Enter Canidius
CANIDIUS Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well.
O, he has given example for our flight
Most grossly by his own.
ENOBARBUS Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good night indeed!
CANIDIUS Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.
SCARUS ’Tis easy to’t, and there I will attend
What further comes.
CANIDIUS To Caesar will I render
My legions and my horse. Six kings already
Show me the way of yielding.
ENOBARBUS I’ll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
Sits in the wind against me.
[Exeunt severally] (3.10.24-36)
And now Canidius, the other general, completes the hat-trick, with the latest disastrous update. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, and sinks most lamentably. It’s all a disaster: out of breath suggests fatigue but also lack of fitness, perhaps specifically of a swimmer, who now goes under; it’s also a ship, becalmed, unable to move, no wind in its sails. It too sinks. Game’s up. And Canidius is happy to point the blame too, but at Antony rather than Cleopatra (as Scarus has just been doing): had our general been what he knew himself, it had gone well. If only he’d done his job, played to his strengths—but also, if only he’d acted with more honour and valour, shown his old courage, things would have turned out differently. Canidius sees it as a failure of character on Antony’s part, as much as of strategy. And so he has given example for our flight most grossly by his own. If that’s the way he’s going to behave—fleeing the field after his lover—well, that’s our justification for doing what we want ourselves now, and specifically our model for desertion, abandoning his failed leadership.
What’s Enobarbus’s response to this explicit statement of disloyalty, the news that Antony’s blown it so badly that his friends and most faithful lieutenants are now thinking of deserting him? Unimpressed, but hedging his bets a bit. Ay, are you thereabouts? Is that the way you’re going? I see what you’re playing at, what you’re thinking. Why then, good night indeed! Off you go; that’s it then. Game over. Canidius has the latest intel: toward Peloponnesus are they fled. (And he hasn’t said explicitly that he’s deserting yet; he’s too canny for that.) That’s where Antony and Cleopatra have headed. Scarus likes the sound of that, and he puts his cards on the table, sort of: well, at least that’s easy to get to. ’Tis easy to’t. There I will attend what further comes. I’ll go there to them and wait and see what happens next. He’s remaining loyal for the moment. But Canidius is going to jump, he’s decided: to Caesar will I render my legions and my horse. Six kings already show me the way of yielding. I’m going over to Caesar, with all of the troops that I command, including the cavalry. And I’m not the only one: six of those petty client kings who’d lined up with Antony have already done so, for what it’s worth. It’s over.
So which way will Enobarbus jump: with Scarus to Antony, still, or with Canidius to Caesar? I’ll yet follow the wounded chance of Antony, though my reason sits in the wind against me. I’m still with him, even though he’s now the underdog, even though he’s messed up so outrageously. (Enobarbus is a romantic at heart, for all his cynicism. And Antony is his friend and his commander, and he remains utterly fascinated with Cleopatra.) I know it’s a silly thing to do, and my reason is telling me so; it goes against all common sense. But what can you do? In typical Enobarbus fashion, he ends this account of a disaster at sea with an elegant nautical metaphor, but one that also might, for an audience saturated in classical texts, recall the voyaging of the great heroes of classical epic, and the ancient tradition of interpreting that voyaging as an allegory for human life. All at sea.
The exits are editorial and uncertain. At the least, Scarus and Enobarbus go one way and Canidius the other, or else the other two might exit, in different directions, once they’ve spoken, leaving Enobarbus alone at the scene’s end.