I will not hurt him.

These hands do lack n.o.bility, that they strike A meaner than myself.

CLEOPATRA.

In praising Antony I have dispraised Caesar.

CHARMIAN.

Many times, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

I am paid for't now-- Lead me from hence.

I faint. O Iras, Charmian--'tis no matter Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him Report the features of Octavia, her years, Her inclination--let him not leave out The color of her hair. Bring me word quickly.

[_Exit Alex._

Let him forever go--let him not--Charmian, Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, T'other way he's a Mars. Bid you Alexas [_To Mardian._

Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian.

But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.

I have given this scene entire because I know nothing comparable to it The pride and arrogance of the Egyptian queen, the blandishment of the woman, the unexpected but natural transitions of temper and feeling, the contest of various pa.s.sions, and at length--when the wild hurricane has spent its fury--the melting into tears, faintness, and languishment, are portrayed with the most astonishing power, and truth, and skill in feminine nature. More wonderful still is the splendor and force of coloring which is shed over this extraordinary scene. The mere idea of an angry woman beating her menial, presents something ridiculous or disgusting to the mind; in a queen or a tragedy heroine it is still more indecorous;[70] yet this scene is as far as possible from the vulgar or the comic. Cleopatra seems privileged to "touch the brink of all we hate" with impunity. This imperial termagant, this "wrangling queen, whom every thing becomes," becomes even her fury. We know not by what strange power it is, that in the midst of all these unruly pa.s.sions and childish caprices, the poetry of the character, and the fanciful and sparkling grace of the delineation are sustained and still rule in the imagination; but we feel that it is so.

I need hardly observe, that we have historical authority for the excessive violence of Cleopatra's temper. Witness the story of her boxing the ears of her treasurer, in presence of Octavius, as related by Plutarch. Shakspeare has made a fine use of this anecdote also towards the conclusion of the drama, but it is not equal in power to this scene with the messenger.

The man is afterwards brought back, almost by force, to satisfy Cleopatra's jealous anxiety, by a description of Octavia:--but this time, made wise by experience, he takes care to adapt his information to the humors of his imperious mistress, and gives her a satirical picture of her rival. The scene which follows, in which Cleopatra--artful, acute, and penetrating as she is--becomes the dupe of her feminine spite and jealousy, nay, a.s.sists in duping herself; and after having cuffed the messenger for telling her truths which are offensive, rewards him for the falsehood which flatters her weakness--is not only an admirable exhibition of character, but a fine moral lesson.

She concludes, after dismissing the messenger with gold and thanks,

I repent me much That I so harry'd him. Why, methinks by him This creature's no such thing?

CHARMIAN.

O nothing, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

The man hath seen some majesty, and should know!

Do we not fancy Cleopatra drawing herself up with all the vain consciousness of rank and beauty as she p.r.o.nounces this last line? and is not this the very woman who celebrated her own apotheosis,--who arrayed herself in the robe and diadem of the G.o.ddess Isis, and could find no t.i.tles magnificent enough for her children but those of _the Sun_ and _the Moon_?

The despotism and insolence of her temper are touched in some other places most admirably. Thus, when she is told that the Romans libel and abuse her, she exclaims,--

Sink Rome, and their tongues rot That speak against us!

And when one of her attendants observes, that "Herod of Jewry dared not look upon her but when she were well pleased," she immediately replies, "That Herod's head I'll have."[71]

When Proculeius surprises her in her monument, and s.n.a.t.c.hes her poniard from her, terror, and fury, pride, pa.s.sion, and disdain, swell in her haughty soul, and seem to shake her very being.

CLEOPATRA.

Where art thou, death?

Come hither, come! come, come and take a queen Worth many babes and beggars!

PROCULEIUS.

O temperance, lady?

CLEOPATRA.

Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir: If idle talk will once be necessary.

I'll not sleep neither; this mortal house I'll ruin, Do Caesar what he can! Know, sir, that I Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court, Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, And show me to the shouting varletry Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt Be gentle grave to me! Rather on Nilus' mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring! Rather make My country's high pyramids my gibbet, And hang me up in chains!

In the same spirit of royal bravado, but finer still, and worked up with a truly Oriental exuberance of fancy and imagery, is her famous description of Antony, addressed to Dolabella:--

Most n.o.ble empress you have heard of me?

CLEOPATRA.

I cannot tell.

DOLABELLA.

a.s.suredly, you know me.

CLEOPATRA.

No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.

You laugh when boys, or women, tell their dreams Is't not your trick?

DOLABELLA.

I understand not, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

I dream'd there was an emperor Antony; O such another sleep, that I might see But such another man!

DOLABELLA.

If it might please you--

CLEOPATRA.

His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck A sun and moon; which kept their course, and lighted The little O, the earth.

DOLABELLA.