Je dois toutefois rendre grâce aux dieux
De ce qu'en arrivant je trouve en ces lieux,
Que César y commande, et non pas Ptolemée.
Hélas! et sous quel astre, ó ciel, m'as-tu formée,
Si je leur dois des vœux, de ce qu'ils ont permis,
Que je recontre ici mes plus grands ennemis,
Et tombe entre leurs mains, plutôt qu'aux mains d'un prince
Qui doit à mon époux son trône et sa province.—ID.
Yet have I cause to thank the gracious gods,
That Cæsar here commands—not Ptolemy.
Alas! beneath what planet was I formed,
If I owe thanks for being thus permitted
Here to encounter my worst enemies
And fall into their hands, rather than those
Of him who to my husband owes his throne?
Let us overlook the slight defects of style, and consider how mournful and becoming is this speech; it goes to the heart: all the rest dazzles for a moment, and then disgusts. The following natural lines charm all readers:
O vous! à ma douleur objet terrible et tendre,
Éternel entretien de haine et de pitié,
Restes de grand Pompée, écoutez sa moitié, etc.
O dreadful, tender object of my grief,
Eternal source of pity and of hate,
Ye relics of great Pompey, hear me now—
Hear his yet living half.
It is by such comparisons that our taste is formed, and that we learn to admire nothing but truth in its proper place. In the same tragedy, Cleopatra thus expresses herself to her confidante, Charmion:
Apprends qu'une princesse aimant sa renommée,
Quand elle dit qu'elle aime, est sure d'être aimée;
Et que les plus beaux feux dont son cœur soit épris
N'oseraient l'exposer aux hontes d'un mépris.
—Act ii, sc. 1.
Know, that a princess jealous of her fame,
When she owns love, is sure of a return;
And that the noblest flame her heart can feel,
Dares not expose her to rejection's shame.
Charmion might answer: Madam, I know not what the noble flame of a princess is, which dares not expose her to shame; and as for princesses who never say they are in love, but when they are sure of being loved—I always enact the part of confidante at the play: and at least twenty princesses have confessed their noble flames to me, without being at all sure of the matter, and especially the infanta in "The Cid."
Nay, we may go further: Cæsar—Cæsar himself—addresses Cleopatra, only to show off double-refined wit:
Mais, ô Dieux! ce moment que je vous ai quittée
D'un trouble bien plus grand a mon âme agitée;
Et ces soins importans qui m'arrachaient de vous,
Contre ma grandeur même allumaient mon courroux;
Je lui voulais du mal de m'être si contraire;
Mais je lui pardonnais, au simple souvenir
Du bonheur qu'à ma flamme elle fait obtenir.
C'est elle, dont je tiens cette haute espérance,
Qui flatte mes désirs d'une illustre apparence....
C'était, pour acquérir un droit si précieux;
Que combattait partout mon bras ambitieux;
Et dans Pharsale même il a tiré l'épée
Plus pour le conserver que pour vaincre Pompée.
—Act iv, sc. 3.
But, O the moment that I quitted you,
A greater trouble came upon my soul;
And those important cares that snatched me from you
Against my very greatness moved my ire;
I hated it for thwarting my desires....
But I have pardoned it—remembering how
At last it crowns my passion with success:
To it I owe the lofty hope which now
Flatters my view with an illustrious prospect.
'Twas but to gain this dearest privilege,
That my ambitious arm was raised in battle;
Nor did it at Pharsalia draw the sword,
So much to conquer Pompey, as to keep
This glorious hope.
Here, then, we have Cæsar hating his greatness for having taken him away a little while from Cleopatra; but forgiving his greatness when he remembers that this greatness has procured him the success of his passion. He has the lofty hope of an illustrious probability; and it was only to acquire the dear privilege of this illustrious probability, that his ambitious arm fought the battle of Pharsalia.
It is said that this sort of wit, which it must be confessed is no other than nonsense, was then the wit of the age. It is an intolerable abuse, which Molière proscribed in his "Précieuses Ridicules."