Cleopatra
Page 7
Polonius: It is backed like a weasel.
Hamlet: Or like a whale?
Polonius: Very like a whale.
act 3, scene 2, lines 368–73
Hamlet sports with poor Polonius in an exchange that delighted Herman Melville. The volatile Prince of Denmark jests as we would expect him to do. Antony moves and astonishes us by a mood unexpected yet revelatory of his impending metamorphosis:
Antony: Eros, thou yet behold’st me?
Eros: Ay, noble lord.
Antony: Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish,
A vapor sometime like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forkèd mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon’t that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper’s pageants.
Eros: Ay, my lord.
Antony: That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns and makes it indistinct
As water is in water.
Eros: It does, my lord.
Antony: My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body. Here I am Antony,
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen,
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine—
Which whilst it was mine had annexed unto’t
A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has
Packed cards with Caesar and false-played my glory
Unto an enemy’s triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
act 4, scene 14, lines 1–22
There is an immense richness in Antony’s: “Eros, thou yet behold’st me?” The faithful Eros is puzzled and acquiescent rather in the manner of Horatio. Staring up at the clouds, hardly a usual pastime, Antony is aware of a lost sense of being and finds in particular clouds emblems of his dissolution. He reads them in the fading glory of sunset presaging the advent of night. The sun has set upon him and the night beckons. As the cloud mass changes shape it dissolves as water falling into water.
Affectionately addressing Eros as a beloved lad, Antony tries to express his baffled awareness of his cloudlike condition, drifting from form to form. The grim image of Cleopatra and Octavius having stacked the deck and thus played crookedly afflicts this Herculean hero into the unexpected quibble of losing to a trump card that becomes a Roman triumph.
When the eunuch Mardian, sent by Cleopatra with the false news of her death, delivers his message, we hear in Antony an unprecedented grace of farewell:
Antony: Oh, thy vile lady!
She has robbed me of my sword.
Mardian: No, Antony,
My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.
Antony: Hence, saucy eunuch, peace!
She hath betrayed me and shall die the death.
Mardian: Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharged. What thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand. The last she spake
Was, ‘Antony, most noble Antony!’
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips. She rendered life
Thy name so buried in her.
Antony: Dead, then?
Mardian: Dead.
Antony: Unarm, Eros. The long day’s task is done,
And we must sleep. [to Mardian] That thou depart’st hence safe
Does pay thy labor richly; go. [Exit Mardian]
Off, pluck off! [Eros unarms him]
The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. Oh, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent;
Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace.
No more a soldier. Bruisèd pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne.—From me awhile. [Exit Eros]
I will o’ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture; since the torch is out,
Lie down and stray no farther. Now all labor
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done.
Eros!—I come, my queen.—Eros!—Stay for me.
Where souls do couch on flowers we’ll hand in hand
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze.
Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros!
act 4, scene 14, lines 22–54
Antony and Cleopatra is replete with felicities yet there is a sonority unique and vibrant in:
Antony: Dead, then?
Mardian: Dead.
Antony: Unarm, Eros. The long day’s task is done,
And we must sleep.
Shakespeare plays beautifully on the name of Eros. The devoted freedman is instructed to remove Antony’s armor and Eros, the Greek god of love known as Cupid to the Romans, informs the dying fall of: “The long day’s task is done / And we must sleep.” The slumber of death is only part of this resonance. Antony’s warlike career dies with the supposedly dead Cleopatra.
When Aeneas went down to Hades, he attempted to greet Dido, whom he had forsaken, but she turned away in scorn. It is wistful of Antony to believe they were reunited in the Underworld but that is his hope for Cleopatra and himself.
Eros enters and Antony proceeds to what will be his bungled suicide:
Eros: What would my lord?
Antony: Since Cleopatra died
I have lived in such dishonor that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quartered the world, and o’er green Neptune’s back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman—less noble mind
Than she which, by her death, our Caesar tells
‘I am conqueror of myself.’ Thou art sworn, Eros,
That when the exigent should come which now
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that on my command
Thou then wouldst kill me. Do’t. The time is come.
Thou strik’st not me, ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st.
Put color in thy cheek.
Eros: The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim and could not?
Antony: Eros,
Wouldst thou be windowed in great Rome and see
Thy master thus with pleached arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdued
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheeled seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?
Eros: I would not see’t.
Antony: Come, then, for with a wound I must be cured.
Draw that thy honest sword which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.
Eros: Oh, sir, pardon me!
Antony: When I did make thee free, swor’st thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once,
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come.
Eros: Turn from me t
hen that noble countenance
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.
Antony: Lo thee! [He turns away]
Eros: My sword is drawn.
Antony: Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.
Eros: My dear master,
My captain and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.
Antony: ’Tis said, man, and farewell.
Eros: Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?
Antony: Now, Eros.
Eros: [kills himself] Why, there then! Thus I do escape the sorrow
Of Antony’s death.
Antony: Thrice nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should and thou couldst not! My queen and Eros
Have by their brave instruction got upon me
A nobleness in record. But I will be
A bridegroom in my death and run into’t
As to a lover’s bed. Come, then! And, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar. To do thus
I learned of thee. [Falls on his sword]
How, not dead? Not dead?
The guard, ho! Oh, dispatch me!
act 4, scene 14, lines 55–104
Shakespeare permits himself the irony of Antony commending the still very much alive Cleopatra as defiant of Octavius: “ ‘I am conqueror of myself.’ ” There is a cold splendor in Antony’s nightmare vision of following the triumphal chariot of Octavius Caesar, bound and disgraced. Whether we are moved by this foreboding, the devotion of Eros touches us.
Antony, always aware of his place in history, praises Eros and the deceiving Cleopatra for making him tardy, and then achieves eloquence in:
But I will be
A bridegroom in my death and run into’t
As to a lover’s bed.
Two years before, in Measure for Measure, Shakespeare gave Claudio, condemned to death, an even more spirited declaration:
If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.
act 3, scene 1, lines 82–84
A few lines later, Claudio falls away from this to the nadir of urging his sister to prostitute herself, so as to save his life. Antony is nobler but botches his suicide, thus continuing a loss of poise that is the undersong of the entire play.
From now until his death we see Antony at his best, paradoxically achieving a new grandeur:
First Guard: What’s the noise?
Antony: I have done my work ill, friends.
Oh, make an end of what I have begun!
Second Guard: The star is fallen.
First Guard: And time is at his period.
All the Guard: Alas, and woe!
Antony: Let him that loves me strike me dead.
First Guard: Not I.
Second Guard: Nor I.
Third Guard: Nor anyone. [Exeunt all the Guard but Dercetas]
Dercetas: Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him. [He takes up Antony’s sword]
[Enter Diomedes]
Diomedes: Where’s Antony?
Dercetas: There, Diomed, there.
Diomedes: Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? [Exit Dercetas]
Antony: Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.
Diomedes: Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
Antony: When did she send thee?
Diomedes: Now, my lord.
Antony: Where is she?
Diomedes: Locked in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass. For when she saw—
Which never shall be found—you did suspect
She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth, and I am come,
I dread, too late.
Antony: Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee.
Diomedes: What ho, the Emperor’s guard! The guard, what ho!
Come, your lord calls. [Enter four or five of the Guard of Antony]
Antony: Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides.
’Tis the last service that I shall command you.
First Guard: Woe, woe are we, sir! You may not live to wear
All your true followers out.
All the Guard: Most heavy day!
Antony: Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it,
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up.
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all. [Exeunt, bearing Antony and Eros]
act 4, scene 14, lines 105–45
The rich music returns in:
Second Guard: The star is fallen.
First Guard: And time is at his period.
All: Alas, and woe!
We near the end of an age and Shakespeare allows us to overhear it. Antony is again impressive when he accepts Cleopatra’s sham that she died and asks only to see her for a last time. His true spirit breathes and is enhanced by his stoic acceptance:
do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it,
Seeming to bear it lightly.
CHAPTER 11
I Am Dying, Egypt, Dying
As Antony dies, Cleopatra sustains herself with high histrionic artistry. Only at the moment of his passing does she cease performing and actually faints, no longer simulating a loss of consciousness. Shakespeare intricately counterpoints this final tryst of the great lovers, playing Antony’s agonized concern for her against Cleopatra’s intense concern for herself alone:
Cleopatra: Oh, Charmian, I will never go from hence.
Charmian: Be comforted, dear madam.
Cleopatra: No, I will not.
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise. Our size of sorrow,
Proportioned to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it. [Enter Diomedes (below)]
How now? Is he dead?
Diomedes: His death’s upon him, but not dead.
Look out o’th’other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
[Enter (below) Antony, borne by the Guard]
Cleopatra: O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in; darkling stand
The varying shore o’th’ world! O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help!
Help, friends below! Let’s draw him hither.
Antony: Peace!
Not Caesar’s valor hath o’erthrown Antony,
But Antony’s hath triumphed on itself.
Cleopatra: So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe ’tis so!
Antony: I am dying, Egypt, dying. Only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay up thy lips.
Cleopatra: I d
are not, dear—
Dear my lord, pardon—I dare not,
Lest I be taken. Not th’imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall
Be brooched with me. If knife, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honor
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony—
Help me, my women—we must draw thee up.
Assist, good friends.
Antony: O, quick, or I am gone.
act 4, scene 15, 1–32
It is difficult to describe the tone Shakespeare grants Cleopatra in this supreme moment of her bereavement. Initially we hear an actress of actresses rehearsing her range of sorrowing:
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise. Our size of sorrow,
Proportioned to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.
It seems curious that Cleopatra is more interested in preparing herself for a great scene than in her supposed suffering. When Antony is carried in, she achieves a self-conscious grandeur in her negative invocation to the sun:
O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in; darkling stand
The varying shore o’th’ world!
Claudius Ptolemy was a Greco-Egyptian astronomer of the second century of the Common Era who lived in Roman Alexandria and wrote in Koine Greek. In his scheme, the sun rotated around the Earth in a concentric sphere, joined by the planets and the stars. Cleopatra’s apocalyptic injunction calls for the sun to incinerate the sphere and plunge the cosmos into darkness. One hears her histrionic exultation in the ecstasy of her high strain of language.
There is a revelatory disconnect between her subsequent ejaculations and Antony’s stately assertions of pride. Antony also, despite his death throes, seems to enjoy his own language in: “I am dying, Egypt, dying.” When he asks for a final kiss, her melodramatic response again centers upon only her own performance. She seems more interested in the indignity of having to face Octavia’s demure stare than in the agony of Antony’s death throes. The comic aspects of Antony and Cleopatra enter in her refusal to listen as he speaks his last words:
Cleopatra: Here’s sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight. Had I great Juno’s power,
The strong-winged Mercury should fetch thee up
And set thee by Jove’s side. Yet come a little;
Wishes were ever fools. Oh, come, come, come!