Antony and Cleopatra

Eros, can you still see me?

Yes, noble lord.

Sometimes we see a cloud that looks like a dragon. Sometimes there’s a cloud like a bear or a lion, a castle, a floating rock, a craggy mountain. Or it might look like a blue cliff with trees on it that bow to the ground. These things fool our eyes by seeming solid, when they are actually only air. You’ve seen these illusions. They’re spectacles that appear at sunset.

Yes, my lord.

What looks like a horse is quick as thought disfigured by the wind, made as difficult to distinguish as water poured into water.

That’s true, my lord.

Eros, my young friend, your captain is now just like that cloud. Here and now I seem like Antony, but I can’t keep myself in this form, my boy. I went to war to save Cleopatra, whose love I thought I had, since she had mine—and mine carried with it a million others, those of my soldiers, now lost. The Queen conspired with Caesar to undermine my success and assure his victory. No, don’t cry, kind Eros. We still have the option of killing ourselves.

Oh, your contemptible lady! She has disarmed me.

No, Antony. My mistress loved you, and her destiny was completely joined with yours.

Get out, insolent eunuch! Silence! She has betrayed me and shall die.

A person can only pay with their life once, and she has paid in full. What you wanted is yours. Her last words were “Antony! Most noble Antony!” Then, as she was speaking your name, a strangled groan split her words. “Antony” was divided between her heart and lips. She gave up her life with your name still within her.

Is she dead, then?

Dead.

Remove your armor, Eros. The long day’s work is over, and it is time to sleep. (to MARDIAN) Permission to leave unharmed is abundant payment for your news. Go!

Off! Take off my armor. Not even Ajax’s famous shield, made of seven layers of oxhide and covered in bronze, could protect my heart from this attack. Oh, chest, obey me! Heart, for once be stronger than all the rest of the body combined. Break out of my ribcage! Faster, Eros, faster. I won’t be a soldier anymore. Battered armor, be off. You were worn with honor. (to EROS) Leave me awhile.

I will catch up with you, Cleopatra, and weep for your forgiveness. It’s the only way left, because now any extension of my life would be torture. Since the light of my life has gone out, I’ll stop here. Now any effort ruins what it attempts. Yes, even power gets in its own way. End it, then, and everything is over.—Eros!—I’m coming, my Queen!—Eros!—Wait for me. In the place where souls recline on beds of flowers we’ll walk hand in hand and amaze the other ghosts with our spirited demeanor. Those famous lovers, Dido and Aeneas, will lose their admirers, and the whole place will be devoted to us.—Come, Eros. Eros!

What can I do for my lord?

Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonor that the gods despise my disgrace. Though I have made conquests throughout the four corners of the world and sailed with fleets so large they looked like floating cities, I don’t have as much courage as a woman. I have less nobility than the lady who, by killing herself, says to Caesar, “Only Cleopatra can defeat Cleopatra.” You promised me, Eros, that should the ultimate moment arrive—which it has—when dishonor and disgust are inevitable, that upon my command, you would kill me. Do it. This is that time. You won’t be striking me down, but defeating Caesar. Call up your courage.

The gods forbid! Can I do what all the Parthian arrows, though shot by enemies, could not?

Eros, would you like to look through a window in Rome and watch your master marching in Caesar’s victory parade, his arms crossed and tied, his head bowed in submission, his face red from shame, while the chariot of triumphant Caesar precedes him, putting the final stamp to his humiliation?

I would not.

Then come on. I must be restored to health by an injury. Draw your trustworthy sword, which you have used in such service to your country.

Oh, sir, pardon me!

When I freed you from slavery, didn’t you swear to do this when I asked you? Do it immediately, or all your previous services to me were accidental, without purpose. Take out your sword and come on.

Then turn your noble face away from me, that face that the whole world adores.

Look!

I have drawn my sword.

Now let it carry out its purpose immediately.

My dear master, my captain, my sovereign, let me say before I strike this fatal blow: farewell.

You’ve said it, friend, and farewell to you.

Good-bye, great commander. Should I do it now?

Now, Eros.

Well, then, there!

With this I avoid the grief of Antony’s death.

Brave Eros, three times more honorable than I am! You teach me what I should do but could not. My Queen and Eros have by their brave examples beaten me to the history books. But I will embrace death as a bridegroom does his bride, and rush to it as to a lover’s bed. Come then. Eros, your master dies your student. I learned to do this from you.

What! I’m not dead? Not dead?—Guard, here! Oh, kill me!

What’s the trouble?

I’ve botched the job, friends. Oh, finish what I’ve begun.

Our guiding light is out.

And time itself is ended.

Sadness and despair!

Whoever’s a real friend should strike me dead.

Not me.

Me neither.

None of us.

Your death and destiny advise your followers to escape.

I only need to show your sword to Caesar and tell him about your death to get into his good favor.

Where’s Antony?

There, Diomedes, there.

Is he still alive? Why don’t you answer me, man?

Is that you, Diomedes? Draw your sword and give me enough blows to kill me.

Most powerful lord, my mistress Cleopatra sent me to you.

When did she send you?

Just now, my lord.

Where is she?

Locked in her tomb. She had a premonition of what has actually happened. She saw that you suspected her of negotiating a treaty with Caesar—which never will be true. Afraid that your anger would not subside, she sent you word she was dead. But later, fearing how that news might affect you, she sent me to tell you the truth. I’m afraid I’ve come too late.

Too late, good Diomedes. Call my guard, please.

Hey out there! Emperor’s guards! Guards, hey! Come! Your lord calls for you!

Carry me, good friends, to where Cleopatra is. It’s the last command I shall ever give you.

We’re very sorry, sir, that you may not live to wear us out with your commands.

It’s a very sad day.

No, my friends, don’t please fate by giving it your sorrow as well. If we welcome our punishment, we punish it right back by seeming to take it lightly. Pick me up. I have often led you, now you must carry me, my good friends—and take my thanks for everything.