Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse to sleep?--

These few words--the contrast between the tender beauty of the image and the horror of the situation--produce an effect more intensely mournful than all the ranting in the world. The generous devotion of her women adds the moral charm which alone was wanting: and when Octavius hurries in too late to save his victim, and exclaims, when gazing on her--

She looks like sleep-- As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace,

the image of her beauty and her irresistible arts, triumphant even in death, is at once brought before us, and one masterly and comprehensive stroke consummates this most wonderful, most dazzling delineation.

I am not here the apologist of Cleopatra's historical character, nor of such women as resemble her: I am considering her merely as a dramatic portrait of astonishing beauty, spirit, and originality. She has furnished the subject of two Latin, sixteen French, six English, and at least four Italian tragedies;[76] yet Shakspeare alone has availed himself of all the interest of the story, without falsifying the character. He alone has dared to exhibit the Egyptian queen with all her greatness and all her littleness--all her frailties of temper--all her paltry arts and dissolute pa.s.sions--yet preserved the dramatic propriety and poetical coloring of the character, and awakened our pity for fallen grandeur, without once beguiling us into sympathy with guilt and error.

Corneille has represented Cleopatra as a model of chaste propriety, magnanimity, constancy, and every female virtue; and the effect is almost ludicrous. In our own language, we have two very fine tragedies on the story of Cleopatra: in that of Dryden, which is in truth a n.o.ble poem, and which he himself considered his masterpiece, Cleopatra is a mere common-place "all-for-love" heroine, full of constancy and fine sentiments. For instance:--

My love's so true, That I can neither hide it where it is, Nor show it where it is not. Nature meant me A wife--a silly, harmless, household dove, Fond without art, and kind without deceit.

But fortune, that has made a mistress of me, Has thrust me out to the wild world, unfurnished Of falsehood to be happy.

Is this Antony's Cleopatra--the Circe of the Nile--the Venus of the Cydnus? _She_ never uttered any thing half so mawkish in her life.

In Fletcher's "False One," Cleopatra is represented at an earlier period of her history: and to give an idea of the aspect under which the character is exhibited, (and it does not vary throughout the play,) I shall give one scene; if it be considered out of place, its extreme beauty will form its best apology.

Ptolemy and his council having exhibited to Caesar all the royal treasures in Egypt, he is so astonished and dazzled at the view of the acc.u.mulated wealth, that he forgets the presence of Cleopatra, and treats her with negligence. The following scene between her and her sister Arsinoe occurs immediately afterwards.

ARSINOE.

You're so impatient!

CLEOPATRA.

Have I not cause?

Women of common beauties and low births, When they are slighted, are allowed their angers-- Why should not I, a princess, make him know The baseness of his usage?

ARSINOE.

Yes, 'tis fit: But then again you know what man--

CLEOPATRA.

He's no man!

The shadow of a greatness hangs upon him, And not the virtue; he is no conqueror, Has suffered under the base dross of nature; Poorly deliver'd up his power to wealth.

The G.o.d of bed-rid men taught his eyes treason.

Against the truth of love he has rais'd rebellion Defied his holy flames.

EROS.

He will fall back again And satisfy your grace.

CLEOPATRA.

Had I been old, Or blasted in my bud, he might have show'd Some shadow of dislike: but to prefer The l.u.s.tre of a little trash, Arsinoe, And the poor glow-worm light of some faint jewels Before the light of love, and soul of beauty-- O how it vexes me! He is no soldier: All honorable soldiers are Love's servants.

He is a merchant, a mere wandering merchant, Servile to gain; he trades for poor commodities, And makes his conquests thefts! Some fortunate captains That quarter with him, and are truly valiant.

Have flung the name of "Happy Caesar" on him; Himself ne'er won it. He's so base and covetous, He'll sell his sword for gold.

ARSINOE.

This is too bitter.

CLEOPATRA.

O, I could curse myself, that was so foolish.

So fondly childish, to believe his tongue-- His promising tongue--ere I could catch his temper.

I'd trash enough to have cloyed his eyes withal, (His covetous eyes,) such as I scorn to tread on, Richer than e'er he saw yet, and more tempting; Had I known he'd stoop'd at that, I'd saved mine honor-- I had been happy still! But let him take it.

And let him brag how poorly I'm rewarded; Let him go conquer still weak wretched ladies; Love has his angry quiver too, his deadly, And when he finds scorn, armed at the strongest-- I am a fool to fret thus for a fool,-- An old blind fool too! I lose my health; I will not, I will not cry; I will not honor him With tears diviner than the G.o.ds he worships; I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing.

EROS.

Do not; you shall not need.

CLEOPATRA.

Would I were prisoner To one I hate, that I might anger him!

I will love any man to break the heart of him!

Any that has the heart and will to kill him!

ARSINOE.

Take some fair truce.

CLEOPATRA.

I will go study mischief, And put a look on, arm'd with all my cunnings.

Shall meet him like a basilisk, and strike him.

Love! put destroying flame into mine eyes, Into my smiles deceits, that I may torture him-- That I may make him love to death, and laugh at him

_Enter_ APOLLODORUS.

APOLLODORUS.

Caesar commends his service to your grace

CLEOPATRA.

His service? What's his service?

EROS.

Pray you be patient The n.o.ble Caesar loves still.

CLEOPATRA.

What's his will?

APOLLODORUS.