60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      ACT III

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      The edge of the quay in front of the palace, looking out west over the east harbor of Alexandria to Pharos island, just off the end of which, and connected with it by a narrow mole, is the famous lighthouse, a gigantic square tower of white marble diminishing in size storey by storey to the top, on which stands a cresset beacon. The island is joined to the main land by the Heptastadium, a great mole or causeway five miles long bounding the harbor on the south.

      In the middle of the quay a Roman sentinel stands on guard, pilum in hand, looking out to the lighthouse with strained attention, his left hand shading his eyes. The pilum is a stout wooden shaft 41 feet long, with an iron spit about three feet long fixed in it. The sentinel is so absorbed that he does not notice the approach from the north end of the quay of four Egyptian market porters carrying rolls of carpet, preceded by Ftatateeta and Apollodorus the Sicilian. Apollodorus is a dashing young man of about 24, handsome and debonair, dressed with deliberate astheticism in the most delicate purples and dove greys, with ornaments of bronze, oxydized silver, and stones of jade and agate. His sword, designed as carefully as a medieval cross, has a blued blade showing through an openwork scabbard of purple leather and filagree. The porters, conducted by Ftatateeta, pass along the quay behind the sentinel to the steps of the palace, where they put down their bales and squat on the ground. Apollodorus does not pass along with them: he halts, amused by the preoccupation of the sentinel.

      APOLLODORUS (calling to the sentinel). Who goes there, eh?

      SENTINEL (starting violently and turning with his pilum at the charge, revealing himself as a small, wiry, sandy-haired, conscientious young man with an elderly face). What’s this? Stand. Who are you?

      APOLLODORUS. I am Apollodorus the Sicilian. Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Since I came through the lines beyond the theatre there, I have brought my caravan past three sentinels, all so busy staring at the lighthouse that not one of them challenged me. Is this Roman discipline?

      SENTINEL. We are not here to watch the land but the water. Caesar has just landed on the Pharos. (Looking at Ftatateeta) What have you here? Who is this piece of Egyptian crockery?

      FTATATEETA. Apollodorus: rebuke this Roman dog; and bid him bridle his tongue in the presence of Ftatateeta, the mistress of the Queen’s household.

      APOLLODORUS. My friend: this is a great lady, who stands high with Caesar.

      SENTINEL (not at all impressed, pointing to the carpets). And what is all this truck?

      APOLLODORUS. Carpets for the furnishing of the Queen’s apartments in the palace. I have picked them from the best carpets in the world; and the Queen shall choose the best of my choosing.

      SENTINEL. So you are the carpet merchant?

      APOLLODORUS (hurt). My friend: I am a patrician.

      SENTINEL. A patrician! A patrician keeping a shop instead of following arms!

      APOLLODORUS. I do not keep a shop. Mine is a temple of the arts. I am a worshipper of beauty. My calling is to choose beautiful things for beautiful Queens. My motto is Art for Art’s sake.

      SENTINEL. That is not the password.

      APOLLODORUS. It is a universal password.

      SENTINEL. I know nothing about universal passwords. Either give me the password for the day or get back to your shop.

      Ftatateeta, roused by his hostile tone, steals towards the edge of the quay with the step of a panther, and gets behind him.

      APOLLODORUS. How if I do neither?

      SENTINEL. Then I will drive this pilum through you.

      APOLLODORUS. At your service, my friend. (He draws his sword, and springs to his guard with unruffled grace.)

      FTATATEETA (suddenly seizing the sentinel’s arms from behind). Thrust your knife into the dog’s throat, Apollodorus. (The chivalrous Apollodorus laughingly shakes his head; breaks ground away from the sentinel towards the palace; and lowers his point.)

      SENTINEL (struggling vainly). Curse on you! Let me go. Help ho!

      FTATATEETA (lifting him from the ground). Stab the little Roman reptile. Spit him on your sword.

      A couple of Roman soldiers, with a centurion, come running along the edge of the quay from the north end. They rescue their comrade, and throw off Ftatateeta, who is sent reeling away on the left hand of the sentinel.

      CENTURION (an unattractive man of fifty, short in his speech and manners, with a vine wood cudgel in his hand). How now? What is all this?

      FTATATEETA (to Apollodorus). Why did you not stab him? There was time!

      APOLLODORUS. Centurion: I am here by order of the Queen to —

      CENTURION (interrupting him). The Queen! Yes, yes: (to the sentinel) pass him in. Pass all these bazaar people in to the Queen, with their goods. But mind you pass no one out that you have not passed in — not even the Queen herself.

      SENTINEL. This old woman is dangerous: she is as strong as three men. She wanted the merchant to stab me.

      APOLLODORUS. Centurion: I am not a merchant. I am a patrician and a votary of art.

      CENTURION. Is the woman your wife?

      APOLLODORUS (horrified). No, no! (Correcting himself politely) Not that the lady is not a striking figure in her own way. But (emphatically) she is NOT my wife.

      FTATATEETA (to the Centurion). Roman: I am Ftatateeta, the mistress of the Queen’s household.

      CENTURION. Keep your hands off our men, mistress; or I will have you pitched into the harbor, though you were as strong as ten men. (To his men) To your posts: march! (He returns with his men the way they came.)

      FTATATEETA (looking malignantly after him). We shall see СКАЧАТЬ