Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, Mardian
CLEOPATRA Help me, my women! O, he’s more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so embossed.
CHARMIAN To th’ monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.
CLEOPATRA To th’ monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself.
Say that the last I spoke was ‘Antony’,
And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian,
And bring me how he takes my death. To th’ monument!
Exeunt (4.14.1-10)
A tiny scene, fraught and panicked—and the first scene with just Cleopatra and her companions for some time. The sense is that Cleopatra has come directly from Antony’s rejection, seeking advice: the battle is lost, and her lover is blaming her. Help me, my women! Her most faithful companions and advisors. There’s continuity with the previous scene in Cleopatra’s choice of epic, high status comparisons for Antony’s rage, Ajax (Telamon) goes mad with a jealous rage when he doesn’t get the shield of the dead Achilles in the Iliad; the giant boar of Thessaly is hunted and killed by Hercules, and a hunted animal is embossed when it’s exhausted, foaming, cornered. Cleopatra is convinced that Antony is in extremis, utterly beside himself with rage. What do I do? she asks. Charmian, as ever sharp, practical, has a plan: to the monument! Go to the great tomb you’ve prepared for yourself. There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. That’ll show him—or at least distract him, wrong-foot him. Because the soul and body rive not more in parting than greatness going off. The impact of death, the cleaving of soul from body makes less impact than great ones departing, leaving the scene. That’ll really have an impact on him, make an impression, bring him up short—so take yourself off for a bit. (The tone has darkened radically here; Charmian, like Antony, is speaking openly about death, albeit as she thinks a fake death.)
Cleopatra seizes on this, doesn’t question it, or think it through. To the monument! And Mardian, as ever, gets to be the messenger, as Cleopatra plans to go with only her women. Go tell him I have slain myself. (An elaboration of Charmian’s advice, which was only to send word that she was dead.) Even more, say that the last I spoke was ‘Antony’ and word it, prithee, piteously—Cleopatra is perhaps even enjoying imagining the scene (both of her fantasy death and Antony’s hearing of it). Really milk it. Make it pathetic, heart-rending, a real sob-story. And bring me how he takes my death. Then come back and let me know how he reacts. This can get a laugh; it’s so Cleopatra, ever the diva, ever needy, wanting to know the kind of effect she has on the only audience she really ever cares about. To the monument!
And it’s a tipping point in the play.