ENOBARBUS              On each side her

Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,

With divers-coloured fans whose wind did seem

To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,

And what they undid did.

AGRIPPA                                 O, rare for Antony!

ENOBARBUS  Her gentlewomen, like the Nereïdes,

So many mermaids, tended her i’th’ eyes,

And made their bends adornings. At the helm

A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle

Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands

That yarely frame the office.                       (2.2.200-210)

 

Appropriately for Venus—or one who outdoes Venus—and framing this space for the projection of fantasy and longing, Cleopatra is flanked by boys like Cupids, smiling (and Cupid pouts, Cupid is a naughty, lascivious boy; these are not innocent cherubs, and there are two of them, double the trouble, double the fun). They have fans, divers-coloured, colourful and exotic (peacock, perhaps? certainly not boring white), but as they fan Cleopatra with those soft, wafting feathers, the wind that they make seems rather to make her delicate cheeks glow, prettily, rosily, rather than to cool them down. It seems that what they undid, by cooling, they did, by heating, flushing pink. Temperature added to this sensual portrait, the rush of blood as well as a personalised cooling breeze.

 

Agrippa can barely contain himself, he’s so excited by this portrait so far: phwoar, he says, O, rare for Antony! But Enobarbus sails on; he’s not going to comment, he’s still only just getting started. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides (are Charmian and Iras really like beautiful sea-nymphs?), like so many mermaids, sirens, at one with the watery setting, attended to her i’th’ eyes, were there in her presence, waiting on her, and they made their bends adornings. Editors come up with various explanations, but the most straightforward is that every bow the gentlewomen make, every curtsey and gesture of service is decorative and harmonious, enhancing the beauty of the scene and of Cleopatra herself. The women attending Cleopatra are part of the décor, the scenery, the set-dressing; it sounds like a beautiful dance. The boat itself is being steered at the helm by a seeming mermaid (so, it’s a ship of woman and boys, no sailors, no burly boatswain here). Enobarbus zooms in for a sensuous close-up, picturing the silken tackle (no rough hempen ropes here either, and tackle means both ropes and sails; the bawdy sense may be current, although OED suggests that it takes off in the eighteenth century) swell (erotically, of course) with the touches of those flower-soft hands that yarely frame the office. Yarely is nautical, meaning briskly, nimble, efficient; it’s perhaps archly knowing in this languorous feminine context. This sexy sea goddess steering the barge is simply doing her job, after all. (Agrippa is surely about to explode.)