FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[48]——The gods approveThe depth, and not the tumult of the soul.Wordsworth."Il pouvait y avoir des vagues majestueuses et non de l'orage sans son cœur," was finely observed of Madame de Staël in her maturer years; it would have been true of Hermione at any period of her life.[49]Winter's Tale, act v scene 11[50]Only in the last scene, when, with solemnity befitting the occasion, Paulina invokes the majestic figure to "descend, and be stone no more," and where she presents her daughter to her. "Turn, good lady! our Perdita is found."[51]Act iii, scene 3.[52]Which being interpreted into modern English, means, I believe, nothing more than that the pattern was what we now callarabesque.[53]There is an incident in the original tale, "Il Moro di Venezia," which could not well be transferred to the drama, but which is very effective, and adds, I think, to the circumstantial horrors of the story. Desdemona does not accidentally drop the handkerchief; it is stolen from her by Iago's little child, an infant of three years old, whom he trains and bribes to the theft. The love of Desdemona for this child, her little playfellow—the pretty description of her taking it in her arms and caressing it, while it profits by its situation to steal the handkerchief from her bosom, are well imagined, and beautifully told; and the circumstance of Iago employing his own innocent child as the instrument of his infernal villany, adds a deeper, and, in truth an unnecessary touch of the fiend, to his fiendish character.[54]Consequences are so linked together, that the exclamation of Emilia,O thou dull Moor!—That handkerchief thou speakest ofI found by fortune, and did give my husband!—is sufficient to reveal to Othello the whole history of his ruin.[55]Decamerone. Novella, 9mo. Giornata, 2do.[56]VideDr. Johnson, and Dunlop's History of Fiction.[57]See Hazlitt and Schlegel on the catastrophe of Cymbeline.[58]More rare—i. e.more exquisitely poignant.[59]Characters of Shakspeare's Plays.[60]Videact 1. scene 7.[61]The character of Cloten has been pronounced by some unnatural, by others inconsistent, and by others obsolete. The following passage occurs in one of Miss Seward's letters, vol. iii p. 246: "It is curious that Shakspeare should, in so singular a character as Cloten, have given the exact prototype of a being whom I once knew. The unmeaning frown of countenance, the shuffling gait, the burst of voice, the bustling insignificance, the fever and ague fits of valor, the froward tetchiness, the unprincipled malice, and, what is more curious, those occasional gleams of good sense amidst the floating clouds of folly which generally darkened and confused the man's brain, and which, in the character of Cloten, we are apt to impute to a violation of unity in character; but in the some-time Captain C——, I saw that the portrait of Cloten was not out of nature."[62]i. e.full of words.[63]Dryden.[64]King Lear may be supposed to have lived about one thousand years before the Christian era, being the forth or fifth in descent from King Brut, the great-grandson of Æneas, and the fabulous founder of the kingdom of Britain.[65]She is commemorated by Lord Byron.VideChilde Harold Canto iii.

[48]——The gods approveThe depth, and not the tumult of the soul.Wordsworth."Il pouvait y avoir des vagues majestueuses et non de l'orage sans son cœur," was finely observed of Madame de Staël in her maturer years; it would have been true of Hermione at any period of her life.

[48]

——The gods approveThe depth, and not the tumult of the soul.Wordsworth.

"Il pouvait y avoir des vagues majestueuses et non de l'orage sans son cœur," was finely observed of Madame de Staël in her maturer years; it would have been true of Hermione at any period of her life.

[49]Winter's Tale, act v scene 11

[50]Only in the last scene, when, with solemnity befitting the occasion, Paulina invokes the majestic figure to "descend, and be stone no more," and where she presents her daughter to her. "Turn, good lady! our Perdita is found."

[51]Act iii, scene 3.

[52]Which being interpreted into modern English, means, I believe, nothing more than that the pattern was what we now callarabesque.

[53]There is an incident in the original tale, "Il Moro di Venezia," which could not well be transferred to the drama, but which is very effective, and adds, I think, to the circumstantial horrors of the story. Desdemona does not accidentally drop the handkerchief; it is stolen from her by Iago's little child, an infant of three years old, whom he trains and bribes to the theft. The love of Desdemona for this child, her little playfellow—the pretty description of her taking it in her arms and caressing it, while it profits by its situation to steal the handkerchief from her bosom, are well imagined, and beautifully told; and the circumstance of Iago employing his own innocent child as the instrument of his infernal villany, adds a deeper, and, in truth an unnecessary touch of the fiend, to his fiendish character.

[54]Consequences are so linked together, that the exclamation of Emilia,O thou dull Moor!—That handkerchief thou speakest ofI found by fortune, and did give my husband!—is sufficient to reveal to Othello the whole history of his ruin.

[54]Consequences are so linked together, that the exclamation of Emilia,

O thou dull Moor!—That handkerchief thou speakest ofI found by fortune, and did give my husband!—

is sufficient to reveal to Othello the whole history of his ruin.

[55]Decamerone. Novella, 9mo. Giornata, 2do.

[56]VideDr. Johnson, and Dunlop's History of Fiction.

[57]See Hazlitt and Schlegel on the catastrophe of Cymbeline.

[58]More rare—i. e.more exquisitely poignant.

[59]Characters of Shakspeare's Plays.

[60]Videact 1. scene 7.

[61]The character of Cloten has been pronounced by some unnatural, by others inconsistent, and by others obsolete. The following passage occurs in one of Miss Seward's letters, vol. iii p. 246: "It is curious that Shakspeare should, in so singular a character as Cloten, have given the exact prototype of a being whom I once knew. The unmeaning frown of countenance, the shuffling gait, the burst of voice, the bustling insignificance, the fever and ague fits of valor, the froward tetchiness, the unprincipled malice, and, what is more curious, those occasional gleams of good sense amidst the floating clouds of folly which generally darkened and confused the man's brain, and which, in the character of Cloten, we are apt to impute to a violation of unity in character; but in the some-time Captain C——, I saw that the portrait of Cloten was not out of nature."

[62]i. e.full of words.

[63]Dryden.

[64]King Lear may be supposed to have lived about one thousand years before the Christian era, being the forth or fifth in descent from King Brut, the great-grandson of Æneas, and the fabulous founder of the kingdom of Britain.

[65]She is commemorated by Lord Byron.VideChilde Harold Canto iii.

I cannot agree with one of the most philosophical of Shakspeare's critics, who has asserted "that the actual truth of particular events, in proportion as we are conscious of it, is a drawback on the pleasure as well as the dignity of tragedy." If this observation applies at all, it is equally just with regard to characters: and in either case can we admit it? The reverence and the simpleness of heart with which Shakspeare has treated the received and admitted truths of history—I mean according to the imperfect knowledge of his time—is admirable; his inaccuracies are few: his general accuracy, allowing for the distinction between the narrative and the dramatic form, is acknowledged to be wonderful. He did not steal the precious material from the treasury of history, to debase its purity,—new-stamp it arbitrarily with effigies and legends of his own devising and then attempt to pass it current, like Dryden, Racine, and the rest of those poetical coiners: he only rubbed off the rust, purified and brightened it, so that history herself has been known to receive it back as sterling.

Truth, wherever manifested, should be sacred: so Shakspeare deemed, and laid no profane hand upon her altars. But tragedy—majestic tragedy, is worthy to stand before the sanctuary of Truth, and to be the priestess of her oracles. "Whatever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties and refluxes of man's thought from within;"[66]—whatever is pitiful in the weakness, sublime in the strength, or terrible in the perversion of human intellect, these are the domain of Tragedy. Sibyl and Muse at once, she holds aloft the book of human fate, and is the interpreter of its mysteries. It is not, then, making a mock of the serious sorrows of real life, nor of those human beings who lived, suffered and acted upon this earth, to array them in her rich and stately robes, and present them before us as powers evoked from dust and darkness, to awaken the generous sympathies, the terror or the pity of mankind. It does not add to the pain, as far as tragedy is a source of emotion, that the wrongs and sufferings represented, the guilt of Lady Macbeth, the despair of Constance, the arts of Cleopatra, and the distresses of Katherine, had a real existence; but it adds infinitely to the moral effect, as a subject of contemplation and a lesson of conduct.[67]

I shall be able to illustrate these observations more fully in the course of this section, in which we will consider those characters which are drawn from history; and first, Cleopatra.

Of all Shakspeare's female characters, Miranda and Cleopatra appear to me the most wonderful. The first, unequalled as a poetic conception; the latter, miraculous as a work of art. If we could make a regular classification of his characters, these would form the two extremes of simplicity and complexity; and all his other characters would be found to fill up some shade or gradation between these two.

Great crimes, springing from high passions, grafted on high qualities, are the legitimate source of tragic poetry. But to make the extreme of littleness produce an effect like grandeur—to make the excess of frailty produce an effect like power—to heap up together all that is most unsubstantial, frivolous, vain, contemptible, and variable, till the worthlessness be lost in the magnitude, and a sense of the sublime spring from the very elements of littleness,—to do this, belonged only to Shakspeare that worker of miracles. Cleopatra is a brilliant antithesis, a compound of contradictions, of all thatwe most hate, with what we most admire. The whole character is the triumph of the external over the innate; and yet like one of her country's hieroglyphics, though she present at first view a splendid and perplexing anomaly, there is deep meaning and wondrous skill in the apparent enigma, when we come to analyze and decipher it. But how are we to arrive at the solution of this glorious riddle, whose dazzling complexity continually mocks and eludes us? What is most astonishing in the character of Cleopatra is its antithetical construction—itsconsistent inconsistency, if I may use such an expression—which renders it quite impossible to reduce it to any elementary principles. It will, perhaps, be found on the whole, that vanity and the love of power predominate; but I dare not say itisso, for these qualities and a hundred others mingle into each other, and shift and change, and glance away, like the colors in a peacock's train.

In some others of Shakspeare's female characters, also remarkable for their complexity, (Portia and Juliet, for instance,) we are struck with the delightful sense of harmony in the midst of contrast, so that the idea of unity and simplicity of effect is produced in the midst of variety; but in Cleopatra it is the absence of unity and simplicity which strikes us; the impression is that of perpetual and irreconcilable contrast. The continual approximation of whatever is most opposite in character, in situation, in sentiment, would befatiguing, were it not so perfectly natural: the woman herself would be distracting, if she were not so enchanting.

I have not the slightest doubt that Shakspeare's Cleopatra is the real historical Cleopatra—the "Rare Egyptian"—individualized and placed before us. Her mental accomplishments, her unequalled grace, her woman's wit and woman's wiles, her irresistible allurements, her starts of irregular grandeur, her bursts of ungovernable temper, her vivacity of imagination, her petulant caprice, her fickleness and her falsehood, her tenderness and her truth, her childish susceptibility to flattery, her magnificent spirit, her royal pride, the gorgeous eastern coloring of the character; all these contradictory elements has Shakspeare seized, mingled them in their extremes, and fused them into one brilliant impersonation of classical elegance, Oriental voluptuousness, and gipsy sorcery.

What better proof can we have of the individual truth of the character than the admission that Shakspeare's Cleopatra produces exactly the same effect on us that is recorded of the real Cleopatra? She dazzles our faculties, perplexes our judgment, bewilders and bewitches our fancy; from the beginning to the end of the drama, we are conscious of a kind of fascination against which our moral sense rebels, but from which there is no escape. The epithets applied to her perpetually by Antony and others confirm this impression: "enchanting queen!"—"witch"—"spell"—"great fairy"—"cockatrice"—"serpentof old Nile"—"thou grave charm!"[68]are only a few of them; and who does not know by heart the famous quotations in which this Egyptian Circe is described with all her infinite seductions?

Fie! wrangling queen!Whom every thing becomes—to chide, to laugh,To weep; whose every passion fully strivesTo make itself, in thee, fair and admired.Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety:—For vilest thingsBecome themselves in her.

Fie! wrangling queen!Whom every thing becomes—to chide, to laugh,To weep; whose every passion fully strivesTo make itself, in thee, fair and admired.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety:—For vilest thingsBecome themselves in her.

And the pungent irony of Enobarbus has well exposed her feminine arts, when he says, on the occasion of Antony's intended departure,—

Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, diesinstantly: I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorermoment.ANTONY.She is cunning past man's thought.ENOBARBUS.Alack, sir, no! her passions are made of nothing but thefinest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds andwaters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms andtempests than almanacs can report; this cannot be cunningin her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well asJove.

Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, diesinstantly: I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorermoment.

ANTONY.

She is cunning past man's thought.

ENOBARBUS.

Alack, sir, no! her passions are made of nothing but thefinest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds andwaters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms andtempests than almanacs can report; this cannot be cunningin her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well asJove.

The whole secret of her absolute dominion over the facile Antony may be found in one little speech:—

See where he is—who's with him—what he does—(I did not send you.) If you find him sad,Say I am dancing; if in mirth, reportThat I am sudden sick! Quick! and return.CHARMIAN.Madam, methinks if you did love him dearly,You do not hold the method to enforceThe like from him.CLEOPATRA.What should I do, I do not?CHARMIAN.In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.CLEOPATRA.Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.CHARMIAN.Tempt him not too far.

See where he is—who's with him—what he does—(I did not send you.) If you find him sad,Say I am dancing; if in mirth, reportThat I am sudden sick! Quick! and return.

CHARMIAN.

Madam, methinks if you did love him dearly,You do not hold the method to enforceThe like from him.

CLEOPATRA.

What should I do, I do not?

CHARMIAN.

In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.

CLEOPATRA.

Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him.

CHARMIAN.

Tempt him not too far.

But Cleopatra is a mistress of her art, and knows better: and what a picture of her triumphant petulance, her imperious and imperial coquetry, is given in her own words!

That time—O times!I laugh'd him out of patience; and that nightI laughed him into patience: and next morn,Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed;Then put my tires and mantles on, whilstI wore his sword, Philippan.

When Antony enters full of some serious purpose which he is about to impart, the woman's perverseness, and the tyrannical waywardness with which she taunts him and plays upon his temper, are admirably depicted.

I know, by that same eye, there's some good news.What says the married woman?[69]You may go;Would she had never given you leave to come!Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here;I have no power upon you; hers you are.ANTONY.The gods best know—CLEOPATRA.O, never was there queenSo mightily betray'd! Yet at the first,I saw the treasons planted.ANTONY.Cleopatra!CLEOPATRA.Why should I think you can be mine, and true,Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madnessTo be entangled with those mouth-made vows,Which break themselves in swearing!ANTONY.Most sweet queen!CLEOPATRA.Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going,But bid farewell, and go.

ANTONY.

The gods best know—

CLEOPATRA.

O, never was there queenSo mightily betray'd! Yet at the first,I saw the treasons planted.

ANTONY.

Cleopatra!

CLEOPATRA.

Why should I think you can be mine, and true,Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madnessTo be entangled with those mouth-made vows,Which break themselves in swearing!

ANTONY.

Most sweet queen!

CLEOPATRA.

Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going,But bid farewell, and go.

She recovers her dignity for a moment at the news of Fulvia's death, as if roused by a blow:—

Though age from folly could not give me freedom,It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?

And then follows the artful mockery with which she tempts and provokes him, in order to discover whether he regrets his wife.

O most false love!Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fillWith sorrowful water? Now I see, I seeIn Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be.ANTONY.Quarrel no more; but be prepared to knowThe purposes I bear: which are, or cease,As you shall give th' advice. Now, by the fireThat quickens Nilus' shrine, I go from henceThy soldier, servant, making peace or war,As thou affectest.CLEOPATRA.Cut my lace, Charmian, come—Butlet it be. I am quickly ill, and well.So Antony loves.ANTONY.My precious queen, forbear:And give true evidence to his love which standsAn honorable trial.CLEOPATRA.So Fulvia told me.I pr'ythee turn aside, and weep for her:Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tearsBelong to Egypt. Good now, play one sceneOf excellent dissembling; and let it lookLike perfect honor.ANTONY.You'll heat my blood—no more.CLEOPATRA.You can do better yet; but this is meetly.ANTONY.Now, by my sword—CLEOPATRA.And target—still he mends:But this is not the best. Look, pr'ythee, Charmian,How this Herculean Roman does becomeThe carriage of his chafe!

O most false love!Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fillWith sorrowful water? Now I see, I seeIn Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be.

ANTONY.

Quarrel no more; but be prepared to knowThe purposes I bear: which are, or cease,As you shall give th' advice. Now, by the fireThat quickens Nilus' shrine, I go from henceThy soldier, servant, making peace or war,As thou affectest.

CLEOPATRA.

Cut my lace, Charmian, come—Butlet it be. I am quickly ill, and well.So Antony loves.

ANTONY.

My precious queen, forbear:And give true evidence to his love which standsAn honorable trial.

CLEOPATRA.

So Fulvia told me.I pr'ythee turn aside, and weep for her:Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tearsBelong to Egypt. Good now, play one sceneOf excellent dissembling; and let it lookLike perfect honor.

ANTONY.

You'll heat my blood—no more.

CLEOPATRA.

You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

ANTONY.

Now, by my sword—

CLEOPATRA.

And target—still he mends:But this is not the best. Look, pr'ythee, Charmian,How this Herculean Roman does becomeThe carriage of his chafe!

This is, indeed, most "excellent dissembling;" but when she has fooled and chafed the Herculean Roman to the verge of danger, then comes that return of tenderness which secures the power she has tried to the utmost, and we have all the elegant, the poetical Cleopatra in her beautiful farewell.

Forgive me!Since my becomings kill me when they do notEye well to you. Your honor calls you hence,Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,And all the gods go with you! Upon your swordSit laurell'd victory; and smooth successBe strew'd before your feet!

Finer still are the workings of her variable mind and lively imagination, after Antony's departure; her fond repining at his absence, her violent spirit, her right royal wilfulness and impatience, as if it were a wrong to her majesty, an insult to her sceptre, that there should exist in her despite such things as space and time; and high treason to her sovereign power, to dare to remember what she chooses to forget

Give me to drink mandragora,That I might sleep out this great gap of timeMy Antony is away.O Charmian!Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he,Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?The demi-Atlas of this earth—the armAnd burgonet of men. He's speaking now,Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?For so he calls me.Met'st thou my posts?ALEXAS.Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:Why do you send so thick?CLEOPATRA.Who's born that dayWhen I forget to send to Antony,Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,Ever love Cæsar so?CHARMIAN.O that brave Cæsar!CLEOPATRA.Be chok'd with such another emphasis!Say, the brave Antony.CHARMIAN.The valiant Cæsar!CLEOPATRA.By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,If thou with Cæsar paragon againMy man of men!CHARMIAN.By your most gracious pardon,I sing but after you.CLEOPATRA.My salad days,When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,To say as I said then. But, come away—Get me some ink and paper: he shall have every dayA several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.

Give me to drink mandragora,That I might sleep out this great gap of timeMy Antony is away.

O Charmian!Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he,Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?The demi-Atlas of this earth—the armAnd burgonet of men. He's speaking now,Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile?For so he calls me.Met'st thou my posts?

ALEXAS.

Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:Why do you send so thick?

CLEOPATRA.

Who's born that dayWhen I forget to send to Antony,Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,Ever love Cæsar so?

CHARMIAN.

O that brave Cæsar!

CLEOPATRA.

Be chok'd with such another emphasis!Say, the brave Antony.

CHARMIAN.

The valiant Cæsar!

CLEOPATRA.

By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,If thou with Cæsar paragon againMy man of men!

CHARMIAN.

By your most gracious pardon,I sing but after you.

CLEOPATRA.

My salad days,When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,To say as I said then. But, come away—Get me some ink and paper: he shall have every dayA several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.

We learn from Plutarch, that it was a favorite amusement with Antony and Cleopatra to ramble through the streets at night, and bandy ribald jests with the populace of Alexandria. From the same authority, we know that they were accustomed to live on the most familiar terms with their attendantsand the companions of their revels. To these traits we must add, that with all her violence, perverseness, egotism, and caprice, Cleopatra mingled a capability for warm affections and kindly feeling, or rather what we should call in these days, a constitutionalgood-nature; and was lavishly generous to her favorites and dependents. These characteristics we find scattered through the play; they are not only faithfully rendered by Shakspeare, but he has made the finest use of them in his delineation of manners. Hence the occasional freedom of her women and her attendants, in the midst of their fears and flatteries, becomes most natural and consistent: hence, too, their devoted attachment and fidelity, proved even in death. But as illustrative of Cleopatra's disposition, perhaps the finest and most characteristic scene in the whole play, is that in which the messenger arrives from Rome with the tidings of Antony's marriage with Octavia. She perceives at once with quickness that all is not well, and she hastens to anticipate the worst, that she may have the pleasure of being disappointed. Her impatience to know what she fears to learn, the vivacity with which she gradually works herself up into a state of excitement, and at length into fury, is wrought out with a force of truth which makes us recoil.

CLEOPATRA.Antony's dead!If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress.But well and free,If thou so yield him, there is gold, and hereMy bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kingsHave lipp'd, and trembled kissing.MESSENGER.First, madam, he is well.CLEOPATRA.Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark! we useTo say, the dead are well: bring it to that,The gold I give thee will I melt, and pourDown thy ill-uttering throat.MESSENGER.Good madam, hear me.CLEOPATRA.Well, go to, I will.But there's no goodness in thy face. If AntonyBe free and healthful, why so tart a favorTo trumpet such good tidings? If not well,Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes.MESSENGER.Wil't please you hear me?CLEOPATRA.I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st;Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well,Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him,I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hailRich pearls upon thee.MESSENGER.Madam, he's well.CLEOPATRA.Well said.MESSENGER.And friends with Cæsar.CLEOPATRA.Thou art an honest man.MESSENGER.Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever.CLEOPATRA.Make thee a fortune from me.MESSENGER.But yet, madam—CLEOPATRA.I do not likebut yet—it does allayThe good precedence. Fie uponbut yet:But yetis as a gaoler to bring forthSome monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend,Pour out thy pack of matter to mine ear,The good and bad together. He's friends with CæsarIn state of health, thou say'st; and thou say'st free.MESSENGER.Free, madam! No: I made no such report,He's bound unto Octavia.CLEOPATRA.For what good turn?MESSENGER.Madam he's married to Octavia.CLEOPATRA.The most infectious pestilence upon thee![Strikes him down.MESSENGER.Good madam, patience.CLEOPATRA.What say you? [Strikes him again.Hence horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyesLike balls before me—I'll unhair thine head—Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stewed in brineSmarting in ling'ring pickle.MESSENGER.Gracious madam!I, that do bring the news, made not the match.CLEOPATRA.Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadstShall make thy peace for moving me to rage;And I will boot thee with what gift besideThy modesty can beg.MESSENGER.He's married, madam.CLEOPATRA.Rogue, thou hast lived too long. [Draws a dagger.MESSENGER.Nay then I'll run.What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit.CHARMIAN.Good madam, keep yourself within yourself;The man is innocent.CLEOPATRA.Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creaturesTurn all to serpents! Call the slave again;Though I am mad, I will not bite him—Call!CHARMIAN.He is afraid to come.CLEOPATRA.I will not hurt him.These hands do lack nobility, that they strikeA meaner than myself.* * * *CLEOPATRA.In praising Antony I have dispraised Cæsar.CHARMIAN.Many times, madam.CLEOPATRA.I am paid for't now—Lead me from hence.I faint. O Iras, Charmian—'tis no matterGo to the fellow, good Alexas; bid himReport the features of Octavia, her years,Her inclination—let him not leave outThe color of her hair. Bring me word quickly.[Exit Alex.Let him forever go—let him not—Charmian,Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,T'other way he's a Mars. Bid you Alexas[To Mardian.Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian.But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.

CLEOPATRA.

Antony's dead!If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress.But well and free,If thou so yield him, there is gold, and hereMy bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kingsHave lipp'd, and trembled kissing.

MESSENGER.

First, madam, he is well.

CLEOPATRA.

Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark! we useTo say, the dead are well: bring it to that,The gold I give thee will I melt, and pourDown thy ill-uttering throat.

MESSENGER.

Good madam, hear me.

CLEOPATRA.

Well, go to, I will.But there's no goodness in thy face. If AntonyBe free and healthful, why so tart a favorTo trumpet such good tidings? If not well,Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes.

MESSENGER.

Wil't please you hear me?

CLEOPATRA.

I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st;Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well,Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him,I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hailRich pearls upon thee.

MESSENGER.

Madam, he's well.

CLEOPATRA.

Well said.

MESSENGER.

And friends with Cæsar.

CLEOPATRA.

Thou art an honest man.

MESSENGER.

Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever.

CLEOPATRA.

Make thee a fortune from me.

MESSENGER.

But yet, madam—

CLEOPATRA.

I do not likebut yet—it does allayThe good precedence. Fie uponbut yet:But yetis as a gaoler to bring forthSome monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend,Pour out thy pack of matter to mine ear,The good and bad together. He's friends with CæsarIn state of health, thou say'st; and thou say'st free.

MESSENGER.

Free, madam! No: I made no such report,He's bound unto Octavia.

CLEOPATRA.

For what good turn?

MESSENGER.

Madam he's married to Octavia.

CLEOPATRA.

The most infectious pestilence upon thee![Strikes him down.

MESSENGER.

Good madam, patience.

CLEOPATRA.

What say you? [Strikes him again.Hence horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyesLike balls before me—I'll unhair thine head—Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stewed in brineSmarting in ling'ring pickle.

MESSENGER.

Gracious madam!I, that do bring the news, made not the match.

CLEOPATRA.

Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadstShall make thy peace for moving me to rage;And I will boot thee with what gift besideThy modesty can beg.

MESSENGER.

He's married, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

Rogue, thou hast lived too long. [Draws a dagger.

MESSENGER.

Nay then I'll run.What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit.

CHARMIAN.

Good madam, keep yourself within yourself;The man is innocent.

CLEOPATRA.

Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creaturesTurn all to serpents! Call the slave again;Though I am mad, I will not bite him—Call!

CHARMIAN.

He is afraid to come.

CLEOPATRA.

I will not hurt him.These hands do lack nobility, that they strikeA meaner than myself.

* * * *

CLEOPATRA.

In praising Antony I have dispraised Cæsar.

CHARMIAN.

Many times, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

I am paid for't now—Lead me from hence.I faint. O Iras, Charmian—'tis no matterGo to the fellow, good Alexas; bid himReport the features of Octavia, her years,Her inclination—let him not leave outThe color of her hair. Bring me word quickly.[Exit Alex.

Let him forever go—let him not—Charmian,Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,T'other way he's a Mars. Bid you Alexas[To Mardian.

Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian.But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber.

I have given this scene entire because I know nothing comparable to it The pride and arrogance of the Egyptian queen, the blandishment of the woman, the unexpected but natural transitions of temper and feeling, the contest of various passions, and at length—when the wild hurricane has spent its fury—the melting into tears, faintness, and languishment, are portrayed with the most astonishing power, and truth, and skill in feminine nature. More wonderful still is the splendor and force of coloring which is shed over this extraordinary scene. The mere idea of an angry woman beating her menial, presents something ridiculous or disgusting to the mind; in a queen or a tragedy heroine it is still more indecorous;[70]yet this scene is as far as possible from the vulgar or the comic. Cleopatra seems privileged to "touch the brink of all we hate" with impunity. This imperial termagant, this "wrangling queen, whom every thing becomes," becomes even her fury. We know not by what strange power it is, that in the midst of all these unruly passions and childish caprices, the poetry of the character, and the fanciful and sparkling grace of the delineation are sustained and still rule in the imagination; but we feel that it is so.

I need hardly observe, that we have historical authority for the excessive violence of Cleopatra'stemper. Witness the story of her boxing the ears of her treasurer, in presence of Octavius, as related by Plutarch. Shakspeare has made a fine use of this anecdote also towards the conclusion of the drama, but it is not equal in power to this scene with the messenger.

The man is afterwards brought back, almost by force, to satisfy Cleopatra's jealous anxiety, by a description of Octavia:—but this time, made wise by experience, he takes care to adapt his information to the humors of his imperious mistress, and gives her a satirical picture of her rival. The scene which follows, in which Cleopatra—artful, acute, and penetrating as she is—becomes the dupe of her feminine spite and jealousy, nay, assists in duping herself; and after having cuffed the messenger for telling her truths which are offensive, rewards him for the falsehood which flatters her weakness—is not only an admirable exhibition of character, but a fine moral lesson.

She concludes, after dismissing the messenger with gold and thanks,

I repent me muchThat I so harry'd him. Why, methinks by himThis creature's no such thing?CHARMIAN.O nothing, madam.CLEOPATRA.The man hath seen some majesty, and should know!

I repent me muchThat I so harry'd him. Why, methinks by himThis creature's no such thing?

CHARMIAN.

O nothing, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

The man hath seen some majesty, and should know!

Do we not fancy Cleopatra drawing herself upwith all the vain consciousness of rank and beauty as she pronounces this last line? and is not this the very woman who celebrated her own apotheosis,—who arrayed herself in the robe and diadem of the goddess Isis, and could find no titles magnificent enough for her children but those ofthe Sunandthe Moon?

The despotism and insolence of her temper are touched in some other places most admirably. Thus, when she is told that the Romans libel and abuse her, she exclaims,—

Sink Rome, and their tongues rotThat speak against us!

And when one of her attendants observes, that "Herod of Jewry dared not look upon her but when she were well pleased," she immediately replies, "That Herod's head I'll have."[71]

When Proculeius surprises her in her monument, and snatches her poniard from her, terror, and fury, pride, passion, and disdain, swell in her haughty soul, and seem to shake her very being.

CLEOPATRA.Where art thou, death?Come hither, come! come, come and take a queenWorth many babes and beggars!PROCULEIUS.O temperance, lady?CLEOPATRA.Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir:If idle talk will once be necessary.I'll not sleep neither; this mortal house I'll ruin,Do Cæsar what he can! Know, sir, that IWill not wait pinion'd at your master's court,Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eyeOf dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,And show me to the shouting varletryOf censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in EgyptBe gentle grave to me! Rather on Nilus' mudLay me stark naked, and let the water-fliesBlow me into abhorring! Rather makeMy country's high pyramids my gibbet,And hang me up in chains!

CLEOPATRA.

Where art thou, death?Come hither, come! come, come and take a queenWorth many babes and beggars!

PROCULEIUS.

O temperance, lady?

CLEOPATRA.

Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir:If idle talk will once be necessary.I'll not sleep neither; this mortal house I'll ruin,Do Cæsar what he can! Know, sir, that IWill not wait pinion'd at your master's court,Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eyeOf dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,And show me to the shouting varletryOf censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in EgyptBe gentle grave to me! Rather on Nilus' mudLay me stark naked, and let the water-fliesBlow me into abhorring! Rather makeMy country's high pyramids my gibbet,And hang me up in chains!

In the same spirit of royal bravado, but finer still, and worked up with a truly Oriental exuberance of fancy and imagery, is her famous description of Antony, addressed to Dolabella:—

Most noble empress you have heard of me?CLEOPATRA.I cannot tell.DOLABELLA.Assuredly, you know me.CLEOPATRA.No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.You laugh when boys, or women, tell their dreamsIs't not your trick?DOLABELLA.I understand not, madam.CLEOPATRA.I dream'd there was an emperor Antony;O such another sleep, that I might seeBut such another man!DOLABELLA.If it might please you—CLEOPATRA.His face was as the heavens; and therein stuckA sun and moon; which kept their course, and lightedThe little O, the earth.DOLABELLA.Most sovereign creature—CLEOPATRA.His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared armCrested the world; his voice was propertiedAs all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;But when he meant to quail or shake the orbHe was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,That grew the more by reaping. His delightsWere dolphin like; they show'd his back aboveThe element they liv'd in. In his livery[72]Walk'd crowns and coronets; realms and islands wereAs plates[73]dropp'd from his pocket.DOLABELLA.Cleopatra!CLEOPATRA.Think you there was, or might be, such a manAs this I dream'd of?DOLABELLA.Gentle madam, no.CLEOPATRA.You lie,—up to the hearing of the gods!

Most noble empress you have heard of me?

CLEOPATRA.

I cannot tell.

DOLABELLA.

Assuredly, you know me.

CLEOPATRA.

No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.You laugh when boys, or women, tell their dreamsIs't not your trick?

DOLABELLA.

I understand not, madam.

CLEOPATRA.

I dream'd there was an emperor Antony;O such another sleep, that I might seeBut such another man!

DOLABELLA.

If it might please you—

CLEOPATRA.

His face was as the heavens; and therein stuckA sun and moon; which kept their course, and lightedThe little O, the earth.

DOLABELLA.

Most sovereign creature—

CLEOPATRA.

His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared armCrested the world; his voice was propertiedAs all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;But when he meant to quail or shake the orbHe was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,That grew the more by reaping. His delightsWere dolphin like; they show'd his back aboveThe element they liv'd in. In his livery[72]Walk'd crowns and coronets; realms and islands wereAs plates[73]dropp'd from his pocket.

DOLABELLA.

Cleopatra!

CLEOPATRA.

Think you there was, or might be, such a manAs this I dream'd of?

DOLABELLA.

Gentle madam, no.

CLEOPATRA.

You lie,—up to the hearing of the gods!

There was no room left in this amazing picturefor the display of that passionate maternal tenderness, which was a strong and redeeming feature in Cleopatra's historical character; but it is not left untouched, for when she is imprecating mischiefs on herself, she wishes, as the last and worst of possible evils, that "thunder may smite Cæsarion!"

In representing the mutual passion of Antony and Cleopatra as real and fervent, Shakspeare has adhered to the truth of history as well as to general nature. On Antony's side it is a species of infatuation, a single and engrossing feeling: it is, in short, the love of a man declined in years for a woman very much younger than himself, and who has subjected him to every species of female enchantment. In Cleopatra the passion is of a mixed nature, made up of real attachment, combined with the love of pleasure, the love of power, and the love of self. Not only is the character most complicated, but no one sentiment could have existed pure and unvarying in such a mind as hers; her passion in itself is true, fixed to one centre; but like the pennon streaming from the mast, it flutters and veers with every breath of her variable temper: yet in the midst of all her caprices, follies, and even vices, womanly feeling is still predominant in Cleopatra: and the change which takes place in her deportment towards Antony, when their evil fortune darkens round them, is as beautiful and interesting in itself as it is striking and natural. Instead of the airy caprice and provoking petulance she displays in the first scenes, wehave a mixture of tenderness, and artifice, and fear, and submissive blandishment. Her behavior, for instance, after the battle of Actium, when she quails before the noble and tender rebuke of her lover, is partly female subtlety and partly natural feeling.

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