in of a contemptible man is never impressive; but
the ruin of an imposing character like Antony's through the one weak
spot in his powerful nature has all the somber impressiveness of a
burning city or some other great disaster.

Like _Julius Caesar_, this play is founded on Roman history. It begins
in Egypt with a picture of Antony fascinated by the Egyptian queen.
The urgent needs of the divided Roman world call him away to Italy.
Here, once free of Cleopatra's presence, he becomes his old self, a
reveler, yet diplomatic and self-seeking. From motives of policy he
marries Octavia, sister of Octavius Caesar, and for a brief space seems
assured of a brilliant future. But the old spell draws him back. He
returns to Cleopatra, and Octavius in revenge for Octavia's wrongs
makes war upon him. Cleopatra proves still Antony's evil genius. Her
seduction has already drawn him into war; now her cowardice in the
crisis of the battle decides the war {191} against him. From that
point the fate of both is one headlong rush to inevitable ruin.

In the character of Cleopatra, Shakespeare has made a wonderful study
of the fascination which beauty and charm exert, even when coupled with
moral worthlessness. We do not love her, we do not pity her when she
dies; but we feel that in spite of her idle love of power and pleasure,
she has given life a richer meaning. We are fascinated by her as by
some beautiful poison plant, the sight of which causes an aesthetic
thrill, its touch, disease and death.

Powerful as is this play, and in many ways tragic, it by no means stirs
our sympathies as do _Macbeth, King Lear_, and _Othello_. Sin for
Antony and Cleopatra is not at all the unmixed cup of woe which it
proves for Macbeth and his lady. Here at the end the lovers pay the
price of lust and folly; but before paying that price, they have had
its adequate equivalent in the voluptuous joy of life. Moreover, death
loses half its terrors for Antony through the very military vigor of
his character; and for Cleopatra, because of the cunning which renders
it painless. What impresses us most is not the pathos of their fate,
but rather the sublime folly with which, deliberately and open-eyed,
they barter a world for the intoxicating joy of passion. Impulsive as
children, powerful as demigods, they made nations their toys, and life
and death a game. Prudence could not rob them of that heritage of
delight which they considered their natural