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

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СКАЧАТЬ all is well.

      FTATATEETA (panting). All well! Oh, thou hast given my heart a turn! (She clutches her side, gasping.)

      The four porters have now come up and are waiting at the stairhead to be paid.

      APOLLODORUS. Here, ye hungry ones. (He gives money to the first porter, who holds it in his hand to show to the others. They crowd greedily to see how much it is, quite prepared, after the Eastern fashion, to protest to heaven against their patron’s stinginess. But his liberality overpowers them.)

      FIRST PORTER. O bounteous prince!

      SECOND PORTER. O lord of the bazaar!

      THIRD PORTER. O favored of the gods!

      FOURTH PORTER. O father to all the porters of the market!

      SENTINEL (enviously, threatening them fiercely with his pilum). Hence, dogs: off. Out of this. (They fly before him northward along the quay.)

      APOLLODORUS. Farewell, Ftatateeta. I shall be at the lighthouse before the Egyptians. (He descends the steps.)

      FTATATEETA. The gods speed thee and protect my nursling!

      The sentry returns from chasing the porters and looks down at the boat, standing near the stairhead lest Ftatateeta should attempt to escape.

      APOLLODORUS (from beneath, as the boat moves off). Farewell, valiant pilum pitcher.

      SENTINEL. Farewell shopkeeper.

      APOLLODORUS. Ha, ha! Pull, thou brave boatman, pull. So Ho-o-o-o-o! (He begins to sing in barcarolle measure to the rhythm of the oars)

      My heart, my heart, spread out thy wings: Shake off thy heavy load of love —

      Give me the oars, O son of a snail.

      SENTINEL (threatening Ftatateeta). Now mistress: back to your henhouse. In with you.

      FTATATEETA (falling on her knees and stretching her hands over the waters). Gods of the seas, bear her safely to the shore!

      SENTINEL. Bear WHO safely? What do you mean?

      FTATATEETA (looking darkly at him). Gods of Egypt and of Vengeance, let this Roman fool be beaten like a dog by his captain for suffering her to be taken over the waters.

      SENTINEL. Accursed one: is she then in the boat? (He calls over the sea) Hoiho, there, boatman! Hoiho!

      APOLLODORUS (singing in the distance). My heart, my heart, be whole and free: Love is thine only enemy.

      Meanwhile Rufio, the morning’s fighting done, sits munching dates on a faggot of brushwood outside the door of the lighthouse, which towers gigantic to the clouds on his left. His helmet, full of dates, is between his knees; and a leathern bottle of wine is by his side. Behind him the great stone pedestal of the lighthouse is shut in from the open sea by a low stone parapet, with a couple of steps in the middle to the broad coping. A huge chain with a hook hangs down from the lighthouse crane above his head. Faggots like the one he sits on lie beneath it ready to be drawn up to feed the beacon.

      Caesar is standing on the step at the parapet looking out anxiously, evidently ill at ease. Britannus comes out of the lighthouse door.

      RUFIO. Well, my British islander. Have you been up to the top?

      BRITANNUS. I have. I reckon it at 200 feet high.

      RUFIO. Anybody up there?

      BRITANNUS. One elderly Tyrian to work the crane; and his son, a well conducted youth of 14.

      RUFIO (looking at the chain). What! An old man and a boy work that! Twenty men, you mean.

      BRITANNUS. Two only, I assure you. They have counterweights, and a machine with boiling water in it which I do not understand: it is not of British design. They use it to haul up barrels of oil and faggots to burn in the brazier on the roof.

      RUFIO. But —

      BRITANNUS. Excuse me: I came down because there are messengers coming along the mole to us from the island. I must see what their business is. (He hurries out past the lighthouse.)

      CAESAR (coming away from the parapet, shivering and out of sorts). Rufio: this has been a mad expedition. We shall be beaten. I wish I knew how our men are getting on with that barricade across the great mole.

      RUFIO (angrily). Must I leave my food and go starving to bring you a report?

      CAESAR (soothing him nervously). No, Rufio, no. Eat, my son. Eat. (He takes another turn, Rufio chewing dates meanwhile.) The Egyptians cannot be such fools as not to storm the barricade and swoop down on us here before it is finished. It is the first time I have ever run an avoidable risk. I should not have come to Egypt.

      RUFIO. An hour ago you were all for victory.

      CAESAR (apologetically). Yes: I was a fool — rash, Rufio — boyish.

      RUFIO. Boyish! Not a bit of it. Here. (Offering him a handful of dates.)

      CAESAR. What are these for?

      RUFIO. To eat. That’s what’s the matter with you. When a man comes to your age, he runs down before his midday meal. Eat and drink; and then have another look at our chances.

      CAESAR (taking the dates). My age! (He shakes his head and bites a date.) Yes, Rufio: I am an old man — worn out now — true, quite true. (He gives way to melancholy contemplation, and eats another date.) Achillas is still in his prime: Ptolemy is a boy. (He eats another date, and plucks up a little.) Well, every dog has his day; and I have had mine: I cannot complain. (With sudden cheerfulness) These dates are not bad, Rufio. (Britannus returns, greatly excited, with a leathern bag. Caesar is himself again in a moment.) What now?

      BRITANNUS (triumphantly). Our brave Rhodian mariners have captured a treasure. There! (He throws the bag down at Caesar’s feet.) Our enemies are delivered into our hands.

      CAESAR. In that bag?

      BRITANNUS. Wait till you hear, Caesar. This bag contains all the letters which have passed between Pompey’s party and the army of occupation here.

      CAESAR. Well?

      BRITANNUS (impatient of Caesar’s slowness to grasp the situation). Well, we shall now know who your foes are. The name of every man who has plotted against you since you crossed the Rubicon may be in these papers, for all we know.

      CAESAR. Put them in the fire.

      BRITANNUS. Put them — (he gasps)!!!!

      CAESAR. In the fire. Would you have me waste the next three years of my life in proscribing and condemning men who will be my friends when I have proved that my friendship is worth more than Pompey’s was — than Cato’s is. O incorrigible British islander: am I a bull dog, to seek quarrels merely to show how stubborn my jaws are?

      BRITANNUS. But your honor — the honor of Rome —

      CAESAR. I do not make human sacrifices to my honor, as your Druids do. Since you will not burn these, at least I can drown them. СКАЧАТЬ