Collected Works. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      CAESAR. Well, for once I will sacrifice my comfort—(kissing her hand) there! (He takes a draught of wine.) Now are you satisfied?

      CLEOPATRA. And you no longer believe that I long for your departure for Rome?

      CAESAR. I no longer believe anything. My brains are asleep. Besides, who knows whether I shall return to Rome?

      RUFIO (alarmed). How? Eh? What?

      CAESAR. What has Rome to shew me that I have not seen already? One year of Rome is like another, except that I grow older, whilst the crowd in the Appian Way is always the same age.

      APOLLODORUS. It is no better here in Egypt. The old men, when they are tired of life, say “We have seen everything except the source of the Nile.”

      CAESAR (his imagination catching fire). And why not see that? Cleopatra: will you come with me and track the flood to its cradle in the heart of the regions of mystery? Shall we leave Rome behind us—Rome, that has achieved greatness only to learn how greatness destroys nations of men who are not great! Shall I make you a new kingdom, and build you a holy city there in the great unknown?

      CLEOPATRA (rapturously). Yes, yes. You shall.

      RUFIO. Ay: now he will conquer Africa with two legions before we come to the roast boar.

      APOLLODORUS. Come: no scoffing, this is a noble scheme: in it Caesar is no longer merely the conquering soldier, but the creative poet-artist. Let us name the holy city, and consecrate it with Lesbian Wine.

      CAESAR. Cleopatra shall name it herself.

      CLEOPATRA. It shall be called Caesar’s Gift to his Beloved.

      APOLLODORUS. No, no. Something vaster than that—something universal, like the starry firmament.

      CAESAR (prosaically). Why not simply The Cradle of the Nile?

      CLEOPATRA. No: the Nile is my ancestor; and he is a god. Oh! I have thought of something. The Nile shall name it himself. Let us call upon him. (To the Major-Domo) Send for him. (The three men stare at one another; but the Major-Domo goes out as if he had received the most matter-of-fact order.) And (to the retinue) away with you all.

      The retinue withdraws, making obeisance.

      A priest enters, carrying a miniature sphinx with a tiny tripod before it. A morsel of incense is smoking in the tripod. The priest comes to the table and places the image in the middle of it. The light begins to change to the magenta purple of the Egyptian sunset, as if the god had brought a strange colored shadow with him. The three men are determined not to be impressed; but they feel curious in spite of themselves.

      CAESAR. What hocus-pocus is this?

      CLEOPATRA. You shall see. And it is not hocus-pocus. To do it properly, we should kill something to please him; but perhaps he will answer Caesar without that if we spill some wine to him.

      APOLLODORUS (turning his head to look up over his shoulder at Ra). Why not appeal to our hawkheaded friend here?

      CLEOPATRA (nervously). Sh! He will hear you and be angry.

      RUFIO (phlegmatically). The source of the Nile is out of his district, I expect.

      CLEOPATRA. No: I will have my city named by nobody but my dear little sphinx, because it was in its arms that Caesar found me asleep. (She languishes at Caesar; then turns curtly to the priest.) Go. I am a priestess, and have power to take your charge from you. (The priest makes a reverence and goes out.) Now let us call on the Nile all together. Perhaps he will rap on the table.

      CAESAR. What! Table rapping! Are such superstitions still believed in this year 707 of the Republic?

      CLEOPATRA. It is no superstition: our priests learn lots of things from the tables. Is it not so, Apollodorus?

      APOLLODORUS. Yes: I profess myself a converted man. When Cleopatra is priestess, Apollodorus is devotee. Propose the conjuration.

      CLEOPATRA. You must say with me “Send us thy voice, Father Nile.”

      ALL FOUR (holding their glasses together before the idol). Send us thy voice, Father Nile.

      The death cry of a man in mortal terror and agony answers them. Appalled, the men set down their glasses, and listen. Silence. The purple deepens in the sky. Caesar, glancing at Cleopatra, catches her pouring out her wine before the god, with gleaming eyes, and mute assurances of gratitude and worship. Apollodorus springs up and runs to the edge of the roof to peer down and listen.

      CAESAR (looking piercingly at Cleopatra). What was that?

      CLEOPATRA (petulantly). Nothing. They are beating some slave.

      CAESAR. Nothing!

      RUFIO. A man with a knife in him, I’ll swear.

      CAESAR (rising). A murder!

      APOLLODORUS (at the back, waving his hand for silence). S-sh! Silence. Did you hear that?

      CAESAR. Another cry?

      APOLLODORUS (returning to the table). No, a thud. Something fell on the beach, I think.

      RUFIO (grimly, as he rises). Something with bones in it, eh?

      CAESAR (shuddering). Hush, hush, Rufio. (He leaves the table and returns to the colonnade: Rufio following at his left elbow, and Apollodorus at the other side.)

      CLEOPATRA (still in her place at the table). Will you leave me, Caesar? Apollodorus: are you going?

      APOLLODORUS. Faith, dearest Queen, my appetite is gone.

      CAESAR. Go down to the courtyard, Apollodorus; and find out what has happened.

      Apollodorus nods and goes out, making for the staircase by which Rufio ascended.

      CLEOPATRA. Your soldiers have killed somebody, perhaps. What does it matter?

      The murmur of a crowd rises from the beach below. Caesar and Rufio look at one another.

      CAESAR. This must be seen to. (He is about to follow Apollodorus when Rufio stops him with a hand on his arm as Ftatateeta comes back by the far end of the roof, with dragging steps, a drowsy satiety in her eyes and in the corners of the bloodhound lips. For a moment Caesar suspects that she is drunk with wine. Not so Rufio: he knows well the red vintage that has inebriated her.)

      RUFIO (in a low tone). There is some mischief between those two.

      FTATATEETA. The Queen looks again on the face of her servant.

      Cleopatra looks at her for a moment with an exultant reflection of her murderous expression. Then she flings her arms round her; kisses her repeatedly and savagely; and tears off her jewels and heaps them on her. The two men turn from the spectacle to look at one another. Ftatateeta drags herself sleepily to the altar; kneels before Ra; and remains there in prayer. Caesar goes to Cleopatra, leaving Rufio in the colonnade.

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