Antony and Cleopatra

Good Enobarbus, you would be doing a very good thing if you advised your captain to speak calmly and quietly.

I will advise him to speak as he usually does. If Caesar makes him mad, let Antony stand tall and speak as loudly as Mars, the god of war. By Jupiter, if I were Antony, I wouldn’t shave my beard today. I’d leave it long and dare Caesar to insult me by pulling on it, just so I could fight him.

This is not the time for dwelling on personal grievances.

It’s always appropriate to deal with matters as they arise.

But major issues must come before minor ones.

Not if the minor ones come up first.

You speak out of passion, but I beg you not to stir things up. Here comes the noble Antony.

And there comes Caesar.

(to VENTIDIUS) If we can come to an agreement here, we’ll move on to Parthia. Listen, Ventidius.

(to MAECENAS) I don’t know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa.

(to CAESAR and ANTONY) Good friends, the cause that joined us was noble. Don’t let some petty quarrel tear us apart. Let’s discuss this calmly. When we argue our differences with raised voices, we do more harm than good. So I plead with you to use reasonable words as you discuss these unreasonable deeds, and don’t lose your tempers.

You’re right. If we were in front of our armies, about to fight, I would do this.

Welcome to Rome.

Thank you.

Have a seat.

After you.

No, after you.

I hear you’ve interpreted some of my actions as being improper, when they weren’t improper at all—or if they were, their impropriety didn’t concern you.

I should be ridiculed if I were offended so easily—and laughed at even more for speaking of you disrespectfully, when I had no reason to speak of you at all.

Caesar, what did my stay in Egypt have to do with you?

No more than my staying here in Rome might mean to you in Egypt. But if you conspired against my position while you were there, I might be interested in the reason for your stay in Egypt.

How do you mean, “conspired”?

You can judge for yourself what I mean. Your wife and brother led troops against me, claiming to be fighting in your name. They said they were acting for you.

You’re mistaken. My brother didn’t use my name to justify his rebellion. I talked to some reliable participants in that battle. On the contrary, his fight was with both of us. He rejected my authority as much as yours. Since you and I share a common cause, wouldn’t his actions against you be hostile to me as well? I’ve already sent the proof in my letters. If you want to pick a fight, you’ll have to find a more substantial excuse.

You defend yourself by blaming my judgment, but you’re just making up feeble excuses.

Not true, not true. You know I would never approve a war against my own cause. As for my wife, if only you had such a wife. It’s easier to rule a third of the world than a wife like that.

We should all have wives like that. Then the women could go to war with the men.

I had no control over her uprisings, Caesar, which arose from her impatience—and were shrewdly undertaken, as well. I’m sorry she caused you so much trouble. But you can’t blame me for her offenses.

I sent you a letter while you were carousing in Alexandria. You put my letters in your pocket without reading them and then mocked my messenger out of the room.

Sir, he burst into the room without invitation, just after I had come from an important banquet with three kings. I was not myself, as a result of the wine. The next day I explained all this to him, which was as good as begging his pardon. Let’s not fight over this fellow. If we must argue, let us remove him from our arguments.

You’ve broken the terms of our sworn agreement. You will never be able to say the same about me.

Easy, Caesar.

No, Lepidus, let him say what’s on his mind. Now he slanders my honor, which is sacred to me. Go on, Caesar. What part of the agreement did I break?

You agreed to send me troops and weapons when I needed them. You refused me both.

I overlooked your request, but I did not deny it. Your request came at a time when the poisonous effects of reveling caused me to be unaware of my own actions. I will apologize as much as is appropriate, but my apology will not diminish my great stature—or if I am denied that honor, I will withhold my military might. The truth is that to get me out of Egypt, Fulvia provoked riots here. And though I am only indirectly the cause of all this trouble, I ask your pardon to the extent that my honor permits me to lower myself in such a situation.

Spoken like a gentleman.

If it’s okay with you, you should not press your grievances any further, but realize that the current situation should be enough to reconcile you.

Well put, Maecenas.

Or you can pretend to settle your differences until this matter with Pompey is finished. You can argue as much as you like when there’s nothing else to do.

You are only a soldier. Be quiet.

Oh, I’d forgotten that no one’s supposed to speak the truth.

It’s not appropriate for a soldier to be part of a discussion among noblemen. Don’t speak any further.

As you please. I’ll pretend to be a conscious stone, and think without speaking.

I agree with what he says, though I don’t care for the way he says it. It’s not possible for us to be friends anymore. We’re too different, in both our dispositions and actions. But if there were something that could join us together again, I would go to the ends of the world to find it.

May I speak, Caesar.

What is it, Agrippa?

You have a beautiful half-sister, Octavia. Great Mark Antony is a widower now.

You’d better not make that suggestion, Agrippa. If Cleopatra heard you, you would be well punished for your audacity.

It’s true I’m not married, Caesar. Let me hear what Agrippa has to say.

If Antony were to take Octavia as his wife, you two would be bound in eternal friendship. As brothers, your hearts would be tied together in an unbreakable knot. She is beautiful enough for the best of men. Her virtue and grace are unparalleled. With this marriage, all the petty jealousies that now seem huge, and all the great fears that are dangerous in themselves, would disappear. People would become used to speaking the truth rather than gossip. Since she would love both of you, you two would be joined in that love. Excuse my bluntness. This is not a spur-of-the-moment suggestion. I have been considering this for some time, in my duties to both of you.

What do you say, Caesar?

I’d rather hear your reaction to this first.

If I said to Agrippa, “I agree. Make it happen,” does Agrippa have the power to make it so?

He has both my power and my influence over Octavia.

I wouldn’t dream of opposing such an obviously promising idea. Let’s shake on it. If you go through with this plan, from now on we’ll be brothers, and our love for one another will guide our actions.

Here’s my hand.

I give you a sister whom I love more than a brother ever loved any sister. She will be the bond that joins our kingdoms and our hearts. We’ll never fight again.

I’m happy to say “amen” to that!

I didn’t think I would ever fight Pompey. He’s shown me unusual deference lately, and I must repay his favors or risk a reputation for ingratitude. That done, I can turn against him.

There isn’t much time. Either we go after Pompey or he’ll come after us.

Where is he now?

Near Mt. Misena.

How large is his land army?

Large and increasing. But his navy rules the sea.

That’s what I hear. I wish we’d had this conversation sooner. Let’s get down to business—and yet, before we get ready for war, let’s take care of that business we just discussed.

With pleasure. I’ll introduce you to my sister. Follow me.

Come with us, Lepidus.

Noble Antony, even illness couldn’t keep me away.

(to ENOBARBUS) Welcome back from Egypt, sir.

You’ve become Caesar’s right hand man, Maecenas! It’s good to see you too, Agrippa.

Good Enobarbus!

We can be happy that things have been resolved so agreeably. And I see you survived your time in Egypt.

Yes, sir, it was tough. We confused the daytime by sleeping through it, and made the night merry with our drinking.

We heard that once you were served eight wild boars roasted whole for breakfast—for only twelve people! Is that true?

That was nothing. There were many even more memorable feasts.

She’s a remarkable lady, if the rumors are to be believed.

From the first time Antony saw her, sailing on her barge on the Cydnus River, he was hers.

She made quite an appearance there, or else my informant invented a very flattering description of her.

I’ll tell you. Her barge looked like a golden throne upon the waves, burning bright with the sun’s reflections. The rear deck was covered with hammered gold. The sails were dyed purple, and they were perfumed so heavily that they made the air seem dizzy with love. The oars were made of silver, and the oarsmen rowed in time to flute music. As the oars beat the water, the waves seemed to speed up as if excited by lust. Cleopatra’s appearance was indescribable. As she reclined under a canopy woven from gold thread, she was more beautiful than any artist’s idealized portrait of the goddess Venus. Pretty, Cupid-like boys stood on either side of her, smiling and cooling her with multicolored fans, which seemed to fan the flames in her cheeks even as they cooled them, undoing what they did.

How excellent for Antony!

Her ladies-in-waiting—like Nereides, or mermaids—tended to Cleopatra as she watched them, and their graceful movements added to the beauty of the scene. It seemed as if a mermaid were steering. The silken sails and ropes swelled in the wind, expertly handled by the ladies’ soft hands. People on the wharves could smell exotic perfume wafting from the barge as it passed them. All the people came out to see her, and Antony, waiting for her in the marketplace, was left alone. Even the air itself would have gone to look at Cleopatra, if that wouldn’t have caused an unnatural vacuum in the atmosphere.

Extraordinary Egyptian!

When she landed at the port, Antony sent an invitation for her to come to supper. She replied by saying that it would be better for him to be her guest instead. Our courteous Antony, who has never said “no” to any woman, after spending plenty of time being groomed by the barber, goes to the feast. For that simple meal, he paid with his heart—even though it was only his eyes that were satisfied.

Royal seductress! She lured Julius Caesar into her bed, he made love to her, and she bore his child.

I saw her once hop forty feet down the street. When she stopped she was so out of breath that she was panting. Her beauty made even that weakness seem perfect, and even in her breathlessness she seemed to pour out breath.

Now Antony has to leave her completely.

He’ll never leave her. Age won’t wither her, and her charms are so varied that she never grows boring. With other women, the more familiar you grow with them the less appealing they become. Cleopatra, on the other hand, makes you desire her the more you see her. Even her worst faults are charming, and holy priests bless her even when she acts the slut.

If beauty, wisdom, and modesty can settle Antony’s restless heart, Octavia will be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Let’s go. Good Enobarbus, consider yourself my guest as long as you’re here.

I humbly thank you.