Act Four
The palace in Antioch. Before the hills.
SCENE I
Cleopatra’s chamber.
Cleopatra, Zoyla.
CLEOPATRA
Will he not come this morning ? How my head aches!
Zoyla, smooth the pain out of it, my girl,
With your deft fingers. Oh, he lingers, lingers!
Cleone keeps him still, the rosy harlot
Who rules him now. She is grown a queen and reigns
Insulting me in my own palace. Yes,
He’s happy in her arms; why should he care for me
Who am only his mother ?
ZOYLA
Is the pain less at all?
CLEOPATRA
O, it goes deeper, deeper. Ever new revels,
While still the clang of fratricidal war
Treads nearer to his palace. Zoyla,
You saw him with Cleone in the groves
That night of revel ?
ZOYLA
So, I told you, madam.
It is long since Daphne’s groves have gleamed so bright
Or trembled to such music.
CLEOPATRA
They were together ?
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ZOYLA
Oh, constantly. One does not see such lovers.
CLEOPATRA
(shaking her off)
Go!
ZOYLA
Madam?
CLEOPATRA
Thy touch is not like Rodogune’s
Nor did her gentle voice offend me. Eunice,
Zoyla retires.
Why hast thou left me, cruel cold Eunice?
She walks to the window and returns swiftly.
God’s spaces frighten me. I am so lonely
In this great crowded palace.
Timocles enters the room, reading a despatch.
TIMOCLES
He rushes onward like a god of war.
Mountains and streams and deserts waterless
Are grown our foes, his helpers. The gods give ground
Before his horse-hooves.
Millions of men arrayed in complete steel
Cannot restrain him. Almost we hear in Antioch
His trumpets now. Only Nicanor and the hills
Hardly protect my crown, my brittle crown!
CLEOPATRA
Antiochus comes!
TIMOCLES
The Macedonian legions
Linger somewhere upon the wide Aegean. Sea
And land contend against my monarchy.
Your brother sends no certain word.
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– 418
CLEOPATRA
It will come.
Could not the Armenian helpers stay his course?
They came like locusts.
TIMOCLES
But are swept away
As with a wind. O mother, fatal mother,
Why did you keep me from the battle then ?
My presence might have spurred men’s courage on
And turned this swallowing fate. It is alone
Your fault if I lose crown and life.
CLEOPATRA
My son!
TIMOCLES
There, mother, I have made you weep. I love you,
Dear mother, though I make you often weep.
CLEOPATRA
I have not blamed you, my sweet Timocles.
I did the wrong. Go to the field, dear son,
And show yourself to Syria. Timocles,
I mean no hurt, but now, only just now,
Would not a worthier presence at your side
Assist you ? My royal brother of Macedon
Would give his child to you at my desire,
Or you might have your fair Egyptian cousin
Berenice. Syria would honour you, my son.
TIMOCLES
I know your meaning. You are so jealous, mother.
Why do you hate Cleone, grudging me
The solace of her love ? I shall lose Syria
And I have lost already Rodogune:
Cleone clings to me. Nor is her heart
Like yours, selfish and jealous.
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– 419
CLEOPATRA
Timocles!
TIMOCLES
(walking to the window)
O Rodogune, where hast thou taken those eyes,
My moonlit midnight, where that wondrous hair
In which I thought to live as in a cloud
Of secret sweetness ? Under the Syrian stars
Somewhere thou liest in my brother’s arms,
Thy pale sweet happy face upon his breast
Smiling up to be kissed. O, it is hell,
The thought is hell! At midnight in the silence
I wake in warm Cleone’s rosy clasp
To think of thee embraced; then in my blood
A fratricidal horror works. Let it not be,
You gods! Let me die first, let him be king.
O mother, do not let us quarrel any more:
Forgive me and forget.
CLEOPATRA
You go from me?
TIMOCLES
My heart is heavy. I will drink awhile
And hear sweet harmonies.
CLEOPATRA
There in the hall
And with Cleone ?
TIMOCLES
Let it not anger you.
Yes, with Cleone.
He goes.
CLEOPATRA
I am alone, so terribly alone!
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