More Pages from a Journal Part 23

This may be mockery, but after she has let Thyreus kiss her she goes on:

'Your Caesar's father oft, When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses.'

She reminds herself of this, fresh from Antony, who had just told her of Octavius's offer to protect her if she would give up the 'grizled head' of her lover.

After Antony's death she finds

'nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.'

She tells Proculeius before he surprises her that she would gladly look Caesar in the face, but she tries to stab herself, for,

'Know, sir, that I Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court; Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up And show me to the shouting varletry Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Nilus' mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring! rather make My country's high pyramides my gibbet, And hang me up in chains!'

She asks Dolabella what Caesar means to do with her, and when she learns that she is to be taken to Rome she recurs to the horror of the triumph.

'Now, Iras, what think'st thou?

Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown In Rome, as well as I: mechanick slaves With greasy ap.r.o.ns, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, And forced to drink their vapour.

Iras. The G.o.ds forbid!

Cleopatra. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians, Extemporally will stage us, and present Our Alexandrian revels; Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness I' the posture of a wh.o.r.e.'

This was a motive for death, but it was not all. She reproves herself because she let Iras die first, because Antony will

'make demand of her, and spend that kiss Which is my heaven to have';

and Antony is her last word.

Charmian declares her to be 'a la.s.s unparallel'd,' of 'royal eyes.'

It is impossible to shut this woman up within the limits of what we call a character, but why should we attempt it? Why cannot we be content with what we have before us? Shakespeare never defined his people to himself. In Cleopatra we have a new combination of the simple, eternal elements, a combination subtle, and beyond a.n.a.lysis.

What celestial lights begin to play over this pa.s.sion as the drama goes on!

Coriola.n.u.s.--We cannot help being sorry that Shakespeare should have gone out of his way to select such a subject. It leaves a disagreeable taste in the mouth. The aristocrat is overdone. No true aristocrat would talk such rant as Coriola.n.u.s talks in Act i.

Sc. I. Shakespeare omits Plutarch's account of the oppression of the plebeians, or only slightly alludes to it. Volumnia's contempt for the people is worse than that of Coriola.n.u.s. To her they are not human, and she does not consider that common truthfulness is binding in her intercourse with them.

'It lies you on to speak To the people, not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.'

Reading such pa.s.sages as these we understand Whitman when he says that although Shakespeare is 'of astral genius,' he is 'entirely fit for feudalism . . . is incarnated, uncompromising feudalism,' and contains much which is 'ever offensive to democracy.'

Winter's Tale.--Coleridge is perhaps super-subtle in his discrimination between the jealousy of Leontes and that of Oth.e.l.lo, which Coleridge will not call jealousy. But the difference is not greater than that between the two men. The pa.s.sion of Leontes is roused simply by Hermione's giving her hand to Polixenes. This common courtesy is 'paddling palms.' There is something contemptible in his transports: not so in the case of Oth.e.l.lo.

Leontes cursing Hermione in the presence of his lords is unendurable.

Leontes in his pa.s.sion disbelieves the oracle.

'There is no truth at all i' the oracle: The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.'

But he is reversed, suddenly, completely, when he is told his son is dead.

'Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice.'

Perdita is brought up by a shepherd and talks like a well-educated patrician's daughter. 'O Proserpina,' etc. Polixenes says to Camillo:

'This is the prettiest low-born la.s.s that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too n.o.ble for this place.'

Here again the emphasis on descent is exaggerated and we resent it.

Leontes after the statue is unveiled -

'But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems.'

Who can read this without choking? Like Exeter in Henry V.:

'I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears.'

Could I have continued to live when that music sounded and she descended? I think not. I should have sought pardon and death.

'Now, in age, Is she become the suitor?'

Who can--I will not say express, but dream a tenderness deeper than that? Sixteen years she had waited, and then she embraces him! It is difficult to divine Shakespeare, the man, in his plays and poems, but in this pa.s.sage and one or two others resembling it he seems to be revealed.

Pericles.--The last act of Pericles, and especially the first scene, is Shakespeare at his highest.