60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
goes to the edge of the quay and looks out over the harbor. The sentinels keep their eyes on him malignantly.
APOLLODORUS (addressing the sentinel). My friend —
SENTINEL (rudely). Silence there.
FIRST AUXILIARY. Shut your muzzle, you.
SECOND AUXILIARY (in a half whisper, glancing apprehensively towards the north end of the quay). Can’t you wait a bit?
APOLLODORUS. Patience, worthy three-headed donkey. (They mutter ferociously; but he is not at all intimidated.) Listen: were you set here to watch me, or to watch the Egyptians?
SENTINEL. We know our duty.
APOLLODORUS. Then why don’t you do it? There’s something going on over there. (Pointing southwestward to the mole.)
SENTINEL (sulkily). I do not need to be told what to do by the like of you.
APOLLODORUS. Blockhead. (He begins shouting) Ho there, Centurion. Hoiho!
SENTINEL. Curse your meddling. (Shouting) Hoiho! Alarm! Alarm!
FIRST AND SECOND AUXILIARIES. Alarm! alarm! Hoiho!
The Centurion comes running in with his guard.
CENTURION. What now? Has the old woman attacked you again? (Seeing Apollodorus) Are YOU here still?
APOLLODORUS (pointing as before). See there. The Egyptians are moving. They are going to recapture the Pharos. They will attack by sea and land: by land along the great mole; by sea from the west harbor. Stir yourselves, my military friends: the hunt is up. (A clangor of trumpets from several points along the quay.) Aha! I told you so.
CENTURION (quickly). The two extra men pass the alarm to the south posts. One man keep guard here. The rest with me — quick.
The two auxiliary sentinels run off to the south. The Centurion and his guard run of northward; and immediately afterwards the bucina sounds. The four porters come from the palace carrying a carpet, followed by Ftatateeta.
SENTINEL (handling his pilum apprehensively). You again! (The porters stop.)
FTATATEETA. Peace, Roman fellow: you are now singlehanded. Apollodorus: this carpet is Cleopatra’s present to Caesar. It has rolled up in it ten precious goblets of the thinnest Iberian crystal, and a hundred eggs of the sacred blue pigeon. On your honor, let not one of them be broken.
APOLLODORUS. On my head be it. (To the porters) Into the boat with them carefully.
The porters carry the carpet to the steps.
FIRST PORTER (looking down at the boat). Beware what you do, sir. Those eggs of which the lady speaks must weigh more than a pound apiece. This boat is too small for such a load.
BOATMAN (excitedly rushing up the steps). Oh thou injurious porter! Oh thou unnatural son of a she-camel! (To Apollodorus) My boat, sir, hath often carried five men. Shall it not carry your lordship and a bale of pigeons’ eggs? (To the porter) Thou mangey dromedary, the gods shall punish thee for this envious wickedness.
FIRST PORTER (stolidly). I cannot quit this bale now to beat thee; but another day I will lie in wait for thee.
APPOLODORUS (going between them). Peace there. If the boat were but a single plank, I would get to Caesar on it.
FTATATEETA (anxiously). In the name of the gods, Apollodorus, run no risks with that bale.
APOLLODORUS. Fear not, thou venerable grotesque: I guess its great worth. (To the porters) Down with it, I say; and gently; or ye shall eat nothing but stick for ten days.
The boatman goes down the steps, followed by the porters with the bale: Ftatateeta and Apollodorus watching from the edge.
APOLLODORUS. Gently, my sons, my children — (with sudden alarm) gently, ye dogs. Lay it level in the stern — so— ’tis well.
FTATATEETA (screaming down at one of the porters). Do not step on it, do not step on it. Oh thou brute beast!
FIRST PORTER (ascending). Be not excited, mistress: 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.