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Chapter One Don't Asp Me!     Except in the herpetology community, the word asp is, and has been, used somewhat collectively to refer to any of several poisonous snakes from Africa, Asia, and Europe. Modern snake buffs, however, use asp more specifically to denote the Egyptian species of cobra. You know: cobra, that deadly hooded serpent whose bite is fatal most of the time.... indeed the cobra, one of the two species reputed to be Cleopatra's instrument of "so long, folks." The other suspect in this glitzy, ancient suicide is the little horned viper, a type of desert sneaky minus the posterior sound effects of its spooky cousin the sidewinder rattlesnake, who slinks and slants across the sandy badlands of the southwestern United States. Are we zero at the bone yet, readers?     Asp is from the Middle English, aspis , which filters down from Latin and Greek, and is related to asparagus on the etymology vine. And there is much more to asparagus than I will tell you here, besides the microscopic insects that are impossible to remove from the tops. Aspic , the word Shakespeare uses for the asp that reputedly bites Cleopatra, may be from sixteenth-century French, although aspic , to refer to a serpent, can be found in thirteenth-century English manuscripts. Cobra comes from modern Portuguese, de capello , as in "serpent of the hood" (cf. "Hoodunit?" OASIS , January-March 1994). Already I have had it with the etymologies here. So let us leave them where they lie and adventure on. Tighten your knee boots.     Now, what once puzzled me, particularly after two bottles of Whatney's Cream Stout and a snifter of Grand Marnier, is how and/or why history is unclear and/or undecided as to the species of snake Cleopatra employed to embark for the happy beguiling ground. Of course, there are those utterly unromantic historians (a few) who still think she used conventional poison stored in a hollowed razor and perhaps pricked herself with a pin to frame any snakes crawling about. Oh, historians. Historians of such persuasion should consult a herpetology text or my neighbor Diedrich, who teaches biology at West Carnage Community College on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Diedrich's specialty is venomous snakes.     First, consider the behavioral characteristics and things of the two species of accused reptile here. One, the Egyptian cobra-- Naja haje --is a ferocious and aggressive creature that reaches lengths of six to eight feet. When caged or detained, he can become very agitated and will, upon release or loss of cool, immediately assume a fighting posture, dilating the trademark hood and striking at almost anything that moves or wants to move. By comparison the horned viper-- Cerastes cornutus --is a weenie, albeit a deadly one. This desert denizen buries itself in the sand to await its prey, often some unsuspecting lizard, insect, or tiny rodent. Cerastes is secretive, shy, and frail. Captives often develop enteritis and suppurative disorders of the mouth, even during short periods of imprisonment. The horned viper rarely exceeds eighteen inches in length.     So what, you ask?     Well, let us just examine the historical evidence of Cleopatra's flashy seppuku, as it is related by Plutarch in his Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans, via the translation from the Greek by James Amyot and from the French by Thomas North. And keep in mind that this edition of Plutarch is Shakespeare's primary source for Antony and Cleopatra . And be patient and attentive, because a quiz or contest may follow.     The situation: Cleopatra is pining away in her grandiose mausoleum, believing Marc Antony to be dead, awaiting one of her servants to deliver a basket of figs, in which is concealed on her orders the asp she plans to use to end her life. Plutarch tells us that before the countryman enters the tomb, he opens the basket to show its contents to Caesar's guards outside. Then Plutarch writes (and keep in mind that Plutarch acquired his information from Cleopatra's personal physician, Olympus): Some report that this aspic was brought unto her in the basket with figs, that she had commanded them to hide it under the fig-leaves, that when she should think to take out the figs, the aspic would bite her before she should see her: howbeit, that when she would have taken away the leaves for the figs, she perceived it, and said, Art thou here then? And so, her arm being naked, she put it to the aspic to be bitten. Others say again, she kept it in a box, and that she did prick and thrust it with a spindle of gold, so that the aspic being angered withal, leapt out with great fury, and bit her in the arm. Howbeit few can tell the troth. For they report also, that she had hidden poison in a hollow razor which she carried in the hair of her head: and yet was there no mark seen on her body, or any sign discerned that she was poisoned, neither also did they find this serpent in her tomb. But it was reported only, that there were seen certain fresh steps or tracks where it had gone, on the tomb side toward the sea, and specially by the door side. Some say also, that they found two little pretty bitings in her arm, scant to be discerned: the which it seemeth Caesar himself gave credit unto, because in his triumph he carried Cleopatra's image, with an aspic biting of her arm. And thus goeth the report of her death. (160)     Hmm and no way, say Diedrich and I to the old contention that the snake in the basket was a cobra, because the reported behavior of the guilty reptile is markedly uncharacteristic of that kind of asp. Surely guards' faces would have been bitten. Certainly Cleopatra would not have had to provoke or force a cobra to strike. And if she in fact kept her snake in a box instead, still harassment would not be necessary to make a cobra bite. Recall that the horned viper is a small, frail, and secretive creature that would have remained concealed under the figs and leaves and that gets sick in captivity, developing mouth problems and diarrhea. Coercion might have been necessary to cause this (cerastes) ill asp to inflict a fatal wound.     "What clinches it for me," adds Diedrich the herpetologist, "is the `certain fresh tracks where it [the asp] had gone.'" Clearly the soldiers who discovered the queen's body noticed something odd and identifiable on the scene that definitely indicated the presence of a snake. The Cerastes cornutus has that unique sidewinding method of locomotion that leaves in the sand a remarkable trail resembling a parallel series of S-shaped marks. Other species will not leave much of a road sign. Also, the fact that no snake was found at the scene is significant, because a cobra probably would not slither off to hide after being aroused. Cobras are mean and vengeful and sometimes look for trouble. But a little horned viper would have scuttled off and buried itself in the sand, like that species is fond of doing.     Diedrich should know. He once spent a week comatose in an Egyptian hospital, following a field trip that was shortened when he was bitten on the wrist by a cobra that rushed out the open door of an abandoned Peugeot parked along the banks of the lower Nile. Who says Africa is the dark continent no more?     But to return to the Cleopatra caper, no doubt death by cobra bite is something she planned. And an appropriate end it might have been; for the cobra was a symbol of Egyptian deity. Notes W. W. Tarn in The Cambridge Ancient History, "The creature deified whom it struck, for it was the divine master of the Sun-god, which raised its head on the crown of Egypt.... Once she was alone she arrayed herself in her royal robe and put the asp to her breast; the Sun-god had saved his daughter from being shamed by her enemies and had taken her to himself" (110-11).     Professor Tarn's rehash smacks more of Shakespeare's version than that of recorded history. But the ancient Greek physician Galen reports that cobras were sometimes used to administer a merciful death to condemned prisoners via a bite to the breast. Historical rumors abound of Cleopatra's observance of experiments of this nature, and Shakespeare's text gives credence to them with Caesar's closing remarks that the evidence suggests death by self-inflicted asp bite: "Most probable / That so she died, for her physician tells me / She hath pursued conclusions infinite Of easy ways to die."     Finally, for me as a lover of Shakespeare this slinky revelation turns Antony and Cleopatra into a more abysmally tragic tragedy than the Bard himself could have imagined. For if the snake used by Cleopatra to achieve the big snooze is not the royal cobra but a piddling desert viper, then her death is indeed not one "fitting for a Princess / Descended of so many royal kings." It is dramatic but terribly pedestrian, because the vehicle she preferred, or planned on, maybe, is not the fabled and sacred asp, Naja haje, the Egyptian cobra. It is an "odd worm," as the Clown calls it, that promotes the trick. But the horned viper cannot punch the siren queen's ticket to Egyptian heaven. Only the royal cobra can do that.     Perhaps Cleopatra was too ill educated in the finer points of herpetology to know the difference or was too stressed and desperate to care. And certainly in Shakespeare's genius, if you've seen one asp, you've seen 'em all. That is fine. The amplification of the tragic denouement, though accidental (thanks to modern herpetology), is a whopper. One that really bites. As usual you overlook additional support for your case. The cobras of ancient Egypt were kept in temples and were tended by holy men. The likelihood that a servant would access such an animal is nearly zero, although a live cerastes or two could be dug up at the base of nearly any sand dune. Too, the difference in the size of the two species also favors the use of a diminutive viper rather than a cobra. Naja haje adults are known to guard and defend their young, a trait very rare in snakes. That makes it very difficult to collect baby cobras. Try putting even a juvenile Naja haje in a fig basket. Please. Joan San Diego, Calif. Holy snake droppings, Schrapnel! Notice the observation of the guard in the last scene of A & C: "This is an aspic's trail. And these fig leaves / Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves / Upon the caves of Nile." Since the horned viper, you say, is known to develop the screaming backdoor trots when held captive for a while, isn't it obvious what that slimy aspic trail really is and who left it? This is not history, of course, but it is evidence. I believe you. Brad W. Bollingen Charleston, S.C. Honest to Christ, who does care whether Cleopatra used a venomous reptile to kill herself? All I know is that it's very hard to duplicate this scene for the stage. The last time I produced and directed Antony and Cleopatra, we tried milking, or extracting the venom from, a live cobra so that we could use it safely in the last scene of the play. At dress rehearsal the damn thing killed one actress and paralyzed her understudy. Then it got away and bit a janitor, who took three weeks to die. Cobras have that nasty neurotoxic venom, you know. No one told me that milking a poisonous snake does not necessarily render it even temporarily harmless or that the king cobra we borrowed from the Ross Allen institution (an eight footer) was the wrong species anyway. No one appreciated the risks I took to achieve verisimilitude. Bailey S. Archibald Dade County Correctional Farm You are indeed an odd egg. One that would astound Shakespeare, I am sure. The moot method of Cleopatra's death, be it the historical or dramatic rendering, is not as important as the fact that she is dead. I do not mean that I am pleased that she is gone, or that I wish she could be reached to clear up the matter, only that I have read your Adventure and now wish I had not done so. But is not life crammed with such regrets and puzzles? And although there are not as many snakes here now in America as there were in ancient Egypt, these reptiles still present a peril to all who dare venture beyond Main Street, or Martin Luther King Boulevard, or whatever the principal vehicular artery of your hometown may be named today. What I would like to see is more literary criticism that takes risks. You enthrall me on some days, and on others you cause me to wish I were a toadstool that could be picked and eaten by my careless, self-centered ex-wife, to work its gloriously painful and deadly havoc upon her fragile body chemistry. Therein, then, wriggles a metaphor even more extralogical than the Cleopatra Paradox you so cryptically dodge. In closing, I want to denounce the environmentalism I once so Thoreausianically embraced and declare simultaneously my intention to drink up or use all of the water in Florida; because the sooner we use it up, the sooner they will leave. Monroe Nokomis a.k.a. Chief Thunder Lizard River-of-Grass, Fla. Copyright (c) 1997 Richard McKee. All rights reserved.