oublieux de sa charge, & comme si son ame
Eust esté attachée à celle de sa Dame.
”
Cleopatra confides her children to Euphronius, with the prayer that he will wander with them over the face of the earth rather than suffer them to fall into Cæsar's power. She then takes leave of them, as follows:“
Cleopatra.
O cruel Fortune! O accurs'd disaster!
O noxious love! O torch abominable!
O ill-starred pleasures! O caitiff beauty!
O deadly grandeur, deadly majesty!
O hapless life! O pitiable queen!
O Antony, through my fault, to be buried!
O heavens too malign! alas! all blows
And rancour of the gods are come upon us!
Ill-omened queen! O would that I had ne'er
Beheld, alas! the wandering light of day!
I am a plague and poison to my dear ones!
I've lost the ancient sceptre of my fathers!
This kingdom I've enslaved to foreign laws,
And of their heritage deprived my children.
Yet this is nought, alas! all nought, compared
With loss of you, dear spouse [Espoux], by me ensnared,
Of you, whom I misled, and then constrained
By bloody hand, to lie in mouldring tomb.
Of you whom I destroyed, of you, my dearest lord,
From whom I took all honour, empire, life!
O harmful woman! Hé! can I live on,
Locked up within this grisly, haunted tomb?
Can I breathe on? and can, oh, can my soul
Continue, in such grief, within my body?
O Atropos, O Clotho, fatal spinners!
O Styx, O Phlegethon, infernal rivers!
O Daughters of the Night!
”
Charmion and Eras at last succeed in reviving the Queen. Thereupon all three begin to bewail Antony, and continue so doing for seventy lines, during which Charmion is fearful lest their tears should give out, and suggests that they keep on crying ‘tant qu'aurons quelque humeur.’ At the end of the seventieth line occurs the following passage which I think noteworthy. It is Cleopatra who is speaking:“Who knows but that your hands, to which false Fate
Children.
Once gave the promise of the Latin sceptre,
Shall bear, instead of it, a crooked sheep-hook,
A mattock, or a goad, or guide the plough?
Then learn to suffer, children, and forget
The glory of your birth, and bend to fate.
Adieu, my babes [enfançons] adieu, my heart's oppressed
With pity, grief; already death has pierced me!
I cannot breathe! Adieu for evermore!
Your sire or me you'll never more behold.
Adieu, sweet care, adieu!
Madame, adieu!
Cleopatra.
Hah! that voice kills me. Bons Dieux, I faint!
I can no more. I die.
Eras.
Madame, would you
Succumb to sorrow? alas, pray speak to us!
Euphronius.
Come children.
Children.
We come.
”
It is not a little remarkable, I think, that in more than one of these early versions Cleopatra refers to Antony as her husband. Here we find an open reference to their ‘holy marriage.’ No other version that I can recall has spoken thus explicitly. Cleopatra continues:“By our true loves, I pray thee, Antony,
By our two hearts, once kindled with sweet flames,
Our holy marriage [Par nostre saint Hymen] and the tender pity
For our small children, pledges of our love,
That to thine ears my mournful voice may fly
And that on Pluto's shore thou wilt escort me,
Thy wife, thy friend; hear thou, O Antony,
Where'er thou art these sobbing sighs of mine.
”
Cleopatra here anticipates the line which Virgil, in the Fourth Book of the Æneid, will put into Dido's mouth, ‘Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit imago.’ The queen continues in this strain for about twenty lines; among them are the following: “Le plus aigre tourment qu'en mon ame ie sente,“Till now, I've lived as was decreed by Fate,
I now have run my wingéd course of years;
I've flourish'd; and I've reign'd; I've taken vengeance
On that proud foe, who holds me still in scorn.
Happy, thrice-happy had it been for me
If never fleet of Rome had touch'd these shores!
And now of me a phantom great shall go
Beneath the world, to bury all my woe!
”
Est ce peu que ie suis de toy, mon cœur, absente.
” which show that she had been lately reading her Jodelle. She then concludes: “Since I no more can sprinkle him with tears,—
Ah woe, those founts in me are all drawn dry,—
What is there left, alas! but lavish kisses?
O fairest eyes, my light, then let me kiss you!
O brow, proud honour's seat! fair, warlike face!
O neck! O arms! O breast where death
Just now, black deed, has struck the murderous blow!
A thousand kisses, and yet thousands more,
Accept as my last duty to your fame.
And in such office let my nerveless frame
Breathe forth my soul and wither on thy breast.
” And this is all. With this line the Tragedy ends. Cleopatra's character is not altogether colourless, but is as far removed as possible from any Shakespearian glow. Her love is boundless, her self-reproach endless, her self-abasement abysmal, her knowledge of mythology extensive, and, had we not had some experience with Jodelle, we should consider her achievement in soliloquy phenomenal. After your spirit is once fairly broken, you can read on and on with a tepid gentle excitement that is not unpleasing. The Choruses are always lyric, with occasional passages of genuine poetry. In all the incidents of the play Plutarch is closely followed, and at all times there is a subtle consciousness that you are in the hands of a scholar.
M. Antoine, translated by Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke
The familiar fact has been already mentioned that this tragedy of Garnier was
‘done into English’ by Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke. It was published in
1592. That it is ‘done into English’ is true, but it is done into awkward English,
which well might merit a stronger adjective when we recall some of the finished
poetry of her brother, Philip. She sedulously maintains the ten syllables of an
iambic pentameter; but to do this, all customary order of words is at times violated.
In the following selection I think and I hope I have given the translation at its
best. Passages written in stichomythia are unusually difficult to translate. The original
French is throughout (except in the Choruses) in rhymed Alexandrines. With
a few exceptions, her Ladyship uses rhyme only in the stichomythic passages. Charmian
and Eras are dissuading Cleopatra from suicide:
The translation of the Countess of Pembroke is as follows:“
Char.
Que sert à son malheur [i. e. Antony's] cette amour eternelle?
Cleo.
Qu'elle serue, ou soit vaine, elle doit estre telle.
Er.
C'est mal fait de se perdre en ne profitāt point.
Cleo.
Ce n'est mal fait de suyure vn amy si conioint.
Er.
Mais telle affection n' amoindrist pas sa peine.
Cl.
Sans telle affection ie serois inhumaine.
Ch.
Inhumain est celuy qui se brasse la mort.
Cl.
Inhumain n'est celuy qui de miseres sort.
Ch.
Viuez pour vos enfans. Cl. Ie mourray pour leur pere.
Ch.
O mere rigoureuse! Cl. Espouse debonnaire!
Er.
Les voulez-vous priuer du bien de leurs ayeux?
Cl.
Les en priué-ie? non, c'est la rigueur des dieux.
”
“
Char.
What helps his wrack this euer-lasting loue?
Cl.
Help, or help not, such must, such ought I proue.
Char.
Ill done to loose your selfe, and to no ende.
Cl.
How ill thinke you to follow such a frende?
Char.
But this your loue nought mitigates his paine.
Cl.
Without this loue I should be inhumaine.
Char.
Inhumaine he, who his owne death pursues.
Cl.
Not inhumaine who miseries eschues.
Ch.
Liue for your sonnes. Cl. Nay, for their father die.
Cha.
Hard hearted mother! Cl. Wife kind-hearted I.
Ch.
Then will you them depriue of royall right?
Cl.
Do I depriue them? no, it's dest'nies might.
”
Cleopatra by Giraldi Cinthio
Giraldi Cinthio, in 1583, follows Garnier, chronologically. His Cleopatra,
published in that year, I have not succeeded in obtaining. Klein (Italienische
Dramen, V, 352), gives a short account of it, ‘“It is conceivable,”’ he says, ‘“nay, possible, perhaps even not improbable, that Shakespeare was acquainted with it.”’
But the instances that Klein cites in confirmation are among those which Shakespeare
derived from Plutarch, and are therefore necessarily common to both dramas.
Moeller (p. 12) gives a fuller account of Cinthio's Tragedy, and proves Klein's
account to be erroneous in several particulars. But whether we accept Moeller's
abstract or Klein's, the latter's general conclusion bears truth on the face of it:
‘“Shakespeare's Anthony and Cleopatra in comparison with Cinthio's Cleopatra is like
the barge of purple and gold on the river Cydnus, and a little paper boat which a
boy sails in a gutter.”’
The Tragedie of Cleopatra, by Samuel Daniel
In 1594 the excellent poet, Samuel Daniel, put forth a third edition of his
Sonnets, addressed to the imaginary, or at least unknown, fair ‘Delia,’ and in the
same volume appeared, for the first time, The Tragedie of Cleopatra. Daniel's
poems were deservedly popular, and this Tragedy appeared in the successive editions
of them, in 1599, 1601, 1605, 1607, and 1609; in 1611 the Tragedy was issued in a
separate impression.
3
So many successive editions imply a wide circle of readers,
and the supposition is not violent that in this circle Shakespeare was included. Were
it so, he would have found one of the very few dramas in the English language,
modeled throughout on the drama of Seneca, which, even in its severest form, still
has a power to charm.
As far as any dramatic aid is concerned, Shakespeare could have found none whatever
in Daniel's Tragedy. There is no action in it. The whole of the First Act is
a soliloquy by Cleopatra. The Second is a dialogue between Cæsar and Proculeius.
The Third is another between Philostratus and Arius, and so on. Not even does
Cleopatra's death take place on the stage; it is described by a trusted servant, the
same who had brought her the basket of figs wherein the aspics were concealed.
Whatever influence Daniel had on Shakespeare must be detected not in any action,
but in similarity of thought or expression; of this, with two or three possible exceptions,
I can find no traces that are indubitable, or even worthy of serious consideration.
Naturally there are passages from Plutarch, even following the very words,
which are common to both poets, but therein it is Plutarch, not Daniel, whom Shakespeare
has followed. One of the exceptions to which I have alluded is where the
messenger, ‘Nuntius,’ describes his interview with his mistress when he brought her
the basket of figs:
Thus Shakespeare's Cleopatra says,“Well, in I went, where brighter than the Sunne,
Glittering in all her pompeous rich aray,
Great Cleopatra sate, as if sh' had wonne
Cæsar, and all the world beside, this day:
Euen as she was when on thy cristall streames,
Cleare Cydnos, she did shew what earth could shew; . . .
Euen as she went at first to meete her loue,
So goes she now againe to finde him.
But that first, did her greatnes onely proue,
This last her loue, that could not liue behind him.
”
Again Daniel's Cleopatra speaks of herself as Anthony's wife. She is addressing the spirit of the dead Anthony to intercede for her with the gods, and thus adjures him,“Shew me, my women, like a queen; go fetch
My best attires. I am again for Cydnus
To meet Mark Anthony.
”
Again there is a faint fleeting similarity in the two following passages. Thus Daniel's Cleopatra:“O worke they may their gracious helpe impart,
To saue thy wofull wife from such disgrace.
”
Thus Shakespeare's:“now am I taught
In death to loue, in life that knew not how.
”
Daniel's Cleopatra calls Anthony “My Atlas.” —p. 32; Shakespeare's calls him “The demi-Atlas of this earth.” —I, v, 28. There is a certain passage in Shakespeare's play which has given rise to some discussion on the score of its meaning. It is where Anthony moralises on the death of Fulvia and says:“My desolation does begin to make
A better life.
”—V, ii, 2.
. Can it be that this is a condensation of the following lines in Daniel which were hovering in Shakespeare's memory?“The present pleasure, By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself.
”
And I think these are all. That Shakespeare had read Daniel's Cleopatra is of course possible; that it is even probable, is not impossible; but that he was indebted to it, or was influenced by it, in the faintest degree, in the delineation of any of his characters, is, I think, chimerical. Daniel published in 1599, among his Poems, A Letter from Octauia to Marcus Antonius, which is, to me, unattractive and lacking in earnestness, and with no trace whatsoever of any influence on Shakespeare.“Thus doth the euer-changing course of things
Runne a perpetuall circle, euer turning:
And that same day that hiest glory brings,
Brings vs vnto the point of backe-returning.
”
The False One, by Beaumont and Fletcher
I have deemed it beyond the scope of a study of the present play to set forth any
dramatisation of Cleopatra's story, wherein the scene is laid before the period when
Antony fell in love with her. Accordingly, no notice is here taken of the Mort de
Pompée, 1638, by Chaulmer;
4
nor of Corneille's Pompée (written in 1643
5
) nor
of its translation by the ‘Matchless Orinda,’ in 1678; nor of Colley Cibber's Cæsar
in Egypt, 1725, a composite of Corneille's Pompée and Beaumont and Fletcher's The
False One; nor, in our own day, of Cæsar and Cleopatra by Mr Bernard Shaw.
An exception is to be made, however, in favour of The False One. Scarcely has
there appeared in recent years an annotated edition of Shakespeare that does not
contain a reference to it in connection with Anthony and Cleopatra. It was written
about 1620; it seems to be pretty generally conceded that Massinger wrote the
First and Fifth Acts and Fletcher the rest. Why it should take its title from a
thoroughly repulsive character, a man utterly false and devoid of any moral principle,
who killed his benefactor, Pompey, and is not the hero of the piece, it is not
easy to imagine. The play deals with Julius Cæsar and his subjection to the
charms of Cleopatra. The story, briefly told and omitting all reference to ‘the
false one,’ is that Cæsar, in pursuit of Pompey after the battle of Pharsalia,
reaches Egypt, and there finds that Ptolemy, to make himself more secure as monarch
on the throne, has ‘committed to safe custody’ his sister, Cleopatra, who
by law was his equal in the government. When Cleopatra learns that Cæsar is at
hand, she resolves to win him to espouse her cause against her brother. How she
was by stealth conveyed to his tent, concealed in a mattress, is a well-worn story,
together with the consequent subjection of Cæsar to her fascinations. In order to
impress Cæsar with a knowledge of Egypt's boundless resources, Ptolemy foolishly
attempts to dazzle his Roman guest by a display of wealth. This occurs in Act III,
Scene iv, as follows: Cæsar, Antony, and others enter on the upper stage, Cleopatra
appears, and Antony cries, ‘The young queen comes: give room!’ Cæsar responds,
‘Welcome, my dearest; Come, bless my side.’ Then Ptolemy and his courtiers
enter, also on the upper stage.
“Ptolemy.Hail to great Cæsar!
My royal guest, first I will feast thine eyes
With wealthy Egypt's store, and then thy palate,
And wait myself upon thee. [Attendants bring in treasure below.
Cæsar.
What rich service!
What mines of treasure! richer still!
Cleopatra.
My Cæsar,
What do you admire? pray you, turn, and let me talk to you:
Have you forgot me, sir? how, a new object!
Am I grown old o' the sudden? Cæsar!
Cæsar.
Tell me
From whence comes all this wealth?
Cleopatra.
Is your eye that way,
And all my beauties banish'd?
Ptolemy.
I'll tell thee, Cæsar;
We owe for all this wealth to the old Nilus. . . .
Cæsar.
The matchless wealth of this land!
Cleopatra.
Come, you shall hear me.
Cæsar.
Away! let me imagine.
Cleopatra.
How! frown on me!
The eyes of Cæsar wrapt in storms!
Cæsar.
I am sorry:
But, let me think. . . .
Cleopatra [Aside.]
A little dross betray me! . . .
Cæsar.
The wonder of this wealth so troubles me,
I am not well. Good night. . . .
Cleopatra [Aside.]
Well,
I shall yet find a time to tell thee, Cæsar,
Thou hast wrong'd her love.
” This fragment is given that it may fitly introduce the following Scene which is, I think, the finest in the play:
From now till the end of the play Cæsar's thoughts and acts are devoted to extricating himself from the dangers of an insurrection of the Alexandrians, who have besieged the Palace and threatened death to all its inmates. Cæsar and a few of his friends succeed in cutting their way to his ships. Ptolemy attempts to follow, fails, and is cut down and trampled to death. Cæsar returns with his legions, puts down the insurrection, and, in the last Scene, enters the presence of Cleopatra with the heads of her two greatest enemies. His last words recur to the close of the Scene, given above. ‘And now, my dearest,’ he says as he turns to Cleopatra, “Look upon Cæsar, as he still appear'd [qu. appears?]
A conqueror; and, this unfortunate king
Entomb'd with honour, we'll to Rome, where Cæsar
Will show he can give kingdoms; for the Senate,
Thy brother dead, shall willingly decree
The crown of Egypt, that was his, to thee. [Exeunt.’
” It remains only to add that here and there, throughout the play, we hear Shakespearian echoes, such as where Cleopatra says, ‘and for thy news Receive a favour ‘kings have kneeled in vain for, And kiss my hand.’—I, ii; again Scæva thus describes Cleopatra, ‘She will be sick, well, sullen Merry, coy, over-joy'd, and seem ‘to die, All in one half-an-hour.’ Again, in the foregoing extract, where Cleopatra says, ‘Had I been old, Or blasted in my bud,’ there is an echo of Constance's lament for Arthur in King John.
The Tragedie of Cleopatra Queen of Egypt, by Thomas May
Of all the Versions with which I am acquainted, The tragedie of Cleopatra Queen
of Egypt, Written by Thomas May, Esq., London, 1654,
6
is the weakest and least
imaginative. I know of no source wherefrom gratitude for it can spring, except from
Citoyen Morgues, who is saved by it from being at the very bottom of the list. In
the First Act we learn of the dissatisfaction among Antony's generals in Alexandria,
caused by the lavish way in which Antony bestows provinces on Cleopatra.
There is also a feast given by Cleopatra, who entreats her guests to be ‘freely merry,’
which must have been ‘a sweating labour,’ if the following ‘Song,’ introduced without
prelude in the midst of the feast, indicates the height of revelry:
“
Not hee, that knows how to acquireBut to enjoy, is blest.
Nor does our happinesse consist
In motion, but in rest.
‘The Gods passe man in blisse, because
They toile not for more height;
But can enjoy, and in their own
Eternall rest delight.
‘Then, Princes, do not toile, nor care;
Enjoy what you possesse.
Which whilest you do, you equalize
The Gods in happinesse.
” Antony thus describes Cleopatra's appearance on the Cydnus: “And down the silver stream of Cydnus, thou
In Venus shape cam'st sayling, while the aire
Was ravish'd with thy Musick, and the windes
In amorous gales did kisse thy silken sayls.
Thy maids in Graces habits did attend,
And boys, like Cupids, painted quivers bore,
While thousand Cupids in those starry eyes
Stood ready drawn to wound the stoutest hearts.
” In the Second Act Antony and his generals decide upon a war with Cæsar, and, after a prolonged discussion, it is also decided that Cleopatra shall personally share the fight. The Third Act is in Cæsar's camp. Antony's defeat at Actium is described, and his seclusion in the island of Pharos is reported. Cæsar receives a letter of submission from Cleopatra, laying her crown and kingdom at his feet. He decides to send Thyreus to woo her in his name. ‘Tell her’ he instructs Thyreus, ‘that I love ‘her, and extremely dote On her admired beauty, and win her to betray Antonius to ‘my hand.’ The scene shifts to the island of Pharos, and Antony appears ‘disguised ‘like Timon,’ and in this character holds a long and weak conversation with one of his friends. A message from Cleopatra is delivered to him, begging him to return to Alexandria and to her. Another friend announces to him that all the remnant of his army is gone over to Cæsar. Whereupon there ensues the following conversation, and the Act ends: “Antony.
Ha!
Lucilius.
This sinks into him.
Canidius.
It makes a deep impression in his passion.
Aristocrates.
And may perchance expell his other fit.
Antony.
All you here yet! then I have friends I see.
But tell me, can you be so mercifull.
As to forgive that most unmanly fit
That I have been in? oh, I am all in blushes.
Canidius.
My Lord, take better comfort.
Antony.
Dearest friends,
I will be proof 'gainst any fortune now.
Come let's together to the Court, and there
Drown sadness in rich cups of Meroë wine,
And laugh at Fortune's malice, for your sight
More cheers my spirits, than her frowns can dull them.
” The Fourth Act opens with Cleopatra's experiment as to the efficacy of an aspic's bite. A prisoner already condemned to death is subjected to the trial and dies instantly and painlessly. Whereupon the queen exclaims: ‘I am resolv'd; nought but the Libyan aspe Shall be renown'd for Cleopatraes death.’ Thyreus enters and in Cæsar's name makes ardent love to Cleopatra and finally presents to her ‘His true, and most unflatter'd portraiture.’ Cleopatra waxes ecstatic over the portrait. ‘The fairest form,’ she cries, ‘that ere these eyes beheld. “Where all the best of each best modell meets,
Cupid's sweet smiles, lodg'd in the eye of Mars,
Ganymed's cheek, th' Imperiall brow of Jove
Where love and majesty are proud to dwell.
” She tells Thyreus that she will give him an answer shortly, and requests him in the meantime to remain near her. He departs and Antony enters, who exclaims, ‘Ah sweetest Cleopatra, In this Ambrosiake kisse I am again possest of all my ‘wealth.’ Cleopatra responds to his warmth and says, ‘Let's in and feast,’ and they depart to that end. The feast is supposed to have taken place; the Queen resumes her interview with Thyreus, and promises to surrender Pelusium to him. As for Antony, he ‘is already,’ she says, ‘fallen So low, that nothing can redeem him now’ . . . ‘he has lost the strength of his own soul, and is not That Antony he was when ‘first I knew him.’ Antony himself interrupts the conference, and in a mild explosion of jealousy orders Thyreus to prison. Cleopatra intercedes, amid protestations of unalterable love, and at last threatens to resort to ‘the lovely aspe’ which she has kept to save her from Cæsar, but will now apply against a ‘worst fo,’—Antonius's baseness. Antony relents, apologises, and orders Thyreus to be released. In the Fifth Act Cæsar and Cleopatra have an interview; the latter throws upon Fate the guilt of her past actions, and Cæsar bids her still live in all her regal state, and whispers directions to Epaphroditus in reference to it. Whereat Cleopatra, aside: “Yes, whisper on; you cannot over-reach
My jealousies: no signes of love at all,
No smile, nor amorous glance; I was deceiv'd,
And meerly coosen'd by base Thyreus.
” As a result of the interview, Cæsar, extremely forehanded, provides two ‘Psyls,’ as May calls them, to ‘suck the mortall venome’ from Cleopatra in case she should die by an asp. Cleopatra writes to Cæsar informing him that by the time he receives the note she will be no more, and then speaks, as follows: “So now my trouble is remov'd, I come,
I come my dearest Lord Antonius,
Never till now thy true and faithfull love.
My much abused Lord, do not disdain
Or blush t'acknowledge Cleopatra's name
When tears and bloud have wash'd her spotted soul.
Wert thou alive again, not all the world
Should shake my constancie, or make divorce
Twixt thee and mee; but since too late, alas,
My tears of sorrow come, I'll follow thee,
And beg thy pardon in the other world. . . .
Though false to thee alive, I now am come
A faithfull lover of thy dust and tombe.
” When we next see her, she is crowned and ‘takes her state’; Antony's hearse is brought in. “This,’ she says, ‘is my second Coronation day;
But nobler then the first, and fuller farre
Of reall honour, and magnificence.
Nor till this pompous houre was Cleopatra
A perfect Queen.
” When Charmion reminds her that Antony is dead, Cleopatra denies it, and says that he still lives in the other world and is awaiting her, and from that seat of state she will look down on Rome and Cæsar's threats. Then addressing Antony's hearse, her last words are, “Farewell thou fading remnant of my Love.
When I am gone, I'll leave these earthly parts
To keep thee company: never to part,
But dwell together, and dissolve together.
Come Aspe, possesse thy mansion; freely feed
On these two hills, upon whose snowy tops
The winged Cupid oft has taken stand,
And shot from thence the proudest hearts on earth.
Corruption now, and rottennesse must seize
This once admired fabrick, and dissolve
This flesh to common elements again.
When skilfull nature, were she strictly bound
To search through all her store-house would be pos'd
To tell which piece was Cleopatra once.
Sweet Aspe, I feel thy touch, and life begins
From these cold limbs to take her gentle flight.
A slumber seizes me; farewell my girles.
Thus let the Romans find me dead, and know
Maugre the power of Rome, and Cæsar's spleen
That Cleopatra liv'd, and di'd a Queen.
” ‘She's dead, and Eira too,’ says Charmion, who thereupon stabs herself. Cæsar enters. The ‘skilfull Psyls’ exert their art in vain.
Cleopatra, by Giovanni Delfino
Giovanni Delfino was born in Venice in 1617, was made a Cardinal in 1667,
and died in 1699. In his youth he wrote beside philosophical essays, several tragedies
which were collected by his nephew and sumptuously printed in Padua in
1733. Among these tragedies the most celebrated was, and is, Cleopatra, written
in 1660. In its first Scene the Shade of Antony, in Avernus, implores the aid of
Megaera, one of the Eumenides. He asserts that his love for Cleopatra is still as
deep as ever and his only dread is that Augustus Cæsar will woo and win her; this,
he begs Megaera to prevent, and the Fury promises that she will thwart all the joys
of Augustus in that direction. In the next Scene Augustus (somewhat prematurely
so called), in an interview with Cleopatra, endeavours to calm the queen's mind by
expatiating on the instability of human affairs, and bids her not despair,
“The heavens do not always keep one face;The stars wherefrom proceed all joy and woe,
Are wheels and are for ever turning.
Cleopatra.
Fortune, in sooth, has fought with me and won,
The stars indeed have had their fullest triumph.
One comfort now alone remains to me,—
O'er which nor fate nor stars have any power,—
A heart it is, that welcomes speedy death,
And, conquering fortune, triumphs over fate.
” Augustus, who is as faultless in gentleness and devotion to Cleopatra as the most enamoured of lovers, tries in every way to dissuade her from her fell purpose, even promising that she shall not be led in triumph at Rome, and at last so far prevails that she promises that she will not carry out her design without listening once more to his counsels,—but she exacts the condition that he will not prevent her from taking her own life when she has finally resolved to do so. Cleopatra afterwards confides to her maid, Ergonda, that she mistrusts Augustus and believes that all his promises are merely wiles to entrap her. Ergonda, who supplies the place of Charmian and Iras in other versions, and is at times tediously didactic and philosophical, maintains that Augustus is genuinely in love with her mistress, and tries to dispel Cleopatra's devotion to the memory of Antony by saying that earthly affairs no longer interest the dead, and quotes her father, a most learned man, as saying that our souls when freed from the body become a part of that great soul whose eternal source is the wandering sun, and that when emancipated from the body, our souls have no human thoughts, but are interested solely in the other world. She exhorts Cleopatra, therefore, to sustain life and throne at all hazards. Cleopatra is unmoved and replies sadly, “For life and throne I have no further care;
From every human wish my heart is free.
I have lived and I have reigned.
” With the exception of a short Scene, in which an astrologer, Sesastre by name, is puzzled in reading Cleopatra's stars which foretell a marriage and a death within an hour, the rest of the Act is taken up by Agrippa with the description of a storm at sea, and by Augustus with a full account of Antony's death and of the seizure, as prisoner, of Cleopatra, wherein throughout Delfino follows Plutarch. The Chorus which closes each Act here denounces navigation, which offers facilities for rich and powerful nations to approach and conquer other countries as the Romans have conquered Egypt. We next learn from Ergonda that Cleopatra, overborne by the representations of the astrologer and the arguments of Ergonda herself, has consented to look with favour on Augustus's love if it be offered voluntarily, and has instructed Ergonda to sound the Emperor on the subject. But the maid is timid and decides that it is better to entrust the delicate matter to an erudite priest, Acoreo. In the next Scene Augustus describes to Agrippa how his pity for Cleopatra has developed into love; to console her in her bitter lot he visited her more than once and became dazzled by her beauty; the sovereignty which had fallen from her hand she still bore on her brow; when she spoke every word was a fetter and every glance of her eye a snare. Thus he became the prisoner of his prisoner. Agrippa sympathises with his royal master and advises him secretly to marry the queen, who would then be willing to go to Rome, under the temporary guise of a prisoner; she would be not the conquered, but, in reality, the conqueror. This, however, is too great a gift to be proffered. Cleopatra must be induced to ask for it. This delicate service Agrippa undertakes, but in the course of prolonged self-communings he decides that he had better entrust the extremely delicate affair to the more skilful hands of the learned priest, Acoreo. In the meantime Ergonda had sought out this same Acoreo and begged him to elicit with all possible caution the nature of the sentiments of Cæsar toward Cleopatra. This Acoreo consents to do to the extent of his ability. An interview between Agrippa and Acoreo follows wherein after a vast deal of circumlocution, the project of a marriage between Augustus and Cleopatra is broached and Acoreo is made a plenipotentiary in the premises. The Chorus sings its little song over the power of Fortune and the Second Act closes. In the next Act we listen to the ecstatic rhapsodies of Augustus over the loveliness of Cleopatra; we hear of a fearful dream of his, wherein he sees Death break Cupid's bow, while exclaiming ‘Cleopatra is mine.’ Acoreo tries, in vain, to persuade the queen that Cæsar's love for her is true; she refuses to believe it and sends word that she is determined to die that very day. In his profound despair at hearing this, Augustus empowers Agrippa to offer immediate marriage to the queen, but that it must be kept secret until their arrival in Rome. In the next Act Cleopatra's scruples yield to the persuasion of Acoreo, and when Agrippa enters and delivers the message from Augustus he finds her acquiescent. As her last words to him, she declares,
When alone, Cleopatra indulges in delicious day-dreams of her power in Rome, and of her exultation at the sight of proud Roman matrons kissing the ground before her. Her thoughts, however, revert to Antony, and she exclaims, “Believe me, ah believe, thou Shade adored!“When in Augustus I behold such power
United with such goodness, I am forced
To question if there be not hither come
Some god to dwell with us awhile on earth.
Already with his host he's conquered Egypt,
But by this noble offer he has made
He has conquered even Cleopatra.
I can deny him nothing more. For me
His slightest wish shall be my highest law.
”
Could tears recall thee to the vital air
Into twin founts my eyes at once should turn.
” Then she reflects that if tears and grief could recall the dead to life, death would not be death; she must submit to nature, and time must bring her consolation, but “O Shade revered and loved, here now I swear
Thine image never shall depart this heart!
Whate'er my lot, or 'neath whatever clime
Thy memory shall be noblest and most dear!
” Augustus also has his hour of exultation and exaltation, and needs over a hundred lines wherein to express his enraptured emotions. Agrippa enters, and, recognising the embarrassment that would arise should it become known in Rome that Augustus was about to marry Rome's bitter foe before Augustus himself could reach that city and control the situation, advises his royal master to dispatch a letter to the Senate warning the Senators to disbelieve any such report, and that in a few days he would bring Cleopatra as a captive in chains to Rome, etc. Augustus approves of the plan. The letter is written, but in quelling a disturbance at the harbour, Agrippa loses it. It was found and brought to Cleopatra, who opened it and there read, as she naturally believed, an incontrovertible proof of Augustus's treachery. Her grief, horror, and misery are extreme, but her duty is now clear before her,—she must at once rejoin Antony and prepare for the fatal voyage in Charon's boat. She writes a note: ‘From Cleopatra already enrolled in the Book of the Dead, to the inhuman Augustus. If thy wrath at my death be over, be silent concerning the base secret [that she had been faithless for a while to Antony's memory] which I carry to the tomb and to the Tartarean strand,’ etc. This note she entrusts to Ergonda, who delivers it to Augustus with bitter reproaches. Augustus is plunged into the deepest despair, and to his lamentations Ergonda responds, ‘Thus,’ she says, ‘a coccodrill [sic] weeps when he has killed a man.’ She tells how Cleopatra, with Augustus's letter to the Senate in her hand, had gone into her garden, and, seeking some means whereby to end life quickly, her eyes lit on a vase of flowers wherein she caught sight of two aspics, which, in spite of Ergonda's struggles with her, she had succeeded in applying to her breast; the deadly poison conquered the fortress of her heart, and she fell to the ground like a lovely purple flower cut down by the ploughshare. Augustus lifts up his voice in bitter, heart-rending lamentations. The Chorus announces, however, that Cleopatra is not yet dead, that Acoreo had found her, explained everything, and that now she wishes to see Augustus before the last sigh escapes from her dying breast. Augustus hastens to her side. She tells him that her feet already stand on board the fatal skiff. Awful as is the approach of death, more awful still is the thought of her great unfaithfulness to Antony's memory. ‘It is not right,’ she says to Augustus, “That it should grieve you thus,
Because the Fates have taken from my heart
The noble gift which you so lately made.
She is not worthy of your priceless love,
Who, tempted by desire or empty pride,
Could prove a traitress to that noble Shade!
Bestow no grief, I pray, where none is due.
A faithless heart deserves not Cæsar's tears.
Ah woe! ah woe! I feel the fatal shears
Which slit the thin-spun thread of waning life.
Adoréd Shade, if thou still hover near,
Do not disdain to list the earnest prayer
Of penitence sincere, and tend on me,
While forth I fare toward that nighted shore;
And on that horrid path, shield thou thy Cleopatra. . . .
My life, Augustus, lingers only now
Upon the cool edge of my dying lips,
A sigh, and it is gone for ever.
Lo, Destiny, thou hast conquered!
Farewell, my country,—friends, farewell! [Dies.’
”
Cleopatraby Daniel Casper von Lohenstein
Germany was the last among European nations to awaken to the charm of dramatic
tragedy. There are rival claimants to the honour of being the first to set forth
this charm, but it is, I believe, now generally conceded that this honour belongs to
Daniel Casper von Lohenstein, who, in 1660, produced Cleopatra, ‘the first
‘technically correct German tragedy.’
7
Few dramatists have experienced more
deeply than Casper the alternations of popularity and neglect; extolled in his own
day, and for long years afterward, as the greatest of dramatic poets, surpassing
Greeks, Romans, and French (I believe the comparison never extended to Shakespeare),
his fame dwindled, until in recent times ‘Lohensteinian bombast’ became
a term of reproach. The estimation in which he is held at the present day seems to
be more moderate and more just,—whatever excellences he shows are his own, and
his defects, which are many, are the limitations of a pioneer in a new field. His
tragedy of Cleopatra extends to four thousand two hundred and thirty-five lines
(the lines are numbered,—I should never have had the patience to count them) of
rhymed Alexandrines. Genée suggests (p. 49) that Casper did not consider the
Drama in connection with the stage, but as a department of literature. This suggestion
is, I think, to be charitably accepted.
The drama begins after the battle of Actium. Antony has repulsed an attack of
Roman cavalry, but is deserted by his soldiers, contemplates suicide, thinks better
of it, calls a council of war, in course of which he explains that the defeat at Actium
was due to Fate, who attacked him ‘tooth and nail,’ and discharged from heaven on
him lightning, hail, rain, thunderbolts, turning sails inside out, entangling the ropes,
unshipping masts and rudders. Wherefore, no one could blame Cleopatra for leading
the way to safety out of this sulphurous hell (line 105)—an apology for Cleopatra's
flight which is, I think, unusual. The result of the council is that no agreement
is to be made with Cæsar, and that Antony must not expose himself in battle
(line 434). In the next Scene Cleopatra tearfully narrates to Antony the fearful
omens which had attended her devotions in the temple, Apis had with his breath
extinguished the incense, which betokened that Egypt should be reduced to ashes;
the nine and twenty signs wherein this sacred animal resembles the moon, all disappeared,
where his colour was usually white it turned black, and where black it was
like snow, etc. Antony comforts her by interpreting all these signs as favourable.
Proculeius, the ambassador of Cæsar, is announced, and Antony gives him audience.
Proculeius declares that his mission is in the interest of peace; consequently he and
Antony begin mutual recriminations which continue, in stichomythia, in almost
unbroken sequence for one hundred and four lines; but at last Proculeius unfolds the
agreement, namely, that Antony shall leave Egypt, break away from Cleopatra, live
with Octavia, and set free Artabazes. Antony promises that he will set free Artabazes
and will give an answer to the other demands before the day is over. In
the Second Act Thyreus tells Cleopatra that Cæsar is very much in love with her,
that ‘the flames of love have melted into one his soul and hers.’ But Cleopatra is
cautious and suspects that Thyreus is dissembling, because, as she says, the cause of
Rome's enmity to Antony is that it imagines that he drew gall and poison from her
breast; it had washed the blood from the hands of the murderers of the great Julius,
on the pretext that he had been defiled by her bed, as though it had been a nest of
vipers, and, furthermore, Augustus was no boy that he should love her now, when
all her beauty was gone. When Thyreus replies that Augustus is sincere in his love,
Cleopatra asks why then, when Antony offered to kill himself, if thereby the possession
of Egypt could be secured to her, he did not accept Antony's offer? Kerckhoffs
is aware that Casper found this offer of Antony in Dion Cassius and yet he says that
nothing more dramatic can be imagined than this unconscious admission by Cleopatra
of Antony's magnanimity of soul. Thyreus persists and begs the Queen to permit
Augustus to ‘taste the spice of love on her sugar lips, where kisses will draw out
‘each other's soul.’ He confirms his commission by producing Cæsar's bond and seal.
Cleopatra accepts all ecstatically, sends a ring to Cæsar as a pledge that she surrenders
herself wholly to him, and that
“Before Osiris grants another dawn and light,Antonius to the world shall bid a long good night.
” In order to fulfill this promise, Cleopatra, in the next Scene, induces her son, Cæsarion, and her privy counselor, Archibius, to join her in vengeance on Antony, who, she falsely tells them, has approved of a plan, broached in the foregoing conference with Proculeius, for destroying her by poison smeared over her body. Archibius decides that Antony must die, and Cæsarion silently acquiesces. They are interrupted by the announcement that Antony seeks an interview with Cleopatra, who, after the departure of Archibius and Cæsarion, order the three children to be brought in. Antony enters much dejected, but declares that a kiss will prove a refreshing western wind to his languishing heart. Cleopatra immediately begins, however, with bitter reproaches for not having been admitted to the conference with Proculeius, which she chooses to interpret as a proof that Antony intends to desert her. She bids the children embrace the knees of their father and beg for mercy for her and for themselves. They obey, and with such effect that Antony's heart is deeply moved, and he swears by Osiris and by Jupiter that, until Clotho shall sever his thread of life, he will love and honour Cleopatra, and will instantly send back Proculeius, unanswered, to Cæsar, and thereby break off all negotiations. Hereby Cleopatra's treachery gains much, but to make the breach between Antony and Cæsar complete, she begs Antony to send to Cæsar the head of Artabazes. To this Antony consents, and gives orders for the immediate execution of the man whose life was one of Cæsar's special stipulations. This Scene is, I think, the best in the play. The phraseology is less stilted and the style less turgid, and there are one or two touches of nature, as where one of the children says ‘just let him have a helmet ‘and armour and he'll show them how to fight’; and another says that ‘he would like to go at Cæsar with steel and dagger.’ When Cleopatra is left alone she exults in the success of her plans thus far, but must proceed with caution; she has a secret treaty with Cæsar, whereof the condition is Antony's death; she rehearses the different modes of killing him and finally she adopts the plan (herein Casper follows Dion Cassius), of sending word of her death to Antony, so that he may commit suicide, as she is sure he will. In the Third Act Cleopatra takes Charmium into her confidence and instructs her that as soon as she sees her mistress's body lying asleep as though dead, she must instantly run to Antony and make him believe that the apparent death is real. In the next Scene Cleopatra summons to her side all her attendants and makes due preparations for her fictitious death. Before beginning she bids them all, her ‘dearest sisters’ as she calls them, learn from her example that high station is a toil and a burden; ‘no thistle pricks as severely as silk and purple; a sceptre breaks easier than glass; hardly had I seen the light of day before misery hung about my neck; I had more wormwood than mother's milk. Before my tongue could lisp I suffered by my parent's death, and my brother's hate.’ She begs her attendants not to dissuade her, but rather to help her onward in that garden path where she can engraft her life on posterity. ‘Bind diamonds in my ringlets, and crown my heavenly head with roses and narcissus; let pearls kiss my bare neck; place emeralds on my arms and purple on my shoulders, so that I cannot fail to please the bridegroom.’ ‘Whom will Cleopatra wed?’ asks Belisama. ‘Death,’ is the reply, ‘whom I welcome more joyfully than when I entrusted myself to Cæsar or to Antony.’ Her directions, strictly, I suppose, in accordance with Egyptian rites, are as minute as they are tedious, but they are at last complete and Cleopatra takes the cup, exclaiming as she does so, ‘O nectar of our life! Cordial of our soul! O sugar-sweet poison! Happy he, who through thee evades all misery! Who, under this image of death, masks his highest weal! Charmium. She grows pale! Iras. Serene Highness! Charm. She is speechless! Sida. She has the death rattle! Charm. She is dying! Babia. Tear off her clothes! Belisama. Alas her pulse is stopped!’ etc. They decide to send word, by Eteocles, at once to Antony, who in the meantime is passing through an uncomfortable ordeal. After he had fallen asleep the ghosts of Antigonus, Artabazes, and Jamblichus, three kings whom he had caused to be executed, appear and curse him. He awakes in affright and in a frame of mind sufficiently terror-stricken to receive the added horror of Cleopatra's death, which Eteocles announces. Antony bewails his unhappy lot, and, after describing in glowing language Cleopatra's charms, commands Eros to kill him. Here Casper follows Plutarch's account of Eros's noble self-sacrifice and Antony's unsuccessful attempt to kill himself. Diomedes enters and tells Antony that Cleopatra's life has been saved by the administration of antidotes. Antony begs to be taken to her. On his arrival Cleopatra breaks forth in lamentations over him, over her lot, and in railings against Fate. Antony expresses his joy in having her lap as his death-bed, bids her bury him like a Ptolemy, cease her lamentations, which will disturb his rest in the grave, and force him to wander as a doleful ghost at midnight, about the palace, to see how she and the children are faring. He dies finally and Cleopatra falls fainting on his body. The Fourth Act is mainly taken up with discussions by Cæsar and his friends over the government of Alexandria and the disposal of Cleopatra. Toward the close Cæsar and the Queen have an interview, wherein Casper follows Dion Cassius as far as concerns the display by Cleopatra of Julius Cæsar's images and his letters to her, but, unlike Dion Cassius, Augustus excels the queen in hypocrisy and affects to be desperately enamoured of her, calls her ‘fairest queen’ and promises to give her not only her kingdom, her sceptre, her freedom, but even more. In return, Cleopatra offers her heart to him and will swear to be true and faithful, and will resign the key to her treasure; she declares that her heart is without guile and her body without a blemish. Whereat Augustus asks what stone would not then become wax, what ice not become sulphur, and adds that it is the powerful magnet of Cleopatra's beauty that draws him. This emboldens Cleopatra; and she advises him to ‘enjoy the pleasure of his youthful prime; time flies like an arrow; desire is but a shadow. A heart that will not yield to love is a star shrouded in clouds, a jewel under water; of what use is the coral that is ungathered in the sea? On the other hand, what delight it must be, to one who is a great lord and has harvested both victory and the fruits of love, to rest his half-exhausted frame on some tender breast, and to be quickened by the sweet dew of the kisses of his beloved one.’ Augustus responds: ‘Thou Venus of our time, thou sun of the world, whom my enamoured soul accepts as an idol, Augustus surrenders to thee, he exchanges his laurel wreath for thy myrtle chaplet. As far as earth's remotest bound thou shalt be adored. But,’ he continues, ‘the errors of others should teach us caution. Julius Cæsar gained hatred, and Antony enemies and war, because they showed in Rome the wounds received from Cleopatra's love before they showed the Romans Cleopatra herself, whose beauty would have converted hate into idolatry.’ Hence it follows with the certainty of a Q. E. D. that Cleopatra must go to Rome, and then the way will be smooth for her to marry the Emperor of the World. But Cleopatra sees the snare, and evades a downright refusal to go to Rome by begging from Augustus the privilege, before she leaves for that city, of burying Antony according to Egyptian rites. Cæsar accedes, and the Act closes. The Fifth Act opens with Cleopatra's busy preparations for embalming Antony. ‘Come, dearest sisters,’ she says to her attendants, ‘come, bring to him a true offering of fidelity and the last pledge of love. Defile your bodies, uncover and beat your breasts. For seven days ‘do not wash yourselves. Wreathe the sarcophagus with ivy. Put on sackcloth instead of silk. Drink no wine, only water, so that you can weep abundantly. Wet your bread and scanty food with tears. Take this crooked iron, Iras, and drag out Antony's brains through his nose, and pour in balsam.’ Iras observes that Eteocles has already opened the body, and gives in detail the disposition of the organs; it is hardly worth while to follow the steps of the process, which are probably as accurate as they are certainly repulsive; they are not to be found in the edition of 1661, but are a cheerful addition to that of 1680. Cleopatra's attendants try to comfort her by dwelling on Cæsar's love, but she hands to them a paper that she had found among Antony's effects, in Cæsar's handwriting, wherein Antony is instigated to murder her; and also shows a letter from Dolabella setting forth Cæsar's intention of sending her at once a prisoner to Rome. There is now for her no alternative; she must take her fate into her own hands. Antyllus, the oldest son of Antony and Fulvia, enters and denounces Cleopatra as an ‘accursed sorceress! a bloodthirsty Medea’ whom he would incontinently kill, were it not that she had determined to kill herself. Cleopatra offers him a sword and her breast, and bids him ‘Strike! Antyllus. Absurd folly! Cleopatra. Strike! Antyllus. I would, but I cannot. Cleop. I will accept the stroke and death as a kindness. Antyll. Blood so black shall never stain my hands. Cleop. Then let me uncursed die, Antyllus. Antyll. Deserved or undeserved, I'll cast no stone upon thy grave. Cleop. Then joyfully I die.’ Cleopatra writes a letter to Cæsar begging him to let her lie by Antony's side. Iras and Charmium avow their determination to share their mistress's fate, but she endeavours to dissuade them,—wherefore should Cæsar treat them harshly? who else would see that she was befittingly buried? ‘Believe me,’ she says, ‘if you die for fear, you do not show your love for me as much as you would if you waited in order to perform the last sad rites for me.’ Cleopatra removes the leaves in the basket of figs and shows the aspics. ‘Charmium. Ye gods! and is that horrid thing to strike poison into your lily-white arm? Cleop. Yes, to lift the gates of the body to our lofty soul.’ Diomedes, to hearten them all, applies an aspic to his own arm and falls dead. “Cleop.
The faithful knave wins fame and teaches us how easy 'tis to die.
Belsamina.
The asp that killed the knave so swiftly will not sting Cleopatra; Fate, perchance, witholds its fang.
Cleop.
Suggest not such a thing for me. It will not touch my arm! 'Tis thirsty for my breast. Here! because, for all my sins, I merit death, now sting! suck poison there where many a rosy mouth sucked milk and honey. It stings! I'm wounded! Already am I faint and drowsy. Come, dearest, and take from me the last fond kiss. [Dies.
Salambo.
She shivers! she sleeps! she's dead!
” Iras also applies the asp and dies, as does also Charmium after she has filled with flowers the hands of her dead mistress. The tragedy continues for nearly five hundred lines more. To the five corpses on the stage: Antony, Cleopatra, Iras, Charmium, Diomedes,—Antyllus is added. As in Dion Cassius, the Psylli are summoned in vain. Casper's Notes, wherein he gives his authority for his Egyptian references, are almost as voluminous as his text.
Antony and Cleopatra, by Charles Sedley
In 1677 a rhymed dramatic version of the story appeared with the following title:
‘Antony | and | Cleopatra: | A | Tragedy. | As it is acted at the Dukes | Theatre.
| Written by the Honourable | Sir Charles Sedley, Baronet. | Licensed Apr. 24.
1677. Roger L'Estrange. | London, | Printed for Richard Tonson at his Shop
under | Grayes-Inne-gate next Grayes-Inne-lane, | MDCLXXVII.’ (I have another
copy dated 1696, but it is merely a reprint.) Among the ‘Persons represented’
Antony was Mr Betterton; Cæsar, Mr Smith; Cleopatra, Mrs Mary Lee; Octavia,
Mrs Betterton; Iras, Mrs Gibbs; Charmion, Mrs Hughes. In the Reprint of 1696
the same parts are assumed by the same actors. Of this play Sir Walter Scott said
that he had read it once and would ‘assuredly not read it a second time,’—a resolve
which, I think, all will share, and include in it even the following brief synopsis:
When the first Scene opens, the battle of Actium has taken place and Mæcenas
urges Octavius to prosecute the war vigorously against Antony; Octavius acquiesces for
policy's sake and for Octavia's. In the next Scene two Egyptian lords determine to
plot against Antony in order to free Cleopatra and their country. Antony enters
and decidedly shows the white feather. He tells Canidius to go out and fight the
Romans, while he remains within the walls and takes care of Cleopatra; but when
Cleopatra enters, her warlike spirit inspires him and the Act closes with Cleopatra's
declaration that her ‘heart can danger though not absence bear, To Love, 'tis Wax,
but Adamant to Fear.’ Antony chivalrously responds, ‘Mine has such Courage
from your Firmness took, That I can almost bear a parting look.’ In Act II. it
appears that Photinus is a traitor to Antony and in love with Iras. He determines
to make his peace with Cæsar by dispatching Antony, then seize the crown and
make Iras his queen. In the next Scene Octavia appears in Cæsar's tents and intercedes
for Antony; when her brother says that he must for her sake punish Antony,
she attempts to stab herself, in order thus to remove the cause of the quarrel.
Mæcenas prevents her. Cæsar remarks that he will forgive her for her rashness
if she will promise not to do it again, and immediately departs after requesting
Mæcenas to look after her and ‘see remov'd all means of Death, Let Nature and
‘not rage conclude her breath.’ Mæcenas at once proceeds to make vehement love
to Octavia and says ‘he'll the reversion wait And live like Heirs in hope of an
‘estate.’ Octavia repels him and says she will not survive Antonius an hour, and,
rather enigmatically, tells him that ‘My dear Antonius, him you must preserve, If
aught you from Octavia would deserve,’ and at once departs. Mæcenas thereupon
concisely states the situation, as he looks after her, ‘Whom whilst he lives I never
can enjoy, And if he dies she will herself destroy.’
The first Scene of Act III. is taken up with a conversation between Cæsar, Mæcenas,
and Agrippa wherein the riotous living of Antony is discussed and denounced,
‘especially,’ says Agrippa, ‘his dotage on the Queen Employs my wonder; was it
ever seen A woman rul'd an Emperor till now? What horse the mare, what bull
obeys the cow?’ This vigorous and bucolic argument proves conclusive; they
decide that Cæsar must conquer Antony and govern Rome. Cæsar departs, after
uttering a remark more noteworthy for its undeniable truth than for its rhythm: ‘Men
die of agues, too much heat or cold, And others grow ridiculous old.’ In the next
Scene Antony, Canidius, and Cleopatra discuss the terms of peace offered by Cæsar,
which they all decide are impossible. Thyreus enters and Antony leaves. As an
ambassador from Cæsar, Cleopatra will have nothing to say to Thyreus, but when he
pleads as a lover, she exacts from him a promise to tell her, as soon as he can
find out, what disposition Cæsar will make of her should he prove the conqueror.
Anthony returns in time to see Thyreus on his knees, kissing Cleopatra's hand, and
orders him, in spite of Cleopatra's remonstrances, to be taken out and whipped. This
whipping of a Roman is more than the Roman soldiers in the city can tolerate; they
mutiny and liberate Thyreus, but are restored by Lucilius to allegiance to Anthony.
In the Fourth Act Octavia again pleads with Cæsar for the life of Antonius, but finding
him obdurate, announces that she will go to Rome and stir up the city against
him; a Messenger enters with the news that a battle is now raging. In this battle
Antony encounters Thyreus and vanquishes him. Thyreus with his dying breath
bids his victor tell Cleopatra that Cæsar intends to take her in triumph to Rome.
Antony then meets Cæsar and, in single combat, Cæsar is beaten back, but before
Antony can pursue his advantage, word is brought that Cleopatra has been taken
prisoner. Antony flies to her assistance and rescues her. While these events are in
progress outside the town, Photinus, still in love with Iras, heads a rebellion within
the town, against both Antony and Cleopatra. Lucilius, however, within the city
overcomes him and brings him as a prisoner to Antony, to whom he lies, as to his
loyalty, so ingeniously that Antony forgives him. In the Fifth Act, while Antony is
boasting to Cleopatra of his successes, word is brought that Octavius with his whole
force is advancing to battle; Antony rushes forth to meet him, leaving Cleopatra to
indulge in gloomy forebodings. Antony is utterly defeated, and re-enters, exclaiming:
“Gape Hell, and to thy dismal bottom takeThe lost Antonius; this was our last stake.
” Photinus enters, crying, “Horror on horror! Sir, th' unhappy Queen
Betray'd by a report that you were slain!
Ant.
I understand you, she herself has kill'd
And better knew to die, than how to yield.
Phot.
Alas! she has, I pull'd the reeking steel
From her warm wound, and with it rusht her life—
Her latest breath was busie with your name,
And the sweet pledges of your mutual flame:
Your children she embrac't, and then she died.
Ant.
How well had I been with great Julius slain,
Or by some flying Parthian's darted cane.
” Antony then resolves to kill himself, so as to ‘let Romans now each other love, Their tedious quarrel I will soon remove.’ He requests Lucilius to kill him, but Lucilius passes the weapon through his own body. Antony remarks, “The noblest way: thou show'st me what to do.
Thou giv'st th' example, and I'le give the blow.
” He thereupon ineffectually stabs himself, and observes to Photinus, “Thou can'st not now my fatal journey stay.
Phot.
Nor would I, Sir, you'r fairly on your way.
Ant.
Death soon will place me out of fortunes reach;
Why stays my soul to sally at this breach?
Phot.
It is not big enough.
Ant.
Do'st mock me now?
Can my few minutes a new torture know—
Phot.
They may, and to provoke thy parting soul,
Know that the Queen yet lives, thou loving fool,
And I the story of her death contriv'd,
To make thee kill thyself, which has arriv'd
Just as I wish't; by thy own hand thou dy'st,
And art at once the victim and the priest.
Ant.
Furies and Hell———
Phot.
Curse on; but Cæsar shall
With Egypt's sceptre thank me for thy fall.’ . . .
” (This is really the best Scene, I think, in the play.) Charmion and Iras enter and reveal to Antony that Cleopatra is alive in her Monument, where “All she holds dear she has throng'd there, but you,
And now intreats that you will enter too.
” Antony is not so far dead but that he manages to walk off to the Monument. Cæsar and his friends enter, as does also Photinus with Antony's sword, but he is received with suspicion. A servant enters and announces that Octavia is ‘past all human grief and care.’ “Cæs.
She is not dead.
Serv.
Yes, in her way to Rome,
Of grief and discontent, as we presume. [Italics mine.—Ed.]
Cæs.
Ye joyes of victory, a while forbear,
I must on my Octavia drop a tear.
” The Scene changes to the Monument and Enter Antonius, Cleopatra, Charmion, and Iras. “Ant.
'Twas I that pull'd on you the hate of Rome,
And all your ills past, present and to come.
It is not fit nor possible I live,
And my dear Queen, it growes unkind to grieve.
” Antony advises Cleopatra to submit to Cæsar, who will pity her and recognise that her beauty and his love were all her crime. “Ant.
But you may live a Queen; say you obey'd
Through fear: and were compell'd to give me aid. . . .
Say, that at last you did my death procure;
Say anything that may your life and crown secure.
” Antony dies exclaiming, “O Rome! thy freedom does with me expire,
And thou art lost, obtaining thy desire.
Cleop.
He's gone! he's gone! and I for ever lost
The great Antonius now is but a ghost:
A wand'ring shadow on the Stygian Coast.’ . . .
” Cleopatra masters her overwhelming grief long enough to apostrophise in thirteen lines the fleeting frailty of beauty, and its unreality; and finally tells Charmion that “In yonder golden box three asps there lie, . . .
Take one and to my naked breast apply
Its poisonous mouth———
” Charmion obeys; the asp ‘stings her’; she says her ‘eyes grow dim’; then, kneeling by Antony's corpse, exclaims, “Good asp bite deep and deadly in my breast,
And give me sudden and eternal rest. [She dies. Iras runs away.
Charm.
Fool, from thy hasty Fate thou can'st not run.
Iras.
Let it bite you, I'le stay till you have done.
Alas! my life but newly is begun———
Charm.
No; thou would'st live to shame thy family;
But I'le take care that thou shalt nobly die.
Iras.
Good Charmion!
Charm.
I'le hear no more: faint hearts that seek delay
Will never want some foolish thing to say. [Charm. stings her, then
At our Queen's feet let's decently be found, puts it to her own breast.
And loyal grief be thought our only wound. [Dies.
” Cæsar and his train enter, after having battered down the doors, and all duly express horror at the sight of the corpses. Photinus runs to Iras, who with her dying breath reproaches him for not having made her queen of Egypt; lest she should further reveal his treachery, he stabs her, and is at once killed by a soldier who says he is Iras's brother. Cæsar wonders what Antony could have feared from a brother who owed to him all his honours, and asserts that it would have been a godlike pleasure to have shared the empire again with him. To make a clean sweep of everything, Agrippa announces that Cleopatra had burned all ‘her vast treasure to vile ashes,’ and had turned ‘her fair person to a carcase.’ The curtain falls, after Cæsar has uttered the solemn warning to us all, that “Great minds the Gods alone can overcome———
Let no man with his present Fortune swell.
The fate of growing empire who can tell?
We stand but on the greatness whence these fell.
” Genest (i, 208) remarks that Sedley (‘for so he then wrote his name’) seems to have written the ‘part of Photinus, an intriguing statesman and great villain, pur‘posely for Sandford.’
Cleopatre, by Mr De la Chapelle
In 1682 there was published in Paris, Cleopatre par Mr De la Chapelle. The
character of Cleopatra is here drawn with bolder strokes than in either Jodelle (if
we omit the Scene with Seleucus) or Garnier. On one occasion, when Antony confesses
that he is about to desert her, there is an outburst of hot indignation in which
she calls him ‘barbare,’ and threatens him with an undivulged cruel retaliation, before
which the Roman quails. Unfortunately, I cannot say that this character is fully
sustained. Possibly, it was the author's intention, but certain it is that before the
drama closes Cleopatra is subdued to a dove-like meekness in her utter subjection
to love for Antony. Octavia takes a prominent part in the drama; her devotion to
Antony is so unbounded that it includes even Cleopatra, and she vainly struggles to
save them both.
The Scene opens after the battle of Actium; throughout the First Act Cleopatra
does not, and will not appear. She is so overwhelmed with grief at the ruin and
disgrace she has brought on Antony that she refuses to see him. This seclusion is
Octavia's opportunity, and while Antony is chafing under the absence of his queen,
his wife presents herself to him and adjures him for his own sake and for their children's
to return to Rome and placate the Senate. Her success is such that Antony
demands time to think it over. The Second Act shows us Cleopatra brooding over
the fear that Antony is about to desert her, and over his changed demeanour, which
is very different from his tender forgiveness after her flight at Actium, where
“Il vit que je fuyois, son ame en fût atteinte,Et l' amour fit en luy ce qu'en moy fit la crainte,
” and when he swore endless vows of eternal fidelity. And here occurs a touch of nature, trifling to be sure, but refreshing amid so much moralising: Cleopatra had sent Iras to the harbour to learn what she could of Antony's movements, and had not yet returned; hereupon, Cleopatra declares that Iras knows how impatient she is for news and yet takes not the smallest pains to hurry; it is only too clear that nobody cares for her or her misfortunes, and that she must weep all alone; everybody had abandoned her. At that very instant Iras enters. She reports that Antony is about to leave Alexandria and Cleopatra for ever, and that on this condition peace had been made with Rome. She also reports that Octavia is in the palace and waiting to see Cleopatra. Octavia enters and implores Cleopatra, by her very love for Antony, to force him to return to Rome, to his honour, and to his power, and that by so doing she will convert the hatred of the Romans into admiration, and secure her own throne. Cleopatra replies that her advice to Antony would be to die rather than return to Rome, only to be shorn of his power like poor Lepidus. Octavia asks how Cleopatra, in case there should be more fighting, would bear the news of Antony's death. ‘Like a Queen,’ Cleopatra replies, ‘A thousand famous examples, of which your Roman history, Madame, is full, will give me the aid of a noble despair in ending my sad days. You will never see me, like a dastard, disgrace the hundred kings from whom I am descended. Maugre Rome and maugre the angry Fates I shall know how to rejoin the manes of a husband.’ Octavia ends the interview by saying that she will depart, ‘but, Madame, in spite of you, in spite of him, I will today save you both.’ Antony enters and pleads with Cleopatra that it is necessary that he should submit to Octavius and depart for Rome in order to save her from further indignities and from being paraded in Cæsar's triumphal procession. Cleopatra sees through this specious reasoning, and rises to tragic grandeur as she denounces his perfidy, and relates how for his sake she had ruined her kingdom, and had been dishonoured throughout the world by his fatal love, but she no longer retains him, and bids him go to Octavius, become his slave; ‘Go, brighten his court! I too will be present! Perhaps you will find me more cruel than pleasant!’ These parting words alarm Antony with their veiled threat, and he resolves that he will try to thwart her insidious plans. In a Scene with Agrippa, Cæsar's ambassador, Octavia renews her vow that she will remain near Antony in war or in peace; and reasserts her determination to share Cleopatra's fate and to save both her and Antony. Octavia retires; Cleopatra enters and makes full submission to Cæsar and to Rome. Antony enters unexpectedly and tells Agrippa that his treaty of peace with Cæsar is broken off, that there must now be war, and that he casts in his lot with Cleopatra. Agrippa, astounded, retires; Cleopatra's anger, mingled with jealousy, has no whit cooled; she treats Antony at first with the utmost disdain. He accuses her of ingratitude. She asks if she is to remain for ever trembling, and for ever accused, exposed to the violence and jealous transports of an enraged barbarian; she sees his design to drive her away and she will at once gratify him. He implores her to remain and swears that his only thought has been to protect her and her children in case of his death. This touches Cleopatra and she yields. Without him, she confesses, she would not care to live, and at this very moment her dearest wish is to see him happy and to die for him. Antony then renews his vows of love, and describes the great deeds he is about to perform in the war. At this moment word is brought to him that the Romans are everywhere victorious and that his presence is needed in the camp. Antony takes a touching farewell of Cleopatra, and adjures her to preserve the memory of his faithful love. But “Before my brave army I must be calm
And hide all my trouble.—So adieu, Madame. [Exit.
Cleopatra.
Dieux! if today, Death should humble his pride!
I'll follow him swiftly, and die by his side!
” In the next Scene Cleopatra is alone, and horror-struck at the thought that even at that very moment Antony's head may have been brought to Cæsar. “My glorious spouse [Epoux]!’ she cries, ‘'twas my fatal love,—
That sent thee too soon to mansions above.
'Twas I who deprived thee of crown and of light!
I will follow thee, dearest, in fortune's despite!
” While the battle is going on and Cleopatra is in the extremity of fear and alarm, Octavia appears and asserts that she is come to share Cleopatra's fate. Cleopatra is not cordial, and remarks that the combat is not yet decided. But at that instant Charmion hurries in and announces that all is lost, Cæsar's victorious troops are already in the city. Thereupon Cleopatra hastens to her Monument. Antony returns defeated, disgraced, and in despair, seeking Cleopatra, whom alone he wishes to see. Octavia is warned that her husband is bent on suicide, and is seeking Cleopatra to bid her farewell. Octavia's excellent character rises to the occasion. After all the misfortunes which the queen has caused her, she says that were she herself not a Roman she could hate her, but,
Word is brought to Antony that Cleopatra had taken refuge in her Monument, which had been attacked by Roman soldiers to whom Charmion had thrown out some treasures and with tears had announced Cleopatra's death, whereat even the rough soldiers were touched and retired. Antony's attempted suicide follows, as in Plutarch; he learns from Iras that the queen still lives. The way in which Antony was carried to the Monument, and, by the scarves and veils which Charmion had twisted into ropes, was pulled up by Cleopatra and her women, is described to Octavia. In the last Scene Cleopatra tells Cæsar's ambassador that she now surrenders herself; she has left the Monument where the inhuman Gods had just snatched from her the greatest of all the Romans; she had closed the lids over his eyes, all stained with blood and dust. ‘It is I,’ she cries, ‘who killed him. Too great a solicitude for my life has cost me my life. The deplorable state in which his loss has left me,—these veils stained with blood, his last sighs breathed out in my arms, and my own sorrows, all demand my death. If I defer it for a few minutes, 'tis to ask of Cæsar only one favour, and Cæsar must remember that to me is really due his glory, which he would never have attained had not Antony been blinded by his fatal love for me. This fatal love the gods sent to his breast, The Senate exiled him,—and I did all the rest.’ The favour which she asks is that such funeral honours as are beyond her power may be given to Antony. She does not desire any proud mortuary pomp, which may attempt to repair the ignominy of his ending; “'Tis ample that his Shade obtains repose,“These jealous stirrings and these mortal quarrels,
Which lacerate the heart of vulgar lovers,
Awake in mine no thought to stain my glory.
What if, for her, my love has been disdained,
Unhappy is she, and, like me, a woman.
I'll seek my brother, and assure my spouse
That Roman hearts cannot withstand my tears.
”
And that a little mound of heaped-up earth,
May prove an all-sufficing monument,
In honour of his sacred memory.
” Agrippa begs her to relinquish all thoughts of dying, assures her that Cæsar recognises her virtues, and laments her misfortune; but she replies, “From cares like these, has Fate deliver'd me,
Some minutes now are all I have to live.
Agrippa.
What say you, Madame?
Cleopatra.
'Tis already done, Agrippa,
The poison I have taken ends its work.
If any pity for me stirs you now,
Permit no severance twixt my spouse and me,
But in one tomb, pray, let us both be laid.
'Tis there—'tis there, the summit of my wishes!———
Dear spouse! receive me in the gloomy realm,
Where love, I pray, may reunite our Shades.
There's nought that now appears so sad to me
As moments when I was not by your side.8
Sustain me, Charmion, my strength is going.
Agrippa.
I grieve; admire; her virtue astounds me.
Charmion.
Madame———
Cleopatra.
The poison puts forth double strength.
A deathlike chill is creeping through my frame.
I die!
Iras.
O cruel fortune! She is dead!
Agrippa.
O heavens! I'll bear at once the news to Cæsar.
” Here ends the Tragedy.
Antoine et Cléopatre, Tragédie, by J. B. Robert Boistel D'Welles
‘Antoine et Cléopatre, Tragédie. Represéntée pour la premiere fois sur le
Théatre de la Comédie Françoise, le 6. Novembre 1741. Paris, M. DCC. XLIII.’
So runs the title of a play which the Dedicatory Epistle informs us was written by
‘Boistel.’ (From his collected Works we learn that his full name is J. B. Robert
Boistel D'Welles.) This version is, it appears to me, of more than common
interest. The author's conception of both Antony and Cleopatra is wholly original.
Antony's love for Cleopatra suffers only one momentary eclipse, and then he at once
recovers himself, and, with a strength unknown among other Antonies, shuts off
all possibility of a relapse by proclaiming to his army that Cleopatra is his wife.
Cleopatra is a truly pathetic figure. She makes a firm stand against Fate, even
counselling Antony to attack and conquer Rome. But when she finds that Fate is
too strong for her, she adjures Antony to desert her, the cause of all his misfortunes;
when he refuses, she retires to the Pyramids and there dies; how she finds death we
are not told. This version comes nearer than any other to canonizing Cleopatra.
Octavia does not appear in the play. Her place, as a representative of Antony's
home-ties, is taken by Julius, a son of Antony and herself. From what we are told
during the first few Scenes, we learn that after the battle of Actium, Antony separated
himself from Cleopatra and, in a decisive battle, vanquished Cæsar, but on his
victorious march to Rome was recalled to Egypt by a revolt in his army. Cæsar
has followed him, and here in Alexandria appointed an interview for a discussion
of the peace demanded by the soldiers, and has designated, as the spot where it is
to take place, the royal tombs of the kings of Egypt, where Cleopatra has kept herself
secluded ever since her disgraceful flight at Actium. It is intimated that the
wily Cæsar has selected this spot in the hope that Antony, who is ignorant of Cleopatra's
presence there, may again meet the Egyptian Queen, and again become her
thrall. The plot succeeds, Antony again meets Cleopatra, and they renew their
vows of eternal love. When Cleopatra learns, however, that Cæsar is coming hither
for a conference, she is terrified lest, as she tells Antony, her eyes should behold
Thus closes the First Act. In the next the Triumvirs meet for discussion. Antony is the magnanimous, open-hearted patriot, who would give liberty to all, and to each a chance to live. Cæsar is the wily, selfish politician. They agree to divide the world between them, but Cæsar requires some assurance that the glory of Rome will not be tarnished, nor his sister live in contempt, through Antony's connection with Cleopatra. Accordingly, he demands that the Egyptian queen shall either take a husband of his choosing, or be delivered as a hostage to Rome. Antony blazes into fury at the thought of either alternative. The conference ends with his defiance of Cæsar. In the next Scene, Cleopatra counsels Antony to send her to Rome and then win her back by conquering the city,—a plan which he scouts, but waxes enthusiastic over the wonderful military genius it displays. In the next Act, Julius, Antony's son, unrecognized by his father, is presented to Antony by Eros as the son of Ventidius. Julius describes the bitter grief with which Octavia mourns Antony's desertion; Antony listens at first with coldness, but is finally touched; when Julius informs him that Octavia is close at hand, and, throwing himself at his father's feet, reveals his identity, Antony breaks down and bids him bring his mother and he will be reconciled to her. But as soon as he is alone and calm, he sees to what a frightful pass his promise to Julius has brought him,—nothing less than a reconciliation with Rome and an abandonment of Cleopatra. He resolves that he will seek out Octavius, and by a sudden oath extricate himself from the horror of his situation. Cleopatra enters. To her, he recounts his misery and his remorse, and says that he will fly to where she is not, or whithersoever death will guide his steps. Cleopatra counsels him to obey necessity, and shows that even greater trouble is at hand; Cæsar is inciting Antony's soldiers to revolt by disseminating among them letters wherein they are exhorted either to surrender Cleopatra to him or to destroy the beauty which Antony still adores. Cleopatra asserts that, as she is the only cause of discord, it behooves her to fly to some distant land, abandoning her country and resigning her diadem, convinced that—“A second Actium on this fatal spot.
Your foe hates you, and me all Rome abhors.
While you love me what is there I need fear?———
I hear a noise. I yield to duty's call.
'Tis doubtless Cæsar; go, my lord, and meet him,
And trust that I, most faithful to your love,
Will cherish thoughts of you to my life's end.
If ever I was worthy of your love
Do you here show that you are worthy mine
By flying hence, and making peace with Cæsar.
”
Antony seeks out Octavius to give him his final answer; he will not confide Cleopatra to him; she shall remain his until death; he repudiates Octavia, she is of Cæsar's blood. He turns to the assembled Egyptians and Romans and exclaims:“If thou wert happy, I should soon forget them.
In every danger, will sweet thoughts of thee
Make good the loss of honour, throne, and home.
”
He defies Cæsar, and Rome, which he will one day force to bend the knee before a woman. Cleopatra meets Julius, not knowing at first that he is Antony's son, and begs him, as a friend to Antony, to persuade the latter to return to his duty. Julius mistrusts her and reveals himself. Antony enters. Cleopatra begs him to withdraw the empty title of wife which he had given her before his army,“Cleopatra, it is true, was born a queen,
But 'tis in her the only fault I've found.
And if you think it does impute disgrace,
Remember it was Fate. I can repair it:
No more, Egyptians, do you have a queen!
Here, Romans, stands my wife, your sovereign lady!
”
But Antony is obdurate, he has done what he believed to be his duty and is satisfied. Then Cleopatra becomes desperate and declares that Antony will call to her in vain at the gates of the tomb where she is dying. “But if, at this cost, thou wilt not heed my voice“Thou hast deceived me, Antony; my just alarm
Demands the motive for this empty title.
But time is short, I'll spare thee all complaint.
Today, thy duty summons thee to say—
Which of the two shall now prevail with thee,
The tie of blood—or love, thy son—or I?
But, be it either son, or be it loved one,
Go with me to thy army, and my wish fulfill.
Come! I must there resign into thy hands
This honour which excites thy Romans' ire.
Thou know'st how deadly, ire like this may grow.
Imagine this to be thy sole resource.
Art silent? What! must thy son blush for thee?
Or in thy heart can love do nothing more
Than here refuse me what my lips implore,
And load me down with gifts that I abhor?
Judge of thy plight, when here thou seest at one,
In the same hope, Cleopatra and thy son!
”
No more my presence shall thine eyes rejoice. Adieu!
” Julius recognizes her nobleness, and, as she is leaving, breaks forth in exclamations of sincere admiration. The Fifth Act opens with a soliloquy by Cleopatra in which she apostrophises her Antony, her ‘dear lover,’ and begs him to believe that if she has ever made him despair, if she has ever seemed to avoid him, or seemed afraid to see him, or, in the happy hours gone by, has not yielded to the intoxication of joy which her love prompted, she implores his pardon, and assures him that he was never more loved than at this moment. She then turns to the Monuments of the dead kings of her race, and to them declares that
Eros brings her word of Antony's utter defeat, of the death of Julius by his father's side, and of Antony's entreaty, before he retired from the battle, that Cleopatra should be saved by Eros from the Romans. Cleopatra replies, “Fear nothing! I'm his wife and eke a queen!“If loving thus a Roman hurts your pride,
And all my glory has seemed stained thereby,
My death shall here efface my life's misdeeds.
”
None ever shall see Rome insult my woe.
Do what I could, I've caused all his misfortunes.
Perchance my death will more avail than tears.
If I, by fate, have tasted life's sweet joys,
I've learned, thank Heaven, to bow to fate's caprices.
Follow me both. The dreadful moment comes!
I pardon all! Blest gods! preserve my lover!
” These are the last words we hear from Cleopatra. Eros brings word to Antony that she is dead. Antony in his distraction goes to the Monument and calls again and again and again on Cleopatra, but in vain. He then commands Eros to kill him, and the result is repeated from Plutarch, except that the stab which Antony gives himself is entirely successful.
Cléopatre, by Marmontel
Marmontel's Tragedy of Cléopatre need not detain us long. It was, as is
announced on the title-page, ‘“Représentée pour la premiére fois par les Comédiens
ordinaires du Roi le 20. Mai, 1750.”’ The author was but twenty-seven years old,
and his tragedy bears the marks of youth in everything but in its lack of fire. It
is cold, spiritless, timid, and insincere, with little discrimination of character. History,
except in extremely meagre outlines, is disregarded. Indeed, it is difficult to
believe that the dramatist had ever read Plutarch or Dion Cassius, but, as far as
Ventidius is concerned, it seems as though he must have read Dryden. Octavia does
not appear among the Dramatis Personæ; and, apart from Cleopatra, the chief
interest is divded between Antony and Cæsarion, a malapert boy, who thinks that
Rome and all Romans should bow the knee to him because in his veins runs the
blood of Julius Cæsar. Cleopatra's love seems to be equally shared by Antony and
Cæsarion. The play opens after the battle of Actium, and the First Act closes with
Cleopatra's attempts to cheer and encourage Antony. In the Second Act Ventidius
awakens Antony's sense of honour and persuades him to desert Cleopatra, who is
plunged into despair when she learns of this resolution from Antony's own lips. She
thereupon determines that she will make her lover jealous, and so win him again,
by making love to Octavius. She is aware, she says, that she no longer possesses
the beauty of her first youth, but then age replaces youth, by the knowledge of more
seductive wiles. Whoso knows how to attack is already half a master. What a
triumph to vanquish the pride and the power of Octavius by the glances of her eyes!
Let the world call her perfidious and false! ‘“In my own eyes upright, content without flaw, I need but my heart, both for judge and for law.”’
Cleopatra meets Octavius and flatters him to the skies. He afterwards acknowledges
to Proculeius that he had never before so thoroughly appreciated her fascinations,
but they had not touched his heart. Antony and Octavius meet, and although
there are outbursts of indignation from the former, yet Octavius calms them and they
become friends. Cleopatra enters and places her crown in the hands of Octavius,
useless burden as it is on the brow of a captive. To Antony she says, ‘“You have
given me a master, let me bow down to him. From you or from him, my fate I must
crave I am either your spouse, or else I'm his slave. Choose ye.”’
Antony at once breaks off with Octavius and follows Cleopatra. In the battle
which follows Antony is defeated and Cæsarion taken prisoner. Ventidius brings
word from Octavius that if Cleopatra wishes to save Cæsarion's life she must herself
come and ask for it. She bids Ventidius take a poniard to Cæsar wherewith he may
stab Cæsarion, who will then die undisgraced. This Ventidius refuses to do and
holds out the hope that they may still conquer Octavius with the troops that survive,
but these troops will not fight unless Antony leaves Cleopatra. The queen then bids
Ventidius announce to the soldiers that the chain which bound her to Antony is
broken, and that she consents even to be fastened behind a chariot in Rome. In
the last Act, Cleopatra instigates Eros to assassinate Octavius. Antony and Octavius
meet, the latter is cruel and haughty, and bids Antony choose his place of exile, but
he will retain Cleopatra and Cæsarion as hostages; at that instant Eros aims a blow
with a poniard at Octavius's heart. Antony catches his arm and saves the life
of Octavius. Out of gratitude Octavius shows Antony the letter which Cleopatra
had written to him offering to surrender everything—even Antony himself. The
latter is thunderstruck and breaks out into wild despair. ‘“After such treason,”’ Cæsar
asks, ‘“can you love her?”’ Antony replies ‘“I adore her! Leave me. Your pity
augments my frenzy. Leave me!”’ ‘“What recourse, have you?”’ asks Ventidius.
‘“Death!”’ answers Antony as he stabs himself. Cleopatra rushes in, falls on Antony's
body, sees the fatal letter which she had written as a decoy to Octavius, and understands
it all. She implores Antony to speak to her; ‘“he extends his arms, his eyes
beam love,”
“Adoring at thy feet, behold thy queen!Excess of love and sorrow brings me death!
Hah! would'st thou speak?—thou sighest,—thou diest!
” Cleopatra faints, but revives and begs from Cæsar, as a last favour, that she may place a crown of laurel on Antony's brow. Charmion brings a basket of laurel leaves under which an aspic is concealed. Cleopatra seizes the aspic and applies it to her breast. ‘O“ ye gods!”’ cries Octavius. Cleopatra, with the aspic still on her bosom, exclaims, ‘“At last I'm free. My heart mounts up above Octavius and all misfortunes! My son is alive and free. Adieu. Upon this funeral-pile I die a queen.”’ Her last words are, “My senses, Charmion, gently fade to rest———
I die, with kisses, on my hero's breast.
” An anecdote connected with this Version by Marmontel is told (on the authority of the Nouvelle Biographie Générale, 1863) in the Preface to the present volume.
Antonio e Cleopatra, by Vittorio Alfieri
The earliest drama of Vittorio Alfieri, written at the age of twenty-five, is
Antonio e Cleopatra,, acted for the first time in Turin, in June, 1775. The play was
several times re-written, and spoken of by the author in such contemptuous terms as
‘abortion,’ ‘refuse,’ ‘the first tragic and lyric attempt of a sucking poet,’ etc. Of the
origin of the version Alfieri gives a description in his Life. ‘“Sitting unoccupied in
the saloon of his lady-love, whose health required long periods of retirement and
silence, he took up half-a-dozen leaves of paper that lay at hand, and sketched upon
them two or three scenes of dialogue, naming the principal speaker Cleopatra.
This name was suggested by the story woven on the tapestries of the apartment,
otherwise, he says, he might just as well have called his heroine Berenice or Zenobia.
When his paper was exhausted, he thrust the leaves under the cushion of a sofa,
and there they remained for over a year, during which he visited Rome, and went
through other experiences wholly alien to composition. Finding his passion exercising
a baleful influence on his life, he determined to break it off, and in one of his
last visits to the lady's house, he withdrew from under the cushion his attempt at a
drama, and proceeded to recast it, still with no very definite plan.”’
9
Of this incident
of the cushion Alfieri furthermore says, ‘“my earliest attempts at tragedy were
brooded over, as it were, by the lady herself, who sat in the chair habitually, and
by any person who happened to sit down upon it.”’
10
As far as the historical Cleopatra is concerned, Alfieri was eminently correct when
he said that he might just as well have called his heroine Berenice or Zenobia, with
this qualification, however, that no Berenice or Zenobia was ever so utterly deceitful
or cruel as is his Cleopatra. With the exception of Kotzebue, I can recall no dramatist
who has given to Cleopatra so black a character as Alfieri. The Egyptian queen
drawn by the Italian is as much blacker than the melodramatic Egyptian queen of the
German as, in genius, Alfieri towered above Kotzebue. In reading Alfieri's
tragedy let us forget history, forget that Cleopatra was a Greek, and an Egyptian
only so far as she had been thus made by Phœbus' amorous pinches, and passively
resign ourselves to the terror inspired by his heroine, whose character reflects the
lawless strength and mediæval warmth of the Italy of the Borgias.
The play opens in Alexandria, immediately after Cleopatra's arrival in Egypt after
her disgraceful flight from Actium. She knows nothing of Antony's fate, nor of the
result of the battle. She avows to her attendant, Ismene, her inextinguishable
remorse for having fled, and possibly causing thereby the defeat of Antony, of whom,
up to this moment, she has no news. In the course of her denunciation of herself,
she declares,
She learns that Antony has been utterly defeated. In the following soliloquy, when alone, she throws off all disguise and we here learn her true character:“It is not love that poisons now my days;
Ambition to command has ever moved me.
Each path, and none in vain, have I essay'd,
Which could conduct me to that lofty end;
My other passions all succumb'd to this,
And others' passions minister'd to mine. 11
”
We next see her in an interview with the disgraced Antony, whose bitter upbraidings for her treachery she in vain tries to stem by protestations of her love. When at last he says that he abhors life because he is endlessly disgraced, and abhors death because she might find him out among the Shades and even there destroy his peace, she breaks forth,“
Cleo.
And now at last
I may pluck off the veil which hides the truth
In a dissembling heart's profound abysses.
Vanquish'd is Antony: this shame and treason
Perchance survives he not; the base design
I dared to form has been fulfill'd: so much
I could not hope for from my wicked flight.
But half the work remains for me to do,
And the most doubtful: vain are my misdeeds,
If to my fate I cannot link Augustus.
And from his heart what answer seek I? Love: . . .
Love, whom I oft inspired but never knew,
And from whose pow'r, when vanquish'd and disarm'd,
I glory drew, the very victor taming.
Sole barrier to my scheme was Antony:
If he's no more, my conquest will be easy.
”
She then gives a fictitious and flimsy excuse for her flight from Actium: that she learned, only on the day she sailed, of a powerful rebellion among her subjects, designed to deliver Egypt to Cæsar, and she returned to quell it, not for the sake of her own throne, but solely out of love for Antony. Antony is appeased, but not convinced. His supreme love for her forbids him to reason. But whether she be true or false, he must leave her, encounter Cæsar, and die in battle. Having failed in her attempt to destroy Antony at Actium, Cleopatra now devises a second and more fatal act of treachery which can hardly fail of a successful issue, either in causing Antony to lose his life in battle or to commit suicide. She thus discloses it to Ismene:“Dost seek, barbarian, solace for thy fury?
Ant.
It is not love thou feelest in thy breast,
I know it but too well: here, take this steel!
My bosom I unveil, where once thou restedst;
Thou know'st it not again, or hast forgotten;
Raise thy intrepid hand, and brandish it———
Then will the blood, which thou didst think unfaithful,
Rush gushing forth, and straightway dye my garments,
And fall upon my feet, and both my hands
Will reek with it; and whatsoever breath
Remains to Cleopatra, tow'rds thee turning
Eyes full of love, and death, will she collect,
To say: Farewell, I loved thee, die for thee!———
And then, when thou hast fed thy angry looks
On thy dead enemy, by slow degrees
Thy fury will abate, and constancy
Revive in thee again, and thy old virtue.
How, Cleopatra, hast thou gain'd such power
Thus to delude me ever? yet I love
Thy treacheries, and those deceitful accents
Have from my ear reach'd even to my heart.
”
The plot succeeds and Antony returns, having touched a lower deep than he had ever before conceived of, and with proof too clear of Cleopatra's treachery. There is nothing before him now but infamy or death. The same will be Cleopatra's fate. Since they are herein equal, he bids her take his sword, transfix with it her heart, return it to him, and he will then transfix his own. She turns pale, but, still certain of her supreme power over him, artfully evades the fatal stroke by saying that she will teach him how to die, and in such an honourable death nothing is wanting“ a second plot
Is in the field prepared, t'assure the first.
The warlike trumpets scarcely will be heard
To sound the haughty signal for the fight,
When on the sea the ships, on land the cohorts,
Abandoning the leader they once own'd,
Will range themselves beneath Augustus' ensigns.
Left by their flight defenceless, Antony
Will turn against himself his bitter fury.
”
As Cleopatra had foreseen, Antony refused to strike and was in the very act of turning the sword against himself, when his hand was stayed by the announcement that Cæsar was about to enter. Cleopatra retires. Cæsar addresses Antony in friendly and encouraging terms, promising to bury all hostility in oblivion, and finally invites him to return to Rome, but will not promise that Cleopatra shall not grace his triumph. Antony breaks off the interview by saying that ‘never shall that woman be in Rome By mortal seen as subject to Augustus, Who once deserved the love of Antony.’ In a conversation with his friend, Septimius, Cæsar declares that he intends to procure Antony's death at the hands of Cleopatra, and then, after having been kept for the disgrace of being led in his triumph, Cleopatra herself shall be put to a wretched death. In the Fourth Act there is an interview between Augustus and Cleopatra, who puts forth all her arts to win the Roman conqueror; she claims his gratitude for having wilfully betrayed Antony at Actium, and again for having caused all her army to desert him. Augustus intimates his hopes that Cleopatra will some day be his queen, and that she will not disdain to divide his sceptre with him; in those happy days, perchance, Cleopatra will weep at having loved Antony so much. To this artful suggestion Cleopatra replies,“save that thy dearer hand
Should guide the friendly steel; mine maybe, trembling,
Or, little wont to strike, might give the lie
Both to my valor, and thy cruel thoughts.
Into this heart, by not an unknown path,
Th' avenging blade may plunge: deep sculptured there,
Thy fatal image will be found by thee;
Thou didst impress it, thou shalt cancel it;
The dagger take, and strike . . . thou turn'st away?
”
Hereupon, Cleopatra, in unmeasured terms, confesses her admiration of Augustus, who responds in protestations, equally sincere, of his love for her. At last Augustus says, ‘But Antony draws nigh; we must dissemble.’ When Antony enters he is furious at the sight of Augustus alone with Cleopatra. Both endeavour to appease him,—Augustus by indignation at Antony's mistrust, Cleopatra by asseverations of her undying, faithful love,—for Antony's sake there is no sacrifice she will not make, to fulfill his wishes; if he desires her to be led in triumph in Rome she will fly to the chariot; without Antony she is a living corpse. At last Augustus bids Cleopatra live as queen, and with her lover if she wishes it; in the temple let them all swear lasting oblivion to their former hatred. After Augustus has left, the poor disgraced, bewildered, heart-broken Antony tells Cleopatra that he will seek the temple to ask the gods for guidance. As soon as he is gone, Cleopatra looks after him, saying,“Too much I loved ungrateful Antony;
No more I love him; to amend my fault
I'm now prepared: it is not hate or vengeance
Which urges me to-day my fault to cancel,
But reason, the cool reason of a monarch.
For a long time his death has seem'd to be
Not only useful for this kingdom, long
By him despoil'd, but indispensable;
And now that his existence might once more
Re-open all the ancient wounds of Rome,
Destroy the peace of the whole world, and partly
Rob thee of thy supreme felicity,
'Twould be a crime to have compassion on him.
”
Cleopatra thereupon commands Diomedes to follow Antony, and, in a dark passage leading to the temple, stab him, and let the victim also know at whose command the blow is struck. Diomedes shortly returns, and reports that he has done the deed; Cleopatra rejoices that ‘“the odious rugged chains of Antony at length are broken.”’ But Augustus receives the news of Antony's death by no means with the pleasure that Cleopatra had anticipated. He is, on the contrary, sternly indignant, and speaks of Antony as ‘“a great hero,”’ ‘“a mighty warrior,”’ who was worthy of a far more noble end, and declares that ‘“To rid him of his enemies, Augustus Has never sought a woman's coward hand.”’ He commands Cleopatra to prepare to follow him to Rome, there to render an account of her atrocious guilt. After he is gone Cleopatra's expressions of grief over the complete failure of her plan are bitter and her vows of vengeance on Augustus are deep. In the midst of them Antony enters. The courage of Diomedes had failed him, or rather his compassion and love for Antony had proved too great. In Antony's living presence no subterfuge will avail the wretched queen, and she openly confesses that she feels neither pity nor remorse. In the last Scene all the characters are present, Antony addresses Augustus in noble words of mingled pride, resignation, and defiance; then, turning to Cleopatra, exclaims, “Fly, fly, O queen, the horrors of a triumph,“Credulous lover, go not to the temple;
Go rather to an unexpected death———
Yes, find thou death, and heinous treachery,
There, where thou look'st for life, for love and peace.
”
Horrors far worse than those of any death.
Wherefore alone to die is granted to us?
I could have given thee yet more of life———
Augustus, now will the whole world be thine:
Since I have taught thee how thou should'st not reign;
If thou, like me, should'st be unfortunate,
Learn to die bravely, as does Antony. [Kills himself.
Diomedes.
Brave warrior! Heav'n was jealous of thy presence
On this ungrateful earth. [Antony is borne off.
Augustus.
Now let the queen
Be dragg'd away from hence by force, if prayers
Are not sufficient———
Cleopatra.
Stop, thou barb'rous one!
Thou fain wouldst tie me to thy car in Rome?
At least permit me to delight my eyes
In horrors and in blood, yes, e'en in death;
That I may lose my senses, and extract
Fresh fury from them—But since heav'n is slow
The wicked to chastise, and I'm unable
To pierce thy breast, I pierce my own instead. [Stabs herself.
Aug.
Heav'ns, Cleopatra!———
Cleo.
I———unworthy was
Of life———but, if to thee the curses now
By wicked rage invoked can fatal be,
Then horror, and deceit, and treachery
Will close pursue thee, and at last thou'lt find
The horrid death which is a tyrant's due———
Furies—infernal Furies—come ye now?———
I follow you—ah!—with thy viper's torch,
Thou discord black, thou fain wouldst light my way.
Give it to me—in dying I perchance
Might set the world on fire, and so dissolve it———
Dost cry for vengeance, Antony?—'tis blood———
But faithless blood—O horror—ruin—death.——— [Dies.
Augustus.
O Romans, let us go; in this vile land
All breathes of terror, making heav'n impure;
The very air with ev'ry vice is tainted.
”
Antony and Cleopatra, by Henry Brooke
Genest (vi, 63) gives the following abstract of a Tragedy, called Antony and
Cleopatra, by Henry Brooke (author of The Fool of Quality), published in 1778,
but omitted in an edition, edited by Brooke's daughter, in 1792. (I have been unable
to obtain a copy.)
‘“Antony and Cleopatra—one-third, or perhaps one-half of this play is taken
from Shakspeare—the other part is Brooke's—he has added 3 new characters—the
2 children of Antony and Cleopatra; and Ptolemy her brother—these characters
are not happy additions to the Dramatis Personæ. In the 2d act Antony seeing
Cleopatra embrace Ptolemy, and not knowing who he is, leaves Alexandria in a
violent fit of jealousy—on being undeceived he returns. Shakspeare's play, with
all its faults, is infinitely superior to Brooke's—yet it must be allowed that a considerable
part of Brooke's additions is well written—the scene lies entirely at Alexandria—the
characters of Cæsar and Octavia with many others are omitted.”’
Kleopatra und Antonius, by Cornelius von Ayrenhoff
In 1783, at a period when there was in Germany a temporary reaction against
Shakespeare, there appeared, Kleopatra und Antonius, A Tragedy in Four Acts,
by Cornelius von Ayrenhoff, Austrian Lieutenant-Field-Marshall. In a long
and polemical Preface, addressed to Wieland, the writer denounces the dramatic
critics of the day. ‘“How can we expect,”’ he exclaims in his indignation, ‘“that such
instructors in art, who have learned in public taverns all their knowledge of
refined society and there educated their taste, will defend the laws which govern the
Three Unities, elegant manners, and versification? What is more natural than that
they should keep on praising incessantly the monster [Ungeheuer] Shakespeare as
the highest product of all nations, not because he often shows traces of great
genius, but because through him we become accustomed to all kinds of possible lawlessness,
and that they should on every occasion dismiss with contempt the masterpieces
of Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire?’—p. 11. Ayrenhoff states how deeply he
had been stirred by the story of Cleopatra as told by Plutarch, and how inadequately
it had been presented by the dramatists. He had read the tragic story in Shakespeare,
in la Chapelle, in Lohenstein, in Dryden, and exclaims, ‘Poor Cleopatra!
thou fairest, loveliest, most unfortunate woman of antiquity! how brutally hast thou
been treated! It was not enough that thou wert robbed of thy throne and of thy
life by thy hateful contemporary, the cunning and cowardly Octavius, but the poets
of later days are still presenting thee on the public stage as a disgrace to thy sex!”’
After this open avowal of compassionate love and admiration, we find in Ayrenhoff's
tragedy what is to be expected, a Cleopatra who, while conformed to the records of
Plutarch, is idealised into a lofty character, quite too good for human nature's daily
food. I know of no other Cleopatra exactly like her. The tragedy is skilfully
written and has in it some good Scenes, especially the last, which, in Cleopatra's
treatment of Octavius, is really admirable. It is written in Alexandrine rhyming
couplets.
The opening Scenes somewhat remind us of Dryden. Lucilius, Antony's dear
friend and trusted General, corresponds to the Ventidius of the English poet; he cheers
Antony in his despair after Actium, warning him at the same time of the influence
of Cleopatra; at last he tells him plainly that defeat is certain unless he abandons
the queen. With the warning words ‘Remember Actium!’ he departs, and Cleopatra
enters. She will not listen to Antony's gloomy forebodings. Nothing can trouble
her so long as Antony loves.
“As we began, so, too, the end must be;The greatest man the world can prize, art thou;
Sole woman worthy of such greatness, I.
Let throne and world be shattered by Octavius;
For Antony alone, does Cleopatra tremble.
” Antony tells the queen that even now a decisive battle is imminent. Cleopatra replies that she is ready, ‘“to the determined soul, uncertainty alone is pain;”’ and points to the mausoleum which she has built, ‘“That, for Cleopatra will the refuge be. Would, O beloved one! it might be with thee!”’ Antony reminds her of his vow not to survive her, but will not believe that such a desperate remedy is near. Indeed, he is heartened for the battle to which he will now go with joy, and return a victor, or word shall be brought to her of his death. He departs and Cleopatra, thus early in the play, bids Charmion procure some asps and tell the priests to make ready the mausoleum. When the next Act opens the battle has been fought, Antony has been victorious; Cleopatra awaits his approach, with a laurel wreath wherewith to crown him. Antony enters and is crowned by Cleopatra with extravagant expressions of love and admiration. Word is brought that a veiled Roman lady desires an audience with Antony alone. Antony refuses to see her, but Cleopatra intercedes. ‘“It may be.”’ she says, ‘“some wife or mother come to beg the life of her dear one; and, if so, send the unhappy one to me, and I will try to comfort her.”’ She leaves and the veiled lady enters; at Antony's bidding she draws aside her veil and reveals Octavia. She prostrates herself before him, but he bids her rise; she recalls to him their happy, cloudless years in Athens, but not to win him back is she come, but to bring peace between her husband and her brother, who, she declares, still holds Antony in fond affection and is anxious to become reconciled. To none of her arguments will Antony accede, but ends with saying that there are other obstacles, known only to himself. Octavia understands this reference to Cleopatra and replies, “Full well I know that you will never take
A step that leads to Cleopatra's harm.
And this I honour; you can lightly judge
That I do not forget the cause of it. [Antony expresses astonishment.
Ignoble hate has ne'er disgraced my heart.
Thou lov'st her—this shows she's worthy of thy love.
Although I ne'er can rival her in charms,
In greatness of the soul, she'll not excel me,
And more I ask not. Ah, not from envy
Would I disturb these bonds which make you blest
Far less to me, I own, is my own weal
Than thine,—dear father of my children!
” Antony replies that all is in vain; he honours her and will always honour her, but, ascribe it to Fate if need be, he cannot comply with her wishes. The children are then brought in, and they, with their mother, fall at the feet of Antony, who is deeply moved. Cleopatra enters, and in the veiled Roman lady discovers Octavia, who explains to her that she is come to try to extricate Antony from his perilous position and begs for protection. Cleopatra replies, “I wonder greatly at thy deed, Octavia!
How I regard it, I'll not now explain.
Yet know, whoe'er as friend,—for such thou claim'st to be,—
Seeks my protection, it shall be bestowed.
[To Charmion] Be it your care to see throughout my court
That, like myself, she's treated as a queen.
[To Octavia] Free, as thou may'st, from the engulfing flood
Thy husband, sinking neath the raging storm;
May heaven aid thee,—and reward thy pains!
In nought will I deprive thee of the merit.
Complete your plans untrammelled. But know this,
From them I must be utterly excluded.
As soon as he has made his firm resolve,
Then, and not till then, I'll decide my lot.
And also until then, I ask you, Sir,
To suffer me to stay in my seclusion.
Ant.
What! Cleopatra asks———
Cleop.
Nothing; she commands;
And counts,—if she is dear,—on thy obedience. [Exit with her train.
” As soon as she is gone Octavia breaks forth into admiration of the nobility of her character. But none the less does she urge her vacillating husband to return with her and their children to Rome and to the paths of virtue. Antony at last decides that he will lay down his power and become a private citizen if Cæsar will do the same. Should Cæsar consent to do this, and the Senate confirm her throne to Cleopatra, he will live in Athens with Octavia, from whom no power on earth can then separate him. Octavia is certain that she can persuade her brother to this course and the Scene ends with profuse tears of joy all round, to which effusion Lucilius contributes. Charmion, who had come to tell Octavia that her apartments were ready, is a witness to this reconciliation and reports it to her anxious mistress, offering, at the same time, to kill Octavia during the night. This horrifies Cleopatra, who sternly reproves her. At last she decides to send a secret messenger to Cæsar's camp, and the Act ends. In the next Act, while waiting for the result of Octavia's intercession with Octavius, Antony and Cleopatra have a stormy scene. Cleopatra asserts that Antony had committed her fate to Cæsar. This Antony denies, and says that Rome, through the Senate on its oath, had for ever renounced all claim to Cleopatra's throne. “Cleop.
Much longed for chance! forsooth my bliss is boundless!
Yet, Sir, to whom must I ascribe this bliss?
To Rome? Octavia? To Cæsar? or to thee?
Ant.
Thou triflest, Queen!
Cleop.
[with angry earnestness.]
Resolve me then my doubts!
Whose is the saving arm that, out of pity,
Maintains me on my throne ancestral?
To whom do I owe thanks for this, my crown!
Is't not Octavia? is it not her charms,
Whose power,—to win thee from me,—won Rome's grace?
Did not a single tear, shed at thy feet,
Nay but a single sigh, dissolve the bond
That knit us firm together, up till now,
And place within the power of my foe
My fate, my fame, and all my happiness?
This, this, ingrate, shalt thou explain to me.
” Antony complains that Octavia would not have persuaded him, had Cleopatra said but a word or given a hint. She again breaks forth, “A word, a hint from me!—to rouse thy duty?
Traitor! shewed she not to thee thine inmost heart?
Could I believe thy faith so weakly grounded?
And to Octavia's tongue must I submit,
And blush at every word, confess my fear,
And by my lowness make her triumph greater?
So low no power shall ever make me bow!
Let them, thou brute, deprive me of my throne.
One thing remains, my honour is my own
And should this pride, this day involve my death
The thought of but one weakness makes me rue:—
That, O barbarian, I have lived for you!
” Antony exclaims that this is beyond endurance and that Octavia shall at once return, alone, to Rome, all thought of peace shall be relinquished, and demands that Cleopatra shall tell him what course to take. She replies, “The work thou hast begun, complete. This, Sir,
Is all that thou canst do. Farewell.
Ant.
No, cruel one, before thou goest
Say what for me and thee thou hast resolved.
Cleop.
Thereto must Cæsar first bestow the power.
The one on trial cannot be the judge.
Farewell. [Exit.
” Antony for a while rages against Cleopatra, but at last recognises that it is really love for him that makes her jeopardise her throne and her very life. Then he decides that Octavia is the real cause of all this misery, and resolves never to see her again, but remain for ever by Cleopatra's side. Lucilius enters, but is so shocked at Antony's change of heart that he departs in anger. Antony sends after him; when he returns he so convicts Antony of folly in clinging to Cleopatra that Antony swears never to see her again until he parts from her for ever. Octavia enters with Cæsar's letter of assent to Antony's proposition: Cæsar will lay down his power and live as a private citizen in Epirus; Cleopatra's throne shall be unmolested. The joy of Antony, Octavia, and the children is unbounded. Cleopatra enters and Antony endeavours to explain to her the situation and its advantages for all concerned. Cleopatra declares that she too has been in correspondence with Cæsar, and hands to Antony a letter from Cæsar wherein she is told to place no reliance on his agreement with Octavia, and that he pledges himself to secure her safety and her throne if she will send him Antony's head. Octavia, heartbroken over the duplicity of her treacherous brother, departs with her children and is seen no more. Antony throws himself at the feet of Cleopatra and with tears acknowledges her magnanimity. He takes a tender leave of her and departs to plunge into battle with Cæsar. Cleopatra, from a tower of her palace, watches the fight and sees Antony's defeat. Demetrius, whom she had sent for news of Antony's welfare, enters and relates how Antony, on a false report of Cleopatra's death, had attempted to kill himself, and, when told by Demetrius that she was alive, had sent her tender messages imploring her forgiveness. Cleopatra commands Demetrius to bring Antony to her at once, and bids Charmion fetch the asp. Antony is brought in, borne by soldiers. Both Cleopatra and Antony implore forgiveness of each other. He begs her to fly, she protests that life has no more charm for her, but to die with him will be her highest bliss. Antony dies, and after her first outburst of sorrow Cleopatra exclaims, ‘“I who deeply swore not after thee to live, A proof of my true faith I hasten now to give.”’ Dolabella enters, and, under a feigned weakness and timidity, she extracts from him the secret that within three days she is to be sent to Rome. Cleopatra gives him a letter to be delivered to Cæsar. When alone with Charmion, Cleopatra bids her place a throne near Antony's corpse; she then takes the vase containing the aspic, lifts the cover, and looking in, says, “Well, little thing! how fixedly thou starest!
Dost think thy hissing can awaken fright? [sorrow!
Here! [thrusting her arm into the vase.]
Cool thy anger and abate my
It hurts not, Charmion! [She returns to the corpse.]
Now, my departed friend! for ever we're united.
Now I dare call thee husband,—myself thy wife.
Nought severs us again; one tomb for both!
This thought alone, for me, can sweeten death.
” She bids Charmion bring her crown and summon all her attendants, who enter and group themselves about her with the emblems of royalty—the diadem and sceptre. She says, aside ‘“What coolness steals so softly through my veins! Is it the poison? ah, how gentle!”’ She tells her attendants that she has remembered them all and that Demetrius has the gold; even if they are subject to Cæsar they must always retain the freedom in their hearts to love and remember her. Dolabella enters and announces the approach of Cæsar, who, shortly after, enters. Dolabella, in an aside, says to the queen that she must rise, and not remain seated in Cæsar's presence. She keeps her seat. “Cæsar.
O woeful sight! Unhappy Antony!
Why could I never win thy confidence?
Thy hatred was my grief,—at last thy ruin!
Unhappy queen! I feel for thy misfortune!
Cleop.
Had our mischance not been thy fortune's germ
I doubt not thou hadst pitied us, Octavius.
But, Sir, unpitied I can bear my sorrow.
” Cæsar assures her that he is her friend, and she obtains from him the promise that she shall be buried in the same tomb with her Antony; Cæsar considers it a trifling request, he was ready to grant much greater. “Cleop.
To thee it may be small, to me 'tis great.
Is it no salve in death to be united
To him who was the dearest upon earth?
Ay,—to that great man, the very last great man
This servile world can ever name with pride?
Dolabella.
[aside.]
Ah, Cleopatra!
Cleop.
What! shall I refrain from praising him?
Cæsar himself can witness to his greatness;
To it, forsooth, he owes his happy fortune,
The laurel, which adorns him now, was gathered
For him at Philippi by Antony.
That weighty fight saw Cæsar but preparing,—
He had a fever then, and could not fight.
Cæsar.
What insolent derision, thou audacity!
Dolabella.
[aside to Cæsar.]
Pardon her, Sire!
Her sorrows tempt her to forget herself.
Cleop.
Friend, let him rage! he'll learn to honour truth!
He rules now uncontrolled—he'll never hear it more!
Cæsar.
Insulting Pride! Know'st thou not who I am,
And who thyself art now?
Cleop.
For aye, a queen!
Whose fearless daring no soldier can dismay!
Who e'en in death can still avenge an insult.
Cæsar.
An insult? Thou? From me?
Cleop.
From thee, thou tyrant! [She throws Cæsar's letter to her at his feet.
Who dared to ask from me assassination;
Who held me as a traitor to my loved one;
Offered my realm as the reward of crime.
How mean the conqueror shows beside the conquered!
How dastardly stands forth assassination
Beside the honourable duello,—
Fraud and deceit by honesty and courage! [She sinks down. Charmion brings her to the throne.
Dolabella.
What does this mean? Her eyes grow dim!
Charmion.
She is dying.
Cæsar.
Ha! who loves his life speak out, and say
What means this—
Cleop.
Spare thy anger! Egypt's queen has finished
Her last duty—she dies and will not basely
—Out-live her glory—Lay me by Antony—
Thou hast pledged thy word—Oh, Charmion—
'Tis ice—death's freezing hand—my heart—
My Antony! [She dies.]
”
Kleopatra, by Julius, Reichsgraf von Soden
In 1793 Julius, Reichsgraf von Soden, published a Tragedy in prose, called
Kleopatra. Whether or not it was ever acted I do not know. In a short Preface
the author remarks that the subject has been already used by the dramatists of many
nations, and, among them, Shakespeare stands at the head. From his own study
of history the author has been led to believe that full justice has not been done to
the character of Cleopatra, in whom he believed that he discerned ‘a mingling of
coquetry and nobility, of voluptuousness and strength, of weakness, of womanliness,
and of regal freedom, which explained all the apparent contradictions of her acts.’
In carrying out this conception I cannot say that I think the author is altogether
successful. The voluptuous tendency in Cleopatra's nature is emphasized, —indeed,
it is more conspicuous than in any other version with which I am acquainted. I can
perceive no traces in Cleopatra of unusual strength of character, unless it be the
unabashed way in which she unfolds to her maid, Miris, her excellent reasons for
changing from the unsuccessful Antony to the successful Cæsar. Unlike other Versions
there is no parting Scene between Antony and Cleopatra. Antony's attempt at
suicide is entirely successful; Cleopatra merely hears of his death and applies the
asp only when Cæsar's steps are on the threshold of the pyramid in which she had
taken refuge from Antony, who was seeking to kill her after the desertion to Cæsar
of the Egyptian army.
The foregoing abstract is all that I had intended to give of this version, which,
written in prose, seemed to me to be, in general, of inferior merit. I found, however,
to my amazement, that Moeller pronounces it ‘“the most noteworthy version in German literature.”’ In Moeller's concluding remarks he acknowledges that von
Soden has not succeeded in making Cleopatra a perfectly consistent character, but
in spite of this he does not hesitate to affirm that ‘“this drama, together with the lyric
effusion of Prince George of Prussia, furnishes the German version of Cleopatra's
tragedy which we can, at this day, read with pleasure.”’ In deference to this opinion
I now give an ampler abstract. The opening locality is Tarentum, where Octavius
and Antony are feasting each other before Octavius starts on his expedition against
Sextus Pompeius and Antony sets out on the war against the Parthians. The first
Scene lies in Antony's house. Cleopatra enters, accompanied by Miris, her maid,
and is thrilled by the thought that she is really in Antony's home, against the
majestic pillars whereof he may have once leaned, ‘“this floor, lifeless though it be,
has borne the footsteps of the lord of the world, and is proud of it.”’ (There is a
faint reminiscence of Shakespeare here.)
“It does not compare with your palace at Alexandria,” says Miris. “Palace!” exclaims Cleopatra, “It was a palace when it
enclosed Antony within its walls. Palace, do I call it? It was a temple, consecrated to love and adorned with all its magic. Ah! when he hung upon my neck,
our souls lost themselves on our lips! Then!—Isis drew about us a magic circle,
and, sundered from all mortal thoughts, Elysium was in us and about us. Prythee,
Miris, how did I look when Cæsar lay at my feet?”
“Miris.Like the goddess, to whom we bring our offerings.
Cleopatra.
And I am still Cleopatra?
Miris.
Assuredly.
Cleopatra.
Seest thou wrinkles on this brow? Has time dimmed the glance which prostrated at my feet the conqueror of the world?
Miris.
By no means.
Cleopatra.
Then have no fear, Miris. Antony is mine! And even if Elysium has thrown wide its gates, or Orcus opened its abyss for him, with a single smile I can call him back, and repel the Fates. The powers of Heaven and of Hell cannot restrain him from me.” Miris refers to Octavia. “Silence!” Cleopatra cries, “By heaven! If you value your life, mention her not again! That humdrum, lackadaisical creature! that alabaster image of simplicity will be frightened off by a single puff of breath from my lips. Aha! that breath has wrought mightier wonders. It has dissolved every nerve of the untamed Antony in love and voluptuousness, and subdued the very tigers. Antony, he knows what it is! . . . Know then, Miris, a man is only what the woman makes him. It is woman alone who can evoke this headlong rush of the blood, this all-embracing flight of the imagination,—the sole source of great and exalted deeds. This Antony, Miris, this fearful Colossus, Antony, who covers half the world with his shadow,—by all the gods, dear Miris, when, asleep in my arms, I bind him to the bedposts” [a feeble attempt to imitate the teasings of Shakespeare's Cleopatra], “and then when he awakes, slip away from the sulky hero, with a laugh, —if this poor world, whose lord he is, could see him then, what do you suppose it would think of its fettered demi-god?” “Miris.
Poor, poor Antony!
Cleopatra.
Hush! not even the gods themselves dare hear the secrets of women.
Miris.
You are then resolved———
Cleopatra.
To take him back to Alexandria with me.
Miris.
Why then do you not appear as Cleopatra?
Cleopatra.
No, Miris, no. The sheen of purple dries up the tears of pity, and freezes compassion. All alone, unadorned, with dishevelled hair, like a bride whose wild war has engulfed the bridegroom, I will appear before him,—like an orphaned one will I embrace his feet,—with hot tears bedew his warlike thoughts and melt his wildness into voluptuousness.
” They hear Antony coming and Exeunt. In the next five Scenes Antony learns that Sextus Pompeius is dead and that Lepidus is arrested; he thereupon vents his rage on Octavius, whom he now hates. ‘“I hate his eye,”’ he exclaims (and it is one of the best sayings in the play), ‘“I hate his eye; in it I see myself,—and I'll not be doubled! A second self is too much for me!”’ Octavia labours hard to effect a reconciliation between her brother and her husband and is at last successful. These are among the best Scenes of the play, if not the very best. The contrast between Octavius's sedate temperament and Antony's headlong, blustering violence, yet honest withal, is well kept up. Indeed, in my opinion Antony is the best character in the play, which, with advantage, might have been called Antonius, instead of ‘Cleopatra.’ With the kisses of his wife and the words, ‘“Farewell, my sweet Octavia!”’ still on his lips, Antony meets Cleopatra. He is astounded at seeing her in Tarentum; she at once taxes him with treachery and desertion. ‘“Who was it,”’ she bursts forth, ‘“that in the delicious intoxication of love swore never, never to desert me? Who? Hast thou forgotten, thou faithless man! the moments when our souls lingered on our wounded lips, when heavenly fire shot through every fibre, and glorified our beings, and, bathed in this sea of beneficent flames—hah, Elysium itself cannot outweigh a single moment of such existence!” “Antony.
Refrain, Cleopatra! refrain! the memory makes me quiver!
Cleopatra.
To think that inexorable time has power over such delights! that the impression of such feelings can vanish like a dream!
Antony.
Do me not wrong, Cleopatra.
Cleopatra.
No Antony! Thou art more or less than mortal, in that thou canst forget such feelings. Were I immortal and should lose myself in eternity, they would be my sole thought. Antony has treated me cruelly. Thou divine Isis, and all ye heavenly hosts, bear me witness how wholly I gave myself to this man; throughout the whole broad world I felt, saw, heard nothing but him! Every breath I drew, I counted lost that did not expire on his lips.
Antony.
Thou dear, dear, beloved one!
”’ Antony is on the point of yielding when Ventidius enters and summons him to the camp; he is about to obey when Cleopatra makes one last and desperate appeal to him. “Antony.
Cleopatra, what dost thou demand?
Cleopatra.
Dear, beloved idol of my soul, what in this wide world can I wish for, demand, long for but thee? but thyself?
Antony.
Sorceress! omnipotent Sorceress! whither would'st thou lead me?
Cleopatra.
To these arms, open to thee alone, to this bosom, to be pressed alone to thine, to these lips that glow alone for thee!
Antony.
So be it!
” Antony breaks off all negotiations with Cæsar and follows Cleopatra to Alexandria. Cæsar stirs up the Senate to declare war on Antony by setting forth Antony's prodigality in giving away provinces and cities, and by his treatment of Octavia. We have then a wild scene of revelry in the Palace of Cleopatra. Before Antony has slept off his drunken debauch, Ventidius comes to announce that Cæsar with his army is at hand. He finally arouses Antony and inspires him with wonted warlike fury. Actium is fought and the battle lost. Antony's despair and humiliation are, as in all other versions, profound. Again, as in former Scenes, his character is well sustained. Cleopatra attempts to console him and so far succeeds that she gains his consent to send a message to Octavius. “Cleopatra.
A wise man bends before the storm and, safe in port, awaits a more favourable hour. Thy name is still formidable enough—
Antony.
to frighten children to hide behind their mother's apron?
Cleopatra.
—to obtain from Cæsar an advantageous arrangement. Perhaps he will let me remain in Egypt, and permit you to retire to private life.
Antony.
“Permit?” This word forces blood out at my eyes!
Cleopatra.
Only this once! Oh, only this once! Listen to thy loved one!— Like the soft whispers of zephyrs the rest of thy life will glide away! My devotion shall infuse new strength and life into thy veins. Far from the dangers of a hero's path thou shalt repose on my breast, and from my lips thou shalt drink oblivion; I will only live, only breathe for thee.
Antony.
In vain do I close my ears. The magic of thy voice dissolves my whole being in love.
” Of course Antony is won; as soon as Cleopatra is alone she murmurs: ‘“What a pitiful creature a conquered man is! Cleopatra! Cleopatra! Dost thou still really love this shadow of an Antony? Ah, how high above him towers the young, powerful Cæsar! No, no, it was Antony that I loved, and Antony is now no more!”’ Antony meets Ventidius and by him is again inspired with martial ardour, and with the hope that by attacking Cæsar he can regain his lost honour. A battle is fought; at the end of the day Antony is victorious and returns triumphant to Cleopatra, who has a laurel wreath ready for him. In the midst of their rejoicing word is brought that Cæsar is advancing to a fresh attack. In the meantime Cleopatra has received a secret messenger from Cæsar, and while Antony is absent, renewing his fight with Cæsar, she thus reveals her treachery to Miris: “Miris.
Cæsar sent that offer to you?
Cleop.
Ay, indeed, and more too, if I would only deliver Antony up to him.
Miris.
Did you promise it?
Cleop.
We're not yet fully agreed. But just one glance of mine, a single smile of mock-modesty cast backward over the shoulder will bring this conqueror of the world prostrate at my feet.
Miris.
And Antony?
Cleop.
Antony?—Alas! Antony is no longer Antony.
Miris.
No longer? To whom thou sworest eternal fidelity? Thy terrestrial god?
Cleop.
That was Antony, the fortunate Antony; the conqueror of half the world, feared from sunrise to sunset, in all the splendour of the highest earthly height!
Miris.
Alas! it is the same Antony whom thou lovedst!
Cleop.
Miris, Miris, love is the favourite of Fortune. Suppose she deserts him? Fortune, with her all-powerful wheel, rolls everything up and down, excepting only me.
Miris.
Pardon me, queen, love accepts the man, without any accidental splendour. Thou hast never loved him.
Cleop.
By the immortals! I have; but love, like Fortune, has its caprices.
Miris.
Poor Antony!
Cleop.
That is just it! No, no, Cleopatra was not made to be the inamorata of a common mortal.
Miris.
Thou wilt leave him then?
Cleop.
Is it my fault, if Fortune has left him? . . . Dost thou not understand my plans?
Miris.
What wilt thou do with Cæsar?
Cleop.
The fate of his father and of Antony awaits him. When the world becomes too small for these rapacious Romans; when, in the course of their restless ambition, they crush nations, and the immeasurable universe offers no limit to their rapacity,—then it is Cleopatra who sets a limit to them. Here the wild conqueror lays down his arms; his haughty soul becomes entangled in the shifting web of love and luxury, with all its secret, and infinitely varying delights, which I weave about him, sometimes with a sparing, sometimes with a lavish hand; his greatness vanishes, his energy slumbers, he sinks to the level of the common herd. And such a triumph! by the immortal Isis, I would not exchange it for one of Cæsar's fairest victories!” Euphronius enters and adjures Cleopatra to fly. Antony has been defeated and is on his way hither, more raging than the ‘Hyrcanian tiger’ in his threats of vengeance against the queen, who at once takes to flight and escapes. When Ventidius has succeeded somewhat in calming Antony, he brings forward Octavia and Antony's children. Reconciliation and forgiveness rule the hour. Cleopatra, with Miris, has betaken herself to her Monument, and, knowing that she cannot appease Antony in his present mood, confides to Miris that she will send him word that she is dead, whereupon he will come to the Monument in deepest grief, and she, ‘“blooming, even in the grave, with all those charms which were so dangerous to him, will sink into his arms, and, with glowing kisses, steal forgiveness from his lips.”’ Euphronius brings word that Octavia is in Alexandria and is reconciled to Antony. A Scene here follows which is a weak, very weak, imitation of Shakespeare's Scene of Cleopatra and the slave who brings word that Antony is married to Octavia. When the tempest, such as it is, subsides, Euphronius is sent to announce Cleopatra's death to Antony, who is just finishing a highly moral discourse to his children on the wickedness of women, as Euphronius enters. After Euphronius retires, the manner of Antony's death is the same as in Plutarch. Euphronius returns to Cleopatra and reports Antony's despair when he announced her death to him. Cleopatra's exultation at this proof that Antony still loves her is boundless; all her love for Antony revives in tenfold force, and she revels in the thought of meeting him again. This ‘lightning before death,’ as it were, is well conceived. As soon as Euphronius is gone, Cleopatra breaks forth to Miris: “He loves me! Antonius still loves me! Did he not say “despair”?
Miris.
So I heard it.
Cleop.
Ay, despair! A frightful word, but to me so sweet! Did he not speak of dejection?
Mir.
Yes, indeed.
Cleop.
Dejection is the twin-sister of love! Love feeds dejection, and dejection feeds love.
Mir.
I heard of frenzy also.
Cleop.
Didst hear it! Frenzy! O this boundary line of passion is merely the highest step of love, the very summit of earthly joy.
Mir.
And all this, Queen?—
Cleop.
Whither leads it? O short-sighted girl!—Do you not know that Antonius will hasten hither? Hither! to gaze for the last time on the remains of his Cleopatra?
Mir.
And then?
Cleop.
Then? Then? O Miris, the gods themselves cannot appreciate the bliss of such a meeting!
” Word is brought that Antony has killed himself; Cleopatra drives from her presence the luckless messenger, of whom she demands to know if ‘“he has not sucked up every misfortune in nature, like a poisonous sponge, only to squeeze it out over her.”’ Miris brings the asp in a basket of flowers; Cleopatra apostrophises the spirit of Antony; she will ‘“cross the floods of eternity, as a queen, to him, and by her noble death appease him. But how,”’ she exclaims, ‘“if I should not find him? What if this presentiment of another meeting,—this powerful yearning for a reunion,—were a mere phantom? a fancy of the heated imagination? an intoxication of the soul, such as follows a goblet of Falernian?”’ When Cæsar's feet are almost on the threshold of the monument Cleopatra applies the asp to her breast: “Cleop.
It is done! Drain, thou most faithful of my subjects, drain every drop of blood which still clogs the free soul.
Miris.
Woe's me! Woe's me!
Cleop.
[sinking into her arms.]
Peace! peace!
Miris.
Canst thou leave me thus?
Cleop.
Follow!
Miris.
Woe's me!
Cleop.
My fetters—Cæsar's fetters! Antony! Farewell, Miris!—Farewell! [dies.]
”
Octavia, by August von Kotzebue
In 1801 there appeared a tragedy, called Octavia, by August von Kotzebue.
In a Preface the auther says that for a long time it seemed to him impossible to
harmonise the many contradictions in the character of Cleopatra. At last he came
to the conclusion that the cause of the evil, from which her actions sprang, lay in the
extremest sensual egoismus. It was fear which led to her first meeting with Antony.
She had been sternly commanded to give an account of the help she had bestowed
on Cassius. Her sole safety lay in her charms; she availed herself of them; her
austere judge became her wooer. Antony at this time was at the pinnacle of his
power, without his support her throne would topple; it seemed, therefore, of importance
that such a conquest should be retained. Added to this, there was an inclination
to voluptuousness and debauchery. Fear, Power, and Licentiousness were,
therefore, the only ties which bound this impure soul to the hero. Naturally, as soon
as these sources of control weakened, or even threatened to weaken, she must be
ready on the instant to sacrifice her lover. Thus she showed it in her flight at Actium;
thus, also, in her treacherous dealings with Cæsar; thus finally in the devilish fiction
concerning her death, in order to lead Antony to suicide. As an offset to the blackness
of her soul, should her heroic death be urged, and the tears shed on Antony's
corpse, it must be borne in mind that those tears and that death were only the
necessary consequence of Cæsar's inexorable will and invincible indifference to her
charms.
From clay thus sordid and foul it is hardly to be expected that the dramatist
should mould a gracious figure. And, indeed, in the motley group of the Cleopatras
who live their little day in the dramatic world, Kotzebue's Egyptian Queen is eminent
as the most deceitful, the most selfish, and the least attractive of them all.
Octavia, with her two children, braves the journey to Alexandria, pleads with her
brother for peace with Antony, and, after a promise from him of reconciliation, ventures
into Cleopatra's very palace and there pleads with Antony; just as she has
won him, and she and Antony with their two children are all mingling tears of joy,
Cleopatra enters, gazes for a while, unseen, on the group, comprehends it all, and
rushes with a dagger at Octavia. Antony seizes her arm in time, and the curtain
falls, with Cleopatra casting furious glances at Octavia and struggling in Antony's
grasp while Octavia gazes at her with pride, compassion, and scorn. The curtain
rises again on the same Scene. Of course Cleopatra has fainted, and of course
Antony thinks she is dead. But she revives, recalls the past scene, thanks Antony
for having prevented her from hurting that noblest of Roman women, whom she
now recognises and of whom she implores forgiveness. Antony pronounces them
both to be the noblest of women, whose kindred souls nature intended to be united
in sisterly love. ‘“Embrace,”’ he cries, ‘“hand in hand and breast to breast! let me
feast my eyes on the divine sight.”’ ‘“Dare I venture?”’ asks Cleopatra, timidly.
Octavia says, aside, ‘“Be still my heart, 'tis for the sake of peace,”’ and then aloud,
‘“Come hither; be thy friendly embrace a pledge for the future!”’ They embrace,
and Antony folds them both in his arms! There they both coo for some time while
he beams down on them, enraptured. At last Cleopatra begs to be excused in order
to provide some refreshment for Octavia. At this repast she offers to Octavia a
friendly cup, which is dashed from her hand by Ventidius who has, shortly before,
intimidated the purveyor of the poison into a confession of the plot. Antony drags
Cleopatra aside, and to him she confesses that it was love for him that prompted her
to the act, and so cajoles him that he dashes from her presence to go and fight a
duel with Cæsar. He leaves the unfortunate Octavia and his children in the power
of Cleopatra, after having asseverated to the Egyptian queen, with a most solemn
oath, that her life would answer for theirs. After his departure Cleopatra drives
Octavia from the palace with the grossest insults, but retains the children, who are,
however, shortly rescued by Eros and restored to their mother. To get rid of
Antony, whom she now hates, and to prepare the way to subjugate Cæsar with her
charms, Cleopatra decides on making Antony commit suicide, which she is sure he
will do, should he hear that she was dead. Under instructions from her, Charmion
tells Antony with befitting outcries and lamentations that Cleopatra has drowned
herself in the Nile. Antony obligingly fulfills Cleopatra's anticipations, and, after
stabbing himself, expires in the arms of Octavia and of his weeping children. Of
Cleopatra's ultimate fate we have no knowledge.
Antoine et Cléopatre, by S. D. Morgues
‘“Antoine et Cléopatre, Tragedie, Par le Citoyen S. D. M., Habitant de Montpellier. L'ennui naquit un jour de l'uniformité.—Voltaire. A Paris. An XI.—1803.”’
Dr Moeller was the first, I believe, to unwrap the anonimity of the author
of this version (that it was a kindness may be doubted), by finding, in the copy
belonging to the Bibliothèque Nationale, a letter, addressed to the printer of the
play, signed ‘S. D. Morgues.’ In his Preface the author tells us that he has long
observed that the dramas presented on the stage are not lively enough with song and
dance, and that the audience yawns over them. The following tragedy is supposed
to correct this defect. To show us how ebullient is his Muse, and how he lisps in
numbers and the numbers come, and how competent he is to enliven a tragedy,
throughout five of the thirteen pages of his Preface, he caracoles in verse. The
setting of the stage for the First Act and Scene will give some idea of the capacity
of Citoyen Morgues to carry out his plan: ‘“The Theatre represents a gallery or hall
of the palace, decorated with everything magnificent or voluptuous that the imagination
can conceive. On the side scenes are pictures of the loves of Mars and Venus
and many mirrors. At the back is a superb throne, enriched with precious stones,
where Cleopatra, as Venus, is seated, with Love as a young child at her side. The
Ambassadors of neighboring kings, each in his national costume, grandees, officers
of State, stand, according to their rank, on the steps of the throne. The rest of the
scene is filled with Loves, Graces, the Pleasures, etc.”’
Cleopatra is awaiting the arrival of Antony, and this gay scene has been devised
to raise his spirits, sadly depressed since the battle of Actium. Nymphs sing of his
warlike prowess, he enters, is overwhelmed with the brilliancy of the scene and the
ravishing beauty of Cleopatra, and is about to refer to the disgrace of Actium when
the queen interrupts, announcing that the whole day is to be given up to delight, and
commands the Nymphs, Pleasures, Graces, Loves to bind the hero captive with the
chains of Cytherea. Hereupon follow several pages of a ‘Song,’ composed of such
stanzas as the following:
Under the influence of such sparkling and novel strains, what eye can droop, or head incline to yawn! But quips and cranks and wanton wiles cannot last for ever. Lucilius breaks in and the charm is snapt. From here to the end of the play Plutarch's fine direct prose is converted, or perverted, into dull rhyming couplets. There are, however, some episodes. After hearing the false report of Cleopatra's death Antony becomes frantic. The Shades of the victims of his past cruelty appear, especially Cicero, and he apostrophises them with horror. Another notable divergence from Plutarch, for which we must give Citoyen Morgues all credit, is the ingenious excuse whereby Cleopatra eludes the vigilance of Octavius himself, and escapes from his very presence in order to compass her own death and thereby thwart his plans. Her device, which cannot fail to appeal to the female heart, is thus contrived: the incident of Seleucus and the false brief has just closed (but very tamely, in comparison with Jodelle) when Cleopatra exclaims:“Our springtime resembles these roses,
So then, while old Time is still flying,
Which have but a day of delight,
The sun all their beauty discloses,
But they die with the advent of night.
Let us seize all his joys as they pass,
And with raptures, each other outvying,
Find delight in each grain in his glass.
”
These are the last words we hear from her. When next we behold her she is a corpse, magnificently attired, with Iras dead by her side. Charmian is dying, but, evidently with a soul prophetic of the future dispute over the mode of Cleopatra's death, refuses to commit herself by telling Octavius how or from what cause her mistress died.“Ye gods! and have I lost all sense of shame?
Thus dressed, to venture in the gaze of men?
Woe's me! my fatal sorrows are the cause.
Disgrace has plunged me to the lowest depths.
All things, e'en shame, are dead within my soul!
'Tis too degrading thus to blush 'fore Cæsar!
I can no longer bear his steady gaze.
Permit me, Sir, to leave you for a minute,
My garments' plight enforces my retirement.
Allow me hence to go to re-arrange them.
I'll presently return, and show myself
More nobly vestured, and, perhaps, more worthy
A queen disgraced, who blushes at her state.
”
Cléopâtre, by M. Alexandre Soumet
Cléopâtre, Tragédie en cinq Actes et en Vers, Par M. Alexandre Soumet,
de l' Academie Française. Représentée, pour la première fois, sur le Théâtre Royal
de l' Odéon, le 2 Juillet 1824. There is a marked contrast between the present tragedy
and its predecessor by Citoyen Morgues; it could hardly be otherwise, considering
that one is by a member of the French Academy and the other by a ‘habitant de
Montpellier.’ Its Dramatis Personæ are: Cléopatre, reine d' Egypte. Antoine.
Octavie. Marcellus, fils d' Antoine et d' Octavie. Octave César. Proculeius,
ambassadeur de Rome. Éros, esclave d' Antoine. Phorbas, ministre de Cléopâtre.
Théone, femme de Cléopâtre. We learn from Moeller (p. 83) that other plays by
Soumet were highly popular, but that the present one was a decided failure, which
is conceivable if the standard be the attractiveness of the characters. Cleopatra is
selfish and treacherous. Octavius, also, is treachery itself; after professions of fraternal
love to Antony and of fidelity to Cleopatra, he confides to Proculeius that both are
destined for the Tarpeian Rock. Antony is the least repellent of the three, but even
he, as in a majority of these Versions, is as weak as he is foolish. It cannot be surprising,
therefore, that in spite of the dignity of the style and the goodness of the
construction, the play was a failure.
Cleopatra appears in the First Scene and strikes the chord which is to vibrate in
the last. In obedience to her commands sundry deadly poisons, an envenomed dagger,
and the asps stand ready for use on a funeral altar in the interior of a pyramid
whither she has betaken herself after the battle of Actium. In a conversation with
her attendant, Théone, Cleopatra reveals her treachery and tells of a secret treaty
which she has made with Octavius, whom she hopes soon to see at her feet. Proculeius,
the envoy of Octavius, enters and announces to Cleopatra that his master
will make her queen of all the East if she will surrender Antony to him. She refuses
with scorn to be an assassin and, having always at hand the means of killing herself,
bids Proculeius tell Cæsar that she awaits his arrival at this sepulchre with a dagger
in her hand. Proculeius departs. Antony enters, having, to the astonishment of
Cleopatra, recovered from the delirium of shame into which the loss of Actium had
plunged him. His self-accusations in having been, instead of a victorious emperor,
merely Cleopatra's lover, and the laughing stock of the universe, sting Cleopatra into
indignant rage and she scornfully asks him why he does not at once go over to
the Roman camp:
Antony declines and asserts that even now he intends to conquer Cæsar; he has friends and soldiers enough to protect Alexandria and Cleopatra. This intention of fighting for her softens Cleopatra's heart, and the Act closes with a reconciliation. The Second Act opens with a conversation between Antony and Eros in which, as in Cleopatra's case, we have an anticipation of tragedy,—Antony reminds Eros of his promise to kill him, should he demand it. A conference between Antony and Octavius follows in which there are mutual recriminations and a general airing of all complaints. Cæsar represents the cause of absolute monarchy, while Antony is the advocate of freedom against tyranny, and each harangues his warriors from his own point of view. Cæsar denounces Antony as a rebel and Antony denounces Cæsar as a tyrant. The conference is broken up by the entrance of Octavia, who utters her sad complaints and adjures Antony to return to the path of virtue and to Rome. But her husband listens coldly, until at last Octavius plays a well-devised stroke by producing the secret treaty made with Octavius by Cleopatra. Hardly has Antony finished reading it, when Cleopatra herself is announced. Antony taxes her with her treachery, but she defends herself as having done everything solely with a view to his protection. She confessed to having made a treaty with Rome, but had broken it when she found it was to be sealed with his blood. Goaded to madness she turns on Octavia with the declaration that for herself she had sacrificed to Antony all her fleet, her treasure, her armies, her estates, and all her subjects, merely to uphold his rights; while in return, he it was who now devised her impending ruin, and at the words ‘“your plottings——”’ Antony interrupts and tells her to respect Octavia's mourning weeds[!], and, proclaiming Octavia to be a model of virtue, asserts that no one shall insult her in his presence; then commanding his wife to follow him, he goes out with the words, ‘I blush for myself, but I am proud of Octavia.’ Cleopatra, left alone, bewails her fate, but finds comfort, not only in having defeated all hopes of a treaty between Antony and Cæsar, but also in the command which she is about to issue to her army to renew the battle. She gives one dark hint: ‘“If some day this steel in the blood of Octavia—Therefor I am hoping—.”’ The Third Act opens while the battle is raging, and Cleopatra, with Théone, is awaiting news of the issue. Brooding over the way in which Antony has left her, she says,“'Tis not the hour thus to speak to me.
If after all, so dearly you love Rome,
Why do you not, forsooth, at once betake
Yourself to Cæsar? his camp is close at hand.
You'll thus escape the weary bonds which bind you.
Perhaps the Romans are awaiting you?
Nay and perchance your trembling wife, Octavia,
Will there, among them all, protect you, Sir;
And lictors improvise a noble escort;
Desert! desert! these fatal halls of death!
My guards stand ready to conduct your steps.
”
Phorbas enters, describes Antony's victory, and how he had obtained from the priests a precious frontlet which only the queens of Egypt were allowed to wear; Phorbas adds, that, according to rumour, this frontlet was destined for Octavia. Amid the transports of rage into which Cleopatra falls on hearing this, she throws out another dark hint that if she must descend from her throne she will first bathe it in blood. In the next Scene Antony confides to Eros that the frontlet is destined for the Egyptian queen; he will repudiate Octavia and marry Cleopatra, amid general rejoicings and festivities; he is proud, he says, to bear her yoke, and his only wish is to bring the haughty Romans to her feet. Cleopatra enters and greets Antony with ironical congratulations on his approaching festivity, to which she says she has invited a few other guests,—certain witnesses whom he does not expect. “In crowning her,“Perhaps this triumph, which I so desire,
Will prove the worst misfortune of my life.
And Cleopatra, at this fatal moment,
Can breathe no prayer,—not even for her lover.
”
” she asks, “whom you so deeply love
Will no remorse arise to vex your soul?
Antony.
I know how much this day will bring of sorrow;
But———
Cleopatra.
'Twill see the flow of far more blood than tears.
This festal day is not yet finished, monster!
Didst thou suppose that my quiescent hatred
Would suffer thee to compass my dishonour?
Thou'lt see that I can yet avenge my crown.
My throne in falling will o'erwhelm thee too.
” Antony is thunderstruck and asks what means this frightful misunderstanding, and asserts that he is for ever separated from Octavia, and hopes at the altar of the immortal gods to marry Cleopatra, the sole object of his idolatry. On hearing these words, a pallor overspreads Cleopatra's features. At that instant Eros rushes in with the news that treachery has opened the gates of Alexandria and that the Romans are even now at the very doors of the palace. Cleopatra confesses that, prompted by black jealousy, the treachery is hers, and implores Antony to kill her as a punishment, and also to save her from Cæsar, from Rome, and from herself. Antony leaves her with the bitter hope that her treachery will be successful, and her path to power re-opened when the conqueror greets her, bearing in his hand Antony's head. When alone, Cleopatra bewails, not so much the loss of her crown, as of Antony, and resolves that she will seek the camp of Cæsar; if she once find lodgement there, it will prove fatal to him; then, by his death, Antony may regain power. In the Fourth Act Antony has in vain sought death in battle, and, when Eros enters and announces that Octavia is approaching, he commands Eros to kill him, and just as he is about to obey, Octavia enters; she pleads with him and finally brings forward his son, Marcellus, who does not know that Antony is his father, but tells how proud he is of him and of his valour, until at last Antony breaks down, reveals himself to his son, and expresses astonishment at finding the voice of nature awaken in his heart; he obeys the voice, and folds Octavia and Marcellus in his arms. Cleopatra has an interview with Octavius in which she temptingly sets before him the grandeur of a vast empire which he could found, with Alexandria as a Capital. Octavius asks if he could possibly ‘“abandon Rome and its glorious walls?”’ Cleopatra replies that ‘“Rome makes heroes, but Egypt makes gods.”’ Octavius in turn invites Cleopatra to go to Rome with him and there unfold the grandeur of her vast projects. She assents, after saying in an aside, ‘“Tremble, imprudent young man!”’ The Act closes with Octavius's words to Proculeius, in reference to Cleopatra and Antony, that the Tarpeian Rock awaits its two victims. In the Fifth Act (which takes place within a Pyramid) Cleopatra has discovered Octavius's treachery, and that he intends to take her as a captive to Rome, where, as she tells Théone, she will be “Exposed to all the insults of the mob
And lictors will exhibit for a penny,
The queen of Egypt, as a show, in chains!
” (Wherein we have a possible reminiscence of Shakespeare.) She expresses her hatred of Octavia, and decides that Phorbas shall lure her hither and contrive her death. Octavia, with Marcellus, enters the Pyramid in search of Antony; she bids the young boy await her while she explores the passage down which Cleopatra has just disappeared. The lad hears piercing screams; Cleopatra immediately enters with the reeking steel yet in her hand and bids him fly, which he does, shrieking for his father to avenge his mother's murder. A sudden, unexpected, and inexpressible horror seizes Cleopatra, she feels that her hour is come, and thrusts her arm into a vase where lie the asps.
Phorbas enters and tells how Antony has stabbed himself and is even now approaching to behold Cleopatra once more before he breathes his last. Antony enters, Cleopatra tells him that poison already invades her heart. Antony doubts. She appeals to her pallor. “Antony.“'Tis done! and now can Fate no further harm me!
To mock Octavius and all his cruelty,
I've sent this poison speeding through my veins
Come hither, tyrant! here thou shalt find proof
That I need none to teach me how to die.
”
'Tis death,—I see 'tis done,— 'tis death, indeed.
Thou never yet hast looked so fair to me.
Once more I taste of that delirious joy
In gazing on those eyes, whose brightness fails!
Let me behold thee, and close pressed in mine
Lay thou thy flower-soft hand.—'Tis icy cold!
The tomb unites us, and we are both alike.
'Tis well with me, since we are one in death.
Cleopatra.
Hast pardoned me! And dost thou know my crime?
Antony.
What sayest thou?
Cleopatra.
Know'st thou my victim's name?
Know'st thou the vengeful stroke? My frightful rage———
Antony.
Octavia———
Cleopatra.
Precedes us both in death.
Canst thou forgive me?
Antony.
Forgive thee? monster!
Though death unite us, crime divides us now.
Spare me the sight of thee, as death draws nigh,
'Tis shuddering horror to die in thine embrace! [Dies.
Scene the Last
Enter Octavius, to Cleopatra and Phorbas. Attendants bearing torches.
Octavius.
Egyptians, give your Queen up to my power.
My car of triumph she must follow soon.
Make search for him, my second captive.
Cleopatra
[pointing to Antony's corpse.]
Look there!
You ne'er before beheld him without fear!
Octavius.
He's dead!
Cleopatra.
Give way to joy without constraint.
Octavius.
What terror could be stirred in me by him?
Does not the universe belong to me?
He has robb'd me of the glory of his pardon;
He was my captive.
Cleopatra.
Thou dar'st not believe it.
Thou tremblest yet, e'en after conquering him.
A hero's fall has stricken thee with terror.
Octavius.
This is too much; 'tis time that crime be punished.
Octavia's tears and blood you'll dearly pay for.
Lay hold on her! and load her arms with fetters!
Your punishment's a sight I owe to Rome.
Cleopatra.
Thou hast cajoled them with it?
Phorbas.
Sir, she dies!
The poison———
Cleopatra.
Yes, thou tyrant, I elude thee!
Without thine aid I have controlled my fate.
Come, snatch this death from out my painful breast,
Or crown thy memory with a novel crime
And bind to thy triumphal chariot Cleopatra. [Dies.
”
Cléopatre, by Émile de Girardin (Delphine Gay）
Cléopatre was written for Mademoiselle Rachel by Madame Émile de
Girardin (Delphine Gay）, and acted for the first time in 1847.
The play opens before the battle of Actium (which is unusual in these Versions);
Ventidius, Antony's closest friend, is sent to Cleopatra to call her to account for
having given aid and comfort to Brutus. In Cleopatra's palace Ventidius meets Diomedes,
Cleopatra's secretary, and the two have a long and friendly conference, which
reveals to each that they have in view the same end, namely, to keep Antony from
falling into the toils of the Egyptian queen, on the one hand, and Egypt from falling
under the dominion of Cleopatra's lover, on the other. It is, dramatically, a skilful
opening; opportunity is afforded to Diomedes to unfold Cleopatra's character, and to
Ventidius to unfold Antony's. Diomedes describes his queen's invincible charm of
manner, which disarms all hate and impels instant forgiveness for all misdeeds; she
is always a queen, and always a woman; in her frail frame is discerned a great soul,
and royalty amidst her weakness. Thus she goes from crime to crime,
“Bravant impunément et le peuple et la cour,Ne méritant que haine et n'inspirant qu'amour.
” In the description of her love of luxury and pleasure we find what is perhaps the nearest approach to ‘custom cannot stale her infinite variety’ where Diomedes says, “Ce bruit, ce mouvement d'une éternelle fête,
Tourbillon de plaisir qui jamais ne s'arrête.
” To this ambitious, unprincipled, luxurious character, Ventidius describes Antony's as an exact counterpart. Some plan must be devised, therefore, of controlling Antony and of converting his love for Cleopatra into jealousy and hate, should it threaten to overmaster him. An instrument to carry out this plan is found in an Egyptian Slave. This young Slave, as handsome as an Apollo, had fallen wildly in love with Cleopatra, who, in an hour of ennui, had deigned to look on him, and listen to the delirious protestations of his adoration; when at last he exclaimed, ‘“Give me death, if you will, for one moment of love!”’ she had bestowed on him a smile of assent. ‘“Poison and the Nile,”’ concludes Diomedes, ‘“will this day end the disgraceful amour.”’ Just as Ventidius discerns the drift of Diomedes and exclaims, ‘“Marc Antony is jealous . . . If, rescuing this slave . . . ”’ the interview is broken off by the approach of some one, and the Scene ends. In the next Scene Charmion appears, bearing a goblet of foaming liquor, a new and deadly poison just received from Thrace, as she explains to Iras, which, as it is now dawn, the young Slave must quaff and ‘“pay with his life for a moment of bliss.”’ The young Slave enters and joyously demands the goblet which Charmion hands to him; whereupon, in some impassioned verses, he apostrophises Night, which is about to envelop him, and Death, which he welcomes: “Je suis prêt à partir pour les rivages sombres;
Prends mon sang et ma vie et mon jeune avenir.
Mais permets qu'avec moi j'emporte chez les ombres
Le souvenir . . . le souvenir!
” He lifts the cup, drinks, and falls. On the instant Diomedes rushes in, saying to Charmion and Iras that the queen is asking for them, and they depart forthwith. Diomedes is followed by Ventidius and a Leech, who at once takes the young Slave in hand and by the administration of antidotes recalls him to life. Thus ends the First Act. Although neither Antony nor Cleopatra appear in it, their presence pervades it throughout. The opening of the Second Act introduces us to Cleopatra, reclining on a couch; before her a High Priest, a Philosopher, a Savant, and an Architect. This revelation of the intellectual side of Cleopatra's character is to be found in no other presentation of her with which I am acquainted. She listens to the High Priest as he expounds the Egyptian religion, and she promises to take part in certain ceremonies; she bids the Philosopher admit to the School, Egiras of Samos, a young student of ability; she exhorts the Architect to hasten the building of the temple of Hermonthis; and asks the Savant how many new volumes have been added to the Library to replace those that were burnt, etc. After the departure of this group, and she is left alone with Iras and Charmion, she tells them how weary she is, waiting for Antony, whom the oracles have promised she should see to-day. By a subtle and Shakespearian touch, which I am afraid was suggested by Theophile Gautier's Une Nuit de Cléopatre, this weariness is attributed to everything about her, the earth and sky, the people and the climate. ‘“Oh!”’ she exclaims, ‘“how slowly pass the weary hours! And how depressing is this breezeless heat!”
To raise Cleopatra's spirits Charmion and Iras recall the splendour of the voyage on the Cydnus, and rehearse the description, as given in Plutarch. Anthony enters in disguise, accompanied by Ventidius and Diomedes, and listens with delight to Cleopatra's expressions of disappointment at his failure to appear. At last he reveals himself and explains his disguise as due to the secrecy which attends a meeting at the harbour for the purpose of concluding a treaty. Cleopatra implores him to remain; he is about to yield, when Ventidius whispers to him, ‘The Slave is there; are you no longer jealous?’ ‘The Slave!’ gasps Antony, aside, ‘that one word re-awakes my rage.’ And he hurries precipitately away. Cleopatra mistrusts Antony's ‘treaty’ and believes that he is deceiving her. While she is in a balcony, watching the departing ships, the Slave, from below, shoots up to her an arrow bearing the message that Antony is treacherous, is become friends with Cæsar, and has left for Rome, to marry Octavia. This resuscitated Slave, through whom Diomedes and Ventidius believed that they could always awaken Antony's jealousy (and as we have just seen, successfully), and who, they hoped, would prove an implacable foe to Cleopatra, remains, in reality, the queen's idolater, and becomes her devoted guardian; in the very last Scene of all it is he who, in mercy, brings the asp in the basket of figs. Cleopatra learns from Diomedes that Octavia is beautiful and charming; she thereupon decides that, disguised as a Greek slave, with Diomedes and Iras as her sole companions, she will go to Tarentum and see for herself. She arrives there and is enabled to overhear an interview between Cæsar and his sister, Octavia, when the latter will not allow Cæsar to utter one word in derogation of Antony's love for her. ‘But,’ says Cæsar, ‘he insults both you and me———’ ‘I feel no insult,’ cries Octavia,“With no cool cloud in skies for ever clear,
No tear of moisture in the unpitying blue!
The skies have never winter, spring, nor fall;
There's nought to change their dazzling monotone.
And on the desert's verge there hangs the sun,
A huge and blood-red eye for ever open.
This constant brilliance tires my dreaming soul.
Could I but see a single drop of rain
I'd give these pearls, this carcanet, my Iras.
Ah! life in Egypt is a heavy burthen!
No, this rich land, so justly celebrated,
For me, young queen, is but a realm of death.
They vaunt its palaces, its monuments,
But what excite most wonder are but tombs.
Where'er one treads, one knows there sleep beneath
The rigid mummies of long ages past.
Call it a land of murder and remorse.
The living toil but to embalm the dead. . . .
Here's nought but what to me is odious;
All, e'en its beauties, fill me with affright,
Ay, e'en its famous stream, with course unknown,
Whose head is sought in vain, three thousand years.
Its very blessing seems like a misfortune,
Because the sombre secret of its richness
Lies not within the sun's gift, nor a star's.
This fruitfulness is born of a disaster.
”
When the conference is at an end, Cæsar retires by one door and Octavia is about to retire by another, when Cleopatra rushes forth with the cry that ‘her punishment has been too long and that she is dying.’ Iras flies to her assistance; Octavia, who does not, of course, know who she is, pauses with kindly interest and recommends her own Greek physician. Cleopatra gives orders to Diomedes for her immediate return to Alexandria, and in a long soliloquy confesses the power which Octavia ‘possesses in her conscious chastity,’ ‘that grand word which for the first time she comprehends,—that grand word, virtue, which rings so loud.“'Tis in his courage that his virtue lies!
A hero's love, so properly applauded,
Is cheaply bought by some few bitter tears.
What matters Cleopatra,—nay, any mistress?
He loves them but in moments of delirium.
When reason rallies, I am his delight,
'Tis I whom he then seeks in his chaste home,
To me is all his future dedicated.
'Tis I whom he respects,—and women envy.
'Tis mine alone to follow, and wait on him
Without a blush and fearless of a witness . . . .
Thou seest, brother, that my lot is fairest!
”
All the blame of her past follies she lays on the African sun that sent its own hot fire through her youthful veins. But for this fiery god she would have known love in its purity, and beneath her crown she would have had a loyal and stainless brow, and given to Octavia gaze for gaze. In the meantime Antony, his love for Cleopatra having revived with full force, breaks loose from Ventidius and discovers Cleopatra, just as she is about to leave Tarentum. Vows of mutual love are renewed and they agree to meet again at Actium. When the Fourth Act opens, the battle of Actium has been fought, and Antony is the victim of abysmal despair, from which he is, however, aroused by the devotion of his soldiers, led on by an old, scarred veteran named Faustus. Cleopatra approaches, and is at first repelled, but she throws herself on her knees at Antony's feet and, taking upon herself all the blame of the defeat, begs to be forgiven. She then goes on to describe the delirium of excitement in which she entered on the battle. She saw Antony in his dazzling gold armour and heard his voice; he seemed a being from another sphere, so terrible, so grand was he. She had no thought of fear; she stood on her vessel's prow with flowing hair, her limbs of brass and her soul of fire; she quaffed healths to Neptune, to Jupiter, to Mars, and flung the golden goblets in the deep. She heard the shrieks, the whistling of the javelins, and saw the blue waves with blood incarnadined. The scene was too horrible for one of even her regal race,—her reason tottered; when, of a sudden, a soldier fell wounded on the deck and his blood rushed forth in great gushes. She drew near,—O Gods! he resembled Antony! In an instant all was forgotten, pride, glory, history, fame; one thought dominated all others: to save Antony's life. She gave the signal to retreat and knew that Antony would obey it: “Et quand je t'ai revu, quand je t'ai retrouvé,“This noble dame, oblivious of vengeance,
Appeared to me to be indeed sublime.
My better nature could esteem her greatness;
I loved her bearing of high purity.
I envied her calm front and stern regard . . . .
O Brutus! virtue's not an empty name!
'Tis not a lie, a false illusion,—No!
'Tis an authority, a boundless force,—
'Tis the first step where royalty begins!
It is a precious gift, a treasure all divine!
”
Je n'ai pas dit: J'ai fui . . . . j'ai dit: Je t'ai sauvé!
” Of course Antony forgives her and folds her in his arms, with a reminiscence of Shakespeare, as he says ‘“L'Empire ne vaut pas une larme de toi.”’ A new life is breathed into him and he calls for his armour, but even in that moment he confesses to Cleopatra that his sole enemy is mistrust, yes, mistrust. The faintest suspicion of a mistrust of her, and the world with all its ambitions fades from him. At this instant Ventidius appears and announces that all Cleopatra's army has deserted to Cæsar; and that there is a secret treaty whereby Antony, also, is to be delivered to the conqueror. Instantly Antony's mistrust flares up into certainty; he tears himself away from Cleopatra, bidding her ‘“Weep! groan!—I know now the value of thy tears.”’ Hardly had he left her, and given directions to his soldiers, when the Slave enters and tells him that Cleopatra is dead. His response is ‘“Run to those soldiers, tell them—Antony is about to die! Dead! she loved me then, and I maligned her!”’ He commands Faustus to kill him; the story of Eros is repeated from Plutarch. The Fifth Act discovers Antony dying on a couch in the Hall of the Tombs of the Ptolemies. His prayer that he may die in Cleopatra's arms is granted. Cleopatra bewails her loss, reiterating her boundless love for him and beseeching Isis to lead her to him. Charmion says, ‘“Death's pallor now is creeping o'er his face. Let us invoke him thrice as it is done in Rome.”’ She calls, ‘“Antony!”’ Cleopatra calls, ‘“Antony!”’ But the third call is uttered by Octavia, who enters unexpectedly. She is no longer the calm woman of aforetime, but she rails at Cleopatra; acknowledges her hate, and hopes to live to see the Egyptian queen her slave and bound to the triumphal chariot of Octavius. The drama now comes swiftly to a close. While Cleopatra is rehearsing the bitter fate which will compel her to enter Rome in Cæsar's triumph, the Slave enters bearing a basket of fruit, and, prostrating himself before the queen, says to her, aside, ‘“Rome awaits thee, thou wilt leave this evening, unless, preferring a quick and noble death—Hast fear of death?” “Cleop.
I?—I fear the shame. A poniard?
Slave.
A poniard! These surly guards at sight of any blow thou'dst give thyself, would force on thee their aid.
Cleop.
Poison?
Slave.
The soul does not yield readily to poison,—no, thou wouldst suffer too much pain and be less beautiful in dying. Amid these ruddy fruits some serpents are concealed; their venom lulls you to the last long sleep, sans horror, suffering, or a change of features.
Cleop.
[making a sign to the Slave to bring the basket near the throne.]
There! Let me give to death an air of triumph! My crown, O Charmion, and my royal robe! [Cleopatra ascends the throne, Iras and Charmion place the royal mantle on her shoulders; she puts the crown on her head.
Officer.
Cæsar!
Slave.
Cæsar comes!
Cleop.
Oh! would that he would come!
My noble Charmion, my death will be thine.
[To Iras.]
Adieu, weep not.—And thou, serpent of Nile,
Free me! [She thrusts her hand into the basket and is stung by an aspic.]
Already!—the poison 's quick!
I shall again see Antony!
With joy I die—Come, Cæsar, and here seek thy prey!
'Tis ready—thou canst bind it to thy car!
Now I rejoin thee, Antony———[To Cæsar who enters.]
And I await thee, Cæsar! [At the approach of Cæsar the dying Cleopatra raises herself with an effort, extends to him her hand, smiles, and falls back dead.
Cæsar.
Elle m'a trompé!—morte!—Elle et lui!—je respire!
A ces deux orgueilleux la tombe—à moi l' Empire!’ [Exeunt omnes.
” Théophile Gautier, in an Introduction to the collected Works of Mad. de Girardin, referring to the foregoing Version, declares that “it is the most masculine work that ever a woman's hand created;” and exclaims, “How magnificent was Mademoiselle Rachel in the rôle of Cleopatra! What dangerous fascination! What viperine grace! what mortal beauty! what unshunnable ascendancy! . . . It is indeed to be deeply regretted that the tragedy had to be dropped from the Repertoire after the premature death of the great tragedienne, who alone could personate the Egyptian Queen as she had personated Marie Stuart, that other seductress whom history condemns and whom poesie pardons.” Dr William Everett (The Atlantic Monthly, February, 1905), thus praises Mad. de Girardin's tragedy: “The play is written with great force and beauty of expression, and deserves no inferior place among those we are discussing. It could hardly help being superior to Alfieri's boyish effort,—but it has more dignity than The False One, with less appearance of being hurried for the stage; the scope and field is wider than All for Love, and le grand Corneille must confess his brilliant countrywoman excels him in manliness. . . . The radical defect, to Saxon taste, is the spirit of declamation that dominates situation and poetry. Ventidius, Diomedes, the Slave, Antony, Cæsar, Octavius, Cleopatra, all have to develop their feelings in long tirades—le recit de Théramene. One does not question that Rachel and her coadjutors could have given them with immense spirit and feeling; one feels that the point and wit of the French language is here elevated to a dignity worthy of Bossuet and Vergniaud. But in Antony and Cleopatra there is not a single speech twenty lines long; the rhetoric which, in Coriolanus, in Julius Cæsar, in Henry V., in Henry VIII., unless that is Fletcher's, throws all Corneille and Racine into the shade, is laid aside for fear it should mar the dramatic perfection of the character and incidents.”
Antony and Cleopatra, by Walter Savage Landor
Walter Savage Landor has entitled one of his inimitable Dialogues in Verse,
Antony and Cleopatra; it consists of Twelve Scenes wherein appear about the same
number of Shakespeare's chief characters; but they are Shakespeare's characters only
in name, nor are they the characters of Plutarch. The fire of Shakespeare's Cleopatra
is subdued to a pure, unwavering glow, exquisitely radiant with love for Antony
and for her children. Antony's turbulence has vanished; he is the calm, highsouled,
broken-hearted, classic hero. The story of the asps is treated as mere
gossip. Cleopatra dies of the poison contained in a ruby ring which Antony gives
her (in the Scene here reprinted). Her death is not described; she sends the empty
ring to Antony; he understands that she has taken the poison and is dead; he
thereupon kills himself. Cæsarion is endowed with every charm of a young boy
just verging on manhood, and his cruel death, commanded by Octavius, under the
stabs of Scopas's dagger, is harrowing; without being similar, there is about the Scene
of his death, an indefinable reminiscence of the Scene between Arthur and Hubert.
Only those Scenes wherein Cleopatra appears are here reprinted.
Cleopatra, A Tragedy in one Act, by G. Conrad
Cleopatra, A Tragedy in one Act, by G. Conrad (a name assumed, according to
Moeller, by Prince George of Prussia, of whom I know nothing further), appeared
in 1868. It is in three Scenes; the first two are skilfully devised to introduce the
third and most important. In the first a dialogue between Iras and Charmion, who
bears a covered basket of flowers wherein lie the asps, sets forth the resolution of
the queen to die, and gives occasion to describe the past glories of the voyage on
the Cydnus, their brilliant feasts, Antony's death, and Cleopatra's bearing toward
Augustus. In the second we have an ardent love-scene beween the queen and Dolabella,
wherein the latter is the impassioned lover. As a proof of his devotion, he
divulges the secret that Augustus is resolved to lead the queen in triumph in Rome,
for which Dolabella hates him and implores Cleopatra to fly with himself to some
paradise, where, amid perfume and flowers, raptures and delight, intoxicated with
transports, they can lose and forget the world. The queen promises to give him an
answer before the night is over, and calls him her ‘beloved one’ as, at the approach
of Augustus, she bids him a hurried farewell. In the third Scene Augustus enters,
cold, distant, and haughty. In the dialogue which follows we find that Augustus
represents patriotism, the prosaic, sterner virtues, and simplicity, not unalloyed with
severity and over-weening ambition; Cleopatra represents the poesy of life, the joyousness
of art, of love, of sensuous delights, the artist's vision and the poet's dream.
The Egyptian queen invites her Roman conqueror to enter this world of happiness
which all are struggling to attain. The Spartan virtues are no longer practised;
renunciation and submission are a weariness. But Augustus turns a deaf ear to all
her allurements and asserts that ‘“undeterred he will pursue his aims.”’ Thereupon
Cleopatra replies:
“But trust in me, and thou shalt still be happy.Before thee shall unfold an unknown life,
So full, so fair, like nothing else on earth,
Where every pain, and every care is hushed;
The might of beauty, and the glow of passion,
The fairest bloom of shape, and all the joy,
To thee unknown, of sweet and magic hours,———
All these await thee; and ecstatic joy
Will waft its glowing flames about thy heart.
O haughty victor! thou art mine! Thou canst
Not now withstand me! [She turns toward him, as with the keenest rapture.
Augustus.
Dare I, Cleópatra, put trust in thee?
Cleopatra.
And dost thou doubt me still? What shall I do
To put far from thee all suspicion?
Dost thou desire my crown? I will exchange it
For my victor's love. Speak! Dost trust me now?
Must I e'en follow thee to Rome? I'm ready.
Thou dost not shake thy head. Dare I then hope? . . .
That I did hate thee once, I'll not deny.
Nay, I have even wished thy death. But now
'Tis far, far different; it is thy mien
That now has vanquished me.
Augustus.
Art thou so fickle, queen? How else can I
Explain this wondrous transformation?
Cleopatra.
Oh, take me with thee! I am wholly thine!
I know,—I feel that numbered are my hours;
Too keen have been my sufferings of late!
My life has been a never-ending fray.
Oh, take me with thee, that my dying eyes
May rest on thine; in gold and purple sheen
My sun will set, if I'm beloved by thee! . . . [She turns to him, as though
[Aside.]
He stands unmoved! Disgrace ineffable! inspired.
Augustus.
Let's change the subject. The royal treasure
Appears, together with the Real Estate,
To be important.—How large the revenue?
Cleopatra.
[with scorn.]
Take what thou wilt.—My sorcery is o'er.——
This grovelling nature is to me abhorrent.
What knows the blind man of the light of heaven? . . .
Thou praisest virtue but thou show'st it never,
Thou speak'st of Rome, but seekest thine own glory.
From thee will spring the abhorrent rule of lies!
The triumph of vainglorious deceit! [She turns angrily away.
* * * *
Dost thou believe the thought can e'er affright me
Of following thee to Rome? Does there not glow,
E'en now in Roman breasts, the hope
Of seeing me, their foe, in thy triumphal train?
Then take me with thee! Do but make the trial!
I will outshine the conqueror himself,
And every Roman cheer will be for me.
Augustus.
I am thy lord. To me is Rome devoted.
Cleopatra.
Destruction on thee and on all like thee!
Destruction light on all such grovelling souls!
To rulers, such as thou, the god who guides
The destinies of man can ne'er prove gracious.
'Tis falseness that is gnawing at thy greatness,
E'en like a canker at the core of fruits,
Which outwardly are sound and fair to view,
But inwardly we find them half decayed.
Thy laurel crown cannot for long be green!
Naught that is noble canst thou e'er evoke.
To end like Antony is far more grand
Than like Augustus to be living on! [Exit in haste.
” Augustus was stirred more deeply than Cleopatra imagined. He confesses that for the first time he now understands her and perceives her hatred of all hypocritcial pretence. Her charms of mind and person have subdued him. He will seek her and be to her as a divinity bringing consolation and blessing. He draws the curtain before an inner room and discovers Cleopatra lying lifeless on her couch with Iras and Charmian dead beside her. Dolabella rushes in, and, uttering frantic cries of grief and horror, falls prostrate before the queen's couch. Augustus tries to calm him, and, to soothe him, promises a future of unequaled glory in Rome. Dolabella leaps to his feet and curses Augustus and Rome, who crush all happiness into the dust; then turning to Cleopatra's corpse with the words, “Only by thee were happiness and life!
Thou diest,———and a world is lost in thee!
” stabs himself. ‘“A world!”’ Augustus utters with pain, and the Curtain falls. As this is one of the latest, it is also one of the best of these Versions. The inevitable fate of Poesy, to be crushed in any collision with the prosaic world of Fact, that awakes too late to find what it has lost, is finely conceived, while the despair of Youth at the deathbed of Poetry completes the brilliant picture.
Antony and Cleopatra, by Franz Dingelstedt
In 1878 the first performance was given of a version, by Franz Dingelstedt, of
Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra; it bore the announcement that it was ‘freely
translated and re-arranged.’ There are sundry omissions, combinations, re-arrangements,
and trifling additions to smoothe away gaps as far as what, in the version, is
Act IV, Scene ii, whereof the Scene is laid in ‘Antony's Palace in Athens;’ it
is after the battle of Actium; Antony enters, uttering the soliloquy, ‘“Hearke, the
Land bids me tread no more upon't,”’ and shortly after, Cleopatra approaches timidly,
in an attempt at reconciliation. Thus far Dingelstedt's drama might be leniently
termed a version. From this point onward, I fear, it can be termed with truth only
a perversion. Antony is no longer the same character whom we have learned to
admire and pity, and although he says that Cleopatra's beck might from the bidding
of the gods command him, the words have really no meaning; he shows forthwith
that her full supremacy is gone, and that he loves himself far more than he loves her.
The same change is apparent in Cleopatra. Two brief sentences of impatient rage
suffice with her to dethrone the demi-Atlas of the earth and make her resolve to
throw herself on the protection of Octavius and abandon Antony to his fate. The
transformation Scene is as follows: When Cleopatra says, ‘“Oh, my lord! my lord!
Forgive my fearful sails, I little thought you would have followed them,”’ Antony
springs up, and raging above the kneeling Cleopatra, utters, ‘“Thou knew'st too well,
vicious [unselig] woman, That my heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, And
thou should'st tow me after,”’ etc. Cleopatra throws her arms about him, pleading
‘“Forgive, forgive;”’ and sobs aloud on his breast, whereupon Antony bursts forth,
“What? Tears? Treacherous tears!Like those shed by the crocodile of thy Nile!
Away, thou venom'd boa-constrictor! [Königsschlange]
I'll tear me free from thine embracing coils
Before thou sting'st me! Away! Away, I say! [He dashes out. Eros follows. Cleopatra collapses. But after a pause, she arises, and with a demoniac expression of face, gazes scornfully after Antony, thereby disclosing the growth in her mind of her resolve to desert him.
” When, in the next Scene, Antony orders Thyreus to be taken away and whipped, ‘“Cleopatra wrings her hands,”’ and when Antony continues to storm against her, she interrupts with, ‘“This, to me! darest thou———”’ ‘“Forsooth, this is enough!”’ as she utters this latter exclamation she advances passionately toward Antony.’ Alexas, Charmian, and Iras interpose with ‘“O Queen!”’
Eros here enters with Thyreus. Antony sends by the latter his personal challenge to Cæsar. It is not worth while to follow the rest of the version, step by step or Scene by Scene. Cæsar in his camp before Alexandria tells Mæcenas that on the morrow the city shall be stormed, if need be; then smilingly adds, ‘“And yet I hardly think it.”“
Cleop.
Back! and dare not to interpose yourselves
Betwixt that man and me! [Then in crushing tones to Ant.]
And who, pray, then art thou?
That art so high and mighty,—and to me!—
That dar'st reproach me with disgrace and shame!—
Thou, sunk and lost in deep dishonour! [Ant. collapses on a couch.
I am a queen! But thou art less than nothing!
Where now, Triumvir, bides thy host, thy fleet?
Where, pattern of a husband, is thy wife?
Speak!
Did'st thou not break thy vows, deep-sworn to me,
And, with dishonour, bind thyself afresh
Before from old bonds thou had'st yet been freed?
And now,—or do I dream it?—thou would'st leave
Me here deserted, for another's arms,
Betrayed, behind my back, for vile advantage?
What! Thou a man, and let'st the stripling Cæsar
With help of that gross hypocrite, his sister,
Enmesh thee with his stupid clumsy snares,
Which artfully he throws about thy horns.
What! Thou a hero, and, at battle's height,
With victory at hand, thou runn'st away,
Deserting armies, fortune, and thyself,
Because———a woman left thee! A Ruler!
Thou! thou, who canst not even rule thy heart!
Thou wretched Roman, learn thou here from me,
A queen from out the thousand-year-old race
Of Ptolemies,—of Egypt's sacred soil
A worthy daughter,—learn how death is wooed
When one can live no longer without honour! [Exit grandly and with a
Ant.
[beside himself.]
Cleopatra!—After her!—But no,— commanding air.
Too late! We'll ne'er again be as we were.
And she is right: there's nought remains but—death.
”
The Scene changes to Cleopatra's palace. Alexas tells Cleopatra that Antony is furious against her, and for safety conveys her to the royal Pyramids. Antony enters; he has been ransacking the palace to find Cleopatra and wreak his vengeance on her, —‘“he is in full armour and beside himself,”’ and calls:“It is not battering rams, but tender fingers
That will throw open wide the gates for us. [All regard him enquiringly.
My messenger, whom Antony had whipped,
Has cruelly revenged himself. He stole
The sole thing Antony had left—Cleópatra.
She sent us, by Thyreus, full submission
And made an offer of a firm alliance,
For which she asks no further for herself,
Or even for her sons, but Egypt's crown. [All are astonished.
Well, well, that will come round, of course. Meanwhile
No aid to Antony will she supply;
Nay and perchance she'll give him up to us.
Although we arm, there will not be a battle.
I hope Antonius will be taken prisoner.
He'll prove attractive in our Roman triumph.
His exhibition do I owe my city.
”
There is not an alarming amount of perversion in Eros's suicide, nor in Antony's attempt to imitate him. As Antony lies in a swoon, Cleopatra rushes in, and with ‘a piercing shriek,’ exclaims, ‘“Antonius—dead?”’ Her outcry arouses Antony, who raises himself, and addresses her, “Is't thou, Cleópatra? Hast thou from Orcus,“Where art thou now, Cleópatra? Thou Fury
Of Hades, where dost keep thyself bestowed?
Triple-turned wanton, I am seeking thee,
To be revenged on thee,—to punish thee!
On thee alone I now am waging war,—
A war for life or death! Thy blood, thy warm,
Sweet, treacherous blood, this do I long to quaff!
”
Returned to fetch thy dilatory friend?
Cleop.
No. I'm not dead, and neither shalt thou die!
I'll wake thee back to life, e'en with my kissing.
Ant.
[looking vaguely about, notices Alexas.]
'Twas he who said just now,
thou'dst killed thyself?
Cleop.
He lied.
Ant.
Even here in death, more lies,—lies,—lies! [He turns himself from her in disgust.
Cleop.
Oh, would that I had follow'd him! I thought
That I could thus best win my friend again!
Ant.
And therefore die! Behold—I do not lie,———
My death is real. My sight begins to swim,———
Where art thou, Cleopatra?
Cleop.
Here to beg
Forgiveness on my knees.
Ant.
Thou art forgiven . . .
Already much in life I have forgiven thee,
And now . . . in death . . . everything!
” Hereupon follows a weak version of Antony's last speech, with omissions and insignificant additions. The Scene of the Fifth Act lies inside a pyramid, with mummies in niches in the walls. Antony's body lies on a catafalque in the middle. Mæcenas falls desperately in love with Cleopatra; she repels him, but appeals to him to discover Cæsar's intentions with regard to her future. She learns that she is to be led in triumph at Rome. All the chief features of her death Scene are preserved, as in Shakespeare.