Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 A Study in Dramatic 
 Construction 
 
 By 
 
 William H. Fleming 
 
 A.M., causa honoris, Princeton 
 
 Author of 
 •« A Bibliography of the First Folio*"} Editor of M Much Ado 
 about Nothing," Firtt and Second "Henry IV," Bank- 
 tide Edition \ M How to Study Shakeapearc |" etc 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 New York and London 
 
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 " I should have been so poor, so cold, so shortsighted, if I had 
 not learnt in some measure to borrow modestly from the treasures of 
 others, to warm myself at a stranger's fire, and to strengthen my 
 vision by the glasses of art. I have therefore always been ashamed 
 and vexed when I have heard or read anything which found fault 
 . with criticism. It ought to stimulate genius, and I flatter myself 
 
 ,v^ that I have gained something from it which comes very near to 
 genius."— Lessing, Dramatic Notes, No. ioi. 
 
 \ ."Criticism has been popularly opposed to creation, perhaps be- 
 
 X^ cause the kind of creation that it attempts is rarely achieved, and so 
 
 the world forgets that the main business of Criticism, after all, is not 
 to legislate, nor to classify, but to raise the dead. Graves at its 
 command, have waked their sleepers, oped and let them forth. It 
 is by the creative power of this art that the living man is recon- 
 structed from the litter nf binned and fragmentary paper documents 
 that he has left to pwteril Walter Raleigh, Style. 
 
 iii 
 
PREFACE 
 
 "'THE intellectual measure," wrote Ruskin, " of 
 1 every man since born, in the domains of 
 creative thought, may be assigned to him according 
 to the degree in which he has been taught by 
 Shakespeare." In harmony with this opinion is 
 that of James Russell Lowell: " There is as much 
 intellectual training to be got from the study of his 
 [Shakespeare's] works, as from those of any, I had 
 almost said of all, of the great writers of antiquity." 
 These men were both critics and educators. With 
 their sentiments I think all teachers and students 
 of literature will agree. The consensus of opinion 
 of the competent, therefore, is that the subject of 
 which this book treats is of superlative importance. 
 The method of studying a drama which I advo- 
 cate and exemplify is unique. The system now in 
 vogue is to study the play in detail, Scene by Scene, 
 Act by Act. The result is, the student has no con- 
 ception of a drama as a Work of Art, the primal 
 quality of v/hich is Unity. Amiel says, " There is 
 a way of killing truth by truths. Under the pre- 
 tence that we want to study it more in detail, we 
 pulverize the statue." Likewise the present method 
 of studying a drama makes of it a series of dis- 
 jointed, fragmentary Scenes and Acts having no 
 organic connection. 
 
 ▼ 
 
vi Preface 
 
 " The less cultivated mind," says Sir William 
 Hamilton, M lingers over the parts, the multifarious 
 details; the more educated combines these in 
 unity." My effort in the study of these Shake- 
 speare plays is to preserve the rhetorical peispective, 
 the balance between the minor parts and the plays 
 as complete and perfect Works of dramatic Art. 
 
 The method by which I attain this result is 
 simply resolving the play into its constituent parts, 
 and then following Shakespeare, step by step, in 
 his construction of the drama. The play is divided 
 into the five parts of which every perfectly con- 
 structed drama is composed, viz. t Introduction, 
 Growth, Climax, Fall, Catastrophe. The Main 
 and Sub-Actions are clearly defined. The various, 
 and numerous, parts of which the play is composed 
 are reduced to order. Out of Variety — Variety of 
 Character, of Passion, of Action — there is developed 
 Unity. The multifarious details are seen to be, 
 not heterogeneous, but homogeneous; not unre- 
 lated, but correlated. The connection and harmony 
 of all parts of the play become apparent, and the 
 play becomes aesthetically intelligible. As an ulti- 
 mate result of this critical study, which I have tried 
 to make both interpretative and vivifying, the 
 reader will have a comprehensive and clear concep- 
 tion of the play as a complete, perfect, organic Art 
 product; and will be enabled to read and study in- 
 telligently any drama, ancient or modern, to have a 
 lucid perception, a lively appreciation thereof. 
 
 The book is intended for teachers and students, 
 not only of the Shakespearian drama, but also of 
 
Preface vii 
 
 the dramatic literature of all ages and nations. 
 Primarily, of course, it deals with the tragedies and 
 comedies of the greatest dramatic genius, the great- 
 est constructive imagination, the race has produced. 
 Who knows them not, to quote Sidney's quaint and 
 felicitous words, " to be the flowers of poetry did 
 never walk into Apollo's garden." 
 
 Wm, H. Fleming. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTIR 
 
 I.— A Drama as a Work of Art . 
 
 II.— A Drama : Its Nature ; the Laws of 
 its Construction 
 
 III. — Macbeth 
 
 IV.— The Merchant of Venice 
 V. — Julius CitSAR . 
 VI. — Twelfth Night 
 VII. — Othello. 
 Index . 
 
 rxci 
 
 i 
 
 20 
 
 53 
 
 '37 
 
 232 
 
 3»9 
 
 383 
 461 
 
Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 A DRAMA AS A WORK OF ART 
 
 ART is founded upon Nature, of which it is the 
 imitation, or, to speak with greater precision, 
 the representation, — re-presentation. Conformity to 
 Nature, therefore, is the primary test of perfection 
 in Art. Nature is the criterion by which all works 
 of Art must be judged. 
 
 There can, I think, be no dissent from this prop- 
 osition. Albert Diircr was perhaps the first Euro- 
 pean artist who studied Nature carefully for its own 
 sake, and with a view to making it a subject of Art 
 The result of that study is expressed in these words: 
 " Depart not from Nature, neither imagine of thy- 
 self to invent aught better, for Art standeth firmly 
 fixed in Nature, and whoso can thence rend her 
 forth, he only possesseth her.'* ' Nearly three cen- 
 turies later Sir Joshua Reynolds wrote: 
 
 We can no more form any idea of Beauty superior to 
 Nature than we can form an idea of a sixth sense, or of 
 • Knight, Philosophy of the Beautiful, pp. 48, 49. 
 
 I 
 
2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 any other excellence, out of the limits of the human 
 mind. Nothing can be so unphilosophical as a sup- 
 position that we can form any idea of Beauty or excel- 
 lence out of or beyond Nature, which is, and must be, 
 the fountain-head from whence all our ideas must be 
 derived. 1 
 
 This truth forms the sum and substance of Modem 
 Painters. Ruskin, speaking of that work, says: 
 " From its first syllable to its last, it declares the 
 perfectness and beauty of the work of God, and 
 tests all work of man by concurrence with, and sub- 
 jection to, that." ' 
 
 While it is true that Art is based on and must be 
 true to Nature, the inference does not follow that 
 therefore Art is only a representation of Nature. It 
 must be like Nature, but that likeness is only rela- 
 tive. Nature is continually changing, is in flux, is 
 protean. Forms and colors are in process of evolu- 
 tion. Even those arts which have motion — poetry, 
 music — cannot represent Nature more than approxi- 
 mately. Art, therefore, cannot imitate Nature ab- 
 solutely. Nor should it. The function of Art is 
 not imitation but idealization. The appeal is to the 
 imagination. Of the work of Art we can say, as 
 Theseus did of the acting of the Athenian mechani- 
 cals : The best in this kind are but shadows ; and the 
 worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 
 Art [says Hegel] is no mere imitation or mirroring of 
 Nature. It is a transcendence of Nature, *'. e. t of the 
 
 • Knight, Philosophy of the Beautiful, p. 182. * Idem, p. 220. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 3 
 
 actual Every great artistic work must have Nature for 
 its basis and its starting-point; but in proportion to its 
 greatness it rises from this foundation It lives and 
 moves, as it were amphibiously, in the two worlds of 
 the actual and the ideal.' 
 
 The material world is but a mirror which reflects 
 something that transcends itself. It is the expres- 
 sion of the mind and feeling of the Creator. It is 
 
 The Garment of Life which the Deity wears. "'• 
 God manifests Himself in Nature. Similarly the 
 artist expresses himself in his work. He, like God, 
 is a creator. His creative work, the art-product, be 
 it a cathedral, a statue, a picture, a symphony, a 
 poem, is the medium through which he reveals his 
 innermost thoughts and feelings. In it he ex- 
 presses those ideas, moods, visions, which the as- 
 pects of Nature awaken in him. " A work of Art 
 is not made up of, or exhausted in, a series of lines, 
 curves, surface-forms, colors, sounds. It is nothing 
 if it does not disclose feeling and thought [mind]." * 
 As before said, not imitation but idealization is 
 the supreme function of the artist. " Art," says 
 Bacon, " is man added to Nature." The artist, if 
 great, portrays Nature truthfully, with a subtle, in- 
 definable ideality which is his own. The work of 
 Art is like 
 
 . . : the pools that lie 
 Under the forest bough 
 
 1 Knight. Philosophy of the Beautiful, p. 7a. 
 
 1 Paust, Taylor's translation. Scene t. 
 
 1 Knight, Philosophy of the Beautiful, p. 72. 
 
4 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 In which the lovely fqrests grew, 
 
 As in the upper air, 
 More perfect both in shape and hue 
 
 Than any spreading there.' 
 
 The analogy between Nature and Art is not 
 limited to appearances, superfices. It extends 
 much deeper and further, viz., to growth in Na- 
 ture, composition in Art. In each case the source 
 is not external, but internal. In a plant, a bird, it 
 is the life within which finds expression in growth; 
 in an art-product the source of composition is what 
 Schiller has described as " der Spieltrieb, the play- 
 impulse. The animal works when a privation is the 
 motor of its activity, and it plays when the pleni- 
 tude of force is this motor, when an exuberant life 
 is excited by action."' When not hungry the in- 
 sect flits about in the sunlight, the bird sings,' the 
 lion roars. A man when well fed and vigorous is in 
 a plus condition. This superabundance of vitality 
 expresses itself among savages in a crude attempt 
 at decoration, among the highly civilized in Art. In 
 the former it is sensuous, in the latter it is aesthetic 
 play. The source in each is the same. 
 
 This activity is independent of any pressure of 
 material need. It is indulged in for its own sake 
 It is spontaneous. As Herbert Spencer expresses it : 
 
 1 Shelley, The Recollection . 
 
 » Schiller. /Esthetic Education of Man. Letter XXVII Cf 
 Bosanquet, History of .'Esthetic, pp. 281, 294-296. 
 
 •Socrates says those who think swans sing as death approaches 
 because they bewail death are in error, " and do not reflect that no 
 bird sings when it is hungry, or cold, or afflicted with any other 
 pain," sea. PhaJo, 35. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 5 
 
 The higher but less essential powers, as well as the 
 lower but more essential powrrs, thus come to have 
 activities that are carried on for the sake of the immedi- 
 ate gratification derived, without reference to ulterior 
 benefits ; and to such higher powers aesthetic products 
 yield those substituted activities as games yield them to 
 various lower powers. ' 
 
 In this respect the activity which manifests itself in 
 the play of the higher animal, a primitive man, a 
 savage, is similar in nature to that exercised by the 
 man of culture in the production of the greatest 
 work of Art. The difference is not one of essence, 
 but of degree. The play-impulse has developed 
 into the art-impulse. 
 
 Further, the play-impulse and the art-impulse are 
 similar in that both are imitative. 1 The play-impulse 
 finds expression among animals in such gambols as 
 simulate its serious activities, c. g., search for prey; 
 among savages, in games which imitate those activi- 
 ties which are necessitated by the struggle for exis- 
 tence, or by warfare, e. g. % the mimic chase or mimic 
 fighting. " All simple, active games," says James, 
 
 1 Principles of Psychology, p. 630 
 
 For a detailed statement of the various theories as to the Origin 
 of Art, cf. Gayley and Scott, Methods and Materials 0/ Literary 
 Criticism, vol. i., pp. 1 73- 1 76. 
 
 '"To imitate, then, is instinctive in man. By this he is dis- 
 tinguished from other animals that he is, of all, thi most imitative, 
 and through this instinct receives his earliest education." — Aristotle. 
 Poetics, part i., section v. 
 
 " The dramatic impulse the tendency to pretend one is some one 
 else, contains this pleasure of mimicry as one of its elements." 
 — Jime*, Psychology, vol. ii., p. 409. 
 
o Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 M are attempts to gain the excitement yielded by 
 certain primitive instincts, through feigning that the 
 occasions for their exercise are there." ' The art- 
 impulse manifests itself in an imitative delineation 
 of the beautiful in Nature. 
 
 Between the two, however, there is one well-de- 
 fined difference. Play does not manifest itself in 
 Art until there is in it an element of order. Hence 
 there is no Art among animals. The caper of the 
 savage becomes a dance only when there is rhythm, 
 the shout a song only when there is melody. " The 
 beautiful cannot have its origin in tumult, in the 
 simultaneous reverberation of a crowd of sounds in 
 which the ear can distinguish no measure or har- 
 mony, nor can the plastic arts discover it in the mere 
 wanton medley of colors and of lines." * 
 
 Order is an essential quality of the work of Art. 
 It is the presence of this quality which distinguishes 
 the expression of the play-impulse of the man of 
 culture from that of the animal or the savage. 
 
 To recapitulate- man possesses a life which is 
 .sensual and is conditioned by material needs. Co- 
 existing therewith he possesses a life which is emo- 
 tional, spiritual. Each manifests itself at times in 
 action. This action possesses the two qualities, 
 spontaneousness, imitativeness. In the less evolved 
 the sensuous, this action is play. In the highly 
 evolved, the intellectual and spiritual, this action 
 is Art. 
 
 1 Psychology, vol. ii. pp. 427. 423. Cf. Baldwin. The Story oj 
 the Mind. pp. 43-5 1 . 
 1 M. Auguste Laugel. LOptique ct Us Arts. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 7 
 
 Art, then, being based upon Nature, its source 
 being an impulse common to animals and men, and 
 the work of the artist being in essence or character 
 similar to that of the Creator, each being the ex- 
 pression of thought, feeling, through a material 
 medium which appeals either to the eye or ear, it 
 necessarily follows that the methods followed by 
 the artist must be similar to those followed by God 
 in creation. The laws which regulate the produc- 
 tion of a work of Art are similar to those which 
 govern the growth of a flower, a tree, a bird, an 
 animal, a man. The artist's model, therefore, is 
 Nature and her processes. Nature must be the pat- 
 tern for all his forms of hue, or tone, or curve. The 
 architect for his shapes and forms, his outlines and 
 exquisite grace of curve, imitates, with more or less 
 modification, those which are everywhere visible in 
 the material world. The painter for his colors, and 
 the way they should be combined, imitates those 
 found in the flowers, the opal, the morning and 
 evening clouds before or after rain. The musician, 
 in his quest of beauty born of sound for his melody 
 and harmony, imitates the sounds of wind and 
 ocean, the singing of birds, the human voice. 
 
 The highest product of creation is man. He, both 
 physically, intellectually, spiritually, is the ideal 
 art-form. " The human form," said Goethe, " is 
 the Alpha and Omega of all known things." ' There 
 are certain latent affinities between the aspects of 
 nature and human thought and emotion. In fact, 
 the analogy between the mind and feelings of man 
 
 1 Faust, Taylor's translation, notes, p. 279. 
 
8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 and the objects in the external world is so close that 
 the latter are beautiful only to the degree that they 
 express qualities that are human. 
 
 It is [says Jouffroy] in proportion as objects recog- 
 nized as beautiful resemble man, or in so far as they 
 mirror our humanity, that they are to that extent deemed 
 more beautiful by us. It is the grace of the lily, the 
 tenderness of the color of the rose, the peace of the sky 
 at sunset, that are the source of their charm; but grace, 
 tenderness, and peace are human characteristics. 1 
 
 Every great work of Art, therefore, must conform 
 in all particulars to man. Only to the degree that 
 it expresses qualities which are peculiarly human, 
 which are intellectual, emotional, spiritual, does it 
 manifest the highest beauty. 
 
 Of all men who have lived probably no one pos- 
 sessed a more artistic sense, united with a more per- 
 fect artistic technique, than William Shakespeare. 
 Describing the function of his own art, he says: 
 The purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and 
 now, was and is, to hold as ' 7 were the mirror up to 
 nature ; and to do so with this special observance, 
 that you derstep not the modesty of nature. To essay 
 that, to endeavor to improve on Nature, is wasteful 
 and ridiculous excess. It is simply attempting 
 
 to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish. 
 
 1 Knight, Philosophy of the Beautiful, p. 115. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 9 
 
 Nature, both in its appearances and processes, is 
 the model of Art. Nothing unnatural is beautiful. 
 Only to the degree in which Art conforms to Na- 
 ture is it enduring, perfect.' 
 
 In studying Art, therefore, the best method is 
 one similar to that pursued by scientists in the in- 
 vestigation of Nature, viz., Classification. This is 
 literally the making of classes. Its basis is the rec- 
 ognition of the Unity underlying Variety in Nature. 
 Its method is the grouping of various species under 
 the proper genera, families, orders, classes. Her- 
 bert Spencer, in the essay on the " Classification of 
 the Sciences," defines it as follows: 
 
 A true classification includes in each class those ob- 
 jects which have more characteristics in common with 
 one another than any of them have in common with any 
 object excluded from the class. Further, the character- 
 istics possessed in common by the colligated objects, — 
 and not possessed by other objects, are more radical than 
 
 1 " When the poet broods over his half-formed creation, and 
 fashions it with divine ingenuity, and gives it shapeliness and Com- 
 pletion of detail, and the lustre of finished workmanship, he docs 
 not forsake his instincts, but is obedient to them; he does not re- 
 move from nature into a laboratory of art, but is the close com- 
 panion of nature. The vital spontaneous movement of the faculties, 
 far from ceasing, still goes on like ' the flight of the grey-gull over 
 the bay,' while the poet seeks after oVder, proportion, comeliness, 
 melody — in a word, beauty ; or rather. . . . does not seek but 
 is sought — the perfect form, preconceived but unattained. drawing 
 the artist towards itself with an invincible attraction. An artist who 
 does not yield to the desire for perfect order and beauty of form, in- 
 stead of coming closer to nature is really forsaking nature, and 
 doing violence to a genuine artistic instinct.' — Dowden, Studies in 
 Literature, p. 486. 
 
io Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 any characteristics possessed in common with other ob 
 jects — involve more numerous dependent characteristics 
 
 In other words, characteristics which objects in the 
 same class have in common must be greater in num- 
 ber and in degree than those which they have in 
 common with objects outside of this class. 
 
 The object of classification is clear. We understand 
 things if we can comprehend them; that is to say, if we 
 can grasp and hold together single facts, connect isolated 
 impressions, distinguish between what is essential and 
 what is merely accidental, and thus predicate the general 
 of the individual, and class the individual under the 
 general. This is the secret of all scientific knowledge. 1 
 
 Classification is simply a recognition of the like- 
 ness or unlikeness of certain objects. It underlies 
 not only Nature, but also Language, Reasoning, 
 Art. In studying the latter, as the former, there- 
 fore, the first step is to classify. The scientist clas- 
 sifies or puts together certain kinds of rocks, plants, 
 animals, men. This is the method pursued by the 
 Creator in His works.' Rocks that are alike are 
 grouped in the same mountain ranges, or at the bot- 
 tom of the same streams; leaves that are alike grow 
 on the same tree or similar kinds of trees; feathers 
 or hair that are alike grow on the same birds or 
 beasts; men that are alike are placed in the same 
 climate, country, family, race. The Creator's 
 method is in strict accord with Classification, put- 
 ting like with like, and men have progressed in 
 
 1 Max Muller. The Science of Language Lecture I. 
 * Cf. Raymond, Genesis of At t- For. -n. chap. i. 
 
A. Drama as a Work of Art i « 
 
 knowledge of Nature only to the degree in which 
 they have pursued a similar method, and have clas- 
 sified. This truth applies with equal force to the 
 study of Art. 
 
 The recognition of this fact is neither universal 
 nor forceful. Hence this plea for its application 
 to the drama, and particularly the Shakespearian 
 drama. While this is not the only method by which 
 a play can be studied properly, it is facile princeps ; 
 in fact, it is the one which is absolutely necessary 
 in order to appreciate a play as a work of Art. It is 
 the only one by means of which the study of the 
 Shakespearian drama can be taken out of the do- 
 main of chaos, where it now is, and be made scien- 
 tine. It reveals the laws of dramatic construction, 
 and thereby does for a play what the laws discov- 
 ered by Kepler and Newton did for the study of 
 astronomy. The methods usually pursued are 
 necessary, and yield rich fruit. No one can make 
 any pretensions to Shakespearian scholarship unless 
 he is thoroughly familiar with them. I therefore 
 do not disparage them. At the same time they are 
 incomplete and* defective, both in method and re- 
 sult. They cause too minute attention to details.' 
 
 1 " The aim in expounding a great poem should be, not to dis- 
 cover an endless variety of meanings, often contradictor)', but what- 
 ever it has of great and perennial significance ; for such it must 
 have, or it would long ago have ceased to be living and operative ; 
 would long ago have taken refuge in the Chartreuse of great 
 libraries, dumb th-nceforth to all mankind. We do not mean to 
 say that this minute exegesis is useless or unpraiseworthy, but only 
 that it should be subsidiary to the larger way."— Lowell, Among 
 My Books, pp. 44. 45> 
 
i2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 This begets a mental short-sightedness which is al- 
 ways fatal to the appreciation of any artistic master- 
 piece as a whole. 1 In order to apprehend the play 
 as an organic work of Art, to perceive the Unity 
 which underlies the Variety, it must be studied ac- 
 cording to the methods of Classification. This 
 method is simply resolving the play into its constit- 
 uent parts, separating like from unlike and joining 
 like with like. To descend to particulars, the play 
 must first be divided into the five parts of which a 
 perfect drama is composed, viz., Introduction, 
 Growth, Climax, Fall, Catastrophe. This analysis 
 must be further applied to the Action of the drama. 
 The Main Action must be clearly defined from the 
 Sub-Actions. All the factors forming the Main 
 Action must be classified; so also must those form- 
 ing one or other of the different Sub-Actions. Then 
 the Plot which binds these divisions, actions, to- 
 gether, and makes the play an organic whole, must 
 be traced. The result is, the parts of the play 
 which are various and numerous are reduced to 
 Order. Out of Variety, Variety of Character, of 
 Passion, of Action, there is developed Unity. The 
 multifarious details are seen to be, not heterogene- 
 ous, but homogeneous; not unrelated, but corre- 
 lated. The connection and harmony of all parts of 
 the play become apparent. The result is, the play 
 becomes aesthetically intelligible. As an ultimate 
 result of this method of study, one will have a com- 
 
 1 " There is a way of killing truth by truths. Under the pretense 
 that we want to study it more in detail we pulverize the statue." 
 — Amiel. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 13 
 
 prehensive and clear conception of the play as a 
 complete, perfect, organic art-product.' To be 
 more specific, the following will be some of the 
 most important results of this method of study: 
 
 I. — The law of art-composition will become mani- 
 fest. The evolution of a drama, like movement, 
 growth, in Nature is in strict accordance with laws. 
 The movement of the heavenly bodies is not more 
 perfectly harmonious with the laws of gravitation, 
 or the growth of an organism is not more in accord 
 with its structure and environment, than is the evo- 
 lution of a drama in harmony with the laws of art- 
 composition. This fact is made apparent by the 
 application of the scientific method to the study of 
 the drama. This method is both analytic and syn- 
 thetic. It is unbuilding and also rebuilding. It is 
 both deductive and inductive. After the play has 
 been reduced to its component factors and they are 
 classified, then they are again united and the play 
 is reconstructed. In the latter operation the laws 
 of composition become manifest. As a result of this 
 the following qualities, which are inherent in prod- 
 ucts of Nature, and therefore must of necessity be 
 inherent in every work of Art, become manifest': 
 Unity, Variety, Complexity, Order, Comparison, 
 Contrast, Complement, Principality, Subordination, 
 Balance. Derived from these are : Grouping.Organic 
 Form, Symmetry. This statement of attributes 
 
 1 Hegel expresses this thought as applied to logic, in his doctrine 
 of the " Notion," as Begrtff\?, commonly translated. Cf, his Logic, 
 vol. iii. ; also his Encyclopedia of the Sciences, p. 160, sea. 
 
 * Cf. Raymond. Genesis of Art-Form, p. 131. 
 
14 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 of a work of Art is not exhaustive. It, however, 
 mentions the principal ones. The study of a 
 drama after the method of Classification will, as it 
 progresses, reveal the existence therein of these 
 properties; and also the underlying laws of compo- 
 sition in accordance with which the artist has con- 
 structed his play. 
 
 II. -It makes apparent the fact that the primary 
 element in a Shakespearian drama is not Characteri- 
 zation but Plot. As to the perfection of Shake- 
 speare's Characters there can be no uncertainty. 
 All competent to form an opinion will agree with 
 Dr. Johnson ': " They are the genuine progeny of 
 common humanity." But while true to Nature 
 they are, as Gervinus says: " Not Nature only 
 without the assistance of Art. They are neither 
 mere abstractions and ideals, nor common chance 
 personifications, such as life brings indifferently be- 
 fore us, but they stand in the free, true, real artistic 
 medium between both." But the opinion expressed 
 by Gervinus, which is so common as to be almost 
 universal, " that Shakespeare's characters have 
 always been his greatest glory,"* is erroneous. 
 Scholars have been led into making this error by 
 two causes; one, the fact that Shakespeare's great 
 advance beyond the Greek drama is the perfection 
 of his character-drawing; the other and principal 
 one, that the plays are studied almost wholly from 
 the aesthetic standpoint. In both cases the atten- 
 tion is directed primarily to the Characters, and 
 
 1 Preface to his edition of Shakespeare's Plays. 
 * Shakespeare Commentaries, p. 849. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 1 5 
 
 secondarily to the Plot. The great poets of the 
 world have been before all else artists. In their 
 work it is not the intellectual, the xsthetical which 
 is supreme. It is the art. When the construction 
 of the dramas is critically studied the fact becomes 
 evident that their transcendent greatness is the Plot. 
 Plot in a drama is simply design. It is the modus 
 operandi by which the artist out of a chaos of char- 
 acters, actions, passions, evolves order. This order 
 is not that of mechanical regularity. It is far 
 deeper and more vital. It is that of a living organ- 
 ism. It is, as previously remarked, absent in the 
 play of the savage. It is present in the aesthetic 
 play of the artist. It is the primal element in all 
 art-work. After enumerating the elements of 
 tragedy, Aristotle says: " The most important of 
 these elements is the composition of the incidents 
 (the plot or fable). For tragedy is a representation 
 (imitation) not of men and women, but of action and 
 life." Still again he says: 
 
 If you string together a set of speeches expressive of 
 character, and well finished in point of diction and 
 thought, you will not produce the essential tragic effect 
 nearly so well as with a play, which, however deficient 
 in these respects, yet has a plot and artistically con- 
 structed incidents. 
 
 Goethe, who spoke out of his own experience as an 
 artist, expresses a similar opinion:" What disting- 
 uishes the artist from the amateur is architectonike"\x\ 
 the highest sense ; that power of execution which cre- 
 ates, forms, and constitutes ; not the profoundness of 
 
16 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 single thoughts, not the richness of imagery, not the 
 abundance of illustration." " Art," says Ruskin," 
 is human labor regulated by human design and this 
 design, or evidence of active intellect in choice and 
 arrangement, is the essential part of the work." ' In 
 every great poem, not excepting the most spon- 
 taneous and impassioned, there is a conscious or 
 unconscious basis of intellectual architectonics. 
 
 The word Art is derived from the Latin ars, 
 which means " skill in joining together, combin- 
 ing." That in turn is derived from the Greek aro, 
 the definition of which is" to join, pin together, 
 fit, fasten." The main object in art-composition is 
 to reduce the factors which may be numerous and 
 various to unity and order for the purpose of mak- 
 ing them aesthetically intelligible. This is the func- 
 tion of Plot. It is only when a play is studied 
 critically from the standpoint of its construction 
 that the design or Plot is recognized as the primary 
 and essential quality of the drama. 
 
 It is both erroneous and absurd to suppose that 
 Shakespeare was ignorant of the supreme impor- 
 tance of Plot. Lowell writes: " It is singular that 
 the man whose works show him to have meditated 
 deeply on whatever interests human thought should 
 have been supposed never to have given his mind 
 to the processes of his own craft." * The converse 
 
 1 Lectures on Art, Brant wood Edition, i>. 215. 
 
 * The Old English Dramatists, p. Ill ; cf. also Lowell. Among 
 My Books, pp. 189-201 ; Literary Essays, vol. ii.. p. 223, foot-note ; 
 (losse, Modem English Literature, pp. 100-109 . Johnson, Ele- 
 ments of LAterary Criticism, pp. 24, 25 ; Saintsbury, History oj 
 Elizabethan Literature, pp. 1 69, 170. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 1 7 
 
 is true. It is reasonable to believe that Shakespeare 
 did recognize the fact that Plot is the primal ele- 
 ment in a drama. The perfection of his own plots 
 proves this. Kis plays, with the exception of some 
 written in his tentative, his playwright period, are 
 the perfection of symmetry; they balance around a 
 common centre. " The key to every man is his 
 thought." l The key to every drama is the Plot, 
 which is simply the poet's originating, constructing 
 thought. The recognition of this fact is one fruit 
 of the study of the plays according to the method 
 here advocated. 
 
 III. — The study of a drama after this manner is 
 similar, in every stage, to Shakespeare's method of 
 constructing it. The student is thereby brought 
 into intellectual and imaginative sympathy with 
 the dramatist. As a consequence he is able to judge 
 accurately, to appreciate fully, the perfection and 
 beauty of the drama. Shakespeare's method was 
 first analytic, then synthetic. He analyzed a ro- 
 mance or history, selecting some, rejecting other in- 
 cidents. Then, using those selected, and adding to 
 them others of his own invention, out of them, as 
 raw material, he created a drama. This operation 
 is followed, step by step, by the student. The de- 
 tails are seen to be perfect in themselves. Further, 
 that each one is essential, for in a perfect drama there 
 is no lay figure, not a needless word or action. 
 Then, passing from specials to generals, the growth 
 of each division of the drama is traced. Finally the 
 drama is perceived to be organic. Each and every 
 
 1 Emerson, Circles. 
 
 t 
 
18 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 part is seen to be vital, and to be in living connec- 
 tion with every other part, and all together con- 
 stitute a perfect work of dramatic art. 
 
 By this method of study the scholar follows the 
 natural order of intellectual growth, which is from 
 the concrete to the abstract. He rises, like Shake- 
 speare himself, to the region of the imagination, and 
 
 apprehends 
 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 
 While there is, as Coleridge ha; stated, 1 an antith- 
 esis between Science and Poetry, this antithesis 
 is not great in degree or inherent in character. Es- 
 sentially, Science and Poetry are alike, both being 
 expressions of truth. As in character, so in method 
 are they similar. " The highest reach of science," 
 says Matthew Arnold, " is, we may say, an inven- 
 tive power, a faculty of divination akin to the 
 highest power exercised in poetry."' And again, 
 " without poetry our science will appear incomplete. 
 . . For finely and truly does Wordsworth call 
 poetry ' the impassioned expression which is in the 
 countenance of all Science.' " ' The critical study, 
 therefore, of Poetry as of Science is the joint work 
 of reason and of imagination; of the imaginative 
 reason. This is true of Science. " Bounded and 
 conditioned by co-operant reason, imagination be- 
 comes the mightiest instrument of the physical dis- 
 
 1 Lectures on Shakespeare, Bohn's edition, p. 183, seq. 
 
 * Essays in Criticism, first series, pp. 50, 51. 
 
 * Idem, second series, pp. 2, 3. 
 
A Drama as a Work of Art 19 
 
 coverer," says Tyndall.' The scientific method of 
 studying the Shakespearian drama equally demands 
 the use both of reason and imagination. I* is by 
 means of both that the still and mental parts of the 
 drama, the hidden but vital connection of all the 
 factors in the play, and the artistic result of that 
 connection, are perceived. By means of both the 
 student apprehends not only what is really in the 
 play, but also what is potentially there. The pro- 
 duction of that beauty, both that which is real and 
 that which is potential, and the perception of it as 
 well, are the result of the concurrent action of a 
 highly trained intellect and a most refined and dis- 
 ciplined imagination. The method of study here 
 advocated necessitates the exercise of both. Hence 
 it is in accord with Shakespeare's method of con- 
 struction, and, better than any other, will enable 
 the student to appreciate the Shakespeare plays. 
 
 1 Scientific Use of the Imagination. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A DRAMA : ITS NATURE ; THE LAWS 
 OF ITS CONSTRUCTION 
 
 ITS NATURE 
 
 A DRAMA is " an imitation of one entire, great, 
 and probable action, not told but represented, 
 which, by moving in us fear and pity, is conducive 
 to the purging of those two passions in our minds." 
 Such is Aristotle's' definition of tragedy, as trans- 
 lated by Dryden.* 
 
 Although so old, and referring primarily to the 
 
 1 Potties, part ii., section ii. 
 
 * The Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy. 
 
 Other translations of this citation from Aristotle are : 
 
 •' Tragedy, then, is an imitation of some action that is important, 
 entire, and of a proper magnitude — by language embellished and 
 rendered pleasurable, but by different means in different parts — in 
 the way, not of narration, but of Action — effecting, through pity and 
 terror, the correction and refinement of such passions." — Twining, 
 vol. i., p. 116. 
 
 "Tragedy is a representation [lit, imitation] of an action noble 
 and complete in itself, and of appreciable magnitude, in language 
 of special fascination, using different kinds of utterance in the 
 different parts, given through performers, and not by means of nar- 
 ration, and producing, by [the stimulation of] pity and fear, the 
 alleviating discharge of emotions of that nature." — Bosanquet, 
 History of Aisthetic, p. 64. 
 
 C/., also, Gayley and Scott, Methods and Materials of Literary 
 Criticism, vol. i. 
 
 20 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 21 
 
 Greek drama, this definition of Aristotle, with some 
 slight modifications, is substantially true of the 
 Shakespearian and modern drama. 
 
 One of those modifications relates to the subject 
 of the drama, which, Aristotle says, is " one entire 
 
 . . action." He restricted a drama to the 
 imitation of one action, occurring in one place, on 
 one day. This is the Greek law of Unity. Shake- 
 speare perceived that this was neither natural nor 
 artistic In the physical world time and change are 
 essential elements of evolution. The same is true 
 of the growth and development of a man, intel- 
 lectually, emotionally, ethically. In each of his 
 dramas, therefore, Shakespeare has depicted numer- 
 ous actions, occurring frequently in widely sepa- 
 rated places, at many different times. He does, 
 however, preserve Unity. These multiform and 
 apparently, but not really, inharmonious elements 
 are fused by the poet into one aesthetic whole. 
 
 The law of Unity when applied to the Shake- 
 spearian and modern drama implies in it the exis- 
 tence of three specific properties: 
 
 I — One Main Action. There may be several 
 Sub-Actions, but there must be one, and only one, 
 Main Action.' 
 
 1 "Now the poet is to aim at one great and complete action, to 
 the carrying out of which all things in his play, even the very ob- 
 stacles are to be subservient ; and the reason of this is evident. 
 For two actions equally laboured and driven on by the writer, 
 would destroy the unity of the poem j it would be no longer one 
 play, but two ; not but what there may be many actions in a play ; 
 but they must all be subservient to the great one : seo." — Dryden. 
 Essay on Dramatick Poesy, 
 
22 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 II. — One hero or one heroine. There must not be 
 more than one of either. Neither must there be both. 
 
 To the latter dictum there is an exception. 
 Sometimes the action of a drama is the result of the 
 joint conduct of a hero and a heroine. In such a 
 case the hero and heroine are a dramatic unit. They 
 are like a binary star, two stars so closely situated, 
 revolving together around a common centre of 
 gravity, that they emit one light; or like two 
 streams which. join and together form a river. So in 
 a drama sometimes there are a hero and a heroine 
 who are so intimately related, who act in such per- 
 fect unison, that the action of the drama is the re- 
 sult of their joint conduct. Examples of such a 
 drama are Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth. With this 
 exception a drama must have one hero or one hero- 
 ine, but not both. 
 
 III. — A drama must portray one great passion. 
 As human conduct is very complex, is the expres- 
 sion of many feelings, thoughts, purposes, there is 
 in a drama, oftentimes, the portrayal of several pas- 
 sions. One of these, and only one, must be domi- 
 nant. All others must be secondary, subdominant. 
 This dominant passion may be jealousy, or, more 
 properly, outraged love, as in Othello ; ambition, as 
 in Macbeth ; patriotism, although misguided, as in 
 Julius CcBsar ; love, as in Romeo and Juliet. There 
 must be one, and only one dominant passion which 
 sways and controls the dramatis persona?. 
 
 Such is the law of Unity when applied to the 
 Shakespearian and modern drama. 
 
 Again, Aristotle says, " not told but represented." 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 23 
 
 This goes to the very heart of the subject, and de- 
 scribes, very briefly, but with unerring accuracy, the 
 nature of a drama, whether it be ancient or modern. 
 
 The term " drama is a Greek word, derived 
 from the verb drao, which means " to do, be doing, 
 accomplish, fulfil." It literally means something 
 done, a performance. A drama is the poetry of 
 conduci Its primary and essential quality is action. 
 It is not simply a narrative of events. If it were it 
 would be an epic. Nor is it only an expression of 
 emotion, passion. If it were it would be a lyric. 
 "What is that which we call dramatic?'.' asks 
 James Russell Lowell. He answers- " In the con- 
 crete, it is that which is more vivid if represented 
 than described, and which would lose if merely 
 narrated." ' 
 
 That which differentiates a drama from an epic 
 or a lyric, in fact from every other form of literature, 
 is that in it the poet expresses his thought, emo- 
 tion, not so much by words as by action. The men 
 and women who are the medium by which the poet 
 expresses himself appear before us living, speaking, 
 acting. The theme of the drama is man in action. 
 That action is a collision between the hero and the 
 society in which he lives, or between him and the 
 great moral laws which govern the universe. 
 
 A drama is a representation — re-prcsentation — of 
 an action, its causes, its progress, its consequences; 
 as it reveals and affects the doer, and also others 
 within the scope of its influence.* 
 
 1 Tht Old English Dramatists, p. 35. 
 
 • Cf. Lewes, Problems of Life and Mind, vol. ii., pp. 116-118. 
 
24 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 LAWS OF CONSTRUCTION 
 
 A drama, like a house, is builded. What are the 
 laws of its construction ? 
 
 The laws which govern the construction of a 
 drama are not empirical, capricious. They are not 
 the dictum of any man.' Like the laws which 
 govern the material world, the motion of a star, the 
 growth of a flower, a bird, they are natural. They 
 inhere in the nature of a drama, and in the nature 
 of the human mind which creates the drama, and 
 which understands and appreciates it when it is read 
 or acted. They are, as Pope says: 
 
 Those rules of old discover'd, not devised, 
 Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd. 
 
 The artist does not create his materials. For 
 these he goes to the great storehouse, Nature. 
 The architect, sculptor, obtain marble from the 
 quarry, out of which the former creates a cathedral, 
 the latter a statue. The painter uses pigments with 
 which he portrays the varying moods of landscape, 
 ocean, man. The musician who creates beauty born 
 of sound imitates the tones of winds, waters, the 
 singing of birds, the sob of the child, the shout of 
 the man.' The dramatic poet portrays the experi- 
 ences of men as recorded in histories, legends, 
 
 1 "A true art critic deduces no rules from his individual taste, but 
 has formed his taste from rules necessitated by the nature of his 
 subject." — Lessing, Dramatic .Votes, No. 19. 
 
 1 Music, however, is less imitative than the other arts. Cf. 
 Knight, The Philosophy 0/ the Beautiful, part ii., p. 137, seq. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 25 
 
 stories. The orginality of the artist is not in the 
 creation of the materials he uses, but in the selec- 
 tion and use made of them. 
 
 To apply this fact to a drama, and to Shakespeare 
 as an example of dramatists, with the possible 
 exception of three plays, The Tempest, A Midsum- 
 mer-Night 's Dream, Loves Labour 's Lost, Shake- 
 speare did not invent the stories he dramatized. His 
 plays belong to the romantic drama. Sciolists have 
 therefore said he was not original. Is this opinion 
 well founded ? What is originality in art-produc- 
 tion ? " But, in general," is the opinion on this 
 subject of the great poet of the Restoration, "the 
 employment of a poet is like that of a curious gun- 
 smith, or watchmaker; the iron or silver is not his 
 own ; but they are the least part of that which gives 
 the value; the price lies wholly in the workman- 
 ship." ' Originality " may be defined," says New- 
 man, " as the power of abstracting for one's self, 
 and is in thought what strength of mind is in 
 action." ' Walter Savage Landor says: " Creative- 
 ness may work upon old materials ; a new world may 
 spring from an old one." ' With this dictum Mor- 
 ley concurs: " As high a degree of originality may 
 be shown in transformation as in invention, as 
 Moliere and Shakespeare have proved in the region 
 of dramatic art." ' In his Essay on Walton, Lowell 
 asserts that Walton did not open new paths to 
 thought or new vistas to imagination, but that he 
 
 1 Dryden, Preface to An Evening's Love. 
 
 * On Aristotle's Poetics. 
 
 ' Selections, by Colvin, p. 273. 
 
 * Miscellanies, vol. iii., p. 341. 
 
26 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 suffused whatever he wrote with his own individu- 
 ality. " This constitutes literary orginality. What- 
 ever entered his mind or memory, came forth again 
 plus Izaak Walton." On this subject nothing more 
 forceful has been written than the words of Professor 
 Royce : 
 
 As a fact, originality and imitation are not in the least 
 opposed, but are, in healthy cases, absolutely correlative 
 and inseparable processes, so that you cannot be truly 
 original in any direction unless you imitate, and cannot 
 imitate effectively, worthily, admirably, unless you imitate 
 in original fashions. The greatest thinker, artist, or 
 prophet is merely a man who imitates inimitably some- 
 thing in the highest degree worthy of his imitation. 1 
 
 The dramatist does not invent all of the incidents 
 used in his plays. /Eschylus said his dramas were 
 but " dry scraps from the great banquets of 
 Homer." The sculptor does not invent his sub- 
 ject, e. g., Laocoon ; nor does the painter, e. g., 
 The Madonna. An enormous receptive and assimi- 
 lative power is a characteristic of genius. As the 
 life within the seed appropriates nourishment from 
 the earth, light, atmosphere, and grows into a 
 lovely flower, so Shakespeare appropriated stories, 
 histories, old plays, and by his creative genius pro- 
 duced from them his dramas. To speak meta- 
 phorically, the base metal he found in Plutarch, 
 Boccaccio, Holinshed, the Gesta Romanorum, is 
 transmuted by him into the pure gold of his Roman 
 plays, his delightful comedies, his great tragedies. 
 And, so doing, he, like other artists, is original. 
 
 ' The Century Magazine, May, 1894, p. 145. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 27 
 
 Each is a creator. Each, out of material which he 
 has borrowed, creates the work of Art, putting into 
 it his own thoughts, emotions, life. Each 
 
 Makes new hopes shine through the flesh they fray, 
 
 New fears aggrandize the rags and tatters: 
 To bring the invisible full into play.' 
 
 In doing this Shakespeare exercised the primal 
 faculty of the artist, viz. , the power of artistic 
 selection. It is this faculty which enables the 
 dramatist to perceive the capabilities of his ma- 
 terial; to select those incidents, those characters, 
 which are suitable to representation on the stage. 
 
 Only certain actions, certain characters, admit of 
 dramatic treatment. Not only the life, but also the 
 form of a poem, is contained in the subject-matter. 
 The form in which a poem is written is to the 
 thought and emotion of the poem, to its life, what 
 a man's body is to his mind and spirit. When Mil- 
 ton began to write Paradise Lost he put it in the 
 dramatic form as a Miracle Play. He modelled it 
 after the Greek drama, with a chorus. He wrote 
 part of the poem in this form. Finally, however, 
 as the result of long meditation and fresh inspira- 
 tion, he was convinced his subject was not dramatic, 
 but epic. He therefore changed the form of his 
 poem, and made it not a drama, but an epic. 
 
 A history, ballad, poem, story, to be dramatized 
 must possess the following qualities! 
 
 I. — It must have a theme, e. g., ambition, love. 
 
 1 Browning. Old Pictures in Flortnte. 
 
28 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 II.— It must be such as can be imitated by action, 
 for a drama is imitation by means of action. 
 III. — It must be probable. 
 
 IV. — It must be organic; f. e. , every detail, every 
 incident must be in vital connection with the Main 
 Action. 
 
 V. — The characters must be typical. 
 Having selected his subject the dramatist pro- 
 ceeds to outline his Plot or scheme of action. 
 
 Aristotle considered Plot the supreme element in 
 tragedy. He calls it " the final aim," " the soul," 
 11 the central principle " of tragedy. Plot is design. 
 It is the skilful arrangement of incidents, of ac- 
 tions, by means of which the thoughts and emotions 
 of the dramatis persona are expressed, and those of 
 the spectators are appealed to. The architect takes 
 the blocks of white marble, and out of them, by 
 means of his plan or design, which is in strict ac- 
 cordance with the laws of beauty, constructs the 
 grand cathedral. Likewise the dramatist takes in- 
 dividual actions, and by skilful use of them, by 
 means of Plot or design, constructs the great 
 drama. The beauty, the grandeur, of the cathedral 
 is not in the marble, but in the plan ; that of a 
 drama is not in tne incidents, but in the Plot, by 
 means of which they are artistically fused. 
 
 In outlining his Plot the poet divides his drama 
 into five principal parts, which in the modern 
 drama are called Acts: 
 
 Protasis Introduction Act I 
 
 Epitasis Growth " II 
 
 Peripeteia Climax V III 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 29 
 
 Katabasis Fall Act IV 
 
 Katastrophy Catastrophe " V.' 
 
 Why five Acts ? Why not three or four, or more 
 or less ? Is this division of a drama into five parts or 
 Acts optional with the dramatist, or is it inherent in 
 the nature of a drama ? It is essential, fundamental. 
 
 From the time of the Greeks to the present, ar- 
 tists have recognized the fact that Balance and Sym- 
 metry are secured by the use of an odd number of 
 factors in an art-product, e. ^., in a building, three 
 or five stories * ; in a picture, a group of an odd num- 
 ber of figures, or an uneven number of groups.' 
 This canon of Art is applicable to a drama. Com- 
 plement and Balance demand that there should be 
 in a play an unequal number of Acts. 
 
 Further, that that number be five is necessitated 
 by, and in strict accord with, a psychologic law. A 
 drama is an imitation, by means of representation, 
 of an action. A drama, therefore, must in its nature 
 be like the action of a man, or a body of men. All 
 life, that of plants, of animals, of men, of nations, 
 naturally divides itself into five stages — birth, rise, 
 culmination, decline, fall. Every action consists of 
 five parts — Cause, Growth, Height, Consequence, 
 Close. Based on this analysis, and in perfect har- 
 mony therewith, a drama, when resolved into its con- 
 stituent parts, has five divisions. In its quintuple 
 
 1 The division of Shakespeare's plays, as we have them, into Acts 
 and Scenes being so imperfect, the Acts are not in every case co- 
 terminous with the above five parts, 
 
 1 Cf. Ruskin, Seven Ijimps of Architecture, chap, iv., sec. xxix. 
 
 1 Cf. Sir Joshua Reynolds, The Art of Painting, note xxxix.; ef 
 also Raymond, Genesis of Art'Form, chaps, iii.-v. 
 
30 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 character, therefore, a drama is a perfect analogue 
 of an action. If the division of the drama into Acts 
 is perfect, between each one of them and each one of 
 the five divisions of an action there is a correspond- 
 ence which is essential, structural. That which in an 
 action is the Cause, is in a drama the Introduction; 
 likewise the Close in the former corresponds to the 
 Catastrophe in the latter. The same is true of the 
 three other divisions of actions and dramas. 
 
 The Greek sense of proportion, of ideal form in 
 Art, was well-nigh perfect. Aristotle divided a 
 drama into: 
 
 Protasis. — Entrance. That which is put forward. 
 
 Epitasis. — A stretching. That part of a play in 
 which the Plot thickens. 
 
 Peripeteia. — A turning right about. The sudden 
 reversal of circumstances on which the Plot in a 
 drama hinges. 
 
 Katabasis. — A going down. 
 
 KatastropJiy. — A turning up and down. An over- 
 throwing. 
 
 Horace, in his Ars Poetica, says: 
 
 If you would have your play deserve success, 
 Give it five Acts complete, nor more, nor less. 
 
 The opinions of Aristotle and Horace, the great- 
 est of the ancient critics, have been accepted by 
 Lessing, the greatest of modern dramatic critics.' 
 
 Shakespeare possessed the greatest constructive 
 imagination of any man that ever lived. He is the 
 greatest dramatic genius the race has produced. 
 He accepted this canon of dramatic art. His plays 
 
 1 Cf. Hamburgische Dramaturgic (Hamburg Dramaturgy). 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 3 1 
 
 as published in Folio I. are, in most cases, divided 
 into five Acts. In no play are there more than five 
 Acts; in some few plays there are less; //. and III. 
 Henry VI. , Troilus and Cressida, Romeo and Juliet, 
 Tinion of Athens, Antony and Cleopatra have Actus 
 Primus only. Hamlet has Actus Primus and Actus 
 Secundus only. Taming of the Shreiu has four Acts 
 only, Actus Secundus being omitted. Love's La- 
 bour 's Lost and King John have each five Acts, but 
 in each play there are two Actus Quartus and no 
 Actus Quintus. The mistakes made in the division 
 of these plays into Acts are like Falstaff's lies, 
 gross as a mountain, open, palpable. So evident 
 is this, that we can infer with certainty that that 
 division was not made by Shakespeare; further, 
 that it was not in accordance either with his con- 
 struction or his manuscript. I believe that Shake- 
 speare wrote every play in five Acts. These 
 variations are manifestly mistakes made by the edi- 
 tors and printers of the first Folio.' 
 
 There are one-Act plays. These are miniature 
 dramas. There are also plays which have two or 
 three or four Acts. Such are imperfect. Every 
 drama which is properly constructed has five parts, 
 — Introduction, Growth, Climax, Fall, Catastrophe, 
 — each one of which is coterminous with an Act. 
 
 The separation or disjunction of the Acts, so far 
 as the action of the drama is concerned, is not real, 
 but imaginary. The time supposed to elapse 
 between the Acts is simply a period of repose, a 
 
 1 Cf. my monograph, " The Division of the Plays into Acts," 
 Wtrntr't Magazine, April, 1894, p. 137, seq. 
 
32 
 
 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 resting-place for the mind and emotions of the 
 spectator. The curtain falls. The action tempo- 
 rarily stops. The tension on the thought and feel- 
 ings of the spectator is for a time relieved. A 
 drama is not a series of five disconnected Acts, each 
 being subdivided into disjointed and fragmentary 
 Scenes. It is an organic whole. The different 
 Scenes and Acts must be interdependent like links 
 in a chain, stones in an arch, or like the different 
 parts of the human body, head, trunk, limbs — sep- 
 arate parts, having separate functions, yet all in 
 vital union with the heart, and with each other, and 
 all together constituting a human being. 
 
 In a drama each Act, each Scene, must follow the 
 preceding one naturally, and must lead naturally to 
 those which follow. Each Act, each Scene must also 
 follow the preceding one necessarily, and must lead 
 inevitably to those which follow. There must be 
 all through the drama a note of the inevitable. 
 
 FORM OF A DRAMA 
 
 A drama is written, not in the form of a triangle, 
 but in that of an arch: 
 
 Climax, Act III. 
 
 Growth 
 Act II 
 
 Fall, 
 Act IV. 
 
 The reason of this is, the curve is the line of beauty. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 33 
 
 Beauty has both a physical and a psychical basis. 
 Sights, sounds, are only beautiful when they har- 
 monize so perfectly with the nerves of vision or 
 hearing that they do not strain or jar them. A per- 
 fectly round stone dropped into a pool of water 
 causes a series of round waves which are beautiful. 
 On the other hand, if the stone is angular, jagged, 
 the waves are irregular, therefore not beautiful. If 
 a perfectly constructed bell is struck with a ham- 
 mer, there result sound-waves which are circular, 
 undulatory, and, therefore, beautiful. If the bell is 
 cracked, the sound-waves are not circular, — are 
 therefore inharmonious. The reason is, in the one 
 case, the waves of water, of sound, do not strain or 
 jar, but, on the contrary, are harmonious with, the 
 nerves of vision, of hearing. In the other case it is 
 the reverse. The ideal art figure is the human 
 body. In it there are no angles. Such is the 
 physical basis of beauty. 
 
 Beauty has also a psychical basis. Any work of 
 art to be beautiful must be in harmony with the in- 
 tellectual, emotional, ethical nature of man. Hence 
 a work of art of the first order, being in harmony 
 with the psychical nature of man, always causes de- 
 
 light.' 
 
 ^/introduction 
 
 The Introduction includes all that part of the 
 drama which precedes the beginning of the action. 
 
 1 Cf. Raymond, Art in Theory, p. iGt, seq., also Appendix ; 
 Brown, The Fine Arts, p 189, seq. ; Grant Allen, The Color Sense, 
 p. 19, seq., also Physiological ^Esthetics, p. 143, seq.; Sully, The 
 Human Mind, p. 117, jeq.; Lowell, ersay, Kousseau ana" the Senti- 
 mentalists. 
 
34 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It is not a part of the action itself. It is introduc- 
 tory to that. 
 
 Sometimes the Introduction is an action, e. g. % 
 Romeo and Juliet, but it is not the action of the 
 drama. It precedes that, and is the cause thereof. 
 The action of Romeo and Juliet begins when Romeo, 
 Mercutio, and their friends start to go to the ball at 
 the Capulets'. The quarrel between the servants, 
 retainers, members, of the rival houses of Montagu 
 and Capulet, with which the play begins, precedes 
 that, and its dramatic purpose is to prepare for and 
 introduce the action of the drama. 
 
 The function of the Introduction is threefold: 
 . I.— In it the dramatist must give the spectators all 
 necessary information as to the causes of the action. 
 Events which have occurred antecedent to the ac- 
 tion of the drama, and have been the cause of it, 
 must be narrated in the Introduction.' Lacking this 
 information the spectator cannot have an intelligent 
 and vivid comprehension of the action itself, which 
 follows. 
 
 An example of this is the Introduction to the 
 Merchant of Venice {I., I, 2). In Scene I, Bassanio 
 gives a detailed description of Portia, of his love for 
 her, of his desire to woo her. In Scene 2 Portia de- 
 scribes her lovers, amongst whom is Bassanio. 
 
 *In Hamlet (I., 5) the Ghost tells Hamlet of the 
 murder, how, when, where, it was committed. 
 
 Sometimes this information is conveyed to the 
 spectators by means of a Prologue. Shakespeare 
 generally uses this method in his historical plays. 
 *■ In the Introduction most generally, though not 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 35 
 
 always, all of the principal characters appear. If 
 they are not brought forward in person a reference 
 is made to them, a description is given of them by 
 one of the other actors.-" By this means the drama- 
 t is persona quickly and vividly reveal their salient 
 traits, and the spectators become acquainted with 
 them. 
 
 II. — Not only must the spectator's intelligence be 
 appealed to in the Introduction, his feelings also 
 must be touched, excited. 'The dramatist must 
 strike the chord of emotion that is to vibrate, 
 through the play, like the motif in a symphony/ 
 
 The Merchant of Venice is a comedy, with a tragic 
 undertone. Shakespeare in the Introduction gives 
 expression to both the serious, sombre, and the 
 happy. Antonio, who has a presentiment of com- 
 ing trouble, is sad. Grouped around him are Sala- 
 rino, Salanio, Gratiano, Lorenzo, Bassanio, the 
 young gallants of Venice. They are jolly, careless, 
 happy. They attempt to diagnose Antonio's sad- 
 ness, and the result is: 
 
 Then let us say you 're sad 
 Because you are not merry; and 't were as easy 
 For you to laugh and leap, and say you 're merry 
 Because you are not sad. 
 
 In the second Scene Portia appears, aweary of this 
 great world. She then gives an amusing description 
 of her wooers. 
 
 Shakespeare, in these opening Scenes, touches the 
 emotional chords of the merry and the sad, and 
 
36 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 these chords vibrate through the drama, the former 
 being dominant. 
 
 Hamlet is to the last degree tragic. The cause of 
 the action is a murder which was peculiarly atro- 
 cious. The emotional disturbance which fills the 
 soul of the hero of the drama is foreshadowed by 
 Shakespeare in a manner which is highly artistic, 
 and absolutely unique. Francisco, a sentinel, is on 
 duty. It is midnight, and very cold. To him 
 enters Bernardo, another soldier, who is to relieve 
 him. Before Francisco, the sentinel on guard, has 
 time to challenge him, Bernardo says : Who ' s there ? 
 Francisco responds : Nay, ansiver me ; stand and 
 unfold yourself. This_is unique. In all military 
 nations, in all ages, the sentinel on guard always 
 challenges the newcomer. Here Shakespeare re- 
 verses this universal custom, and makes the soldier 
 who is to relieve the sentinel on duty utter the chal- 
 lenge. By so doing Shakespeare expresses the ex- 
 citement and dread which fill the soul of Hamlet, 
 and also pervade the kingdom of Denmark. But 
 a moment later the same emotional chord is again 
 touched, this time by Francisco. Francisco's watch 
 has expired. He gives place to Bernardo. As he 
 does so he says : 
 
 For this relief much thanks; 't is bitter cold, 
 And I am sick at heart. 
 
 This is the keynote of the drama. Shakespeare 
 tthus in the very opening lines strikes it. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy in which murderous 
 hate, undying love, are inextricably mixed. During 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 37 
 
 the progress of the action six persons, including the 
 hero and the heroine, meet with violent deaths. It 
 ends in a charnel-house. The play begins with a 
 quarrel, at first droll, later serious, in which the 
 servants, then the partisans, later, the heads of the 
 rival houses of Montagu and Capulet, take part. 
 
 Both the chords of love and hate are touched by 
 Romeo, when, seeing the evidences of this disturb- 
 ance, he says : 
 
 What fray was here ? 
 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
 Here 's much to do with hate, but more with love. 
 Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! 
 
 Both chords are again touched by Juliet, when, 
 after meeting and falling in love with Romeo, she 
 learns he is a Montague : 
 
 My only love sprung from my only hate! 
 Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
 That I must love a loathed enemy. 
 
 Love and hate, both of which are tumultuous, 
 fiery, passionate, permeate the tragedy. Both are 
 appealed to in the Introduction. 
 
 In Tivclfth Night Shakespeare portrays the mas- 
 ter passion. Most of the characters in the play, at 
 one time or another, are in love, or at least think 
 they are. Shakespeare touches this chord in the 
 first words uttered by the love-sick Duke: 
 
 If music be the food of love, play on: 
 
38 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 III. —The Introduction must not only be reminis- 
 cent, it must also be prescient. It must not only give 
 all necessary information as to events which have 
 caused the action of the drama, it must also fore- 
 shadow, perfectly and lucidly, that action.* The 
 Main Action of Twelfth Night is Viola's effort to 
 win Olivia for the Duke. At the beginning of the 
 action Viola herself loses her heart with her ducal 
 master. Eventually she marries him. This con- 
 clusion of the action of the drama is foreshadowed 
 in the Introduction by Viola's aside : 
 
 I '11 do my best 
 To woo your lady. — Yet, a barful strife! 
 Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. 
 
 Other similar examples are . Merchant of Venice, 
 I., i, 119, sea. ; I., 2, 123, seq. ; Othello, I., 3, 389, 
 seq. ; Julius Casar, I., 3, Richard III. , I., 1, 1-41. 
 
 The Introduction is the foundation of the play. 
 As the architect must have his plans elaborated and 
 perfected before the first spadeful of earth is dug for 
 the foundations of his building, so must the dramatist 
 have his Plot, which is simply his plan, his design, 
 elaborated and perfected, before he begins to write 
 his drama Before he writes the first line of his In- 
 troduction he must know exactly how his play is to 
 end. He must have what Pater describes as: 'That 
 architectural conception of a work which foresees 
 the end from the beginning, and never loses sight 
 of it, and in every part is conscious of all the rest, 
 till the very last sentence does but, with undimin- 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 39 
 
 ished vigor, unfold and justify the first." ' In a 
 word, all the causes, motives, possibilities of a play 
 lie in the Introduction. It, potentially, is the play. 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 «The Growth, the second division of the drama, 
 begins with the commencement of the action. The 
 Introduction is narrative, expository, or if it con 
 sists of an action, e. g., Romeo and Juliet, Julius 
 Casar, it is not the action of the drama, but pre- 
 cedes this, and is a cause thereof/ The action of 
 Romeo and Juliet, as I have said, begins when 
 Romeo, Mercutio, and their friends start to go to 
 the ball at old Capulet's house. There Romeo sees 
 and falls in love with Juliet, and she with him. The 
 Main Action of Julius Cczsar is the assassination of 
 Caesar, its causes, consummation, consequences. 
 The quarrel between the Tribunes, Flavius and 
 Marullus, on the one hand, and the Citizens on the 
 other, precedes the action of the drama. That be- 
 gins with Brutus' decision, It must be by his 
 (Caesar's) death, which is followed immediately by 
 Brutus' determination to join the conspiracy. 
 
 The Growth calls for the greatest constructive 
 skill on the part of the poet. Two errors in con- 
 struction jeopardize the poet's success in writing 
 this part of the play. The greater one is making 
 the action of the drama move too rapidly. A flash 
 of lightning blinds. Sudden and excessive sound 
 deafens. Similarly if the action in this part of the 
 
 ' SiyU. 
 
40 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 drama moves too rapidly the Climax is reached too 
 soon. The result is an anti-climax. The mind and 
 emotions of the spectator not having been gradually 
 prepared, the desired effect is not produced. The 
 great dramatic poet, says Horace,' 
 
 . . . does not lavish at a blaze his fire, 
 Sudden to glare, and in a smoke expire. 
 
 As in a picture there are light and shade, in a 
 musical composition crescendo and diminuendo, so 
 in a drama action must be graduated. " The ar- 
 tist," says Schiller, referring to the dramatic artist, 
 " advances step by step to his end; he strikes only 
 with measured strokes, but he permeates to the 
 depths of our souls precisely because he has stirred 
 them only by degrees."' 'The movement of the 
 action in the Growth or second division of the 
 drama must be, not sudden or rapid, but slow, 
 gradual. • 
 
 And yet not too slow. This is the second danger 
 against which the poet must guard. If the action 
 moves too slowly the spectator's interest is wearied, 
 exhausted. That interest must be not only awak- 
 ened and stimulated, but, as the action progresses, 
 it must also be intensified. 
 
 'The greater danger, however, is that of making 
 the action move too rapidly. To avert that the 
 dramatist makes use of 
 
 I. — Subsidiary Actions. 
 
 II. — Episodes. 
 
 1 Ars Poetica. 
 
 1 sEsthetical Essays, translated by John D. Williams, p. 362. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 4 1 
 
 When the former of these is employed the Main 
 Action temporarily ceases movement.* An example 
 is the negotiations between Bassanio and Antonio 
 on the one hand, and Shylock on the other, for the 
 loan {Merchant of Venice, I., 3). This is a Sub-Ac- 
 tion. The Main Action of the drama, the wooing 
 of Portia by Bassanio, and its consequences, does 
 not begin until after these negotiations are com- 
 pleted. 
 
 "The function of the Episode in a drama is to stop, 
 temporarily, the progress of the action. ' It is deter- 
 rent. Its effect on the drama is similar to that of a 
 dam on a stream of water. The current is checked, 
 arrested, in order that, later, it may flow again with 
 greater rapidity, increased volume, augmented force. 
 An Episode in a drama has a similar effect. It arrests 
 the movement of the action, with the ultimate re- 
 sult of adding increased force and intensity to that 
 movement when it is resumed. J 
 
 An example of the Episode introduced into the 
 Growth by the poet, to prevent too rapid movement 
 of the action, is Mercutio's description of Queen 
 Mab {Romeo and Juliet, I., 4). Romeo, Mercutio, 
 Benvolio, and the maskers had just started for the 
 ball at the Capulets. In order that the action may 
 not progress too rapidly and the Climax be reached 
 too soon, the result of which would be an anti- 
 climax, Shakespeare introduces this Queen Mab Epi- 
 sode. While Mercutio is reciting this description 
 of the fairies' midwife, one of the most perfect speci- 
 mens of imaginative poetry in all literature, the ac- 
 tion of the drama is stayed. 
 
42 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The use of Sub-Actions and Episodes is not by 
 any means restricted to the Growth. They are em- 
 ployed also in the Climax, Fall, and Catastrophe. 
 In each of these divisions of the play their function 
 is the same as in the Growth. 
 
 In constructing the latter the skilful dramatist fol- 
 lows the advice that Friar Laurence gave to Romeo : 
 
 Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. 
 
 In doing so his most effective means are Sub- 
 Actions and Episodes. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 
 The Climax is the meeting-point of all the Com- 
 plicating and Resolving forces in the drama. All 
 previous to that tends to involution. The hero be- 
 comes more and more entangled in difficulties. In 
 the Climax those difficulties reach their highest de- 
 velopment. All following the Climax tends to reso- 
 lution. 
 
 Aristotle compares the action of a drama to the 
 tying and untying of a knot. In the Climax the 
 dramatic knot is perfectly tied. All previous to 
 that is the desis, the tying of the knot. All follow- 
 ing that is the lusis, the untying. 
 
 The Climax is the end of the beginning of the 
 action and the beginning of the end. 
 
 It is the crest of the dramatic arch, up to which 
 the action has moved ; from which that action, 
 changing its direction, moves down to the conclu- 
 sion of the play.' 
 
 1 Cf. Diagram, p 32. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 43 
 
 In the Climax there is great concentration, and 
 as a result thereof great intensity. The waters of a 
 river have been flowing placidly over a broad sur- 
 face. Suddenly they reach a deep and narrow 
 gorge, and through it they sweep and rush tumul- 
 tuously, and with loud roar. So in the Climax of a 
 drama, the thoughts and emotions of the hero are 
 concentrated, and as a result thereof are stirred to 
 their profoundest depths. 
 
 Profound emotion transforms. It goes to the very 
 root and essence of our being. Othello's love 
 changes to hate. The devoted lover and husband 
 becomes the stern, relentless minister of justice. 
 
 Profound emotion also reveals. ' Physicians, to 
 make some small veins in their patients' arms plump 
 and full, that they may see them the better to let 
 them blood, used to put them into hot water; so the 
 heat of passion presenteth many invisible veins in 
 men's hearts to the eye of the beholder. " ' By 
 means of overmastering feeling the abysmal deeps 
 of personality are revealed. 
 
 Shakespeare, therefore, in this division of the 
 play, always places his hero in a grave emotional 
 crisis, when he is under the stress and strain of 
 some powerful and overmastering feeling. 1 It may 
 be love or hate; sorrow, joy, fear, despair. The soul 
 is stirred to its profoundest depth. When in that 
 condition the hero is compelled to make a decision 
 
 1 Thomas Fuller. 
 
 • " Neither Will nor Intellect could be present in the absence of 
 Feeling ; and Feeling manifested in its completeness carries with it , 
 the germs of the other two." — Bain, Mind and Body, p. 44. 
 
44 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 on which hinges his fate. That crisis in the life 
 of the hero is the Climax of the drama. 
 
 Othello is finally convinced that Desdemona has 
 been unfaithful, and that Cassio has been her para- 
 mour. He orders Iago to kill Cassio. He reserves 
 to himself the duty of wreaking vengeance on his 
 wife. This command and this decision are the 
 acme of the Climax. 
 
 The prediction of the Weird-Sisters to Banquo 
 fills Macbeth with apprehension and disquietude 
 that develop into a dread that is unendurable. He 
 determines to murder Banquo and his son Fleance. 
 The murder of Banquo, the escape of Fleance, is 
 the acme of the Climax. 
 
 Bassanio's fate hangs on the choice of the casket. 
 Portia, who fears an unsuccessful choice, begs him 
 to delay. His love is so intense he' can wait no 
 longer. 
 
 Let me'choose, 
 For as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Propelled by his overmastering emotion he selects 
 the casket which decides not only his own fate, but 
 also that of Portia, Nerissa, Gratiano This choice 
 is the acme of the Climax 
 
 The same statement is true of the other dramas 
 When under the stress of some intense emotion the 
 hero makes a decision which decides his fate. This 
 decision is the acme of the Climax 
 
 One of the current errors in reference to Dramatic 
 Construction is that the Climax of a drama is at the 
 end. In a perfectly constructed play the Climax is 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 45 
 
 Act III. Shakespeare almost always places it there. 
 The acme of the Climax in his plays is generally at 
 the very centre of the play, that is, the middle Scene 
 of Act III. 
 
 In Macbeth it is Act III., Scene 3, the murder of 
 Banquo, the escape of Fleance. In Julius Cccsar it 
 is Act III., Scene 1. Caesar has been murdered. 
 The conspirators are grouped around the dead 
 body. A Servant enters. He is sent by Antony, 
 and is, dramatically, the representative of the 
 avengers. Thus around this bloody corpse the con- 
 spirators and avengers meet. In Hamlet, the play 
 (III., 2) in which is revealed the guilt of the King 
 is the crest of the dramatic arch. In the Merchant 
 of Venice the casket-scene in which Bassanio makes 
 the successful choice of the casket is Act III., 
 Scene 2. In Romeo and Juliet it is the final parting 
 of the lovers (III., 5). 
 
 In all these cases, and, in fact, in all the Shake- 
 speare plays, the Climax is at, or very near, the 
 centre of the drama. 
 
 FALL 
 
 Ben Jonson was perfectly familiar, both theoreti- 
 cally and practically, with the principles underlying 
 the construction of a drama. He writes: 
 
 Now, in every action it behooves the poet to know 
 which is his utmost bound, how far, with fitness and a 
 necessary proportion, he may produce and determine it; 
 that is, till either good fortune change into the worse, or 
 the worse into the better. For as a body without pro- 
 portion cannot be goodly, no more can the action, either 
 
46 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 in comedy or tragedy, without his fit bounds; and every 
 bound, for the nature of the subject, is esteemed the best 
 that is largest, till it can increase no more, so it behooves 
 the action in tragedy or comedy to be let grow till the 
 necessity ask a conclusion. 1 
 
 In other words, the action must grow until it 
 reaches a Climax, and then the Fall and Catas- 
 trophe, which constitute the concluding parts of the 
 drama, will follow, not only naturally, but also 
 necessarily. 
 
 The Fall is the commencement of the second part 
 of the action. It is the beginning of Aristotle's 
 lusts, the untying of the dramatic knot, the unravel- 
 ling of the Plot. It calls for the surest exercise of 
 the dramatist's skill. The Climax has concentrated 
 the interest. The Fall must not mar or dissipate 
 this interest. To avert this danger, the progress of 
 the action from the Climax to the Fall must not be 
 sudden or abrupt. In this respect Art conforms to 
 Nature. 
 
 In listening to a bird singing, to a wind whistling, or 
 to a surf breaking, we usually notice a gradual increase 
 and decrease in the blended sounds. It is the same 
 when observing color. A clear sky at dawn or sunset 
 exhibits between the horizon and the zenith every color 
 of the spectrum from red to purple, yet no boundary line 
 between any two colors. The same fact of gradation is 
 observable also in outlines. Think of the innumerable 
 curves and angles and straight lines that make up the 
 contour of every mountain, tree, bush, fruit, flower, 
 
 1 GifforJ's Edition of Jonsoris Works, edited by Cunningham, 
 vul. iii., p. 424. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 47 
 
 bird, beast, and man; yet often not even with a micro- 
 scope can one tell just where one form of line ceases 
 and another begins.' 
 
 It is universally conceded that the line of beauty 
 is the curve. " All perfectly beautiful forms must 
 be composed of curves, since there is hardly any 
 common natural form in which it is possible to dis- 
 cover a straight line." ' To this dictum of Ruskin 
 I add Emerson's verses: 
 
 For nature beats in perfect tune, 
 
 And rounds with rhyme her every rune, 
 
 Whether she work in land or sea, 
 
 Or hide underground her alchemy. 
 
 Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, 
 
 Or dip thy paddle in the lake, 
 
 But it carves the bow of beauty there, 
 
 And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake.' 
 
 And yet there is abruptness in Nature, e. g., the 
 flash of lightning, the crash of thunder, the shriek 
 of pain, the cry of horror. Strictly speaking, these 
 all happen in the ordinary course of Nature, yet they 
 occur so seldom, are so exceptional, as to be almost 
 irregular, anomalous, eccentric, out of the normal. 
 The proposition remains true that in Nature all 
 changes, whether of color or sound or shape, are 
 graduated. Similarly, in a work of art, all changes 
 must be graduated. Applying this to the subject 
 
 ' Raymond, Genesis of Art-Form, pp. 268, 269. 
 
 • Seven Lamps of Architecture, p. 89; Cf. Modern Painters, vol. 
 iv., chap. xvii. 
 
 • rVoodnotes, part 11., p. 53. 
 
48 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 under consideration, we find in the perfect drama 
 all transitions, e. g., entrance or exit of characters, 
 changes from Main to Sub-Action, or vice versa, 
 progress from one Scene or Act to another, all 
 must be, not unexpected, sudden, abrupt, but 
 gradual and foreshadowed. Only thus is the unity 
 of all parts -of the play preserved.* 
 
 Judging the Shakespeare plays by this test, we 
 find they are in perfect accord with Nature. In 
 them the poet in 
 
 Every line . . . 
 Opens, by just degrees, his whole design. 1 
 
 One of their cardinal qualities, as Coleridge has 
 pointed out, is 
 
 expectation in preference to surprise. It is like the true 
 reading of the passage, " God said, Let there be light, 
 and there was light" \ not there was light. As the feel- 
 ing with which we startle at a shooting star, compared 
 with that of watching the sunrise at the pre-established 
 moment, such and so low is surprise compared with 
 expectation." 
 
 In the Fall Complication gives way to Resolu- 
 tion. Feeling, passion, now changes from strain to 
 reaction. Every word, every deed, in the Fall is the 
 result of what has taken place in the Growth and 
 Climax. It also foreshadows what is to occur in 
 the Catastrophe. ■ From the beginning of the Fall 
 every detail must point to the close of the drama, 
 and prepare the mind of the spectator for that close. 
 
 1 Horace, Ars Poetica. 
 
 8 Lecturts on Shakespeare \ Bohn's edition, p. 237. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 49 
 
 The Climax, as I have said, has concentrated the 
 interest of the spectator. His mental and emo- 
 tional strain has been intensified to the highest de- 
 cree. In order to prevent that strain from becoming 
 oppressive the Fall of a drama is always episodic. 
 During it the action of the drama temporarily ceases 
 movement. ■ 33_- J VM2 
 
 In human life there are and mu periods of 
 
 repose. Day gives place to night. Activity, physi- 
 cal, mental, emotional, is suspended by rest and 
 sleep. Similarly in a work of musical or dramatic 
 Art action is followed by rest. Mozart was asked, 
 
 What produces the most effect in music ? " He 
 replied, " No music." In a drama there must be 
 times during which the movement of the action is 
 temporarily stayed. ""Such a period is the Fall, 
 which is always more or less episodic. Its function 
 is twofold : 
 
 I. — To furnish a needed rest to the overwrought 
 emotions and thoughts of the spectators. 
 
 II. — To foreshadow and prepare for the Catas- 
 trophe, the conclusion of the play. 
 
 In Macbeth the Fall is III., 5, to IV., finis. It 
 is devoted to a narration of Macbeth's second inter- 
 view with the Witches, to the interview of Macduff 
 with Malcolm, in England, and to a portrayal of 
 the slaughter of Macduff's wife, children, servants. 
 The latter is the only action in it. The remainder 
 is episodic, preparatory. 
 
 The same is true of Julius Casar, Othello, and all 
 the plays. In the Fall the action more or less 
 ceases movement, and in it every preparation is 
 
50 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 made for the conclusion of the action in the Catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 
 This word, when used in dramatic criticism, does 
 not necessarily mean disaster. It may mean that, 
 it may mean the reverse. It is derived from two 
 Greek words, kata, down, and strepho, strephein, to 
 turn. It means to turn up and down, to overturn. 
 When used in dramatic criticism it describes the 
 final event in a drama, e. g. t a death in a tragedy, a 
 marriage in a comedy, to produce which there has 
 been an overturning, a change in the direction of 
 the Main Action. 
 
 The Catastrophe must be: 
 
 I. — Organic. It must be not forced or artificial, 
 but the natural result, the inevitable consequence 
 of the Main Action. It must be in living, vital 
 union with all the previous parts of the play, and 
 must be the outgrowth of them. Its relation to 
 them is similar to that of the flower to the bush, 
 the fruit to the tree. It depicts the recoil upon the 
 hero of his own deed. It portrays the fate of the 
 actors in the drama, which fate is the outgrowth of 
 their own characters and conduct. 
 
 II. — Rapid in movement. The spectators have 
 been thoroughly prepared for it. All impediments 
 to progress have been removed. The intense men- 
 tal and emotional strain, a pleased expectancy if it 
 be a comedy, pity and fear if it be a tragedy, can 
 be continued to the close only by great rapidity of 
 movement. 
 
A Drama — Nature and Laws 51 
 
 Mental excitement, profound, concentrated feel- 
 ing, find expression in language which is concise, in 
 action which is immediate. Words, therefore, in the 
 Catastrophe should be few; speeches, soliloquies, 
 brief. Action and that swift, continuous, is a neces- 
 sary quality, a prime requisite of the Catastrophe. 
 
 III. — Yet the movement should not be abrupt, or 
 offensively sudden. There should be no surprises. 
 No new characters should be introduced. The 
 thoughts and emotions of the spectators, which 
 have been stimulated to the intensest degree, must 
 not be diverted into other channels. As the end of 
 the drama is approached the strain may, by reac- 
 tion, be relieved. That relief, however, must not 
 be either unforeseen or unexpected. This attribute 
 of the Catastrophe necessitates that moderated en- 
 ergy in the action which results in perfect gradation. 
 The unfoldment of the Plot in this, the final stage 
 of the drama, while rapid, must be as regular and 
 gradual as the sinking of the sun beneath the hori- 
 zon at the close of day. 
 
 The Catastrophe in Macbeth (V.) is Lady Mac- 
 beth's remorse, which becomes so unendurable that 
 it causes insanity and suicide; the despair of Mac- 
 beth, which is so soon followed by his tragic death 
 at. the hands of Macduff. The Catastrophe of 
 Julius Ccesar is the defeat of Brutus and Cassius at 
 the battle of Philippi, and their deaths by suicide. 
 That of the Merchant of Venice is the happy mar- 
 riages of Bassanio and Portia, Gratiano and Nerissa, 
 Lorenzo and Jessica; and the return, safely and 
 richly laden, of three of Antonio's argosies. 
 
52 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 To produce these results there has been a Kata- 
 strophy, an overturning, a change in the direction 
 of the action. 
 
 Many features of the subject, some of them im- 
 portant, have not been mentioned, much less dis- 
 cussed, in this chapter. This omission is intentional. 
 It was not my purpose to do more than consider the 
 subject in its broadest outlines, and only to the 
 degree necessary to make the studies on the differ- 
 ent plays perfectly intelligible. 
 
 In those studies the construction of a drama in 
 all its details is considered. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MACBETH 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I., 1-4 
 
 THE scene of this drama is Scotland. The time 
 is the eleventh century. At that time in 
 Scotland, in fact in all the nations of Northern Eu- 
 rope, the belief that human affairs were influenced 
 by supernatural beings such as witches, ghosts, was 
 universal. At the very beginning of the play Shake- 
 speare makes use of this fact to create Local Color. 
 The painter who would place tropical fruits in an 
 Arctic environment would make his picture absurd, 
 inartistic. If Shakespeare had introduced witches 
 into his Roman plays, or into those the scene of 
 which is Italy, the Merchant of Venice for example, 
 he would have made a similar mistake. Everything 
 in a drama must be in harmony with the time and 
 place in which the action of the play occurs. 
 
 In accordance with this canon of art Shakespeare 
 opens this play with the meeting of the Weird 
 Sisters on the barren heath in Scotland. This 
 Scene is in perfect harmony with the time and 
 place in which Macbeth and Duncan lived and died. 
 By means of it Shakespeare brings the spectator 
 
 53 
 
54 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 into intellectual sympathy with the environment, 
 thereby creating Local Color or Atmosphere. 
 
 Another dramatic purpose effected by this open- 
 ing Scene is, the emotional chord that vibrates 
 through the drama is touched. This play is a 
 tragedy. Its subject is 
 
 the fierce dispute 
 Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay. 1 
 
 It portrays the struggle in the soul of the Macbeths; 
 the victory of evil; the ruin and death which result 
 therefrom. This is typified by this opening Scene, 
 the desert place, the blasted heath, the thunder, 
 lightning, rain, the unearthly Witches. It is all 
 weird, tragic, and prepares the emotions of the 
 spectators for what is to follow. 
 
 The Scene performs one more dramatic function. 
 It introduces, by an allusion to him, Macbeth, the 
 hero of the drama. The Witches expect to meet 
 him When the battle 's lost and won, which will be 
 ere the set of sun , upon the heath. 
 
 This Scene, although very brief, is very effective. 
 In Scene 2 Shakespeare gives a description of 
 the battle of which the Witches have just spoken. 
 Duncan, his sons and attendants, are in camp near 
 Forres. To them a bleeding Sergeant comes, doubt- 
 less sent by Macbeth. He informs the King of the 
 insurrection of the merciless Macdonwald ; of the in- 
 vasion of Sweno, King of Norway; of the treachery 
 of 
 
 that most disloyal traitor, 
 The thane of Cawdor. 
 
 1 Keats, Sonnet on Sitting Down to read Lear, 
 
Macbeth 55 
 
 The result of the battle was the victory of the 
 loyal troops led by brave Macbeth and Banquo. 
 King Duncan, wishing to punish the thane of Caw- 
 dor, and to reward Macbeth, says to Ross: 
 
 No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 
 Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, 
 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 In this Scene Duncan reveals himself as weak, 
 confiding, unwarlike. In direct contrast to him is 
 Macbeth, Bellona s bridegroom, who is energetic, 
 fearless, kingly. 
 
 This Scene, like the former one, creates a tragic 
 atmosphere. The Sergeant is a bloody man, whose 
 gashes and wounds cry for help. The merciless Mac- 
 donwald is unseamed . . . from the nave to the chaps, 
 and Macbeth hath fixed his head upon our battle- 
 ments. The death of the traitorous thane of Caw- 
 dor is announced. Rebellion, invasion, treason, are 
 described. All are associated with carnage. Thus 
 the tragic chord that vibrates through the drama 
 is again touched, and the spectators are thereby ^ 
 brought into emotional sympathy with the action of 
 the play. 
 
 In Scene 1 Shakespeare portrayed the supernat- 
 ural. In Scene 2, the natural, the human. In 
 Scene 3, like the converging branches of a river, the 
 supernatural and the natural unite. The Witches 
 appear and meet the victorious generals Macbeth 
 and Banquo. At the conclusion of the first Scene 
 the Witches in unison said : 
 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair. 
 
56 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The first words Macbeth utters are a refrain of 
 these words: 
 
 So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 
 Thus by his opening words Macbeth reveals his 
 sympathy with these Weird Sisters. 
 Banquo describes them in detail: 
 
 What are these 
 So wither'd and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on 't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand me, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips; you should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Macbeth commands them to speak. They obey, 
 and hail him as thane of Glamis, which he was by 
 birth; as thane of Cawdor, which he has just be- 
 come by the grace of his sovereign ; and king here- 
 after. These words, as Banquo informs us, produce 
 on Macbeth a profound effect. Why ? In Scot- 
 land, at that time, on the death of the king, if his 
 son was under age, a near relative succeeded to the 
 throne. Malcolm was young. Macbeth was the 
 cousin of Duncan, and, as he thought and believed, 
 his legitimate successor. This business, as he later 
 describes it, this enterprise, as Lady Macbeth speaks 
 of it, had occupied his thoughts, was the subject of 
 his hopes. 
 
 Was the hope drunk 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself ? hath it slept since ? 
 
Macbeth 57 
 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely ? From this time 
 Such I account thy love ? Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 As thou art in desire i Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of lite, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem, 
 Letting " I dare not " wait upon " I would," 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 
 
 Upon it Macbeth and his wife, his dearest partner 
 of greatness, had conferred. 
 
 What beast was 't then 
 That made you break this enterprise to me t 
 
 The matter had in fact been more than a reflec- 
 tion, a subject of conference. It had taken the form 
 of a resolve, supplemented by an oath to carry it 
 into execution. Macbeth had sworn to carry it out. 
 
 When the Witches, therefore, hailed him as the 
 one that shalt be king hereafter they touched a re- 
 sponsive chord in his bosom. They revealed to him, 
 as in a glass, his overmastering ambition, his wicked 
 resolve. So unexpected, so true, so startling, was 
 the revelation, that it caused him 
 
 to start, and seem to fear. 
 In response to Banquo's prayer, 
 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 
 Your favours nor your hate, 
 
 they predict his future: 
 
58 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 Not so happy, yet much happier 
 
 Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. 
 
 They say no more, but vanish 
 
 Into the air; 
 And what seem'd corporal melted 
 As breath into the wind 
 
 In order to impress the predictions on the minds 
 of the spectators of the drama Macbeth and Banquo 
 reiterate them. This is an example of Repetition, 
 Alteration, Alternation. 
 
 Immediately after the Witches vanish Ross and 
 Angus enter with a message of thanks from the 
 King to Macbeth, and by command of the King 
 call him thane of Cawdor He was by birth thane 
 of Glamis; he is now made thane of Cawdor. Two 
 of the predictions of the Witches have thereby 
 been quickly fulfilled. The greatest, Macbeth says, 
 is behind. Banquo, unimpassioned, thoughtful, 
 loyal, utters a warning: 
 
 But 't is strange: 
 And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths, 
 Win us with honest trifles to betray "s 
 In deepest consequence 
 
 Macbeth is so rapt that Banquo's warning falls on 
 deaf ears. Like Cassius' threats to Brutus they 
 pass by him as the idle wind which he respects not. 
 These predictions foreshadow perfectly the action 
 
Macbeth 59 
 
 of the drama Macbeth in an aside, uttered a mo- 
 ment later, says 
 
 Two truths are told, 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. 
 
 This is perfect foreshadowing. Shakespeare by 
 means of three asides now lays bare to us Macbeth's 
 mind and heart, and reveals to us his deepest 
 thoughts and feelings 
 
 This supernatural soliciting 
 Cannot be ill, cannot be good if ill, 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
 Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor: 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings: 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Shakes so my single state of man that function 
 Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is 
 But what is not. 
 
 If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Come what come may, 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
 
 A moment later Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and 
 Angus go to meet the King. 
 
60 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Duncan is at his castle at Forres. With him are 
 his sons and Attendants. Malcolm informs him of 
 the execution of Cawdor, who died so bravely that 
 
 nothing in his life 
 Became him like the leaving it. 
 
 Duncan acknowledges he had been entirely de- 
 ceived by him, that upon him he had 
 
 built 
 An absolute trust. 
 
 Macbeth and Banquo arrive. They are greeted 
 by Duncan, who recognizes their great services, and 
 promises to reward them. He then makes an an- 
 nouncement which surprises and profoundly stirs 
 Macbeth : 
 
 Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter 
 The Prince of Cumberland: which honour must 
 Not unaccompanied invest him only, 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 On all deservers. 
 
 Addressing Macbeth he announces his determina- 
 tion to honor him further by visiting him at his 
 castle at Inverness. Shakespeare then gives us an- 
 other glance into Macbeth's soul by means of an 
 aside. 
 
 A drama is the most objective of all forms of lit- 
 erature. The dramatist cannot speak in his own 
 person. The only mediums by which he can find 
 
Macbeth 61 
 
 expression are the dramatis personal. If he wishes 
 to reveal their secret thoughts, motives, purposes, 
 he does not tell us about them ; he makes them re- 
 veal themselves in asides, soliloquies. Like a 
 lighted lamp in a cavern, which illumines and 
 makes visible that which previously was shrouded in 
 darkness, so an aside or a soliloquy in a drama re- 
 veals the secret thoughts and motives, the plans 
 and hopes of the speaker. 
 
 By such means Macbeth now discloses to us the 
 effect on him of Duncan's announcement: 
 
 The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires: 
 The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 
 
 Macbeth had hoped to succeed Duncan. By his 
 prowess he had suppressed the rebellion. He be- 
 lieved he had fairly won, and was justly entitled to, 
 the throne. His hopes, however, were all dissi- 
 pated by Duncan's announcement, making the 
 Prince of Cumberland his successor. The change 
 wrought in Macbeth is immediate, profound, radi- 
 cal. All questionings, hesitancies, considerations of 
 prudence, cease. Irresolution disappears. He at 
 once decides to seize the throne by force, which 
 necessitated the murder of Duncan, and possibly 
 that of Malcolm ; and then, having succeeded in do- 
 ing so, to kill Banquo and Fleance, and thereby pre- 
 vent the seed of Banquo becoming kings, and 
 succeeding him. 
 
62 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The execution of this determination, together 
 with all the consequences thereof, constitutes the 
 Main Action of the drama. Or, to express it in an- 
 other form, the Main Action of the play is the Rise 
 and Fall of the Macbeths. 
 
 The real tragedy of the play, however, is not in 
 the murderous blows, the flowing blood, the violent 
 deaths, which take place during the progress of the 
 action. A portrayal of murderous deeds does not 
 constitute a tragedy. This is only a bloody spec- 
 tacle. The mission of the artist is to describe states 
 of soul. " Crime becomes, then, really tragic when 
 it merely furnishes the theme for a profound psy- 
 chological study of motive and character." ' The 
 -■tragic in this play is the dedication of Macbeth and 
 his fiend-like Queen to evil, and their consequent 
 moral ruin. It is in their perverted wills, violated 
 consciences. " Tragedy . . . depends pri- 
 marily on the collision of real spiritual forces." * In 
 this play it is the death-struggle which is taking 
 place within the Macbeths between " the ghost of 
 the Brute " and their better natures; between mur- 
 derous ambition and conscience. 
 
 The real scene of the action, therefore, is the 
 souls of the Macbeths. The revelation of this tragic 
 struggle is necessarily made by means of soliloquies 
 and asides, of which there are so many in the play. 
 This is their dramatic function. They " have in- 
 terest, not as lamentations or rhapsodies, but as 
 giving the swift inner movement of the soul, 
 
 1 Lowell, Old English Dramatists, p. 6l. 
 1 Bosanqaet, History of ^-Esthetic, p. 358. 
 
Macbeth 63 
 
 explaining itself to itself, or about to change its atti- 
 tude toward the other souls." ' By means of them 
 Shakespeare reveals to us, in all their variety, sub- 
 tlety, and intensity, those dreadful and involved 
 passions in the Macbeths which are in conflict. 
 
 The Introduction ends with the exit of Macbeth, 
 who humbly takes his leave in order that he may be 
 
 the harbinger and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wite with your approach. 
 
 In this Introduction 
 
 I. — Shakespeare has brought forward all the prin- 
 cipal characters in the drama, Duncan, Macbeth, 
 Banquo, Malcolm, in person, and Lady Macbeth by 
 a reference to her. From what we have seen and 
 heard of them, excepting Lady Macbeth, we can 
 perceive what are the salient traits of each. Dun- 
 can is peace-loving, weak, overconfiding, generous. 
 Banquo is brave, thoughtful, almost skeptical. Mac- 
 beth possesses tireless energy, is fearless, a born 
 leader, is morally weak and vacillating, and is am- 
 bitious to an inordinate, a murderous degree. 
 
 If the play is properly constructed the characters 
 will develop along these lines, and at the close of 
 their dramatic lives will be essentially the same as 
 in the Introduction. 
 
 II, — Shakespeare has informed us fully of the 
 cause of the action of the drama. 
 
 III. — That action has been clearly foreshadowed. 
 
 In this Introduction every detail has led, step by 
 step, naturally, inevitably, up to the beginning of 
 
 1 Hegel, ALsthttics. 
 
64 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the action. The chord that vibrates through the 
 play is struck. 
 
 Present fears 
 
 Are less than horrible imaginings: 
 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 
 that is, exists only in my imagination, is soon to be 
 followed by a murder that is actual. 
 
 GROWTH 
 I., $-11., finis 
 
 Macbeth had left the King in Forres, and had 
 hastened to Inverness, to inform his wife of Dun- 
 can's approach Bcfoi ; . her Macbeth or the King 
 arrives at Invernes ire introduces Lady 
 
 Macbeth. She enl ting a letter. It is from 
 
 her husband. It informs iter of his interview with 
 the Witches, and of their three predictions, two of 
 which have already been fulfilled. The third one, 
 Hail, king that shalt be ! is still unfulfilled, and is, 
 as Macbeth writes to her, a presage of what great- 
 ness is promised thee. 
 
 This is the third time Shakespeare has informed 
 us of these predictions. Why has he, at the very 
 beginning of the drama, repeated them so often ? 
 These prophecies developed instantly, and to an 
 overmastering degree, in both Macbeth and Lady 
 Macbeth their slumbering ambition, from which 
 proceeds the action of the drama. Shakespeare 
 wishes to impress this fact most deeply on the spec- 
 tators. He therefore iterates and reiterates them. 
 
Macbeth 65 
 
 [is technique in this matter is very effective, and 
 is a perfect example of Repetition, Alteration, 
 Alternation. 
 
 As soon as she has finished reading the letter 
 Lady Macbeth begins to make plans to ki'l the 
 King and seize the throne. This marks the begin- 
 ning of the action of the drama. The consumma- 
 :ion of these plans in the murder of Duncan, and 
 the immediate consequences thereof, is the subject 
 i{ the Growth or second division of the play. 
 
 In two soliloquies Lady Macbeth reveals to us her 
 intensest feelings and desires, her innermost 
 thoughts and purposes. She is the devoted wife, 
 loyal and loving; she is fearless and cruel; she 
 checks all appeals and warnings of conscience; and 
 in one of the most awful invocations in all literature 
 
 ledicates herself to evil: 
 
 The raven himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, 
 And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full 
 Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
 
66 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 To cry, " Hold, hold! " 
 
 As the prophecies of the Weird Sisters had had 
 on Macbeth an immediate and malign effect, had 
 developed in him, to the highest degree, a wicked 
 and cruel ambition, so the report of those predic- 
 tions, as contained in his letter to Lady Macbeth, 
 had had a similar effect on her. 
 
 Between the two, however, there is a material 
 difference. Macbeth had compunctious visitings of 
 nature, i. e., feelings of pity, warnings of conscience, 
 which acted as deterrents. No one knew him bet- 
 ter than his wife. In the first of the two soliloquies 
 she describes him, and that is one of the dramatic 
 functions of that soliloquy: 
 
 . . yet do I fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness ' 
 
 1 As generally understood, the second line seems to he inharmo- 
 nious with, in fact contradictory to, the remainder of the description. 
 Kindness in the sense of good-will, benignity, tenderness, hardly 
 seems to be a quality of a man who woultlst wrongly win ; who 
 reached the throne by a bloody path a path strewn with murdered 
 men , who, later, maintained Inmself on the throne by the slaughter 
 of a helpless woman and children. 
 
 It is a canon of dramatic art iliat a character must be consistent. 
 That does not mean unchanging. Men in real life are vacillating, 
 inconstant. So are they in the drama. But in both, a character 
 must be consistent. In interpreting it, therefore, all the details 
 must be considered, and found to be accordant. 
 
 Macbeth was not full o' the milk of human kindness in the sense 
 of being benign If Lady Macbeth had so meant she would have 
 been in error, and her description of her husband's character would 
 have been, to that degree, incorrect. She used the word kindness 
 in the same sense in which it was used in Old and Middle English. 
 
Macbeth 67 
 
 To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great; 
 
 Art not without ambition, but without 
 
 The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, 
 
 That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, 
 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou 'ldst have, great 
 
 Glamis, 
 That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it; 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 Than wishest should be undone." 
 
 Macbeth, according to his wife, is ambitious, but 
 is not yet hardened in wickedness. He is with- 
 out the illness, i. e., hardness of heart, which, she 
 thinks, is a concomitant of successful ambition. 
 That which restrains him, however, is not a moral, 
 but a prudential consideration. It is simply a fear 
 of the consequences of wrong-doing. She there- 
 fore mistrusts his courage, and desires that he may 
 
 Kind is derived from Anglo-Saxon eynd. nature, cynde. natural, in- 
 nate. Webster s first definition is. ' characteristic of the species : 
 belonging to one's nature." This was the primary signification* 
 Referring to this word in Cursor Alundi a long poem translated 
 from the French about \2<yj AD.. T. L. Kington Oliphant jays f 
 " Kind had hitherto meant naturalts . in p. 114G it gets the 
 farther sense of bcnigtms These two senses lingered on side by 
 side for nearly 400 years, as we see in Milton. On this subject 
 Dean Trench writes $• Again, there are some words in our 
 Liturgy which are not unfre<piently misunderstood. In the Litany 
 we ask of God that it would please Him to give and preserve to our 
 use the kindly fruits of the earth.' What is commonly understood 
 by these ' kindly fruits of the earth' ? The fruits, if I mistake not. 
 in which the kindness of God. or of nature toward us, finds its ex- 
 pression. This is no unworthy meaning to give to these words, but 
 
 • ty Stormonth's Dictionary; Skeat's Etymological Dictionary ; Brewer's 
 Etymological and Pronouncing Dictionary. 
 
 t The Old and Middle English, p. 345. 
 
 X Engiitk Pait and Present, pp. 351, 151. 
 
68 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 come to her, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear 
 and thereby silence his scruples and overcome his 
 timidity. 
 
 Lady Macbeth's description of her husband as he 
 is at the beginning of the drama is in every detail 
 accurate. As the action progresses everything he 
 says and does confirms Lady Macbeth's judgment. 
 
 A messenger arrives and announces the approach 
 
 still it is not the right one. The 'kindly fruits' are the 'natural 
 fruits,' those which the earth according to its kind should naturally 
 bring forth, which it is appointed to produce. To show you how 
 little 'kindly' once meant benignant, as it means now, I will in- 
 stance an employment of it from Sir Thos. More's Life of Richard 
 III. He tells Vis that Richard calculated by murdering his two 
 nephews in the Tower to make himself accounted ' a kindly king '- — 
 not certainly a kindly one in our present usage of the word ; but, 
 having put them out of the way, that he should then be lineal heir 
 of the crown, and should thus be reckoned as king by kind or 
 natural descent ; and such was of old the constant use of the word. 
 And Bishop Andrews, preaching on the ' Conspiracy of the Cowries,' 
 asks concerning the conspirators. Where are they ? Gone to their 
 own place, to Judas, their brother; as is most kindly ; the sons to 
 the father of wickedness, there to be plagued with him forever,' " 
 
 In this sense Shakespeare frequently uses this and the cognate 
 words. Hamlet describes his uncle-father as 
 
 " A little more than kin and less than kind." 
 
 I., 2, 65. 
 This means (I quote from Crant White) " In marrying my mother 
 you have made yourself something more than my kinsman, and at 
 the same time have shown yourself unworthy of our race, our kind. ' 
 And again : 
 
 " Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindles t villain." 
 
 II. 2, 609. 
 
 1. e.. an unnatural villain, one contrary to human kind. The Fool 
 says to Lear (I.. 5 13) 
 
 " Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly." 
 1. e., according to her nature, brutally. When the Clown brought 
 
Macbeth 69 
 
 of Macbeth and the King. But ?. moment later 
 Macbeth himself enters. Lady Macbeth immedi- 
 ately and frankly hints to him her plan to bring to 
 fulfilment the third prediction of the Weird Sisters: 
 
 O, never 
 Shall sun that morrow see! 
 
 on which Duncan goes hence. 
 
 to Cleopatra the pretty worm of Nilus, he said (A. and C, V., 2, 263), 
 " You must think this, look you, 
 That the worm will do his kind" 
 i. e., bite, poison, kill. 
 
 It was in this sense that Lady Macbeth uses the word kindness. 
 That becomes very evident if one accepts Prof. Moulton's suggestion 
 and prints the phrase, " as one word, not ' human kindness,' but 
 ' humankindness." " * Macbeth was too full o' the milk (the essence) 
 cf human kindness, of human nature, too thoroughly human, to rise 
 above the weakness of a man, and catch the nearest way, use violent, 
 bloody means to gain the throne.. He would, Lady Macbeth feared, 
 shrink from murder, and that, in her opinion, was the surest and 
 quickest way for him to become what the Weird Sisters predicted, 
 viz., King that shall he ! And in this opinion she was entirely cor- 
 rect. He refused positively to yield to that suggestion, which was to 
 murder Duncan. He preferred to trust to chance : 
 
 " If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir." 
 Later, he did murder Duncan. The deed, however, was done only 
 after he had been cajoled and taunted, and his courage had been 
 screwed to the sticking-place, by Lady Macbeth ; only after a most 
 violent mental and emotional conflict. The description of him 
 which Lady Macbeth gives in this soliloquy was, therefore, correct 
 and consistent from the first to the last word. All the details ac- 
 cord with one another, and are in perfect harmony with his char- 
 acter and life. He was not kind-hearted, humane, benignant. He 
 was, like other men, averse to such unnatural methods as violence, 
 bloodshed, murder. He was 
 
 "... too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way." 
 * Shakttpcart at a Dramatic Artitt, pp. 149, 150. 
 
70 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 She at once begins to pour her spirits into his ear: 
 
 To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming 
 Must be provided for: and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my dispatch; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 The plot is too daring, too brutal to win Macbeth's 
 approval. He hesitates. We ivill speak further. 
 Such is the inception of the plot of the Macbeths. 
 As Duncan enters Macbeth's castle, the scene of 
 his cruel and violent death, both he and Banquo 
 observe and comment upon the beauty, fragrance, 
 peacefulness, of surrounding Nature. 
 
 The heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, 
 Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
 Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, 
 The air is delicate. 
 
 Shakespeare was a master of Contrast. By his 
 reference here to the peacefulness and quiet sur- 
 rounding the castle, the bloody deed so soon to be 
 consummated within its walls becomes more start- 
 ling and appalling. 
 
 Duncan enters. He is received by Lady Macbeth 
 with every expression of gratitude and loyalty. He 
 accepts her words as sincere and heartfelt. Little 
 
Macbeth 71 
 
 does he suspect danger. He has learned nothing 
 from the treason of the late thane of Cawdor. He 
 inquires for Macbeth, protests anew his love for 
 him, and declares his intention to continue our graces 
 towards him. Duncan is still perfectly guileless. He 
 is still unable 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face. 
 
 Without taking any measures to guard against trea 
 son, he enters the castle, there to meet his fate. 
 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger. 
 
 Shakespeare now, by means of a soliloquy, re- 
 veals to us the conflict that is taking place in Mac- 
 beth's mind and heart between the assassination and 
 the consequence. The wickedness of the murder of 
 Duncan is not with Macbeth a factor in the prob- 
 lem. He considers only the punishment following 
 crime and sin ; that 
 
 This even handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. 
 
 He is not afraid of punishment beyond the grave, 
 but of that which will be meted out to him here. 
 He finds further reasons against the deed in that he 
 is both a kinsman and a subject of Duncan; that 
 Duncan is his guest; and that Duncan has been so 
 meek and so just, clear in his great office. As the 
 result of his reflections he acknowledges to himself 
 
72 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition. 
 
 Macbeth had a keen appreciation of the fact that 
 iwhat a man sows that he also reaps; that conse- 
 quences inevitably follow deeds; that if a deed is 
 good the consequence is happiness, if evil, misery 
 and death. He believes implicitly in the supremacy 
 of the moral law. He does not err through igno- 
 rance or mistaken judgment. Nor does he deceive 
 himself as to the motive which actuates him. He 
 acknowledges frankly he has no cause to kill Dun- 
 can, but his own Vaulting ambition. This, he con- 
 fesses, not only may, but will, defeat itself. As the 
 horseman vaulting into the saddle sometimes 
 
 . . . o'erleaps 
 And falls on the other 
 
 side so will this deed fail to accomplish that which 
 he so much desires. 
 
 This is perfect foreshadowing. It foretells the 
 future action of the drama. 
 
 Lady Macbeth now enters. Macbeth announces 
 to her the result of his deliberation: 
 
 We will proceed no further in this business. 
 
 Her judgment of him as expressed in her soliloquy 
 is confirmed. Her fear that his nature 
 
 . . . is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way 
 
Macbeth 73 
 
 is well grounded. She does not despair, or even 
 hesitate. Immediately she brings to bear upon him 
 her potent influence. She knows him to be a brave 
 man, Bellonds bridegroom. She taunts him with 
 cowardice. 
 
 Art thou afeard 
 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 
 As thou art in desire ? 
 
 She reminds him that when he first suggested the 
 enterprise to her neither the time nor place was favor- 
 able, but that now both arc. 
 
 What beast was 't, then, 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Ue so much more the man. Nor time nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. 
 
 She instances herself as being so completely dedi- 
 cated to the work that even maternal love, if that 
 were an impediment, would be disregarded. 
 
 I have given suck, and know 
 How tender 't is to love the babe thai milks me: 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Macbeth hesitates. If we should fail ? Lady Mac- 
 beth does not consider that worthy of a moment's 
 consideration : 
 
74 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 We fail! 
 But screw your courage to the sticking-place, 
 And we '11 not fail. 
 
 She then unfolds in detail her plan for the murder. 
 When Duncan and his two chamberlains are asleep 
 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 The unguarded Duncan ? 
 
 Just as easy will it be to lay the guilt upon his 
 spongy officers. 
 
 Will it not be received, 
 When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
 Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, 
 That they have done 't ? 
 
 Macbeth yields. His hesitancies, his prudential 
 reasonings, his fears of failure, are silenced. 
 
 I am settl-ed, and bend up 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 
 He has made his decision. It is against the 
 right. His will is perverted, his conscience en- 
 feebled. From this time its protests grow weaker 
 and weaker, until finally they are silenced. 
 
 The action of the drama now moves with great 
 rapidity. A brief conversation takes place between 
 Banquo and Fleance, in the court of the castle, 
 after midnight. The moon is doivn, the stars are not 
 shining. It is so dark Fleance bears a torch. 
 
 Banquo gives to Fleance his sword and dagger. 
 Notwithstanding 
 
Macbeth 75 
 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me 
 And yet I would not sleep. 
 
 Then in a few words he reveals to Fleance his fore- 
 boding of ill. 
 
 Merciful powers, 
 Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
 Gives way to in repose! 
 
 Despite his presentiment of danger Banquo neglects 
 to take any precautionary measures. He even parts 
 with his weapons of defence, giving them to Fleance. 
 Although this is apparently a trivial detail still it is 
 very significant. It reveals to us a defect in Ban- 
 quo's character, — neglect to guard against impend- 
 ing and foreseen danger. This leads to fatal results 
 in his case, as it had in that of Duncan. 
 
 Macbeth enters. Banquo informs him of the 
 King's generosity: 
 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess to your offices. 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 By the name of most kind hostess. 
 
 He adds: 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 
 To you they have show'd some truth. 
 
 Then Macbeth hints of his dark purpose, and ex- 
 presses his desire to have Banquo as a confederate. 
 Banquo, not so guileless as Duncan, had already 
 divined Macbeth's purpose. He decides to join 
 
76 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Macbeth in that plan which shall make honour foi 
 him 
 
 ... So I lose none 
 In seeking to augment it. 
 
 Banquo and Fleance then retire. Macbeth orders 
 his servant : 
 
 Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. 
 
 The servant goes to execute the command. Mac- 
 beth is left alone. Then, in a soliloquy, the last be- 
 fore the murder, Shakespeare makes Macbeth again 
 lay bare his mind and heart. In imagination Mac- 
 beth sees a dagger. He apostrophizes it: 
 
 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; 
 And such an instrument I was to use, seq. 
 
 In this soliloquy the voice of conscience is not 
 heard. It is stilled. Neither is there wavering, 
 indecision. On the contrary, he wishes to act, and 
 to act promptly : 
 
 Whiles I threat he lives: 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 A bell rings, the signal agreed upon by Lady Mac- 
 beth and himself as a notification to him that every- 
 thing was ready. Macbeth recognizes it : 
 
 I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven or to hell. 
 
Macbeth 77 
 
 While he is in Duncan's chamber Lady Macbeth 
 appears on the stage. In two brief soliloquies she 
 reveals her part in the deed. She drugged the 
 possets of the grooms; she laid their daggers ready, 
 so her husband could not miss 'em. She even would 
 have done 't 
 
 Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept. 
 
 As the flash of lightning on the dark and stormy 
 night makes the gloom more oppressive and terrible 
 so does this gleam of filial affection in Lady Mac- 
 beth reveal more clearly and impressively her dark, 
 sinister, murderous nature. Aptly did she describe 
 herself: 
 
 That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; 
 What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. 
 
 Macbeth from within had heard Lady Macbeth so- 
 liloquizing. He whispered 
 
 Who 's there ? what, ho! 
 
 Now he enters and immediately says: 
 
 I have done the deed. 
 
 No sooner is. the deed consummated than a violent 
 reaction takes place in Macbeth. His soul revolts 
 against his conduct. He has become morally in- 
 sane. He is surprised he cannot say Amen when 
 the groom prays God bless us ! His distempered 
 imagination has become so active he thinks he 
 hears a voice cry 
 
78 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 " Sleep no more! 
 Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more." 
 
 Lady Macbeth tries to reassure him: 
 
 Why-, worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brainsickly of things. 
 
 Lady Macbeth experiences neither penitence nor 
 
 fear. She is cool, deliberate, resourceful, daring. 
 
 She directs her conscience-stricken husband what 
 
 to do: 
 
 Go get some water, 
 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
 
 They must lie there: go carry them; and smear 
 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macbeth is overcome with fear and remorse: 
 
 I '11 go no more: 
 I am afraid to think what I have done; 
 Look on *t again I dare not. 
 
 Lady Macbeth taunts him with indecision and fear: 
 
 Infirm of purpose! 
 Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead 
 Are tut as pictures: 't is the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal; 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 Macbeth hears a knocking. His fears are intensi- 
 fied ; his remorse becomes more harrowing: 
 
Macbeth 79 
 
 Whence is that knocking ? 
 How is 't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
 What hands are here ? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand ? No; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
 Making the green one red. 
 
 Lady Macbeth perceives that her husband is wholly 
 unnerved. She frankly acknowledges her com- 
 plicity in the deed, and again taunts him with cow- 
 ardice: 
 
 My hands are of your colour: but I shame 
 To wear a heart so white. 
 
 And as she, again and again, and still again, hears 
 knocking at the south entry she rises to the emer- 
 gency, and directs her terror-stricken husband what 
 to do to divert suspicion from themselves: 
 
 I hear a knocking 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber: 
 A little water clears us of this deed: 
 How easy is it, then! Your constancy 
 Hath left you unattended. (Knocking within.) Hark! 
 
 more knocking. 
 Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us 
 And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 She fails to inspire her husband with courage; or to 
 assuage the pangs of his remorse. He says 
 
 To know my deed, 't were best not know myself. 
 
 (Knocking within.) 
 
80 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou 
 couldst! 
 
 I., all literature there is no more perfect descrip- 
 tion of Remorse than this revelation of Macbeth's 
 feelings after he had murdered Duncan. 
 
 The action of the drama, which has been moving 
 with great rapidity, now temporarily stops. The 
 remainder of the Growth (the last two Scenes of 
 Act II.) are episodic. Shakespeare introduces them 
 for the twofold purpose of checking too rapid prog- 
 ress of the action, and relieving the thoughts and 
 emotions of the spectators of the drama, which have 
 been excited to an intense degree. 
 
 Morning dawns. The members of the King's 
 suite knock at the door of his apartments. The 
 Porter answers very tardily. Only after repeated 
 and loud knocks does he respond to the demands 
 of the impatient nobles for admission. The door 
 which he guards is not only a barrier to the entrance 
 of Macduff and Lennox, it is also an obstruction 
 to the movement of the action. 
 
 While the Porter delays the opening of the door 
 he indulges in reflections which are full of grim 
 humor: 
 
 Here 's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of 
 hell-gate, he should have old turning the key., seg. 
 
 Like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day which 
 makes everything more sombre and gloomy, so the 
 Porter's humor contrasts strikingly with the tragic 
 surroundings, and makes them sadder and more 
 
Macbeth 81 
 
 terrifying. This is its dramatic function, and to 
 accomplish this Shakespeare introduced it here. 
 
 The door, finally, is opened. One after another 
 the members of Duncan's suite enter. Macduff 
 goes into the sleeping-chamber of Duncan, and sees 
 the bloody corpse of the King. He returns and 
 gives the alarm. Macbeth expresses his pretended 
 surprise and grief in words that were far more true 
 than either he or any one present knew: 
 
 Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 
 I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, 
 
 There 's nothing serious in mortality: seq. 
 
 He then acknowledges he murdered the grooms. 
 When Macduff asked him why he had done so, he 
 replied : 
 
 Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, 
 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man: 
 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 
 Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, 
 
 His silver skin laced with his golden blood; 
 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, 
 
 Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore; who could refrain, 
 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 
 Courage to make 's love known ? 
 
 Malcolm and Donalbain confer. They are not in 
 doubt as to the perpetrator of the deed. They re- 
 alize the danger they are in from the same murderer, 
 and preserve a discreet silence. Lady Macbeth 
 
 6 
 
82 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 faints. Her physical nature succumbs to the fear- 
 ful strain to which it has been subjected by her iron 
 will and dauntless courage. 
 
 All make their exit except Malcolm and Donal- 
 bain. The former announces his determination to 
 go to England. Shakespeare in this foreshadows 
 the action of the drama. Donalbain decides to go 
 to Ireland. Malcolm expresses the suspicions and 
 fears, both of himself and brother: 
 
 This murderous shaft that 's shot 
 Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way 
 Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
 But shift away: there *s warrant in that theft 
 Which steals itself when there 's no mercy left. 
 
 This division of the drama ends with a conversa- 
 tion between Ross and an old Man and Macduff, 
 the dramatic purpose of which is to convey the in- 
 formation that 
 
 't is most like 
 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 And further that 
 
 He is already named, and gone to Scone 
 To be invested. 
 
 Duncan's body has been conveyed to Colme-kill, 
 there to be interred in the royal burying-ground. 
 
 The first step in Macbeth's effort to secure the 
 crown has been successfully taken. Duncan has 
 been killed. Malcolm, the Prince of Cumberland, 
 
Macbeth 83 
 
 his legitimate successor, has fled. Macbeth has 
 gone to Scone to be crowned. The Macbeths have 
 brought to a successful consummation 
 
 This night's great business . . . 
 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 
 HI., i-4 
 
 Notwithstanding Macbeth's success he was 
 neither calm nor confident. As Angus later de- 
 scribed him, he felt 
 
 . . . his title 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 The cause of his disquietude was Banquo. 
 
 To be thus is nothing; 
 But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep. 
 
 Before he murdered Duncan he had solicited Ban- 
 quo's aid upon that business. Banquo, whose sus- 
 picions were fully aroused, promised it on condition 
 he could keep his 
 
 . . . bosom franchised and allegiance clear. 
 
 Macbeth did not again broach the subject, but pro- 
 ceeded with his bloody work without Banquo's 
 assistance. 
 
84 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The Climax of the play begins with a soliloquy 
 in which Banquo discloses his belief in Macbeth's 
 guilt: 
 
 Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, 
 As the weird women promised, and, I fear, 
 Thou play'dst most foully for *t. 
 
 He then refers to the prediction of the Weird Sis- 
 ters, and, basing his belief on the fulfilment of the 
 prediction to Macbeth, questions why that made to 
 himself should not likewise come true. His reflec- 
 tions are brought to a sudden close by the entrance 
 of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, who have returned 
 from Scone, where they have been crowned. 
 
 Macbeth greets Banquo cordially, and requests 
 his presence at a solemn supper to be given that eve- 
 ning. He then inquires: 
 
 Ride you this afternoon ? 
 
 Is 't far you ride ? 
 Banquo replies: 
 
 As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 
 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
 
 I must become a borrower of the night 
 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 
 Macbeth urges him: 
 
 Fail not our feast. 
 
 He is conscious that Banquo suspects him of the 
 
Macbeth 85 
 
 murder of Duncan. In order to divert that suspicion 
 Macbeth then refers to Malcolm and Donalbain as 
 
 . . . our bloody cousins . . . bestow'd 
 In England and in Ireland, not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide. 
 
 Before Banquo takes his leave Macbeth makes a 
 final inquiry : 
 
 Goes Fleance with you ? 
 
 Banquo replies in the affirmative. 
 
 Macbeth then dismisses all the company but an 
 Attendant. As soon as they are left alone he says: 
 
 Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men 
 Our pleasure ? 
 
 He orders the Attendant to bring the men. While 
 he is alone he reveals, in a soliloquy, his thoughts, 
 feelings, purposes, the expression of which in action 
 forms the Climax of the drama: 
 
 Our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 
 Reigns that which would be fear'd: 't is much he dares; 
 And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 To act in safety. There is none but he 
 Whose being I do fear: and, under him, 
 My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters 
 When first they put the name of king upon me, 
 And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like 
 
86 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings: 
 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 
 Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
 
 No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, 
 
 For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; 
 
 For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; 
 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 
 Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! 
 
 Rather than so, come fate into the list, 
 
 And champion me to the utterance! 
 
 Fate accepts the challen^u-. It enters the lists, 
 " the enclosed ground in which combats are 
 fought " (Schmidt), and champions Macbeth to the 
 utterance, i. e., fights with him to the death. Fate 
 wins. From this time Macbeth is doomed. 
 
 The two Murderers for whom Macbeth had sent 
 enter. This was not the first time they and Mac- 
 beth had met and conferred. He refers to the 
 murder of Banquo which had been previously con- 
 sidered by them. They assent to Macbeth's prop- 
 osition: 
 
 We shall, my lord, 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 Macbeth gives them their final instructions as to 
 where they shall plant themselves, and then, after 
 speaking of the murder of Banquo, adds: 
 
 . . . and with him — 
 To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — 
 
Macbeth 87 
 
 Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. 
 
 They make their exit. Macbeth expresses -his grati- 
 fication at the result of the conference: 
 
 It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 If it find he iven, must find it out to-night. 
 
 Macbeth's soli! [uies reveal in him a gradual and 
 consistent development in wickedness. Before 
 murdering Duncan he questioned, vacillated, ex- 
 perienced a severe mental and emotional struggle. 
 In the case of Banquo his decision is quickly made, 
 his plans promptly and carefully matured, and exe- 
 cuted without wavering. 
 
 A further evidence of this Character-Growth is 
 that in the case of Banquo he acted alone. Lady 
 Macbeth was particeps criminu in the murder of 
 Duncan. Of that of Banquo she was ignorant un- 
 til after its commission. Macbeth has attained his 
 majority in crime; he stands and walks and acts 
 alone. 
 
 In another room in the castle Lady Macbeth in a 
 soliloquy gives expression to sentiments which are 
 similar to those just uttered by Macbeth. She, like 
 him, realizes the danger that threatens them from 
 the loyal and suspicious Banquo, and from his son 
 Fleance. Macbeth now enters. She perceives he 
 is conscience-stricken; is the victim of fear and re- 
 morse. She disguises her own feelings, and im- 
 mediately attempts to cheer him: 
 
88 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, 
 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making; 
 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 
 With them they think on ? Things without all remedy 
 
 Should be without regard: what 's done is done. 
 
 Macbeth in his reply reveals the terrible mental and 
 emotional strain to which he is being subjected, and 
 also his knowledge of the danger that menaced 
 them. 
 
 We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: 
 
 She '11 close and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 
 But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds 
 
 suffer, 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
 That shake us nightly; better be with the dead, 
 Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
 Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 Can touch him further. 
 
 Lady Macbeth tries to soothe him. She urges him 
 to 
 
 . . . sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
 Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. 
 
 He then refers to the banquet, and requests Lady 
 Macbeth to give Jianquo a prominent seat thereat: 
 
Macbeth 89 
 
 Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue. 
 
 While there is grave danger to be apprehended from 
 Banquo and Fleance, Macbeth tells his wife: 
 
 There 's comfort yet; they are assailable; 
 Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons 
 The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 When she inquires more particularly as to his plans, 
 he affectionately, yet firmly, declines to answer: 
 
 Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
 Till thou applaud the deed; seq. 
 
 The next Scene is very brief. It describes the 
 murder of Banquo and escape of Fleance. As they 
 were returning from their ride they were set upon in 
 A Park near the Palace. In order to make assurance 
 double sure Macbeth had dispatched a third mur- 
 derer to join the other two. Who he was we know 
 not. It may have been Macbeth himself. More 
 likely it was simply a confidential and trusty fol- 
 lower. 
 
 Notwithstanding all his carefulness the plot was 
 only partially successful. As the third murderer 
 describes it: 
 
 There 's but one down; the son is fled. 
 To which the second murderer responds: 
 
 We have lost 
 Best half of our affair. 
 
90 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The Climax ends with the banquet at which the 
 nobles of Scotland have gathered to do honor to 
 their new King and Queen. They have hardly 
 taken their seats at the table when the First Mur- 
 derer appears at the door. He informs Macbeth that 
 Banquo's throat is cut, and that Fleance is 'scaped. 
 The effect of this news on Macbeth is instant, pro- 
 found. In an aside he says: 
 
 Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, 
 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, 
 
 As broad and general as the casing air: 
 
 But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 
 
 To saucy doubts and fears. 
 
 A moment later he adds: 
 
 There the grown serpent lies; the worm that 's fled 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 No teeth for the present. 
 
 He disturbs the feast. Lady Macbeth gently chides 
 him. 
 
 The Ghost of Banquo enters, and sits in Mac- 
 beth's place. Without waiting for it to charge him 
 with the murder Macbeth addresses it: 
 
 Thou canst not say I did it: never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Lady Macbeth begs the company not to note him, 
 and then in a tone sharp and decisive, like the ex- 
 plosion of a bomb, says to Macbeth: 
 
 Are you a man ? 
 
Macbeth 91 
 
 Macbeth is entirely unnerved, and on the reappear- 
 ance of the Ghost says: 
 
 Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with: seq. 
 
 Again the Ghost vanishes. Lady Macbeth dismisses 
 the guests. She does not chide or taunt her hus- 
 band. Rather she soothes him. Macbeth's com- 
 posure returns. 
 
 The Climax ends with a reference to Macduff, 
 which points to him as the one by whom the Reso- 
 lution of the drama is to be effected. 
 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person 
 At our great bidding? 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send: 
 There 's not a one of them but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. 
 
 Shakespeare then, in a conversation between 
 Lady Macbeth and her husband, gives us one more 
 glimpse into the mind and soul of Macbeth. His 
 plans and his emotional condition are revealed. 
 
 • Macb. I will to-morrow, 
 
 And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: 
 More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, 
 By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good 
 All causes shall give way: I am in blood 
 Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er: 
 
92 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; 
 Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 
 
 Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: 
 We are yet but young in deed. 
 
 The murder of Banquo, the escape of Fleance, is the 
 acme of the Climax. Macbeth's vaulting ambition, 
 which, up to this time, has steadily moved upward, 
 reaches its highest point, overleaps itself and falls on 
 the other. 
 
 In this play Shakespeare follows his usual method 
 and puts the Climax at the centre of the play. It 
 is the habit of thoughtless critics to decry Shake- 
 speare's architectonics, to assert that in his plays 
 the Plot is secondary. Shakespeare was a great ar- 
 tist, and he instinctively recognized the fact that in 
 a drama, as in every other art-product, structure is 
 organic. In it the imagination bodies forth the forms 
 of things unknown. Between the thought and the 
 form in which it is bodied forth, the connection is 
 vital, essential. An analysis of Shakespeare's plays 
 reveals the fact that most of them, notably those 
 which were written in the maturity of his powers, 
 are, in the highest degree, artistic and symmetrical. 
 They balance around a common centre. This is 
 literally true of Macbeth. 
 
 I. — The acme of the Climax is near the mechan- 
 ical centre. The divisions of this play, as they are 
 found in Folio I., are 5 Acts, 28 Scenes, 21 14 verses. 1 
 
 1 As there is no line numeration in Folio I., I give that of the Cam- 
 bridge edition. 
 
Macbeth 93 
 
 The murder of Banquo, the escape of Fleance, 
 which is the acme of the Climax, are very near to 
 the exact centre of the play. They are at the end 
 of Act III., Scene 3, that is, the middle of the 
 middle Act, the end of 14 out of 28 Scenes, at verse 
 1034 out of 21 14 verses. The play, therefore, is 
 perfectly symmetrical, for " symmetry is an effect 
 produced by a figure when all its parts on one side 
 of a line, drawn perpendicularly through its central 
 point, balance those on the other side of this line." ' 
 This effect was not attained by Shakespeare as the 
 result of careful reckoning. Shakespeare was writ- 
 ing a great play, and writing it very hurriedly. The 
 Plot, in every part, manifests intelligent design and 
 is well-nigh perfect. Its perfection is manifested, 
 amongst other things, by the location of the Climax. 
 In placing this where he did, Shakespeare was guided 
 not by any mathematical calculation, but by his po- 
 etic insight, his dramatic genius. 
 
 Genius has been scientifically defined by Hart- 
 mann as " the activity and efflux of the intellect 
 freed from the domination of the conscious will." * 
 In perfect accord with this is Socrates' dictum in 
 Ion.* " All good poets, epic as well as lyric, com- 
 pose their beautiful poems not by art, but because 
 they are inspired and possessed." Like Shelley's 
 skylark, the great poet pours out his 
 
 . . . full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 'Raymond, Genesis of Art. Form, pp. 154, 155. 
 1 Philosophy of the Unconscious, translation of Coupland, vol. I. 
 pp. 269-292. Also cf . Rosanquet, History of /Esthetic, p. 279. 
 •Jowett, Plato, vol. i., pp. 501, I *' 
 
94 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 In this play Shakespeare " builded better than he 
 knew." In placing the Climax near the mechanical 
 centre, he was guided not by calculation but by 
 inspiration. 
 
 II. — The centre of the play is also the climax of 
 Lady Macbeth's career. Immediately after the 
 murder of Banquo she retires, and never again ap- 
 pears as an active force in the drama. Her work is 
 ended. Never again does she urge or counsel or aid 
 Macbeth. From this time onward he pursues his 
 career alone. True, the dramatist brings Lady 
 Macbeth forward in the last Act. She, however, is 
 perfectly passive. She is unfitted, both mentally 
 and physically, to do anything. Her warning to 
 Macbeth has been grimly prophetic of her own fate: 
 
 These deeds must not be thought 
 After these ways; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Remorse has driven her to insanity. Her mind, 
 which is full of thick-coming fancies, recalls the 
 events of the past. Her heart, which is sorely 
 charged, finds relief in a sigh which is full of pathos. 
 Death soon after comes to her succor. But long 
 before this she has ceased to take any part in the 
 movement of the drama. The Climax of the play 
 marks also the climax of her career. 
 
 III. — The death of Banquo and escape of Fleance 
 is also the climax of Macbeth's life. It is 
 
 . . . the highest point of all his greatness; 
 And, from that full meridian of his glory, 
 He hastes now to his setting. 
 
Macbeth 95 
 
 P>om this time forward, the action of the drama, so 
 far as it relates to Macbeth, changes its course and 
 moves in another direction. Previously it has been 
 an ascent; subsequently it is a descent. The con- 
 spiracy against Banquo and Fleance, which Mac- 
 beth intended should carry his fortunes still higher, 
 causes them to decline. Instead of making his posi- 
 tion on the throne more secure, as he hoped, it is 
 the beginning of insecurity. This crime carried 
 within itself its own Nemesis, Macbeth perceived 
 this, and when the murderer said to him, Fleance is 
 'scaped, he foresees the danger that that escape 
 presages. He is profoundly disquieted: 
 
 But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 
 To saucy doubts and fears. 
 
 These saucy doubts and fears were but the fore- 
 shadowing of the Catastrophe, which is reached at 
 the conclusion of the drama. 
 
 If we examine more in detail the position of this 
 Climax in its relation to Macbeth, we shall find it a 
 marked example of what Swinburne ' calls Shake- 
 speare's " incomparable instinct for abstinence from 
 the wrong thing, as well as achievement of the 
 right." Most dramatists would have made the cor- 
 onation the climax of Macbeth's fortune. With 
 that event the predictions of the Weird Sisters have 
 been fulfilled. The ambition of Macbeth has been 
 gratified to the fullest and highest degree. But it 
 is a significant fact that Shakespeare does not make 
 the successful outcome of the plot to seize the 
 
 1 A Study of Shakespeare, p. 189. 
 
96 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 throne the climax of Macbeth's career. In order to 
 make his fall more profound and fatal, he is allowed 
 to move onward and upward on the path of success. 
 He determines to make assurance double sure by 
 murdering Banquo and Fleance. He succeeded in 
 the case of Banquo, failed in that of Fleance; was 
 partially successful, partially unsuccessful. It was 
 the dividing line between this success and this 
 failure which Shakespeare has made the climax of 
 Macbeth's life. Up to this time Macbeth had 
 accomplished successfully everything he had at- 
 tempted. After this time he fails in everything. 
 Previously, unbroken success, subsequently, un- 
 broken failure, attend him. From this time forth 
 the one effort of his life is to prevent the fulfilment 
 of the Weird Sisters' prediction to Banquo. And 
 everything that he does with this intention not only 
 ends in failure, but also aids in producing that fail- 
 ure. The Climax of this play is the climax of Mac- 
 beth's fortunes. And the position of that, not after 
 the seizure of the throne, but after the murder of 
 Banquo, is a marked expression of Shakespeare's 
 genius in constructing the Plot. 
 
 FALL 
 III., 5-IV., finis 
 In his plays Shakespeare in 
 
 Every line 
 Opens, by just degrees, his whole design.' 
 
 One of their cardinal qualities, as Coleridge has 
 pointed out, is " expectation in preference to sur- 
 
 1 Horace, Ars Poetica. 
 
Macbeth 97 
 
 prise. It is like the true reading of the passage, 
 God said, Let there be light, and there was light ' ; 
 not there was light. As the feeling with which we 
 startle at a shooting star, compared with that of 
 watching the sunrise at the pre-established moment, 
 such and so low is surprise compared with expecta* 
 tion." ' In this play the great dramatist makes the 
 transition from the Climax to the Fall unforced and 
 gradual by means of an episode. In it every inci- 
 dent tends directly toward a gradual unfolding of 
 the Plot. 
 
 The beginning of the Fall of this play (so much 
 as is contained in III., 5 and 6, and IV., Scene I, 
 to line 135) is an episode. The movement of the 
 action is suspended. It is technically a Return or 
 Revolution. It is both retrospective and prospec- 
 tive. It may be divided into two parts: 
 
 I. — The return of the Witches, who had disap- 
 peared at the beginning of the action, and Mac- 
 beth's interview with them. 
 
 II. — The conversation between Lennox and an- 
 other Lord (III. , 6), in which the events of the fore- 
 part of the drama are rehearsed, and those of the 
 latter part are foreshadowed. Shakespeare, by 
 means of this conversation, makes the Plot more 
 lucid and vivid. The memory of the spectator is 
 refreshed, his interest is intensified. 
 
 In the re-introduction of the Witches, and in the 
 conversation between Lennox and another Lord, 
 Shakespeare again makes use of Repetition, Altera- 
 tion, Alternation. 
 
 • Lectures on Shakespeare, Bohn's edition, p. 237. 
 * 
 
98 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The play opens with the appearance of the 
 Witches. As the result of their prediction to Mac- 
 beth, the Main Action begins and progresses to a 
 Climax. That having been reached, they now ap- 
 pear a second time to Macbeth, at the pit of Ach~ 
 eron. On the conclusion of this second interview the 
 movement of the drama is resumed, and proceeds 
 rapidly and uninterruptedly to the Catastrophe. 
 
 The conversation between Lennox and another 
 Lord is also an example of Repetition, Alteration, 
 Alternation. Lennox rehearses the events of the 
 fore part of the drama ; he repeats his former speeches, 
 but with an alteration.' This speech has been so 
 misunderstood that critics have rejected it as an in- 
 terpolation. In my judgment, it is undoubtedly 
 authentic. It is, and was intended by Shakespeare 
 to be, ironical.' While Lennox voices the current 
 rumors which point to Malcolm and Donalbain as 
 the murderer of Duncan, and to Fleance as the mur- 
 derer of Banquo, he really expresses the utter un- 
 reasonableness of these suspicion result of 
 that, the hearer is led to recogni/ kl mur- 
 derer in Macbeth. 
 
 The gracious Duncan 
 Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: 
 And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late, 
 Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance kill'd, 
 For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late: sea. 
 
 Lenox, having thus referred to the past, and 
 thrown a flood of light on it, now directs attention 
 
 1 Cf. Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, pp. 128, 129. 
 
Macbeth 99 
 
 to the future, and foreshadows the outcome of the 
 drama. As Duncan is dead, his son, 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 
 looms up as the hope of 
 
 This our suffering country 
 Under a hand accursed! 
 
 Associated with him in this work is to be Macduff. 
 Malcolm and Macduff thus become the complemen- 
 tal characters to Duncan and Banquo. When the 
 latter are removed by violent deaths, the former ap- 
 pear. Duncan and Banquo were the principal char- 
 acters in the Sub-Action of the fore part of the play. 
 Malcolm and Macduff fill the same position in the 
 after part of the drama, and are the principal agents 
 in producing the Catastrophe. 
 
 The most important part of the Fall is Macbeth's 
 interview with the Witches (IV., i). As before re- 
 marked, they appear on two separate occasions: 
 once at the opening of the play, before the Main 
 Action begins; again, at the conclusion of the Cli- 
 max, while the Main Action has been temporarily 
 stopped, and before the Fall and Catastrophe com- 
 mence. 
 
 Their relation to the drama is restricted to their 
 speeches. They perform no deeds, they take no 
 direct part in the movement of the action. Their 
 function in the play is limited to words. And yet, 
 as King Henry VIII. says, while 
 
 Words are no deeds, 
 *T is a kind of good deed to say well. 
 
ioo Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The converse of this is true: to say ill is a kind of 
 bad deed. The latter is true of the Witches. Their 
 words are a kind of ill deed, the influence of which 
 is both malign and potent. The truths they have 
 conveyed to Macbeth become to him the 
 
 . . . happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. 
 
 When, in a letter, Macbeth reports their prophecy 
 to Lady Macbeth, she is 
 
 Transported beyond 
 This ignorant present, and feels now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Unlike Macbeth, she has not seen, she has not 
 heard the Weird Sisters, and yet, at the very be- 
 ginning of the play, she is brought under their 
 influence. And that influence surrounds and domi- 
 nates her as long as she takes an active part in the 
 drama. Immediately on the receipt of Macbeth's 
 letter, she recognizes the situation: 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; 
 
 and then instantly resolves, 
 
 And shalt be 
 What thou art promised. 
 
 The message of the Witches on their first appear- 
 ance was not restricted to Macbeth. They also ad- 
 dressed Banquo. The effect of this Banquo reveals 
 in his soliloquy: 
 
 Thou hast it now : King, Cawdor, Glamis, all ; seq. 
 
Macbeth 101 
 
 As the indirect result of the Witches' prophecies, 
 the Main Action of the drama begins and moves 
 forward to its Climax. After that, during an epi- 
 sode, while the movement is temporarily stopped, 
 the Witches again appear, and as the consequence 
 of the words uttered to Macbeth at this interview, 
 the action again begins, and moves forward to the 
 end of the Catastrophe. 
 
 The relation in which the Witches stand to the 
 drama is what is technically known as the Environ- 
 ing Action. Although they appear but seldom, — 
 only on two occasions, — and although they do no- 
 thing, yet their presence seems to hover around the 
 Macbeths, and to exert on them an influence which 
 is continuous, powerful, pernicious, fatal. The 
 prophecy made by them to Macbeth develops in 
 him the determination to seize the crown. After 
 Duncan has been murdered, and Macbeth is seated 
 on the throne, he recalls the words addressed by the 
 Witches to Banquo: 
 
 He chid the sisters, seq. 
 
 The result of Macbeth's reflection is: 
 
 It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. 
 Banquo was murdered. But even then there is 
 
 no cessation to the puissant and malign influence of 
 
 the Witches. Macbeth says: 
 
 I will to-morrow, 
 And betimes I will, to the weird sisters; 
 More shall they speak, for now I am bent to know. 
 By the worst means, the worst. 
 
102 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 This second interview takes place and its result 
 was, as described by Hecate, to 
 
 Draw [Macbeth] on to his confusion: 
 He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
 His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: 
 And you all know security 
 Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 
 
 All of this was literally fulfilled. When Macbeth 
 was informed of the advance of the English power, 
 he said : 
 
 Bring me no more reports; let them fly all: 
 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 
 I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ? 
 
 Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know 
 
 All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus: 
 
 " Fear not, Macbeth; no man that 's born of woman 
 
 Shall e'er have power upon thee' " Then fly, false 
 
 thanes, 
 And mingle with the English epicures. 
 
 When Macduff informs him that he was from his 
 mother s womb untimely ripped, the truth dawns on 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man! 
 
 He becomes furious, desperate: 
 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou opposed, being of no woman born, 
 Yet I will try the last. 
 
Macbeth 103 
 
 Thus, like a soldier, fighting bravely and defi- 
 antly, Macbeth died. And all the while, from his 
 first appearance to his death, more or less, under 
 the influence of 
 
 . . . these juggling fiends, . . . 
 That palter with us in a double sense; 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 And break it to our hope. 
 
 The thanes fly from him. He defies fate. 
 
 The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
 Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 
 
 Hardly were these words uttered when a Messen- 
 ger reported : 
 
 As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 
 I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought 
 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Not till he heard this did he begin to sag with 
 doubt. Then he said : 
 
 I pull in resolution and begin 
 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend 
 
 That lies like truth; " Fear not, till Birnam wood 
 
 Do come to Dunsinane ": and now a wood 
 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. 
 
 His courage, however, revives. At the very last, 
 when he meets Macduff on the battle-field, he de. 
 fies him: 
 
104 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Thou losest labour: 
 As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
 With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed: 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 The Weird Sisters from the very opening to the 
 conclusion of the play hover around. Without 
 taking any direct part in the action, simply by their 
 words they exert an influence which, while invisi- 
 ble, is all-powerful. They aid indirectly in bringing 
 the drama first to a Climax, afterward to a Catas- 
 trophe. They constitute in this play the Environ- 
 ing Action. 
 
 Still another dramatic function is performed by 
 them. Speaking of them, Banquo said: 
 
 If there come truth from them — 
 
 As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine — 
 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
 
 May they not be my oracles as well 
 
 And set me up in hope ? 
 
 The Oracular Action was a favorite device of the 
 Greek dramatists. It was founded on the belief 
 that destiny ruled the universe, and that the reve- 
 lation of this destiny was made by oracles, e. g. % 
 Oracle of Delphi. These revelations were very de- 
 ceptive. They were true, but were so disguised 
 as to be mysterious and misleading. They were 
 riddles. A perfect example of the oracular drama 
 is the CEdipus of Sophocles. What the oracle was 
 in the Greek dramas, that the Weird Sisters were 
 
Macbeth 105 
 
 in this play. There was nothing comic or grotesque 
 about them. They who so think entirely miscon- 
 ceive them. They were the personification of fate 
 and metaphysical aid. They were weird, terrible, 
 sublime. 
 
 It is doubtful if Shakespeare ever read a single 
 Greek drama, so that in introducing Oracular Ac- 
 tion into this play he was not a servile imitator of 
 the Greek dramatists. Rather he based his method 
 on human experience, on the uncertainty and mys- 
 tery which attend the life of every one. Hamlet 
 expresses the idea: 
 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 
 When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us 
 
 There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 The oracular announcement made by the Weird 
 Sisters to Macbeth was twofold : 
 
 I. — He should be King. II.— He should be suc- 
 ceeded by Banquo's issue. 
 
 The first had been fulfilled. Macbeth devotes all 
 his energies to prevent the fulfilment of the second. 
 He meets the Weird Sisters and propounds the one 
 question which torments him: 
 
 Shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? 
 
 They reply, reply truly (for every prediction is 
 fulfilled literally), and yet Macbeth is deceived. 
 Their words are ironical. They say one thing, they 
 mean another. This is a characteristic of the oracle. 
 
106 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It is always in the form of irony. The honest and 
 true Banquo recognized this quality in the first 
 message : 
 
 But 't is strange; 
 And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths, 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 
 In deepest consequence. 
 
 A profound irony permeates the very structure of 
 this drama. Macbeth was deceived and betrayed. 
 He 
 
 laughed to scorn 
 The power of man. 
 
 Great Birnam wood shall never come to high 
 Dunsinane hill, for 
 
 Who can impress the forest, bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root ? 
 
 The result is he 
 
 tells pale-hearted fear it lies, 
 And sleeps in spite of thunder. 
 
 This second message of the Weird Sisters is orac- 
 ular. It foretells; it is true; it deceives. Mac- 
 beth, under its influence, is lulled into that security 
 which 
 
 Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 
 
 Urged onward by its impetus, with his demoniac 
 ambition intensified to the degree of desperation, 
 he starts forward on the course of conduct which 
 ends in the failure of all his plans, and in his own 
 
Macbeth 107 
 
 death at the hand of the very man against whom 
 the Weird Sisters had warned him, and whose life 
 he attempted to destroy. 1 
 
 No sooner had the Witches vanished than Len- 
 nox enters and informs Macbeth, Macduff is fled to 
 England, Macbeth instantly resolves: 
 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise; 
 Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace him in his line. 
 
 The action of the drama, which had been stopped 
 from the close of the Climax, III., 4, to IV., 1, is 
 now resumed. The conversation between Lennox 
 and another Lord, the appearance of the Weird Sis- 
 ters, had constituted an Episode. On the conclusion 
 of that, the movement begins again with the mur- 
 der of Lady Macduff and her Son. 
 
 Following this is Scene 3, which is the last of Act 
 IV., and the last of the Fall. It also is an Episode. 
 In fact, the action of the drama, which from the be- 
 ginning of the Growth to the end of the Climax had 
 been regular and swift, has been suspended during 
 the Fall, with the single exception of the murder 
 of Lady Macduff and her Son. Notwithstanding 
 this lull, there has been passive or artistic progress. 
 This is one function of the Episode. By it, as by 
 
 1 " Rut when we in our viciousness grow hard — 
 O misery on 't ' the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
 In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 Adore our errors ; laugh at 's, while we strut 
 To our confusion. " 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra, III., 13, in, teq. 
 
108 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 an easy and progressive transition, the drama passes 
 from the intense excitement of the Climax to that 
 of the Catastrophe. The Fall from beginning to end 
 is weird, sombre, gloomy. It suggests to the im- 
 agination of the spectator a swiftly coming dies tree. 
 It is darkened with the shadows of the impending 
 Catastrophe, of which it is the precursor, which it 
 ushers in. The murder of Lady Macduff and her 
 Son, perpetrated by Macbeth with the avowed pur- 
 pose of averting the fulfilment of the oracles, is the 
 immediate and fruitful cause of the Catastrophe. 
 
 In the concluding part of the Fall (IV., 3), the 
 scene of the drama is transferred to England. There 
 a conversation is held between Malcolm and Mac- 
 duff. As a result, Malcolm's suspicion of Macduff 
 is allayed. The former decides to set forth for 
 Scotland. Just after that decision is reached, and 
 before it results in action, the news is brought by 
 Ross to Macduff: 
 
 Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes 
 Savagely slaughter'd. 
 
 This act, introduced by Shakespeare at the very 
 conclusion of the Fall, becomes the immediate 
 cause of the Catastrophe. It causes revolt in Scot- 
 land. It stimulates Malcolm's desire for revenge: 
 
 Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 It becomes the whetstone of Macduff's sword: 
 
 But, gentle heavens, 
 Cut short all intermission; front to front 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
 
Macbeth 109 
 
 Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, 
 Heaven forgive him too! 
 
 The result is, as Malcolm says: 
 
 This tune goes manly. 
 Come, go we to the King; our power is ready; 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may: 
 The night is long that never finds the day. 
 
 Thus ends the Fall, the fourth division of the 
 play. In a perfectly constructed drama, the conclu- 
 sion of the Fall is always some act which directly 
 and quickly causes the Catastrophe. 
 
 In this study I intentionally restrict myself to 
 the broad outlines of the subject. In the Fall are 
 two facts which, while they are minor and sub- 
 sidiary, throw so much light on Shakespeare's 
 architectonics that I think this study would be in- 
 complete without brief reference to them. They 
 are: The introduction of Macduff's Son; the exit 
 of Lady Macduff, crying " Murder." 
 
 The introduction of Macduff's Son is one of those 
 subtle touches manifesting the finest artistic sense. 
 It is illuminative. The innocent and guileless boy 
 forms a perfect contrast to the guilty and crafty 
 Macbeth, who had just resolved to make assurance 
 double sure, by murdering Macduff and his family. 
 This determination had no sooner been formed than 
 it was executed. The firstlings of Macbeth's heart 
 had become the firstlings of his hand, His emis- 
 saries appear and murder the boy. Thus, at one fell 
 
no Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 swoop, this man who has no children destroys all 
 Macduff's pretty ones. As a flash of lightning on a 
 stormy night 
 
 Unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say " Behold! " 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up, 
 
 making that darkness more profound and gloomy, 
 so does Shakespeare by the introduction of this 
 child bring into bolder relief the blackness of Mac- 
 beth's heart. 
 
 Lady Macduff was not murdered on the stage. 
 Of the eleven violent deaths recorded in the play, 
 only two (those of Macduff's Son and Young 
 Siward) occur in presence of the audience. The 
 execution of Cawdor is announced by Malcolm. 
 Neither Duncan nor Banquo was murdered on the 
 stage. Nor were the grooms. Lady Macbeth com- 
 mitted suicide in the privacy of her own apart- 
 ment. Macbeth meets his fate at the hands of 
 Macduff, unseen by the audience. 1 The spectators 
 of the drama became cognizant of these violent 
 deaths only through narration. The channel 
 through which the facts were conveyed was not 
 visual, but aural; not the eye, but the ear. Shake- 
 speare shrunk from presenting them to view. They 
 were not scenically enacted. Rather he left them 
 to the imagination, and thereby appealed to the 
 
 1 There is a stage direction in the First Folio {Tragedies, p. 151), 
 as follows : " Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine." A little far- 
 ther on, still on the same page, is another : " Enter Macduffe ; with 
 Macbeth's head." I accept the latter as more correct, and upon it 
 base the opinion expressed above. 
 
Macbeth 1 1 1 
 
 interpretative sympathy of the spectators. In this 
 he conforms to one of his own qualifications of an 
 excellent play, viz., that it be set down with as much 
 modesty as cunning. Shakespeare's technique in this 
 respect was similar to that of the Greeks. 1 It was 
 also in direct contrast to that of his contemporaries.' 
 It combines exquisite refinement with the acme of 
 strength; to borrow his own simile, it is like a 
 dewdrop on a lions mane. In this he reveals the 
 hand of the master. Coarseness in the drama, as in 
 every form of art, implies crudeness.' "All great 
 art is delicate art, and all coarse art is bad art." ' 
 The bloody and repulsive details being veiled, these 
 deaths cease to be shocking, and become terrible.* 
 Thus, in the minor as in the major details of dra- 
 matic construction, Shakespeare manifests technical 
 perfection. 
 
 1 Cf. Leasing, Laokoon, chaps, ii., iii., xii. 
 
 1 Cf. Lowell, Old English Dramatists, p. 71, stq.; Saintsbury, 
 History of Elizabethan Literature, p. 395. 
 
 * But yet let nothing on the stage he brought 
 Which better should behind the scenes be wrought ; 
 Nor force th' unwilling audience to behold 
 What may with grace and elegance be told. 
 Let not Medea, with unnatural rage. 
 Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage ; 
 Nor Atreus his nefarious feast prepare. 
 Nor Cadmus roll a snake, nor Progne wing the air ; 
 For while upon such monstrous scenes we gaze, 
 They shock our faith, our indignation raise. 
 
 Horace, Art Pottita. 
 
 * Ruskin, Modern Painters, vol. iii., p. 39. 
 
 • " Imagination defies the bare fact, but creates the fearful feel- 
 ing." — Ruskin, Modern Painters, vol ii., p. no. 
 
ii2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 
 Lady Macbeth disappeared at the conclusion of 
 the Climax. At that time her work in the drama 
 was completed. She is not visible during the Fall. 
 At the beginning of the Catastrophe she reappears. 
 She is the same, and yet how changed ! During the 
 Banquet Scene she was every inch a queen, strong, 
 dominant, masterful. At the same time she was 
 the loyal, loving wife, to the last degree solicitous 
 for her husband's welfare. After this she disap- 
 pears, and nevermore takes an active part in the 
 action of the drama. When Shakespeare brings 
 her on the stage again (V., i) she is an utter wreck, 
 physically, mentally, morally. 
 
 She is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Her reason is dethroned, her strong will is broken. 
 Her 
 
 Intellectual power, through words and things, 
 Went sounding on a dim and perilous way! 
 
 Her mind wanders automatically over the events 
 of the past. She is a nature in ruins. 
 
 At first thought it seems impossible that the 
 Lady Macbeth of the Banquet Scene, manifesting 
 therein such a queenly, such a wifely character, 
 could change into the Lady Macbeth of the Catas- 
 trophe. One is led to ask, Has not Shakespeare, in 
 this changed condition of Lady Macbeth, violated 
 
Macbeth 1 1 3 
 
 the primal law of a drama, via., that it be organic ? 
 If Lady Macbeth had revealed her whole character 
 in the Banquet Scene, the answer would certainly 
 be in the affirmative. But she did not do this. 
 " Variations there are of temperature in the finest 
 season ; and the truest heart has not always the 
 same pulsations." ' No more, I may add, has the 
 falsest heart. Aristotle says some characters, to be 
 represented with uniformity, must be represented as 
 ununiform.' This Shakespeare has done in the case 
 of Lady Macbeth. He shows us in the Banquet 
 Scene the gracious queen, the loyal wife. But 
 there is another and dominating quality of her na- 
 ture, — that which was described by Malcolm in the 
 words, fiend-like queen. The Lady Macbeth of the 
 Catastrophe is the fiend-like queen of the fore part of 
 the play. In two brief verses Shakespeare, by a 
 masterly stroke, reveals this fact. The Doctor says: 
 
 Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds 
 Do breed unnatural troubles: 
 
 In these words the connection between the unnat- 
 ural troubles of the Catastrophe and the unnatural 
 deeds of the Growth and Climax is traced by Shake- 
 speare. The flower does not grow more naturally 
 from the root, nor the river flow from the spring, 
 than does the Lady Macbeth of Act V. develop from 
 
 1 Landor, edited by Colvin, p. 224. 
 
 * " The fourth [requisite of Manners] is uniformity; for even 
 though the model of the Poet's imitation be some person of ununi- 
 form manners, still that person must be represented as uniformly 
 ununiform." — Poetics, part ii., chap, xv., p. 144, Twining's trans- 
 lation. 
 
ii4 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the same lady of Acts II. and III. The after part 
 of this play is, in every detail, the outgrowth of the 
 fore part. The latter is in living, vital, organic con- 
 nection with the former. 
 
 But more, Shakespeare has made the two parts of 
 the play (I am referring only to Lady Macbeth's 
 part therein) Complement and Balance each other 
 with absolute perfection. An examination of the 
 subject in detail will reveal this. The Catastrophe 
 of this play is for Lady Macbeth a catastrophe in 
 the literal meaning of that word, viz., an overturn- 
 ing. The change in her condition from the close of 
 the Climax till her appearance in the Catastrophe is 
 most grave and momentous. It reveals the intense 
 mental and moral struggle through which she has 
 passed. It foretokens the final outcome of that 
 struggle. Yet it is not an unnatural, therefore not 
 inartistic, change. It is progress in the line of de- 
 velopment. To avoid a surprise which, by diversion, 
 would lessen the strain of the spectators, Shake- 
 speare prepares for that change by a brief conversa- 
 tion between a Doctor and a Waiting Gentlewoman. 
 I have said the movement of the Catastrophe must 
 be rapid. Shakespeare's dramatic construction con- 
 forms to this requisite. He never asks the spectator 
 to sympathize long with waning fortunes, with ebb- 
 ing men. He does not long delay an impending 
 judgment. In this conversation, which extends to 
 but a few lines, Lady Macbeth's changed condition 
 is foreshadowed. Thus, by " divinity of skill," 
 manifesting the nicest gradation, Shakespeare pre- 
 pares the spectator for the final appearance of Lady 
 
Macbeth 1 1 5 
 
 Macbeth. As this conversation is drawing to a 
 close she appears in a slumbcry agitation. She en- 
 ters alone. So did she at the beginning of the play. 
 She bears in her hand a taper. The Gentlewoman 
 informs us she lias light by her continually. At her 
 first entrance she had uttered this invocation: 
 
 Come, thick night, 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell. 
 
 That prayer has been answered. A darkness which 
 is physical, mental, moral, has enveloped her, and 
 has become so agonizing that she finds it unendur- 
 able. Hell is murky ! As some relief, she has light 
 by her continually ; 7 is her command. She rubs her 
 hands. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem 
 thus washing her hands. After the murder of Dun- 
 can, looking at her terror-stricken husband and then 
 at her bloody hands, she said: 
 
 My hands are of your colour; but I shame 
 To wear a heart so white. 
 
 A little water clears us of this deed: 
 How easy is it then! 
 
 But as she learns, or, rather, manifests (her reason is 
 dethroned, she learns nothing), washing her hands 
 even perseveringly (/ have known her continue in 
 this a quarter of an hour), it is not so easy to wash 
 away the blood and clear us of this deed. The first 
 words she utters lead us to infer the spot is not on 
 her hands, but in her mind, on her heart. Yet 
 lure 's a spot. Notwithstanding her most persistent 
 
n6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 washing, and her strongest conjuration, Out, damned 
 spot ! out, I say ! the spot remains. She realizes 
 this. What, will these hands ne'er be clean t Then, 
 with a sort of intensified sensitiveness, she at- 
 tributes to the blood not only color, but also odor.' 
 Here's the smell of the blood still ; all the perfumes 
 of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. 
 This woman, in whose nature there is not 
 
 as small a drop of pity 
 As a wren's eye, 
 
 does not weep. Rather, like Isabel, in Marlowe's 
 Edward II., her 
 
 Eyes, being turned to steel, 
 Would sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear. . 
 
 But her sorely-charged heart, filled with anguish, in- 
 tense, acute, finds relief in a sigh, which is full of 
 tragic pathos. What a revelation does that sigh 
 make! It is one of " those passionate convulsions 
 when our human nature, like the sea in earthquake, 
 is sucked away deep down from its habitual shores, 
 leaving bare for a moment slimy beds stirring with 
 loathsome life, and weedy tangles before undreamed 
 of, and instantly hidden again under the rush of its 
 reaction." * In like manner, this sigh reveals to us 
 the abysmal deeps of Lady Macbeth's personality, 
 wherein is raging one of those greater storms and 
 tempests than almanacs can report* 
 
 1 " Nothing awakens a reminiscence like an odor." — Victor Hugo, 
 Les Mistfrables, Jean Valjean, book 9th, chap, iv. 
 'Lowell, Old English Dramatists, p. 102. 
 1 Antony and Cleopatra, I., 2, 154. 
 
Macbeth 1 1 7 
 
 Once more her mind diseased reverts to the haunt- 
 ing and unforgettable deeds of the past. Again she 
 refers, this time in imagination addressing her hus- 
 band, to this spot of blood : Wash your hands. But 
 to no effect. All great Neptune's ocean cannot 
 wash the blood clean from her hand, for the blood 
 is not on her little hand, but in her distempered im- 
 agination, on her violated conscience. Her mind 
 then reverts to her final interview with her husband 
 just previous to Duncan's murder: 
 
 Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard ? What need 
 we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to 
 account ? 
 
 These words sound as if they had been uttered at 
 that interview. On that occasion she had said: 
 
 Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem ? 
 
 She then refers to Duncan : Who would have 
 thought the old man to have had so much blood in 
 him ? Doubtless she recalled the venerable old 
 man, who resembled her father, and the blood with 
 which she had gilded the faces of the grooms, For 
 it must seem their guilt. Then, for the nonce for- 
 getting that fatal night, she recalls the murder of a 
 woman : The Thane of Fife had a wife : where is she 
 now ? She thus reveals her guilty knowledge of 
 that murder, and recalls the deed to the memory 
 
n8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 of the spectator. Her unanswered question appeals 
 to the imagination and lifts the veil which separates 
 this world from 
 
 The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, 
 
 and out of whose silence no reply to her question 
 is heard. The Banquet Scene and Banquo's mur- 
 der are then referred to: 
 
 I tell you yet again, Banquo 's buried; he cannot 
 come out on 's grave. 
 
 But he does come out of his grave, and haunts not 
 only Macbeth, as he did at the Banquet, but also, 
 in this final stage of her career, Lady Macbeth. 
 
 With the exception of these brief allusions to 
 Lady Macduff and to Banquo, every word Lady 
 Macbeth utters in this final soliloquy refers directly 
 to that dark night, with its darker deeds, on which 
 Duncan was murdered. At the last, by a sort of 
 irresistible impulse, her delirious mind reverts to 
 that subject. The last words she speaks point di- 
 rectly to Duncan's murder: 
 
 To bed, to bed! there 's knocking at the gate; come, 
 come, come, come, give me your hand. What 's done 
 cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed! 
 
 The utterances are a perfect echo of Lady Mac- 
 beth's words spoken immediately after Duncan had 
 been slain : 
 
 I hear a knocking, 
 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber. 
 
 Hark! more knocking. 
 
Macbeth 119 
 
 Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us 
 And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 And later: 
 
 How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, 
 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 
 With them they think on ? Things without all remedy 
 
 Should be without regard: what 's done is done. 
 
 Then Lady Macbeth makes her exit, to be followed 
 shortly after by her exit from the world's stage. 
 Shakespeare prepares us for her violent death. The 
 Doctor, most delicately foreshadowing suicide, says: 
 
 Look after her; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 And still keep eyes upon her. 
 
 There are but two more references to her. Mac- 
 beth inquires: 
 
 How does your patient, doctor ? 
 The Doctor replies: 
 
 Not so sick, my lord, 
 As she is troubled with. thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 To this diagnosis of the Doctor, Macbeth uninten- 
 tionally, indirectly, but with unerring accuracy, 
 adds another: 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain. 
 And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 
120 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which weighs upon the heart ? 
 
 A little later there is heard a cry of women within. 
 Macbeth asks Seyton : 
 
 Wherefore was that cry ? 
 
 Seyton replies: 
 
 The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 
 Unable longer to bear her agony, she 
 
 by self and violent hands 
 Took off her life. 
 
 She dies by suicide. 
 
 In this brief scene, containing but eighty-eight 
 lines, Shakespeare uses the word hand no less than 
 six times. This is one of those verbal felicities 
 (" winged words," as Homer describes them) in 
 the use of which Shakespeare reveals his expres- 
 sional potency, his mighty power of pictorial speech. 
 The hand is the instrument by which the intellect 
 gives form and shape to its conceptions; it is the 
 minister by which the mandates of the will are ex- 
 ecuted. Shakespeare, by his oft-repeated use of 
 that word in this Scene, manifests " the power of 
 poetry, which is, by a single word perhaps, to in- 
 stil that energy into the mind which compels the 
 imagination to produce the picture." ' Lady Mac- 
 beth's reference to her hands, which is echoed by 
 the Doctor and the Gentlewoman, recalls the dag- 
 gers which those hands had placed in position : 
 
 'Coleridge, Lectures on Shakespeare, Bohn's edition, p. 138. 
 
Macbeth 121 
 
 I laid their daggers ready: 
 He could not miss 'em; 
 
 and to the bell which those hands rang, and which 
 signified to Macbeth that everything was in readi- 
 ness; and also to the fact that, after the murder, 
 those same hands 
 
 Gilded the faces of the grooms withal; 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 These guilty hands have now become Lady Mac- 
 beth's Nemesis. Conscience makes them the in- 
 strument of punishment, and this doubly. On the 
 last night Lady Macbeth's wandering mind returns 
 again and again to them, and to the blood thereon. 
 Later by these same hands she took off her life. 
 Thus Duncan's murder is revenged on Lady Mac- 
 beth, and by the self-same hands that laid the dag- 
 gers ready. 
 
 By an inexorable law, which applies both to na- 
 ture and to art, effects follow causes, penalty is the 
 result of transgression. Lady Macbeth's sufferings, 
 which are terrible and fatally destructive, are but 
 the legitimate result of that consecration to crime 
 which expressed itself in the invocation, one of the 
 most appalling in all literature: 
 
 Come, you spirits; seq. 
 
 This night on which Lady Macbeth walks in her 
 sleep is but the counterpart of that other night so 
 fatal to Duncan. The thoughts which flit through 
 her brain-sickly mind are but the reflections of the 
 
122 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 deeds done on that night. Duncan's murder is 
 revenged by the suicide of Lady Macbeth. And by 
 a poetic justice, which is both morally and artisti- 
 cally perfect, Shakespeare makes the murderer in 
 the latter case the woman who instigated and 
 planned, and with fell purpose urged forward to 
 completion, the murder of Duncan. The woman 
 who rang the bell, of which Macbeth said : 
 
 the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven or to hell, 
 
 is the same who by 
 
 self and violent hands 
 Took off her life. 
 
 Shakespeare's portrayal of Lady Macbeth's charac- 
 ter in the Catastrophe, in every particular, Comple- 
 ments and Balances the same in the Growth and 
 Climax. All the factors in the former blend per- 
 fectly with those in the latter. The effect, viewing 
 the play as a whole, is completeness and equilib- 
 rium. Thus we perceive Shakespeare's Dramatic 
 Construction reveals perfect Complement and Bal- 
 ance, and, resulting therefrom, perfect Symmetry. 
 
 What is technically the Central Point of the 
 Catastrophe, so far as that relates to Macbeth, is the 
 battle-field situated between Dunsinane Castle and 
 Birnam Wood. At the conclusion of the Fall (IV., 
 3), Malcolm said : 
 
 This tune goes manly. 
 Come, go we to the King; our power is ready; 
 
Macbeth 123 
 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. 
 
 The march toward Scotland is immediately begun. 
 
 Menteith (V., 2) informs us: 
 
 The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
 
 To join them the Scotch thanes who have revolted 
 march towards Birnam ; there, as Caithness says: 
 
 Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, 
 And with him pour we in our country's purge 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 In Dunsinane Castle, on the edge of this field, Mac- 
 beth is intrenched. Thus toward this battle-ground 
 everything in the Catastrophe converges. It is the 
 focal point to which the thoughts of the spectator 
 are directed. On it Macbeth and his army meet 
 Malcolm, Siward, the English forces, the Scotch 
 rebels. On it is fought the battle which brings 
 death to Macbeth, revenge and an earldom to Mac- 
 duff, the throne to Malcolm, and the play to an end. 
 In this respect, the conclusion of the play Com- 
 plements the beginning. In the Introduction the 
 scene is A Camp near Forres. There is a descrip- 
 tion of a battle between the rebels, led by the merci- 
 less Macdonwald, and Duncan's army, led by the 
 brave Macbeth. This is followed quickly by another 
 combat: 
 
 No sooner justice had with valour arm'd 
 Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, 
 But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, 
 
1 24 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men 
 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 Macbeth is again victorious, and shortly after ap- 
 pears in this drama. Thus his life as portrayed in 
 this play is rounded with a battle. It begins, it 
 ends, on the battle-field. What is true of his part 
 in the play is true of the drama as a whole: it 
 commences and concludes with a battle. In this 
 respect, the Introduction and the Catastrophe Com- 
 plement and Balance each other. 
 
 In order to judge accurately Shakespeare's con- 
 struction of the Catastrophe so far as it relates to 
 Macbeth, and to determine whether the play is one 
 organic whole, it is necessary to trace in detail his 
 development of the character of Macbeth. 
 
 Before the play opens vaulting ambition had sug- 
 gested to Macbeth succession to the throne. This 
 became to him so real, vivid, potent, that he spoke 
 of it to Lady Macbeth. In this frame of mind, re- 
 turning with Banquo from a victorious campaign he 
 meets the Witches. They hail him thane of 
 Glamis ! thane of Cawdor ! and king hereafter ! 
 They touch a responsive chord in him. The 
 Witches disappear. Ross and Angus, messengers 
 from Duncan, immediately arrive and inform Mac- 
 beth the King has appointed him thane of Cazvdor. 
 This news enkindles his ambition to a feverish, to a 
 murderous degree. It takes the form of a 
 
 suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 Against the use of nature. 
 
Macbeth 125 
 
 That suggestion is definitely described: 
 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Shakes so my single state of man that function 
 Is smothered in surmise. 
 
 He is not, however, ready to yield to that sugges- 
 tion. He decides on inaction. 
 
 If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Shortly after this, Duncan appoints Malcolm 
 Prince of Cumberland, which title carries with it the 
 right of succession. The effect on Macbeth's mind 
 was instant, powerful. He reaches the decision to 
 
 let that be 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 
 
 This but inaugurates a severe and prolonged strug- 
 gle in Macbeth's nature. After mature considera- 
 tion of the question, Macbeth decides to proceed no 
 further in this business. He yields, however, to the 
 tempter in the person of Lady Macbeth, and mur- 
 ders Duncan. This was the first of a long list of 
 murders. It was perpetrated only after a struggle 
 between right and wrong, between conscience and 
 an unscrupulous ambition. This conflict was so 
 sharp and protracted that it stirred Macbeth's na- 
 ture to its profoundest depths. 
 
 The murder of Duncan was followed by that of 
 the Grooms. In this case there was no hesitancy. 
 The deed was done quickly, on the impulse of the 
 moment. 
 
126 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The next step in Macbeth's career was the mur- 
 der of Banquo and attempted murder of Fleance. 
 This manifests marked progress in crime. Here 
 there was no wavering, no irresolution, as in the 
 case of Duncan; nor was it performed under the 
 influence of a sudden impulse. It was premedi- 
 tated, deliberate, carefully contrived. 
 
 The fourth stage in this criminal career is reached 
 when Macbeth's 
 
 nature is subdued 
 To what it works in. 1 
 
 Then he accepts his environment and adapts him- 
 self thereto : 
 
 I am in blood 
 Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er. 
 
 Without any compunction, and with the utmost 
 deliberation, he consecrates his future to crime: 
 
 Strange things I have in head that will to hand, 
 Which must be acted ere they may be scanned. 
 
 This resolution is immediately carried into action. 
 He murders Macduff's wife and children. Murder 
 has now become his principal occupation. He 
 revels, he gloats in it. 
 
 The final stage in Macbeth's development in 
 crime, that which is portrayed in the Catastrophe, 
 is homicidal mania. Caithness describes it: 
 
 1 Sonnet CXI. 
 
Macbeth 127 
 
 Some say he 's mad; others that lesser hate him 
 Do call it valiant fury. 
 
 Macbeth's soul is agitated. He feels himself in the 
 presence of fate. For him, to quote his own words 
 uttered just previous to the murder of Banquo: 
 
 Light thickens, and the crow 
 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood: 
 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse. 
 
 One after another unfavorable reports are brought 
 to him. The thanes fly from him; the English 
 force approaches; the Queen dies; Birnam Wood 
 begins to move; the leavy screens are throivn down 
 and reveal the English forces, led on by Malcolm, 
 Siward, Macduff, and re-enforced by the Scotch 
 thanes. Macbeth manifests a coolness and despera- 
 tion born of impending doom: 
 
 The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
 Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 
 
 He makes ready to contend with destiny for his life. 
 His courage, however, is not that of the man strong 
 in the right, who hath his quarrel just, but rather of 
 him who hath defied the right and knows doomsday 
 has come. He is desperate: 
 
 They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. 
 
 The imprisoned, pent-up forces of his nature find 
 vent in an intense and fiery ebullition: 
 
128 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Blow, wind! come, wrack! 
 At least we '11 die with harness on our back. 
 
 Once or twice, however, there have been what I 
 may term moral reactions. They are expressions of 
 that trait in his nature which he manifested just 
 after he had murdered Duncan. Fresh from that 
 deed, with his hands still covered with Duncan's 
 blood, he told his wife: 
 
 One cried, " God bless us! " and " Amen! " the other; 
 I could not say, " Amen! " 
 
 And then he seemed astonished that he could not 
 pronounce that word, that it stuck in his throat. In 
 all literature I know no more perfect example than 
 this of moral perversion. It is the very lunacy of 
 a distempered conscience. Macbeth seemed to be 
 utterly blind to the incongruity between his deed 
 and such a prayer. 
 
 In this respect, Macbeth was unlike Lady Mac- 
 beth. Never once in the course of the drama did 
 she utter a syllable expressive of regret or despair. 
 Her iron will, her remorseless ambition, from the 
 beginning to the end, assert their supremacy, and 
 to the very last continue the conflict with her moral 
 nature. Eventually retribution comes. It is sud- 
 den, fatal. It is an insanity which ends in suicide. 
 Macbeth, on the other hand, is at times controlled 
 by a better nature. Conscience warns. He hesi- 
 tates to do wrong. He regrets a wrong done. He 
 wishes Duncan could awake from his sleep of death 
 He sleeps 
 
Macbeth 129 
 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
 That shake us nightly. 
 
 Out of the depths of an agonized heart he cries: 
 
 O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! 
 
 These feelings, however, are but temporary, and 
 soon 
 
 are quelled 
 Beneath a mightier, sterner stress of mind. 1 
 
 The conflict between his better and his worse nature 
 continues to the end. The voice of conscience be- 
 comes fainter, the moral nature becomes weaker, 
 but still the former is heard, the latter asserts itself. 
 At the close of his career, Macbeth's deeds sit 
 heavy on his soul. Angus says: 
 
 Now does he feel 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
 Those he commands move only in command, 
 Nothing in love: seq. 
 
 Macbeth's own words after he is informed of the 
 flight of the thanes and the appearance of the 
 English force reveal to us the deep despondency, 
 the overwhelming sense of loneliness, which fill his 
 agitated soul : 
 
 Seyton! — I am sick at heart, 
 When I behold— Seyton, I say! — This push 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
 
 1 Landor, Count Julian. 
 
130 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 I have lived long enough: my way of life 
 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 
 I must not look to have; but, in their stead, 
 
 Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
 
 A little later, Lady Macbeth's death is announced. 
 He again gives expression to blank despair and des- 
 olation: 
 
 I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, 
 And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. 
 
 His anguish becomes intolerable. Suicide, the last 
 resort of those whose sufferings are excessive, whose 
 hopes are extinct, suggests itself. His despair, 
 however, is majestic. Without hesitancy or parley 
 he rejects the suggestion : 
 
 Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
 
 On mine own sword ? Whiles I see lives, the gashes 
 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Unlike Lady Macbeth, he neither becomes insane 
 nor commits suicide. In thus portraying the last 
 experiences of this man and this woman, Shake- 
 speare has been true to nature. The mighty oak 
 which stands upright and does not bend to the hur- 
 ricane, is suddenly uprooted and overthrown. The 
 willow which bends and sways, yielding to the 
 force of the tornado, withstands the cyclone. 
 
 The battle is fought. Macbeth kills Young 
 Siward, and in turn is slain by Macduff. Thus he 
 dies fighting, a death befitting a brave soldier. 
 
Macbeth 131 
 
 All true justice, poetic as well as moral, is " the 
 absolute art of measured recompense." 1 In the 
 soliloquy uttered before the murder of Duncan, 
 Macbeth had expressed this thought: 
 
 But in these cases 
 We still have judgment here; seq. 
 
 This is fulfilled in Macbeth's own experience. Be- 
 tween his sin and its retribution the balance is per- 
 fectly preserved. The murderer of Duncan and of 
 Banquo is allowed to fill out the measure of his 
 bloody career by the pitiless and inhuman slaughter 
 of Macduff's wife and children. By a poetic justice 
 which is perfect, Nemesis comes in the person of 
 Macduff. It was Macduff who induced Malcolm to 
 march into Scotland at the head of the English 
 force; who inaugurated and took an active part in 
 the campaign that followed ; who met and slew 
 Macbeth. Thus he revenged the murders of Dun- 
 can and Banquo; revenged Malcolm's wrongs; re- 
 venged the murder of his own wife and pretty ones. 
 He was the active agent in producing the Catas- 
 trophe, and afterward in bringing the Catastrophe, 
 and with it the play, to a conclusion. 
 
 In the play, Shakespeare also brings to a fitting 
 dramatic close the career of Malcolm. After Mac- 
 beth had murdered Duncan and seized the throne, 
 Tialcolm, the son and heir, fled to England. From 
 that time until near its very close he has taken no 
 part in the action of this drama. He disappears 
 during the Growth. During the Climax and Fall 
 
 1 Ruskin, Lecturts on Art, BrantwooU edition, p. 106. 
 
*3 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 he is absent. He reappears in the Catastrophe. The 
 throne, which had been unlawfully seized by Mac- 
 beth, now falls into the possession of its rightful 
 owner. Malcolm now, after a long interval of time, 
 obtains the throne, and is hailed by Macduff and 
 all, King of Scotland. 
 
 Aristotle says the object of tragedy is to effect, 
 through pity and terror, the correction and refine- 
 ment of those passions." ' A freer translation of 
 Aristotle's words is, "producing, by [the stimula- 
 tion of] pity and fear, the alleviating discharge of 
 emotions of that nature." * 
 
 In his Politics, Aristotle speaks of purifying the 
 passions. The passage throws a side-light on the 
 above quotation from the Poetics, and enables us to 
 apprehend Aristotle's meaning. The word he uses 
 in the Politics is Kat/iarsis, literally " purifying." 
 The aesthetical use of Kat/iarsis he compares to 
 musical cures effected by playing very exciting flute 
 music as a palliative for morbid excitement of the 
 mind. According to Lessing, 
 
 Aristotle intends to insist on the essential interconnec- 
 tion of sympathy and fear, in the sense that oar feeling 
 of a common nature and possibilities shared by ourself 
 and the person in the drama awaken in us the thought 
 of our own participation in that human destiny which 
 can do such things as we see.' 
 
 Professor Mahaffy's exposition of Aristotle's dic- 
 tum, which is in harmony with that of Goethe, is, 
 
 1 Poetics, part ii., section ii., p. 116, Twining's translation. 
 1 Bosanquet, History of ^Esthetic, p. 64. * Idem., p. 236. 
 
Macbeth 133 
 
 not that tragedy has a moral use, but an aesthetical 
 purpose: 
 
 That human pleasures and human griefs, apart from 
 their moral side, though not in conflict with it, require 
 to be raised and purified; and just as we train the taste 
 of the eye by ideal pictures and by the study of excep- 
 tionally beautiful scenery, so the compassion and the fear 
 of the ordinary citizen may be purified by showing him 
 higher and nobler objects for its exercise. 1 
 
 As a matter of fact, a great tragedy appeals both 
 to the moral and to the aesthetical nature, and, by 
 exercising, purifies them. It therefore seems to me 
 likely that Aristotle referred to both. 
 
 A most exhaustive, profound, and lucid explana- 
 tion of Aristotle's words is that of Dallas: 1 
 
 Why are pity and terror selected as, above all others, 
 the tragic emotions ? How do we get at these two and 
 shut out the rest ? . . . There is some disparity 
 between the words pity and terror, which goes to veil the 
 true significance in tragedy of the things they stand for. 
 Thus, pity is the emotion of a spectator at the grief 
 which he sees in another; it is sympathy with grief. 
 Terror, on the other hand, stands equally for terror and 
 sympathy with terror. We have no special term for 
 sympathy with terror, as we have for sympathy with 
 grief. Therefore, for the sake of exactness, and that 
 the words may go perfectly in pairs, let us fall back on 
 a circumlocution. It will then appear that, according 
 
 1 History of Classical Greek Literature, vol. ii., p. 407. 
 1 TKt Gay Science, vol. ii., pp. 53, 54. 
 
134 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 to Aristotle's famous definition, the object of tragedy is 
 to produce the pleasure of sympathy with grief, and of 
 sympathy with terror. And then, also, we are in a posi- 
 tion to see that this analysis of painful emotion is 
 exhaustive, and to present the definition of tragedy as 
 follows: It is the object of tragedy to excite pleasure 
 through a discipline of pain. But pain is either of the 
 known or of the unknown. As of the known, it awakens 
 grief; as of the unknown, fear. The one is a painful 
 feeling based on experience; the other a painful feeling 
 born of anticipation. And, therefore, all the painfulness 
 of the passions with which tragedy has to do must work 
 up either to pity or to terror; that is, to sympathy either 
 with the known or with the unknown of pain. 
 
 Professor Woodberry's interpretation of this 
 much-disputed dictum of the Stagirite, while not so 
 subtle as that of Dallas, is scholarly and luminous: 
 
 It is not credible to me that painful emotion, under 
 the illusions of art, can become pleasurable in the com- 
 mon sense; what pleasure there is arises only in the 
 climax and issue of the action, as in case of the drama 
 when the restoration of the order that is joyful, beauti- 
 ful, right, and wise occurs; in other words, in the pres- 
 ence of the final poetic justice or reconciliation of the 
 disturbed elements of life. 1 
 
 It is the mission of a great tragedy, as of every 
 great work of art, to stimulate both sensation and 
 perception, and to produce, as a result thereof, emo- 
 tion. It makes one feel, feel deeply, intensely, and 
 
 1 Heart of Man, p. 153! 
 
Macbeth 135 
 
 through the whole gamut of the emotions. It 
 brings one into sympathy not with real but with 
 fictitious passion, which has been made real by the 
 imagination. Its primary function is to evoke and 
 intensify pity and fear. A profound feeling is ele- 
 mental, like fire or water, and, like them, sublime, 
 even if perverted. The raging torrent, the consum- 
 ing fire, even though destructive, are magnificent. 
 So the portrayal in a tragedy of a great passion de- 
 livers the soul from its debilities. It dispels emo- 
 tional torpor, exercises the feelings, particularly 
 those of pity and fear, and has the effect, described 
 by Aristotle, of correcting, refining, stimulating 
 them. This drama performs this function. It por- 
 trays the mighty and prolonged struggle of two 
 strong natures who defied the eternal laws of right. 
 With all its varying phases of success and failure 
 that conflict is described. As it progresses, the 
 drama becomes more and more impassioned. As 
 it nears the conclusion, in the description of the vio- 
 lent deaths of Lord and Lady Macbeth, it becomes 
 inexpressibly pathetic, reaches a tragic exaltation 
 which is sublime. It appeals to and stimulates pity 
 and fear, both " with the known and the unknown 
 of pain" ; and, in this respect, it is in conformity with 
 the canons of art. 
 
 A great drama is also organic. In this, likewise, 
 its artistic perfection is manifested. From the first 
 line of the Introduction to the last line of the 
 Catastrophe it is one living whole. The Catas- 
 trophe is not artificial, forced, arbitrary. The char- 
 acters and fates of the Macbeths as portrayed in the 
 
136 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Catastrophe are not such because Shakespeare has 
 so willed. They are the natural and inevitable fruit 
 of the deeds described in the Growth, Climax, Fall. 
 The doom which befell the Macbeths is in strict ac- 
 cord with the universal law that everything must 
 bear fruit after its kind. Rebellion has begotten 
 rebellion, murder has generated murder. " This 
 perpetual relation of the events with the characters 
 is the principle of dramatic poetry. Whatever re- 
 sults to the hero is the fruit of his own acts." ' 
 
 Thus, studying this drama from the standpoint of 
 its construction, we recognize in it an example, well- 
 nigh perfect, of Shakespeare's architectonics. It 
 touches the very summit of intense dramatic pre- 
 sentation. It is a masterpiece. 
 
 1 Hegel, Aesthetics, 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE * 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I., I, 2. 
 
 NO one of Shakespeare's plays is more popular 
 than the Merdiant of Venice. None is more 
 misunderstood. The opinion is almost universal 
 that the Main Action is the loan made by Shylock 
 to Antonio, and the consequences thereof. This 
 opinion is wholly mistaken. The error is the result 
 of two causes: ignorance of dramatic construction, 
 and the conventional method of staging the play. 
 The star actor in the cast almost always assumes the 
 character of Shylock. This gives that character the 
 primary position in the presentation, and exagger- 
 ates its importance. 
 
 The Main Action of this drama is the wooing 
 of Portia by Bassan io, and all the consequences 
 thereof. If Bassanio had not been in love with 
 Portia and desired to win her hand in marriage the 
 loan of Shylock to Antonio would never have been 
 
 1 This study of the Merchant of Venice was originally published 
 in Werner's Magazine. It is republished here by permission of the 
 Edgar S. Werner Publishing and Supply Co., New York. 
 
 137 
 
13 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 made, Antonio borrowed the three thousand ducats 
 from Shylock for one and only one purpose, viz., 
 to enable Bassanio to go to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 The Main Action of a drama bears the same rela- 
 tion to all other parts of the play that the spinal 
 column does to all the other parts of a man's body. 
 The Main Action is the backbone of a play. Every- 
 thing in the play is dependent upon, subsidiary to 
 that. In the Merchant of Venice, the loan of Shy- 
 lock to Antonio, the wooing of Gratiano and Ne- 
 rissa, of Lorenzo and Jessica, which are Sub-Actions, 
 are the result of, are dependent upon, are inextri- 
 cably connected with, the wooing of Bassanio and 
 Portia. Had it not been for the latter no loan 
 would have been made; Gratiano would not have 
 met and wooed Nerissa, nor would Jessica have be- 
 come a Christian and Lorenzo's loving wife. The 
 Main Action of the play, therefore, is the wooing of 
 Portia by Bassanio, and everything else in it is 
 secondary thereto, and is the result thereof. 
 
 The play opens by presenting to us a group of 
 three men, Antonio, Salarino, Salanio. After a 
 brief conversation they are joined by Bassanio, the 
 most noble kinsman of Antonio, Gratiano, and Lo- 
 renzo. The arrival of the last three is followed 
 almost immediately by the exit of Salarino and 
 Salanio. Having made an engagement to meet 
 Bassanio at dinner, Gratiano and Lorenzo shortly 
 after retire. Antonio and Bassanio are thus left 
 alone. They then hold a conversation, with which 
 the Scene concludes, 
 
 I. Antonio is sad. All the others are merry. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 139 
 
 Antonio was not a cynic. On the contrary, he was 
 genial, kindly, lovable, loving. Between him and 
 these young men there was a strong bond of friend- 
 ship. To Salarino he said : 
 
 Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 
 When Bassanio said to Antonio 
 
 from your love I have a warranty 
 To unburden all my plots and purposes, 
 
 the latter, without a moment's delay, and like the 
 honorable man and true friend he was, replied: 
 
 And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honour, be assured, 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 
 
 Antonio was not only loving, he was also lovable. 
 His affection was reciprocated. Gratiano said : 
 
 I tell thee what, Antonio — 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks. 
 
 Bassanio acknowledged his great indebtedness to 
 Antonio both in money and in love. Antonio's sad- 
 ness, therefore, was not like that of Jacques, cyni- 
 cal; or like that of Macbeth, the outgrowth of a 
 selfish, unloving, diabolic nature. Nor was it caused 
 by anxiety about his merchandise, or by being in 
 love, as Salanio and Salarino thought. Neither 
 was it an affectation of wisdom as Gratiano said. 
 
uo Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It was not the scholar s melancholy, which is emula- 
 tion, nor the musician s, which is fantastical, nor the 
 courtier s, which is proud, nor the soldier s, which is 
 ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the 
 lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all 
 these. 1 It was a presentiment of coming trouble. 
 It was derived from some forefather grief In its 
 nature it was similar to-that of the Queen of Richard 
 II., who said: 
 
 ... methinks, 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
 Is coming towards me, and my inward soul 
 With nothing trembles.* 
 
 Antonio's sadness was a vague apprehension of 
 future distress. It was the shadow of a coming and 
 painful event. Its dramatic purpose was to fore- 
 shadow the tragic in the play.' 
 
 The group of young men by whom Antonio is 
 surrounded in this Scene is jolly, careless, merry. 
 Bassanio's first words, addressed to Salanio and Sal- 
 arino as they are about to retire, are : Good signiors 
 both, when shall we laugh ? Bassanio and his friends 
 
 1 As You Like It, IV., I., 10, seq. 
 
 * Richard II., II., 2, 9, seq. 
 
 * Antonio's treatment of Shylock, which was insulting, harsh, al- 
 most cruel, is not inconsistent with this estimate of his character. 
 Antonio's conduct toward Shylock was the result of a just and in- 
 tense indignation awakened by the latter's treatment of helpless 
 debtors. 
 
 11 I oft delivered from his forfeitures 
 Many that have at times made moan to me." 
 Indignation and wrath toward inhumanity are but the converse of 
 love toward benevolence. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 14 1 
 
 form a marked contrast to Antonio. By means of 
 them Shakespeare betokens the joy and happiness 
 which are portrayed in the drama, and with which 
 it ends. In four verses Shakespeare with unerring 
 skill touches these two chords, sad and merry, 
 which are to vibrate through the play: 
 
 Then let us say you are sad, 
 Because you are not merry; and 't were as easy 
 For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry, 
 Because you are not sad. 
 
 The sad Antonio, the merry young men, intro- 
 duced to us in this opening Scene, both embody 
 and foretoken the tragic and the comic in the play. 
 
 II. Antonio was a rich merchant. The young 
 men, without exception, were impecunious. They 
 were poor, improvident, prodigal. Every one of 
 them, if candid, could have made a statement 
 similar to that of Bassanio: 
 
 'T is not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 By something showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance. 
 
 Lorenzo, Gratiano, when they wooed, could have 
 said as did Bassanio: 
 
 Gentle lady, 
 When I did first impart my love to you, 
 I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
 Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman. 
 
i4 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Hence the young men attributed Antonio's sadness 
 to the dangers which threatened his argosies: 
 
 I know, Antonio 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 
 
 When Antonio assured them they were mistaken, 
 they immediately jumped to the conclusion: 
 
 Why, then you are in love. 
 
 In this conversation the action of the drama is fore. 
 shadowed. The Main Action is the love affair ol 
 Bassanio and Portia. The principal Sub-Action it 
 the loan of three thousand ducats, and the tragic 
 outcome of that loan. Thus, we perceive the Main 
 and the principal Sub-Action refer to love and 
 money. In the first Scene of the Introduction 
 those subjects are referred to, commented on, and 
 impressed on the mind of the spectator. 
 
 III. The most important factor in this Scene h 
 Bassanio's conversation with Antonio. It is in 
 direct connection not only with the Main Action, 
 but also with the principal Sub-Action. Both arc 
 the outcome of it. This conversation is first retro 
 spective. Antonio opens it by asking a question: 
 
 Well, tell me now what lady is the same 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promised to tell me of ? 
 
 Bassanio, after describing his insolvent condition, 
 said : 
 
The Merchant of Venice 143 
 
 In Belmont is a lady richly left; 
 And she is fair and, fairer than that word, 
 Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages: 
 Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia: 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
 That I should questionless be fortunate! 
 
 In these lines the Main Action is clearly fore- 
 shadowed. Antonio's suggestion, which is in reply, 
 is the source of the principal Sub-Action: 
 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do: 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is, and I no question make 
 To have it of my trust or for my sake. 
 
 In this Scene the hero, his kinsman Antonio, and 
 his young friends are introduced. All that it is ne- 
 cessary the spectator should know, both of Antonio's 
 and Bassanio's past, is related. The future experi- 
 ences of each are foreshadowed. The Scene closes 
 with arrangements for securing the loan necessary 
 to enable Bassanio to woo Portia. 
 
 Shakespeare now transfers the scene of the drama 
 from Venice to Belmont. A room in Portia s house. 
 The principal female characters in the play, Portia 
 
i44 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 and Nerissa, enter. The first words uttered by 
 Portia, like those spoken by Antonio, express weari- 
 ness, unrest : 
 
 By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this 
 great world. 
 
 Portia's feeling is hardly one of sorrow. It is not 
 so pronounced as that. Rather it is a sweet, dainty, 
 sentimental melancholy, born of that unsatisfied 
 longing of her nature to love and to be loved. 
 This she reveals a moment later, when she says: 
 
 But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a 
 husband. 
 
 The artistic effect of Portia's, like Antonio's, 
 opening words is twofold: by means of them the 
 tragic in the play is foreshadowed ; also, the happi- 
 ness pervading the latter part of the play is brought 
 into bolder relief and made more vivid. " The true 
 nurse of light is in art, as in nature, the cloud; a 
 misty and tender darkness, made lovely by grada- 
 tion." ' Shakespeare in the Introduction of this 
 play conforms to this law of Nature and of Art. By 
 a skilful use of Gradation and Contrast, the weari- 
 ness and sadness pervading the Introduction con- 
 trast with the gladness and joy of the Catastrophe. 
 The result is, the latter are made more radiant. 
 
 Portia describes her body as little. This is one 
 of those minor touches in which Shakespeare mani- 
 fests his genius. He possessed a most vivid percep- 
 tion of the connotive as well as the denotive effect 
 
 1 Ruskin, Lectures on Art, Brantwood edition, p. 205. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 145 
 
 of words. " The power of poetry," says Cole-' 
 ridge, " is, by a single word perhaps, to instil that 
 energy into the mind which compels the imagination 
 to produce the picture." ' Shakespeare frequently 
 by the use of an adjective manifests the power of 
 poetry to stimulate the imagination. Prospero, de- 
 scribing to Miranda the ill-treatment of his brother, 
 said: 
 
 . . . one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me and thy crying self. 
 
 What more perfectly could suggest a picture of 
 helpless and suffering infancy than the word crying ? 
 Lady Macbeth in the agony of remorse says: 
 
 All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
 hand. 
 
 Immediately the imagination conceives a woman, 
 not large, gross, Amazonian, but small, delicate; 
 one whose crimes, therefore, are all the more ap- 
 palling. Shylock describes his hate toward Antonio 
 as a lodg'd hate. That adjective defines with the 
 utmost accuracy the nature of Shylock's antipathy 
 to Antonio. Amongst the first words Portia utters 
 are my little body. The phrase, which in itself is 
 very descriptive, becomes all the more forceful by 
 contrast with this great world. Portia's description 
 of herself leads us to imagine her as small, gentle. 
 
 1 Lectures on Shakespeare, Bonn's edition, p. 138. 
 
H 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 refined, and in every way feminine. So far as het 
 physical nature is concerned, she is a counterpart of 
 Imogen, of whom Iachimo said: 
 
 All of her that is out of door most rich! 
 
 To return from this digression: at the beginning 
 of this Scene the chord of sadness is just touched 
 by Portia when Nerissa tells us all that it is neces- 
 sary to know of Portia's circumstances. She is 
 rich, her good fortunes are abundant. Portia's 
 reply to Nerissa reveals herself as not only pensive 
 and romantic, but also practical. She utters a 
 word, Choose, that is to resound all tfi ough the 
 play. Again and again does Shakespeare repeat 
 this word in this Scene. The Scene is brief, but 
 choose occurs in it ten times, and the cognate word 
 chosen once. Every time it is repeated it points to 
 the three caskets on which are the inscriptions: 
 
 " Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire "; 
 " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves "; 
 " Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." 
 
 Thus by iteration and reiteration of this word the 
 mind of the spectator is directed to the caskets, 
 the choice of one of which by Bassanio forms the 
 Climax of the play. 
 
 Nerissa then refers to the will of Portia's father, 
 and asks, 
 
 But what warmth is there in your affection towards 
 any of these princely suitors that are already come ? 
 
 Portia's reply to this question, which constitutes the 
 
The Merchant of Venice 147 
 
 largest part of this Scene, is important for two 
 reasons, viz., (1) it describes her suitors; (2) it in- 
 directly describes herself. 
 
 The suitors come from Italy, Germany, France, 
 England, Scotland. The character of each is dis- 
 cerned by Portia by means of that perfect intuition 
 which woman possesses, and in the exercise of 
 which she is so superior to man. The Neapolitan 
 is a horseman and nothing more. He doth nothing 
 but talk of his horse . The only accomplishment of 
 which he can boast is he can shoe the horse. The 
 County Palatine is grim, gloomy, he doth nothing 
 but frown. He smiles not. Humor is an absolute 
 requisite of a sane mind. Shakespeare endows his 
 perfect characters with it. Portia possessed it in a 
 highly developed degree. Her analysis of the 
 wooers is keen, thoughtful, accurate; at the same 
 time it is suffused with a humor which is subtle, 
 delicate. The Frenchman is superficial, weak. His 
 accomplishments are l'mited to dancing, fencing. 
 If a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he 
 "will fence with his oivn shadow. Falconbridge lacks 
 individuality. The Scotchman is unmanly. The 
 German is gross. These suitors are all deficient in 
 those qualities which constitute the ideal husband. 
 The y lack cultured intellects, strength of wi ll, 
 nobi lity of nature, refinement, lovableness. P ortia 
 rejects them all. There is not one among them b ut I 
 dote o n his very absence, she sa ys. 
 
 Portia's description of her suitors is also a revela- 
 tion of herself. Our opinions are reflexes of our- 
 selves. If Portia had been attracted to these lovers 
 
M 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 she would have been more or less like them. Re- 
 jecting them, she proves thereby she is unlike them. 
 This is the law of sympathy. There can be no love 
 without sympathy. Falstaff knew this, and was 
 shrewd enough to pretend that his feigned love for 
 Mistress Page was based on sympathy: 
 
 Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love 
 use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his 
 counsellor. You are not young, no more am I; goto 
 then, there's sympathy: you are merry, so am I; ha, 
 ha! then there's more sympathy: you love sack, and 
 so do I ; would you desire better sympathy ? 
 
 Thus Falstaff, although gross, unloving, hypocriti- 
 cal, was shrewd enough to recognize the fact that 
 sympathy is an essential quality of love, and was 
 cunning enough to pretend to Mistress Page that 
 his simulated affection for her was based on sym- 
 pathy. Portia, speaking of the bond of love which 
 existed between Antonio and Bassanio, infers there- 
 from that the former must be like the latter: 
 
 For in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time together, 
 Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit; 
 Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
 Must needs be like my lord. 
 
 Portia's reasoning was strictly correct. As love be- 
 tween two persons proves there must be sympathy 
 
The Merchant of Venice 149 
 
 between them, so also is the converse true. Dislike 
 between two persons manifests a lack of sympathy. 
 Hence, Portia, in rejecting these suitors, reveals 
 herself as being unlike them. These men, whose 
 intellects are vapid, whose tastes are gross, sensuous, 
 are repellent to this woman whose intuitions are 
 unerring, whose intellect is cultured, and whose pas- 
 sions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure 
 love. 
 
 There was, however, one other suitor, and to him 
 Portia was attracted. Nerissa asked her: 
 
 Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a 
 Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hither in 
 company of the Marquis of Montferrat ? 
 
 Portia did remember him. It was Bassanio. Then 
 Nerissa said : 
 
 He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked 
 upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. 
 
 Portia endorses this opinion : 
 
 I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of 
 thy praise. 
 
 The attraction of this couple to each other seems 
 to have been immediate. Prospero's description of 
 the love of Ferdinand and Miranda applies equally 
 well to that of Bassanio and Portia: 
 
 At the first sight 
 They have chang'd eyes. 
 
150 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 While Portia did not speak with her lips, she did 
 with her eyes. They involuntarily, instinctively, 
 disclosed to Bassanio her passion. He said to 
 Antonio: 
 
 Sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages. 
 
 The attraction was also mutual. Bassanio said o! 
 Portia: 
 
 In Belmont is a lady richly left; 
 And she is fair and, fairer than that word, 
 Of wondrous virtues. 
 
 While Portia did not in words tell Bassanio of her 
 sentiments, she did tell Nerissa, and at the same 
 time ourselves, by echoing Nerissa's praise of him. 
 The flower is potentially in the seed. From the 
 nature of the seed we can infer with unerring ac- 
 curacy the species of the flower. The law of Nature 
 that every living thing must " bear fruit after its 
 kind " applies equally to Art. If this play is perfect, 
 the Portia of the Climax and the Catastrophe must 
 be the same as the Portia of the Introduction, only 
 developed, matured, perfected. This she is. The 
 Portia whose little body is aiveary of this great world, 
 who abides faithfully by the restrictions of her 
 father's will, who is dissatisfied with all of her 
 wooers except Bassanio, and who remembers him 
 as best deserving a fair lady is potentially the wise, 
 gracious, soulful, queenly woman who becomes the 
 wife of Bassanio, and the saviour of Antonio. 
 
 The Scene ends with the departure of the re- 
 
The Merchant of Venice 15 l 
 
 jected suitors, and the announcement of the coming 
 of a fifth, the Prince of Morocco. 
 
 The Introduction of this play is composed wholly 
 of conversation, narration. Nothing has been done. 
 In Scene I only men were introduced, in Scene 2 
 only women. Omitting further reference to Scene 
 i, in Scene 2 all that it is necessary for us to know 
 of Portia's past and present history, her wealth, her 
 father's will, her wooers, is revealed. The future 
 is foreshadowed. The word choose points to the 
 caskets. The opinion of Bassanio, expressed by 
 Nerissa, and endorsed by Portia, indicates him as 
 the successful chooser. That choice is the Climax 
 of the play, and upon it the success of the drama 
 hinges. This Scene, and also the Introduction as a 
 whole, are closed by the shutting of the gates of 
 Portia's mansion at Belmont upon the departing 
 suitors. When they are reopened for the entrance 
 of the Prince of Morocco, the action of the drama, 
 so far as Portia is a factor therein, begins. 
 
 Such is the perfect Introduction. It is both ret- 
 rospective and prospective. Detail after detail, 
 each one of which is apposite, is mentioned with a 
 cumulative effect. Omit one of them and the In- 
 troduction would become imperfect, as much as the 
 removal of a petal from a flower, a note from the 
 song of the bird or from a symphony, would mar 
 the perfection and beauty of the flower, the song, 
 the symphony. " Beauty," said Michelangelo, "is 
 the purgation of superfluities." Each word, each 
 sentence in this Introduction is necessary to its 
 perfection, and each, like the stars appearing one 
 
152 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 after another in early evening, contributes its ray of 
 light. 
 
 The Introduction if complete must not only ap- 
 peal to the intellect, it must also stimulate the 
 emotions. The merry and sad are but the precur- 
 sors of the tragic and the comic which permeate the 
 play. They foreshadow the fiendish malignity of 
 Shylock, the acute and pathetic suffering of An- 
 tonio, the joy of the three pairs of happy lovers, 
 which, in each case, finds its consummation in 
 marriage. 
 
 Thus Shakespeare, the artist, follows the method 
 of the Creator. Art imitates Nature. The coming 
 storm is presaged by rolling thunder, dark, threaten, 
 ing clouds. The bright, sunshiny day is heralded 
 by the aurora. 
 
 THE ARGOSIES 
 
 Before proceeding to study the Growth, the next 
 division of the drama, I wish to consider Antonio's 
 argosies. 
 
 It is a canon of Art that there must not be in the 
 finished product any factor, no matter how trivial, 
 how insignificant, which does not in some way, to 
 some degree, conduce to the general effect. When 
 applied to a drama this means there must be no lay 
 figure, no action, no word, which does not aid in 
 producing the Catastrophe. In this play Shake- 
 speare has introduced argosies. What is their dra- 
 matic function ? They constitute the Environing 
 Action. 
 
 The Environing Action is not the environment 
 
The Merchant of Venice 153 
 
 The latter is the local color, the pervasive atmos- 
 phere, the general conditions surrounding a drama. 
 It pertains to topography, or to the period when the 
 action took place, or to social conditions, e. g., in- 
 tellectual, moral, national. It is to a drama what 
 the setting is to a gem or a story or a melody. Nor, 
 as the term erroneously implies, is the Environing 
 Action an action. It may be defined as an influ- 
 ence, a stimulating circumstance, external to the 
 action of the drama, yet indirectly affecting that 
 action. 
 
 While the Environing Action is not the environ- 
 ment, it must be in perfect harmony therewith. In 
 a work of Art there must be harmony of effects. 
 This is one principle underlying the Greek law of 
 Unity. That law was, a drama should be restricted 
 to the portrayal of one action, occurring in one place, 
 and on one day. While in some respects imperfect 
 and misleading, it contained a fundamental truth, 
 vis., that in a drama the environment must be in 
 harmony with the action. Buckingham, speaking 
 of Wolsey, said : 
 
 His mind and place 
 Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally. 
 
 In a drama the environment and the action must be 
 harmonious; between the two there must be a living 
 correspondence, each infecting one another, yea, 
 reciprocally. ' 
 
 If Shakespeare had introduced Venetian argosies 
 
 1 '* But if in foreign realms you fix your scene, 
 Their genius, customs, dialects maintain." 
 
 Ars Poetica. 
 
154 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 into Macbeth, or Scotch witches into the Merchant 
 of Venice, he would have violated this canon of dra- 
 matic art. He makes no such mistake. On the 
 contrary, the introduction of the argosies as the En- 
 vironing Action in this play is in the highest degree 
 artistic, and in thorough accord with the environ- 
 ment. Venice, the scene of the play, was the 
 " Bride of the Sea." ' She was so called from the 
 ancient ceremony of the doge throwing a ring into 
 the Adriatic Sea, saying as he did so, " We wed 
 thee, O Sea! in token of perpetual domination." 
 She was a great water commonwealth, founded upon 
 numerous islands between which the " many twink- 
 ling " waters of the Adriatic ebbed and flowed. She 
 had no broad footing upon the land. She was built 
 on the shifting sands of lagoons and morasses. Her 
 prosperity, her very life, depended on the sea. Her 
 dominion was on the waters. Her navies were at that 
 time, the twelfth and immediately succeeding cen- 
 turies, the most powerful on earth. Her mariners 
 knew all the coasts of Europe. Before Columbus 
 was born they found their way to Iceland, Labra- 
 dor, and, it is claimed by some, to Newfoundland. 
 Marco Polo had prayed to St. Mark in Tartary, In- 
 dia, Cathay. At the end of the thirteenth century 
 the golden ducats of Dandolo came into existence. 
 They were carried far beyond the confines of Eu- 
 rope. Clive, after the battle of Plassy, came upon 
 the hoarded treasures of the East, and found ducats 
 carried of old to these distant regions by Venetian 
 traders. Venetian galleys carried wine to England. 
 
 1 Cf. Dallas, The Gay Science, vol. ii., p. 253, seq. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 155 
 
 On the return voyages they brought iron from 
 Staffordshire, tin from Cornwall and Devon, woo' 
 from Sussex. They transported honey to the Scyth- 
 ians; wood to the Greeks and the Egyptians; saf- 
 fron, oil, linen, to Syria, Persia, Arabia. In a word, 
 the Venetians were in the twelfth century what the 
 English were in the nineteenth, the great carriers of 
 the world. The postal service between Germany 
 and Constantinople was accomplished by Venetian 
 galleys. At that early period the Pope sent a mes- 
 sage to the Ducal government, requesting free navi- 
 gation of the Gulf of Venice. The Doge replied: 
 "Venice, having no lands, depended on the sea; 
 her home and paths were on the deep. It was, 
 therefore, of vital importance to her that the Lion 
 of St. Mark should rule the water." The Pope's 
 request was denied. 
 
 The scene of this lovely drama was a maritime re- 
 public. In perfect harmony therewith is the En- 
 vironing Action, which is the argosies of Antonio. 
 With the opening words of the Introduction, they 
 are brought to the attention of the spectator. Fre- 
 quently, as the action of the play progresses, are 
 they referred to. At the end of the Catastrophe, 
 Portia speaks of them to Antonio. All the while 
 do they, as it were, sail on the outskirts of the ac- 
 tion of this drama, exerting thereon an invisible, 
 silent, but potent influence. 
 
 Salarino, in the opening lines of the play, refers 
 to them as the cause of Antonio's sadness: 
 
 Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
 There, where your argosies with portly sail, 
 
156 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
 That curtsy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Salanio continues in the same strain, and describes 
 the dangers which threaten them. These dangers 
 are real, and eventually bring to a climax the tragic 
 in the play. This reference to these dangers is in- 
 tended by Shakespeare to be a premonitory sugges- 
 tion, a mysterious hint. 
 
 After Bassanio has revealed to Antonio his love 
 for Portia, and asked financial assistance to enable 
 him to woo her, Antonio said: 
 
 Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea. 
 
 The next reference to the argosies is made by Shy- 
 lock. Bassanio has offered Antonio as security for 
 the loan. Shylock considers Antonio's availability 
 as such : 
 
 Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy 
 bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, 
 moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, 
 a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squan- 
 dered abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but 
 men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves 
 and land-thieves, I mean pirates, and then there is the 
 peril of waters, winds and rocks 
 
 The dangers threatening the argosies, which have 
 already been referred to by Salarino and Salanio, 
 
The Merchant of Venice 157 
 
 are here described by Shylock more vividly. These 
 perils, which, up to this time, have been merely un- 
 substantial, imaginary, now become real. A vessel 
 is lost. Salarino said: 
 
 I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, 
 Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
 The French and English, there miscarried 
 A vessel of our country richly fraught: 
 I thought upon Antonio when he told me, 
 And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 
 
 A little later this rumor is reiterated by Salarino, 
 who says : 
 
 It lives there [on the Rialto] unchecked, that Antonio 
 hath a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas ; 
 the Goodwins, I think they call the place. 
 
 This report is confirmed by Salanio: 
 
 But it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing 
 the plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the 
 honest Antonio, . . . hath lost a ship. 
 
 What Shakespeare from the beginning delicately 
 foreshadowed has now taken place. Antonio . . . 
 hath lost a ship. This was but the beginning of 
 Antonio's misfortunes. 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 But in battalions. 
 
 Tubal when in Genoa seeking Shylock's daughter 
 and ducats heard that Antonio 
 
i5 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. 
 
 This is followed very shortly by the sad news con- 
 veyed to Bassanio in Antonio's letter: 
 
 Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried. 
 
 This news, so unexpected, following so quickly Bas- 
 sanio's good fortune in winning Portia, seems to 
 him incredible. Turning to Salerio, he inquires: 
 
 But is it true, Salerio ? 
 Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ? 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, 
 From Lisbon, Barbary and India ? 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant-marring rocks ? 
 
 Salerio replies, Not one, my lord. As a result An- 
 tonio's 
 
 creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to 
 the Jew is forfeit. 
 
 The Climax of the drama has been reached. As 
 a consequence, both the nature and the direction of 
 the action are changed. Previously comic or roman- 
 ti c. it now temporarily becomes tragi c. Before it 
 hac[ ascended to the Cli max; now it desc ends to the 
 Catastrophe. Immediately after the reading of An- 
 tonio's letter, the Fall, the fourth dramatic division, 
 begins. That, in this play, is very brief, and con- 
 tains no reference to the argosies. At the beginning 
 of the Catastrophe, the Duke, in his address to Shy- 
 lock, alludes to them and their loss: 
 
The Merchant of Venice 159 
 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 That have of late so huddled on his back, 
 Enow to press a royal merchant down. 
 
 The appeal to Shylock's mercy is in vain. The trial 
 proceeds. 
 
 This play is primarily a comedy, and, as such, 
 must end happily. And so it does, not only for 
 the lovers, but for Antonio. When the joyous group 
 assembled in her mansion at Belmont, Portia said: 
 
 Antonio, you are welcome; 
 And I have better news in store for you 
 Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 
 There you shall find three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly. 
 
 Antonio replies: 
 
 Sweet lady, you have given me life and living, 
 For here I read for certain that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Thus, these argosies are, in this drama, the En. 
 vironing Action. They sailed away from Venice 
 before the action began. Again and again do we 
 hear of them as the action progresses. On the con- 
 clusion of that action, they return. They are inani- 
 mate. They have not done, they could not do 
 anything. Yet their influence on the Main and 
 Sub-Actions of the drama has been subtle, diffused, 
 continuous, puissant. Their loss, or reputed loss # 
 brought the principal Sub-Action to a climax. That 
 was their mission. For that sole purpose were they 
 
i6o Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 introduced by Shakespeare. When that was ac- 
 complished, they subserved no further dramatic 
 purpose, and, as Portia announces to Antonio: 
 
 Three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly. 
 
 THE GROWTH 
 
 i., 3-n., 6. 
 
 The Growth of this play begins with the conver- 
 sation between Bassanio and Shylock in reference 
 to the loan. That conversation is the direct result 
 of a previous one, the recital of which Shakespeare 
 has given in Scene I. Toward the close of that 
 Scene Bassanio had appealed to Antonio for finan- 
 cial assistance to enable him to woo Portia. An- 
 tonio cheerfully and promptly responded: 
 
 Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; 
 Neither have I money nor commodity 
 To raise a present sum: therefore go forth; 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do: seq. 
 
 Bassanio did go forth, and made the trial of what 
 Antonio's credit could in Venice do. Scene 3 opens 
 with a description of Bassanio's effort. 
 
 The Growth of a drama begins with the com- 
 mencement of the action. It is described by Frey- 
 tag as " the arousement." In this play, the first 
 thing done is the contraction of the loan. Hence, 
 the beginning of that act is the boundary line be- 
 tween the Introduction and the Growth. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 16 1 
 
 In a drama Complication begins with the Growth. 
 It marks the commencement of the desis, the Com- 
 plication or involution of Plot. The moment An- 
 tonio signs the bond he places himself in jeopardy. 
 So real, so potent, is this danger, so quickly does 
 it assert itself, that the current of Antonio's life im- 
 mediately changes. Prosperity gives way to adver- 
 sity. The princely merchant becomes the bankrupt 
 debtor. The tragedy in the play is the outgrowth 
 of the loan. 
 
 Complication in the Growth of this play is further 
 manifested by the entrance of Shylock. With his 
 appearance begins what may be described as the 
 Jew side of the action. The latter is a Sub-Action. 
 The Main Action is the love affair of Portia and 
 Bassanio. All characters connected with that are 
 brought forward in the Introduction. Shylock, 
 Jessica, the loan, the elopement, the trial, and every- 
 thing relating to these persons and events are Sub- 
 Actions. With their entrance the two stories, that 
 of Bassanio and Portia, that of Shylock and the 
 loan, meet for the first time. As a consequence, 
 Complication ensues. As in this play, so in every 
 drama, Complication and Growth are concurrent. 
 
 In no division of the drama more than in the 
 Growth does the poet manifest invention. The fol- 
 lowing characters which first appear in the Growth 
 are Shakespeare's own creation : The Prince of 
 Morocco, Launcelot Gobbo, Old Gobbo, Jessica. 
 Further, every incident in the Growth, except the 
 bare fact of the loan, is original with Shakespeare. 
 
 The first words uttered by Shylock : Three 
 
162 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 thousand ducats, well, touch one of the chords that vi- 
 brates through the play. In considering Scene I, I 
 called attention to a group consisting of Antonio, 
 the rich merchant, surrounded by several young 
 men, every one of whom was poor. The latter at- 
 tributed Antonio's sadness to dangers threatening 
 his argosies, and afterward to his being in love. 
 Shakespeare thus foreshadowed the principal motive 
 of the drama, love; and also a subsidiary one, 
 money. Shylock in his opening sentence touches 
 the latter chord. He reveals himself as the money- 
 lender, the money-lover. Yet he was not a miser. 
 He was more avaricious than miserly. He loved 
 money, but that was not the only, or the all-absorb- 
 ing, passion of his nature. He never apostrophizes 
 his wealth as does Barabas in Marlowe's Jeiv of 
 Malta : 
 
 Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts, 
 
 Jacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds, 
 
 Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds, 
 
 And seld-seen costly stone of so great price, 
 
 As one of them indifferently rated, 
 
 May serve in peril of calamity 
 
 To ransom great kings from captivity. 
 
 This is the ware wherein consists my wealth; 
 
 Infinite riches in a little room. 
 
 Shylock mourned the loss of his ducats, his dia- 
 mond, his turquoise ring, and other precious, precious 
 jewels, but he never apostrophized them. In him 
 fanaticism, vindictiveness, were as highly devel- 
 oped, as overmastering, as avarice. When he first 
 sees Antonio, he reveals, in an Aside, his real nature: 
 
The Merchant of Venice 163 
 
 How like a fawning publican he looks! ' 
 
 I hate him for he is a Christian, 
 
 But more for that in low simplicity 
 
 He lends out money gratis and brings down 
 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 
 In court he refused Bassanio's offer of 
 
 1 Prof. Moulton {Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, pp. 6l, 62) 
 says: "No commentator has succeeded in making intelligible the 
 line " How like a fawning publican he looks,' as it stands in the text 
 at the opening of Sh\ lock's ■soliloquy. The expression 'fawning 
 publican ' is so totally the opposite of all the qualities of Antonio 
 that it could have no force even in the mouth of a satirist," sea. He 
 proposes to solve the difficulty by resigning this line to Antonio, and 
 supposing it to be spoken of Shylock. Prof. Moulton is entirely 
 correct in the opinion that as a description of Antonio it is incorrect. 
 Antonio was not a publican, much less a fawning publican. He 
 was the princely merchant, the loyal, loving, generous friend. He 
 was, as Bassanio described him : 
 
 " The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honour more appears 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy." 
 
 Is not the cause of Shylock's mistaken judgment of Antonio the fact 
 that he judges Antonio by himself? Has not personal equation led 
 Shylock astray? The latter is coarse, unrefined, ungentle, and, 
 therefore, is unfitted to discern clearly or to describe truthfully a 
 good, refined, gentle man. That delicacy and refinement, both of 
 thought and feeling, which characterized Antonio, and which are the 
 result of high birth and good breeding, seemed to Shylock, as they 
 always do to coarse natures, weakness. Hence, judging Antonio by 
 himself, Shylock describes him as a fawning publican. Shake- 
 speare thus makes Shylock, as by a reflected light, reveal himself. 
 
1 64 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 twice the sum: if that will not suffice, 
 I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
 On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.' 
 
 This is not the action of a man in whom every 
 emotion is secondary to a love of money. Shylock 
 was not a miser. Nor has Shakespeare ever por- 
 trayed a miser.' In this he manifests, negatively, 
 his genius. He depicts those qualities only which 
 are essential, fundamental, eternal, the perennial 
 beneath the deciduous, in human nature. The love 
 of money which is so highly developed as to make 
 a man a miser is not such. It is rather incidental, 
 factitious, abnormal. A miser, both mentally and 
 emotionally, is unbalanced. He is insane. Hence, 
 among all the creations of Shakespeare there is no 
 miser. Shylock was not that. He loved money. 
 Equally strong with this love, if not more so, were 
 his fanaticism, his desire for vengeance. 
 
 Antonio and Shylock do not meet here for the 
 first time. They had long known each other. Nor 
 were they friends. On the contrary, they were 
 foes. Antonio had spurned Shylock. As a result, 
 Shylock bore toward Antonio an ancient grudge. On 
 this occasion Antonio opens the conference by some 
 remarks on the subject of interest: 
 
 Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow 
 By taking nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
 I '11 break a custom. 
 
 1 Cf. also III., 2, 280, seq. 
 
 ' Cf. Coleridge, Lectures on Shakespeare, Bohn's edition, p. 99. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 165 
 
 The discussion on interest which follows manifests 
 vividly Shakespeare's skill in dramatic construction. 
 One of the stories which he dramatized in this play 
 was, " Of a Jew, who would for his debt have a 
 pound of the flesh of a Christian." This story 
 seems so brutal, so inhuman, as to be unnatural. It 
 is a canon of Art that the dramatist must " the prob- 
 able maintain." ' The problem with Shakespeare 
 was how to use this story in such a way that he 
 could maintain the probable, and avoid alienating 
 the sympathy and interest of the spectators. In 
 order to effect this he prefaces the introduction of 
 the story by the discussion on the subject of in- 
 terest. So skilfully is this done that when S hylo ck 
 propose s the bond with the forfeit of a poun d of 
 flesh, Antonio considers it an expression of kind. 
 ness: 
 
 Content, i' faith: I Ml seal to such a bond 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 This opinion Antonio reiterates after Shylock's 
 exit: 
 
 Hie thee, gentle Jew. 
 The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind. 
 
 Bassanio has a similar opinion of Shylock's offer. 
 Speaking of that he says, This were kindness. To 
 be sure, later, when he hears of the bond and for- 
 feit, he demurs: 
 
 You shall not seal to such a bond for me: 
 I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 1 Horace, Ars Poftira, 
 
1 66 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 After Shylock has retired he adds: 
 
 I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 
 
 He has misgivings as to Shylock's candor, Shylock's 
 motive, but of the proposal itself he makes no ques- 
 tion. The latter Bassanio describes — and as he is 
 conversing with Antonio alone, Shylock having left, 
 he would speak with perfect frankness — as fair 
 terms. 
 
 Shylock's offer was to loan the money, without 
 interest, but on these terms: 
 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond; and, in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 This proposition seems to us cruel, fiendish, full of 
 sinister presentiments. Why did Antonio consider 
 it kind, Bassanio describe it as fair terms? The an- 
 swer to that question is revealed by an analysis of 
 the discussion between Antonio and Shylock on the 
 subject of interest, by means of which Shylock led 
 up to this proposal. 
 
 As previously stated a play must be in harmony 
 with its environment. It must be studied in the 
 light of the conditions surrounding the action. The 
 opinions expressed by Antonio on the subject of in- 
 
The Merchant of Venice 167 
 
 terest were those which were current in Venice in 
 the Middle Ages, the scene and date of this play. 
 Then, and from ancient times, the lending of money 
 on interest, the interest to be paid in current coin, 
 was considered both unfriendly and immoral. The 
 Greek word for interest is tokos. That literally 
 means offspring. The word is used in the Iliad to 
 describe a child; in the Odyssey, an eaglet. In- 
 terest, in ancient and mediaeval times, meant the 
 product of natural growth, say, of sheep or cattle. 
 From a small flock of sheep, a small herd of cattle, 
 there grew large ones. This increase was considered 
 interest. The argument between Antonio and Shy- 
 lock was not as to the legitimacy and morality of 
 taking interest, — they agreed on that point: the 
 difference between them was as to what constituted 
 interest. Antonio voiced the opinion on that sub- 
 ject which for ages had been current. 
 
 Among the Jews it had always been unlawful to 
 charge usury. " If thou lend money to any of my 
 people that is poor by thee, thou shalt not be to 
 him as an usurer, neither shalt thou lay upon him 
 usury."' Aristotle says: 
 
 1 Exodus xxii., 25. Cf, also Leviticus xxv., 35. 3ft; Dent. 
 xxiii., 19 ; Psalms xv., 5. In the Tarable of the Talents, Matt. 
 xxv., 14-30, his lord said to the servant to whom one talent had 
 been committed : " Thou oughtest, therefore, to have put my money 
 to the exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received 
 mine own with usury." The words translated "with usury" are 
 sun toko, the latter being the Greek word for interest. From this it 
 is fair to presume our Lord approved of the taking of money as in- 
 terest on money. This, however, does not controvert my statement 
 that in His day, and for many centuries previous, it had been, ac- 
 cording to Jewish law, both illegal and immoral to charge usury, 
 
1 68 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The natural riches of all men arise from fruits and 
 from animals. Usury is most reasonably detested, as 
 the increase of our fortune arises from the money itself, 
 and not by employing it for the purpose for which it was 
 intended. For it was devised for the sake of exchange, 
 but usury multiplies it. And, hence, usury has received 
 the name tokos t or produce ; for whatever is produced is 
 itself like its parents; and usury is merely money born 
 of money; so that of all means of money-making, this is 
 the most contrary to nature. 1 
 
 This was the opinion which was current in Greece, 
 and, hence, usurers were considered so obnoxious 
 that the mere fact of being a money-lender, Demos- 
 thenes informs us, " was enough to prejudice a man 
 in a court of law, among the Athenians." ' The 
 sentiment in Rome was similar. " Cicero mentions 
 that Cato, being asked what he thought of usury, 
 made no other answer to the question than by ask- 
 ing the person who spoke to him what he thought 
 of murder." ' The Fathers of the early Christian 
 Church inveighed against usury and usurers. Hence, 
 in Europe, during the Early and Middle Ages of the 
 Christian era, it was considered unchristian to charge 
 usury for money loaned.' As a consequence, this 
 business fell wholly into the hands of the Jews. 
 These sentiments on the subject of interest, so 
 
 1 Politics, Book I., chap. x. 
 
 ' Dictionary of Greek and Koman Antiquities, p. 545. Cf. Grote, 
 History 0/ Greece, vol. iii., p. 144. 
 
 1 Encyclopedia Britannica, ninth edition, vol. xxiv., p. 18. 
 
 4 For the opinion on this subject current in England in Shake- 
 speare's day, cf. Bacon's essay, Of Usury. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 169 
 
 different from those of our day, seem surprising. 
 They are, however, perfectly explicable by the fact 
 that in ancient and mediaeval times money was not 
 borrowed to use in legitimate business, but only to 
 relieve pressing necessity. This being the case, the 
 borrower was at the mercy of the lender. As a re- 
 sult, great cruelty was practised. The money-lend- 
 ers of those times were not like the bankers of our 
 day, but rather like the pawnbrokers. The former, 
 as the latter, were cruel. They personally were odi- 
 ous, their business was disreputable. 
 
 In the light of this exposition, and bearing in 
 mind the cardinal fact that in the time of Antonio 
 and Shylock the only interest that was legitimate 
 was not money but the offspring of living things, 
 the discussion between these men becomes intelligi- 
 ble^ Antonio described his practice, and by so do- 
 ing expressed his own and the prevailing sentiment, 
 when he said he did 
 
 . . . neither lend nor borrow 
 By taking nor by giving of excess. 
 
 In order, however, to aid a friend he will depart from 
 his custom so far as to pay interest in money for a 
 loan. Shylock, intending to justify his demand for 
 usury, opens the discussion: 
 
 When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep — 
 This Jacob from our holy Abram was, 
 As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, 
 The third possessor; ay, he was the third — 
 
 Antonio. And what of him ? Did he take interest ? 
 
 Shylock. No, not take interest, not as you would say, 
 
i7° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did 
 
 When Laban and himself were compromised 
 
 That all the eanlings which were streak'd and pied 
 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire. 
 
 This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; 
 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Antonio. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for; 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
 But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ? 
 
 Shylock. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast. 
 
 The discussion on interest is now temporarily dis- 
 continued. Shylock's resentment overcomes him. 
 The odious and insulting treatment which he has 
 received from Antonio is recalled, and, with bitter 
 invective, described by him to Antonio. He con- 
 cludes by inquiring with mock humility: 
 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
 With bated breath and whispering humbleness, 
 Say this: 
 
 " Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 
 You spurn'd me such a day; another time 
 You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 
 I '11 lend you thus much moneys " ? 
 
 Antonio retorts: 
 
 I am as like to call thee so again, 
 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 
 As to thy friends; for when did friendship take 
 
 A breed of barren metal of his friend ? 
 
The Merchant of Venice 171 
 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
 
 Who if he break, thou mayst with better face 
 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shylock now craftily dissembles both his opinion on 
 the subject of interest and his sentiment toward 
 Antonio. He offers to loan the money without 
 usury, and from the sole motive of friendship: 
 
 I would be friends with you and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
 Supply your present wants and take no doit 
 Of usance for my moneys, and you '11 not hear me: 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 This expression of kindliness is reiterated by Shy- 
 lock: 
 
 I say, 
 
 To buy his favour, I extend this friendship: 
 
 If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 
 
 And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
 
 The effect is exactly what he purposed. Both 
 Bassanio and Antonio consider the offer as kindness. 
 Both are deceived. Shylock, like Gloucester, is 
 kind as snoiu in harvest. 
 
 He now feigns to accept Antonio's opinion that 
 the only legitimate interest is the offspring of living 
 creatures. He changes his manner. Hitherto seri- 
 ous, earnest, he now assumes a merry mood. In a 
 merry sport he proposes this merry bond, the forfeit 
 for the non-payment of which is not money, since 
 friendship does not take 
 
 A breed of barren metal of his friend, 
 
172 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 but flesh. Antonio is entrapped. Without a mo- 
 ment's delay or a single misgiving he accepts 
 Shylock's offer. He signs the bond. From t hat 
 moment his fortune declines; one argosy after an- 
 other is lost; the loan be comes due: the pena lty is 
 f orfeit. 
 
 Thus, so workmanly, by this discussion on in- 
 terest, has Shakespeare prepared, first, Antonio and 
 Bassanio, and, later, the spectators of this drama, 
 for the bond. Upon it the tragic in this play is 
 founded. 
 
 Plot in a drama is similar to design in a fabric. 
 The weaver takes various colored threads, and, by 
 artistic skill, weaves them into a beautiful pattern. 
 In order to study this pattern aesthetically, it is ne- 
 cessary to trace each separate thread, to note its 
 connection with each of the others and with all the 
 others, with the pattern as a whole. To apply the 
 simile to the drama, Shakespeare says: The zveb of 
 our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. 
 It is this life with its mingled yarn, good and ill to- 
 gether, its deeds and words, hidden thoughts and 
 emotions, which forms the subject of the drama. 
 Portrayal of these in an artistic manner, by means 
 of design or Plot, is the function of the dramatist. 
 To study a play from the standpoint of construction 
 it is necessary to trace this design; to perceive the 
 connection of the different incidents, speeches, char- 
 acters, with each other, and with the play as an or- 
 ganic whole. By this method, and only this, can 
 we discern the connection and harmony of parts. 
 Pursuing this method in the study of this play, we 
 
The Merchant of Venice 173 
 
 found that the first Scene of the Growth (I., 3) was 
 in close connection with the first Scene of the Intro- 
 duction (I., 1). The same is true of the second 
 Scenes in these divisions of the play. When the 
 serving-man announced to Portia the arrival of a 
 forerunner from the Prince of Morocco, who brings 
 word the prince his master will be here to-night, she 
 says : If he have the condition of a saint, a fid the com- 
 plexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me 
 than wive me. The first words uttered by the Prince 
 of Morocco (II., 1) are so apt, are such a perfect re- 
 ply to those of Portia, that one could easily imagine 
 the Prince had heard Portia: 
 
 Mislike me not for my. complexion, 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
 To whom I am a neighbour and near bred: seq. 
 
 Thus subtle and vital is the connection between 
 these two Scenes. 
 
 By the words of Portia, and later by those of 
 Morocco, on the subject of complexion, Shakespeare 
 accomplishes still another dramatic purpose, viz., 
 foreshadowing. Portia's reflection is ominous and 
 forebodes failure for this suitor. Morocco seems to 
 have a presentiment thereof. As the sequel proves, 
 he is correct. He failed to select the casket con- 
 taining Portia's likeness. When he makes his exit, 
 Portia says : 
 
 A gentle riddance. Draw the curtain's, go. 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. 
 
 Thus these references to complexion are not mere 
 
174 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 verbal niceties. They are not accidental, but inten- 
 tional. They are extremely expressive and sugges- 
 tive. By means of them, Shakespeare dexterously 
 brings into living union different Scenes of the play, 
 and, at the same time, foreshadows the fate of this 
 suitor. 
 
 Portia's reply to Morocco, like herself, is gracious 
 and kindly. She informs him of her father's will, 
 and then does for him what Mephistopheles requests 
 the Spirits to do for Faust: 
 
 With fairest images of dreams infold him, 
 Plunge him in seas of sweet untruth! ' 
 
 Morocco refers to his deeds, his desert as the result 
 of them, and the uncertainty attending the choice 
 of the caskets. Portia informs him he must 
 
 . . . swear, before you choose, if you choose wrong 
 Never to speak to lady afterward 
 In way of marriage. 
 
 The first Scene of the Growth had ended with the 
 promise of Antonio to meet Shylock at the notary's, 
 and sign the bond. The second Scene of the Growth 
 concludes with Portia's direction to the Prince: 
 
 First, forward to the temple: after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 In these two opening Scenes of the Growth there 
 have been both continuity and progress. The former 
 does not of necessity include the latter. The former 
 
 1 Faust, The First Part, Scene III. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 175 
 
 may be but an eddy, the latter is the main current 
 of a stream. The eddy moves, moves in the form 
 of a circle. It makes no advance. The main cur- 
 rent of a stream moves forward, advances, pro- 
 gresses. Likewise, in a drama there may be 
 continuity, which is the giving of details, the expo- 
 sition of the subject, without any progress. There 
 is dramatic progress only when continuity is accom- 
 panied by an increment; when the details are re- 
 lated to and are the expression of development, 
 unfolding of Plot; when the action moves forward 
 to the Catastrophe. In the first two Scenes of the 
 Growth of this play there have been both continuity 
 and progress. In them the action has moved for- 
 ward toward the Climax and Catastrophe. 
 
 One danger which threatens the dramatist in con- 
 structing the Growth of a play is too rapid progress 
 of the Main Action. This is averted by the em- 
 ployment of Episodes or Subsidiary Actions. 
 Shakespeare here uses both. The next Scene (II., 
 2) is an Episode. The action temporarily ceases to 
 progress. Launcelot, in a leisurely way, solilo- 
 quizes. Although he is apparently superficial and 
 trifling, what he says is wise and serious. It de- 
 scribes the conflict, as old as man, between good 
 and evil in the human heart. It recalls Plato's 
 myth of the Phaedrus, in which man is compared 
 to a charioteer driving two horses, one high-spirited, 
 aspiring, the other earthward, grovelling. 
 
 Old Gobbo enters. Between him and Launcelot 
 a long and, on the part of the latter, a bantering 
 conversation takes place. It is in a similar vein to 
 
176 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Launcelot's soliloquy, and is introduced by Shake- 
 speare with the same intent, viz, % retardation. 
 Meanwhile the action is stopped. 
 
 While this is the primary, it is not the only, ob- 
 ject of this Scene. In it Shakespeare, as a relief to 
 the feelings, introduces t*>e comic. In nothing does 
 Shakespeare reveal his genius more than in the 
 fusion of the tragic and the comic in the same play.' 
 In this he is among dramatists almost unique. In 
 dramatic literature there are great tragedies in 
 which there is no humor. On the other hand, there 
 are comedies of a high order from which is entirely 
 excluded the serious, the sad, the tragic. Shake- 
 speare perceived that this distinction was neither 
 real nor artistic. The smile on the lip is as natural 
 as the tear in the eye. The laugh, like the sob, is 
 a normal expression of human feeling. The ludi- 
 crous is the natural antithesis of the serious. Shake- 
 speare is true to this phase of human nature. On 
 the boards of his theatre fools elbow philosophers; 
 clowns stand side by side with kings and heroes. 
 In his writings, and nowhere more than in this play, 
 the humorous and the serious, the comic and the 
 tragic, are mingled; more, they are fused. 
 
 This Scene also, by its contrast to the two previ- 
 ous ones, manifests Variety. The primary quality 
 of a work of Art is Unity. As upper implies lower, 
 larger smaller, so Unity implies Variety. This we 
 find in Nature. In the landscape there are hill and 
 dale, mountain ™d valley; there are bright and 
 
 1 Cf. my Introduction to I. Ihnry IV., Bankside edition, vol. 
 xii., p. 2. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 177 
 
 dark colors, sunshine and shadow; there are loud 
 and soft, harsh and melodious sounds. The Growth 
 of this drama is true to Nature in that it possesses 
 Variety. In the first Scene (I., 3) is the interview 
 between Bassanio, Shylock, Antonio. It is dark, 
 foreboding, tragic. The second (II., 1) is neither 
 tragic nor comic but serious. The fates of two per- 
 sons, Portia and the Prince of Morocco, are to be 
 decided. In the next (II., 2) we have the comic. 
 Thus this division of the drama possesses Variety, 
 which is as requisite an essential of a great work of 
 Art as Unity. In fact, the two are, and of neces- 
 sity must be, coexistent. " The essence of har- 
 mony," says Todhunter, "is that it unites dissimilar 
 elements, so that by the very clashing of their na- 
 tures they enhance each other's perfection. Beauty 
 is, in fact, the reconciliation of contradictions, a 
 Hegelian identity of opposites." ' 
 
 Still anothor dramatic purpose subserved by this 
 Scene is the introduction of Launcelot as a Link- 
 Person. By means of him the Jew and the Chris- 
 tian sides of the drama, which had first been brought 
 together by the meeting of Bassanio and Shylock, 
 are drawn still closer. Launcelot had been the ser- 
 vant of Shylock. While he and Old Gobbo are 
 engaged in a conversation, in which the former ex- 
 presses his discontent with Shylock, Bassanio enters. 
 He is giving directions to Leonardo as to his depar- 
 ture for Belmont. Launcelot and Old Gobbo make 
 their request to Bassanio. In each case the lan- 
 guage used is the natural outgrowth of the mind of 
 
 1 The Philosophy of the Beautiful, Tart I., p. 243. 
 
178 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the speaker. That of Launcelot expresses a lack 
 of coherence, sequence. It manifests the untrained 
 mind. Old Gobbo misuses words. He is both 
 inconsequent and senile. Finally, in answer to 
 Bassanio's question, What would you ? Launcelot 
 replies, Serve you, sir. Bassanio grants the request: 
 
 I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit: 
 Shyloek thy master spoke with me this day, 
 And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Launcelot leaves the service of Shyloek, enters that 
 of Bassanio. This is the only action in this Scene. 
 It is a Link-Action. This is Launcelot's special 
 function in the play. Here, and every time he ap- 
 pears hereafter, he acts as a connecting link between 
 different persons or different actions. He is a Link- 
 Person. 
 
 After the exit of Launcelot and Old Gobbo, Bas- 
 sanio urges Leonardo to complete arrangements for 
 the voyage to Belmont: 
 
 I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this: 
 These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
 Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 My best-esteem' d acquaintance: hie thee, go. 
 
 Gratiano enters. He says to Bassanio: 
 
 I must go with you to Belmont. 
 
 Bassanio demurs. He makes a subtle but keen an- 
 alysis of Gratiano's character and conduct. At 
 length, on Gratiano's promise to 
 
The Merchant of Venice 1 79 
 
 . . . put on a sober habit, 
 Talk with respect and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, 
 
 and to mend his conduct in various other respects, 
 Bassanio withdraws his objection. Bassanio goes to 
 woo Portia. Gratiano ostensibly goes as his com- 
 panion. As the sequel proves, really though unin- 
 tentionally, he also goes wooing. The voyage, like 
 Orlando's wrestling, had a twofold result. The 
 latter tripped up the wrestler 's heels, and Rosalind's 
 heart both in an instant. Likewise, when Bassanio 
 won Portia for himself, he also, unbeknown to him- 
 self, won Nerissa for Gratiano. As Gratiano said: 
 
 You saw the mistress, 1 beheld the maid; 
 You lov'd, I lov'd, for intermission 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 Your fortune stood upon the casket there. 
 And so did mine, too, as the matter falls; seq. 
 
 Thus the fates of these two men were linked to- 
 gether much more closely than either suspected. 
 
 The remaining part of the Growth of this play, so 
 much as is contained in Act II., Scenes 3 to 6 inclu- 
 sive, is devoted almost entirely to portraying the 
 elopement of Jessica and Lorenzo. These two 
 characters are created by Shakespeare. There is 
 no prototype of them in the stories which he used 
 in the composition of this play. They, and the part 
 they play in the drama, throw great light on Shake- 
 speare's constructive methods. 
 
 In this division of a drama, as previously stated, 
 
180 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the progress of the Main Action must be slow, grad- 
 ual. The interest of the spectator must not be too 
 suddenly or too intensely excited. It must be first 
 aroused, afterward heightened. Hence, the drama- 
 tist must follow the example of Prospero in deal- 
 ing with the love affair of Ferdinand and Miranda: 
 
 this swift business 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
 Make the prize light. 
 
 Prospero then proceeds to provoke a quarrel with 
 Ferdinand, the effect of which is twofold: it retards 
 the progress of the wooing, and also that of the ac- 
 tion of the drama. In the play under consideration, 
 Shakespeare accomplishes the same purpose, first, by 
 the introduction of the Episode (II., 2) devoted to 
 Launcelot and Old Gobbo, and, later, by a Sub- 
 Action, the elopement of Lorenzo and Jessica. 
 While this Sub-Action is in progress, the Main Ac- 
 tion ceases movement. In these Scenes (II., 3 to 6 
 inclusive) there is no reference to Bassanio and 
 Portia. On the conclusion of the Sub-Action, the 
 Main Action resumes movement (II., 7), and pro- 
 gresses swiftly till the Climax of the play has been 
 reached and passed. 
 
 By the elopement of Lorenzo and Jessica, Shake- 
 speare also overcomes a mechanical difficulty, viz., 
 the time, three motiths, intervening between the 
 signing and the forfeit of Antonio's bond. Shake- 
 speare was versatile. To meet and conquer a diffi- 
 culty of this nature he sometimes introduced a 
 Prologue. In Henry V. there are, during the 
 
The Merchant of Venice 181 
 
 movement of the Action, frequent intervals of time. 
 In order to bridge them he introduces before each 
 of the five divisions of the play a Prologue, thereby 
 
 Jumping o'er times, 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass. 
 
 In this play he conquers a similar difficulty, viz., 
 the length of time the bond runs, by this elopement 
 of Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 
 Still another dramatic function performed by 
 these two characters is that of a Link-Action. 
 Jessica leaves her father for her husband. She re- 
 tires from the Jew side of the drama, and links her 
 fate with that of the Christian. In so doing, she 
 becomes a connecting link, binding together more 
 closely the different actors and different actions por- 
 trayed in the drama. She and Lorenzo leave Venice. 
 We hear of them and their doings in Genoa. They 
 next appear at Belmont, after Bassanio has won 
 Portia. They form part of the group, composed of 
 three pairs of lovers, standing around the caskets. 
 One function they perform in the drama is that of a 
 Link-Action. 
 
 Jessica performs still another dramatic function. 
 She was motherless. She was homeless. She said 
 to Launcelot: Our house is hell. She had no com- 
 panions but Launcelot and Shylock. Her father's 
 treatment of her was most unpaternal. To manifest 
 this was one, if not the principal, object of Act II., 
 Scene 5. Shylock addresses her as if she were an 
 alien and a slave. No wonder, then, she says: 
 
182 Shakespeare's Plots' 
 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
 To be ashamed to be my father's child! 
 But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
 I am not to his manners. 
 
 Such feeling was the natural fruit of the treatment 
 she received from her father. As to character, she 
 was childish. In Genoa she exchanged a valuable 
 ring for a valueless monkey. She was also childlike. 
 This is very different from childishness. The former 
 means guileless, innocent, true, lovable. She was 
 a most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew. She evoked 
 Lorenzo's love: 
 
 Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
 And true she is, as she hath proved herself, 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 To realize the full force of Lorenzo's words, one 
 must remember that Jessica was a Jewess. More, 
 she was the daughter of such a Jew as Shylock. 
 Her loveliness, therefore, must have been extraordi- 
 nary to overcome the antipathy which in Venice, at 
 the date of this play, Christians felt toward Jews. 
 
 Shakespeare's portrayal of her and her elopement 
 is, therefore, perfectly true to nature. Her conduct 
 is in strict accord with a great biologic law, that of 
 self-preservation. Everything living which is placed 
 in an environment that is unfavorable to its exist- 
 ence strives to reach a more favorable one. A deli- 
 cate plant in a dark cave struggles toward the ray of 
 
The Merchant of Venice 183 
 
 light which shines through a fissure of the rock. The 
 frail flower planted in earth not favorable sends its 
 roots down deeper and deeper seeking moisture and 
 nourishment. Birds leave an unfavorable for a 
 favorable habitat. So this motherless girl instinc- 
 tively feels her affectional nature would die in that 
 atmosphere which was loveless, in that house which 
 was hell, and she as instinctively seeks an environ- 
 ment which will preserve and develop that affec- 
 tional nature. Under these circumstances, was she 
 unfilial in leaving that house and that father ? Is 
 not Shakespeare's portrayal of her true to nature ? 
 
 I have analyzed this character briefly, not for the 
 purpose of giving a character-sketch, but in order to 
 make evident still another important function 
 Shakespeare intended Jessica to perform, viz., 
 Dramatic Hedging. As the play progresses Shy- 
 lock more and more manifests his character as brutal 
 and repulsive. No man ever uttered words more 
 unpaternal, more inhuman than Shylock, when he 
 said : 
 
 I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the 
 jewels in her ear! would she were hearsed at my foot, 
 and the ducats in her coffin! 
 
 If Shakespeare had put these words into Shy- 
 lock's mouth, without, at the same time, surround- 
 ing him with extenuating circumstances, he would 
 have made the fatal dramatic error of creating not a 
 man, but a monster. Shylock would thereby have 
 been placed beyond the pale of human sympathy. 
 
184 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The spectators would lose all interest in him. Mar- 
 lowe makes this mistake in the character of Barabas 
 in The Jew of Malta. Such character portraiture 
 is inartistic. It is fatal to a drama. Shakespeare 
 avoids this, not by ameliorating or modifying or al- 
 tering the character of Shylock. He develops that 
 normally. He accomplished his purpose by Dra- 
 matic Hedging. This is effected by introducing this 
 Sub-Action of the elopement. Much as we admire 
 Jessica, and think she was justified in her conduct, 
 yet she was Shylock's daughter. When she leaves 
 his house and himself, we feel some sympathy for 
 that father, forsaken, suffering, who says, referring 
 to this elopement: 
 
 No ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders; 
 no sighs but of my breathing; no tears but of my shed- 
 ding. 
 
 Shylock was not a fiend, but a man. Thus Shake- 
 speare uses this elopement as the means by which 
 he effects one primary object of the drama, viz., to 
 evoke the sympathy, the pity of the spectators. 
 
 At the close of Scene 6 Jessica enters. Lorenzo 
 says : 
 
 What, art thou come ? On, gentlemen; away! 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 
 They depart. The elopement is consummated. 
 
 Antonio now appears. He meets Gratiano and 
 says: 
 
 Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest ? 
 
 'T is nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 185 
 
 No masque to-night: the wind is come about; 
 
 Bassanio presently will go aboard: 
 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
 
 Gratiano replies: 
 
 I am glad on 't: I desire no more delight 
 Than to be under sail and gone to-night. 
 
 With the departure of Lorenzo and Jessica the 
 Growth of the play ends. When Bassanio and 
 Gratiano sail for Belmont the Climax begins. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 II., 7-III., 2 
 
 The Main Action of this play is the love affair of 
 Bassanio and Portia. Bassanio's love for Portia and 
 his wooing of her is the Complicating Force. Flow- 
 ing from this is the loan made by Shylock and the 
 bond signed by Antonio. While this is very im- 
 portant, it is but a Sub-Action, an under-plot. If 
 Bassanio had not been in love, and had not needed 
 money to push his suit, the loan of three thousand 
 ducats would not have been made. Hence, the 
 Main or Exciting Action is Bassanio's wooing of 
 Portia. Bassanio, therefore, is the Complicating 
 Force. Portia is the Resolving Force. By means of 
 her the complication caused by the bond is solved. 
 The meeting-point of these two forces is the Climax 
 of the drama. 
 
 From the beginning of the Climax (II., 7), every- 
 thing in the play converges to the casket which 
 
1 86 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Bassanio chooses (III., 2). Here Bassanio and 
 Portia for the first time in the drama meet. This 
 marks the end of the beginning, the beginning of 
 the end. Previous to this, everything has tended 
 to the desis, tying of the knot ; subsequent thereto, 
 everything conduces to the lusis, or untying. Bas- 
 sanio is the main actor in the former, Portia in the 
 latter. Bassanio's choice of the casket, which won 
 for him Portia, was no sooner made than he received 
 Antonio's letter, announcing his dangerous position. 
 Portia claims her right to know the contents: 
 
 With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of anything 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bassanio informs her. Thereupon she immediately 
 inquires; 
 
 Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? 
 
 And, later, 
 
 What sum owes he the Jew ? 
 
 With womanly insight, she recognizes the situation. 
 With womanly tact, she suggests means to avert 
 the danger. She delays action for one purpose 
 only: 
 
 First go with me to church and call me wife, 
 And then away to Venice to your friend. 
 
 After that has been done, she inaugurates that 
 course of action which ultimately saves Antonio. 
 At the same time and place the principal Sub- 
 
The Merchant of Venice 187 
 
 Action, that of the loan and bond, reaches its 
 climax. Almost from the moment Antonio signed 
 the bond, his fortunes have been declining. One 
 argosy after another is lost, until, as he wiites Bas- 
 sanio, my estate is very low. All the while Shylock 
 remains steadfast and unwavering in his resolve: 
 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 
 That opportunity has now come. Antonio's bond 
 to the Jew is forfeit. 
 
 . Gratiano's fortune stood upon the same casket as 
 did Bassanio's. When the latter won Portia for 
 himself, he also won Nerissa for Gratiano. Thus 
 the love affair of Gratiano and Nerissa, constituting 
 another of the Sub-Actions, reaches its climax at 
 the same time as that of Bassanio and Portia. To 
 this group are now added Lorenzo and Jessica, 
 whose experiences constitute another Sub-Action. 
 
 Thus, the Casket Scene (III., 2) is the Climax of 
 the drama. It is the meeting-point of all the Com- 
 plicating and all the Resolving Forces. 
 
 Shakespeare's practice is usually to put the 
 Climax in the exact Mechanical Centre of a play. 
 The Merchant of Venice is no exception. It is not 
 so as the play is published in Folio I. When the 
 play is divided into Acts according to the laws of 
 dramatic construction, as I have divided it for the 
 purposes of this study, Act III. and the Climax are 
 coterminous. Accepting the Bankside numeration, 
 the play contains 2732 verses. The centre verse 
 would be 1366. The middle verse of the Climax, 
 
1 88 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 as I have defined it, is 1324. It is evident from 
 this that the centre of Climax is almost the exact 
 Mechanical Centre of the play. It is the central 
 point, the point to which all the factors in the fore 
 part of the play converge, and from which all the 
 factors in the after part of the play diverge. 
 
 Analyzing the Climax, we find that it is composed 
 of five Scenes. Of these, three relate to the caskets. 
 The other two (II., 8, and III., 1) are Episodes. I 
 shall consider the last two first. 
 
 Of these, II., 8, consists, of a conversation be- 
 tween Salarino and Salanio. It begins with a refer- 
 ence to the elopement of Jessica, and its effect on 
 Shylock, which is thus described by Salanio: 
 
 I never heard a passion so confused, 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: seq. 
 
 Salarino then reports a rumor of the loss of a ship. 
 Both Salanio and Salarino think of Antonio. The 
 Scene closes with a description of the parting be- 
 tween Antonio and Bassanio, and of the love of the 
 former for the latter. 
 
 While nothing has been done in this Scene, there 
 has been dramatic progress. Shylock's lodg'dhate 
 is intensifying. A new revelation has been given of 
 Antonio's love for Bassanio. In both these effects 
 the poet manifests fine foreshadowing. 
 
 The other episodic Scene of the Climax (III., 1) 
 is a direct continuation of the one just analyzed. 
 The rumor of the loss of a ship, of which Salarino 
 informed us (II., 8), is now confirmed. Nay, more, 
 
The Merchant of Venice 189 
 
 it is made more definite. This ship is Antonio's. 
 His fortunes are sinking. At the same time, Shy- 
 lock's hate is intensifying. 
 
 Shakespeare now gives another masterly example 
 of Dramatic Hedging. The character of Shylock is 
 becoming repulsive. In order to prevent the sym- 
 pathy of the spectator from being alienated, Shake- 
 speare makes him, in a brief speech, express the 
 thought that human nature, in its essential traits, is 
 the same in all men : 
 
 I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew 
 hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? 
 fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, 
 subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as 
 a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? If 
 you tickle us, do we not laugh ? If you poison us, do 
 we not die ? 
 
 The object of the dramatist is accomplished per- 
 fectly. Even to this day these words touch in every 
 mind and heart a chord which is responsive, sym- 
 pathetic. And they always will. After expressing 
 these sentiments, Shylock reveals his character and 
 his purpose in the inference he draws: 
 
 If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? 
 Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his 
 sufferance be by Christian example ? Why, revenge. 
 The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall 
 go hard but I will better the instruction. 
 
 Logically, ethically, Shylock is incorrect. Dramati- 
 cally, the speech is perfect. It is a master-stroke. 
 
190 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 A play is written to be acted. One could not 
 accurately and intelligently judge a musical com- 
 position from reading the notes. No more can one 
 form an accurate and intelligent opinion of a drama 
 from simply reading the words. It is necessary to 
 hear the musical composition played, to see the 
 drama acted. The notes of the former must be 
 transformed into sounds, the words of the latter 
 into actions. In forming a critical opinion of a 
 play, therefore, one canon is, Is it successful as an 
 acted play ? The expression of Shakespeare's 
 genius did not take the form of epic or lyric poetry, 
 but of dramatic. A drama is not only a literary, 
 but also a histrionic production. In order, there- 
 fore, to study a drama intelligently, its acting quali- 
 ties, its adaptability to stage representation, must 
 always be considered. Judged by this test, this 
 play is well-nigh perfect. One of the finest points 
 in it is this speech of Shylock, a speech which 
 always has, and always will, touch a responsive 
 chord in every human breast, because it appeals to 
 those qualities of our common nature which are 
 essential, universal, perennial, which Jew and Chris- 
 tian have in common. 
 
 Tubal enters. Immediately Salanio and Salarino 
 retire. Shylock and Tubal are left alone. The 
 latter reports that his efforts to find Jessica, with 
 the money and the jewels, have been unsuccessful. 
 Shylock is wrought up to a frenzy. He is com- 
 pletely overcome with a passion which is almost 
 fiendish. Shakespeare's description is a perfect 
 portrayal of complex emotions. The Scene is suf 
 
The Merchant of Venice 191 
 
 fused with subtle and intense feeling. While in 
 some respects repulsive, in others it is fascinating. 
 A profound emotion is elemental. It is, in this 
 respect, like water, fire, wind. And this is so, 
 even though the passion be perverted. A rushing 
 torrent, a consuming fire, a whirlwind, even though 
 destructive, are awe-inspiring. Likewise, a pro- 
 found, overmastering human feeling, even though 
 it be perverted, is sublime. In this study I am 
 considering the play from the standpoint of Plot. 
 I cannot, therefore, do more than refer indirectly 
 to either Character or Passion. The Scene ends 
 with Shylock's request to Tubal: Go, Tubal, fee me 
 an officer. 
 
 Both of these Scenes (II., 8, and III., i) are, as I 
 have stated, episodic. The action of the drama 
 temporarily stops. They are epic, narrative. In 
 them we are informed of what has transpired, but 
 nothing is done. Both, also, relate to one of the 
 Sub-Actions. In each of these respects they differ 
 from the other three Scenes of the Climax, which I 
 have denominated the Casket Scenes, viz., II., 7, 
 II., 9, III., 2. In them there is movement, the ac- 
 tion of the drama rapidly progresses to the Climax. 
 Also, they constitute the Main Action. 
 
 Shakespeare's Plot, so far as it makes the success 
 of Portia's wooer depend on the selection of the 
 casket containing her picture, has been criticised as 
 being unreasonable, unnatural, and, therefore, in- 
 artistic. Are there any grounds for this criticism ? 
 Shakespeare has based this part of his drama on 
 " The Story of the Choice of Three Caskets." A 
 
192 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 comparison of the story and the drama reveals sev- 
 eral differences. In the story a woman chooses one 
 of three caskets to win thereby a husband. Shake- 
 speare changes this. He makes the man the 
 chooser. Further there was but one woman who 
 chose; in the play there are three men who do so. 
 Still more, Shakespeare adds numberless suitors to 
 these three. Bassanio informs us: 
 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors. 
 
 The Prince of Morocco confirms this: 
 
 . . . all the world desires her; 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 
 In thus glorifying Portia, Shakespeare gives expr< 
 sion to his originative, constructive genius. He 
 thereby makes the prize to be won bear some pro- 
 portion to the risk which the suitors incur. For 
 that risk was great. Before selecting a casket each 
 chooser was compelled to take an oath never to 
 marry, if unsuccessful. Further, there was no hint 
 given upon which to make a choice, except the in- 
 scriptions on the caskets. Upon such data it was 
 impossible with any certainty to base a decision. 
 The choosers seem to have been fully cognizant of 
 the risk they incurred. So deeply impressed with 
 it were the Neapolitan prince, the County Palatine, 
 the French lord, Falconbridge, the Scottish lord, 
 the Duke of Saxony's nephew, that they all with 
 
The Merchant of Venice 193 
 
 one consent refused to venture a choice. Morocco 
 ventured, but praying, 
 
 Some god direct my judgement ! 
 
 The Prince of Arragon called 
 
 Fortune now 
 To my heart's hope! 
 
 The inner meaning of the Casket Scenes will be 
 revealed by two considerations: 
 
 I. It is a mistake to base judgment on appear* 
 ances only. They who do so are 
 
 . . . the fool multitude, that choose by show, 
 Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; 
 Which pries not to the interior: 
 
 and, as a consequence, are led into error and dis- 
 aster. This was the cause of Morocco's failure. 
 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
 Is 't like that lead contains her ? seq. 
 
 He failed. As the result of his effort he learned, 
 
 All that glisters is not gold; 
 Often have you heard that told: 
 Many a man his life hath sold 
 But my outside to behold: 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
 
 Arragon rejected the leaden casket: 
 
 You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard. 
 
 «3 
 
194 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 He selected the silver one. He found not Portia's 
 likeness, but the portrait of a blinking idiot, and 
 received the message : 
 
 Some there be that shadows kiss; 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss: 
 There be fools alive, I wis, 
 Silver'd o'er; and so was this. 
 
 The song which is sung while Bassanio is deciding 
 conveys the same truth: 
 
 Tell me where is fancy (love) bred, 
 Or in the heart or in the head ? 
 
 The reply is: 
 
 It is engender'd in the eyes, 
 With gazing fed: seq. 
 
 If it does not penetrate deeper than the eyes, viz., 
 to the head, to the heart; if it does not stir to their 
 profoundest depths the emotions, the thoughts, and 
 fill them with itself, it is only a passing sentiment. 
 It lives only in the eyes, lasts only while the object 
 is in sight, is with gazing fed. The result is: 
 
 . . . and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies. 
 
 Bassanio was cognizant of this truth. Although he 
 did not comment aloud, giving us the reasons why 
 he chose, we know from the scroll in the leaden 
 casket what were the considerations that influenced 
 him : 
 
The Merchant of Venice 195 
 
 You that choose not by the view, 
 Chance as fair and choose as true! 
 
 This is the truth that he expresses in his soliloquy: 
 
 So may the outward shows be least themselves: 
 The world is still deceived with ornament. 
 
 As a consequence, he chooses the leaden casket: 
 
 Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; 
 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 
 'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, 
 
 Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught, 
 
 Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence; 
 
 And here choose I. 
 
 II. The final factor which decides one's choice in 
 important matters is not chance, but character. I 
 say the final factor, for there is an element of chance 
 in every human life. 
 
 Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. 
 
 Character is not alone reason, or emotion, but, 
 rather, is the resultant of all the forces, both inter- 
 nal and external, which have been operating on a 
 person since he became a conscious agent. It is 
 this, the character, the personality, the totality of 
 one's nature, which biases and directs men .in the 
 important decisions in life. It was this which 
 guided Morocco, Arragon, Bassanio, in choosing a 
 casket. Morocco was grasping, ambitious. He, 
 therefore, selected the golden casket. Arragon had 
 
19 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 an overweening sense of his own worth. He as- 
 sumed desert. He selected the silver casket. Bas- 
 sanio does not inform us as to the reasons which 
 guided him. He comments on the caskets to himself. 
 Shakespeare, however, does not leave us without a 
 clue. Portia informs us: 
 
 Away, then! I am lock'd in one of them: 
 If you do love me, you will find me out. 
 
 Further, she calls for music while Bassanio is making 
 the choice: 
 
 Let music sound while he doth make his choice. 
 
 Shakespeare knew that " Music is love in search of 
 a word," and, therefore, while this lover stands be- 
 fore the caskets a song is sung, the subject of which 
 is love. Portia was correct in making love the 
 guide for the lover: 
 
 Sweet friends, 
 
 Man's love ascends, 
 
 To higher and diviner ends, 
 
 Than man's thought 
 
 E'er comprehends. 1 
 
 Bassanio, the lover, successfully selects the casket 
 containing Fair Portia's counterfeit. 
 
 But suppose, says the critic, that Morocco or 
 Arragon had chosen successfully, or Bassanio had 
 failed.* Such a supposition is not within the range 
 
 1 Sidney Lanier. 
 
 * " If all the drops in it were dried up, what would become of the 
 sea ?" — Vanity Fair, vol. i., p. 307. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 197 
 
 of dramatic possibility. From the very beginning 
 of the drama, Shakespeare has indicated Bassanio 
 as the successful chooser, and the future husband. 
 Bassanio himself felt sure of winning Portia. Ne- 
 rissa points to him as the future husband. Portia 
 endorses this opinion. After Morocco and Arragon 
 have failed and retired, once more does the drama- 
 tist point to Bassanio as the lover and coming hus- 
 band. Immediately on the departure of Arragon a 
 servant enters and says to Portia: 
 
 Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 
 To signify the approaching of his lord; 
 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets, 
 
 To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 
 
 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
 
 So likely an ambassador of love: 
 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 Portia replies: 
 
 Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 
 
 Nerissa answers : 
 
 Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be! 
 
 Once more, when Bassanio is about to venture a 
 choice, Portia entreats him to 
 
 , . . pause a day or two . 
 Before you hazard; 
 
198 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 and then, with exquisite banter, she reveals her 
 feelings: 
 
 There 's something tells me, but it is not love, 
 I would not lose you; and you know yourself, 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
 But lest you should not understand me well, — ; 
 And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — 
 I would detain you here some month or two 
 Before you venture for me. 
 
 Although Portia thus plainly expresses to Bassanio 
 her affection for him, he could not misunderstand 
 or misjudge her. 
 
 Love takes the meaning in love's conference. 
 
 Thus, by these premonitory suggestions, scattered 
 all through the play, Shakespeare precludes all 
 doubt as to Portia's lover. 
 
 These unfavorable criticisms on the Casket Scenes 
 are like those of Hippolyta on the acting of the 
 Athenian mechanicals: 
 
 This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 
 The former criticism, like the latter, is caused by a 
 lack of capacity and appreciation in the critic. And 
 the reply to both is that of Theseus to Hippolyta: 
 
 The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst 
 are no worse, if imagination amend them. 1 
 
 1 " Seek not to detect deficiencies and imperfections in works of 
 art until you have previously learnt to recognize and discover 
 beauties. This admonition is the fruit of experience, of noticing 
 daily that the beautiful has remained unknown to most observers 
 
The Merchant of Venice 199 
 
 When Bassanio opens the leaden casket he finds 
 therein Fair Portia's counterfeit. He then proceeds 
 to describe it. This description is a perfect speci- 
 men of the poet's art : 
 
 What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, 
 Parted with sugar breath : so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs 
 The painter plays the spider and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her eyes, — 
 How could he see to do them ? Having made one, 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both his 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance. 
 
 Shakespeare here refers to Portia's eyes, lips, hair. 
 And yet not, in the case of any of these features, 
 docs he describe it as it appears to the eye of the 
 beholder. He does not inform us as to the color or 
 shape of the eyes or lips. He does not tell us 
 whether the hair is light or dark, whether straight 
 or wavy. He does not give a detailed description 
 of the features from the standpoint of material 
 beauty. What he does do is to describe the fea- 
 tures by the effect they produce. The eyes are so 
 
 . . . because they wish to act the critic before they have begun 
 to be scholars." — Winckelmann, History of Ancient Art, translated 
 by Lodge, p, 243. 
 
2oo Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 beautiful, so lifelike, that they apparently move. 
 The lips, paired with perfect symmetry, are like 
 sweet friends. They are severed as expressing 
 eager interest, being parted with sugar breath. Her 
 hair is so beautiful that it is a golden mesh to entrap 
 the hearts of men. Again recurring to the eyes, the 
 windows out of which the mind and soul look, the 
 poet speaks of their bewitching, captivating power. 
 Not in the case of any of these features does he 
 describe it from the standpoint of material beauty, 
 but in every instance the beauty of the feature is 
 portrayed by its effect. The seductive, the entran- 
 cing power on the mind and emotion of the beholder 
 is set forth. From the effect we are left to infer as 
 to the cause. In so doing, Shakespeare is true to 
 the canons of poetic art. When Homer would de- 
 scribe Helen's beauty, he informs us only of its 
 effect on the Elders of Troy: 
 
 Helen they saw, as to the tow'r she came; 
 
 And 't is no marvel, one to other said, 
 
 The valiant Trojans and the well-greaved Greeks, 
 
 For beauty such as this should long endure 
 
 The toils of war; for goddess-like she seems, 
 
 And yet, despite her beauty, let her go, 
 
 Nor bring on us and on our sons a curse. 1 
 
 Here is not a word about Helen's personal appear- 
 ance, and yet a perfect description of her great 
 beauty. Similarly Shakespeare informs us of 
 Helen's beauty: 
 
 1 Iliad, Derby's translation, Book III., verse 185, stq. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 201 
 
 Why, she is a pearl, 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 
 Of the same nature is Shakespeare's description of 
 
 Cleopatra: 
 
 For her own person, 
 It beggar'd all description: she did lie 
 In her pavilion — cloth-of-gold of tissue — 
 O'er picturing that Venus where we see 
 The fancy outwork nature: on each side her 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 And what they undid did. . . . 
 
 . . The city cast 
 Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
 Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone, 
 Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too 
 And made a gap in Nature. 
 
 Paint for us, ye poets [says Lessing], the delight, the 
 affection, the love, the rapture, which beauty produce:, 
 and you have painted beauty itself. Who can image to 
 himself as ugly the beloved object at whose sight Sappho 
 confesses she is deprived of all sense and thought ? 
 Who does not believe that he sees the most perfectly 
 beautiful form as soon as he sympathizes with those feel- 
 ings which only such a form can awaken ? ' 
 
 And such feelings are evoked by Homer's descrip- 
 tion of Helen, and likewise by Shakespeare's of her, 
 of Cleopatra, and of Portia. 
 
 1 Laokoen, chap. xxi. 
 
202 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 This method of describing physical beauty marks 
 one of the limitations of the poetic art. In this it 
 differs from the plastic arts. The philosophy of it 
 is thus stated by Lessing: 
 
 Material beauty arises from the harmonious effect of 
 numerous parts, all of which the sight is capable of com- 
 prehending at the same time. It requires, therefore, 
 that these parts should lie in juxtaposition; and since 
 things whose parts lie in juxtaposition are the peculiar 
 objects of the plastic arts, these it is, and these only, 
 which can imitate material beauty.' 
 
 The poet cannot describe all the details at the 
 same moment. One detail after another is por- 
 trayed. Therefore, by the limitation of his art, he 
 cannot describe beauty from the material stand- 
 point, the beauty of feature, of form, but only by 
 its effects, its subtle influence on the mind and the 
 emotion of the beholder. When Priam and the 
 Elders of Troy saw Helen they saw in her beauty 
 the cause of the Trojan war. Shakespeare says 
 that her beauty made merchants of crowned kings. 
 Cleopatra's beauty was such that all the city went 
 out to gaze upon it. Portia's beauty of eye and 
 lip, as well as of hair, was but 
 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs. 
 
 The Climax ends with preparations for the relief 
 of Antonio. Portia offers to give any amount of 
 money necessary to pay the loan, and relieve him 
 1 Laokoon, chap. xx. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 203 
 
 from the clutches of his remorseless creditor. She 
 then says to Bassanio: 
 
 love, dispatch all business, and be gone! 
 Bassanio promptly and loyally obeys: 
 
 Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 
 1 will make haste: but, till I come again, 
 No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 
 
 FALL 
 
 in., 3-5 
 
 The Climax ended with Antonio's letter to Bas- 
 sanio, announcing his ruined condition. Its con- 
 tents had been confirmed by Salerio, who stated 
 that all Antonio's ventures had failed. Anticipating 
 this result, Shylock had directed Tubal: Go, Tubal, 
 fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. 
 This had been done. At last Shylock's opportunity 
 to wreak vengeance has come. He has caught An- 
 tonio on the hip. Antonio now appears in the 
 custody of a gaoler. With him are also Shylock 
 and Salarino. A brief conversation is held by An- 
 tonio and Shylock, almost every word of which 
 foreshadows the Trial Scene. Antonio appeals for 
 mercy. 
 
 Hear me yet, good Shylock; 
 I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
204 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Shylock refuses to listen : 
 
 I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak : seq. 
 
 So did he likewise at the trial. In response to 
 the Duke's appeal he said : 
 
 I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond: 
 
 When Bassanio offers, 
 
 For thy three thousand ducats here is six, 
 
 Shylock answers: 
 
 If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 
 Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
 
 I would not draw them; I would have my bond. 
 
 When Portia pleaded for mercy he responded : 
 
 My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 And, finally: 
 
 By my soul I swear 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me: I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Shylock did not grant Antonio's prayer for mercy. 
 Nor did he grant that of the Duke, or that of 
 Portia. 
 
 The reason for Shylock's cruelty is announced by 
 himself: 
 
The Merchant of Venice 205 
 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis. 
 
 Antonio was fully cognizant of this: 
 
 His reason well I know: 
 I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
 Many that have at times made moan to me; 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Shylock, unrelenting, and uttering the words, / 
 will have my bond, makes his exit. Antonio recog- 
 nizes the uselessness of further appeal and says: 
 
 Let him alone: 
 I Ml follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 
 Salarino then expresses the belief that 
 
 The Duke 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Antonio replies: 
 
 The Duke cannot deny the course of law: 
 For the commodity that strangers have 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
 Will much impeach the justice of his state; 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. 
 
 Here, again, the Trial Scene is foreshadowed. 
 Responding to the Duke's appeal, Shylock de« 
 manded 
 
 the due and forfeit of my bond: 
 If you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
 
206 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Later, 
 
 If you deny me, fie upon your law! 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
 
 The full force of this argument is perceived when 
 we remember that the prosperity, the very life, of 
 Venice was based on commerce; and that that, like 
 civilization, depends on a faithful observance of 
 contracts.' 
 
 The first Scene of the Fall closes with Antonio's 
 description of himself: 
 
 These griefs and losses have so bated me, 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 To-morrow to my bloody creditor: 
 
 and also with the expression of his wish to see 
 Bassanio : 
 
 Pray God, Bassanio come 
 To see me pay his debt, and then I care not! 
 
 At the close of the Climax (III., 2\ Portia had 
 sent Bassanio to the relief of Antonio. Bassanio 
 had no sooner started on that mission than Portia 
 made arrangements to do likewise. The second 
 Scene of the Fall (III., 4) is devoted to the descrip- 
 tion of what she did. The Scene opens with Lo- 
 renzo's tribute to her, her absent lord, and his friend 
 Antonio. Portia replies thereto, and then, an- 
 
 1 " The ancient Celtic law book, the Senchus Mor, announced that 
 there are ' three periods at which the world is worthless : The time 
 of a plague, of a general war, and of the dissolution of express con- 
 tracts ! " — Kurness, Variorum edition of Merchant of Venue, appen- 
 dix, p. 414. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 207 
 
 nouncing her determination to go into a convent 
 accompanied by Nerissa, she commits into Lo- 
 renzo's hands 
 
 The husbandry and manage of my house, 
 Until my lord's return. 
 
 She dispatches Balthasa/ with a letter to her cousin, 
 Doctor Bellario. She finally announces to Nerissa 
 her intention to disguise both her and herself in the 
 habit of men, and thus accoutred to do some work, 
 
 That you yet know not of. 
 
 Sometimes in dramatic as in real life circum- 
 stances arise which make it necessary for a woman 
 to do work which belongs preeminently to a man. 
 In every such case in the Shakespearian dramas, 
 Shakespeare disguises the woman in a male habit. 
 And yet not one of the women whom he so dis- 
 guises, Julia, Rosalind, Viola, Imogen, Jessica, Ne- 
 rissa, Portia, ever forgets her sex or becomes coarse. 
 While the dress is that of a man, the nature, the 
 delicacy, is that of a woman. Every one of these 
 women possessed an affectional nature developed to 
 the highest degree. Each one, while accoutred like 
 a young man, was in love with a man. Rosalind, 
 the victim of oppression, banished by her cruel 
 uncle, gladly leaves the court and flees to the forest 
 of Arden. When Celia decides to accompany her, 
 Rosalind proposes, since 
 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold, 
 
 to assume a male guise. She plays her part in a 
 
2o8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 holiday humour, and with high spirits; yet she never 
 forgets her innocence or her womanhood. Imogen 
 is compelled to leave her father's court, and flee into 
 the Welsh mountains. Pisanio advises her to don 
 
 . . . doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them. 
 
 Imogen immediately and bravely acts on this advice. 
 So Julia, in Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Viola, in 
 Twelfth Night, although in male guise, are always 
 innocent, lovely, feminine. In every instance, as 
 Imogen said, 
 
 . . such means 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't. 
 
 In this play Jessica for the purpose of flight dresses 
 in boy's clothes. She does not become boyish, 
 coarse, immodest, but is always the innocent 
 maiden. When she appeared prepared to elope, she 
 said to Lorenzo: 
 
 I am glad 't is night, you do not look on me, 
 For I am much ashamed of my exchange: seq. 
 
 Nerissa assumes a male guise to aid Portia. Portia 
 does so in order to save her husband's friend. She 
 is the Resolving Force in this drama. One of her 
 principal functions as such is to save Antonio. F*or 
 that purpose she assumes a male attire, and does so 
 seriously, and also with glee: 
 
 I '11 hold thee any wager, 
 When we are both accoutred like young men, 
 I '11 prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 
The Merchant of Venice 209 
 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace, 
 And speak between the change of man and boy 
 With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a manly stride, and speak of frays 
 Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies, 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died. 
 
 And as long as she is disguised, while she is mirth- 
 ful, she is earnest; while noble and gracious she 
 possesses an exhilarating sense of fun ; above all, she 
 is a true woman. 
 
 In nothing does Shakespeare manifest the perfec- 
 tion of his art more than in his portraiture of 
 woman. He never created a masculine woman. 
 Such are unnatural, abnormal. This is tacitly ac- 
 knowledged in the old legend of the Amazons. 
 They are generally located in the vicinity 
 
 . . . of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders, 
 
 the philosophy of which, according to Bacon, is, 
 where women unsex themselves and become and act 
 like men, men will be monsters. Shakespeare's 
 women are not Amazonian, but feminine. 
 
 Among all the women Shakespeare created there 
 are but one or two who are not as chaste as ice, as 
 pure as snow. When Cressida was unfaithful to 
 Troilus, the latter says, and there can be no nobler 
 tribute to womanhood: 
 
 Let it not be believed for womanhood! 
 
 Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage 
 
2io Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme 
 
 For depravation, to square the general sex 
 
 By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. 
 
 To return, Scene 4 is wholly transitional. In it 
 Shakespeare prepares the spectator for the Trial 
 Scene. Before that begins, however, we have Scene 
 5, which is the last of the Fall. This is a comic in- 
 terlude. In it there is no movement. It is a con- 
 versation, first between Jessica and Launcelot; later, 
 Lorenzo joins them, and takes part. The conversa- 
 tion is pervaded with a spirit of playfulness and 
 banter. 
 
 Shakespeare frequently introduces a comic scene 
 near the conclusion of a tragedy. His purpose is 
 twofold: to relieve temporarily the strained feelings 
 of the spectators, and to make, by this use of Con- 
 trast, the Catastrophe more tragic. In Hamlet, just 
 before the duel between Hamlet and Laertes, Osric 
 is introduced. Between him and Hamlet there is 
 held a bantering conversation. This is no sooner 
 ended than the duel takes place, the result of which 
 is death to Laertes, the King, the Queen, and Ham- 
 let. In Antony and Cleopatra, the Clown who brings 
 
 . . . the pretty worm of Nilus 
 That kills and pains not 
 
 tells her that his biting is immortal ; those that do die 
 of it do seldom or never recover. With this jesting 
 in the very presence of death, Cleopatra's fate 
 becomes more appalling. In the Merchant of Ven- 
 ice the Scene which ushers in the Catastrophe is a 
 comic interlude. It makes more tragic the Trial 
 
The Merchant of Venice 211 
 
 Scene which immediately follows. For this pur- 
 pose it was introduced by Shakespeare. 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 
 IV., V. 
 
 The Trial Scene (IV., 1) is a caricature of legal 
 justice. At the same time, it is a masterpiece of 
 dramatic construction. How are these two state- 
 ments reconciled ? Shakespeare was writing not a 
 legal treatise, but a drama. In studying this Trial 
 Scene this fact must continually be borne in mind. 
 Forgetfulness of it leads to numberless misconcep- 
 tions and errors; in fact, completely blinds one to 
 appreciation of this play as a work of dramatic art. 
 Most criticisms of Shakespeare's construction of this 
 play betray forgetfulness of the truth that this is a 
 drama, and that many things which are not allow- 
 able in a history or a story are legitimate in a 
 drama, because of what is, technically, dramatic ne- 
 cessity. "Anything in art is right which enhances 
 an effect legitimate to the product in which it is 
 used." ' The essential point, Ihe final test by which 
 we must judge this Trial Scene, as every Scene in a 
 drama, for it is a universal test, is dramatic appro- 
 priateness. The beginning of all true aesthetic criti- 
 cism is the recognition of the truth that Art in any 
 foim " addresses not pure sense, still less the pure 
 intellect, but the imaginative reason through 
 the senses." ' 
 
 1 Raymond, Genesis of Art. Form, p. 137. 
 1 Pater, Renaissante, p. 135. 
 
212 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It is not at all necessary that in a drama justice 
 to be perfect should be strictly legal. All that is 
 necessary is that it should be in accord with what is 
 technically Poetic Justice. What is that ? It is jus- 
 tice made artistic. This does not mean that Poetic 
 Justice violates the eternal laws of right and wrong, 
 that it is not in harmony with the experiences of 
 human life. It must be both. The justice meted 
 to Shylock is both. It is in accordance with the 
 eternal laws of right and wrong, and also with the 
 experiences of human life. 
 
 Shylock's motive was complex. It was, first, re- 
 venge ; second, rapacity. He reveals this in his 
 conversation with Tubal. When informed by Tubal, 
 Antonio cannot choose but break, Shylock said 
 
 I '11 plague him; I '11 torture him. ... I will 
 have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of 
 Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. 
 
 In estimating the full force of these words, it 
 must be remembered that they were spoken by Shy- 
 lock to his coreligionist, and in the confidence and 
 candor of friendship. 
 It is eternally true that 
 
 Revenge, at first though sweet, bitter erelong, 
 Back on itself recoils. 
 
 Shylock is blind to this. He rejects all appeals for 
 mercy. He demands judgment according to the 
 law. Pushing that demand to an extreme point, he 
 violates a law of Venice, and thereby puts himself 
 in a position which is fatal: 
 
The Merchant of Venice 213 
 
 Tarry, Jew: 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
 If it be proved against an alien 
 That by direct or indirect attempts 
 He seek the life of any citizen, 
 The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
 Shall seize one half his goods; the other half 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state; 
 And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st. 
 
 Shylock's desire for revenge, so intense, so bitter, 
 so deadly, neutralizes itself and recoils upon his own 
 head. 
 
 Poetic Justice must also be in accord with the ex- 
 periences of human life. Shylock is not the only 
 one in this play who suffers. Antonio experiences 
 the keenest anguish. Why ? Because he signed a 
 bond, by means of which he risked his fortune and 
 his life for the sole purpose of aiding his friend. Is 
 his distress in accord with the experiences of human 
 life ? In this world suffering is the experience not 
 alone of wrong-doers. The innocent also suffer. 
 When the Messenger brought word to Cleopatra 
 that Antony was married to Octavia, Cleopatra 
 drew a knife and attempted to kill the Messenger 
 for bringing such unwelcome news. Charmian re- 
 monstrated : 
 
 Good madam, keep yourself within yourself: 
 The man is innocent. 
 
214 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 To this Cleopatra responded : 
 
 Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. 
 
 In real life the wayward son brings sorrow and 
 disgrace upon the saintly parents. The innocent 
 wife and children suffer for the misconduct of the 
 husband and father. In the drama the honest, 
 open, affectionate, but deceived and misguided 
 Othello suffers the torments of the lost ; the faithful 
 Cordelia dies with her father. In this play Antonio 
 is brought, by his friendship for Bassanio, to the 
 very verge of destruction. Such is Poetic Justice. 
 While it is not strictly legal justice, it is justice in 
 perfect accord with the eternal laws of right and 
 wrong; with the experiences of humanity. It is jus- 
 tice modified by considerations of Art. It is artistic 
 justice. 
 
 The Trial Scene opens with a conversation be- 
 tween the Duke and Antonio. Shylock's lodged 
 hate against Antonio has developed to the highest 
 degree, and has made him, as the Duke says: 
 
 A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Antonio's misfortunes had been numerous and 
 ruinous. His appeals for mercy had been spurned 
 by Shylock. He resigns himself to his fate: 
 
 I have heard 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate 
 
The Merchant of Venice 215 
 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Shylock enters. At last these two men, who are 
 the principal actors in the Sub-Action, whose ex- 
 periences constitute the tragedy of the play, stand 
 face to face in the ducal court. A study of this 
 Trial Scene in detail will reveal the fact that it is a 
 masterpiece of dramatic construction. 
 
 The Duke, addressing Shylock, expresses the 
 opinion which is current, which is natural, that Shy- 
 lock will eventually show mercy. The latter, in a 
 most emphatic and determined manner, gives the 
 Duke to understand that that opinion is incorrect: 
 
 I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Shylock declines to give any reason for his strange 
 apparent cruelty, for his choice of a weight of carrion 
 flesh rather than three thousand ducats, except, it is 
 my humour. Then follows an angry discussion be- 
 tween Bassanio and Shylock. Antonio perceives the 
 uselessness of further appeal to Shylock's mercy and 
 says : 
 
 Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 Make no more offers, use no farther means, 
 But with all brief and plain conveniency 
 Let me have judgement, and the Jew his will. 
 
216 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Bassanio, recognizing the fact that Shylock is un- 
 merciful, appeals to his cupidity: 
 
 For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 Shylock refuses the offer. The Duke says: 
 
 How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none ? 
 
 Shylock replies: 
 
 I stand for judgement: answer; shall I have it ? 
 
 The Duke is on the point of dismissing the court, 
 when a messenger (Nerissa) arrives with letters from 
 Bellario. Shylock thinks his triumph sure and com- 
 plete. He sharpens his knife, 
 
 To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 
 
 A fierce dispute now takes place between Bassanio 
 and Gratiano on the one side, and the pitiless and 
 murderous Shylock on the other. Portia enters. 
 She is informed thoroughly of the cause. She as- 
 serts that Shylock's claim is legal: 
 
 Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 
 Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. 
 
 She asks Antonio if he confesses the bond. He 
 replies in the affirmative. Then Portia, following 
 the example of Antonio, the Duke, and Bassanio, 
 appeals to Shylock's mercy: 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strain'd, seq. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 217 
 
 Shylock rejects this entreaty as he had the others. 
 Thus o ice more does he refuse to grant mercy. By 
 making him? act in this inhuman manner, Shake- 
 speare accomplishes two objects: 1. He makes more 
 apparent the cruelty of Shylock's nature and con- 
 duct. 2. He intensifies to the highest degree the 
 emotional strain of Antonio and his friends. 
 
 Portia asks : 
 
 Is he not able to discharge the money ? 
 
 Bassanio offer? it, Yea, tivice the sum ; in fact, ten 
 times o'er; and then prays Portia: 
 
 Wrest once the law to your authority: 
 To do a great right, do a little wrong, 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Portia declines, it must not be. Shylock's triumph 
 seems assured : 
 
 A Daniel come to judgement! yea, a Daniel! 
 
 Still Portia delays. Although she knows the ex- 
 act point on wiiich she proposes to decide against 
 Shylock and to save Antonio, she prolongs to the 
 utmost extent the crisis. In this Shakespeare mani- 
 fests perfect technique. Portia asks to see the bond. 
 While examining it, she says incidentally: 
 
 Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 
 
 Shylock responds: 
 
 An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven. 
 
218 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Was that the oath referred to by Jessica? 
 
 When I was with him I have heard him swear 
 To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, 
 That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him. 
 
 Portia then begins to give judgment: 
 
 Why, this bond is forfeit; 
 And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
 Nearest the merchant's heart. 
 
 Once more she appeals to Shylock's mercy, and 
 then to his cupidity: 
 
 Be merciful: 
 Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 But in vain. Shylock replies: 
 
 By my soul I swear, 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me: I stay here on my bond. 
 
 The emotional strain has now become so intense 
 that Antonio can endure it no longer. He joins 
 with Shylock in asking judgment: 
 
 Most heartily I do beseech the Court 
 To give the judgement. 
 
 Portia complies with the request and proceeds 
 slowly, giving judgment in favor of Shylock on 
 
The Merchant of Venice 219 
 
 every point. Shylock gloats over his helpless vic- 
 tim. Portia now turns to Antonio: 
 
 You, merchant, have you anything to say ? 
 
 Shakespeare, as a great artist, knew well the pow- 
 erful effect of Contrast. He had opposed Antonio's 
 patience to Shylock's fury; Antonio's quietness of 
 spirit to the very tyranny and rage of Shylock's. 
 Over against Shylock's triumph, he now portrays 
 Antonio's despair. He contrasts Shylock's fiendish 
 malignity with Antonio's love for Bassanio. In a 
 speech full of deep and passionate emotion Antonio 
 says: 
 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well! 
 Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; seq. 
 
 Shakespeare now again makes use of Contrast. 
 In order to intensify the tragic, he introduces the 
 comic. Antonio concludes what he and all believe 
 to be his dying speech by a very humorous play on 
 words: 
 
 For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I '11 pay it presently with all my heart. 
 
 Then Bassanio, in a passionate outburst of de- 
 spairing friendship, says to Antonio, in the presence 
 of Portia, he would sacrifice everything, even his 
 wife, to deliver him. Gratiano, in the presence of 
 Nerissa, wishes his wife 
 
 were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
220 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the humor of all which is apparent when we remem- 
 ber that the spectators of this drama know, what 
 none in that court but Portia and Nerissa knew, 
 that they were the wives of Bassanio and Gratiano. 
 Shylock now again asks for judgment: 
 
 We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 Portia proceeds: 
 
 A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 And you must cut this flesh from off his breast: 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Then, as Shylock says to Antonio, Come, prepare / 
 and is about to proceed to cut the flesh, Portia 
 says, Tarry a little. This is the climax of the Trial 
 Scene. This Scene, like the play of which it forms 
 a part, is written in the form of an arch. In both, 
 Shakespeare's work is perfectly symmetrical; that 
 is, the factors on one side of the climax balance 
 perfectly those on the other side. The crest of the 
 arch is the words Tarry a little. Previous to this 
 Shylock is triumphant, every decision has been in 
 his favor; subsequent to this every decision is 
 against him. Previous to this his fiendish glee is 
 growing greater and greater, his knife has been 
 sharpened to the keenness of a razor; following this 
 his glee changes first into seriousness, then into 
 rage, later into despair. 
 Portia says: 
 
 Tarry a little; there is something else. 
 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
 
The Merchant of Venice 221 
 
 The words expressly are, " a pound of flesh ": 
 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; 
 
 But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 
 Of course this is a quibble. The justice which 
 Portia dispenses is not legal but Poetic Justice. 
 The man who had pushed his suit to the extreme 
 degree because it was his humour, now receives an 
 adverse decision based on a petty sophism. The 
 man who craved the law and stood on the literal 
 reading of the bond, now receives a justice which, 
 while inequitable, was based on the letter of the law. 
 The man who had rejected thrice the amount of the 
 bond can now collect nothing but the penalty. 
 The man who had said triumphantly, A Daniel come 
 to judgement, now has that phrase tauntingly re- 
 peated to him by Gratiano: 
 
 A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel! 
 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 The man who had forced Antonio into a position in 
 which, in the bitterness of his distress, he said: 
 
 For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
 
 Than is her custom: it is still her use 
 
 To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
 
 To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
 
 An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
 
 Of such misery doth she cut me off, 
 
222 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 now by the reaction of his cruelty on himself is 
 ruined : 
 
 Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: 
 You take my house when you do take the prop 
 That doth sustain my house; you take my life 
 When you do take the means whereby I live. 
 
 Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges, 
 and thus Shakespeare has made this Trial Scene 
 symmetrical by making the factors on one side of 
 the climax balance those on the other. 
 
 The object of tragedy, said Aristotle, is to evoke 
 pity and fear. By a masterpiece of Dramatic 
 Hedging Shakespeare evokes pity for Shylock. The 
 latter not only loses his suit, and with that his 
 wealth, but also is insulted and outraged, grossly 
 and cruelly. Antonio foregoes his share of the fine 
 on condition 
 
 . . . he will let me have 
 The other half in use, to render it, 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 That lately stole his daughter: 
 Two things provided more, that, for this favour, 
 He presently become a Christian; 
 The other, that he do record a gift, 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
 Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 
 
 Shylock, in a frenzy of grief, says: 
 
 I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; 
 I am not well : send the deed after me, 
 And I will sign it. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 223 
 
 He leaves the court ruined, broken-hearted. 
 
 With the close of the trial the tragic in this play 
 ends. The Sub-Action— for the loan of three thou- 
 sand ducats and all the experiences of Antonio and 
 Shylock resulting therefrom constitute a Sub-Ac- 
 tion — gives way to the Main Action, the love affair 
 of Bassanio and Portia. All impediments to the full 
 fruition of that love have now been removed. The 
 Main Action of the drama, therefore, from this time 
 moves forward rapidly and happily to the conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 After Bassanio had made the successful choice of 
 the casket, and thereby won Portia, Portia gave 
 herself unreservedly to him: 
 
 But now I was the lord 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
 This house, these servants and this same myself 
 Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring; 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
 In reply Bassanio said: 
 
 But when this ring 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence: 
 O, then be bold to say Bassanio 's dead! 
 
 Shakespeare thus foreshadowed the Episode of 
 the Rings, which plays so important a part in the 
 Catastrophe. When Antonio was saved Bassanio 
 urged the judge (Portia) to take a fee. She refused. 
 He then said: 
 
224 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further: 
 Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
 Not as a fee. 
 
 She yielded: 
 
 And, for your love, I *11 take this ring from you. 
 
 Likewise the judge's clerk (Nerissa) obtained from 
 Gratiano his ring, which she had given to him. 
 
 Shakespeare has introduced this Episode of the 
 Rings for two purposes: 
 
 1. By means of it, the transition is effected from 
 the Sub- to the Main Action. Bassanio has been 
 the connecting link between Antonio and Shylock. 
 The tragic Sub-Action has been completed. Shy- 
 lock's dramatic life having ended, he has disap- 
 peared. Bassanio now, by means of the Ring 
 Episode, becomes the connecting link between An- 
 tonio and Portia. When that is effected the Main 
 Action resumes movement. 
 
 2. The disguise of Portia and Nerissa is eventu- 
 ally revealed by these rings. To perceive the 
 humor of the Ring Episode, one fact must be re- 
 membered, the spectator knows that of which all in 
 that court-room, except Portia and Nerissa, are ig- 
 norant, viz., that the lawyer is Portia, the clerk is 
 Nerissa. If Portia and Nerissa were what they pre- 
 tended to be, a lawyer, a clerk, there would have 
 been no humor. It is because they are women, and 
 the wives of these men, that the Ring Episode is 
 humorous. Not at once, but later, toward the very 
 conclusion of the play, explanations are made. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 225 
 
 When the party reaches Belmont, Nerissa and Gra- 
 tiano have a quarrel. The latter, evidently in reply 
 to a question from Nerissa, says: 
 
 By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong; 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. 
 
 Portia inquires What's the matter? On being 
 informed she says to Gratiano, You were to 6/ame, 
 and then mischievously adds: 
 
 I gave my love a ring and made him swear 
 Never to part with it; and here he stands; 
 I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. 
 
 Gratiano informed Portia that Bassanio gave the 
 ring to the judge. Bassanio acknowledges it. Portia, 
 then, in the most delightful manner banters Bas- 
 sanio. Her bantering is full of lambent humor, 
 playful fancy. Antonio intercedes for Bassanio. 
 Portia responds: 
 
 Then you shall be his surety. Give him this 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 As a result, the secret is revealed, viz., tftat Por- 
 tia was the doctor, Nerissa there her clerk. 
 
 This Episode is a fitting conclusion to the revela- 
 tion of Portia's character. At the beginning of the 
 play she was the dutiful daughter, abiding by the 
 will of her father. She was the maiden longing to 
 be loved. Then she appears as the much-wooed 
 
226 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 heiress. By her witty criticism of her suitors she 
 manifests her keen intellect, her womanly intuition. 
 When Bassanio has made the successful choice, she 
 surrenders herself unreservedly to the man she 
 loves. In the Trial Scene, contrasted with Shylock, 
 who represents justice, she is the embodiment of 
 mercy. In this character she personates a man. On 
 the conclusion of the Trial Scene her womanhood 
 asserts itself in the mischief, fun, frolic, of the Ring 
 Episode. That is the last manifestation of her girl- 
 hood. Later, that gives way to the loving wife, the 
 accomplished hostess, welcoming to her home at 
 Belmont her husband's friend Antonio, the lovers 
 Gratiano and Nerissa, Lorenzo and Jessica, and the 
 young friends of Bassanio. She is the dominating 
 spirit of the Catastrophe. She was that in the Trial 
 Scene; in the Episode of the Rings; in her own 
 mansion at Belmont. As she reveals herself in these 
 different situations, we find her trained in the prodi- 
 gality of nature. In her, perfectly balanced, highly 
 developed, we find the practical and the imagina- 
 tive, the emotional and the intellectual, sweetness 
 and strength. Over all, and pervading all, is that 
 indefinable but unmistakable quality which we call 
 charm. She is an example of radiant womanhood. 
 In a perfect work of Art all the factors must Com- 
 plement and Balance each other. This play con- 
 forms to that canon. The Catastrophe Complements 
 and Balances the Introduction. The first Scene of 
 the play is at Venice. The second is at Belmont. 
 The Catastrophe balances this. The trial is held 
 at Venice. The last Scene of the play is at Bel- 
 
The Merchant of Venice 227 
 
 mont. At the beginning, the feeling is one of sad- 
 ness: Antonio was sad; Portia's little body was 
 aweary of this great world. The conclusion of the 
 play is one of unalloyed happiness: Antonio's life 
 is saved ; three of his argosies return safely to port; 
 the three pairs of lovers are happily married. Thus, 
 the end Complements and Balances the beginning. 
 
 In this play human affection is portrayed in its 
 two forms, friendship, love; that is, affection for 
 one of the same sex, affection for one of the oppo- 
 site sex. The friendship between Antonio and 
 Bassanio reaches the highest development. The 
 love between Bassanio and Portia is also perfect and 
 complete. By a master stroke of the dramatist, 
 Antonio is the means by which the latter is accom- 
 plished. He was the surety for the loan which en- 
 abled Bassanio to woo and win Portia. At the last 
 he is again the surety by which the pretended quar- 
 rel between Portia and Bassanio about the rings is 
 amicably settled. Addressing Portia, Antonio said: 
 
 1 once did lend my body for his wealth; 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 Thus, the love of Bassanio and Portia has hinged 
 on the friendship between Antonio and Bassanio. 
 In this play Shakespeare has portrayed beautifully 
 and perfectly human affection in its two forms, 
 friendship and love. In view of this, how exquisite 
 
228 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 is the apostrophe in the last Act, first to moonlight, 
 secondly, to music: 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! seg. 
 
 There are certain latent affinities between the as- 
 pects of Nature and human thought and emotion. 
 " Sunshine is associated with the unfolding of na- 
 ture's products, the physical quickening of human 
 life." ' Night under some of its aspects is associ- 
 ated with deeds which are dark and tragic. Mac- 
 beth had consummated the plan for the murder of 
 Banquo and Fleance. The murderers had gone 
 forth, the night approaches. Between the oncom- 
 ing darkness in Nature and the darkness of moral 
 death gathering over Macbeth the analogue is per- 
 fect: 
 
 Light thickens, and the crow 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood; 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse. 
 
 When night is illumined by soft moonlight, it 
 suggests repose, reflection, the tender passion. It 
 was on such a night as this that Portia and Bas- 
 sanio, and their followers, meet, after the trial, at 
 Belmont. When Portia reaches there she hears 
 music: 
 
 Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion 
 And would not be awaked. 
 
 The relevancy and beauty of Portia's words are 
 realized when we remember that in Greek mythol- 
 
 1 Cf. Brown, The Fine Arts, p. 156. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 229 
 
 ogy Endymion is the sunset with which the moon 
 is in love. 
 
 Equally perfect and appropriate, judged from 
 the standpoint of dramatic art, is Shakespeare's 
 apostrophe, in this Catastrophe, to music. While 
 Art assumes various forms, architecture, sculpture, 
 painting, music, poetry, yet its ultimate object is 
 the same. Notwithstanding this fact, the form 
 assumed by it is an important factor. And each 
 form, be it the marble of the temple or the statue, 
 color in painting, sound in music, rhythmical words 
 in poetry, possesses its own quality of beauty, pro- 
 duces its own impression which Is distinct in kind. 
 Each appeals to the imagination tl"» rough its own 
 channel and produces an effect which is sui generis, 
 — the building, an architectural charm; the statue, 
 a sculpturesque charm ; the picture, a pictorial 
 charm ; the symphony, a musical charm ; the drama, 
 a poetic charm. Shakespeare recognizes this canon 
 of Art, and while he uses the two highest forms of 
 Art, music and poetry, he uses them always with 
 precision and strict regard to the nature of each. 
 By means of music he appeals primarily to the 
 emotions. By means of poetry he appeals pri- 
 marily to the imaginative reason. In this play 
 he introduces a love-song whilst Bassanio stands 
 before the caskets. Again, at the conclusion of the 
 drama, when the tragic has given way to the comic, 
 when hate has disappeared and love resumes its 
 sway, he introduces music. 
 
 The play ends, but not the action. The last 
 words are spoken by Portia: 
 
230 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It is almost morning, 
 And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full. Let us go in; 
 And charge us there upon inter' gatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Shakespeare does not bring the action to a con. 
 elusion. This is a quality of great Art. It is the 
 charm of the incomplete. It satisfies that artistic 
 craving for an element of suggestion, a stimulus to 
 the imagination. It is what Sir Charles Eastlake 
 calls " the judicious unfinish of a consummate ar- 
 tist." While this is a characteristic of Art in its 
 various forms, it applies particularly to the arts of 
 motion, music and poetry. In this quality they re- 
 semble men. Incompleteness is one characteristic 
 of breathing, growing, living men. Great Art, there- 
 fore, in order to portray human life, must and does 
 have a quality of incompleteness. Browning ex- 
 presses the thought perfectly : 
 
 Growth came when looking your last on them all, 
 
 You turned your eyes inwardly, one fine day, 
 
 And cried with a start — " What if we, so small, 
 
 Re greater and grander the while than they ? 
 
 Are they perfect of lineament, perfect of stature ? 
 
 In both, of such lower types are we 
 
 Precisely because of our wider nature; 
 
 For time, theirs — ours, for eternity. 
 
 To-day's brief passion limits their range, 
 
 It seethes with the morrow for us and more. 
 
 They are perfect — how else ? they shall never change: 
 
 We are faulty — why not ? We have time in store. 
 
The Merchant of Venice 231 
 
 The Artificer's hand is not arrested 
 
 With us; we are rough-hewn, nowise polished; 
 
 They stand for our copy, and, once invested 
 
 With all they can teach, we shall see them abolished." ' 
 
 The play reaches a conclusion; the action, how- 
 ever, does not end. Like human life, of which it is 
 a portrayal, it is incomplete, imperfect, and there- 
 fore great and enduring Art, for "what 's come to 
 perfection perishes." When the play concludes we 
 find ourselves gazing, with a vague and wistful 
 speculation, into the open door of that mansion at 
 Belmont through which Portia and her friends have 
 entered ; and longing to hear Portia, upon inter ga- 
 torus, . . . answer all things faithfully. 
 
 1 Old Pictures in Florence. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 NEARLY every fact mentioned in this play is 
 taken by Shakespeare from Plutarch. Plu- 
 tarch's record of them is a history; Shakespeare's is 
 a drama. Wherein is the difference between these 
 two forms of literary composition ? A history is a 
 narration of events; a drama is a representation of 
 events by means of action. Plutarch tells us about 
 the conspiracy which resulted in the death of Julius 
 Caesar. Shakespeare puts the conspirators on the 
 stage ; we hear them speak ; we see them act. 
 
 This, however, is not the only difference between 
 a history and a drama. They differ not only in 
 form, but also in nature. 
 
 History and Poetry [says Aristotle] are distinguished 
 herein, that the one relates what has occurred, the other 
 relates of what nature the occurrence has been. . . . 
 Poetry refers to the general, and history to the particu- 
 lar. The general is how such and such a man would 
 speak or act according to probability or necessity. . . . 
 
 232 
 
Julius Caesar 233 
 
 The particular, on the contrary, is what Alcibiades has 
 done or suffered. 1 
 
 Dramatic poetry is not actual but imaginative 
 truth. It appeals not so much to the intellect as to 
 the imagination; to the imaginative reason; to the 
 intellectual emotions. Poets are the ideal interpre- 
 ters of life. Shakespeare adds to Plutarch's facts a 
 subtle, indefinable ideality. After Claudio had 
 cruelly slandered Hero and then deserted her at the 
 marriage altar, Friar Francis advised that she be 
 hidden, and a notice of her death published. The 
 effect of this, he said, would be: 
 
 When [Claudio] shall hear she died upon his words, 
 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 
 Into his study of imagination, 
 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 
 Shall come apparelVd in more precious habit, 
 
 More moving-delicate and full of life, 
 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 
 Than when she lived indeed. 
 
 In these words, which are the very highest reach 
 of imaginative poetry, Shakespeare describes his 
 own work in this drama. By his vivifying imagina- 
 tion he resurrects these men. 
 
 . . . graves at [his] command 
 
 Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth 
 
 By [his] so potent art. 
 
 He recreates them. He reveals to us the idea, 
 
 1 Poetics, section ix.; ef. Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Book 
 II., chap, iv., pp. I, 2; Newman, Aristotle's Poetics, section 4. 
 
234 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 f, e., the image, of their lives, and this he does so 
 perfectly that we perceive not so much the body as 
 the mind and spirit. Not to the naked eye, but to 
 the eye of the mind are revealed the thoughts, emo- 
 tions, intentions; the conflict between blood and 
 judgement ; the subtle interflow of good and evil ; in 
 a word, all those powerful, though silent and invis- 
 ible, forces which constituted the springs of action 
 in each of these men. As a result, every organ of 
 their lives is disclosed, and Brutus, Cassius, Caesar, 
 Antony, and the others appear before us not as 
 shades of the departed, but as living men. 
 
 Of course, this idealism of the poet must be 
 founded on realism. He must possess imaginative 
 verity.' He must see into the very heart of heart of 
 a man or woman, and in his drama portray that man 
 or woman with perfect truthfulness. Shakespeare 
 would have erred if he had ascribed to Portia the 
 morals of Cleopatra, or to Brutus the baseness of 
 Iago. At the same time historical accuracy in every 
 minor detail is not a requisite of a great drama. 
 Sciolists speak of Shakespeare's incorrect history. 
 By so doing they manifest ignorance of the nature 
 
 1 " I know full well that the sentiments in a drama must be in ac- 
 cordance with the assumed character of the person who utters them. 
 They can therefore not bear the stamp of absolute truth; it is enough 
 if they are poetically true, if we must admit that this character under 
 these circumstances, with these passions, could not have judged 
 otherwise. But, on the other hand, this poetical truth must also 
 approach to the absolute, and the poet must never think so unphilo- 
 sophically as to assume that a man could desire evil for evil's sake, 
 that a man could act on vicious principles, knowing them to be 
 vicious, and boast of them to himself and to others." — Lessing, 
 Dramatic Notes. 
 
Julius Cesar 235 
 
 of a historical drama, and also their lack of the criti- 
 cal faculty. Such, in the words of Sir William 
 Davenant,' " take away the liberty of the Poet, and 
 fetter his feet in the shackles of the Historian." 
 Shakespeare did not, nor was it necessary that 
 he should, follow history literally. 
 
 Into Brutus' mouth he puts these words: 
 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 
 This is not historically correct. Brutus was not 
 of that family. "Brutus, who expelled the Tar- 
 quins," says Froude,' " put his sons to death, and 
 died childless; Marcus Brutus came of good ple- 
 beian family, with no glories of tyrannicide about 
 them ; but an imaginary genealogy suited well with 
 the spurious heroics which veiled the motives of 
 Ca-'sar's murderers." 
 
 Plutarch says Caesar was stabbed twenty-three 
 times. Shakespeare speaks of Cresar's three and 
 thirty wounds. As a matter of history Caesar never 
 uttered ihe words Et tu Brute ! They Were origi- 
 nal with Shakespeare. The latter was not a his- 
 torian, but a poet. He knew that if Caesar, when 
 he saw his trusted friend Brutus raise the dagger, 
 had expressed his thoughts and feelings, it would 
 have been in such words as Et tu Brute / For, as 
 Antony in his speech said: 
 
 . . . when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd him. 
 1 Preface to Gondibert. • Casar, p. 507. 
 
236 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 These words, therefore, while not historically, are 
 poetically true.' 
 
 I have descanted somewhat at length upon the 
 difference between a history and a drama, because 
 that difference is essential, and must always be 
 borne in mind by the critical student. A knowledge 
 of that difference guards against an incorrect method 
 of studying a historical drama. It must be studied, 
 not as history, not with reference to the correctness 
 or incorrectness of its statements, but as a drama. 
 To do the former is entirely to misconceive the in- 
 tention of the poet, and, as a consequence, to fail 
 utterly in comprehending and appreciating the 
 poem. It is a mistake similar to that pointed out 
 so long ago by Plutarch": "He that goes about to 
 split wood with a key, and to unlock a door with 
 an axe, does not so much misemploy his instru- 
 ments, as deprive himself of the proper use of both. " 
 
 Human life is dominated by two great forces, 
 Free-will, Fate. Both these forces are referred to 
 in this drama. Cassius alludes to the former when, 
 in his first conversation with Brutus, he said: 
 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates: 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 
 Caesar refers to the latter; vis,, Fate, overruling 
 Providence, when he asks Calpurnia: 
 
 1 " Truth, narrative and past, is the idol of historians (who wor- 
 ship a dead thing), and truth, operative and by its effects continually 
 alive, is the mistress of poets, who hath not her existence in matter, 
 but in reason." — Sir Win. Davenant, Preface to Gondibert. 
 
 1 Morals ; Of Hearing. 
 
Julius Caesar 237 
 
 What can be avoided 
 
 Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods ? 
 
 Shakespeare has written tragedies portraying both 
 these phases of human life. In this play it is the 
 latter which he depicts. Caesar is not the direct 
 cause of his own death. In this drama he is not 
 active, but passive. Forces outside of himself bring 
 the action to a Climax. Other forces, still outside 
 of himself, carry the action forward to the Catas- 
 trophe. While he is the cause of the action, he is 
 such not as doing anything in the drama, not as an 
 actor therein, but as representing a sentiment, em- 
 bodying a principle, viz., Imperialism. While living 
 he is the passive cause of the conspiracy ; when dead, 
 he is the equally passive cause of the retribution. 
 It is his wounds, 
 
 Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
 • To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, 
 
 that caused Antony to speak. It is his 
 
 . , . wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, 
 
 which had power to 
 
 , . . move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny, 
 
 that demand vengeance. 
 
 A third characteristic of this play, wherein it 
 differs from most others is, no one person dominates 
 it. The action centres around Julius Caesar. He, 
 however, is passive. The fore part, all preceding 
 
238 • Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the Climax, is dominated by the conspirators. Of 
 these, at the beginning, Cassius is the leader. He 
 soon gives way to Brutus, who becomes the master- 
 spirit. The after part, all following the Climax, is 
 dominated by the avengers, of whom Antony is 
 the controlling personality. But no one person 
 dominates the action of this play from beginning to 
 end, as did Henry V., Richard III., Coriolanus. 
 Hamlet, in the plays bearing those names. This 
 drama, unlike those, is not a delineation of a per- 
 son, but of a principle. It describes not so much 
 the fortunes of Caisar as it does the conflict between 
 Republicanism and Imperialism. True, Antony 
 said, 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he [llrutus], 
 Did that they did in envy of great Ccesar: 
 
 This opinion is questionable. But whether Antony 
 was correct or incorrect, of one fact there is no 
 doubt, viz., the avowed and ostensible motive 
 which governed the conspirators in assassinating 
 Caesar was not dislike of him personally, but the 
 belief that he embodied a principle which threat- 
 ened the life of the Republic. As the play pro- 
 ceeds, this idea is iterated and reiterated. This was 
 the final consideration which induced Brutus to join 
 the conspirators. He reiterated this opinion in his 
 first conference with them. He expressed regret 
 that in order to destroy the principle which, as he 
 thought, Ca_-sar embodied, it was necessary to kill 
 Caesar. After the murder he told Antony the 
 motive which led him to stab his Criend was 
 
Julius Caesar 239 
 
 , . . pity to the general wrong of Rome. 
 
 It was the one reason which Brutus gave to the 
 citizens for the justification of the assassination. 
 The motive which governed him, and which was 
 announced as the motive of all, was a desire to save 
 the Republic: 
 
 I slew my best lover for the good of Rome. 
 
 Caesar's spirit, as the expression of treason against 
 the Republic, was the cause and object of the 
 attack. 
 
 As Caesar's spirit was the cause of the action.so 
 was it also of the reaction. It caused the conspir- 
 acy which culminated in the assassination. It like- 
 wise caused the retribution which brought to 
 Cassius and Brutus defeat and death. As Antony 
 stood over Caesar's mangled body, apostrophizing 
 it as 
 
 . . . thou bleeding piece of earth, 
 
 he said the consequence of the murder would be: 
 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 
 Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; 
 
 And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
 With Ate by his side come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice, 
 Cry " Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war: 
 
 Antony was correct. 
 
240 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Nor did Caesar's spirit cease to range for revenge 
 until it brought death to Brutus and Cassius. At 
 the close of the battle of Philippi, just previous to 
 committing suicide, Brutus said: 
 
 O Julius Coesar, thou art mighty yet! 
 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 
 In our own proper entrails. 
 
 As I have previously said, no one man dominates 
 this play. It does not treat of Julius Caesar as an 
 individual; it does not dramatize his personal life 
 and fortunes. It treats of him only so far as he is 
 the embodiment of a principle, viz., Imperialism. 
 The conspirators likewise are portrayed not as in- 
 dividuals, but as personifying, individually and 
 collectively, the counter principle, viz., Republi- 
 canism. The unity of the drama is not in a person 
 but in the action. That action relates to the con- 
 spiracy, its formation, its culmination, its conse- 
 quence; the avowed object of which conspiracy 
 was, by killing Caesar, to preserve to the Roman 
 people 
 
 Peace, freedom and liberty! 
 
 In conclusion, this play is unlike most of the 
 Shakesperian dramas in that it is simple. I use the 
 word in its original sense (Latin simplex, not com- 
 plicated). The action of the drama is not involved. 
 There are no Sub-Actions. There are several Epi- 
 sodes. These are very brief, and of minor import- 
 ance. The movement from beginning to end 
 consists almost wholly of the Main Action. That 
 
Julius Caesar 241 
 
 moves steadily upwards to the Climax. From there 
 it advances, almost without interruption, to the 
 Catastrophe. 
 
 The conflict between the two principles, Imperial- 
 ism and Republicanism's the theme of the drama. 
 This is technically the Central Idea. It will be 
 found, as we proceed with the study, that every 
 character, every deed, every word, in the play is 
 related to this idea. This is the key-note of the 
 action, and this key-note is struck in the opening 
 Scene of the Introduction. 
 
 This is done, not by means of a conversation, as 
 in the Merchant of Venice ; or of a narration, as in 
 Othello ox Hamlet ; but by an action. This action 
 is not the Main Action of the drama. It introduces 
 and foreshadows that. 
 
 This opening Scene presents to us Flavius and 
 Marullus, Tribunes, and a rabble of Citizens. Be- 
 tween the former and the latter there is a war of 
 words; on the part of the citizens, good-natured, 
 humorous; on the part of the Tribunes, serious. 
 By means of this dispute Shakespeare begins the 
 play, and foreshadows the tragic conflict which 
 forms its Main Action. 
 
 The drama derives distinction both from the 
 place and time of the action. 
 
 We are learning that European history, from its first 
 glimmerings to our own day, is one unbroken drama, no 
 part of which can be rightly understood without reference 
 to the other parts which come before and after it. We 
 are learning that of this great drama Rome is the centre, 
 
 »6 
 
242 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the point to which all roads lead, and from which all 
 roads lead no less. The world of independent Greece 
 stands on one side of it; the world of modern Europe 
 stands on another. 1 
 
 The time was one of the most important epochs in 
 the history of the Roman people. To this city, 
 after his victory at Munda, Julius Caesar was return- 
 ing. The common people had gathered in the 
 streets to make holiday to see Ccesar, and to rejoice in 
 his triumph. They had decked his images with 
 festal ornaments; had hung on them trophies. The 
 Tribunes, seeing in this popular worship of Caesar 
 danger to the Republic, attempted tocheck the mob. 
 
 Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? seq. 
 
 This rebuke of Marullus is re-enforced by the 
 gentler counsel of Flavius. 
 
 The danger to the Republic exists not only in 
 the fickleness and thoughtlessness of the fool multi- 
 tude, but also in the character of Julius Caesar. 
 Shakespeare closes the Scene by an intimation of 
 that. Flavius says: 
 
 These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, 
 Who else would soar above the view of men 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. 
 
 The very best commentary on this opening Scene 
 is the words of Cassius, uttered a little later: 
 
 1 Freeman, Unity of History, 
 
Julius Caesar 243 
 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire 
 Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, 
 What rubbish and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Caesar! 
 
 This Scene is immediately followed by the en- 
 trance of Caesar. He appears in procession rvith 
 Music, and is accompanied by a great crowd, in 
 which is a Soothsayer. Caesar speaks. Casca, with 
 the utmost deference, orders silence. Caesar com- 
 mands Calpurnia to stand in Antonius' way. He 
 also commands Antonius to touch Calpurnia. An- 
 tony acknowledges Caesar's supreme power: 
 
 When Caesar says "do this," it is perform'd. 
 
 Caesar is about to retire when the Soothsayer bids 
 him Beivare the ides of March. With the irony of 
 fate, this warning is repeated by Brutus. It is 
 reiterated by the Soothsayer. Then Caesar, refus- 
 ing to heed it, — 
 
 He is a dreamer; let us leave him, — 
 
 passes off the stage, accompanied by all except 
 Brutus and Cassius. 
 
 In this first and brief glimpse of Caesar, Shake- 
 speare has emphasized Caesar's commanding author- 
 ity, and also the acknowledgment of the same by 
 Antony and the mob. These are the two dangers 
 which threaten the Republic. 
 
 Caesar, the victim, Antony, his friend and aven- 
 ger, have been introduced. Shakespeare now 
 
244 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 brings forward. Brutus and Cassius, the leaders of 
 the conspiracy. In the conference which follows, 
 the characters of these two men are revealed, and 
 as well their conception of the character of Caesar; 
 also, the first efforts are made for the formation of 
 the conspiracy. It is to be noted that the first 
 suggestion to this end comes from Cassius. He, at 
 the beginning, is the dominating force of the con- 
 spiracy. 
 
 The danger which threatens the Republic had 
 hardly been referred to by Cassius, when his words 
 are emphasized by a Flourish, and shout. In re- 
 sponse Brutus says: 
 
 What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 The appeal to Brutus' patriotism is not in vain. 
 
 Ay, do you fear it ? 
 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Brutus responds: 
 
 I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. 
 But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
 What is it that you would impart to me ? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently. 
 
 Cassius then begins the recital of that story, the 
 subject of which is honour. He proceeds to de- 
 scribe Caesar as but a man, subject to the same 
 frailties as others. Once, when swimming the 
 
Julius Caesar 245 
 
 Tiber, he was on the point of drowning, and cried, 
 Help me, Cassias, or I sink. Another time 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain. 
 
 Cassius then speaks of his name, and compares it 
 with that of Brutus. 
 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours? seq. 
 Such is Cassius' description of the man who 
 
 . . . doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus. 
 
 Cassius' words are not without effect. What that 
 effect is Brutus himself tells us: 
 
 Brutus had rather be a villager 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 Caesar and his train returning from the games now 
 re-enter. Brutus observes, and calls Cassius' at- 
 tention to — 
 
 The angry spot doth giow on Caesar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train. 
 
 Shakespeare for a moment now directs attention 
 from Caesar to Cassius, at this time the most active 
 of the conspirators. With fine foreshadowing he 
 puts in Caesar's mouth this description of Cassius: 
 
 Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
 He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. 
 
246 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Antony, lacking Caesar's insight and foresight, and 
 in order to repress any fear in Caesar, replies: 
 
 Fear him not, Caesar; he 's not dangerous. 
 
 Caesar responds by a fine analysis of Cassius' char- 
 acter, and resents any imputation of cowardice. 
 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
 Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. 
 
 And then, with one of those minor touches indica- 
 ting the finest artistic sense, Shakespeare makes 
 Caesar refer to one of his physical infirmities. He 
 says to Antony : 
 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
 
 Caesar and his train make their exit, not to appear 
 again in the Introduction. 
 
 Casca then relates to Brutus and Cassius what 
 had taken place. Three times Antony offered 
 Caesar a crown. Each time Caesar had refused it. 
 Then Caesar swooned. To this Casca adds, once 
 more striking the chord of Caesar's dangerous 
 ambition, 
 
 I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, 
 for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. 
 
 Casca now retires, to be followed soon by Brutus, 
 into whose ears Cassius speaks this parting injunc- 
 tion, think of the world* Brutus, although pro- 
 foundly stirred by Cassius, has not yet been entirely 
 won over. The latter determines to make one final 
 effort, of the success of which he has no doubt: 
 
Julius Caesar 247 
 
 I will this night, 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 That Rome holds of his name; seq. 
 
 Shakespeare's portrait of Caesar in this second 
 Scene of the Introduction seems to many surpris- 
 ing, inexplicable. Probably no other historical 
 character is so frequently mentioned by Shake- 
 speare as Julius Caesar. He is referred to in twelve 
 plays. Between the two men there seems to have 
 been the strongest intellectual affinity. Shakespeare 
 was cognizant of, appreciated fully, Caesar's great- 
 ness. In Hamlet he describes him as the mightiest 
 Julius, and again, as Imperial Cczsar. Later in this 
 play, he is similarly described by Antony as 
 
 The noblest man 
 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 
 Why, then, in this Introduction does Shakespeare 
 describe him as 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper? 
 
 In a great drama no more, no other, elements of a 
 character are portrayed than those which are evoked 
 by, are in vital connection with, the action of the 
 drama. This is true of a play as a whole, and also 
 of the different parts. The subject of this play is 
 not, as one might infer from the title, Julius Caesar. 
 In fact, he is not even the leading character in the 
 play. 
 
24** Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 To digress for a moment. Amongst other proofs 
 of that is the scale of delineation. In the play 
 there are 2417 verses. Of these Brutus speaks 727, 
 Cassius 507, these two aggregating 1234, or more 
 than half. Antony speaks 327, Octavius Caesar 47, 
 while Julius Caesar speaks but 154 verses. The scale 
 of delineation is not the only test as to the impor- 
 tance of a dramatic character. Still it is one, and 
 must be considered by the critical student. 
 
 Julius Caesar was not the principal actor in this 
 drama. Brutus occupies that position. Julius 
 Caesar as a great statesman, writer, general, is 
 hardly referred to. Those attributes of his charac- 
 ter are outside of, extraneous to, the scope of this 
 action. His connection with this play is simply 
 that of an unpatriotic and ambitious man grasping 
 at power. Such was the conception of him which 
 the conspirators had. It was to destroy such a 
 man, and thus save the Republic, that the conspir- 
 acy was formed. Hence the dramatist, in order, 
 ostensibly, to induce Brutus to join the conspiracy, 
 really, to enlist the sympathies of the audience for 
 the conspirators, and to afford some justification for 
 them, makes Cassius in this Introduction describe 
 Caesar as but a man; a man physically weak, men- 
 tally vacillating, and at the same time governed by 
 an ambition both overmastering and dangerous. 
 This result, so far as it affects the spectator, is in- 
 tensified by Shakespeare making Caesar himself 
 speak of his deafness; and still more by Caesar's 
 swooning when the crown was offered to him. 
 Thus by such portrayal of Caesar, as a physically 
 
Julius Caesar 249 
 
 weak and withal dangerous man, Shakespeare gives 
 some justification for the assassination, and brings 
 us into sympathy with the conspirators. 
 
 In Scene 2 the poet appeals wholly to the intel- 
 lect. The reference to Caesar's weakness is not for 
 the purpose of awakening sympathy for him but, 
 by making manifest the incongruity between such a 
 man and the position to which he aspires, to give 
 a reason for the conspiracy. If the spectator's in- 
 terest is to be perfectly, wholly enlisted, both in- 
 tellect and emotions must be profoundly stirred. 
 This Shakespeare does in the third and last Scene 
 of the Introduction by calling Nature and the 
 supernatural to his assistance. He uses them as a 
 background for human thought and emotion. 1 The 
 murderous deed is heralded by disturbances in 
 Nature. 
 
 In ancient times, as well as in our day, the ele- 
 ments were believed to be in very close sympathy 
 with human joy or sorrow. It was believed that 
 Nature, both animate and inanimate, was pro- 
 foundly disturbed by impending disaster. The 
 violent deaths of kings and rulers were supposed 
 to be preceded by perturbations of Nature. 
 
 Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
 Threaten his bloody stage. 
 
 This is but one of many references by Shake- 
 speare to this superstition. 
 
 1 " To the poet ... all nature appears to be, in a peculiar 
 sense, a representation, a repetition, a projection in the realm of 
 matter, of the immaterial processes of thought within the mind."— 
 Wordsworth, Tintern Abbty. 
 
250 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 This Scene opens with thunder and lightning. 
 The environment is in perfect harmony with the 
 action. Nature, stormy, threatening, filled with 
 prodigies, forms a sombre background to the im- 
 pending tragedy. Cicero and Casca enter. From, 
 these commotions in Nature Casca infers: 
 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven, 
 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Civil strife, not in heaven, but in Rome, is that 
 which is foreshadowed. Casca relates other un- 
 natural occurrences, and then concludes: 
 
 When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
 " These are their reasons; they are natural "; 
 For, I believe, they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 In order to keep Caesar before the spectator, and 
 to bring him into close relation to these prodigies, 
 Cicero asks : 
 
 Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 
 
 Cicero, who is but a passive spectator, not an actor, 
 in this drama, now retires and Cassius enters. Be- 
 tween perturbed Nature and his agitated mind 
 there is the warmest sympathy. In response to 
 Casca's question, What night is this ? he replies: 
 
 A very pleasing night to honest mea 
 
Julius Caesar 251 
 
 So pleasing, indeed, so expressive of the rebellion 
 within him, that he 
 
 . . . bar'd [his] bosom to the thunder-stone; 
 And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Further, he sees and heavs in these dreadful heralds, 
 sent by the mighty gods: 
 
 . . . instruments of fear and warning 
 Unto some monstrous state. 
 
 He then compares a man to this dreadful night, 
 and says he is fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 Casca guesses correctly. Caesar is the man. Casca 
 then proceeds: 
 
 Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow 
 Mean to establish Csesar as a king; 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cassius suggests two ways by which Romans may 
 preserve their freedom : either suicide or armed re- 
 sistance. He finds Casca responsive to the latter. 
 Without further delay, or attempt at secrecy, Cas- 
 sius openly announces the formation of the con- 
 spiracy. 
 
 There 's a bargain made: seq. 
 
 Cinna, one of the conspirators, now appears. He 
 informs Cassius that Decius Brutus and Trebonius 
 
252 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 have repaired to Pompey's porch, and that Metellus 
 Cimber has gone to seek him at the latter's house. 
 Brutus still hesitates. Not yet has he unreservedly 
 and formally joined the conspiracy. As to 
 
 Him and his worth and our great need of him, 
 
 there is unanimity of sentiment. Cinna says: 
 
 O Cassias, if you could 
 
 But win the noble Brutus to our party. 
 
 And later: 
 
 O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: 
 And that which would appear offence in us, 
 His countenance, like richest alchemy, 
 Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 
 
 Cassius has previously said : 
 
 . . . three parts of him 
 Is ours already, and the man entire 
 Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 
 
 And so he does. When Brutus again appears he 
 has decided to join the conspiracy. 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 II., I, 2 
 
 // must be by his death : These words of Brutus 
 are the dividing line between the Introduction and 
 the Growth. The last words uttered by Brutus in 
 the Introduction had been to Cassius: 
 
Julius Caesar 253 
 
 For this time I will leave you: 
 To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you; or, if you will, 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cassius responds: 
 
 I will do so: till then, think of the world. 
 
 Brutus then makes his exit, not to appear again in 
 the Introduction. At that time he had reached no 
 definite decision in reference to the conspiracy. 
 When he first appears in the Growth he has fully 
 determined that Caesar must die. He joins the 
 conspiracy, and shortly thereafter the Main Action 
 of the drama begins. 
 
 The scene is Brutus' garden ; the time, night. 
 The stars are shining brightly; all nature is serene 
 and tranquil. Lucius, a boy, is sleeping peacefully. 
 Brutus says: 
 
 What, Lucius, ho! 
 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 
 Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! 
 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 
 When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say! what, Lucius! 
 
 Thus Shakespeare ushers in the action of this 
 drama, which is to the intensest degree tragic. 
 Unlike most of the Shakespeare plays there is in 
 this one very little humor. The nearest approach 
 to that is, here and there, a pun. But Shakespeare 
 tones down the tragic, prevents it from becoming 
 monotonous and oppressive, and at the same time 
 
254 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 intensifies the effect by means of Contrast. The 
 description of peaceful nature and a sleeping boy 
 makes more vivid the convulsing soul-conflict raging 
 in Brutus, and the still greater conflict impending in 
 Rome. 
 
 From the time Brutus joins the conspiracy he be- 
 comes its leader. Shakespeare, therefore, in the 
 fore part of the Growth, allows us to see into the 
 mind and heart of Brutus. By means of a soliloquy 
 he reveals his motives. Between himself and Caesar 
 there had existed the truest friendship. Cassius has 
 already informed us that Caesar loved Brutus: 
 
 Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus. 
 
 Brutus was fully cognizant of this, and so stated in 
 his funeral oration : As Ccesar lov'd nie, I weep for 
 him, Antony adds his testimony to the same effect. 
 In his funeral oration he said: 
 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. 
 
 Brutus reciprocated Caesar's love. So that 
 Brutus' decision, // must be by his death ! was not 
 the outcome of any personal cause. On the con- 
 trary, it was an offence against his own affections. 
 Nor was it because of anything Caesar had done, or 
 Caesar was. It was the dread of what he might, in 
 the future, become: 
 
 And, since the quarrel 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
 Would run to these and these extremities: seq. 
 
Julius Caesar 255 
 
 This soliloquy, of which the above lines are the 
 conclusion, is a masterly presentation of that strug- 
 gle which takes place in a good man when two 
 duties conflict. Loyalty to his friend, loyalty to 
 his country, are the duties which in Brutus are con- 
 tending for mastery. The latter conquers. Love of 
 country was the sentiment which controlled him and 
 was the mainspring of his action. His reflections 
 are thoroughly instinct with the truest and highest 
 patriotism. The decision reached by him, although 
 purely unselfish, perfectly patriotic, was mistaken. 
 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied. 
 
 It was but the first of a series of errors, which 
 were fatal to himself, ruinous to the conspiracy. 
 
 Most dangerous 
 Is that temptation that doth goad us on 
 To sin in loving virtue. 
 
 Lucius enters. He gives Brutus a letter. Brutus 
 inquires: 
 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the idea of March ? 
 
 When Caesar first appeared the Soothsayer had 
 bidden him Beware the ides of March. Since then 
 Brutus had reached the conclusion, // must be by his 
 death ! Here again, incidentally, Brutus refers to 
 the ides of March. Thus once more Shakespeare 
 has foreshadowed both Caesar's death and the time 
 of its occurrence. 
 
 The letter Brutus reads: 
 
256 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The exhalations whizzing in the air 
 
 Give so much light that I may read by them. 
 
 These references to the supernatural, to prodigies, 
 to portents, occur all through the play. In con- 
 sidering them we must remember that to the men 
 of that day they were real and potent. 1 Brutus, 
 Caesar, Cassius, all were influenced by them. We 
 must read the play, and particularly these refer- 
 ences to the supernatural, in the light of that day. 
 
 The letter calls on Brutus to save his country. 
 Its author we know. It produces the desired 
 effect. Brutus yields: 
 
 O Rome, I make thee promise; 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! 
 
 Cassius was right. Of Brutus he had said: 
 
 Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, 
 Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
 From that it is disposed. 
 
 The coherence and interdependence of the minor 
 parts of the drama, so far as we have studied it, are 
 perfect. These minor details are but different parts 
 of a work of Art which is organic. Speaking of the 
 critical faculty in its application to the art-product, 
 
 1 " Astrology was not such mere imposition as it is generally sup- 
 posed to have been. It is counted as a science by so sound and 
 sober a scholar as Melanchthon, and even Bacon allows it a place 
 among the sciences, though admitting that it ' had better intelligence 
 and confederacy with the imagination of man than with his reason.'" 
 — Max Muller, The Sciaice of Language, Lecture I. 
 
Julius Caesar 257 
 
 Sir William Hamilton says,' " The less cultivated 
 mind lingers over the parts, the multifarious details; 
 the more educated combines these in unity." To 
 this I add : the perfectly educated student is the one 
 that recognizes the fact that in a work of Art the 
 details form a Unity; and conversely, that this 
 Unity is composed of Variety. My aim in the 
 study of this drama is to preserve the balance be- 
 tween the minor parts and the play as a complete 
 and perfect work of dramatic art, with the ultimate 
 purpose of making manifest the fact that while, like 
 every other art-product, it possesses Variety, its 
 primary quality i; Unity. 
 
 Once more the poet allows us to see poor Brutus, 
 with himself at war. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: 
 The Genius and the mortal instruments 
 Are then in council; and the state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Lucius now announces Cassius and the other con- 
 spirators. Brutus welcomes each one, and then he 
 and Cassius whisper. While they are so doing, 
 Decius, Casca, Cinna, have a brief discussion as to 
 the points of the compass. They cannot agree as 
 to the direction in which to look for the rising sun. 
 
 • The Beautiful and the Sublime. 
 »7 
 
258 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The object of the poet by this brief Episode is to 
 make manifest the unsettled condition of the con- 
 spirators' minds. Brutus again shakes hands with 
 the others. Give me your hands all over, one by one, 
 he says. Cassius then suggests: And let us swear 
 our resolution. Brutus demurs: No, not an oath. 
 This inaugurates a series of differences between 
 Cassius and Brutus which extend to the battle of 
 Philippi. In each case Brutus' motives are the 
 best and truest. In each case his judgment is mis- 
 taken. Yet always his advice is followed. Again 
 Cassius inquires: 
 
 But what of Cicero ? shall we sound him ? 
 I think he will stand very strong with us. 
 
 Casca, Cinna, Metellus, agree with Cassius in this 
 opinion. Again Brutus demurs. Cicero, whose 
 influence and eloquence would have been of the 
 greatest aid after the murder, is not invited to join 
 the conspirators. Cassius then suggests the advis- 
 ability of killing Mark Antony: 
 
 I think it is not meet, 
 Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar. 
 
 Again Cassius is overruled by Brutus: 
 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
 When Cajsar's head is off. 
 
 Brutus' motives in this, as in the former case, are 
 the noblest and most humane: 
 
Julius Caesar 259 
 
 Let us be sacrifices, but not butchers, Caius. 
 His judgment is ruinously mistaken. 
 
 . . . to be tender-minded 
 Does not become a sword. 
 
 He saves the very man who becomes the principal 
 avenger of Caesar's murder. 
 
 The striking clock warns the conspirators of de- 
 parting time. Before separating Cassius suggests; 
 
 But it is doubtful yet, 
 Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
 
 and then states that a change has recently taken 
 place in him : 
 
 For he is superstitious grown of late, 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies. 
 
 Decius assures the conspirators that he can over- 
 sway Caesar: 
 
 For I can give his humour the true bent, 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol. 
 
 Metellus suggests Caius Ligarius, on account of 
 his enmity to Cccsar, as a valuable accession to their 
 number. Brutus for once assents, and says to 
 Metellus: 
 
 Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 
 
 As the day breaks the conspirators separate, and 
 Brutus is left alone. 
 
260 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The action of the drama has made considerable 
 progress. The plans for the murder of Caesar have 
 been perfected. An Episode now occurs, the touch- 
 ing interview between Portia and Brutus. The 
 effect of it is twofold. It stops the progress of the 
 action. A drama, like human life, of which it is 
 the representation, needs periods of repose. Also, 
 by means of Contrast, it intensifies the interest of 
 the spectator. 
 
 Brutus calls for Lucius: 
 
 Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep? It is no matter; seq. 
 
 Before the boy awakes, and while Brutus waits, 
 Portia enters. 
 
 There are but two women in this play, Portia and 
 Calpurnia. Both are wives. Neither of them takes 
 any direct or dominant part in the action of the 
 drama. They influence the action indirectly, 
 through their husbands, and but faintly. Unlike 
 most of the Shakespearian plays, in this the action 
 is inaugurated and carried forward to the Catas- 
 trophe wholly by men. 
 
 In the interview in the early morn between Portia 
 and Brutus the nobility of their natures is revealed. 
 Brutus is anxious, oppressed with the weight of 
 what he believes to be a great duty. Portia is 
 loyal, loving, noble. But, in each, devotion to the 
 other is dominant. Brutus says: 
 
 You are my true and honourable wife, 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
Julius Caesar 261 
 
 Portia manifests her strength, endurance, love, 
 by a self-inflicted wound. 
 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience, 
 And not my husband's secrets? 
 
 A knocking is heard. Brutus speaks to Portia a 
 few farewell words, words full of sadness and devo- 
 tion: 
 
 Portia, go in a while; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 
 Portia retires, nevermore to see Brutus. That by 
 and by never comes. 
 
 By this Episode, following directly after the 
 murderous plans of the conspirators have been 
 completed, and preceding but a few hours the 
 consummation of those plans in the murder of 
 Cxsar, Shakespeare contrasts human love and un- 
 selfish devotion with violence and death. The 
 action of the drama is, for the time being, stopped. 
 The strain on the emotions of the spectator is tem- 
 porarily relieved. The impending tragedy becomes 
 more awful. 
 
 Lucius now enters and tells Brutus: Here is a 
 sick man that would speak with you. It is, says 
 Brutus, Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 
 Brutus tells him of an exploit worthy of the name of 
 honour. He has such unquestioning confidence in 
 Brutus that he decides to follow him: 
 
262 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Set on your foot, 
 And with a heart new-fired I follow you, 
 To do I know not what: but it sufficeth 
 That Brutus leads me on. 
 
 While conferring they make then exit. 
 
 The scene of the drama is now transferred from 
 Brutus' garden to Caesar's palace. The time is the 
 same, the early morning of the day on which Caesar 
 is assassinated. This, the last Scene of the Growth, 
 opens, as did the last Scene of the Introduction, 
 with thunder and lightning. As Cicero, Casca, Cas- 
 sius, had been powerfully affected by the prodigies 
 of nature, so likewise are Caesar and Calpumia. 
 Caesar says: 
 
 Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: 
 Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 ■ ' Help, ho! they murder Caesar! " 
 
 Caesar sends his servant with a message to the 
 priest. Calpurnia enters. She 
 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch, 
 
 and entreats him not to go to the Capitol. The 
 augurs also send a warning: 
 
 They would not have you to stir forth to-day. 
 Caesar disregards entreaties and warning. 
 
 The gods do this in shame of cowardice: 
 Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 
Julius Caesar 263 
 
 No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well 
 That Caesar is more dangerous than he. 
 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Calpurnia on her knees implores, and then Caesar 
 yields. 
 
 Mark Antony shall say I am not well; 
 And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 
 
 This decision is no sooner reached than Decius 
 Brutus enters. He has just left the conspirators, 
 and has come for the purpose of inducing Caesar to 
 go to the Capitol. 
 
 Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: 
 I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 Caesar informs him he has decided not to go. 
 Then at Decius' earnest request, — 
 
 Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause — 
 
 he informs him of Calpurnia's dream: 
 
 She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
 Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, 
 Did run pure blood; seq. 
 
 Decius gives to the dream another interpretation, 
 in the light of which Calpurnia's fears seem ground- 
 less. Caesar reverses his decision and decides to go. 
 
 A change is taking place in Shakespeare's por- 
 traiture of Caesar. In the Introduction the poet had 
 dwelt on Caesar's infirmities: his inability to swim 
 
264 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 the Tiber; his fever in Spain; his falling sickness. 
 Coupled with these physical weaknesses was his 
 ungovernable ambition. A little later Cassius has 
 informed us that he had grown superstitious. 
 Shakespeare's intent, in thus portraying Caesar in 
 the fore part of the play, was to prevent his great 
 personality overshadowing that of the conspirators, 
 and also to give some justification for the conspiracy. 
 That having been accomplished, Shakespeare now 
 in the last Scene of the Growth (II., 2) begins to 
 reveal the other phases of Caesar's character, viz., 
 his puissance, his fearlessness. Omens, auguries, 
 death itself, have no terror for him. And yet withal 
 he was gentle and loving, and yields to Calpurnia's 
 entreaties. We now see him as Antony describes 
 him : mighty, bold, royal. 
 
 No sooner has he decided to go to the senate- 
 house than Publius, a senator, and the conspirators 
 Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, Cin- 
 na, arrive at Caesar's palace. Caisar greets them 
 cordially. While he is welcoming them Antony 
 enters. This group is perfect and complete with 
 the single exception of Cassius. All the conspira- 
 tors are there save only he. Why was Cassius 
 absent ? Between him and Caesar there was a 
 mutual aversion and distrust. Caesar considered him 
 dangerous. 
 
 Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
 He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. 
 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. 
 
Julius Caesar 265 
 
 It was necessary, in order that the action of 
 the drama should progress, that Caesar's suspicions 
 should be lulled, and that he should go to the Capi- 
 tol. Cassius' presence might have aroused Caesar's 
 misgivings, and so have been a deterrent force. 
 Shakespeare, therefore, left him out of this group. 
 He was not present at Caesar's palace. Towards the 
 other conspirators Caesar's feelings were unsus- 
 picious: on the contrary they were friendly. He 
 considered their call a compliment. To them he 
 said : 
 
 I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 
 He apologized for delaying them: 
 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
 
 Before starting for the Capitol he said: 
 
 Good friends,, go in, and taste some wine with me; 
 And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 
 
 Although Brutus was governed by the purest 
 patriotism, yet Caesar's misplaced trust and friend- 
 ship caused him a pang. In an aside he said : 
 
 That every like is not the same, 
 
 i. e. t that which is like or resembles a thing is not 
 always that thing-^that which resembles friendship 
 is not always friendship, 
 
 O Crcsar, 
 
 The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! 
 
266 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Shakespeare, by forming this group, and placing 
 it at the conclusion of the Growth and at the com- 
 mencement of the Climax, manifests perfect tech- 
 nique. All the forces of the drama meet here, and 
 for a moment are held quiescent and in perfect 
 poise. The group is composed of Publius, a sena- 
 tor, who represents that part of the Roman senate 
 which took no part in the action; of Caesar, around 
 whom the action centres; of the conspirators, with 
 the single exception of Cassius, who are the Com- 
 plicating Force of the drama, by means of whom 
 the action is brought to a Climax; of Antony, who, 
 together with Octavius Cajsar, is the Resolving 
 Force, and by means of whom the action is carried 
 forward from the Climax to the Catastrophe. 
 
 The Growth ends with this meeting in Caesar's 
 palace. The first step which these men take to- 
 wards the Capitol is the commencement of the 
 Climax. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 
 II., 3-IIL, 2 
 
 All great Art is characterized by transitions which 
 are subtle, graduated: in the plastic and graphic 
 arts, transitions of light and shade, of color; in 
 music, transitions of tone; in poetry, transitions of 
 thought and feeling. 
 
 The Climax of this play is one of the longest 
 Climaxes Shakespeare ever wrote. By extending 
 it to an exceptional length he has conformed to this 
 canon of Art. All through the fore part of the play 
 
Julius Caesar 267 
 
 he has tried to give some justification for the con- 
 spiracy. When that has reached its culmination in 
 the death of Caesar many spectators would extenuate 
 the assassination on the ground of cruel necessity. 
 Such believe Caesar's ambition, coupled with his 
 power, was a menace to the Republic. They have 
 accepted Brutus' statement: 
 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome- 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. 
 
 At this stage of the action it becomes necessary for 
 the poet to justify the impending retribution. For 
 this purpose Shakespeare first modifies, then re- 
 verses, the sentiments of the spectators. He does 
 not do this abruptly or violently. In order to 
 avoid that, he expands the Climax to an excep- 
 tional length. As a consequence the change is 
 slow, gradual, and therefore artistic. The death of 
 Caesar is represented very briefly. This is followed 
 by the somewhat extended conversation between 
 Antony and the conspirators; and, later, by the 
 still more prolonged orations of Brutus and Antony. 
 During this conversation and these orations, and as 
 a result thereof, the thoughts and feelings of the 
 spectators, which at the close of Brutus' speech 
 are expressed by the words of the citizens: 
 
 Live, Brutus! live, live! 
 
 Caesar's better parts 
 Shall be crown'd in Brutus, 
 
268 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 on the conclusion of Antony's oration are expressed 
 by the same citizens : 
 
 Come, away, away! 
 We Ml burn his [Caesar's] body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 
 This change wrought by the poet is as radical as 
 that from day to night, and at the same time it is 
 just as gradual. 
 
 Shakespeare begins the Climax with two Scenes 
 which are episodic. Artemidorus, a teacher of 
 rhetoric, enters, reading a paper which he intends 
 later to give to Ceesar. In it he warns Caesar against 
 the conspirators, naming them one by one: 
 
 There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent 
 against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about 
 you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods 
 defend thee! 
 
 Artemidorus then expresses his own sentiments, 
 and in so doing voices those of the spectators of the 
 drama: 
 
 My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation. 
 
 He closes his reflections by describing upon what a 
 trivial act the life of Caesar depends: 
 
 If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; 
 If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. 
 
 The effect of this Episode is to intensify the emo- 
 tional strain of the spectator. This effect is still 
 
Julius Caesar 269 
 
 further enhanced by the next Scene, in which 
 Shakespeare portrays the profound agitation of 
 Portia. Like Calpuinia, she is overcome with anx- 
 iety for her husband, with the dread of impending 
 danger. She is alarmed, terrified. She orders 
 Lucius to run to the senate-house, and 
 
 . . . bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, 
 For he went sickly forth: and take good note 
 What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
 
 She hears, or imagines she does, 
 
 . . . a bustling rumour, like a fray, 
 And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 
 
 Later she meets the Soothsayer, and her trepida- 
 tion and foreboding manifest themselves by her 
 question: 
 
 Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended towards him 
 [Caesar] ? 
 
 The Scene ends with Portia in a state of collapse: 
 
 I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is! 
 
 , . . Oh, I grow faint! 
 
 From this time Portia ceases to be an actor in this 
 drama. 
 
 In the first Scene of the Climax Shakespeare has 
 revealed the intense solicitude of two friends of 
 Caesar, Artemidorus and the Soothsayer; in the 
 
270 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 second, that of Portia, the wife of Brutus, the friend 
 of the conspirators. Like two branches of a river, 
 both flowing side by side toward the ocean, the dra- 
 matist thus represents two currents of intense feel- 
 ing, both moving toward the Climax: one, that of 
 the friends, the other, that of the enemies, of Caesar. 
 
 In these two Scenes nothing has been done. They 
 are, as I have said, episodic. Still there has been 
 dramatic progress. Like the ominous lull which 
 precedes the storm, by increasing the mental and 
 emotional stress of the spectator these two Scenes 
 have intensified his interest and prepared him for 
 the action of the drama, which, on their conclusion, 
 moves forward with the utmost rapidity. 
 
 Caesar, his friends, the conspirators, now appear 
 on their way to the Capitol. Meeting the Sooth- 
 sayer, who had already, more than once, warned 
 him to 
 
 Beware the ides of March, 
 
 Caesar recalled the monition, and said to him: 
 
 The ides of March are come. 
 
 To which he replied: 
 
 Ay, Caesar; but not gone. 
 
 Then, having fulfilled his mission in the drama, he 
 disappears. Immediately thereafter Artemidorus 
 presents his paper to Caesar : 
 
 Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. 
 
Julius Caesar 271 
 
 Notwithstanding the most urgent entreaty, and 
 the statement that it touches Ccesar nearer, i. e. t 
 more vitally, Caesar ignores it. Knowing that 
 Caesar's life depends on its perusal, Artemidorus 
 makes one final and urgent effort: 
 
 Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. 
 
 But in vain. Caesar heeds not the warning. Ar- 
 temidorus takes no further part in the action of the 
 drama. 
 
 As the drama approaches the acme of the Climax 
 there is great concentration. One minor character 
 after another vanishes. Flavius, Marullus, Cicero, 
 Portia, Calpurnia, the Soothsayer, Artemidorus, 
 have disappeared. They are but Mechanical Per- 
 sonages, and only indirectly connected with the ac- 
 tion. As their dramatic lives cease, the attention 
 of the spectator is more and more concentrated on 
 those characters by whom the Main Action is car- 
 ried forward. 
 
 The Capitol is reached. Popilius, a member of 
 the Senate, but not one of the conspirators, says to 
 Cassius: 
 
 I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
 
 Cassius, fearful that the plot had been discovered, 
 asks him : 
 
 What enterprise, Popilius ? 
 The latter replies: 
 
 Fare you well. 
 
272 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Cassius, with wise foresight, had proposed to 
 Brutus 
 
 And let us swear our resolution. 
 
 Brutus refused : 
 
 No, not an oath: seq. 
 
 As a consequence the existence of the conspiracy 
 became known. Portia suspected it. So did the 
 Soothsayer. Artemidorus knew of it. So did Po- 
 pilius. Cassius perceived this, and advised that the 
 plot be executed immediately: 
 
 Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
 
 Trebonius draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 The other conspirators, Metellus Cimber, Brutus, 
 Cassius, Cinna, Decius, surround Caesar, 
 
 Desiring [him] that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 Caesar refuses, at first kindly, then firmly, then 
 contemptuously, and at last wrathfully: 
 
 Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 
 
 Casca had been selected as the first to rear the 
 hand. In response to Caesar's words he says: 
 
 Speak, hands, for me! 
 
 and stabs Caesar. The others do likewise, and last 
 of all Brutus: 
 
Julius Caesar 273 
 
 . . . when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 
 Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; 
 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 
 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 
 Pompey had been his rival. Over Pompey's sons 
 and followers he had, but a short time previously, 
 gained the battle of Munda. It was to rejoice in 
 that triumph, and to make holiday to see Caesar, 
 that the citizens had gathered in the streets of 
 Rome. Caesar's triumph, with a description of 
 which the play opens, was short-lived. Now, but 
 a few days later, he lies dead at the foot of Pom- 
 pey's statue. 
 
 The conspiracy having reached its consummation 
 in the death of Caesar, confusion and suspense ensue. 
 Cinna expresses the sentiments of the conspirators: 
 
 Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! 
 
 Cassius adds: 
 
 Liberty! freedom, and enfranchisement! 
 
 Brutus says: 
 
 . . . ambition's debt is paid. 
 
 Then, like a brave and honorable man, he assumes 
 full responsibility for his share of the deed. He ad- 
 vises Publius to retire, adding: 
 
 . . . and let no man abide this deed, 
 But we the doers. 
 
 t8 
 
274 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Trebonius, who had drawn Mark Antony out of 
 the way, now enters. He informs the others that 
 Antony has 
 
 Fled to his house amazed: 
 Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 Uncertainty now takes the place of confidence. 
 Brutus appeals to the Fates, and is willing to abide 
 by their pleasure. Casca feebly echoes this senti- 
 ment. Brutus suggests that they appeal to their 
 countrymen. Cassius supplements this by an ap- 
 peal to posterity. The conspirators decide to leave 
 the senate-house, and appeal to the Roman people. 
 Just as they are starting, a servant enters. This is 
 the acme of the Climax. 1 Instantly the current of 
 the action changes. Up to this time the conspirators 
 have been successful. Now the reaction begins, a 
 reaction which continues through the remainder of 
 the play, and ends only with the deaths of Brutus 
 and Cassius. 
 
 Concurrent with the change in the action of the 
 drama occurs one equally pronounced in the con- 
 duct of Antony. He had been the friend of Caesar, 
 and thrice had offered him the crown. To the su- 
 perficial observer he appeared weak, trifling, syco- 
 phantic, deficient in manliness and honor. Brutus 
 had said he was but a limb of Caesar, and could do 
 
 1 Shakespeare, as usual, puts this in the centre of the drama. 
 There are in the play 2477 verses. This one, Enter a servant, is 
 verse 1219. 
 
Julius Caesar 275 
 
 No more than Caesar's arm 
 When Caesar's head is off. 
 
 His life, his death, were of no consequence to the 
 success of the conspiracy, 
 
 For he is given 
 To sports, to wildness and much company. 
 
 In fact, Trebonius thought Antony's love for Caesar 
 so superficial and unreal that he would laugh at this 
 (Caesar's assassination) hereafter. And, in truth, 
 there was much reason for this estimate of Antony. 
 Caesar speaks of him as 
 
 Antony, that revels long o' nights. 
 
 Such was one aspect of Antony's character. He 
 was this, but he was more. To Cassius, who was a 
 great observer \ and looked quite through the deeds of 
 men, he appeared different. Cassius perceived that 
 notwithstanding a careless and reckless exterior, 
 concealed under the veil of wildness Antony was 
 crafty, calculating, daring, dangerous. 
 
 We shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, 
 If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
 As to annoy us all. 
 
 In these few lines, which occur in the fore part of 
 the Growth, Shakespeare, by fine foreshadowing, 
 points to Antony as the avenger. Cassius was cor- 
 rect. No sooner was Caesar murdered than a reac- 
 tion takes place in Antony. The weight of a great 
 
276 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 duty presses on him. His frivolity, his revelling, 
 give way to the utmost seriousness. He dedicates 
 himself to the destruction of the conspirators. 
 
 He sends a servant to the conspirators with this 
 message : 
 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 
 May safely come to him, and be resolved 
 How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 So well as Brutus living; but will follow 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state 
 With all true faith. 
 
 This message is judicial, masterful, and forebodes 
 ill to the conspirators. Cassius, keen of insight and 
 wise of foresight, perceives this. When Brutus, mis- 
 taken as usual, expressed a confident belief that we 
 shall have Antony well to friend, Cassius responds: 
 
 I wish we may: but yet have I a mind 
 
 That fears him much; and my misgiving still 
 
 Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 A moment later Antony enters. The action of 
 the drama is now temporarily stayed. 
 
 In this play Julius C.tsar, as I have previously 
 stated, is not active, but passive. Forces outside 
 of himself impel the action to a Climax. Other 
 forces, still outside of himself, urge forward the 
 action to the Catastrophe. These two forces, tech- 
 nically the action and the counter-action, meet at 
 the dead body of Caesar. When the movement of 
 
Julius Caesar 277 
 
 the drama is renewed, each of these forces changes 
 its direction. The former moves downward and 
 ends in the defeat and destruction of the conspira- 
 tors; the latter rises to victory and successful retri- 
 bution. 
 
 Antony enters. He disregards Brutus' welcome, 
 and immediately apostrophizes the dead body of 
 Caesar. He manifests his loyalty to his murdered 
 friend, and his own fearlessness of death. Antony 
 was, as Cassius had described him, a shrewd con- 
 triver. He perceived instantly that the duty of 
 avenging Caesar's death devolved upon him. That 
 duty he cheerfully, fearlessly, accepted. At the same 
 time he knew that to have an open rupture with the 
 conspirators at this time would be premature, in- 
 opportune. He therefore, for the time being, con- 
 ceals his feeling toward, his opinion of them, and 
 closes this apostrophe to Caesar by describing Brutus, 
 Cassius, and the others as: 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Brutus' response to Antony is noble, patriotic, 
 kindly: 
 
 Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome — 
 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar: seq. 
 
 Cassius, crafty, subtle, attempts to win Antony, not, 
 like Brutus, by appealing to his patriotism, but to 
 his interest: 
 
278 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Your voice shall be as strong as any man's 
 In the disposing of new dignities. 
 
 Brutus asks him to hold his judgment in abeyance, 
 and promises later to 
 
 . . . deliver you the cause, 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck huu ; 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Antony again, for a moment, conceals his real feel- 
 ing. He shakes hands with his former friends. 
 Then, turning to Caesar's corpse, he addresses it: 
 
 Pardon me, Julius! 
 
 Cassius divines Antony's motive. He again ad- 
 dresses him. Before he can utter more than An- 
 tony's name Antony checks him : 
 
 Pardon me, Caius Cassius: 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this: 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 
 
 Cassius, intent on making Antony reveal his deter- 
 mination, responds, testily but firmly: 
 
 I blame you not for praising Caesar so; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us ? 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 
 
 Antony's reply is non-committal, Machiavellian: 
 
 Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, 
 Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
 
Julius Caesar 279 
 
 Friends am I with you all and love you all, 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
 Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 
 
 Brutus, failing to perceive Antony's real feeling and 
 purpose, answers frankly that they would give such 
 reasons 
 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Having entrapped Brutus, Antony now makes the 
 request 
 
 . . . that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 This request is fraught with the gravest danger to 
 the conspirators. Brutus, conscious of his own 
 purity and nobility of motive, is blind to the peril. 
 He assents to the request. Instantly Cassius pro- 
 tests. He foresees the disastrous consequences of 
 allowing Antony to pronounce a funeral oration. 
 He warns Brutus. Brutus still fails to perceive the 
 danger. He then commits the corpse to Antony's 
 care. Shakespeare thus again points to Antony as 
 the principal avenger: 
 
 Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
 But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
 And say you do 't by our permission; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral. 
 
280 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Antony accepts the charge. He bears the corse into 
 the market-place, and never does he allow it to go 
 out of his possession until he gives it to the friendly 
 citizens. They retire with it for the purpose of 
 burning it in the holy place. 
 
 After Brutus had given Caesar's body to Antony 
 he and Cassius retire. Antony is left alone. He 
 immediately throws off all disguise, and we see in 
 him the personification of the counter-force, of that 
 force which is to oppose, and finally to crush, the 
 conspirators. 
 
 The reader will observe how gradually the poet 
 has depicted this change. First comes, not Antony, 
 but his servant. Later, Antony himself appears. 
 For a time he reveals himself alternately as the 
 friend of Brutus and of Caisar. Only after the lapse 
 of some time does he manifest himself as the enemy 
 of the conspirators, the friend and avenger of Caesar. 
 
 In a similar manner, viz., by the entrance of a 
 servant, does Shakespeare introduce the other rep- 
 resentative of the counter-force, Octavius Caesar. 
 Octavius was the grandson of the sister of Julius 
 Caesar. The latter had adopted him as a son, and 
 made him his heir. Shortly before his death Julius 
 Caesar had written to Octavius, so Antony informs 
 us, to come to Rome. He did not come in person, 
 but sent his servant, who announced 
 
 He did receive his letters, and is coming; 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 
 
 then seeing the wounded body the servant simply 
 exclaims, O desar, and weeps. The message from 
 
Julius Caesar 281 
 
 Octavius is not delivered. We are, however, in- 
 formed that he is on his way, and lies to-night ivithin 
 seven leagues of Rome, Antony orders the servant to 
 
 Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet. 
 
 Antony quickly reconsiders, and directs the servant 
 to wait until he can ascertain 
 
 . . . how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men: 
 
 When that has been revealed then 
 
 . . . thou shalt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 
 Antony and the servant of Octavius then bear 
 Caesar's body to the Forum. Not until some time 
 later does Octavius appear in person. 
 
 Thus, in perfect accord with the canon of Art that 
 transitions must be subtle and graduated, has the 
 poet introduced Antony and Octavius, the person- 
 ifications of the counter-force. 
 
 In the fore part of the play the dramatist had to 
 justify the assassination. In the after part he had 
 to vindicate the retribution. One of the ways in 
 which he does the latter is by making Antony speak 
 these apostrophes, so full of sympathy and grief, to 
 the murdered Caesar: 
 
 O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low ? 
 
 Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 
 Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. 
 
282 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 And again, when Antony is left alone with the 
 corpse : 
 
 O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 
 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! 
 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 
 
 In these impassioned words Antony expresses his 
 feelings caused by Caesar's untimely taking-off. By 
 means of them— and this is their principal dramatic 
 function — the great artist is subtly enkindling simi- 
 lar feelings in the spectators. And this effect is still 
 further enhanced, in fact is developed to the highest 
 degree, by Antony's funeral oration. The rivulet 
 soon becomes a mighty, rushing, irresistible torrent. 
 
 Brutus and Cassius, accompanied by a throng of 
 citizens, go to the Forum. Cassius, with those of 
 the citizens who wish to hear him speak, retires. 
 Shakespeare gives us no report of Cassius' oration. 
 The reason is, from the time Brutus joined the con- 
 spiracy he became its leader and representative. 
 Hence Shakespeare makes him the mouthpiece of 
 the assassins. 
 
 The orations of Brutus and Antony differ in form. 
 One is spoken in prose, the other in blank verse. 
 This difference is not factitious. Rather, it is 
 natural and real. It reflects the characters of the 
 speakers, and the nature of their speeches. Brutus 
 is governed by thought and principle. Hence in 
 his oration he is unimpassioned ; he appeals to the 
 reason of the mob. He speaks in prose. Antony 
 
Julius Caesar 283 
 
 is governed by feeling, impulse. His speech is im- 
 passioned. He appeals to the sympathies, emotions 
 of the citizens. His speech is in the form of blank 
 verse. This distinction Shakespeare generally, 
 though not always, makes. In dialogue, in light 
 conversation, in narration where there is absence of 
 feeling, where he desires to lower the dramatic 
 pitch, Shakespeare uses prose. When he expresses 
 intense, passionate emotion he uses blank verse. 
 In the first Scene of this play Flavius and Marullus, 
 who express indignation at the conduct of the citi- 
 zens, and then later appeal to their sympathy for 
 Pompey, and to their patriotism, speak in blank 
 verse. The citizens, in their matter-of-fact re- 
 sponses, use prose. Scene 2 is in blank verse, with 
 the exception of Casca's description of the offer of 
 a crown to Caesar by Mark Antony. In narrating 
 that, Casca uses prose. 
 
 Brutus addresses the citizens: 
 
 Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may 
 hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to 
 mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your 
 wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better 
 judge. 
 
 He expresses his love for Caesar, and also for his 
 country, and states that his motive in murdering 
 Caesar was purely patriotic. He draws the conclu- 
 sion : 
 
 Who is here so base that would be a bondman ? If 
 any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
 
284 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for 
 him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not 
 love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. 
 
 His reasoning in this, as in everything, is faulty. 
 His conclusion, via., that none but bondmen, slaves, 
 men deficient in patriotism, villains, would be 
 offended by the assassination, is a non sequitur. an 
 unwarranted conclusion. But the citizens were won. 
 They inferred that Brutus aspired to Caesar's place, 
 and they were willing to give it to him. 
 
 Live, Brutus! live, live! 
 
 Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 
 
 Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 Let him be Cresar. 
 
 After entreating them to listen to Mark Antony, 
 Brutus departs. 
 
 Antony, at the commencement of his oration, 
 manifests the most consummate tact. He first pre- 
 pares the minds of his hearers to receive his message. 
 Until that has been done he approaches the subject 
 not directly, but indirectly; not immediately, but 
 slowly, gradually. Brutus had left the impression 
 that Caesar was a tyrant, and justly slain. Antony 
 does not at once attempt to controvert this. He 
 does not come to praise, but to bury Caesar. Brutus 
 had charged Cassar with an unpatriotic ambition, 
 with the intention of robbing the Roman citizens of 
 their freedom, of reducing them to slavery. Antony 
 does not directly dispute this He simply mentions 
 three facts: 
 
Julius Caesar 285 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: 
 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 Which he did thrice refuse. 
 
 Then he adds, with perfect irony: 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 Pointing to the corpse he makes the touching state- 
 ment: 
 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar. 
 
 During this pause in Antony's oration, Shakespeare 
 reveals to us the change which has taken place in 
 the opinion of the citizens: 
 
 Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. 
 
 If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 
 Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 I fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the crown; 
 
 Therefore 't is certain he was not ambitious. 
 
 If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 There 's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. 
 
 Antony now proceeds to stir the hearts and minds 
 of the citizens to mutiny and rage by showing 
 Caesar's will. Curiosity is excited. This is made 
 
286 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 more intense by Antony's refusal to read the will, 
 and by the hint that the citizens are Caesar's heirs. 
 He refers to the conspirators as 
 
 . . the honourable men 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Csesar. 
 
 The change in the citizens now becomes more 
 pronounced. They describe Brutus, Cassius, the 
 others, as traitors, villains, murderers. Antony ex- 
 poses Caesar's mantle, covered with his blood, with 
 the rents made in it by the conspirators' daggers. 
 Antony had not been present when Caesar was as- 
 sassinated. That, however, did not deter him from 
 proceeding to describe in detail the murder: 
 
 Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made: 
 Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd. 
 
 He then uncovers the corpse: 
 
 Look you here, 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 The effect is such as Antony intended and desired: 
 
 We will be revenged. 
 
 Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay! 
 Let not a traitor live! 
 
 Antony still delays the reading of the will, while he 
 disclaims all oratorical ability. The resentment, 
 wrath, of the citizens intensify. At last Antony 
 informs them of the contents of the will : 
 
Julius Caesar 287 
 
 Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 
 His private arbours and new-planted orchards, 
 
 On this side Tiber; . . . 
 
 Here was a Caesar! when comes such another ? 
 
 The citizens respond: 
 
 Never, never. Come, away, away! 
 We '11 burn his body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 
 They retire with the body. Antony's purpose is 
 accomplished. 
 
 Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt! 
 
 The transformation in the sentiments of the mob 
 is complete. The very men for the preservation of 
 whose freedom the conspirators had murdered 
 Caesar repudiate the deed, and breathe vengeance 
 against the assassins. This is but typical of the 
 change in the current of the action. Brutus and 
 Cassius, who but a few hours before were the idols 
 of the people, the masters of Rome, 
 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 
 Octavius and Lepidus have arrived, and are at 
 Caesar's house, whither Antony goes to join them. 
 
288 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Fortune is now favorable to the avengers, and, as 
 Antony says, 
 
 . . . is merry 
 And in this mood will give us anything. 
 
 And Fortune does so. She brings victory to 
 Antony and Octavius; to Brutus and Cassius, de- 
 feat and death. 
 
 FALL 
 
 III., 3-IV.,/«w 
 
 If a drama be symmetrical, all following the 
 Climax, or third division, Complements and Bal- 
 ances all preceding it. The Fall, or fourth division, 
 is the counterpart of the Introduction, or first divi- 
 sion. The former must Complement and Balance 
 the latter. 
 
 This play conforms to this canon of dramatic con- 
 struction. In it, both in the Fall and in the Intro- 
 duction, appears the Roman mob. Antony, who in 
 the Introduction had been the friend of Caesar, and 
 had thrice offered him the crown, appears in the 
 Fall as his avenger. In the Introduction Brutus 
 and Cassius had been the chief organizers of the 
 conspiracy. In the Fall they are engaged in making 
 preparation to withstand the results, so disastrous 
 to them, of that conspiracy. Caesar's bodily weak- 
 ness, his physical infirmities, which Shakespeare de- 
 scribes so forcefully in the fore part of the play, are 
 balanced in the Fall and Catastrophe by the might 
 of his spirit. His Ghost brings terror to Brutus. 
 
Julius Ct'esar 289 
 
 His spirit, ranging for revenge, turns the conspira- 
 tors' swords into their own proper entrails. Thus, 
 both in nature and in construction, the Fall or 
 fourth division of this drama is the counterpart of 
 the Introduction or first division. The former, in 
 both particulars, Complements and Balances the 
 latter. 
 
 The citizens, variously described as the tag-rag 
 people, the rabblemcnt, the common herd, a rabble of 
 citizens, their worships, constitute in this play the 
 Environing Action. They take no direct part in 
 the movement of the play, yet they exert a subtle, 
 powerful, continuous influence both on the action 
 and on the counter-action. They aid indirectly in 
 bringing the action to a Climax; also in starting the 
 counter-action towards the Catastrophe. When 
 they first appear it is to make holiday, to see Ccesar 
 and to rejoice in his triumph. Later, as Caesar passes 
 in procession, they shout. Brutus on hearing this 
 says: 
 
 What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 Not long after Brutus hears 
 
 Another general shout! 
 He says: 
 
 I do believe that these applauses are 
 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
 
 When Antony offered the crown for the third 
 time to Caesar, 
 
 »9 
 
290 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped 
 hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered 
 such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the 
 crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded 
 and fell down at it. 
 
 Cassius recognized the invisible but potent influ- 
 ence of the mob when he determined to throw in at 
 Brutus' windows, 
 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 That Rome holds of his name. 
 
 The infatuation and idolatry of the Roman mob 
 for Caesar was, in Cassius' opinion, the source of the 
 danger that threatened the Republic. 
 
 And why should Caesar be a tyrant then ? 
 Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
 
 The influence of the mob, and the advisability of 
 gaining its support for the conspiracy, is recognized 
 by Brutus. He objects to killing Antony or man- 
 gling Caesar: 
 
 This shall make 
 Our purpose necessary and not envious: 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes, 
 We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
 
 We hear no more of the mob until after Caesar has 
 been assassinated. No sooner has that deed been 
 consummated than the conspirators begin to con- 
 
Julius Caesar 291 
 
 sider its effect on the people. In order that that 
 effect may not be injurious to them personally, or 
 prejudicial to their cause, they take means to win 
 the support of the people. Cinna says: 
 
 Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! 
 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 
 Cassius adds: 
 
 Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 
 " Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement." 
 
 Brutus commands: 
 
 Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
 And let us bathe our hands in Crcsar's blood 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
 Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 Let 's all cry, " Peace, freedom and liberty! " 
 
 Antony likewise is aware of the potent influence 
 of the mob, and he also attempts to gain its support. 
 With great adroitness he makes request to Brutus 
 
 . . . that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 Cassius immediately recognizes the danger and pro- 
 tests. Cassius' warning is unheeded. The citfzens 
 now appear in the Forum, demanding 
 
 We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. 
 
292 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Brutus states to them that 
 
 . . . public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 
 He proceeds to address them, giving reasons to 
 justify the assassination. These are so satisfactory 
 that the citizens approve the deed. Brutus then 
 retires. Antony, who has come to the Forum with 
 Caesar's dead. body, now begins to speak. He ad- 
 dresses an audience which is, at first, unfriendly. 
 The citizens have been completely won over by 
 Brutus. One says: This Ccesar was a tyrant. 
 Another responds: 
 
 . . . Nay, that 's certain: 
 We are blest that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 Antony, however, by his eloquence causes a change, 
 at first gradual, but eventually radical, in the senti- 
 ments of the mob. It reaches the determination to 
 
 burn [Ccesar's] body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 
 It departs with the body breathing threatenings 
 and slaughter against the conspirators. In so doing 
 it meets Cinna the poet. It mistakes him for Cinna 
 the conspirator, and immediately threatens to tear 
 him to pieces. He protests he is not Cinna the con- 
 spirator, but Cinna the poet. Like all mobs, this 
 one is not swayed by reason, but by emotion. 
 
 It is no matter, his name 's Cinna; pluck but his name 
 out of his heart, and turn him going. 
 
Julius Caesar 293 
 
 With this threat, which it does not execute, it 
 makes its final exit from the play. Shortly after this 
 the scene of the action is removed from Rome, and 
 the mob, therefore, does not again appear. Thus 
 at the beginning of the Fall, as at the beginning of 
 the Introduction, the mob appears and indirectly 
 influences the movement of the drama. And yet it 
 has taken no direct part in that movement. Dur- 
 ing the progress of the action it appears and dis- 
 appears, all the while, whether present or absent, 
 exerting a subtle and continuous influence on that 
 action. Its devotion to Caesar is, in the opinion of 
 the conspirators, one cause of his dangerous ambi- 
 tion. The effect of that devotion on the conspira- 
 tors is to awaken their fears for the Republic. 
 While plotting the murder of Caesar the conspirators 
 considered the effect of the deed on the mob. 
 After Caesar's murder, they appealed to the same 
 mob, begging its approval. The avengers, in the 
 person of Antony, likewise appealed to the people, 
 urging them to condemn and to avenge the deed. 
 The mob is taken into consideration both by the 
 conspirators and the avengers. Its influence upon 
 both is silent, puissant, and yet it takes no direct 
 part in the action of the drama. Like the Witches 
 in Macbeth, the Argosies in the Merchant of Venice, 
 it is outside of the action of the drama, and yet 
 exerts on that action an influence which aids in 
 bringing it first to a Climax, and later in carrying 
 it forward to the Catastrophe. Such is the function 
 of the Environing Action in a drama; and that 
 function, in this play, is performed by the mob. 
 
294 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 After Antony had spoken for some time at Caesar's 
 funeral and partially won the sympathies of the mob 
 for Caesar, one of the citizens said: 
 
 I fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 The second Scene of the Fall (IV., I) presents to us 
 those who did come in Caesar's place, viz., Antony, 
 Octavius, Lepidus. As they reveal their characters 
 in this Scene we perceive that the citizen's misgiv- 
 ing is realized. Lepidus was but a slight unmerit- 
 able man. Antony compares him to an ass. He 
 was 
 
 A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds 
 On objects, arts and imitations, 
 Which, out of use and staled by other men, 
 Begin his fashion. 
 
 By the force of circumstances he was thrust into a 
 position which he was unable to fill. He is a per- 
 fect illustration of what Shakespeare elsewhere says: 
 To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to 
 move in 7, are the holes where eyes should be, which 
 pitifully disaster the cheeks. 1 After having spoken 
 but four verses he is sent to fetch C&sar's will. He 
 does not return. He has taken no part in the 
 action of the drama. His dramatic function is that 
 of a Character-Foil. The difference between him, 
 on the one hand, and Antony and Octavius, on the 
 other, is not great enough to cause a pronounced 
 contrast. He is much like them. His corporal mo- 
 tion is governed by A ntony's spirit. And yet between 
 
 1 Antony and CUopatt a, II., 7, 15, seq. 
 
Julius Caesar 295 
 
 them there is difference enough to bring into more 
 vivid light the characters of Antony and Octavius. 
 Antony while strong is unscrupulous. His first 
 effort is to prevent the execution of Caesar's will: 
 
 , . . we shall determine 
 How to cut off some charge in legacies. 
 
 Octavius alone seems to possess some of the an- 
 cient Roman honor, to be worthy of his name. 
 Surely a worse has come in Caesar's place. 
 
 Lepidus is the counterpart of Casca. In the 
 conspiracy Casca had been, after Brutus and Cas- 
 sius, the most conspicuous character. Yet he was 
 but the tool of Brutus and Cassius. After the as- 
 sassination he retires, and does not again appear. 
 Lepidus likewise, as I have said, was of minor im- 
 portance. After he had departed to fetch Caesar's 
 will his dramatic life ends. This leaves only An- 
 tony and Octavius who are the representatives of 
 the counter-action, and who are the counterparts of 
 Brutus and Cassius. These four men dominate the 
 after part of the play. 
 
 After the Climax, Trebonius, Ligarius, Decius 
 Brutus, Metellus Cimber, Cinna, all disappear from 
 the drama. Some few new characters are intro- 
 duced. It is a canon of dramatic construction that 
 no new character of great importance should be in- 
 troduced after the Climax. Those who first appear 
 in the after part of this play are either friends or 
 servants to Brutus and Cassius. Their influence on 
 the action is slight. 
 
 At the close of this Scene (IV., 1), the only one 
 
296 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 in the Fall in which Antony and Octavius appear, 
 they consult as to plans for crushing Brutus and 
 Cassius. Antony says: 
 
 And now, Octavius, 
 Listen great things: — Brutus and Cassius 
 Are levying powers: we must straight make head: seq. 
 
 Octavius responds: 
 
 Let us do so: for we are at the stake, 
 
 And bay'd about with many enemies; 
 
 And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, 
 
 Millions of mischiefs. 
 
 The attention of the spectator is thus directed to 
 the impending Catastrophe. He is prepared for the 
 reaction, which from the Climax gradually increases 
 in force until it becomes ascendent. 
 
 The scene, as well as the direction, of the action 
 is now changed. At the close of Antony's oration 
 Brutus and Cassius had fled from Rome. They 
 next appear in camp near Sardis. Before they meet 
 we are informed (IV., 2) of a disagreement between 
 them. Pindarus, a servant of Cassius, brings a 
 letter from him to Brutus. After reading it Brutus 
 says to Pindarus: 
 
 Your master, Pindarus, 
 Tn his own change, or by ill officers, 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 A moment later Cassius arrives. He immediately 
 and frankly upbraids Brutus: 
 
Julius Caesar 297 
 
 Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 
 
 Brutus wisely checks Cassius: 
 
 Cassius, be content; 
 Speak your griefs softly: I do know you well. 
 Before the eyes of both our armies he 4 e, 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 Let us not wrangle : bid them move away; 
 Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
 And I will give you audience. 
 
 The armies move off a little from this ground. 
 Brutus and Cassius retire to the former's tent, 
 where is held that famous discussion, to a de- 
 scription of which the Fall is devoted. 
 
 A great Scene, such as this Tent Scene, like the 
 drama of which it forms a portion, consists of five 
 parts. First comes the introduction, in which we 
 are informed of a previous occurrence, which is the 
 cause of the disagreement. Cassius said to Brutus: 
 
 That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 The quarrel grows by Brutus frankly informing 
 Cassius : 
 
 . . . you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold 
 To undeservers. 
 
298 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Further that 
 
 The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 Then reverting to the past, Brutus said : 
 
 Remember March, the ides of March remember : 
 
 And remember also the deed that on that day had 
 been perpetrated. A man, 
 
 the foremost man of all this world, 
 
 great Julius, had been slain. What motive had im- 
 pelled the murderers ? Justice. 
 
 In order that a drama possess grandeur and dig- 
 nity, it is necessary that the motive of the action be 
 worthy. If the motive of Caesar's murderers had 
 been coarse brutality or petty malice, the deed 
 would have been unjustifiable, the drama would 
 have lacked grandeur. Hence Shakespeare over 
 and over again attributes noble motives to the 
 conspirators. He does so here once more. He 
 has in this, however, an ulterior motive, vis., by 
 contrast to show the unworthiness of Cassius' con. 
 duct: 
 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
 
Julius Caesar 299 
 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cassius' anger becomes more and more aroused. 
 
 Brutus, bay not me ; 
 I '11 not endure it : you forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Brutus denies this. , Cassius, however, is right. 
 Intense emotion on the part of both these men dis- 
 turbs the intellectual balance. They descend to 
 personalities. 
 
 Cos. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself ; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! seq. 
 
 Reason again resumes sway. 
 
 Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cos. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, 
 Brutus ; 
 I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say 'better'? 
 
 Cassius refers to Csesar. Though dead, Caesar was 
 mighty yet. His spirit, ranging for revenge ; over 
 shadowed the conspirators. Cassius said : 
 
300 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. 
 Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted 
 
 him. 
 Cas. I durst not ! 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 
 Bru. For your life you durst not. 
 
 The discussion reaches a climax. Feeling becomes 
 intense. Anger reaches the highest development. 
 Cassius threatens Brutus: 
 
 Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not : sea. 
 
 Anger gives way to grief, which is followed later 
 by reconciliation. 
 
 Cas. O, I could weep 
 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 
 The climax of this discussion has now been 
 passed. From this time it changes its direction. 
 
Julius Caesar 301 
 
 It enters upon another phase, answering to the Fall 
 in a drama. Like the latter, it is episodic. The 
 discussion temporarily ceases. It is interrupted by 
 the entrance of a poet, who reproaches Brutus and 
 Cassius for their unseemly conduct. 
 
 Poet. For shame, you generals ! What do you mean ? 
 Love, and be friends, as two such men should be. 
 
 Lucilius and Titinius also enter. They receive 
 orders from Brutus and Cassius as to the lodgment 
 of their troops. Lucius enters, and immediately 
 retires to bring a bowl of wine. Shakespeare then 
 informs us of the death of Portia. In the most 
 gentle and soothing manner, Cassius said to Brutus: 
 
 I did not think you could have been so angry. 
 Brutus is touched. He unbosoms himself:- 
 
 O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. 
 
 Cas. Ha ! Portia ! 
 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 
 Cas. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so ? 
 O insupportable and to idling loss ! 
 Upon what sickness ? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence, 
 
 And grief that young Octavius with Mark- Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong : — for with her death 
 That tidings came ;— with this she fell distract, 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 
3Q2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Cos. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Gas, O ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Lucius enters with the wine. In a bowl of that 
 Brutus and Cassius bury all unkindriess. Titinius 
 and Messala enter. We are informed that the 
 avengers have begun their work. By proscription 
 and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepi- 
 dus have put to death a number of Senators; 
 seventy, according to Brutus' letters, one hundred 
 according to Messala's, amongst them being Cicero. 
 Further, that the avengers are marching towards 
 Philippi. Reference is once more made to Portia's 
 death, and this division of the Scene ends. 
 
 The fifth and last division of the Scene is pros- 
 pective. It is devoted wholly to preparation for the 
 impending Catastrophe. Brutus begins by saying: 
 
 Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
 Of marching to Philippi presently ? 
 
 Cassius dissents: 
 
 'Tis better that the enemy seek us : seq. 
 
 Cassius yields. Thus another has been added to 
 the many errors of the conspirators. 
 
 When valour preys on reason, 
 It eats the sword it fights with.* 
 
 Having reached this decision, Cassius retires. Be- 
 fore he did so Brutus, bidding him farewell, said: 
 
 Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose. 
 
 ♦Antony and Cleopatra, III., 13, 199, 200. 
 
Julius Caesar 303 
 
 To which Cassius responded : 
 
 O my dear brother ! 
 This was an ill beginning of the night : 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Thus, this Scene, which, when viewed either by 
 itself alone, or as a component part of the play, is a 
 masterpiece of dramatic construction, is constructed 
 in the shape of an arch. It begins in a disagree- 
 ment, which gradually develops into a passionate 
 animosity, and as gradually subsides into reconcilia- 
 tion, peace, and loving friendship, the ultimate 
 result of all which is to propel the action of the 
 drama towards the Catastrophe. In it — and this is 
 its principal dramatic function — Shakespeare once 
 more reveals to us, and in the most vivid manner, 
 the characters of Brutus and Cassius. We see in 
 them a change. Previous to the assassination, they 
 were noble in their sentiments, aggressive in their 
 conduct. They now have become irritable, petu- 
 lant, despondent. Cassius 
 
 could weep [his] spirit from his eyes. 
 
 He bares his breast, offers his dagger to Brutus, 
 and entreats him to 
 
 Strike, as thou did'st at Caesar. 
 
 Brutus, likewise, is oppressed with sorrow: 
 
 O, Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 
 This change in these men is but a concomitant of 
 the change in the direction of the action of the 
 
304 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 drama. It foreshadows approaching doom. It is 
 caused by that Nemesis which is rapidly overtaking 
 them. 
 
 The remainder of the Fall is devoted by Shake- 
 speare to two Episodes — that of Lucius and that of 
 Caesar's ghost. 
 
 The first of these Episodes recalls — and that is 
 Shakespeare's purpose in introducing it — the night 
 which immediately preceded the murder of Caesar. 
 On that occasion, as now, Lucius, a sleeping boy, 
 formed a contrast to the disturbed and distressed 
 condition of his master. At the close of the Fall, 
 like a recurring sound in a musical composition, 
 Shakespeare repeats this motive. Again, the plans 
 of the conspirators have been arranged; again it is 
 night, a night preceding violence and death. 
 Brutus asks Lucius: 
 
 Where is thy instrument ? 
 What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'erwatch'd. 
 
 A little later Brutus inquires: 
 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 
 
 The boy answers in the affirmative. Brutus re. 
 sponds: 
 
 It was well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ; 
 
 I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
 
 I will be good to thee. [Afusic, arid a song. 
 
 By this Episode occurring on the night preceding 
 the deaths of Brutus and Cassius, the dramatist re- 
 
Julius Caesar 305 
 
 calls that other night, which preceded the death of 
 Ca:sar, at the hands of these very men. He also, 
 by this same Episode, gives us a glimpse of the 
 gentler side of Brutus' nature. On the night after 
 the exciting quarrel with Cassius, surrounded by his 
 soldiers, and with the expectation of a bloody, prob- 
 ably fatal, conflict on the next day, he devotes some 
 time to hearing music and to reading. Thus does 
 Shakespeare make the fate of Brutus more pathetic. 
 
 The Episode of Lucius was reminiscent. That 
 of Caesar's ghost is prescient. It is the final act of 
 the dramatist to prepare the minds of the spectators 
 for the impending Catastrophe. 
 
 The influence of the spirit-world on living men 
 was very real and potent amongst the Romans in 
 Caesar's day, and also in England in the sixteenth 
 and seventeenth centuries. Ghosts of murdered 
 men were believed to appear to the murderers. It 
 was a favorite device of Shakespeare's to make use 
 of ghost-like apparitions. On the night preceding 
 the battle of Bosworth Field, the ghosts of Prince 
 Edward, of Henry VI., of Clarence, of Rivers, Grey, 
 Vaughan, Hastings, the Young Princes, Queen 
 Anne, Buckingham, all appear to Richard III. 
 
 . . . and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 In the stillness of the night, while all but Brutus 
 are asleep, Caesar's ghost appears to Brutus in his 
 tent: 
 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
306 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Bru. Why comest thou ? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Well ; then I shall see thee again ? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
 
 Equally guilty with Brutus in the murder of Caesar 
 was Cassius. In fact, Cassius was the originator of 
 the conspiracy. It was owing to his entreaty that 
 Brutus joined it. And yet Caesar's ghost appeared 
 not to Cassius, but only to Brutus. Why ? Be- 
 tween Brutus and Caesar there had existed the 
 truest friendship, the sincerest affection. So real, 
 indeed, was this fact that Cassius was astonished 
 that Brutus could be tempted to prove unfaithful 
 to Caesar. Brutus, however, -did yield, and thus 
 was more guilty than any other of the conspirators. 
 His ingratitude, his disloyalty, more than any of 
 the daggers, killed Caesar. Hence it was but jus- 
 tice, real, as well as poetic, that Caesar's ghost 
 should appear to Brutus, and only to him. 
 
 Sleeping in Brutus' tent are Lucius, the boy; 
 Varro and Claudius, servants to Brutus. The ghost 
 exerts on them also a disturbing influence. The 
 boy, thinking he is still at his instrument, awakens 
 suddenly. He experiences a feeling of discord. 
 
 The strings, my lord, are false. 
 
 So was the judgment of the conspirators. As 
 nothing but discord results from false strings in a 
 
Julius Caesar 307 
 
 musical instrument, so from the mistaken judgment 
 and conduct of the conspirators there resulted 
 naught but failure and death. Varro and Claudius 
 cry out in their sleep. Brutus orders Varro and 
 Claudius: 
 
 Go and commend me to my brother Cassius : 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
 And we will follow. 
 
 The battle which is fought the next day forms the 
 subject of the Catastrophe. Every preparation 
 having been made for that, the Fall ends. 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 
 Early in the morning of the day on which the 
 battle of Philippi was fought, Brutus said to Cas- 
 sius: 
 
 But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March begun. 
 
 The Catastrophe of a drama is the natural outcome 
 of all the preceding parts of the play." In Julius 
 Cwsar the Catastrophe is devoted to a representa- 
 tion of the battle of Philippi and its results. That 
 battle was the remote but direct consequence of the 
 work the ides of March begun ; vis., the assassination 
 of Caesar. And that in turn was the outgrowth of 
 the conspiracy. Thus we perceive this drama to be 
 organic. Each part is in vital union with every 
 other part, and all together form an organic whole. 
 
308 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Against the judgment of Cassius, Brutus and he 
 decided to march to Philippi. They thus did 
 exactly what Antony and Octavius hoped they 
 would do. The Catastrophe begins by recounting 
 this fact. Octavius said : . 
 
 Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : seq. 
 
 So mistaken from the standpoint of generalship was 
 this decision of Brutus and Cassius that Antony 
 attributes it to bravado. 
 
 Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
 
 Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 
 With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 
 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Antony and Octavius arrange their plan of battle, 
 Octavius taking the right, Antony the left. The 
 conspirators and their army now appear on the 
 battle-field. 
 
 Brutus advances and suggests a conference. 
 
 Words before blows : is it so, countrymen ? 
 
 Brutus' intention was, if possible, to effect a re- 
 conciliation. His advances, however, were ruth- 
 lessly rejected. Antony charges him with the 
 murder of Caesar: 
 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's ht- 
 Crying, " Long live ! hail, Caesar ! " 
 
 and again, addressing Cassius as well as Brutus: 
 
Julius Caesar 3°9 
 
 Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : seq. 
 
 Cassius now recalls to Brutus his advice regarding 
 Antony: 
 
 I think it is not meet, 
 Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar : 
 
 Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 
 
 Brutus, with mistaken kindness, had rejected this 
 proposition. Antony was allowed to live. Cassius 
 now says to Brutus: 
 
 Now, Brutus, thank yourself : 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
 If Cassius might have ruled. 
 
 To Antony's words Octavius adds his own decla- 
 ration of war against the conspirators: 
 
 Look ; 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; seq. 
 
 Antony, Octavius, and their army, now retire. 
 The next time they appear it is to fight. 
 
 Before they do so, however, Shakespeare recounts 
 two conversations, one between Cassius and Mes- 
 sala, the other between Cassius and Brutus. In 
 both of these conversations the result of that con- 
 flict, so disastrous to the conspirators, is fore- 
 shadowed. 
 
 In the first, Cassius calls Messala to witness that 
 he opposed Brutus' plan of marching to Philippi, 
 
310 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 and staking fortune on the result of one battle. 
 Pompey had made that mistake at Pharsalia. It 
 had resulted in his ruin. Cassius then refers to his 
 former belief in Epicurus. 1 Epicurus rejected Fatal- 
 ism, the doctrine of the Stoics. He believed that 
 in human conduct there is no absolutely controlling 
 necessity. Cassius now changes his mind. He 
 accepts a belief in Fatalism. Two mighty eagles 
 which had accompanied the army to Philippi had 
 flown away, and in their places had come ravens, 
 crows, kites. The eagle had been selected as the 
 standard of the Raman army. It was considered a 
 bird of good omen. The Soothsayer in Cymbeline 
 said: 
 
 I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
 From the spongy south to this part of the west, 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends — 
 Unless my sins abuse my divination — 
 Success to the Roman host. 
 
 Ravens, crows, and kites were birds of evil omen. 
 To Cassius 
 
 . . . their shadows seem 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 
 
 He, however, resolves 
 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 1 " The Epicurean condensed his gospel into four maxims : ' God 
 is not to be feared ; death cannot be felt ; the Good can be won; all 
 that we dread can be borne and conquered.' " — Murray, Ancient 
 Creek Literature, p. 373. 
 
Julius Caesar 3 IT 
 
 Brutus is to die by suicide. In order to fore- 
 shadow that, and thereby increase the suspense of 
 the spectator, Cassius now turns to Brutus, and asks 
 him, in case we lose this battle, 
 
 What are you then determined to do ? 
 
 At first Brutus rejects the notion of suicide. He 
 will bear misfortune, if that comes. When Cassius 
 inquires if he is willing to be led in triumph through 
 the streets of Rome, Brutus reverses this decision : 
 
 No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble Roman, 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
 He bears too great a mind. 
 
 These two men now bid each other farewell. They 
 never again meet. 
 
 The remainder of the Catastrophe is devoted to 
 the representation of the battle of Philippi, its vary- 
 ing fortunes, its result. 
 
 The right wing of the conspirators' army was com- 
 manded by Brutus. Opposed to him was Octavius. 
 On. the left was Cassius, who was confronted by 
 Antony. Brutus ordered his force to charge. It 
 was victorious, and drove back Octavius. The re- 
 sult was that one side of Cassius' force was left 
 unguarded. Antony took advantage of this, and 
 surrounded Cassius' army. Cassius retreats some 
 distance, and takes refuge on the top of a hill. He 
 sends Titinius to see 
 
 Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Believing that Titinius is taken prisoner, Cassius 
 
312 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 immediately loses heart. He resolves on self- 
 destruction. When Pindarus comes down, Cassius 
 says : 
 
 Come hither, sirrah : 
 
 In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 
 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath ; 
 
 Now be a freeman : and with this good sword, 
 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 
 Messala had informed Brutus of the death of Cas- 
 sius. Brutus then prepares to renew the conflict. 
 His force assaults the enemy. Cato is overpowered 
 and falls. Then Lucilius is attacked. He assumes 
 Brutus' name. Supposing him to be Brutus the 
 soldier does not kill him, but takes him prisoner. 
 Antony now arrives. He recognizes Lucilius, and 
 orders that he be treated kindly. In another part 
 of the field are Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, 
 and Volumnius. Brutus recognizes the fact that 
 defeat is inevitable. He is full of grief. He de- 
 cides to commit suicide. To Clitus he said: 
 
 . . . slaying is the word ; 
 It is a deed in fashion. 
 
 And to Volumnius: 
 
 The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night ; at Sardis once, 
 And, this last night, here in Philippi fields: 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
Julius Caesar 313 
 
 And again 
 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
 Than tarry till they push us. 
 
 He proposes to Clitus, then to Dardanius, afterward 
 to Volumnius, to kill him. The danger increases. 
 The avengers press them so closely it becomes neces- 
 sary to fly. Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius do 
 so. Brutus and Strato alone remain. To the latter 
 Brutus said : 
 
 Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 
 Farewell, good Strato. — Caesar, now be still : 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 And then, running on his sword, Brutus dies. Lu- 
 cilius had told Antony. 
 
 . . . that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame! 
 When you do find him, or alive or dead, 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 And that prediction was fulfilled. All the conspira- 
 tors save Brutus and Cassius had fled. Brutus and 
 Cassius being dead, Caesar's death had been avenged. 
 Magnanimity toward Brutus now fills the breasts of 
 Antony and Octavius. The former pays the highest 
 tribute to Brutus' character. The latter arranges 
 for rites of burial such as shall be worthy of him. 
 The Catastrophe of this play is not so much tragic 
 
314 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 as pathetic. While the spectator feels that the 
 deaths of Brutus and Cassius are the legitimate re- 
 sult of the assassination of Caesar, still these deaths, 
 particularly that of Brutus, evoke pity. In this 
 respect this Catastrophe is like that of Romeo and 
 Juliet, and unlike those ol Richard III. and Macbeth. 
 The reason of this is that Brutus' conduct was the 
 result, not of a murderous ambition, but of a mis- 
 taken sense of duty. His motive was the purest pa- 
 triotism. So intense, so genuine, was his patriotism 
 that it would lead Brutus to sacrifice to the welfare 
 of the Republic not only Caesar, but also himself. 
 Antony believed this, and so stated in his eulogy of 
 Brutus. While Brutus' motive was noble, still it 
 was mistaken. His conduct, from the first to the 
 last deed, was a series of errors. His decision to 
 join the conspiracy was the result of the most illogi- 
 cal reasoning. He sacrifices his best friend for fear 
 that that friend, in the future, may destroy the 
 liberties of the Roman people. This, the primary 
 mistake, is followed by a series of others; viz., re- 
 fusal to allow the conspirators to swear their resolu- 
 tion ; neglect to invite Cicero to join the conspiracy ; 
 neglect tc kill Antony. These negative errors are 
 followed by positive ones as ruinous; viz., allowing 
 Antony to speak at Caesar's funeral ; quarrelling with 
 Cassius; marching to Philippi to meet Antony and 
 Octavius, and staking everything on that battle; 
 giving too early the word to assault Octavius. To 
 all these must be added Cassius' mistake in sup- 
 posing Titinius taken prisoner, and, as a result, his 
 own suicide. The conspiracy failed. Cassius and 
 
Julius Caesar 315 
 
 Brutus meet their deaths, not as the result of inten- 
 tional wrong-doing, but because of a misguided and 
 erroneous judgment, — of error. As Messala ex- 
 presses it : 
 
 O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 
 The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, 
 
 Thou never comest unto a happy birth, 
 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 
 
 Hence in the Catastrophe of this play there is an 
 utter absence of remorse. As a consequence it is 
 not so much tragic as pathetic. It is the presence 
 of remorse in the last experiences of Richard III., 
 and of Lord and Lady Macbeth, which constitutes 
 their keenest anguish, and which makes the Catas- 
 trophes of the dramas portraying their experiences 
 so profoundly tragic. Both Richard III. and the 
 Macbeths deliberately dedicated themselves ' to 
 murder. As a consequence they suffered the in- 
 tensest agony of remorse. Unlike both of them in 
 this respect, but like that of Julius Cczsar, is the 
 Catastrophe of Romeo and Juliet. In the cases both 
 of Romeo and of Juliet their deaths were the result, 
 not of any wrong-doing, but of mistakes. Juliet 
 had been married to Romeo. As she told Friar 
 Laurence: 
 
 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands. 
 
 Ignorant of this fact, her father had determined that 
 she should marry the County Paris. In order to 
 
316 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 prevent that, and, as she expressed it, that she 
 might 
 
 live an unstained wife to my sweet love, 
 
 she seeks Friar Laurence. It is Tuesday. Thurs- 
 day, by her father's command, she is to be married 
 to the County Paris. The Friar gives her a sleep- 
 ing potion, the effect of which would be to cause a 
 sleep resembling death, and lasting two-and-forty 
 hours. . 
 
 Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes 
 
 To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead : 
 
 Then, as the manner of our country is, 
 
 In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier 
 
 Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault 
 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 
 In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, 
 
 And hither shall he come : and he and I 
 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 
 And this shall free thee from this present shame. 
 
 The plan miscarried. Friar John, who bore the 
 letter to Romeo, was detained in Mantua. In the 
 meantime Romeo hears of Juliet's supposed death. 
 Balthasar informs him 
 
 Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, 
 And her immortal part with angels lives. 
 
 Romeo immediately returns to Verona; goes to the 
 tomb; finds Juliet there, apparently dead. Be- 
 
Julius Caesar 317 
 
 lieving her really dead he takes poison, and, kissing 
 her, dies. A little later, Juliet awakens. She finds 
 Romeo's dead body lying beside her. She seizes 
 his dagger, and stabs herself fatally. Both these 
 deaths are the result of mistakes. They are mis- 
 adventured piteous. Hence in the Catastrophe there 
 is an absence of remorse. The fates of Romeo and 
 of Juliet are not so much tragic as pathetic. 
 
 Such, also, is the nature of the Catastrophe of this 
 play. Its dominant characteristic is pathos. Poetic 
 Just.ice demanded that Caesar's death should be 
 avenged. And so it was. Portia, Cassius, Brutus, 
 all commit suicide. In these deaths all unkindness 
 is buried. Brutus erred not through evil intent but 
 mistaken judgment. This fact was perceived by 
 all. Of the rectitude of his purposes he himself 
 was fully cognizant. As his death approached none 
 but the kindest feelings toward his fellow-men filled 
 his breast. 
 
 Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
 I found no man but he was true to me. 
 
 His reputation as a patriot he felt was secure. 
 
 I shall have glory by this losing day 
 More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 
 Not once does he express the least regret for his 
 part in Caesar's death. Rather he gloried in it, and 
 felt with Cassius that, so often as 
 
318 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 this our lofty scene [shall] be acted over 
 In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave their country liberty. 
 
 Borne down by forces beyond his control, he ac- 
 cepted his fate with resignation, nay, more, with 
 cheerfulness. He was not practical. As a con- 
 spirator, a soldier, he was a failure. He was an 
 idealist. To his high ideals he was ever true. As a 
 consequence, though unsuccessful, he died com- 
 manding the respect and admiration both of his 
 friends and foes. After his death Antony and Oc- 
 tavius gave expression to this in their eulogies 
 with which the play ends: 
 
 Antony. This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
 All the conspirators save only he 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 He only, in a general honest thought 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world " This was a man ! " 
 
 Octavius. According to his virtue let us use him, 
 With all respect and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
 Most like a soldier, ordered honourably. 
 
T 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT 
 
 HE note that vibrates through this play is 
 struck in the opening verse: 
 
 If music be the food of love, play on. 
 
 The dramatic motive, the exciting force of this 
 drama, is love. As the clouds are driven by the 
 wind, the waves of the sea by the hurricane, so the 
 characters in Twelfth Night are dominated and pro- 
 pelled by the master-passion. The Duke is in love 
 with Olivia. Viola (Cesario) falls in love with the 
 Duke. When Olivia first sees Cesario she loses her 
 heart. These are the characters in the Main Action. 
 
 It is a canon of art that every minor, every special 
 effect in a work of art reflects and emphasizes the 
 general effect. When applied to a drama this 
 means that the characters in the Sub-Actions re- 
 flect, more or less, those by whom the Main Action 
 is carried forward. They are controlled, not, how- 
 ever, to the same degree, by similar thoughts and 
 emotions. 
 
 In this play the actors in the Sub-Actions, like 
 those in the Main Action, are in love. Malvolio is 
 a suitor for Olivia's hand. So is Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek. Sir Toby's admiration for Maria's wit 
 
 3*9 
 
320 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 develops into a feeling of affection; while she, if we 
 are to believe Sir Toby, adores him. 
 
 Even some of the men are in love with each 
 other. Antonio gives to Sebastian his love, without 
 retention or restraint. Although he goes to the 
 Duke Orsino's court at the risk of his life, in order 
 to be with Sebastian, he determines to assume that 
 risk. 
 
 But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 
 That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 
 
 Antonio's love is reciprocated by Sebastian. 
 After his fruitless search for Antonio, when Sebas- 
 tian met him, he said: 
 
 Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 
 How have the hours rack'd and tortured me, 
 
 Since I have lost thee ! 
 
 In fact, in this play, as the Clown sings: 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting. 
 
 This, then, being a love comedy, Shakespeare in 
 the opening verse touches the emotional chord that 
 vibrates through it. 
 
 He still further manifests his perfect technique by 
 his reference in that verse to music: 
 
 If music be the food of love : seq. 
 
 Of all the arts music pre-eminently expresses and 
 interprets human emotion. It is the universal Ian- 
 guage of the soul. It appeals primarily not to the 
 
Twelfth Night 3 21 
 
 intellect but to the heart; it gives expression not so 
 much to thought, perception, memory, as to feeling. 
 The whole gamut of the emotions is struck by it.' 
 It expresses joy, sorrow, triumph. It soothes the 
 disturbed spirit; promotes serenity, tranquillity. 
 
 Music that gentler on the spirit lies, 
 Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.' 
 
 The music of Ariel's song, says Ferdinand, 
 
 . . crept by me upon the waters, 
 Allaying both their fury and my passion 
 With its sweet air. 
 
 But, above all, it expresses the master-passion. 
 Valentine asks: 
 
 Why, how know you that I am in love? 
 
 Speed replies: 
 
 Marry, by these special marks : first, you have learned 
 . . . to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast. 
 
 Viola says music 
 
 . . . gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Love is throned. 
 
 According to Biron, Dan Cupid is the 
 
 Regent of love-rhymes. 
 
 As love is the dramatic motive, the exciting force 
 of this play, and as music, more perfectly than any 
 
 1 Cf. Knight, The Philosophy of the Beautiful, Part II., p. 129, 
 sea. Raymond, Art in Theory, p. 207, sea, 
 'Tennyson, The Lotos-Eaters. 
 
322 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 other art, expresses love, Shakespeare has pervaded 
 the play with a lyrical element. It is filled with 
 music, both instrumental and vocal, the burden of 
 which is: 
 
 What is love ? 't is not hereafter ; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter ; 
 
 What 's to come is still unsure : 
 In delay there lies no plenty ; 
 Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 
 
 Youth *s a stuff will not endure. 
 
 The play opens with the Duke's request for music. 
 It closes with the Clown's song. 
 
 Love may be either tragic or comic. In Romeo 
 and Juliet, Shakespeare portrays the former; in this 
 play it is the comic side of love, its oddities, freaks, 
 foibles, which Shakespeare portrays. In harmony 
 with this the scene of action is a breezy, boisterous, 
 disorderly, jolly, world. Gay and hot spirits get 
 into mischief, and play mad pranks. The life which 
 the play portrays is sensuous, animated, hilarious. 
 It was written to be played the twelfth night after 
 Christmas, which, in England, in Shakespeare's day, 
 was a season of revelry. There is in it an almost 
 complete absence of the tragic. Olivia mourns for 
 a dead father and brother; Viola grieves for the 
 supposed death of her brother; he, in turn, weeps 
 for her, whom he believes to be drowned; Sir An- 
 drew's head is broke across ; Sir Toby has a bloody 
 coxcomb. These, however, are but passing shadows, 
 which give the play, at times, a sombre hue, and 
 which, by contrast, bring into brighter light, and 
 
Twelfth Night 3 2 3 
 
 make more vivid, the humor and happiness which 
 pervade it. No one in it is cynical or brutal. The 
 foibles which it portrays are not harmful, distress- 
 ing, but are harmless, kindly, innocent, and such as 
 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge. 
 
 The characters divide themselves into three 
 groups. In every work of art there are many factors. 
 Each factor in itself is important, and must aid in 
 producing the general effect. In order to make the 
 work of art more effective and suggestive, these 
 factors are frequently grouped. 1 In this play there 
 are three groups: 
 
 The Ducal Group; composed of the Duke, Val- 
 entine, Curio. 
 
 The Olivia Group; composed of Olivia, her rela- 
 tives and dependents. This group includes, besides 
 Olivia, Maria, her waiting-woman, Sir Toby Belch, 
 her kinsman, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, her wooer, 
 Malvolio, her steward, Fabian, and Feste the 
 Clown. 
 
 The Third Group: Sebastian and Antonio. 
 
 Between these groups, more or less disconnected 
 with all of them, is Viola. She is high-born, beau- 
 tiful, intellectually keen, appreciative of fun, gra- 
 cious and lovely. She is the heroine of the play. 
 She is the principal Complicating, and also the 
 principal Resolving, force in the drama. This is her 
 primary dramatic function. 
 
 She is also a Link-Person. A Link-Person in a 
 play is a dramatic hook and eye. The function of 
 
 1 Cf, Raymond, The Genesis of Art-Form, pp. 97-124. 
 
 \7 
 
324 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 such a character is to bring together the different 
 dramatis persona. Viola is the Duke's messenger 
 to Olivia. As she herself says, describing her 
 dramatic life after she was saved, and 
 
 . . . preserved to serve this noble count. 
 All the occurrence of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady [Olivia], and this lord [the 
 Duke], 
 
 Still another dramatic function which Viola fulfils 
 is, she is Shakespeare's Type of the Normal. As 
 such she represents and embodies the normal, from 
 which all the other characters have deviated. In 
 this respect she is a perfect contrast to the other 
 characters. The Duke, Olivia, Maria, Sir Toby, 
 Malvolio, and the others are creatures of impulse. 
 They are deficient in self-control. They know no 
 law but their own wills and desires. The Duke is 
 not so much in love as he is lovesick. The same 
 is true of Olivia. She herself confesses she is as 
 mad as Malvolio, 
 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. 
 
 Sir Toby and the other persons in the Olivia 
 Group, excepting, of course, the Countess, are cor- 
 rectly characterized by Malvolio as the lighter people. 
 While they are innocent, free from malice, they are 
 vulgar, sensuous, boisterous, and, as Olivia said of 
 Sir Toby, are 
 
 Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 
 Where irianners ne'er were preach'd ! 
 
Twelfth Night 325 
 
 Their ideal of life is like that of Gratiano: 
 
 Let me play the fool : 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 
 Between the groups, passing and repassing from 
 one to the other, and in perfect contrast to those 
 who compose them, Shakespeare has placed Viola. 
 She is a passionate, romantic girl. She possesses 
 all the delicacy and refinement of a true, high-bred 
 woman. She is deeply in love with the Duke. 
 Her love, however, is not a mere whim or caprice, 
 not an ungoverned and unreasoning passion, as is 
 that of the Duke, Olivia, and the others, but is full- 
 grown and ardent. It is a true, sincere, heartfelt, 
 and, withal, controlled affection. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 I., 1-4 
 
 At the opening of the first Scene, the Duke, in a 
 monologue, reveals his emotional condition. He 
 apostrophizes the spirit of love. He also reveals 
 the object of his love, Olivia, and informs the spec- 
 tator that he has been in love with her from the 
 time his eyes did first see her. 
 
 Valentine, a gentleman waiting on the Duke, who 
 has been sent by him on a mission to Olivia, now 
 enters, and reports the result. He gives quite a 
 detailed account of Olivia, which is the dramatic 
 function of Valentine's words. From him the 
 spectator learns that 
 
326 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 . . . to season 
 A brother's dead love 
 
 Olivia has withdrawn from society for seven years, 
 and that she does 
 
 . . . water once a day her chamber round 
 With eye-offending brine. 
 
 From Olivia's devotion to the memory of her 
 brother, the Duke infers what will be her loyalty to 
 an affianced lover. The Scene closes with his words 
 to Valentine: 
 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers : . 
 Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. 
 
 In these words the Duke reveals himself as being 
 not so much, in love as lovesick. 
 
 In this opening Scene Shakespeare has introduced 
 the Duke in person, and Olivia by a description of 
 her. 
 
 In Scene 2, Viola appears. She has been ship- 
 wrecked. She, like Olivia, is mourning the loss of 
 a brother, whom she believes dead : 
 
 My brother he is in Elysium. 
 
 And then she adds: 
 
 Perchance he is not drown'd; what think you, sailors ? 
 
 The dramatic purpose of which question is to fore- 
 shadow the appearance of that brother, who is to 
 play an important part in the Resolution of the 
 drama. Shakespeare emphasizes this foreshadow- 
 
Twelfth Night 327 
 
 ing by a description, given by the Captain, of this 
 brother's safety, whom he 
 
 . . . saw . . . hold acquaintance with the waves 
 So long as I could see. 
 
 The Captain then informs Viola of Orsino, and 
 she, in her comment thereon, reveals two facts: 
 viz., that she had heard her father name him, and 
 that he was a bachelor. Shakespeare, by this little 
 hint, intimates that Viola's interest in the Duke 
 was more than casual. 
 
 The Captain then states that the Duke was in 
 love with Olivia, and refers to her grief for her dead 
 brother. This is an example of Repetition, Altera- 
 tion, Alternation. 
 
 Viola asserts her desire to enter the service of 
 this Duke, and to do so is willing to be disguised as a 
 page. Her principal accomplishment which fits her 
 for this service is her skill in music: 
 
 . . . for I can sing 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music. 
 
 The Captain promises to aid her in attaining her 
 desire. 
 
 The Plot of the play is founded on confusion of 
 identity. This has ever been a favorite technical 
 device with dramatists. The Greeks made frequent 
 use of it. There is no more perfect example of it 
 than (Edipus the King, by Sophocles, which Aris- 
 totle considered the typical example of the highest 
 Greek tragedy, and which is certainly the most per- 
 fectly constructed of any of the Greek plays. 
 
328 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Shakespeare, over and over again, hinges a Plot on 
 confusion of identity. In Loves Labour 's Lost, 
 when the King of Navarre and his attendants go to 
 woo the Princess of France and her ladies, both the 
 former and the latter mask themselves so as to con- 
 ceal their identity. When Julia goes to see Proteus 
 {Two Gentlemen of Verona) she goes dressed in 
 
 . . . such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 All the women in the Merchant of Venice \ at one 
 time or another, assume a male guise. Jessica 
 elopes with Lorenzo 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 
 Portia and Nerissa, before going to Venice to 
 rescue Antonio, doff their dresses, and 
 
 . . . are both accoutred like young men. 
 
 When Ford {Merry Wives of Windsor) wants to 
 assure himself of the faithfulness of Mistress Ford, 
 he disguises himself, and assumes the name of 
 Brook. Vincentio the Duke {Measure for Measure) 
 hears rumors of the unfaithfulness and villainy of 
 Angelo, his Deputy. He dresses as a friar, and 
 returns to Vienna. In Cymbcline, Belarius assumes 
 the garb of a shepherd, and the name of Morgan. 
 The lovely Imogen so successfully conceals her iden- 
 tity and her sex, but not her loveliness, that Bela- 
 rius, when he, for the first time, saw her sleeping 
 in the cave, said : 
 
Twelfth Night 329 
 
 By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
 
 An earthly paragon ! — Heboid divineness 
 
 No elder than a boy. 
 
 \These are but some of the instances in which 
 Shakespeare uses this favorite device of confusion 
 of identity. He always does so with great technical 
 skill, with subtle variations, with exceeding dra- 
 matic effectiveness. 
 
 In a play of this kind, the Complication is caused 
 by mistake in the identity of different persons. 
 The Resolution is effected by what the Greeks 
 called anagnorisis (ana, again, gnorizo, to know) to 
 know again. 
 
 In Twelfth Night, at the very beginning of the 
 play, Viola assumes the garb of a man. This re- 
 sults in a confusion of identity which causes the 
 Complication in the play. The Resolution is 
 effected when she reveals herself as not a man but 
 a woman, the sister of Sebastian, and again dresses 
 in her maiden iveeds. 
 
 In Scene 3, Shakespeare introduces the principal 
 characters in the most important Sub-Action. First 
 come Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir Toby reveals 
 himself by his remark, I am sure care f s an enemy to 
 life. His life is gay, sensuous, filled with animal 
 enjoyment. For his excessive drinking Maria calls 
 him to account, and informs him of Olivia's dis- 
 pleasure. She then makes a prediction that fore- 
 shadows perfectly the conclusion of Sir Toby's 
 dramatic life: 
 
 That quaffing and drinking will undo you. 
 
3$o Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Shakespeare, manifesting fine technique, then 
 makes Maria and Sir Toby describe a foolish knight 
 that the latter brought in one night here to be {Olivia s\ 
 zvoocr. The description of Sir Andrew by Maria and 
 Sir Toby is a fine piece of character-drawing. Its 
 dramatic function is twofold; it describes Sir An- 
 drew, and prepares for his entrance; it also reveals 
 to us Sir Toby and Maria. One's opinions of other 
 people are indexes to one's own mental and emo- 
 tional nature. Maria describes Sir Andrew as a 
 very fool and a prodigal ; a great quarreller ; a cow- 
 ard ; and, moreover, he's drunk nightly. Sir Toby's 
 point of view is quite different. He informs us Sir 
 Andrew is as tall a man as any's in lllyria; has 
 three thousand ducats a year ; plays o the viol-de- 
 gamboys ; and speaks three or four languages ivord 
 for ivord without book.. 
 
 Shakespeare, having prepared the spectators for 
 the entrance of Sir Andrew, now brings him on the 
 stage. Sir Andrew at once reveals himself to be 
 exactly such a man as has been described. He is 
 a mere echo of Sir Toby. He is as deficient in will 
 as he is in brains. His wooing ceases almost before it 
 begins. Faith, I 'II home to-morrow, Sir Toby : your 
 niece will not be seen ; or if she be, it 's four to one 
 she 'II none of me. Sir Toby urges him to stay. 
 Sir Andrew assents. He, however, dismisses Olivia 
 from his thoughts, and never pushes his suit. Shall 
 we set about some revels ? he asks Sir Toby, and from 
 this time these two men devote themselves to 
 revelry and fun. 
 
 In Scene 4, the last of the Introduction, Viola 
 
Twelfth Night 331 
 
 appears in man s attire. She is in the service of the 
 Duke. He has selected her as his messenger to 
 Olivia, and gives her detailed instructions as to 
 pushing his suit. She is to 
 
 Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 
 
 and do anything 
 
 Rather than make un profited return. 
 
 Having obtained an audience with Olivia she is to 
 
 . . . unfold the passion of [the Duke's] love. 
 
 Shakespeare then puts into the Duke's mouth an 
 exquisite description of Viola: 
 
 For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 
 That say thou art a man : scq. 
 
 Neither the Duke, nor any one in the play, ex- 
 cepting the Captain, who has disappeared from the 
 action, knows that Viola is a woman. In order to 
 appreciate the fine technique of Shakespeare in this 
 description, this fact must be borne in mind. 
 
 Shakespeare frequently caused his women to ex- 
 change petticoat for doublet and hose. Portia, Nc- 
 rissa, Jessica, Rosalind, Imogen, and, in this play, 
 Viola, all did so. Yet they were never coarse, 
 mannish, hoidenish, but always refined and feminine. 
 Though caparisoned like men, not one of them ever 
 had a doublet and hose in her disposition. This is 
 true of Viola. Her lip, like Diana's, was smooth and 
 rubious ; her small pipe, shrill and sound, i. e., the 
 tones were clear and pure; 
 
33 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 And all is semblative a woman's part. 
 
 In every respect, except her dress, Viola re- 
 sembled a woman. 
 
 The dramatic purpose of this detailed description 
 of Viola is not primarily to inform us of her, al- 
 though that is a secondary intention of the poet, 
 but is to foreshadow the Resolution of the drama, 
 which is brought about by the revelation of Viola's 
 sex. 
 
 Viola accepts the mission of the Duke: 
 
 I '11 do my best 
 . To woo your lady. 
 
 Then in an aside she reveals to us her love for 
 the Duke: 
 
 Yet, a barful strife ! 
 Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. 
 
 In this soliloquy Shakespeare foreshadows the 
 marriage of the Duke and Viola. 
 
 So ends this Introduction. In it Shakespeare has 
 introduced in person all the principal characters in 
 the play except Malvolio and the Clown. The 
 causes of the action have been fully revealed. The 
 emotional chord that vibrates through the play has 
 been touched. The action has been clearly fore- 
 shadowed, particularly in the words of Viola, with 
 which the Introduction ends. 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 I., 5-n., 4 
 
Twelfth Night 333 
 
 Shakespeare begins the Growth of this play with 
 an Episode. The Clown makes his first appear- 
 ance. With him is Maria. 
 
 The Clowns or Fools in the Shakespearian drama 
 were not weak-minded, foolish, but shrewd, keen, 
 wise. They were professional jesters. They dressed 
 in motley, a dress one half of which was one color, 
 the other half a different color. Shakespeare has 
 described their nature and function very fully and 
 lucidly. Jaques, who was ambitious for a motley coat, 
 says: 
 
 I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on whom I please: seq. ' 
 
 Viola thus describes the Clown in Twelfth Night; 
 
 This fellow is wise enough to play the fool ; 
 And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time. 
 
 . . . This is a practice 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art : 
 For folly that he wisely shows is fit ; 
 But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. 
 
 The Fools were deep, contemplative, profoundly 
 philosophic, witty. To this they give expression 
 not in sober speech but by means of badinage, jest. 
 As the Duke Senior said of Touchstone, they 
 
 1 As You Like It, II., 7, 47, seq. Cf. Murray, Ancient Greek 
 Literature, p. 212. 
 
334 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 use their folly as a stalking horse and under the pre- 
 sentation of that they shot their wit. 
 
 The Elizabethan audiences, more, possibly, than 
 those of this day, seemed to crave humor and farce. 
 There are many indications of that in the Shake- 
 speare plays. They are.full of puns. They contain 
 much farce and burlesque. The principal means 
 used by Shakespeare to gratify this love of jest on 
 the part of the spectators who crowded the Globe 
 and Blackfriars theatres was his Clowns and Fools. 
 
 Their nature and vocation are illustrated in the 
 first scene of the Growth in the play we are study- 
 ing. Maria and the Clown have a bantering con- 
 versation full of audacity and shrewdness on Maria's 
 part, of irony and jest on his. It concludes with the 
 Clown's remark to Maria: 
 
 if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a 
 piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. 
 
 Maria immediately perceives that he refers to a mar- 
 riage between her and Sir Toby. She instantly 
 responds: 
 
 Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. 
 
 Thus Shakespeare by the apparently trifling, but 
 really wise, words of the Clown, at the very begin- 
 ning of the action, foreshadows the marriage of Sir 
 Toby and Maria, which takes place before the con- 
 clusion of the play. 
 
 Maria then makes her exit. The Clown, in a 
 monologue, apostrophizes wit: 
 
Twelfth Night 335 
 
 Wit, an *t be thy will, put me into good fooling ! 
 
 The Lady Olivia and Malvolio then enter. The 
 Clown at once begins to jest with her, and to tell 
 her some wholesome truths. She is not in the 
 mood for jesting, being sad on account of her 
 brother's death, and directs her attendants to take 
 the fool aivay. The Clown instantly retorts, Take 
 aivay the lady. He further says, Lady, cucullus non 
 facit vwnachuvi (all hoods make not monks); 
 
 that 's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. 
 
 He then proceeds to show that not he, but she, is 
 the fool, because she mourns so unreasonably and 
 so persistently for her brother whose soul is in 
 heaven. Malvolio, who is 
 
 sick of self-love, and tastes with a distempered appetite, 
 
 is surprised and disgusted that Olivia takes delight 
 in such a barren rascal. Olivia rebukes him, and in 
 so doing again describes the professional Fool: 
 
 There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do 
 nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet man, 
 though he do nothing but reprove. 
 
 Aristophanes told the spectators of his plays that 
 if they " retained carefully the ideas of the comic 
 poets, as they kept dried fruits in boxes, their gar- 
 ments would smell odoriferous of wisdom, all the 
 year." We can say of this Clown in Twelfth 
 Night, and of all of Shakespeare's Clowns and" 
 Fools, their " garments smell odoriferous of wis- 
 
33 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 dom." And in this respect, and this is one of his 
 principal dramatic functions, this Clown is a contrast 
 to all the other characters in this play, with the single 
 exception of Viola. He is thoughtful, witty, and by 
 contrast brings into brighter light their thought- 
 lessness, vacillation, innocent but foolish weakness. 
 This comic Episode with which the Growth 
 begins now ends, and the Main Action of the drama 
 commences with the arrival of Viola on her mission 
 from the Duke. As has been foreshadowed, Olivia 
 refuses to receive the Duke's messenger. She 
 directs Malvolio to tell him 
 
 I am sir:k, or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss it. 
 
 Cesario is fortified against any denial, and swears 
 he will speak ivith Olivia. Finally, and with the 
 greatest reluctance, she yields to Viola's persistency, 
 and, covering her face with a veil, decides once more 
 to hear Orsino's embassy. 
 
 Although the mission on which Viola comes is 
 serious, very serious to the Duke and Olivia, the 
 interview between the latter and Viola begins with 
 a bantering conversation. This is in perfect har- 
 mony with the play, which is a comedy. This 
 conversation is finely tempered. It is playful, illu- 
 minative. It discloses the mental and emotional 
 temperaments of the two women. Viola inquires 
 for the honourable lady of the house. At first Olivia, 
 who is disguised, refuses to acknowledge herself as 
 the mistress. Viola, in the same mischievous mood, 
 declines to deliver her message, which, besides it is 
 excellently well penned, she had taken great pains to 
 
Twelfth Night 337 
 
 con. Olivia then declares herself, and asks Viola to 
 deliver her message. Viola refuses to do so, until 
 the attendants have retired, for that message is, 
 
 to your ears, divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 
 
 The attendants now retire. Olivia and Viola are 
 left alone, and the Main Action of the drama begins 
 movement. Viola requests Olivia to show her face. 
 She does so. Viola praises her beauty, and chides 
 her with cruelty 
 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave 
 And leave the world no copy. 
 
 Viola then delivers her message: 
 
 My lord and master loves you. 
 
 Olivia replies she cannot reciprocate the Duke's 
 love, and has so informed him. 
 
 Then Shakespeare, manifesting fine technique, 
 makes Viola speak in her own person : 
 
 If I did love you in my master's flame, 
 With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
 In your denial I would find no sense ; 
 I would not understand it. 
 
 Olivia's interest is excited. She inquires: 
 
 Why, what would you ? 
 
 Viola answers: 
 
 Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
 
 And call upon my soul within the house : seq. 
 
 M 
 
33 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Olivia's interest In this young man, as she supposes 
 Viola to be, grows. She responds: 
 
 You might do much. 
 
 Then remembering she is a countess, and Viola 
 but a messenger, she inquires: 
 
 What is your parentage ? 
 
 Viola's reply assures her. Olivia reiterates her as- 
 sertion that she cannot love the Duke: 
 
 Let him send no more, 
 
 and then immediately adds: 
 
 Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
 To tell me how he takes it. 
 
 Viola is incensed at Olivia's rejection of her mas- 
 ter's love, and retires, haughtily saying: 
 
 Farewell, fair cruelty. 
 
 A pause in the movement of the action now en- 
 sues, during which Olivia, in two monologues, 
 reveals her newly awakened love for Viola. 
 
 How now ! 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 
 Methinks I feel this youth's perfections 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth 
 To creep in at mine eyes. 
 
 In order to reveal her feelings to Viola, and to 
 induce her to return, Olivia sends Malvolio after 
 her with a ring. 
 
Twelfth Night 339 
 
 After Malvolio's departure, Olivia again in a mon. 
 ologue reveals her innermost desires: 
 
 I do I know not what, ;md fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
 Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; 
 What is decreed must be, and be this so. 
 
 The Complication of the drama has made great 
 progress. It began with the Duke's unrequited 
 love for Olivia. It progressed when Viola fell in 
 love with the Duke. It is made still more complete 
 when Olivia is enamored of Viola. The course of 
 these three loves, of the Duke for Olivia, of Viola 
 for the Duke, of Olivia for Viola, which are inex- 
 tricably inwoven, which like most loves do not run 
 smooth, constitutes the Main Action of the drama. 
 
 The Main Action is now interrupted by an Episode 
 (II., l) during which Antonio and Sebastian, charac- 
 ters in one of the Sub-Actions, are for the first time 
 introduced. When Viola first appeared she mourned 
 for her brother whom she believed shipwrecked, and 
 then expressed the hope, 
 
 Perchance he is not drown'd. 
 
 This hope is encouraged by a sea captain who saw 
 her brother lashed to a mast and alive. Sebastian 
 now appears, accompanied by Antonio. In a con- 
 versation with him Sebastian informs us of the past 
 history of himself and his sister. They were both 
 shipwrecked at the same time. Each thought the 
 other drowned. Sebastian pays her a loving tribute. 
 She was beautiful, and bore a mind that envy could 
 
34Q Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 not but call fair. He then mentions two facts which, 
 apparently trivial, are really very significant. He 
 and his sister were twins, both born in an hour, and 
 she much resembled me. The Plot of this play is 
 founded on confusion of identity, the expression of 
 which is a mistaking of Viola for Sebastian, of Se- 
 bastian for Viola. Shakespeare foreshadows this, 
 and makes it more reasonable by informing us of the 
 above two facts. 
 
 Sebastian is bound to the Count Orsino's court. 
 Antonio begs that he may accompany him. Against 
 Sebastian's wishes, and in the face of great danger, 
 he does so. 
 
 This Scene, which is but an Episode, is followed 
 by one (II., 2) in which the Main Action resumes 
 movement. Malvolio meets Viola, and in a churlish 
 manner offers to her the ring which Olivia had sent. 
 Viola, with keen intuition, immediately perceives 
 Olivia's purpose. She graciously tries to screen 
 Olivia, and says: 
 
 She took the ring of me : I '11 none of it. 
 
 Malvolio peevishly throws it on the ground, and 
 retires. 
 
 The truth dawns on Viola. 
 
 She loves me, sure. 
 
 Still further progress is made in the Complication of 
 the drama. The poet, by means of a few verses 
 spoken by Viola in soliloquy, describes, with the 
 utmost lucidity, this Complication so far as it has 
 been completed : 
 
Twelfth Night 341 
 
 How will this fadge ? my master loves her dearly ; 
 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
 
 What will become of this ? As I am man, 
 
 My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
 
 As I am woman, — now alas the day ! — 
 
 What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! 
 
 O time ! thou must untangle this, not I ; 
 
 It is too hard a knot for me to untie ! 
 
 So tightly has the desis, the dramatic knot, been 
 tied, that Viola realizes that it is beyond her power 
 to untie it, and leaves that work to time. In due 
 course of time that knot is untied, the Resolution 
 of the drama is effected, by the happy marriages of 
 the Duke, Viola, and Olivia. 
 
 Again the action of the drama is interrupted by a 
 comic Episode (II., 3) in which Sir Toby, Sir An- 
 drew, Maria, Malvolio, and the Clown take part. 
 Its dramatic purpose is twofold: to create Atmos- 
 phere, Local Color; and to foreshadow Maria's trick 
 on Malvolio. 
 
 Towards the close of the Scene Shakespeare indi- 
 rectly, but very vividly and touchingly, reveals 
 Olivia's emotional condition. Maria begs Sir Toby 
 not to be too boisterous. 
 
 Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night : since the 
 youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is 
 much out of quiet. 
 
 As Olivia's love for Viola is growing, so is Sir 
 Toby's admiration for Maria. He says: 
 
 She 's a beagle,. true-bred, and one that .adores me. 
 
34 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Thus again Shakespeare foreshadows a marriage be- 
 tween Sir Toby and Maria. 
 
 The next Scene (II., 4), the last of the Growth, 
 is also episodic. In it Shakespeare again marries 
 music to verse, and uses the former as the medium 
 for the expression of love. The Duke and Viola, 
 who are alone, now hold a conversation on that 
 subject which is uppermost in the Duke's mind. 
 Although unknown to the Duke, Viola also has ex- 
 perienced what Shakespeare elsewhere describes as 
 the inly touch of love. The Duke longs for sympathy. 
 He says to Viola: 
 
 If ever thou shalt love, 
 In the sweet pangs of it remember me. 
 
 He then describes himself as like all true lovers: 
 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 Save in the constant image of the creature 
 That is beloved. 
 
 The tune which is being played touches a respon- 
 sive chord in Viola, and, she says, 
 
 . . . gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Love is throned. 
 
 The Duke perceives she speaks masterly, i. e., de- 
 scribes with perfect accuracy the effect of this tune 
 on one in love. So exact, indeed, is Viola in this 
 description that the Duke infers she has been in 
 love : 
 
 My life upon *t, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves. 
 
Twelfth Night 343 
 
 Viola acknowledges the correctness of this infer- 
 ence. In response to inquiries of the Duke as to 
 what kind of woman she had been in love with Viola 
 replies, of your complexion, about your years. Viola 
 thus indirectly reiterates her love for the Duke. It 
 is another example of Repetition, Alteration, Alter- 
 nation. The thought which the poet wishes to im- 
 press on the spectator is repeated, but in an altered 
 form, and with some actions intervening. 
 
 The Duke, however, is blinded by his love for 
 Olivia, and is ignorant of Viola's sex. He does not 
 perceive she refers to him. He advises her to love 
 a woman younger than herself, for men's fancies, 
 loves, 
 
 are more giddy and unfirm, 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
 Than women's are. 
 
 The Duke unwittingly recommends himself as, in 
 respect of years, a suitable lover for Viola. He was 
 older. Viola perceived this, and doubtless with a 
 keen appreciation of the exquisite humor, said: 
 
 I think it well, my lord. 
 
 The conversation is interrupted by the entrance of 
 Curio and the Clown, the latter of whom proceeds 
 to sing a song which 
 
 . . . is silly sooth, 
 And dallies with the innocence of love. 
 
 It voices the feelings of the Duke, and touches a 
 
344 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 responsive chord in him, for it sings of one who has 
 been 
 
 . . . slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 
 The dramatist now makes effective use of Con- 
 trast. He follows this song, which is in the minor 
 key, by a little humorous badinage between the 
 Clown who sings it and the Duke. The latter re- 
 quests the Clown to retire. Before doing so he man- 
 ifests his keen insight into character by describing 
 that of the love-sick, vacillating, impulsive Duke: 
 
 I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that 
 their business might be every thing and their intent 
 every where ; for that 's it that always makes a good 
 voyage of nothing. 
 
 The attendants retire. The Duke and Viola once 
 more are left alone. The Duke orders her: 
 
 Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty, 
 
 and declare his love, which is, he says, far stronger 
 than that which any woman can have for a man. 
 But Viola knows 
 
 Too well what love women to men may owe ; 
 
 and then in the most exquisite poetry she describes 
 such a love, which, she informs the Duke, was that 
 of a daughter of her father who — 
 
 . . . never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek : seq. 
 
Twelfth Night 345 
 
 The Duke, still blind to the fact that Viola is de- 
 scribing her own love for him, artlessly inquires: 
 
 But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 
 
 Viola naively replied : 
 
 I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
 
 The perfect art of the dramatist manifested in 
 this conversation is made npparent when we remem- 
 ber that the facts of which the Duke is ignorant are 
 well known to the spectator of the drama. The de- 
 scription by Viola of her love, made in the most ex- 
 quisite poetry, is as fine work as Shakespeare ever 
 did. 
 
 After this there is a reference by Viola to her 
 brother: 
 
 And all the brothers too : and yet I know not. 
 
 The dramatic function of this is to foreshadow the 
 appearance later of that brother who is an important 
 factor in the Resolution of the play. By means of 
 Viola, assisted by him, the Complication of the 
 drama is solved, the dramatic knot is untied. Hence 
 this reiterated allusion by Viola to the uncertainty 
 of her brother's death. He may be dead, and yet I 
 know not. 
 
 The Scene ends by arrangements for the renewal 
 of the Duke's suit. Viola inquires: 
 
 Sir, shall I to this lady ? 
 
 The Duke promptly and decisively responds: 
 
34 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Ay, that 's the theme. 
 To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
 My love can give no place, bide no denay. 
 
 Thus ends the Growth. In it the action is very 
 slight. It illustrates perfectly the nature of comedy. 
 In this species of dramatic composition the Plot is 
 very simple. The incidents, situations, character- 
 portraiture, are very important. 
 
 When Viola obeys the Duke's command and goes 
 to the lady Olivia, the action of the drama again be- 
 gins movement and the Climax commences. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 
 II., $-111., jinis 
 
 Every character which takes an important part in 
 the action of this drama appears in the Climax. 
 Those who do not are a Sea-Captain, friend to 
 Viola, Valentine and Curio, gentlemen attending 
 on the Duke. These are simply Link-Persons. 
 Their part in the action is insignificant. All the 
 other characters appear in person except Orsino. He 
 is there in the person of his representative Cesario, 
 who makes for him the final appeal to Olivia. 
 
 A large part of the Climax is devoted to the rep- 
 resentation of Maria's trick upon Malvolio. It is, 
 as Maria said it would be, sport royal, for he is fooled 
 black and blue. This trick really is a play within a 
 play. It is described by Fabian: 
 
 If this were played upon a stage now, I could con- 
 demn it as an improbable fiction. 
 
Twelfth Night 347 
 
 The Clown later describes it as an interlude. That 
 it really was. 
 
 Shakespeare in the early part of his career as a 
 dramatic writer frequently introduced a play within 
 a play. In Hamlet, the hero says: 
 
 . . . the play 's the thing 
 Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew is prefaced with an Intro- 
 duction in which is a play. In A Midsummer-Night's 
 Dream the nuptials of Theseus and Hippolyta are 
 celebrated with the play of the Athenian mechani- 
 cals. In Tivclfth Night the Malvolio trick is a play 
 within a play. 
 
 This manifests crudity. It violates, more or less, 
 the primal law of Art, Unity. When Shakespeare 
 reached maturity he perceived this, and discontin- 
 ued the use of plays within plays. Hamlet is an 
 exception. Those plays which are the highest 
 manifestation of his constructive genius are distin- 
 guished by perfect Unity. 
 
 In this Malvolio play or interlude, Malvolio's 
 Character-Development reaches its climax. He has 
 been described by Olivia as sick of self-love, and by 
 Maria as a timc-plcaser ; an affect ioncd ass. The re- 
 sult of the letter which Maria drops in his way is to 
 make of him a contemplative idiot. 
 
 The scene is Olivia's garden. This is a love com- 
 edy. It is filled with sunshine and flowers. Malvolio 
 enters soliloquizing: 
 
 T is but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria once told me 
 she did affect me : seq. 
 
348 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 He imagines himself Olivia's husband, and assumes 
 not only the title, but also the authority of such. 
 As he saunters through the garden he discovers the 
 letter Maria has written and thrown where he will 
 find it. The effect is all that Maria intended it 
 should be. 
 
 Olivia later inquires of Maria for Malvolio. Maria 
 informs her: He's coming, madam; but in very 
 strange manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam. He 
 enters and acts, in every particular, as directed by 
 the letter. He appears cross-gartered, smiling. 
 When questioned by Olivia he quotes from her let- 
 ter. She, being entirely ignorant of the letter, and 
 perceiving that his replies are wholly irrelevant, 
 concludes he is insane: 
 
 Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
 
 From the kindest, though mistaken, motives, she 
 commends him to the care of Maria and Sir Toby. 
 Olivia then retires, and Malvolio is left to the ten- 
 der care of Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. All the 
 while they, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek as well, have 
 been in the secret. They were concealed in the gar- 
 den when Malvolio found the letter; they heard his 
 soliloquizing describing what he would do when he 
 won Olivia, and was Count Malvolio. They had 
 been informed by Maria of his conduct towards 
 Olivia. Now when Olivia retires, Sir Toby and Fa- 
 bian enter, and, together with Maria, carry the trick 
 to its consummation. They treat Malvolio as if he 
 were insane, and when he retires determine to put 
 him under guard. Come, Sir Toby says, 
 

 Twelfth Night 349 
 
 we '11 have him in a dark room and bound. My niece 
 is already in the belief that he 's mad : we may carry 
 it thus, for our pleasure and his penance, till our very 
 pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy 
 on him. 
 
 Thus Malvolio has reached the Climax of his dra- 
 matic life. He is bound, placed in a dark room, and 
 remains there till the Catastrophe. He ceases to be 
 a suitor for Olivia's hand, and an active force in 
 this drama. 
 
 Another result of Maria's trick is to develop to 
 the highest degree Sir Toby's admiration for her. 
 He makes her, after his fashion, an offer of mar- , 
 riage. To Sir Andrew and Fabian he says: 
 
 I could marry this wench for this device. - 
 
 And ask no other dowry with her^ut such another jest. 
 
 Maria enters a moment later, and Sir Toby asks her: 
 
 Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 
 
 As we learn later in the play Maria does set her . 
 foot on Sir Toby's neck, and, from what we know 
 of her and of him, it is fair to presume she keeps it 
 there, and presses down pretty hard. Sir Toby and 
 Maria have reached the Climax of their dramatic 
 lives. 
 
 At the close of the Growth the Duke had again 
 sent Viola to Olivia. She now appears on her mis- 
 sion of love. As she enters Olivia's garden she 
 meets the Clown. They engage in a conversation 
 full of raillery and banter. 
 
35° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The comedy in this play is very largely the work 
 of the women, Viola, in the Main Action, Maria, in 
 the Sub-Action. Viola's humor is refined, thought- 
 ful, kindly. Maria's approaches the satiric. The 
 laughter of both of them, however, is very different 
 from the gross laughter of Sir Toby, the vapid smile 
 of Sir Andrew. That of Viola and Maria is the rich 
 laughter of the heart and mind. It is ethereal and 
 illuminating, like light or color. 
 
 In the conversation between Viola and the Clown 
 the latter reveals himself to be what he describes 
 himself, not Olivia's fool, but her corrupter of words. 
 He distorts and misconstrues all Viola says. Yet, 
 withal, he does it in such a jolly, good-natured way, 
 wi f h such a mixture of jest and earnest, that Viola 
 says: 
 
 I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing. 
 
 When she gives him some money he expresses the 
 hope that 
 
 Jove, in his next commodity of hair, [will] send thee a 
 beard ! 
 
 Viola has previously informed us she is in love with 
 the Duke. She now again reveals her emotional 
 condition when she replies, 
 
 I am almost sick for one, 
 then in an aside adds, 
 
 though I would not have it grow on my chin. 
 
Twelfth Night 351 
 
 Thus again Shakespeare foreshadows the marriage 
 of Viola to the Duke. 
 
 The Clown goes to seek Olivia. Sir Toby and Sir 
 Andrew enter. For the first time they meet Viola. 
 To Sir Toby's inquiry, 
 
 Will you encounter the house? 
 Viola answers, 
 
 I am bound to your niece, sir. 
 
 Olivia and Maria enter. Viola refuses to deliver her 
 message except to Olivia alone. The others all 
 retire. 
 
 The comic now temporarily gives way to the seri- 
 ous. All sunshine makes the desert. If there is 
 nothing serious in a comedy the humor becomes 
 monotonous, lifeless. 
 
 Viola informs Olivia: 
 
 I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
 
 on the Duke Orsino's behalf. Olivia frankly avows 
 her fondness for Viola: 
 
 I did send, 
 After the last enchantment you did here, 
 A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
 Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you : seq. 
 
 Viola in response expresses pity for Olivia. The lat- 
 ter considers that a degree to love. Viola responds : 
 
 No, not a grize : 
 
35 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Olivia is chagrined : 
 
 Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you. 
 
 This mood is but temporary. Almost immediately 
 Olivia is overcome by her love, and says: 
 
 Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
 By maidhood, honour, truth and everything, 
 I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
 Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 
 
 Viola informs her that she cannot reciprocate that 
 love. 
 
 I have one heart, one bosom and one truth, 
 And that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
 
 Still Olivia does not give up hope. As she retires 
 she beseeches Viola to 
 
 . . . come again ; for thou perhaps mayst move 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
 
 Once more Viola does come. Olivia's love for her 
 has not been chilled. On the contrary, it has grown 
 more intense. She feels mortified. 
 
 I have said too much unto a heart of ..tone 
 And laid mine honour too unchary 
 
 but her passion mocks reproof. When Viola makes 
 one final appeal to her for . . . your true love 
 for my master, Olivia frankly declares to Viola she 
 
Twelfth Night 353 
 
 has given that love to her. Viola again declines it, 
 and Olivia, still refusing to accept her answer as 
 final, says: 
 
 Well, come again to-morrow : fare thee well : 
 A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 
 
 Olivia then makes her exit. She has finally and 
 irrevocably rejected the suit of the Duke. Her 
 passion for Viola has become all-absorbing. The 
 Climax of the play, so far as she is an actor therein, 
 has been reached. 
 
 Sir Andrew's wooing also reaches a climax. To 
 Sir Toby he says : 
 
 No, faith, I '11 not stay a jot longer. 
 
 The reason for this resolve is : 
 
 I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving- 
 man than ever she bestowed upon me. 
 
 Fabian tries to induce Sir Andrew to believe: 
 
 This was a great argument of love in her toward you. 
 
 Fabian tells him further he has missed his oppor- 
 tunity, and that the only way to retrieve his fortune 
 is by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy. 
 Sir Toby advises him to 
 
 Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him : 
 
 Sir Andrew acts on this advice, and retires to write 
 
 the challenge. The next time he appears he brings 
 
 it. Sir Toby reads it aloud. Both he and Fabian 
 
 consider it: 
 •i 
 
354 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Very brief, and to exceeding good sense — less. 
 
 They send Sir Andrew away to scout for Viola 
 
 at the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily : 
 
 At the same time Sir Toby goes to seek Viola. He 
 refuses to deliver the letter, it 
 
 being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the 
 youth : he will find it comes from a clodpole. 
 
 He determines to deliver the challenge by word of 
 mouth. Shortly afterwards he meets Viola, who has 
 just left Olivia. He conveys to her the challenge 
 of Sir Andrew, and accompanies it with a terrifying 
 description of Sir Andrew's fierceness and bravery. 
 The result is she is in mortal terror of Sir Andrew. 
 Though caparisoned like a man she was a woman, 
 gentle, refined, feminine. Like Rosalind, she did 
 not wear a doublet and hose in her disposition. Sir 
 Toby leaves Viola and seeks Sir Andrew. He gives 
 him a description of Viola's deadly skill in fencing. 
 The result is Sir Andrew becomes as afraid of Viola 
 as she is of him. Fabian now enters with Viola, 
 urging her to fight. Sir Toby does the same with 
 Sir Andrew. Both the contestants are so terrified 
 they can hardly stand. However, they draw their 
 swords. Before a blow is struck Antonio enters, 
 and the fight is stopped. Why ? For two reasons : 
 
 I. — This is a comedy. While there is, and must 
 be, in it something that is sombre, serious, there 
 must be nothing really tragic. 
 
 II. — To have allowed the fight to proceed would 
 
Twelfth Night 355 
 
 have been a mistake on Shakespeare's part in Char- 
 acter-Development. Viola was a woman, gentle, 
 high-born; Sir Andrew was a coward, who, as 
 Maria has informed us, had 
 
 the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in 
 quarrelling. 
 
 If Shakespeare had allowed Viola and Sir Andrew 
 bravely to attack each other the development of 
 their characters would have lacked consistency. 
 
 Antonio, who had left Sebastian but an hour or 
 two previously, now enters and mistakes Viola for 
 him. It was a natural mistake. Viola was a twin- 
 sister of Sebastian. She much resembled him. She 
 had adopted his dress: 
 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
 
 Antonio's love for Sebastian prompts him to in- 
 terfere immediately: 
 
 Put up your sword. If this young gentleman 
 Have done offence, I take the fault on me : 
 If you offend him, I for him defy you. 
 
 Sir Toby resents Antonio's interference. Officers 
 enter. Viola and Sir Andrew put up their swords. 
 One of the officers arrests Antonio at the suit of 
 Count Orsino. Antonio, still mistaking Viola for 
 her brother Sebastian, says to her: 
 
 This comes with seeking you : 
 But there 's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do, now my necessity 
 Makes me to ask you for my purse? 
 
35 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Viola is nonplussed. She had never seen Antonio. 
 She replies: 
 
 What money, sir ? 
 
 Antonio upbraids her 
 
 . . . with those kindnesses 
 That I have done for you. 
 
 Viola responds: 
 
 I know of none ; 
 Nor know I you by voice or any feature. 
 
 Antonio considers this the basest ingratitude, and 
 before being led away by the officers says to Viola: 
 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. 
 
 With the mention of her brother's name the truth 
 begins to dawn on Viola: 
 
 Methinks his words do from such passion fly, 
 That he believes himself : so do not I. 
 Prove true, imagination, O, prove true, 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 
 
 He nam'd Sebastian : I my brother know 
 
 Yet living in my glass ; even such and so 
 
 In favour was my brother, and he went 
 
 Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
 
 For him I imitate : O, if it prove, 
 
 Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love. 
 
 Viola then makes her exit, followed shortly after by 
 Sir Toby, Fabian, Sir Andrew. 
 
Twelfth Night 357 
 
 The action of the drama has developed to its 
 highest point. The Complication has been made 
 complete. .All the Complicating and Resolving 
 forces have met around Viola, the heroine. The 
 Resolution of the drama, which is effected by an- 
 agndrisu or Recognition, is clearly foreshadowed. 
 
 FALL 
 
 IV 
 
 At the beginning of the Fall Shakespeare again 
 makes use of confusion of identity, but with a dif- 
 ference. Viola has just been mistaken by Antonio 
 for Sebastian. Now the Clown mistakes Sebastian 
 for Viola. A moment later the same mistake is 
 made by Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, Fabian, Olivia. 
 
 The Clown had been sent by Olivia to find Viola. 
 He meets Sebastian, and supposes him to be Viola. 
 Evidently something, which the dramatist does not 
 report, had been done or said which led Sebastian 
 to rebuff the Clown, for on meeting him the Clown 
 had said : 
 
 Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you ? 
 
 Sebastian repels him. The Clown is so confident, 
 however, that Sebastian is only acting a part, and 
 is Viola, that he responds: 
 
 No, I do not know you ; nor I am not sent to you by 
 my lady, to bid you come speak with her ; nor your name 
 is not Master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. 
 Nothing that is so is so. 
 
35 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Sebastian considers the Clown's conduct but a jest, 
 and, good-naturedly, gives him money, with the re- 
 quest that he vent his folly somewhere else. By so 
 doing he wins the Clown's good-will. 
 
 At this time Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, Fabian enter. 
 At the close of the Climax, after Viola had made 
 her exit, she was denounced as a coward by Sir 
 Toby and Fabian. This inspired Sir Andrew with 
 courage. He said : 
 
 'Slid, I '11 after him again and beat him. 
 
 He, together with Sir Toby and Fabian, now meets 
 the Clown and Sebastian. Sir Andrew, mistaking 
 the latter for Viola, immediately assaults him: 
 
 Now, sir, have I met you again ? there 's for you. 
 
 Sebastian promptly makes a counter-attack: 
 
 Why, there 's for thee, and there, and there. 
 
 Sebastian is as much confused by this assault as by 
 the Clown's mistake, and says: 
 
 Are all the people mad ? 
 
 The Clown now withdraws with the expressed in- 
 tention of informing Olivia of Sir Andrew's attack 
 on Sebastian. Sir Toby seizes Sebastian. Sir An- 
 drew's courage fails him. He says: 
 
 I '11 go another way to work with him ; I '11 have an 
 action of battery against him. 
 
 Sebastian now challenges Sir Toby to fight. Sir 
 
Twelfth Night 359 
 
 Toby draws his sword. At this moment Olivia en- 
 ters. She commands: 
 
 Hold, Toby ; on thy life I charge thee, hold ! 
 
 Again, before any one has been hurt, the fight is 
 stopped; and for the same reasons that the duel 
 between Sir Andrew and Viola was stopped before 
 a blow was struck. Shakespeare intended the 
 duel to be not a real, but a mock one. Had it 
 proceeded, doubtless either Sebastian or Sir Toby 
 would have been wounded, possibly killed. That 
 would have caused a tragedy. Shakespeare was 
 writing a love-comedy. Olivia rebukes Sir Toby, 
 and then peremptorily orders him out of my sight ! 
 Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian now retire, 
 leaving Olivia alone with Sebastian. She, mistak- 
 ing him for Viola, turns to him, and- entreats him 
 not to be offended by Sir Toby's uncivil conduct, 
 and to 
 
 Go with me to my house, 
 
 . . . thou shalt not choose but go : 
 Do not deny. 
 
 Sebastian, who has not previously met Olivia, is 
 still more perplexed. He says: 
 
 What relish is in this ? how runs the stream ? 
 Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : 
 
 He fails utterly to understand the situation. He 
 consents, however, to be ruled by fair Olivia. She 
 replies : O, say so, and so be / and they depart to- 
 gether for her house. 
 
360 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 In the second Scene of the Fall Shakespeare por 
 trays the treatment Malvolio receives from Maria 
 and Sir Toby, to whose care Olivia has confided 
 him. At the suggestion of Maria, who is the leader 
 in this Sub-Action, the Clown assumes the character 
 of Sir Topas, the Curate, dons gown and beard, and 
 goes to the dark room in which Malvolio is confined. 
 The Clown is urged on by Maria and Sir Toby. He 
 taunts Malvolio until he is nearly insane. Malvolio 
 realizes he is in the power of his enemies. He begs 
 the Clown for some ink, paper and light ; and convey 
 what I will set down to my lady. The Clown prom- 
 ises to do so, and departs. 
 
 With the conclusion of this Scene (IV., 2) the 
 Malvolio affair is brought to a close, and with it the 
 dramatic life of Maria. The conception of the trick 
 on Malvolio was hers; the plan for putting that con- 
 ception into action originated with her ; she carried it 
 to its full consummation. When Malvolio was bound 
 and put in a dark room her work was ended. Having, 
 as one result of this device, won Sir Toby's love, and 
 married him, her dramatic mission was ended. She 
 therefore disappears from the action of the drama. 
 
 Sebastian had consented to be ruled by Olivia, 
 and had departed with her. He now appears alone 
 in her garden. His amazement at the conduct of 
 the Clown, Sir Toby, Fabian, and Sir Andrew, and 
 lastly of Olivia, has increased until he almost ques- 
 tions his sanity. And yet Shakespeare does not 
 allow him seriously to think that. 
 
 This is the air ; this is the glorious sun ; 
 
 This pearl she gave me, I do feel *t and see *t ; 
 
Twelfth Night 361 
 
 And though 't is wonder that enwraps me thus, 
 Yet *t is not madness. 
 
 Nor does Shakespeare allow him to believe that 
 Olivia is mad. If she were 
 
 She could not sway her house, command her followers, 
 Take and give back affairs and their dispatch 
 With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing 
 As I perceive she does. 
 
 And yet, and this is the conclusion Sebastian 
 reaches : 
 
 There 's something in 't 
 That is deceivable. 
 
 If Sebastian, Olivia, and the other actors in this 
 drama were insane the drama would lose interest. 
 Their conduct not being governed, at least to some 
 extent, by reason, intelligence, would cease to be 
 lucid, perspicuous. No drama could be written, all 
 the actors in which were idiots or lunatics. A char- 
 acter might in the course of the action, from exces- 
 sive grief or anxiety, become deranged, e. g., Lear. 
 Or, a character, for a shrewd purpose, might as- 
 sume madness, as did Hamlet. The action of a play 
 must be dominated and carried forward to comple- 
 tion by sane men and women. It is not possible to 
 write a drama in which the actors are idiots or luna- 
 tics. Why ? Art is controlled by law. In the art 
 of man there is an intelligent order. Hence in this 
 play, while Shakespeare increases Sebastian's amaze- 
 ment until wonder enwraps him, he does not make 
 
362 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 him insane, nor for a moment allow him to believe 
 that either he or Olivia is so. 
 
 By allowing the amazement of Sebastian to in- 
 crease — and this is Shakespeare's purpose in so do- 
 ing — the dramatist has excited to an intenser degree 
 the interest of the spectator. The Complication is 
 apparently, although not really, increased, in order 
 to make more effective the Resolution. That now 
 is hastened by the appearance of Olivia. She, ac- 
 companied by a Priest, enters. She requests Se- 
 bastian to fulfil his promise to be ruled by her, and 
 to go with her and 
 
 . . . this holy man 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him, 
 And underneath that consecrated roof, 
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
 That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace. 
 
 He does so. He and Olivia are betrothed. They 
 cease to be Complicating factors in the drama, and 
 as a consequence the Resolution, the untying of the 
 dramatic knot, is, to that extent, effected. 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 V 
 
 In the Catastrophe of a drama the whirligig of 
 time brings in his revenges t and also his compensa- 
 tions. Shakespeare generally does that directly and 
 rapidly. In the Catastrophe of this play, however, 
 he apparently, but not really, departs from his usual 
 
Twelfth Night 363 
 
 method. While everything is working rapidly to- 
 wards the Resolution of the drama, while every 
 word, every deed, leads towards that, and tends to 
 produce it, still, at the same time, everything in the 
 fore part of the Catastrophe, apparently and super- 
 ficially, tends to greater Complication. The result 
 of this is that when the Resolution, at last, is 
 reached the dramatic effect is heightened and made 
 much more powerful. It is the darkness of the 
 night becoming more pronounced just before the 
 advent of day. 
 
 At the beginning of the Catastrophe the Clown 
 enters bearing the letter which Malvolio had written 
 to Olivia. Fabian expresses a wish to see the letter. 
 The Clown makes a counter-request: 
 
 Do not desire to see this letter. 
 
 Just then the Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords enter. 
 The Duke accosts the Clown, asking him: 
 
 Belong you to the Lady Olivia? 
 
 The Clown answers in the affirmative. A conversa- 
 tion then ensues in which, under the guise of face- 
 tiousness, the Clown says some wise things, amongst 
 others that he is the better for his foes, the worse 
 for his friends. The Duke appreciates the fun, and 
 in accordance with the custom of the time gives the 
 Clown money. The Duke says: 
 
 If you will let your lady know I am here to speak with 
 her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my 
 bounty further. 
 
364 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The Clown departs to seek Olivia. Just at this 
 time Antonio in the custody of officers, enters. 
 Viola recognizes him, and says: 
 
 Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 
 
 The Duke remembers Antonio's face, and pays a 
 great tribute to his bravery. Viola recalls An- 
 tonio's kindness to her, and informs the Duke that 
 when she was attacked by Sir Andrew Aguecheek, 
 Antonio drew his sword in her defence: 
 
 But in conclusion put strange speech on me : 
 I know not what 't was but distraction. 
 
 The Duke ignores Viola's tribute to Antonio, and 
 brands him as 
 
 Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! 
 
 and then asks him : 
 
 What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
 Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
 Hast made thine enemies? 
 
 Antonio fearlessly resents Orsino's insults. 
 
 The information that Antonio had rescued Sebas- 
 tian from a watery grave has been given by the 
 dramatist in the fore part of the play. He now re- 
 hearses some of the facts of Antonio's life previous 
 to his meeting with Sebastian. This information is 
 valuable as enabling the spectator of the drama to 
 form a very accurate estimate of Antonio. Shake- 
 speare errs, however, in not having conveyed that 
 
Twelfth Night 365 
 
 information earlier in the play. It is a canon of 
 dramatic art that knowledge of what has taken place 
 previous to the beginning of the drama, and which 
 it is necessary the spectator should possess in order 
 to understand and appreciate the play, should be 
 given in the Introduction. Shakespeare, by not in- 
 forming us, until the Catastrophe is reached, of An- 
 tonio's capture of the Duke's vessels, violates this 
 law of dramatic construction, and weakens this play. 
 After Antonio resents the Duke's characterization 
 of him as pirate \ thief y he said : 
 
 A witchcraft drew me hither. , 
 
 Turning to Viola, whom he mistakes for Sebastian, 
 he recapitulates his experiences with Sebastian, and 
 with Viola: 
 
 That most ingrateful boy there by your side, 
 From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth 
 Did I redeem ; . . . 
 
 Drew to defend him when he was beset : 
 Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
 Not meaning to partake with me in danger, 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
 And grew a twenty years removed thing 
 While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 Both Viola and the Duke are amazed. The former 
 says: 
 
 How can this be ? 
 
366 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 The latter: 
 
 When came he to this town ? 
 
 Antonio replies: 
 
 To-day, my lord ; and for three months before, 
 
 No interim, not a minute's vacancy, 
 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 
 Just at this moment Olivia and her attendants 
 enter. This is the first time she and the Duke 
 have met. The very sight of her kindles to the in- 
 tensest degree the fervor of the Duke's love: 
 
 Here comes the countess : now heaven walks on earth. 
 
 Then addressing Antonio: 
 
 . . . fellow, thy words are madness : 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me. 
 
 Antonio is taken one side. Olivia says to the Duke: 
 
 What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? 
 
 Ignoring the Duke, not waiting for any reply from 
 him, she turned to Viola, and said: 
 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 She, like Antonio, mistakes Viola for Sebastian. 
 As the Duke's love had been intensified by the 
 presence of the object of that love, so also is Olivia's. 
 She haughtily, nay, more, contemptuously, rejects 
 the Duke's protestations of affection, and informs 
 him if what he has to say 
 
Twelfth Night 367 
 
 . . . be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
 It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
 As howling after music. 
 
 The limit of the Duke's forbearance has been 
 reached. His resentment is aroused. He retorts: 
 
 . . . you uncivil lady, 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out 
 That e'er devotion tender'd ! 
 
 Love and hate are very near to each other. In 
 fact, they are 
 
 . . . the very warders 
 Each of the other's borders. 1 
 
 The Duke's feeling now changes from love to hate. 
 In such a case 
 
 . . . passion seeks aid from its opposite passion. " 
 
 So outraged and enraged, indeed, is the Duke 
 by Olivia's insulting rejection of him, and by her 
 love for Viola, that he is tempted to kill Viola: 
 
 Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
 Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, 
 Kill what I love ? 
 
 This he cannot do. His love for Viola restrains 
 him. He determines, however, to revenge himself 
 on Olivia: 
 
 1 Browning, Pippa Passes, Scene a. • Idem. 
 
368 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
 And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly t 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. 
 
 Then to Cesario he says : 
 
 Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mischief : 
 I Ml sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. 
 
 From the very first time he saw her the Duke had 
 been attached to Viola. This attachment had 
 strengthened and deepened with time. In his out- 
 burst of indignation and wrath at Olivia's non-re- 
 gardance of his faith and rejection of his suit, no 
 less than three times he declares his love for Cesario, 
 whom he believes to be a boy. Referring to him 
 the Duke asks: 
 
 Why should I not . . . 
 Kill what I love ? 
 
 . . . whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly. 
 
 I '11 sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
 
 Thus, by a technique that is simply perfect, does 
 Shakespeare reveal to us the profound, intense, 
 overmastering love of the Duke for Viola. And 
 this love Viola reciprocates to the extremest degree. 
 Filled with an affection which is enthusiastic, soul- 
 ful, self-abandoning, she offers herself a willing sac- 
 rifice on the altar of her love for the Duke. 
 
Twelfth Night 369 
 
 And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, 
 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
 
 And this avowal of her love, which would lead her 
 even to die for him, is reiterated and emphasized 
 when Olivia asks: 
 
 Where goes Cesario ? 
 
 Viola replies: 
 
 After him I love 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
 More, by all mores, than e'er 1 shall love wife. 
 
 Thus, by this avowal of love on the part of the 
 Duke and of Viola for each other, Shakespeare has 
 foreshadowed their happy marriage, which is so 
 soon to be consummated. 
 Olivia now is mystified. She asks: 
 
 . . . how am I beguiled ! 
 
 Viola perceives that Olivia refers to her, and im- 
 mediately inquires: 
 
 Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong? 
 
 Olivia, believing without the shadow of a doubt that 
 Viola is Sebastian, the young man to whom but two 
 hours before she had been betrothed, says to her: 
 
 Hast thou forgot thyself ! is it so long ? 
 
 The Duke determines to retire, and orders Viola to 
 accompany him. Olivia addresses Viola as hus- 
 
37° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 band. She challenges Viola to deny it. Viola 
 does so, emphatically, unhesitatingly, immediately: 
 
 No, my lord, not I. 
 
 Olivia believes it is but Viola's fear of her master 
 that leads her to make the denial, and urges her to 
 be brave : 
 
 Fear not, Cesario ; take thy fortunes up. 
 
 Just at this moment the Priest enters. Olivia ap- 
 peals to him. He rehearses with the utmost par- 
 ticularity what had taken place between Olivia and 
 Sebastian, whom he as well as Olivia supposes to 
 be Viola: 
 
 A contract of eternal bond of love : seq. 
 
 So conclusive does this testimony seem to the Duke 
 that his confidence in Viola is annihilated. He is 
 angered that she should have deceived him. He 
 wrathfully addresses her as dissembling cub / and or- 
 ders her to leave his presence. Viola protests. 
 Olivia interposes. 
 
 O, do not swear ! 
 
 The mistaken identity of Viola is now complete. 
 Olivia, the Duke, the Priest, all believe she is the 
 man who has been betrothed to Olivia. Antonio 
 also thinks she is Sebastian. 
 
 Shakespeare now, manifesting perfect technique, 
 diverts attention from her to Sebastian. It is a 
 dramatic necessity that this should be done before 
 
Twelfth Night 37 1 
 
 Sebastian appears in person, and he and Viola meet. 
 Before Viola obeys the Duke's command to retire, 
 and while she, Olivia, the Duke, the Priest are to- 
 gether, Sir Andrew enters. Some one, he says: 
 
 . . . has broke my head across and has given Sir 
 Toby a bloody coxcomb too. 
 
 Olivia inquires: 
 
 Who has done this, Sir Andrew? 
 
 He replies: 
 
 The count's gentleman, one Cesario. 
 
 Then seeing Viola, he adds: 
 
 'Od's lifelings, here he is ! 
 
 and then charges her with the deed. 
 
 You broke my head for nothing. 
 
 Viola, of course, supposing Sir Andrew referred to 
 the duel, which was interrupted by the entrance of 
 Antonio before a blow had been struck, replied : 
 
 Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you : 
 You drew your sword upon me without cause ; 
 But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 
 
 Of the fact that he was hurt Sir Andrew had no 
 doubt. It never occurred to him that Viola was 
 not the man who attacked him. He supposed that 
 she was simply quibbling about words: 
 
37* Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. 
 
 Sir Toby and the Clown enter. Sir Andrew appeals 
 to him. Sir Toby was too drunk and too much 
 wounded to bother about the identity of Viola. 
 Besides, he was fairly beaten in a fight into which 
 he had willingly entered. He does not whimper 
 like Sir Andrew, but takes his punishment like a 
 man. Replying to the Duke's question, 
 
 How now, gentleman ! how is 't with you ? 
 
 and speaking of Viola, he said : 
 
 That 's all one : has hurt me, and there 's the end 
 on 't. 
 
 Olivia orders: 
 
 Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
 
 He departs. He was in no condition to appear as 
 Maria's newly wedded husband. Hence neither she 
 nor he could appear with the two other pairs of 
 lovers at the end of the play. The Clown, Fabian, 
 Sir Andrew, also depart with Sir Toby. 
 
 Sir Toby's dramatic life, and that also of Sh An- 
 drew, is ended. Neither of them appears again. 
 Shakespeare's characterization of them has been, 
 from first to last, uniform, consistent. Their 
 little dramatic lives were rounded, not with a sleep, 
 but with a drunken revel. 
 
 It is an inviolable law of dramatic art that funda- 
 mental traits of character must be revealed early in 
 
Twelfth Night 373 
 
 a play. Sir Toby when he first appeared was under 
 the influence of liquor. Maria says to him: 
 
 That quaffing and drinking will undo you. 
 
 That prediction has been verified. He disappears 
 from this play in drink, as Sir Andrew describes him, 
 and sorely wounded. Sir Andrew's character, like- 
 wise, is uniform. From first to last he has been 
 what Sir Toby, in the last words he utters in the 
 drama, describes him, an ass-head and a coxcomb and 
 a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull ! 
 
 The dramatic purpose of these characters has 
 been, primarily, that of Contrast. They were set 
 over against the Duke, Olivia, Malvolio, all of whom 
 were serious. In perfect contrast with the latter are 
 Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. They are gay, 
 light-hearted. Their lives are merry, and free from 
 care. By means of them Shakespeare brings into 
 more vivid light the characters in the Main Action. 
 
 No sooner have the Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby, and 
 Sir Andrew made their exit than Sebastian enters. 
 This is the first time in the drama he and Viola have 
 met. The meeting takes place in the presence of 
 the Duke and his suite; of Olivia and her attend- 
 ants; of the Priest; of Antonio. All the characters 
 in the Main Action, several of those in the Sub- 
 Actions are present. This is a fine example of 
 Character-Grouping. 
 
 Sebastian first addresses Olivia, and expresses re- 
 gret for having injured Sir Toby. 
 
 I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman. 
 
374 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 But a moment before Olivia had addressed Viola 
 as husband. Olivia's claim had been confirmed by 
 the Priest, who stated that within two tours, and in 
 his presence, she and Viola had been betrothed. 
 Olivia's surpise at Sebastian's appearance and words 
 may be imagined. She manifests it in her face. 
 Sebastian perceives it. He says: 
 
 You throw a strange regard upon me. 
 
 Sebastian supposes Olivia is offended at his conduct 
 in injuring Sir Toby. He begs Olivia's pardon; 
 and then abjures her, by the vows which recently 
 passed between them, to grant it: 
 
 Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
 We made each other but so late ago. 
 
 The Duke, who since Sebastian's entrance has been 
 observing closely, but has remained silent, now 
 says: 
 
 One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons, 
 A natural perspective, that is and is not ! 
 
 Sebastian, who had never previously met the Duke, 
 and was not acquainted with him, paid no attention 
 to the Duke's remark. He did know Antonio, and 
 knew him only to love him. They had not met 
 since they had separated, Antonio to seek safety at 
 the Elephant, Sebastian to wander through the 
 town. Since that parting each had had many sur- 
 prising experiences. Antonio supposed that Sebas- 
 tian had forsaken him. Sebastian had mourned 
 
Twelfth Night 375 
 
 over the loss of Antonio. Now with glad surprise, 
 and the expression of his solicitude, Sebastian says: 
 
 Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 
 How have the hours rack'd and tortured me, 
 
 Since I have lost thee ! 
 
 Antonio, who, like Olivia, has mistaken Viola for 
 Sebastian, responds: 
 
 Sebastian are you ? 
 
 Sebastian acknowledges that he is. Antonio is as 
 much surprised as the Duke: 
 
 How have you made division of yourself? 
 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
 Than these two creatures. 
 
 Olivia expresses her bewilderment : 
 Most wonderful ! 
 
 Sebastian and Viola now stand face to face. 
 
 Shakespeare has prolonged the suspense to the 
 longest time, has intensified it to the greatest de- 
 gree. The Duke is wrathful at what he believes 
 Viola's hypocrisy. Olivia is almost heartbroken at 
 what she considers the desertion of her husband. 
 Viola is discarded and deserted by the man to whom 
 she has just confessed a love so strong that for him 
 she would die a thousand deaths. The interest of 
 the spectator has been wrought up to the highest 
 degree. Any further prolongation of this suspense 
 would have been mistaken technique. Shakespeare, 
 
376 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 therefore, now begins the final Resolution of the 
 drama. This is done, quickly and perfectly, by 
 means of Sebastian and Viola. They refer to the 
 shipwreck, by which they were separated; to their 
 father, the mole upon his brozu, his death. Sebastian 
 says if Viola were a woman he should accept her as 
 a sister. She perceives, and so states that her 
 
 . . . masculine usurp'd attire, 
 
 alone stands in the way of complete recognition. 
 Shakespeare's verses narrating this conversation are 
 a perfect specimen of narrative poetry. Like some 
 beautiful rose which has been growing for weeks, 
 then suddenly over night blooms into the perfect 
 flower, so the complete Resolution of this drama, 
 which has long been delayed, reaches its full and 
 complete development in this conversation. With 
 the recognition of the fact that Viola is a woman, 
 and the sister of Sebastian, all the Complication of 
 the Plot is easily resolved. Olivia would have been 
 betrothed to a maid. 
 
 But nature to her bias drew in that, 
 
 and she, unwittingly, was betrothed to a man. A 
 wise and unerring Fate provided for her an excellent 
 husband. The Duke accepts the situation. He 
 cannot win Olivia. From the first he has been at- 
 tached to Viola. He now recalls all her protesta- 
 tions of affection for him. Making one final allusion 
 to her assumed sex, which is a dramatic touch of 
 great beauty, and is as sweet as the last note of dy- 
 ing music, he says: 
 
Twelfth Night 377 
 
 Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times 
 Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
 
 Viola responds: 
 
 And all those sayings will I over-swear. 
 
 In token of their betrothal they take hands. The 
 Duke expresses the wish to see her in thy woman s 
 weeds, 
 
 Shakespeare now directs attention to some of the 
 characters in the Sub-Actions, whose dramatic lives 
 it is necessary to bring to a close. For the time be- 
 ing the Main Action remains stationary, while two 
 of the uncompleted Sub-Actions progress to their 
 Catastrophe or completion. 
 
 The Captain who had rescued Viola, and told her 
 that he had seen her brother still alive, bound to a 
 strong mast, floating in the water, had disappeared 
 from the play just after having given that informa- 
 tion. No more has been heard of him since this al- 
 lusion to him in the Introduction. Viola now recalls 
 him. When the Duke expresses the wish to see her 
 in woman s weeds, she says: 
 
 The captain that did bring me first on shore 
 Hath my maid's garments : he upon some action 
 Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit. 
 
 Olivia orders him enlarged. Of his experiences 
 during his imprisonment the spectator has not been 
 informed. The Duke, therefore, a little later, speak- 
 ing of Malvolio, says: 
 
 He hath not told us of the captain yet. 
 
378 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Nor does he, for when the Duke utters these words 
 Malvolio had retired not to return. 
 
 Viola's allusion to Malvolio recalls him to Olivia. 
 She commands: 
 
 Fetch Malvolio hither: 
 And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
 They say, poor gentleman, he 's much distract 
 
 She recalls the trying experiences through which 
 she has passed : 
 
 A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
 From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. 
 
 The Clown and Fabian enter. The former bears 
 Malvolio's letter to Olivia. Fabian reads the letter. 
 The experiences through which Malvolio has passed 
 have brought him to his senses. The letter com- 
 plains of his ill-treatment from Olivia, and from her 
 drunken cousin. It is so sensible that the Duke says : 
 
 This savours not much of distraction. 
 
 Olivia orders Fabian to 
 
 See him delivered, . . . ; bring him hither. 
 
 As soon as Fabian makes his exit to execute this 
 order the Main Action of the drama is resumed. 
 Olivia turns to the Duke: 
 
 My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, 
 To think me as well a sister as a wife, 
 One day shall crown the alliance on 't so please you 
 Here at my house and at my proper cost. 
 
Twelfth Night 379 
 
 The Duke embraces the offer, and then, turning to 
 Viola, discharges her from his service, and offers her 
 his hand and heart in marriage: 
 
 Your master quits you ; and for your service done him, 
 
 So much against the mettle of your sex, 
 
 So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
 
 And since you call'd me master for so long, 
 
 Here is my hand : you shall from this time be 
 
 Your master's mistress. 
 
 Olivia now accepts Viola as a sister. 
 
 Again the Main Action gives way to a Sub-Ac- 
 tion. Thus, with perfect dramatic technique, is 
 Shakespeare taking up, one after another, the ac- 
 tions of this drama, and bringing them to a fitting 
 completion. Fabian enters with Malvolio. In very 
 strong, though courteous language, Malvolio pro- 
 tests against Olivia's treatment: 
 
 Madam, you have done me wrong, 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 Nothing has been further from Olivia's purpose. 
 Conscious of her kindly intentions she is nonplussed. 
 Malvolio reiterates his charge, and says: 
 
 . . . Pray you, peruse that letter. 
 
 This was Maria's obscure epistle of love. Malvolio 
 challenges Olivia to deny the authorship of the let- 
 ter. Olivia's insight was keen. She immediately 
 divines the cause of the mischief: 
 
 , , . 't is Maria's hand. 
 
380 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 This is a comedy. It must end happily. Fabian 
 speaks : 
 
 And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come 
 Taint the condition of this present hour. 
 
 He then confesses frankly that he, Sir Toby, and 
 Maria had conceived and executed this trick upon 
 Malvolio. 
 
 Comedy portrays those frailties which are venial, 
 laughable; those which awaken in the spectator not 
 derision or wrath, but kindly mirth. Shakespeare's 
 comedies are never satirical or sarcastic. This is 
 true of all the comic characters in this play. Fabian 
 expresses this thought when he characterizes the 
 whole Malvolio episode as being more laughable 
 than revengeful: 
 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge. 
 
 Olivia accepts the explanation, and kindly, yet 
 firmly, says to Malvolio: 
 
 Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee ! 
 
 The Clown frankly acknowledges his share in the 
 whole affair, and then comments: 
 
 And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. 
 
 This is true of human life. It is, and of necessity 
 must be, also true of a drama, which is a portrayal 
 of human life. In the latter it is called Poetic Jus- 
 tice. Malvolio's excessive vanity has produced its 
 
Twelfth Night 381 
 
 normal fruit. It has brought on him these indigni- 
 ties, lie has not, however, sufficient mental 
 strength to recognize that fact. He retires dis- 
 gruntled, and threatening vengeance: 
 
 I '11 be revenged on the whole pack of you. 
 
 Of all in the play he alone at the conclusion is not 
 jovial and happy. In closing his dramatic life in 
 such an unhappy frame of mind Shakespeare mani- 
 fests perfect Poetic Justice. But even Malvolio's 
 discomfiture and unhappiness must not be allowed 
 to mar the happy conclusion of the play. Olivia ex- 
 presses some sympathy for him : 
 
 He hath been most notoriously abused. 
 
 To that the Duke, in a kindly and conciliatory spirit, 
 adds : 
 
 Pursue him and entreat him. to a peace. 
 
 Nothing now remains for the poet to do but to 
 bring to a happy ending the dramatic lives of the 
 characters in the Main Action. This is done in the 
 last words spoken by the Duke: 
 
 A solemn combination shall be made 
 Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, 
 We will not part from hence. Cesario, come ; 
 For so you shall be, while you are a man ; 
 But when in other habits you are seen, 
 Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen. 
 
 The play began with a request for music. It is 
 pervaded by a lyrical element. It concludes with 
 
382 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 a song. Thus the beginning and the end of the play 
 Complement and Balance each other. The song 
 with which the play ends gives expression to much 
 profound and philosophic thought. It is an Epi- 
 logue. In it human life is epitomized. The Clown 
 reviews a human life from its beginning, when one is 
 a little tiny boy y through mans estate, and married 
 life, until man reaches old age, and comes unto his 
 bed. The refrain of the song is: 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 And yet, while there is, as this signifies, a certain 
 amount of storm in every human life, so is there 
 also of sunshine. Olivia had her bereavements; 
 Viola and Sebastian were shipwrecked and sepa- 
 rated ; the Duke was unsuccessful in his effort to win 
 Olivia ; Sir Toby and Sir Andrew had broken pates ; 
 still to all of them Fate was kind, and their lives 
 ended happily. 
 
 Thus the play ends, but the action does not stop. 
 
 The Duke's messenger is pursuing Malvolio, and 
 entreating him to a peace. Malvolio 
 
 . . . hath not told us of the captain yet. 
 
 The nuptials of the Duke and Viola, of Olivia and 
 Sebastian, are to be celebrated. So that artistic 
 unfinish, which characterizes every great work of 
 art, is manifested in this lonely comedy. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 OTHELLO 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 I 
 
 IT is a mistake, both of students of history and of 
 the drama, to study the past in the light of the 
 present, and to judge alien societies by the standard 
 of social conditions existing in one's native land. A 
 great drama must be studied in the light of the time 
 and place the life of which it portrays. The time 
 of this play was the Renaissance, the scene of it the 
 Venetian Republic. Life then and there differed 
 much from that of the present time, in this land. 
 Some of those differences Taine has eloquently de- 
 scribed. In his essay on Napoleon, whose ancestors 
 were Italian, he says: 
 
 With us several centuries of police and courts of jus- 
 tice, of social discipline and peaceful habits, of heredi- 
 tary civilization, have diminished the force and violence 
 of the passions natural to man ; in Italy, in the Renais- 
 sance epoch, they were still intact : human emotions at 
 that time were keener and more profound than at the 
 present day : the appetites were more ardent and more 
 unbridled ; man's will was more impetuous and more 
 
 tenacious ; whatever motive inspired him, whether 
 
 383 
 
384 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 pride, ambition, jealousy, hatred, love, envy or sensual- 
 ity, the inward spring strained with an energy and re- 
 laxed with a violence, that has now disappeared. 
 
 It is life existing in such an environment that 
 Shakespeare portrays in this great urama. In study- 
 ing it we must, in imagination, place ourselves in 
 that environment, and from such a point of view see 
 and judge the personages and actions. 
 
 The play begins with a conversation between two 
 men. This is held at night, in a street of Venice. 
 These men are nominal friends. Roderigo has such 
 unquestioning confidence in Iago's friendship that 
 he had placed his purse at Iago's service. He is 
 reproaching Iago for having concealed from him the 
 knowledge of something which has taken place, and 
 of which he, Iago, is cognizant : 
 
 Tush ! never tell me ; I take it much unkindly 
 
 That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse 
 
 As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. 
 
 Iago vehemently denies the accusation : 
 
 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 Abhor me. 
 
 What is this to which Roderigo alludes, and of which 
 Iago, with so much warmth, professes entire igno- 
 rance ? Shakespeare does not, at this time, inform 
 us. He makes what is simply an allusion, a vague 
 hint, and then introduces another subject. What 
 is the purpose of this ? By so doing he has, with 
 
Othello 385 
 
 the first words of the play, awakened the curiosity, 
 stimulated the interest of the spectator. By not 
 immediately satisfying this curiosity he intensifies 
 it. This is masterly technique. 
 
 The conversation is continued without any inter- 
 ruption, and we are informed of another fact of the 
 utmost importance; viz., the principal motive which 
 actuates Iago in all he does in this drama: 
 
 Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hat* 
 
 Iago responds: 
 
 Despise me, if 1 uo not. 
 
 Again Shakespeare gives only an intimation of the 
 truth. To whom does Roderigo refer by him ? We 
 are not informed until later. 
 
 Iago then proceeds to give in detail the reasons 
 for his hatred of this man. Three of his friends, of 
 high position and great influence, besought this 
 person, whose identity has not yet been revealed, 
 to appoint Iago his lieutenant. This request was 
 haughtily refused. Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
 had been chosen. 
 
 He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
 
 And I — God bless the mark ! — his Moorship's ancient. 
 
 We are now, for the first time, informed that the 
 object of Iago's hate is the Moor. 
 
 After making these statements Iago says to 
 Roderigo: 
 
 Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
 Whether I in any just term am affined 
 To love the Moor. 
 
386 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Roderigo responds: 
 
 I would not follow him then. 
 
 Iago follows him but to make use of him : 
 
 In following him, I follow but myself ; 
 Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 But seeming so, for my peculiar end: 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 't is not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. 
 
 In this conversation Shakespeare has revealed to us 
 Iago, his character, his motives, his purposes. He 
 is a consummate hypocrite, an irredeemable villain. 
 He is a perfect example of " the corrupt Italian in- 
 tellect of the Renaissance." ' 
 
 Roderigo now returns to the subject referred to in 
 the opening lines of the play: 
 
 What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, 
 If he can carry 't thus ! 
 
 Iago advises: 
 
 Call up her father, 
 Rouse him. 
 
 Both go to Brabantio's house, and awake him. 
 Brabantio appears at the window. Iago addresses 
 him: 
 
 1 Lowell, Old English Dramatists, p. 76. 
 
Othello 387 
 
 Zounds, sir, you 're robb'd ; for shame, put on your 
 gown. 
 
 Brabantio recognizes Roderigo, to whom he says: 
 
 I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors : 
 
 In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
 
 My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness, 
 
 Being full of supper and distempering draughts, 
 
 Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
 
 To start my quiet. 
 
 From these words of Brabantio we now, for the first 
 time, learn that Roderigo is a rejected suitor of 
 Brabantio's daughter. The cause of Roderigo's 
 hatred to Othello is revealed. He had failed where 
 Othello had been successful. 
 To Brabantio's rebuke Roderigo responds: 
 
 Do not believe 
 That, from the sense of all civility, 
 I thus. would play and trifle with your reverence : 
 Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, 
 I say again, hath made a gross revolt ; 
 Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes 
 In an extravagant and wheeling stranger 
 Of here and every where. 
 
 Brabantio, thoroughly alarmed, arouses his peo- 
 ple. He has had a dream which forebodes trouble. 
 Shakespeare thus lightly touches the emotional 
 chord that vibrates through the drama. 
 
 Brabantio withdraws into his house. Iago and 
 Roderigo are left alone. Then Iago makes a state- 
 ment to Roderigo, the dramatic purpose of which is : 
 
388 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 I. — To reveal again Iago's motives and purposes. 
 
 II.— To inform the spectator of the drama of the 
 Cyprus wars, and that Othello has been selected to 
 lead the Venetian forces. 
 
 III. — That Othello was a great commander. 
 
 Iago says: 
 
 Farewell ; for I must leave you : seq. 
 
 He then retires. Brabantio and his servants enter. 
 He addresses Roderigo, and in the conversation 
 which follows we are, for the first time, definitely 
 and distinctly informed of that to which Roderigo 
 referred in the opening lines of the play; viz., the 
 marriage of Othello and Desdemona. 
 
 It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
 
 With the Moor, say'st thou ? 
 
 Are they married, think you } 
 
 Roderigo answers: 
 
 Truly, I think they are. 
 
 Thus, like the sun, which does not rise suddenly 
 or full-orbed, but slowly, and gradually dissipates 
 the darkness of the night, so does Shakespeare 
 gradually inform us of the circumstances which have 
 caused the action of the drama. 
 
 Brabantio once more refers to Roderigo's rejected 
 suit of Desdemona: 
 
 O, would you had had her ! 
 
Othello 389 
 
 Brabantio and his servants, led by Roderigo, then 
 start to seek Othello and Desdemona. 
 
 Iago, who had left Roderigo and gone to seek the 
 Moor, found him. Scene 2 opens with a conversa- 
 tion between them. This is the first appearance of 
 Othello. This conversation is held on the same 
 night, in another street of Venice. Othello and 
 Iago are surrounded by the former's attendants. 
 They carry torches. The grouping is very effective. 
 A drama is written to be acted. When studying it 
 this fact must constantly be borne in mind. 
 
 Iago, of whose character some revelation has been 
 made in the first Scene, now further manifests his 
 heartless duplicity. He tells Othello he has been 
 restrained from killing some one by his conscience, 
 which is very sensitive: 
 
 Though in the trade of war I have slain men, 
 
 Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience 
 
 To do no contrived murder : I lack iniquity 
 
 Sometimes to do me service : nine cr ten times 
 
 I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. 
 
 To whom does Iago refer ? Shakespeare does not 
 tell us. Thus again he appeals to the curiosity, 
 awakens the interest, of the spectator. 
 
 The first words of Othello reveal him to be a man 
 conscious of his own rectitude, calm, courageous: 
 
 'T is better as it is. 
 
 Iago proceeds to tell Othello of the scurvy and 
 provoking terms which the magnifico, Brabantio, 
 spake against him. He then inquires: 
 
39° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 But, I pray you, sir, 
 Are you fast married ? 
 
 and warns him : 
 
 Be assured of this, 
 
 . . . he will divorce you ; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law, with all his might to enforce it on, 
 Will give him cable. 
 
 Othello speaks. He tells Iago, and in so doing in- 
 forms the spectators of the drama, about himself, 
 his services to the Republic of Venice, his lineage, 
 his love for Desdemona, which alone induced him 
 to marry her: 
 
 Let him do his spite ; 
 My services which I have done the signiory 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. *T is yet to know,— 
 
 . . . I fetch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege, and my demerits 
 May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune 
 As this that I have reach'd : for know, Iago, 
 But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 I would not my unhoused free condition 
 Put into circumscription and confine 
 For the sea's worth. 
 
 A crowd, with torches, approaches. Iago suspects 
 it is Brabantio and his friends, led by Roderigo. 
 He advises Othello to seek shelter. Othello in- 
 stantly and firmly refuses: 
 
Othello 39 1 
 
 Not I ; I must be found : 
 
 My parts, my title and my perfect soul 
 
 Shall manifest me rightly. 
 
 Iago was mistaken. The company approaching 
 was composed of Cassio and some Officers. We 
 have been informed by Iago that Cassio had been 
 appointed by Othello his lieutenant. Now Cassio 
 appears, bringing a message from the Duke to 
 Othello: 
 
 The duke does greet you, general, 
 
 And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, 
 
 Even on the instant. 
 
 Othello retires into the house to spend (speak) a 
 word. In Othello's absence Iago informs Cassio of 
 Othello's marriage, of which Cassio professes entire 
 ignorance. He, however, knew of it, as Othello 
 later informs us, from first to last. That knowledge 
 Cassio considered confidential, and, therefore, he 
 pretended ignorance. 
 
 Othello, a moment later, returns. Directly there- 
 after Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers, with torches 
 and weapons, enter, seeking Othello. This is effec- 
 tive Grouping. 
 
 On one side : On other side : 
 
 Othello, Iago, attendants. Cas- Brabantio, Roderigo, Officers, 
 
 sio, Officers. All armed, and attendants bearing torches, 
 
 bearing torches. and with drawn weapons. 
 
 Brabantio's grief and rage are almost uncontrol- 
 lable. He insults Othello. All except Othello 
 draw their swords. He says: 
 
39 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Hold your hands, 
 Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
 Were it my cue to fight, I should have known if 
 Without a prompter. 
 
 Othello informs Brabantio that messengers from 
 the Duke 
 
 are here about my side, 
 Upon some present business of the state 
 To bring me to him. 
 
 The First Officer confirms this, and adds: 
 
 The duke's in council, and your noble self, 
 I am sure, is sent for. 
 
 The whole party then retire to seek the Duke, and 
 the Scene ends. 
 
 The action of the drama is now transferred to the 
 council-chamber of the republic. Seated around a 
 table are the Duke, Senators, Officers of the State. 
 The. subject of the conference, which has been 
 hastily called, is the threatened attack of the Turk 
 upon Cyprus. A Turkish fleet, which one report 
 says is composed of one hundred and seven galleys, 
 another of one hundred and forty, another of two 
 hundred, is 
 
 . . , bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 A sailor enters with later news: 
 
 The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes. 
 
 Still another Messenger enters hurriedly, and brings 
 information from Signior Montano, the commander 
 of the Venetian forces at Cyprus: 
 
Othello 393 
 
 The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 
 Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, 
 
 Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 
 
 At this moment Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Rod- 
 crigo, and Officers enter. The Duke says: 
 
 Valiant Othello, we nust straight employ you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 
 Brabantio, responding to the Duke's greeting, 
 speaks of that matter which has brought him to the 
 council-chamber: 
 
 My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 
 The Duke promises him redress. Brabantio informs 
 the council that the man who has injured him is the 
 Moor. The members of the council express their 
 regret. Brabantio now briefly describes his daugh- 
 ter: 
 
 A maiden never bold ; 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at herself. 
 
 The dramatic purpose of this description is twofold ; 
 to inform the spectator about Desdemona, and to 
 prepare for her entrance. 
 
 Brabantio then draws the conclusion that a woman 
 like Desdemona, of gentle birth, could not have 
 married a man like Othello, of tawny skin, thick 
 lips, unless she had been bewitched. Othello 
 speaks: 
 
394 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 I do beseech you, 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her fathei : 
 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood, 
 So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
 And she in mine. 
 
 He relates 
 
 . . . the story of mv life, 
 From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 Thus Desdemona was won: 
 
 She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, 
 And I loved her that she did pity them. 
 
 Desdemona, for whose appearance Shakespeare 
 has made such ample preparations by informing us 
 about her and her marriage, now enters. Her father 
 addresses her: 
 
 Come hither, gentle mistress : 
 Do you perceive in all this noble company 
 Where most you owe obedience ? 
 
 Desdemona is loyal to her husband. She replies: 
 
 And so much duty as my mother show'd 
 To you, preferring you before her father, 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor my lord. 
 
Othello 395 
 
 The Duke advises Brabantio to bear his loss phil- 
 osophically. 
 
 To mourn a mischief that is nast and gone 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 
 The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief ; 
 He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Brabantio wittily and ironically responds: 
 
 So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 
 The Duke now turns to Othello and informs him 
 of the threatened attack of the Turks upon Cyprus, 
 also that he has been chosen to defend the island. 
 Thus by a transition which is unforced, perfectly 
 natural, Shakespeare directs the attention of the 
 spectator from Brabantio's grievance to the Turk. 
 Shakespeare's technique here is in the highest de- 
 gree artistic. 
 
 Othello accepts the command of the Venetian 
 forces. He requests that Desdemona may accom- 
 pany him. She reiterates this request. The Duke 
 consents: 
 
 Be it as you shall privately determine, 
 
 Either for her stay or going : the affair cries haste, 
 
 And speed must answer it. 
 
 Othello is ordered to leave Venice that night. The 
 Duke informs him his commission and Desdemona 
 will be sent after him. Othello selects Iago as the 
 officer to be intrusted with both. 
 
39 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Then occur the farewells. Although apparently 
 of slight importance, they possess the greatest 
 dramatic significance. 
 
 First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ; use Desdemona well. 
 Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see : 
 She has deceived her father, and may thee. 
 
 In both these remarks the action of the drama is 
 vividly foreshadowed. All retire except Othello, 
 Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo. Othello responds to 
 Brabantio's warning: 
 
 My life upon her faith ! 
 Then turning to Iago, he says: 
 
 Honest Iago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee: 
 I prithee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. 
 
 Othello and Desdemona now retire. Roderigo 
 and Iago are left alone. The last conversation in 
 the Introduction, like the first, is between them. 
 In it Shakespeare makes them reveal once more, 
 and still more clearly, their inmost thoughts and 
 feelings, the secret springs of all their actions. 
 Roderigo, the discarded suitor of Desdemona, says: 
 
 I will incontinently drown myself. 
 
 Iago responds : 
 
 Why, thou silly gentleman t 
 
 Roderigo replies : 
 
Othello 397 
 
 It is silliness to live when to live is torment ; and then 
 have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. 
 
 Iago expresses the utmost contempt for such 
 opinions: 
 
 Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love 
 of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a 
 baboon. 
 
 As flowers are ruined by a killing frost, so Roderigo's 
 better nature is blighted by Iago's cynical disbelief 
 in virtue and love: 
 
 What should I do ? I confess it is my shame to be so 
 fond ; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. 
 
 Iago perceives he has Roderigo completely under 
 his influence. He professes anew his friendship for 
 him : 
 
 I could never better stead thee than now, 
 
 and then proceeds: 
 
 Put money in thy purse ; ... if sanctimony and 
 a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a super- 
 subtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the 
 tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her. 
 
 Nothing in all literature is more selfish, cynical, 
 heartless, treacherous, envenomed, than this advice 
 of Iago to Roderigo. The result of the conversa- 
 tion is: 
 
 Rod. I am changed : I '11 go sell all my land. 
 
 Iago, who is the Complicating force, who domi- 
 nates the first half of the play, is now left alone. In 
 
39 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 a soliloquy, with which the Introduction ends, He 
 reveals his motives and methods, and in so doing 
 foreshadows the action of the drama. 
 
 Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; seq. 
 
 Iago has two motives : / hate the Moor; To get 
 [Cassio' s] place. 
 
 These purposes constitute his double knavery. Ho\% 
 does he carry them into execution? 
 
 I have 't. It is engender'd. Hell and night 
 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. 
 
 The Introduction of a drama is expository, nar- 
 rative. Like the rising sun it is light-giving. This 
 Inlroduction is a masterpiece. In it 
 
 I. — All the principal characters are introduced. 
 Iago, Othello, Cassio, Roderigo, Desdemona, ap- 
 pear in person. Emilia is referred to by Othello, 
 when he said to Iago: 
 
 I prithee, let thy wife attend on her. 
 
 Of all these persons, with the exception of Cassio 
 and Emilia, the fundamental traits, salient features, 
 are clearly revealed. 
 
 II. — All necessary information as to the causes of 
 the action of the drama have been given. Those 
 causes were: 
 
 (a.) Rejection by Othello of Iago's request for the 
 Lieutenancy, and selection of Cassio for that posi 
 lion. 
 
Othello 399 
 
 (b.) Unsuccessful suit of Roderigo for Desde- 
 mona's hand. 
 
 (c.) Marriage of Othello and Desdemona. 
 
 III. — The emotional chord that vibrates through 
 the play, and which is tragic, is touched: 
 
 (a.) The unhappiu°ss of Brabantio, which is 
 caused by his daughter's elopement and marriage. 
 
 (6.) The war between Venice and Turkey. 
 
 IV. — The Main Action of the drama is clearly 
 foreshadowed : 
 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, 
 That he [Cassio] is too familiar with his wife. 
 
 The action of the drama takes place at Cyprus. 
 When the Venetian fleet bearing Othello, Desde- 
 mona, Iago, Cassio, and others, sails for Cyprus, 
 the Growth, or second division of the drama, begins. 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 II 
 
 The play we are studying is a tragedy. The 
 action is carried forward by six persons, four men, 
 two women. Of these, two, Cassio, Iago, are 
 severely wounded; four, Desdemona, Emilia, Rod- 
 erigo, Othello, meet violent deaths. It is therefore 
 very artistic, and manifests fine technique on Shake- 
 speare's part, that the action of a drama which ends 
 so tragically should be ushered in with a storm. 
 
 As the lovely lake reflects the flowers and trees on 
 its border, the clouds in the sky above it, so Nature 
 reflects the varying moods of human thought and 
 
4oo Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 emotion. The storms and tempests of the ocean 
 but typify what Shakespeare in Antony and Cleopa- 
 tra describes as those greater storms and tempests 
 than almanacs can report, viz., those that rage in 
 the human breast. 
 
 The action of the drama commences with the sail- 
 ing of the Venetian fleet from Venice to Cyprus, to 
 defend that place against the threatened attack of 
 the Turks. As the fleet approaches Cyprus a 
 violent storm is raging. With a description of it 
 Shakespeare begins the Growth of this play. Stand- 
 ing on the shore are Montano, the Venetian Gover- 
 nor of the island, and two Gentlemen. Montano 
 says : 
 
 A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements. 
 
 He asks the question : 
 
 What shall we hear of this ? 
 
 To this a second Gentleman replies: 
 
 A segregation [disintegration, breaking up] of the 
 Turkish fleet. 
 
 This is most suggestive. Its dramatic purport will 
 be apparent in a little while. 
 
 This second Gentleman then, and more in detail, 
 describes the tempest. Montano responds with 
 another allusion to the destruction of the Turkish 
 fleet. A third Gentleman now enters, and states 
 that the destruction of the Turkish fleet, which, 
 heretofore, has been a surmise, is an actual fact : 
 
Othello 401 
 
 News, lads ! our wars are done. 
 
 The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
 
 That their designment halts : scq. 
 
 Why has Shakespeare destroyed this fleet? This 
 tragedy is not in scope international, as is Henry V., 
 which portrays the war between England and 
 France. Nor is it national, as is Richard III r ., which 
 portrays the civil conflict that raged in England be- 
 tween the Houses of York and Lancaster. Rather 
 it is domestic. The scene of it is the home of 
 Othello. The war between the Turks and Vene- 
 tians forms no part of the action of the drama. 
 Shakespeare, therefore, at the very beginning of 
 the action, causes the Turkish fleet to be wrecked 
 and to disappear. 
 
 The arrival of a ship bearing Cassio is now an- 
 nounced. Anxiety as to the safety of the Moor is 
 expressed. Montano, the Governor, incidentally 
 pays a tribute to Othello's ability as a commander: 
 
 the man commands 
 Like a full [complete, perfect] soldier. 
 
 The dramatic purpose of this is to give the specta- 
 tor further information regarding the hero of the 
 play. 
 
 A moment later Cassio enters. Shortly after a 
 ship is sighted, and guns are heard. While some 
 have gone to learn what ship it is, and whom it 
 brings, Montano asks Cassio: 
 
 But, good lieutenant, is your general wived ? 
 
 Cassio answers: 
 •6 
 
402 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Most fortunately : he hath achieved a maid 
 That paragons description and wild fame. 
 
 A moment later he adds: 
 
 Tempests themselves, high seas and howling winds, 
 The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands, — 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, — 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdemona. 
 
 Shakespeare, by these remarks of Cassio, gives the 
 spectator further information of Desdemona. 
 
 One quality of a great drama is, it must be self- 
 explanatory. Shakespeare conforms to this canon 
 of Art by these side-lights, thrown incidentally, 
 indirectly, in conversation, upon the principal char- 
 acters. Othello commands like a full soldier ; Des- 
 demona paragons description and wild fame, is the 
 divine Desdemona. 
 
 The ship which has just arrived does not bring 
 Othello, but Iago, Desdemona, Emilia, Roderigo. 
 Desdemona is greeted by Cassio, and immediately 
 inquires: 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord? 
 
 Guns are heard, and from within a shout, A sail, 
 a sail ! Cassio sends a Messenger for news. The 
 ship seen is that bearing Othello. The guns heard 
 are his greeting to the citadel. He does not, how- 
 ever, appear at once. Why ? 
 
 One great danger against which the dramatist 
 must guard in writing this part of the drama is too 
 
Othello 403 
 
 rapid progress of the Main Action. To avoid this 
 danger Shakespeare now introduces an Episode. 
 This consists of a bantering conversation between 
 Iago on the one hand, and first Emilia, later Desde- 
 mona, on the other. 
 
 Cassio welcomes Iago, then Emilia, kissing her. 
 As he does so, Iago says: 
 
 Sir, would she give you so much of her lips 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
 You 'Id have enough. 
 
 Desdemona, who is attached to Emilia, checks him. 
 Emilia herself chides him. Iago, who is nothing if 
 not critical, continues: 
 
 Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of doors, 
 Hells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your 
 beds 
 
 Emilia, as the subject of the conversation, is now 
 dropped. She gives place to her mistress. Desde- 
 mona asks Iago: 
 
 What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise 
 me ? 
 
 and then adds: 
 
 I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
 
 This is one of Shakespeare's fine touches which 
 manifest his art. In Desdemona's remark he again 
 strikes the tragic chord that vibrates through the 
 
404 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 play, and by so doing foreshadows the Catastrophe. 
 Iago, with some hesitancy and apparent reluc. 
 tance, at last answers Desdemona's question : 
 
 If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 
 The one 's for use, the other useth it. 
 
 Desdemona then asks him for his opinion of a 
 woman black and witty ; Emilia, of one who is fair 
 and foolish ; Desdemona, of one foul and foolish^ and 
 finally: But what praise couldst thou bestozv on a 
 deserving woman indeed? Iago replies: 
 
 She that was ever fair and never proud, seq. 
 
 Desdemona is disgusted. She turns to Cassio and 
 engages him in conversation. Iago reveals his 
 secret thoughts and purposes in an aside. In so 
 doing — and this is the dramatic purpose of this 
 soliloquy — he unfolds his plan to ruin Cassio. 
 
 He takes her by the palm : ay, well said, whisper; 
 with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as 
 Cassio : seq. 
 
 This Episode, having accomplished its purpose, 
 viz., prevention of too rapid progress of the Main 
 Action, is brought to a close, and the action of the 
 drama resumes movement. A trumpet sounds. 
 Othello enters. 
 
 Shakespeare in this play manifests perfect Grada- 
 tion. In Nature there is everywhere and always 
 Gradation. The sounds of winds, waters, singing 
 of birds, are not sharp, abrupt, but rise and fall 
 with regular and measured crescendo and diminu- 
 
Othello 405 
 
 endo. Colors shade gradually and harmoniously 
 into one another. Tints of grasses, leaves, flowers; 
 sunshine and shade ; the colors in plumage of birds, 
 the fur of animals, all blend. Two colors which do 
 not blend are never put by the Creator next to each 
 other. Between them are always shades of those 
 colors. There are plains, hills, mountains. The 
 extreme cold of winter is not immediately followed 
 by the torrid heat of summer. Spring and autumn 
 are between these two extremes of temperature. 
 Based on these laws of Nature there is in Art a Law 
 of Gradation. 
 
 In this play Shakespeare conforms to this canon 
 of Art. At the beginning of the action he does not 
 introduce the characters in the drama at once, or all 
 together, but gradually, one following another. 
 Nor does he introduce the most important charac- 
 ters first. They appear one following another in 
 the order of their importance in the drama. First 
 comes Cassio; then a group composed of Emilia, 
 Roderigo, Iago, Desdemona. Finally, the hero, 
 Othello, appears. 
 
 With Othello's entrance the movement of the 
 action is resumed. The greetings of Othello and 
 Desdemona are expressive of the truest and holiest 
 love, and are described by Shakespeare in verses 
 which are perfect. There is, however, in them, and 
 this is most suggestive, an undercurrent of forebod- 
 ing. Othello says: 
 
 It gives me wonder great as my content 
 To see you here before me. . . . 
 
406 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 . . . If it were now to die, 
 'T were now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate. 
 
 Nor are these forebodings of ill groundless. Iago 
 stands beside Othello and Desdemona. In an aside, 
 he says : 
 
 O, you are well tuned now ! 
 But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am. 
 
 Othello once more announces: . . . our wars 
 are done, the Turks are drown d. He orders Iago: 
 
 Go to the bay and disembark my coffers. 
 
 Then he greets Desdemona again, and all make 
 their exit except Iago and Roderigo. 
 
 No sooner are these two men alone than Iago 
 reveals his plans to Roderigo, and solicits his assist- 
 ance: 
 
 The lieutenant to-night watches on the court of 
 guard: — first, I must tell thee this — Desdemona is 
 directly in love with him. 
 
 Roderigo dissents, but Iago's domination over him 
 is complete. Iago continues: 
 
 But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you 
 from Venice. Watch you to-night ; for the command 
 I '11 lay 't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I '11 not be 
 far from you: do you find some occasion to anger 
 Cassio. 
 
Othello 407 
 
 Roderigo assents, and retires. Iago is left alone. 
 In a soliloquy he again reveals his secret motives, 
 his devilish purposes: 
 
 That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it ; seq. 
 
 Very expressive, and very suggestive, is Shake- 
 speare's iteration and reiteration that Iago hates 
 Othello, and suspects him of being intimate with 
 Emilia. 
 
 I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and 
 again, I hate the Moor. 
 
 I hate the Moor ; 
 And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
 He has done my office. 
 
 For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
 
 Hath leap'd into my seat ; the thought whereof 
 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards. 
 
 This subject is unpleasant. Why did Shakespeare 
 wish, and so strenuously attempt, to impress it 
 on the mind of the spectator ? Iago is a villain. 
 He has no faith in man or woman; in human good- 
 ness, virtue, love. His whole effort is to ruin 
 those around him. Nearly every one of the other 
 dramatis persona? become his victims. Owing to 
 his knavery Cassio is cashiered, disgraced, wounded. 
 Roderigo, Emilia, Desdemona, Othello, all are 
 brought to their deaths by his malignity. In por- 
 traying a character so diabolical the dramatist is in 
 danger of making the man so bad that he ceases to 
 be human — becomes a monster, a fiend. The result 
 
408 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 of so doing is, the sympathy, the interest, of the 
 spectator are alienated. Shakespeare guards against 
 this danger by giving Iago a reason for his malice. 
 This reason is a suspicion that Othello has injured 
 him. Shakespeare impresses this reason on the 
 minds of the spectators by repeating it, in differ- 
 ent forms, at different times. This is technically 
 Dramatic Hedging. 
 
 The second Scene is episodic. It is devoted to 
 the reading of a proclamation by a Herald import- 
 ing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet. In it 
 Othello orders a general holiday, 
 
 from this present hour of five till the bell have told 
 eleven, 
 
 to celebrate that event, and also his own nuptials. 
 
 In Scene 3 the action takes place at the castle, 
 the official residence of the Venetian commander. 
 Here are gathered Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
 attendants. Othello addresses Cassio: 
 
 Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night. 
 
 He adds a few words of gentle warning, wise 
 counsel: 
 
 Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
 Not to outsport discretion. 
 
 In view of Cassio's conduct but an hour or two later 
 this is profoundly suggestive. It is fine fore- 
 shadowing. Cassio responds: 
 
 Iago hath direction what to do ; 
 
 But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
 
 Will I look to 't. 
 
Othello 409 
 
 Othello expresses perfect confidence in Iago, who, 
 he asserts, is most honest. This is not the first time 
 he has done so. He thus reveals to us how com- 
 pletely he is deceived by Iago, and that he is in a 
 suitable mental and emotional condition to be 
 Iago's dupe. 
 
 Othello bids Cassio good night, and orders him to 
 report early next morning. He, Desdemona, and 
 attendants, retire. As they do so Iago enters, and 
 he and Cassio are alone. 
 
 At the close of the first Scene of the Growth 
 Iago in a soliloquy said: 
 
 I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 
 
 and then adds: 
 
 'T is here, but yet confused. 
 
 What he meant was that his plan was to abuse 
 Cassio to Othello, but how to do so he had not 
 definitely and accurately decided. 
 
 Iago is keen, quick, self-reliant. In executing 
 his plan to ruin Cassio he determines to be guided 
 by circumstances. As soon as he hears Othello's 
 proclamation, allowing full liberty of /easting, he 
 perceives his opportunity. He knows, no one bet- 
 ter, that Cassio cannot drink without becoming 
 quarrelsome. He will tempt him to drink, sur- 
 round him with drunken men, and then provoke a 
 quarrel. Poor Cassio yields. He does so against 
 his wish and judgment. 
 
 I '11 do 't , but it dislikes me. 
 
4io Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Thus so soon after Othello's warning, Cassio does 
 out sport discretion. He now retires. I ago is alone. 
 He soliloquizes, and reveals, in detail, his plan: 
 
 If I can fasten but one cup upon him, seg. 
 
 Cassio re-enters with Montano and some gentlemen. 
 He informs us they have been drinking. That fact 
 is evident. When sober, Cassio is thoughtful, calm, 
 kindly. Now he is profane, excited, foolish, quar- 
 relsome. He has become maudlin drunk. He 
 makes his exit. No sooner has he gone than Iago, 
 metaphorically, stabs him in the back. To Mon- 
 tano he says : 
 
 You see this fellow that is gone before ; 
 
 He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 
 
 And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
 
 I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 
 On some odd time of his infirmity, 
 Will shake this island. 
 
 Roderigo enters. Montano and Iago are con. 
 versing. Iago perceives this is his golden oppor- 
 tunity. Quick as lightning, in an aside, he says to 
 Roderigo: 
 
 How now, Roderigo ! 
 I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. 
 
 Roderigo obeys. He provokes a quarrel with 
 Cassio. 
 
 Montano has not heard what Iago has said to 
 Roderigo. He says, responding to Iago's state- 
 ment to him: 
 
Othello 41 1 
 
 And 't is great pity that the noble Moor 
 Should hazard such a place as his own second 
 With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
 It were an honest action to say 
 So to the Moor. 
 
 Roderigo now returns. He is pursued by Cassio, 
 who assaults him. Othello, attracted by the noise 
 of the disturbance, enters. Just as he does so Mon- 
 tano, who is trying to restrain Cassio, is wounded by 
 him. Othello commands: 
 
 Hold, for your lives ! 
 
 Iago reiterates the command. Othello rebukes 
 the fighters; then turning to Iago, who assumes the 
 mien of deepest sadness and regret, asks him the 
 cause of the quarrel. Iago gives an evasive reply. 
 Othello then asks Cassio for an explanation. Cas- 
 sio, who has been sobered by the sad termination of 
 his assault on Montano, says penitently: 
 
 I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. 
 
 His shame and grief seal his lips. Othello then in- 
 quires of Montano. He pleads his wound, and 
 refers Othello to Iago. Othello is angered. He 
 demands peremptorily: 
 
 Iago, who began 't? 
 
 Iago again manifests his diabolic craft. Under 
 pretence of loving Cassio and wishing to save him, 
 he stabs him in a vital part. 
 
 Touch me not so near : seq. 
 
4i2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Othello accepts Iago's statements implicitly, and 
 replies : 
 
 I know, Iago, 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; 
 But never more be officer of mine. 
 
 Desdemona enters. The quarrel has been so 
 violent that even the ladies in the castle have been 
 disturbed. To make this manifest, and also to 
 make Cassio's discomfiture more complete, is the 
 dramatic purpose of her entrance. 
 
 Othello, having gently but firmly cashiered Cassio, 
 now orders Montano led off, and promises himself 
 to be the surgeon to his hurts. Othello then retires 
 with Desdemona. 
 
 The first part of Iago's fiendish plot, to get Cassio s 
 place, to 
 
 . . . have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 
 
 has been successfully accomplished. His hope and 
 prediction have been realized : 
 
 If consequence do but approve my dream, 
 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 
 
 It has done so. Cassio is ruined. Iago has his 
 lieutenancy. 
 
 The remainder of the Act, and of this division of 
 the drama, is principally episodic. It consists of 
 two conversations; one between Iago and Cassio, 
 one between Iago and Roderigo. Each of these 
 conversations is succeeded by a soliloquy of Iago. 
 
Othello 4U 
 
 The former, that between Iago and Cassio, is a 
 model of what dialogue in a drama should be. In 
 it the characters of the speakers are perfectly re- 
 vealed. 
 
 Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? seq. 
 
 Cassio is ruined. Iago having accomplished that, 
 which constitutes the first part of his satanic plot, 
 now devotes his attention to the second part, viz., 
 the ruin of Othello and Desdemona. He proposes 
 to use Cassio as the means by which he shall effect 
 that. 
 
 The plan by which he hoped to ruin Othello, and 
 which he had outlined before the action began, was: 
 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
 That he [Cassio] is too familiar with his wife. 
 
 And as he again describes it after the action has 
 begun: 
 
 . . . that I put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgement cannot cure. 
 
 He now begins to execute this plan. His effective 
 instrument is the very man whom he has ruined. 
 He says to Cassio: 
 
 I '11 tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is 
 now the general : . . . confess yourself freely to 
 her ; importune her help to put you in your place again. 
 
 Cassio consents and retires. Iago then soliloquizes. 
 
 The reader must have noted how frequently 
 
 in this play, more so than in most of his plays, 
 
4*4 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Shakespeare uses the soliloquy. Macbeth, Richard 
 III., were both villains, murderers. Both reached 
 the thrones they occupied by wading through blood. 
 In this respect they are like Iago. Yet, in their 
 case;,, Shakespeare uses but few soliloquies, and 
 these very brief, while Iago constantly, and, in 
 externa, soliloquizes. Why this difference ? Be- 
 cause between Macbeth and PJchard III. on the 
 one hand, and Iago on the other, there is a radical 
 difference. They accomplished their ends by means 
 that were mostly open, undisguised, straightfor- 
 ward. Iago works not openly, but, like the mole, 
 almost wholly underground, secretly. He trusts to 
 deception to accomplish his purpose. He had dis- 
 tinctly announced that in the opening Scene of the 
 play. 
 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 't is not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. 
 
 It is an indispensable requisite of a drama, as I have 
 before stated, that it be self-explanatory. Shake- 
 speare, therefore, must inform the spectator of 
 Iago's motives, methods. This he does by means 
 of Iago's soliloquies. Had he not done so the 
 spectator would have been as much deceived by 
 Iago's professed purity and goodness of motive and 
 apparent kindness of deed as were Cassio, Othello, 
 and Desdemona. 
 
 Iago begins the soliloquy which follows Cassio's 
 
Othello 415 
 
 exit by saying the advice he gives is probal to think- 
 ing, i. e. t it will on reflection seem to be probable. 
 He reasons with himself that his advice to Cassio is 
 the best for Cassio. While Iago is a hypocrite, he 
 does not deliberately attempt to deceive himself. 
 In the latter part of this soliloquy he frankly con- 
 fesses his diabolical plot to ruin, not only Othello, 
 but also the innocent and lovely Desdemona: 
 
 And what 's he then that says I play the villain ? seq. 
 
 In this soliloquy Shakespeare reveals to us the 
 second part of the action, which culminates in the 
 Climax. 
 
 While Iago is still speaking to himself Roderigo 
 enters. He is disgusted with his part in the con- 
 spiracy to ruin Cassio and Desdemona. His money 
 is spent; he has been cudgelled. Iago at first coun- 
 sels patience; later, he cavalierly dismisses him. 
 
 By the mass, 't is morning ; 
 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter : 
 Nay, get thee gone. 
 
 There is a radical change in Iago's words and 
 attitude towards Roderigo. Why ? Roderigo was 
 the tool he used to ruin Cassio. That ruin having 
 been effected, Iago arrogantly, in fact insultingly, 
 dismisses Roderigo. Having done so, Iago devotes 
 all his energies to compassing the ruin of Othello 
 and Desdemona. In a very few words, uttered in 
 soliloquy, he unfolds his plan: 
 
416 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Two things are to be done : 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I '11 set her on ; 
 
 Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife : ay, that *s the way : 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. 
 
 When Iago begins to execute this plan the Climax, 
 or third division, of the drama commences. 
 
 CLIMAX 
 
 III 
 
 A tragedy can be constructed in either one of two 
 ways. By one method a drama portrays a deed 
 and its reaction. The hero, by his own inherent 
 power, by a powerful and perverted will manifest- 
 ing itself in deeds, causes the action to move for- 
 ward to the Climax, after which a reaction ensues, 
 and the hero becomes the victim, suffers the conse- 
 quences of his own conduct. An example of this 
 kind of a tragedy is Macbeth. Macbeth was am- 
 bitious to become king of Scotland. His ambition 
 was uncontrollable, murderous. He waded through 
 seas of blood to seize the throne. He was success- 
 ful. But even When successful, when seated on the 
 throne, he said : 
 
 To be thus is nothing ; 
 But to be safely thus. 
 
 That he never was. What in \he Greek drama was 
 known as Nemesis, in the modern as Poetic Justice, 
 
Othello 417 
 
 from this time forth controls Macbeth's fate. He 
 himself expresses it: 
 
 . . . even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. 
 
 Notwithstanding Macbeth's most persistent and 
 powerful efforts to escape the retribution of his 
 crimes, propelled by a power outside of himself he 
 moves forward slowly, surely, with unvacillating 
 step, to a violent death. 
 
 By the other method of constructing a drama the 
 hero in the fore part of the play is portrayed as being 
 passive, controlled by external influences. These 
 eventually enkindle in him an overpowering passion. 
 Under the influence of this his will becomes excited, 
 masterful. He begins a course of conduct that de- 
 cides his fate, and leads to the Catastrophe of the 
 drama. An example of that kind of construction is 
 the play we are studying. During that part of it 
 that precedes the acme of the Climax, Othello, the 
 hero, is passive. He is the victim of Iago's dupli- 
 city, knavery. By lago he is 
 
 . . *. as tenderly ... led by the nose 
 As asses are. 
 
 After the Climax has been reached Othello asserts 
 himself. From this time he dominates the action 
 of the drama, and causes the Catastrophe. 
 
 Iago's work is twofold : first, to overthrow Cassio ; 
 second, to ruin Othello. The portrayal of the first 
 is the subject of the Growth. The second is the 
 
4'8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 subject of the Climax. In the Climax Iago puts 
 Othello 
 
 . . . into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgement cannot cure. 
 
 The French critics say, " The drama is prepara- 
 tion " ; f. e., in a perfectly constructed drama there 
 must be constant and lucid foreshadowing. In this 
 play Shakespeare conforms perfectly to this canon 
 of dramatic Art. Iago in his soliloquy at the end of 
 the Introduction outlines his plans. After stating 
 he hates the Moor, and wishes to get Cassio's place, 
 he says: 
 
 How, how ? — Let 's see : — 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
 That he is too familiar with his wife. 
 
 At the conclusion of the Growth, after Cassio has 
 been cashiered, Iago again soliloquizes, and again, 
 and more in detail, reveals his plans for the ruin of 
 Othello: 
 
 Two things are to be done: 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 
 Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife. 
 
 In these two soliloquies, Shakespeare foreshadows 
 clearly what is done in the Climax of this drama. 
 
 Not immediately, however, does Shakespeare 
 make Iago begin his work. It was a custom among 
 
Othello 4 ! 9 
 
 the Venetians to greet a bride and groom, on the 
 morning after marriage, with music. Shakespeare 
 avails himself of this usage to begin the Climax with 
 an Episode full of music and humor. His purpose 
 in so doing is to make more impressive and more 
 tragic the ruin of Othello. As in Nature the 
 gathering clouds and rolling thunder are more 
 sombre because of preceding sunshine; as in human 
 life disappointment and sorrow are made more 
 acute by the happiness which immediately precedes 
 them ; so in a drama, which is a transcript of human 
 life, the tragic becomes more pathetic and impres- 
 sive when preceded by the gay and humorous. 
 This is known in Art as the Principle of Contrast. 
 Of it Shakespeare was a master. His plays are full 
 of brilliant examples of it. The humorous grave- 
 yard Scene in Hamlet immediately precedes the 
 pathetic funeral of Ophelia, the tragic deaths of the 
 Queen, King, Laertes, Hamlet. The Clown brings 
 to Cleopatra 
 
 . . . the pretty worm of Nilus 
 That kills and pains not. 
 
 Before she puts it to her breast he engages with her 
 in a bantering, humorous conversation. In like 
 manner Shakespeare begins the Climax of this play, 
 which is to the last degree pathetic and tragic, with 
 music and humor. 
 
 Cassio and musicians enter. Cassio instructs 
 them where to play. The Clown enters. He says; 
 
 Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, 
 that they speak i' the nose thus? 
 
4 2 o Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 After he good-naturedly makes fun of them the 
 musicians retire. In the same spirit he addresses 
 Cassio. Cassio's distress, however, is too acute, 
 his eagerness to retrieve himself is too great, to pro- 
 long the conversation. 
 
 The dramatic purpose for which Shakespeare has 
 introduced this merriment having been accom- 
 plished, the action of the drama resumes movement. 
 Cassio sends the Clown to Emilia: 
 
 If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be 
 stirring, tell her there 's one Cassio entreats her a little 
 favour of speech : wilt thou do this? 
 
 No sooner has the Clown gone on this mission than 
 Iago enters. Cassio informs him what he has done. 
 Iago promises to aid him, and retires. Cassio ex- 
 presses his unquestioning confidence in him: 
 
 I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Shakespeare again, as frequently, makes the 
 characters in the play express unbounded confi- 
 dence in Iago. We know he is a villain. How ? 
 Surely not from his actions. To those by whom 
 he is surrounded those actions are apparently 
 good and kindly, and prompted by the best of mo- 
 tives. Our knowledge of his villainy is derived not 
 so much from his conduct, as from his soliloquies, 
 which reveal the diabolic motives that prompt him, 
 the ruin which he purposes. This fact must con- 
 stantly be borne in mind in studying the play. 
 
 Emilia has received Cassio's message. She enters, 
 and says: 
 
Othello 421 
 
 Good morrow, good lieutenant : I am sorry 
 
 For your displeasure ; but all will sure be well: seq. 
 
 Cassio beseeches Emilia to secure for him an inter- 
 view with Desdemona. She promises so to do, and 
 takes him with her into the castle, where he would 
 be likely to see Desdemona. So ends the first 
 Scene of the Climax. 
 
 The second Scene is simply an Episode. Othello 
 sends letters to the senate of Venice, and then he, 
 Iago, and Gentlemen, walk on the fortifications of 
 Cyprus, and inspect them. 
 
 The first Scene had ended with Emilia's promise 
 to Cassio to secure for him an interview with Des- 
 demona. The third Scene opens with a description 
 of that interview. In reply to Cassio's pleadings 
 Desdemona says: 
 
 You do love my lord : 
 You have known him long ; and be you well assured 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 As Cassio retires, Othello and Iago enter. They 
 both see him. Iago has successfully accomplished 
 part of his plan, viz., 
 
 And bring [Othello] jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife. 
 
 He immediately improves his opportunity. He 
 insinuates, apparently in the most guileless, really 
 in the most crafty manner, his suspicions that Cassio 
 
 is too familiar with his [Othello's] wife. 
 
422 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Desdemona, innocent, frank, immediately begins to 
 plead for Cassio. 
 
 How now, my lord ! 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 Othello hesitates, Desdemona urges: 
 
 When shall he come? 
 Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul, 
 What you would ask me, that I should deny, 
 Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
 That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, 
 When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
 Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! 
 
 Desdemona's appeal is beautiful, touching. Cassio 
 erred not through cunning, but good-natured weak- 
 ness; he is humbled, penitent; he was your friend 
 when you wooed me, he pleaded for you. Othello 
 yields. He requests Desdemona to withdraw. She 
 and Emilia do so. 
 
 Iago's insinuations, Desdemona's pleading for 
 Cassio, are two influences which, in Othello's dis- 
 turbed and suspicious frame of mind, are to the last 
 degree unsettling. In a brief soliloquy Othello de- 
 scribes the change taking place in his feelings 
 towards Desdemona. 
 
 Excellent wretch ! ' Perdition catch my soul, 
 But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 1 Wretch: In Elizabethan English this word was sometimes, as 
 here, used as a term of endearment, tenderness. 
 
Othello 423 
 
 Iago now most insidiously inquires of Othello: 
 
 Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, 
 Know of your love ? 
 
 This further unsettles Othello. He becomes almost 
 frantic. He insists on Iago's speaking fully and 
 frankly. The more Othello becomes excited and 
 insists, the more Iago craftily conceals his duplicity 
 by assuming the character of a good man, a sincere 
 friend. He is afraid to state in words his suspicions 
 of Cassio because it is dangerous and wicked to trifle 
 with any man's good name. 
 
 Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 Who steals my purse steals trash ; 't is something, noth- 
 ing ; 
 'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 Hut he that filches from me my good name 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him 
 And makes me poor indeed. 
 
 In all the play there is no greater proof of Iago's 
 thoroughly perverted, irredeemably wicked nature, 
 than this apostrophe to a good name. It is a con- 
 firmation of what Antonio, speaking of Shylock, 
 says to Bassanio : 
 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart. 
 
 When Othello becomes still more urgent to know 
 Iago's thoughts Iago fiendishly cautions him against 
 jealousy : 
 
424 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 
 It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock 
 
 The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives in bliss 
 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 
 But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
 
 Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 This accurately describes the condition into which 
 Othello is rapidly passing; he 
 
 . . . dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 and, as a consequence, 
 
 . . . O, what damned minutes tells he o'er. 
 
 Othello, as Iago at the very beginning of the play 
 has informed us, is of a free and open nature, is 
 naturally unsuspicious, confiding; also, he is a man 
 not of thought but of action. He is now on the 
 brink of ruin. Before taking the final plunge he 
 draws back. There is a reaction in his feelings. 
 He says to Iago: 
 
 Why, why is this? seq. 
 
 Othello's suspicions become so strong that they 
 begin to take the form of action. 
 
 . . . to be once in doubt 
 Is once to be resolved. 
 
 Iago now further intensifies Othello's suspicions by 
 using an unanswerable argument, vis., Desdemona 
 in the past has been deceitful: 
 
 She did deceive her father, marrying you. 
 
Othello 425 
 
 Before the action began Brabantio had warned 
 Othello: 
 
 Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see : 
 She has deceived her father, and may thee. 
 
 Iago adds, she deceived not only her father but also 
 you : 
 
 And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks, 
 She loved them most. 
 
 These references by Iago to Desdemona's deception 
 of her father and husband produce a profound effect 
 on Othello. Although he denies it his spirits are a 
 little das/i'd, he is mov d. Iago refers to it. Othello 
 faintly denies it. The poison has penetrated 
 Othello's vitals. Iago perceives this, and retires. 
 Othello, who is left alone, soliloquizes: 
 
 Why did I marry ? scq. 
 
 Iago suddenly returns, ostensibly for the purpose 
 of warning Othello not to be hasty, either in form- 
 ing a judgment, or taking action, but really for the 
 purpose of still further intensifying Othello's sus- 
 picions. Having done so Iago again retires. 
 Othello is completely deceived. 
 
 This fellow 's of exceeding honesty, 
 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 
 Of human dealings. . . . 
 
 . . . I am abused ; and my relief 
 Must be to loathe her. . . . 
 
 ... I had rather be a toad, 
 
426 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 
 Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
 For others' uses. 
 
 Desdemona and Emilia enter. Desdemona is loyal 
 and innocent. Her passions are made of nothing but 
 the finest parts of pure love. When Othello now 
 sees her his love triumphs over his suspicions: 
 
 If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself ! 
 I '11 not believe 't. 
 
 Shakespeare causes the change that is being 
 wrought in Othello's feelings to take place gradu- 
 ally. Like the rising tide of the ocean, the waves 
 of which advance, recede, then advance again still 
 higher, so Othello's suspicions are excited, then 
 allayed as his old love for Desdemona re-asserts 
 itself, yet all the while that love is growing fainter, 
 those suspicions stronger, and more harrowing. 
 Shakespeare's technique in this is very artistic, 
 powerfully dramatic. 
 
 Othello conceals from Desdemona his suspicions 
 and his anguish, by pleading a pain in his forehead. 
 She attempts to bind his forehead with her handker- 
 chief. Othello pushes the handkerchief from him. 
 It falls. They then retire. Desdemona in her per- 
 plexity and distress does not notice she has dropped 
 the handkerchief. Emilia who saw her drop it, 
 picks it up. She gives it to Iago. She has mis- 
 givings. She asks: 
 
 What will you do with *t, that you have been so earnest 
 To have me filch it ? 
 
Othello 427 
 
 Iago snatches it. Emilia pleads with him to return 
 it: 
 
 Jf it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give 't me again : poor lady, she '11 run mad 
 When she shall lack it. 
 
 Iago orders her to say nothing about it, and then to 
 go, leave vie. Emilia thus has unwittingly aided 
 her husband to ruin Othello and Desdemona. 
 As soon as he is alone Iago soliloquizes: 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
 And let him find it, scq, 
 
 Othello enters. Iago gloats over his ruin, and 
 says: 
 
 Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou owedst yesterday. 
 
 Othello is now completely under the control of 
 his suspicions. His love for Desdemona gives way 
 to despair, grief, rage. He commands Iago: 
 
 Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the rack : 
 I swear 't is better to be much abused 
 Than but to know 't a little. 
 
 His love for Desdemona having died, life has no 
 further attraction for Othello. In a few verses, 
 which are one of the finest examples of Pathos in all 
 literature, he expresses his farewell to everything 
 which has made life attractive, joyous: 
 
428 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 O, now, for ever 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue ! seq. 
 
 Othello's heart is broken. 
 
 The night has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the day but one ; 
 Yet the light of the bright world dies, 
 
 With the dying sun. 
 
 The mind has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the. heart but one ; 
 Yet the light of a whole life dies, 
 
 When love is done. 1 
 
 Then follows a reaction. As he questions the cor- 
 rectness of Iago's intimations, Othello's grief gives 
 way to desperation: 
 
 Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore, 
 He sure of it ; give me the ocular proof ; 
 Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul, 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
 Than answer my waked wrath ! 
 
 Shakespeare's portrayal of these conflicting cur- 
 rents of emotion in Othello manifests profound 
 knowledge of the human heart, and masterly dra- 
 matic technique. Doubt, then wrath, hate, grief, 
 fury, alternating with love, each feeling developed 
 to the highest degree, like great waves of the ocean, 
 one after another roll over, and finally submerge 
 Othello's soul. 
 
 Iago's influence over Othello again asserts itself: 
 
 1 Bourdillon. 
 
Othello 429 
 
 By the world, 
 I think my wife be honest and think she is not ; 
 I think that thou art just and think thou art not: seq. 
 
 Iago then tells Othello what, he falsely asserts, 
 Cassio said in a dream: 
 
 In sleep I heard him say " Sweet Desdemona, 
 Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ; " seq. 
 
 Othello is now finally and completely convinced of 
 Desdemona's unfaithfulness. He is almost insane 
 with grief and rage : 
 
 O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 I '11 tear her all to pieces. 
 
 Iago further informs him of the handkerchief which 
 Desdemona had lost, and which was now in Cassio's 
 possession. Othello's desire for revenge becomes 
 more capacious: 
 
 O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
 
 He kneels and swears revenge. Iago follows his 
 example. Othello immediately puts Iago's loyalty 
 to a test : 
 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say 
 That Cassio 's not alive. 
 
 Iago accepts the test : 
 
 My friend is dead ; 't is done at your request 
 
 He pleads for Desdemona: 
 
43° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 But let her live. 
 
 The effect is, as he hoped and intended, to develop 
 Othello's desire for revenge to the intensest degree. 
 It crystallizes into action: 
 
 Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 
 Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 For the fair devil. 
 
 This decision marks the crisis in the soul of Othello. 
 Shakespeare has placed him under the control of an 
 overpowering emotion. While in that condition he 
 makes the decision that settles his fate. This is the 
 acme of the Climax, the crest of the dramatic arch. 
 All previous to this is the desis % all subsequent the 
 lusis. It is the meeting-point of all the Complica- 
 ting and Resolving forces. 
 
 Love for Desdemona dominated Othello at the 
 beginning of the drama. That love has been en- 
 tirely supplanted by hate, hate such as only a noble 
 and outraged nature could feel. In such a case 
 
 passion seeks aid from its opposite passion. 1 
 
 Love and hate, while antagonistic feelings, lie very 
 near to each other. In fact, as Browning expresses 
 it, they are 
 
 . . . the very warders 
 Each of the other's borders.* 
 
 That hate which has supplanted love controls 
 Othello from this time. 
 
 1 Browning, Pippa Passes, Scene 2. • Idem. 
 
Othello 431 
 
 Previous to this Iago has been the dominating 
 force in the drama. All his plans have been suc- 
 cessfully consummated. After this Othello's will 
 asserts itself. From this fime he controls and domi- 
 nates the action. 
 
 Following this Scene, in which the thoughts and 
 emotions of the spectator have been strained to the 
 intensest degree, there must be a period of repose. 
 Shakespeare, therefore, at the beginning of the last 
 Scene of the Climax, introduces a humorous conver- 
 sation between Desdemona and the Clown. It is a 
 perfect example of what Charles Lamb calls " the 
 relaxing levities of tragedy"; of the nature and 
 function of a humorous Episode in a great tragedy. 
 Desdemona asks the Clown: 
 
 Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies ? seq. 
 
 This Episode brings mental and emotional rest and 
 relief to the spectator. 
 
 As soon as the Clown retires Desdemona perceives 
 the loss of the handkerchief. The tragic at once re- 
 sumes sway. She is distressed, full of foreboding. 
 She asks Emilia: 
 
 Where should I lose that handkerchief? 
 
 Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind and made of no such baseness 
 As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill thinking. 
 
 In view of the real state of Othello's feelings how 
 pathetic is the guilelessness of Desdemona ? This 
 
43 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 pathos is intensified by the conversation that im- 
 mediately ensues between Othello, who now enters, 
 and Desdemona. Childlike, innocent, delicately 
 obedient to the lightest Vhisper of honor, Desde- 
 mona entirely misunderstands Othello's insinua- 
 tions: 
 
 How is 't with you, my lord ? seq. 
 
 Desdemona, still blind to Othello's jealousy, pleads 
 for Cassio. Othello stops her by saying: 
 
 I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me ; 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. 
 
 He describes the handkerchief, its great value, and 
 power to charm. Desdemona finally has to acknowl- 
 edge she has lost it. Othello departs. He believes 
 Iago's statement that Cassio has the handkerchief, 
 and that Desdemona has given it to him. 
 
 The action of the drama now temporarily ceases 
 movement. The Climax ends with two Episodes. 
 Othello has retired. Desdemona and Emilia re- 
 main. To them Cassio and Iago enter. 
 
 Cassio renews his suit to Desdemona. She pa- 
 thetically replies: 
 
 Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio ! 
 My advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Were he in favour as in humour alter'd : seq. 
 
 Iago, the arch-hypocrite, blandly inquires: 
 
 Is my lord angry ? 
 
Othello 433 
 
 and then goes to seek Othello. Desdemona is still 
 unsuspicious. She thinks, and so says to Emilia, 
 Othello's rage must be caused by 
 
 Something, sure, of state, 
 Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice 
 Made demonstrate here in Cyprus to him, 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit. 
 
 Emilia has divined the true cause: 
 
 Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think, 
 And no conception nor no jealous toy 
 Concerning you. 
 
 Desdemona and Emilia retire. Cassio is left alone. 
 This is one Episode. 
 
 Desdemona and Emilia have hardly disappeared 
 when Bianca enters. She is Cassio's mistress. The 
 second of the two Episodes, with which the Climax 
 ends, is a conversation between her and Cassio. She 
 chides Cassio with slighting her. He gives her 
 Desdemona's handkerchief. She says: 
 
 O Cassio, whence came this ? 
 This is some token from a newer friend: 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 s *t come to this ? Well, well. 
 
 Cassio assures her her suspicions are unfounded. 
 He begs her to retire as 
 
 I do attend here on the general. 
 
 They both make their exit, and the Climax ends. 
 
 •8 
 
434 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 In a drama the minor characters, those by whom 
 the Sub-Actions are carried forward, reflect the prin- 
 cipal characters, those in the Main Action. The 
 emotions and thoughts which dominate the iatter 
 more or less dominate the former. Desdemona de- 
 ceives her father and husband. Emilia deceives her 
 about the handkerchief, telling her she knew not 
 where it had been dropped. Iago, Othello, are 
 jealous, suspicious; so are Roderigo, Bianca. 
 
 Iago's cruel, fiendish plot to compass the ruin of 
 Othello and Desdemona has been successful: 
 
 . . . for whiles this honest fool 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes 
 • And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
 I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, 
 That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
 And by how much she strives to do him good, 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch, 
 And out of her own goodness make the net 
 That shall enmesh them all. 
 
 This net has been craftily and strongly woven by 
 Iago. Desdemona and Othello are securely and 
 fatally enmeshed in it. 
 
 FALL 
 
 IV 
 
 When, at the close of the Climax, Othello was 
 fully and finally convinced of Cassio's disloyalty, of 
 Desdemona's unfaithfulness, he commanded Iago to 
 
Othello ' 435 
 
 kill Cassio. Iago accepted the mission. The execu- 
 tion of what he believed to be justice on Desde- 
 mona Othello reserved to himself. 
 
 The Fall of a drama is more or less, sometimes 
 entirely, episodic. During the Fall of this play the 
 Main Action is entirely suspended. It is devoted 
 not to killing Cassio and Desdemona, but simply to 
 making all preparations therefor. 
 
 Towards the close of the Climax Iago had left 
 Desdemona, Emilia, Cassio, and had gone to seek 
 Othello. He finds him. They engage in conversa- 
 tion on the subject which is uppermost in the minds 
 of both. The Fall begins with a report of this 
 conversation : 
 
 Iago. Will you think so ? seq. 
 
 After referring to a kiss, which is the refrain of Cas- 
 sio's dream as described by Iago to Othello in III., 
 3, Iago mentions the handkerchief. It profoundly 
 stirs Othello: 
 
 O, it comes o'er my memory, 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
 Boding to all — 
 
 This is poetic, ominous. Before the murder of Dun- 
 can Lady Macbeth said : 
 
 The raven himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. 
 
 No less fatal is Iago's iterated and reiterated allu- 
 sion to the handkerchief. It foreshadows Desde- 
 mona's death. The immediate effect on Othello is 
 
43 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 like that of a poisonous mineral which doth gnaw his 
 inwards ; of a sharp dagger with which a wounded 
 man is pierced again and again. 
 
 Othello's fury and grief now find expression in 
 sentences that are illogical, disjointed, fragmentary : 
 
 Handkerchief — confessions — handkerchief ! — To con- 
 fess, and be hanged for his labour ; — first, to be hanged, 
 and then to confess. — I tremble at it. Nature would not 
 invest herself in such shadowing passion without some 
 instruction. It is not words that shake me thus. Pish ! 
 Noses, ears, and lips. — Is 't possible ? — Confess — hand- 
 kerchief ! — O devil ! 
 
 When a man is conversing on the commonplace, 
 practical affairs of life he uses prose. If the subject 
 of the conversation be one by which his feelings are 
 profoundly stirred, his language is impassioned and 
 rhythmical. In the former case the intellect alone 
 is exercised; in the latter the emotions as well as 
 the intellect are in action. They find expression in 
 words and sentences that pulsate, that have a heart- 
 throb. 
 
 This is true of literature.' Shakespeare conforms 
 to this law of human expression; e. g.> Corio/anus, 
 I., 3; Merchant of Venice, I., 3; Julius Ceesar, III., 
 2. 
 
 Sometimes, however, human feeling, like a raging 
 torrent, overleaps all bounds. Profound feeling, 
 overmastering emotion, inciease the rhythmical 
 flow of the blood, the action of the heart. It 
 
 1 Cf. Bascom, The Philosophy of English Literature, p. 48 ; Her- 
 bert Spencer, The Philosophy of Style, part i., sec. iv. 
 
Othello 437 
 
 chokes, closes, or expands the throat. A man then 
 expresses himself not in verse, but in broken, frag- 
 mentary, ejaculatory prose. 
 
 When Lear, who has become insane, has a lucid 
 interval he meets Gloucester (IV., 6). His feelings 
 entirely overcome him. He ceases to speak in 
 verse, and expresses himself in broken phrases that 
 are intensely impassioned : 
 
 There 's hell, there 's darkness, there 's the sulphurous 
 pit. Burning, scalding, stench, consumption ; fie, fie, 
 fie ! pah, pah ! Give me an ounce of civet, good 
 apothecary, to sweeten my imagination : there 's money 
 for thee. 
 
 Likewise in this play Othello's words proceed from 
 a heart surcharged with passion. He disregards 
 grammar and rhetoric, and expresses himself in 
 words that are disconnected, ejaculatory; in sen- 
 tences that are broken. 
 
 Othello was a brave man. He possessed a power- 
 ful physique. The tension of his feelings is so in- 
 tense that it causes a physical breakdown. He falls 
 in a trance. This, Iago informs us, 
 
 . . . is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 
 
 While Othello is insensible Iago, in a monologue, 
 reveals his thoughts and feelings: 
 
 Work on, 
 My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are caught ; 
 And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
 All guiltless, meet reproach. 
 
43 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 In these words Iago discloses what is probably the 
 primal characteristic of his nature, viz., absence of 
 emotion. He is pitiless. 
 
 The greatest check to wrong-doing comes from 
 the emotions, either those of the criminal, or the 
 emotions of others acting upon him and restraining 
 him. The most brutal and fearless murderer quails 
 before the mob. He cannot brave intense human 
 emotion. The greatest crimes are committed only 
 when pity is absent. 
 
 Iago is devoid of feeling. He is pitiless. His 
 moral nature is in ruins. With the Duke of Glouces- 
 ter he could say : 
 
 I that have neither pity, love nor fear. 
 
 He sees Othello almost insane with grief, utterly 
 prostrated, yet can remain unmoved. 
 
 Cassio enters, and quickly withdraws. Othello 
 recovers consciousness. He does not know Cassio 
 has been present. He immediately asks: 
 
 Did he confess it? 
 
 Iago now informs Othello that Cassio had been 
 present. He begs Othello to retire, but to remain 
 within hearing distance. He promises to extort a 
 confession from him. Othello accedes to Iago's re- 
 quest. He says solemnly, fiercely, as a minister of 
 justice: 
 
 Dost thou hear, Iago ? 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
 But — dost thou hear ? — most bloody. 
 
Othello 439 
 
 Othello then retires. Iago, in a soliloquy, reveals 
 his plan. 
 
 Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laughter. Here he comes : 
 
 [Re enter Cassio. 
 As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad. 
 
 Iago's plan works perfectly. Cassio, in all he says, 
 refers to Bianca. Othello, whose jealousy is un- 
 bookish, i. e., unintelligent, whose suspicions have 
 completely blinded him, thinks Cassio's references 
 are all to Desdemona. The effect on Othello is de- 
 scribed by Shakespeare in a conversation between 
 Othello and Iago. It is a marvellous piece of work ; 
 a masterly description of the deepest and strongest 
 feelings of a noble and brave man when nearly in 
 sane with suspicion of her he loves. After Cassio's 
 exit, Othello, advancing, says: 
 
 How shall I murder him, Iago? seq> 
 
 In all literature there is no portrayal greater than 
 this of the struggle in a good but misguided man 
 between rage that is murderous, and grief that is 
 heart - breaking. As Othello remembers her he 
 trusted and loved : 
 
 O, the world hath not a sweeter creature: 
 As he thinks of her supposed unfaithfulness: 
 
 My heart is turned to stone : I strike it, and it hurts 
 my hand. 
 
44° Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Lodovico, a kinsman of Brabantio, now enters. 
 With him is Desdemona. This is his first appear- 
 ance in the drama. It is a canon of dramatic art 
 that all persons who play an important part in the 
 action of a drama must be brought on the stage in 
 the Introduction, or at the beginning of the action. 
 Lodovico does not appear till towards the close of 
 the play. Why ? Because he is not an important 
 character. He, as also Gratiano, who first appears 
 in the last Act, is a Link-Person. 
 
 Lodovico bears a message to Othello from the 
 Duke and Senators of Venice: 
 
 . . . they do command him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 
 Nothing could intensify Othello's already over- 
 wrought feelings more than that he should be re- 
 called, and that the very man who he believed 
 had cruelly wronged him should be appointed to 
 succeed him. He strikes Desdemona; calls her 
 Devil! and peremptorily orders her, 
 
 Hence, avaunt ! — 
 
 Lodovico is so surprised he says: 
 
 My lord, this would not be believed in Venice, 
 Though I should swear I saw *t. 
 
 Othello makes his exit. Lodovico inquires: 
 Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain ? 
 
 He then adds: 
 
 I am sorry that I am deceived in him. 
 So ends Scene I. 
 
Othello 441 
 
 Scene 2 begins with an interview between Othello 
 and Emilia. He questions her as to Desdemona's 
 relations with Cassio. Emilia replies: 
 
 I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
 Lay down my soul at stake : scg. 
 
 Othello distrusts Emilia as well as Desdemona. He 
 sends her for her mistress. They return together. 
 Desdemona says: 
 
 My lord, what is your will ? 
 
 Othello now orders Emilia to retire, and to stand 
 guard at the door. He and Desdemona are left 
 alone. Desdemona says: 
 
 Upon my knees, what doth your speech import? 
 I understand a fury in your words, 
 But not the words. 
 
 Othello's grief is so acute it causes him to weep. He 
 says: 
 
 Had it pleased heaven 
 To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd • 
 All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head : seq. 
 
 The force and velocity of the current of a river de- 
 pend on its depth; so capacity for suffering mental 
 and emotional anguish is one of the highest tests of 
 nobility of nature. 
 
 Othello retires. Just as this distressing interview 
 ends Emilia enters. She asks: 
 
 Alas, what does this gentleman conceive ? 
 
44 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Desdemona, conscious of her own innocence, is 
 dazed. She still loves Othello. She does not blame 
 him, but fortune. 
 
 It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 Emilia, who has made her exit, now returns with 
 Iago. She takes a different, and more practical, 
 view of the matter: 
 
 I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, 
 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue, • 
 
 Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, 
 
 Have not devised this slander ; I '11 be hang'd else : seq. 
 
 She unwittingly, and with the utmost accuracy, de- 
 scribes her husband, who is the villain. 
 
 Desdemona and Emilia make their exit. Iago is 
 left alone. Roderigo enters. He protests vigor- 
 ously against the treatment he has received from 
 Iago. Iago has taken Roderigo's money and jewels, 
 ostensibly for the purpose of giving them to Desde- 
 mona, and so winning her favor for Roderigo. Iago 
 has kept them for himself. He does not reply di- 
 rectly to Roderigo's charges, but informs him of 
 Othello's recall, and of the appointment of Cassio 
 to the chief command. He then craftily proposes 
 to Roderigo that he kill Cassio. They depart to- 
 gether, and this Scene ends. 
 
 In the last Scene of the Fall, Othello, Lodovico, 
 Desdemona, Emilia, and attendants enter. After 
 a word or two with Lodovico, Othello commands 
 Desdemona: 
 
Othello 443 
 
 Get you to bed on the instant ; I will be returned 
 forthwith : dismiss your attendant there : look it be 
 done. 
 
 Othello, Lodovico, and attendants retire. Desde- 
 mona and Emilia are left alone, and the remainder 
 of this Scene, and this division of the drama, is de- 
 voted to a conversation between them. 
 
 A change has come over Othello. Emilia has 
 noticed it. She says: 
 
 . . . he looks gentler than he did. 
 
 This is but the lull before the storm. It bespeaks 
 the man whose mind is settled. The conflict in 
 Othello between doubt and certainty, between 
 irresolution and resolution, is ended. He has ex- 
 perienced to the intensest degree the truthfulness 
 of Iago's reflection : 
 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
 
 Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 This now has ended. The time for action has 
 arrived. 
 
 Before dismissing Emilia, as Othello had ordered, 
 Desdemona makes all preparations to retire. She 
 still protests her love for Othello. When Emilia 
 expresses the wish that Desdemona had never seen 
 him, she responds: 
 
 So would not I : my love doth so approve him, 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns, — 
 Prithee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them. 
 
 In the drama, as in human life, coming events 
 
444 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 cast their shadows before. Desdemona now has a 
 presentiment of impending death: 
 
 Good faith, how foolish are our minds ! 
 If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 She sings a song full of tenderness, pathos, forebod- 
 ing. She says to Emilia: 
 
 Mine eyes do itch ; 
 Doth that bode weeping ? 
 
 Having thus in the most unmistakable manner 
 foreshadowed Desdemona's death Shakespeare now 
 introduces a final conversation between her and 
 Emilia, on a subject radically different from any 
 that have preceded. The dramatic purpose of this 
 conversation is to reveal, once more, Desdemona's 
 spotless purity. 
 
 Desdemona, who is as chaste as tee, as pure as 
 snow, not only cannot be unfaithful herself, but can- 
 not believe any woman could be unfaithful. Emilia, 
 who is coarse, vulgar, dissents from this opinion. 
 By means of her, with whom Desdemona is con- 
 trasted (this is one of Emilia's dramatic functions), 
 Shakespeare reveals in brighter light the true 
 womanliness, the spotless purity of Desdemona. 
 
 So ends this Act, and this division of the drama. 
 During it the Main Action has been temporarily 
 stayed. And yet there has been dramatic progress. 
 Every preparation has been made for the Catastro- 
 phe. Othello's determination to kill Desdemona 
 has been irrevocably settled. What he said in the 
 Climax is now, for the first time, absolutely true: 
 
Othello 445 
 
 Like to the Pontic sea, 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontic and the Hellespont, 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable and wide revenge 
 Swallow them up. 
 
 It only needs a fitting opportunity to put that de- 
 termination into action. Othello has made that op- 
 portunity. Iago has suggested to Roderigo the 
 murder of Cassio. Desdemona has a well-defined 
 presentiment of her early and violent death. 
 
 CATASTROPHE 
 
 V 
 
 With the commencement of the Catastrophe the 
 action of the drama again, and immediately, begins 
 movement, and progresses to the end rapidly and 
 without cessation. 
 
 At the beginning of the Catastrophe Roderigo 
 and Iago appear, prepared to execute the plot to 
 kill Cassio. Before they attempt the murder, each, 
 by means of a monologue, lays bare his heart and 
 mind. 
 
 Roderigo, at first, hesitates. A moment later he 
 determines to do the deed: 
 
 I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 
 And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 
 
 'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword : he dies. 
 
44 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Iago, who has retired to a place where he cannot be 
 seen or heard by Roderigo, says : 
 
 I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the sense, 
 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, 
 Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
 Every way makes my gain: seq. 
 
 Iago now stands in much peril. The beginning of 
 crime is like sliding down hill. Such a movement 
 generates momentum. The same law is in force in 
 morals. The application of this law to dramatic art 
 is known in the Greek drama as Nemesis, " the 
 anger of fate, whether foredoomed or avenging." 
 In the Shakesperian drama it is Poetic Justice. 
 Iago's fate is an example. He says: 
 
 Live Roderigo, 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 It must not be: if Cassio do remain, 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life 
 That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril: 
 No, he must die. 
 
 In these two soliloquies the motives and purposes 
 of these two men are once more, and fully, revealed. 
 
 Immediately after they are spoken Cassio enters. 
 Roderigo assaults him. Cassio's coat protects him. 
 He is not injured. Then he, in turn, attacks and 
 wounds Roderigo. Iago, whom Cassio has not seen, 
 assaults and wounds Cassio, and quickly retires. 
 
Othello 447 
 
 Othello enters. He hears the cries of the wounded 
 men. He supposes Iago has killed Cassio, and 
 says: 
 
 The voice of Cassio: Iago keeps his word. 
 
 . . . O brave Iago, honest and just. 
 
 The calls for help uttered by Cassio and Roderigo 
 have been heard by Lodovico and Gratiano, who 
 now enter. A moment later, Iago, partially 
 dressed, with light and weapons^ re-enters. Shake- 
 speare makes him appear thus in order that it may 
 seem that Iago has suddenly been aroused from 
 sleep by the cries for help. The time has not yet 
 arrived for the complete revelation to the others in 
 the play of Iago's character. By this ruse Iago de- 
 ceives both Lodovico and Gratiano; and Roderigo 
 and Cassio, as well. 
 
 Iago expresses surprise, distress, resentment. He 
 professes himself anxious to aid Cassio. When 
 Cassio accuses Roderigo, who is lying near him 
 wounded, whom he does not recognize, as the villain 
 who wounded him, Iago, pretending to revenge the 
 assault on Cassio, stabs Roderigo, saying: 
 
 O murderous slave ! O villain ! 
 
 Roderigo is mortally wounded. Before dying he 
 recognizes Iago as his assailant, and denounces his 
 treason : 
 
 O damn'd Iago ! . O inhuman dog ! 
 
 Iago knew it was Roderigo, and was only too glad 
 to seal his lips in death. 
 
448 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Iago recognizes Lodovico. He expresses the 
 strongest desire to assist Cassio. Bianca enters. In 
 order to divert suspicion from himself Iago pro- 
 fesses to believe she is a party to the assault on 
 Cassio : 
 
 Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party to this injury. 
 
 Then turning to Roderigo's corpse, he says: 
 
 Know we this face or no ? 
 Alas, my friend and my dear countryman 
 Roderigo ! no :— yes, sure :— O heaven ! Roderigo. 
 
 To Cassio he says : 
 
 He that lies slain here, Cassio, 
 Was my dear friend : what malice was between you ? 
 
 The diabolic and skilful duplicity of Iago becomes 
 more and more apparent. He promises Othello 
 that, out of loyalty to him, he will murder Cassio. 
 By appealing to the basest impulses of Roderigo he 
 induces him to attempt the murder of Cassio. 
 When Cassio, in self-defence, stabs Roderigo, Iago 
 stabs Cassio; and, later, when Cassio charges Rod- 
 erigo with being his assailant Iago kills Roderigo. 
 Then, when Roderigo's corpse, and Cassio, wounded, 
 are borne away, he again directs suspicion towards 
 Bianca. 
 
 Emilia now enters. To her Iago makes the state- 
 ment, not only for her information, but also to im- 
 press it upon Lodovico and Gratiano: 
 
Othello 449 
 
 Cassio hath here been set on in the dark 
 By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped: 
 He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 
 He once more throws suspicion on Bianca, and or- 
 ders Emilia: 
 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
 
 And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 
 
 Then, in an aside, Iago reveals his desperate situa- 
 tion : 
 
 This is the night 
 That either makes me or fordoes me quite. 
 
 Shakespeare's purpose in making Iago send 
 Emilia to the citadel was not only, not primarily, 
 to inform Othello and Desdemona of Roderigo's 
 death and Cassio's wounds, but to direct the atten- 
 tion of the spectators to the citadel, where, in a bed- 
 chamber, the conclusion of the drama takes place. 
 It is by these little, apparently insignificant touches, 
 which only the trained eye of the critic sees, that 
 Shakespeare manifests his perfect technique. 
 
 In this bedchamber, in which a light is burning, 
 Desdemona is lying in bed, asleep. She is a pic- 
 ture, lovely, chaste, gentle, beautiful, a sweeter crea- 
 ture the world hath not seen. Othello enters. As he 
 beholds Desdemona he soliloquizes, and reveals to 
 us the frightful struggle taking place within him be- 
 tween his almost deathless love on the one hand, 
 and what he believes to be his solemn duty on the 
 other: 
 
 It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, seq, 
 
 ■9 
 
4jQ Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 Desdemona awakens. The final conversation be- 
 tween her and Othello is held. He informs her he 
 intends to kill her. She pleads for her life. His 
 manner, as well as words, beget fear in her: 
 
 And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then 
 When your eyes roll so: seq. 
 
 Her only sins, she tells Othello, 
 
 . . . are loves I bear to you, 
 
 an appeal which would touch the heart of any man, 
 unless he were heartless like Iago, or crazed with 
 doubt and jealousy as was Othello. Othello's rage 
 becomes uncontrollable: 
 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: 
 These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 Othello then refers to the handkerchief. He 
 charges her with having given it to Cassio. The 
 evidence of this, poor misguided man, he believes 
 to be unimpeachable. It seems to him damning 
 proof of her unfaithfulness. Her denials he refuses 
 to believe. Desdemona then entreats him, first, for 
 her life, and when he denies that, for a little delay: 
 
 O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not ! 
 
 Othello refuses. He stifles her. Emilia, bearing 
 the message from Iago, arrives. She calls. Othello 
 does not at once respond. He delays her entrance. 
 Finally he admits her. She announces the death 
 
Othello 451 
 
 of Roderigo. Desdemona has been stifled, but not 
 killed; she faintly says: 
 
 O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 A guiltless death I die. 
 
 Othello then tells Emilia that Desdemona was un- 
 true, and that his authority for the assertion was 
 Iago. Emilia is astonished, she cannot believe it, 
 and says, again and again, 
 
 My husband ! 
 Othello becomes angry and responds: 
 
 He, woman ; 
 I say thy husband: dost understand the word ? 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. 
 
 Emilia perceives that Iago has played false with 
 Othello, and that he is a hellish villain, more fierce, 
 savage, cruel, than 
 
 . . . anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
 She replies to Othello: 
 
 If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart: 
 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 Emilia denounces Othello. She goes further, and 
 defies him. 
 
 The action of the drama is now moving with al- 
 most lightning rapidity. Roderigo and Desdemona 
 
45 2 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 have been murdered. Their dramatic lives are 
 ended. 
 
 In response to Emilia's outcries Montano, Grati- 
 ano, Iago, and others, enter. Emilia, whose whole 
 nature is outraged by the base and baseless accusa- 
 tions against her mistress, has become defiant, fear- 
 less, desperate. She immediately says to Iago: 
 
 Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: seq. 
 
 When Iago acknowledges he so said, she responds: 
 
 You told a lie, an odious, damned lie ; seq. 
 
 All Iago's efforts to silence Emilia are unsuccessful. 
 She speaks in no uncertain sound: 
 
 Villany, villany, villany ! seq. 
 
 Othello seems impressed and oppressed by what she 
 says. He falls upon the bed. A moment later he 
 rises, and tries to justify his deed to Gratiano, Des- 
 demona's uncle. Gratiano, ignoring Othello's effort 
 to justify his act, which shows horrible and grim, 
 says: 
 
 Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father 's dead : 
 Tny match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
 Shore his old thread in twain : seq. 
 
 This allusion to Brabantio's death manifests fine 
 technique on Shakespeare's part. It reveals two 
 facts: 
 
 I. — This marriage was as fatal to Brabantio as to 
 Desdemona, Othello, and so many others. 
 
Othello 453 
 
 II. — In the most skilful and dramatic manner it 
 accounts for Brabantio's removal from the drama, 
 after the Introduction. 
 
 Othello again attempts to justify his deed. Iago 
 renews his effort to silence Emilia. Both attempts 
 are fruitless. Iago realizes that Emilia's revelation 
 will be fatal to himself. He attempts to stab her, 
 but is unsuccessful. Her dramatic life is not to end 
 until she reveals fully the story of the handkerchief: 
 
 thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou speak'st of 
 
 1 found by fortune and did give my husband ; 
 For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
 
 More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle, 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 Having made this revelation, and thereby resolved 
 the complication caused by the handkerchief, and 
 made manifest the villainy of Iago and the inno- 
 cence of Desdemona, Emilia's work in the drama is 
 almost completed. Iago stabs her fatally, and then 
 escapes. Before Emilia dies, however, and with 
 her very latest breath, she again testifies to Desde- 
 mona's spotless purity: 
 
 Moor, she was chaste ; she loved thee, cruel Moor ; 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, I die. 
 
 These revelations of Emilia go far to resolve the 
 Complication of the drama. They are a perfect ex- 
 ample of the lusis, the untying of the dramatic knot. 
 
 Montano seizes Othello's sword and gives it to 
 Gratiano, commanding him, 
 
454 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 . . . let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather. 
 
 Montano himself pursues Iago, to wreak ven- 
 geance on him. Gratiano guards the door without 
 to prevent Othello's escape. 
 
 The effect of Emilia's revelations on Othello is 
 what might be expected in the case of a brave, true 
 man. Life without honor has no attraction for 
 Othello. Nothing remains for him but death. For 
 that he makes every preparation. He finds another 
 sword in the chamber. He calls to Gratiano to al- 
 low him to come forth. Gratiano demurs. On 
 Othello's invitation he enters. Othello addresses 
 him. He reveals the radical change wrought in him 
 by Emilia's statements: 
 
 Behold, I have a weapon ; 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : seq. 
 
 Several persons enter. They constitute the last 
 group in the play. Othello is there. So are Gra- 
 tiano, Desdemona's uncle, Lodovico, her kinsman, 
 Montano, the Governor of Cyprus, Cassio, who is 
 wounded, Iago, a prisoner. Lodovico speaks first. 
 He does not chide Othello. He recognizes the fact 
 that Othello has been deceived. He speaks of him 
 as 
 
 . . . this rash and most unfortunate man. 
 
 Then, turning to the officers in whose charge Iago 
 is, he says : 
 
 Where is that viper ? bring the villain forth. 
 
Othello 455 
 
 Othello looks at lago's feet, to see if they are 
 cloven. He thinks none but a devil could act as 
 Iago has. He wounds Iago, who bleeds, but is not 
 killed. Othello does not regret this. To a man 
 like Iago the greatest punishment is that of Cain, 
 not death, but life prolonged, filled with physical 
 torture, and some, at least, of remorse. 
 
 Lodovico then again addresses Othello as one 
 who is a victim of misplaced confidence. Othello 
 describes himself, and does so with the utmost ac- 
 curacy, as 
 
 An honourable murderer, if you will; 
 
 For nought I did in hate, but all in honour./ 
 
 Lodovico says: 
 
 This wretch hath part confess'd his villany : 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 
 
 Othello promptly and frankly answers: 
 
 Ay. 
 Cassio, of whom Iago said, 
 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life, 
 
 on hearing Othello's confession, said, without bit- 
 terness or malice: 
 
 Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
 
 Othello assents to this. He begs Cassio's pardon, 
 and adds: 
 
 Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil 
 Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body ? 
 
45 6 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 There are two facts in connection with this ques- 
 tion of Othello which, apparently insignificant, are 
 really of great importance, and reveal the hand of 
 the master: 
 
 . I. — Othello describes Iago not as a devil but a 
 dcmi-dcvil. If Shakespeare had made Iago a devil 
 he would have alienated our interest in him. He, 
 therefore, while making him diabolic, made him 
 also a man, having some ostensible reason for his 
 wickedness. 
 
 II. — Othello also says: 
 
 . . . ensnared my soul and body. 
 
 When Othello is finally and fully convinced that 
 Desdemona is innocent he realizes there is but one 
 course open to him, vis,, suicide. This is fore- 
 shadowed in his remark just cited. 
 The last words Iago utters are: 
 
 Demand me nothing : what you know, you know : 
 From this time forth I never will speak word. 
 
 Having successfully accomplished his hellish plans 
 to wreak vengeance on Cassio and Othello, and hav- 
 ing brought ruin and death to so many, this man 
 now seeks refuge, not in repentance, but in sullen, 
 defiant silence. 
 
 In order to throw still more light on the Compli- 
 cation of the play, and to make the Resolution more 
 complete, Shakespeare makes Lodovico reveal the 
 contents of two letters found in the pockets of the 
 dead Roderigo: 
 
Othello 457 
 
 . . the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 By Roderigo. 
 
 And the other: 
 
 There is besides in Roderigo's letter, 
 How he upbraids Iago, that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
 That I was cast : and even but now he spake, 
 After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, 
 Iago set him on. 
 
 Still further does Shakespeare resolve the Com- 
 plication by making Cassio tell Othello how he 
 came by the handkerchief: 
 
 I found it in my chamber : 
 And he himself confess'd but even now 
 That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 Thus, step by step, with masterly skill, all the 
 Complication of the drama has been resolved. The 
 hidden methods by which Iago 
 
 . . . put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgement cannot cure 
 
 have all been revealed. 
 
 Iago is wounded, and in custody awaiting retri- 
 bution for his deeds. Cassio's innocence is fully 
 established. Desdemona's dying assertion, 
 
 A guiltless death I die, 
 has been proven true. 
 
45 8 Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 It only remains now for Shakespeare to end the 
 dramatic life of Othello. Lodovico, the represen- 
 tative of the Duke of Venice, assumes judicial func- 
 tions. Addressing Othello, he says: 
 
 You shall close prisoner rest, 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 To the Venetian state. 
 
 Othello responds, and his words are a perfect speci- 
 men of narrative verse : 
 
 Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
 
 I have done the state some service, and they know 't. 
 
 No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, 
 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 
 Nor set down aught in malice : then must you speak 
 
 Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; 
 
 Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought 
 
 Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, 
 
 Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose subdued eyes, 
 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 
 Their medicinal gum. Set you down this ; 
 
 And say besides, that in Aleppo once, 
 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd ' Turk 
 
 Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, 
 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 
 
 And smote him, thus. (Stafis himself.') 
 
 1 Shakespeare frequently, as here, couples together an abstract 
 and a concrete adjective, e. g., the sear, the yellow leaf ; a nipping 
 and an eager air ; Diana's Up is not more smooth and rubious ; a 
 robustious periwig-pated fellow ; the wealthy curled darlings ; 
 some sweet oblivious antidote. 
 
Othello 459 
 
 Before dying, addressing Desdemona's corpse, he 
 pathetically adds: 
 
 I kiss'd thee ere I killed thee : — no way but this ; 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. 
 
 [Fa//s on the bed, and dies. 
 
 Such anguish as Othello's can only be assuaged in 
 Paradise, and by her whom he sent thither. He, 
 therefore, hurries after her. 
 
 The play then ends with Lodovico's words to 
 Iago, to Gratiano, to Cassio: 
 
 O Spartan dog, seq. 
 
 Iago, whose hate is implacable, fierce, deadly, 
 who is, as Roderigo with his dying breath describes 
 him, an inhuman dog, lives. His victims are either 
 wounded or dead. Is Shakespeare's drama in this 
 true to life ? 
 
 The great problem of human life is the existence of 
 evil. And, therefore, one of the great objects of the 
 poet's interpretation of life by plot, or interwoven action, 
 is to exhibit a relationship between apparently unde- 
 served calamity and some principle which is based upon 
 natural and divine law, or on both. 1 
 
 Does this great play exhibit this relationship ? 
 
 A drama is a transcript of human life. If it is a 
 perfect work of Art it must be in accord with the 
 experiences of men and women. Mistakes always 
 bring their penalties just as inevitably as do crimes. 
 Misplaced confidence wrecks many lives. Cassio 
 allowed Iago to persuade him to put into his mouth 
 
 1 Worsfold, Principles of Criticism, p. 188, seq. 
 
4 6 o Shakespeare's Plots 
 
 an enemy that stole away his brains. The devil drunk- 
 enness and the devil wrath take possession of him. 
 His command is taken from him. He is disgraced. 
 Eventually, as one of the further results of his con- 
 duct, he is seriously wounded. Othello, great of 
 heart, as Cassio says, — of a constant, loving, noble 
 nature, as Iago asserts, — allowed himself to be 
 
 . . . as tenderly led by the nose 
 As asses are. 
 
 The consequence is, he is ruined. 
 
 Patroclus' warning to Achilles (Troilus and Cres- 
 sida) applies to both Cassio and Othello : 
 
 O, then, beware ! 
 Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves. 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
 And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 In the drama, as in human life, 
 
 Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. 
 
 Emilia's loyalty to her mistress costs her her life. 
 The pure, unselfish, loyal, loving Desdemona is 
 cruelly murdered. Like Cordelia, like many an- 
 other woman in real life, she is a victim of circum- 
 stances. Iago is wounded but not killed. Life will 
 bring to him the just and full retribution of his 
 deeds. 
 
 Thus Shakespeare's conclusion of this play is in 
 perfect harmony with all the demands of Poetic 
 Justice. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Action, Aristotle's theory of , 21 ; 
 drama representation by means 
 of, 23 ; Oracular Action, 104 
 sea. ; does not stop with end 
 of play, 230 
 
 Adjectives, Shakespeare couples 
 abstract and concrete, 458 
 
 /Eschylus, 26 
 
 Allen, Grant, 33 
 
 Alteration, 65, 97, 98 
 
 Alternation, 65, 97, 98 
 
 Amiel, 12, footnote 
 
 Antonio, his sadness, nature of, 
 139 : treatment of Shylock by, 
 140, footnote 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra, 107, 116 
 
 Architectonike in work of Art 
 15 
 
 Argosies in Merchant of Venice, 
 function thereof, 152 sea. 
 
 Aristotle, plot or fable, 15 ; def- 
 inition of drama, 20, 22 ; con- 
 sidered Plot supreme element 
 in tragedy, 23 ; divisions of 
 drama, 30 ; Jests, lusis, 42 ; 
 uniformity, 1 13 ; pity and ter- 
 ror. 132; difference between 
 History and Poetry, 232 sea. 
 
 Arnold, Matthew, 18 
 
 Art, founded upon Nature, 1 ; 
 function not imitation but 
 idealization, 2 ; analogy be- 
 tween it and Nature not lim- 
 ited to appearances, 4 ; origin 
 of, 5 ; Nature is pattern of. 7 
 sea. ; best method of study, 
 Classification, 9 sea. ; qual- 
 ities of, 13 ; derivation of 
 
 word, 16 ; Ruskin's definition 
 of, 16 ; each form of, possesses 
 a charm sui generis, 229 ; 
 graduated, 266 sea. 
 
 Artist does not create his ma- 
 terials, 24 
 
 Asides, their function, 61 
 
 Astrology, 256 
 
 Athenian Mechanicals, 108 
 
 B 
 
 Bacon, 3, 233 
 
 Bain, 43, footnote 
 
 Balance, 29 
 
 Baldwin, 6 
 
 Bankside edition of Shakespeare, 
 176, footnote 
 
 Banquo, a defect in his charac- 
 ter, 75 
 
 Bascom, 436 
 
 Beauty, physical, psychical basis, 
 33 ; limitations of poetic art in 
 describing it, 199 sea. 
 
 Blank verse, Shakespeare's use 
 of, 2S2, 436 
 
 Bosanquet, 20, 62, 132 
 
 Bourdillon, 428 
 
 Brabantio, reference to his death, 
 purpose thereof, 453 
 
 Brown, 33 
 
 Browning, 230 sea., 430 
 
 Catastrophe, nature and function 
 of, 50 sea. ; movement of, in 
 Macbeth rapid, 114 
 
 Chance not deciding factor in 
 life, 195 
 
 461 
 
462 
 
 Index 
 
 Character deciding factor in 
 crises of life, 195 
 
 Choose, significance of, in Mer- 
 chant of Venice, 146 
 
 Classification, in Nature, qseo.; 
 in study of drama, 11 
 
 Climax, nature and function of, 
 42 seq. ; centre of drama, 44 
 seq.; 92, 1 87 
 
 Clowns in Shakespeare's plays, 
 their nature, function, 333 
 
 Coleridge, 18, 48, 97, 145, 164 
 
 Comedy portrays frailties which 
 are venial, 380 
 
 Comic, function of, in Merchant 
 of Venice, 176 seq. ; comic 
 scene frequently introduced in 
 tragedy, 2IO 
 
 Complement and Balance in 
 Macbeth, 114, 122, 124; in 
 Merchant of Venice, 226 ; in 
 Julius Ca-sar, 2S8 ; in Twelfth 
 Night, 382 
 
 Complicating Force in Merchant 
 of Venice, 185 
 
 •Complication begins with 
 Growth, 161 
 
 Confusion of Identity, nature 
 and function as element of 
 Plot, 327 seq. ; in (JLdipus 
 the King, and in Shakespeare 
 plays, 327 seq. 
 Contrast, Shakespeare master of, 
 70 ; in Merchant of Venice, 
 144, 219; in Twelfth Night, 
 344 seq.; in Othello, 419 
 Cordelia, 461 
 Curve, line of beauty, 33 
 Cymbeline, confusion of identity 
 in, 328 seq. 
 
 D 
 
 Dallas, pity and terror, 133, 154 
 
 Davenant, Sir William, 235 seq. 
 
 Dowden, 9 
 
 Drama, as a Work of Art, Chap. 
 I. ; divided into five parts, 12, 
 28 seq., 30; Main Action, 
 Sub -Actions, 12; Plot, 12, 
 
 172; best method of studv, 13 ; 
 Shakespeare's method of con- 
 structing, 17 ; Aristotle's def- 
 inition of, 20, 23 ; primal 
 quality of, 23 ; laws which 
 govern construction not em- 
 pirical, 24 ; Aristotle's division 
 of, 30 ; division into Acts not 
 real but imaginary, 31 seq. ; 
 written in form of arch, 32 ; 
 desis, lusis, 42 ; Complication, 
 Resolution, 48 ; Nature, Laws 
 of Construction, Chap. II. ; 
 most objective form of lit- 
 erature, 60 seq. ; Environing 
 Action, 101 ; stimulates sen- 
 sation, perception, emotion, 
 134 ; relation of Main and 
 Sub -Actions. 138; Compli- 
 cation begins with Growth, 
 161 ; intervals of time, how 
 overcome by Shakespeare, 
 180 ; Link-Action, 161 ; Cli- 
 max at Mechanical Centre, 
 187 ; written to be acted, 190, 
 389 ; action does not stop, 
 230, 382 ; only those elements 
 of a character portrayed which 
 are evoked by the action, 247 ; 
 Character- Foil, 294 ; motive of 
 action must be worthy, 298 ; 
 Link-Persons in, 323 ; Type 
 of Normal in, 324 seq. ; 
 actors in drama not idiots, 
 lunatics, reason therefor, 360 
 seq. ; fundamental traits of 
 character must be revealed 
 early in the action, 372 seq. ; 
 comedy portrays frailties which 
 are venial, 380 ; mistake in 
 method of studying, 3S3 
 seq. ; must be self-explana- 
 tory, 402 ; Gradation in, 404 ; 
 dialogue in, 413 ; tragedy con- 
 structed in either one of two 
 ways, 416 seq. ; foreshad- 
 owing in, 418, 444 ; minor 
 characters reflect principal 
 characters, 433 seq. ; tran- 
 script of life, 459 
 
Index 
 
 463 
 
 Dramatic Hedging, 183, 189, 
 
 222 ; in Othello, 408 
 Dramatic material, its requisites, 
 
 27 SCO. 
 
 Dryden, 21, 25 
 Durer, Albert, I 
 
 Emerson, 17, 47 
 
 Emotion, transforms, reveals, 43; 
 affinity between it and Nature, 
 228, 249, 399 sea - >' expressed 
 by music, 320 seq. 
 
 Emotional chord in drama, 54 
 
 Endymion, 229 
 
 Environing Action in drama, 
 nature, function, 101; in Mac- 
 beth, 101 seq., 152; in Mer. 
 chant of Venice, 153 seq. ; in 
 Julius drsar, 289 seq. 
 
 Epicurus, his philosophy, 310 
 
 Episodes, nature and function of, 
 40 seq., 175 ; of Rings in Mer- 
 chant of Venice, 223 ; in Jul- 
 ius Casar, 304 
 
 Fall, nature, function of, 45; 
 
 more or less episodic, 435 seq. 
 Falstaff, 148 
 Fate, 86, 236 
 Faust, 3, 7 
 First Folio, stage directions, 
 
 Macbeth, no 
 Fools in Shakespeare's plays, 
 
 their nature, function, 333 seq. 
 Freeman, Unity of History, 241 
 
 seq. 
 Free- Will, 236 
 Froude, 235 
 Fuller, Thomas, 43 
 
 Gervinus, 14 
 
 Goethe, 7; architectonike*, 15 
 (iosse, 16 
 
 Gradation and Contrast in Mer- 
 chant of Venice, 144 
 
 Growth, nature and function of, 
 39 
 
 H 
 
 Hamilton, Sir William, 257 
 Hamlet, 34, 36, 45 ; play within 
 
 the play, 347. 419 
 Hand, reference to, by Lady 
 
 Macbeth, 120 
 Hartman, 93 
 Hegel, 2, 13, footnote, 62 seq., 
 
 136 
 Hippolyta, 198 
 History, difference between it 
 
 and Poetry, 232 seq. 
 Horace. 30, 40, 48, 96, III 
 Hugo, Victor, 116 
 
 Iago, pitiless, 438 
 
 Iliad, 200 
 
 Incompleteness, characteristic of 
 work of Art, manifested in 
 Merchant of Venice, 230 seq ; 
 in Twelfth Night, 382 
 
 Interest, discussion on, in Mer- 
 chant of Venice, 165 seq. 
 
 Introduction, nature, function 
 
 of, 33 
 Invention, manifested in Growth, 
 
 161 ; in Merchant of Venice, 
 
 161 seq. 
 Irony, in Macbeth, 97, 106 
 
 J 
 
 James, 5 seq. 
 
 Jew of Malta, 162, 184 
 
 Johnson, 16 
 
 Johnson, Dr., 14 
 
 Jonson, Ben, 45 
 
 Jouffroy, 8 
 
 Jowett, 93 
 
 Julius Casar, 22, 38, 39, Chap. 
 V. ; nature of this play, 237 
 seq. ; Shakespeare's portraiture 
 of Cresar in, 247 ; scale of de- 
 lineation in, 248; Climax very 
 
464 
 
 Index 
 
 Julius Casar — Continued. 
 long, 266 ; prose and blank 
 ven>e in, 282 ; mob Environ- 
 ing Action, 289 ; Tent Scene, 
 analysis of, "lcflseq,; Episodes, 
 304 ; Catastrophe of, not so 
 much tragic as pathetic, 313 
 
 "1- 
 Justice, poetic, moral, 131 j Trial 
 
 Scene in Merchant of Venice, 
 
 travesty of, 211 
 
 K 
 
 Keats, 54 
 
 Kindness, sense in which Lady 
 Macbeth uses word, 66, foot- 
 note 
 
 Knight, Philosophy of Beautiful, 
 1, 2, 3, 8, 24, 321 
 
 Lady Macbeth, 65 ; difference 
 between her and Macbeth, 66 
 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 25, 113 
 
 Lanier, 196 
 
 Laugel, M. Auguste, 6 
 
 Lessing, 24, footnote, 30, III, 
 201, 202, 234, footnote 
 
 Lewes, 23, footnote 
 
 Link-Action, 181 
 
 Link-Person, Launcelot is, 177 ; 
 Jessica is, 181 ; Viola is, 323 ; 
 function of, 323 seq. 
 
 Lists, meaning of, 86 
 
 Local Color in drama, 53 seq. 
 
 Love, tragic or comic, 322 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost, 25 ; con- 
 fusion of identity in, 328 
 
 Lowell, 11, 16; definition of 
 drama, 23 ; nature of original- 
 ity, 25 seq., 33, 62, in, 116, 
 386 
 
 M 
 
 Macbeth, character development 
 of, 124 ; moral reactions in, 
 128 ; unlike Lady Macbeth, 
 128 
 
 Macbeth^ 22. 44, 45, Chapter 
 
 III. ; Main Action of, 62 ; real 
 tragedy of, 62 ; real scene 
 of, 62 ; difference between 
 Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, 
 66 ; Character Growth, 87 ; 
 Climax of play at centre, 92 
 seq.; Oracular Action in, 104 
 seq.; introduction of Macduff's 
 Son, 109 ; Lady Macduff not 
 murdered on stage, significance 
 thereof, no; stage directions 
 in First Folio, no; Comple- 
 ment and Balance in, 114. 
 122; movement of Catastrophe 
 rapid, 114; reference by Lady 
 Macbeth to hand, 120; conclu- 
 sion of play complements be- 
 ginning, 123, 313, 416 
 Macduff, Lady, not murdered on 
 stage, significance thereof, no 
 Macduff's Son, 109 
 Mahaffy, pity and terror, 132 
 Marlowe, quotation from Ed- 
 ward II. , 116; character of 
 Barabas, 162, 184 
 Mechanical Centre, Climax at, 
 
 187 
 Merchant of Venice, 34, 35, 38, 
 41, 44, 45, 53, Chap. IV. ; 
 Main and Sub-Actions, 137 ; 
 Gradation and Contrast in, 
 144 ; significance of word 
 choose, 146 ; function of Argo- 
 sies, 152 seq.; Environing Ac- 
 tion in, 153 seq.; invention in, 
 161 seq.; discussion on inter- 
 est therein, 165 seq.; Episodes 
 in, 175; comic in, 176; Vari- 
 ety in, 177; Dramatic Hedg- 
 ing in, 183, 189; Complicating 
 Force in, 185; Resolving Force 
 in, 185 ; Casket Scene (III., 
 2) Climax, 186 seq.; Mechani- 
 cal Centre, 187 ; Plot of this 
 play criticised, 191 seq.; story 
 of Choice of Caskets, 191 seq.; 
 law in, travesty of justice, 
 211 ; Trial Scene in, written 
 in form of arch, 220 ; Poetic 
 Justice in, 221 ; Episode of 
 
Index 
 
 465 
 
 Merchant of Venice — Continued. 
 Rings, 223 seq.; Portia's char- 
 acter, 225 seq.; Complement 
 and Balance in, 226 seq.; mu- 
 sic in, 229 ; action does not 
 stop, 230 ; confusion of iden- 
 tity in, 328 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, con- 
 fusion of identity in, 328 
 
 Midsummer- Night's Dream, 25; 
 play within the play, 347 
 
 Milton, 27 
 
 Miser, Shakespeare never cre- 
 ated one, 164 
 
 Morley, 25 
 
 Moulton, 69, footnote, 163, foot- 
 note 
 
 Mailer, Max, 10, 256 
 
 Murray, Ancient Greek Litera- 
 ture, 310, footnote, 333 
 
 Music, least imitative of arts, 24 ; 
 in Merchant of Venice, 229 ; 
 expressive of human emotion, 
 
 320 seq. ; in Twelfth Night, 
 
 321 seq.; custom of Venetians 
 to greet bride and groom with, 
 418 seq. 
 
 N 
 
 Napoleon, citation from Taine's 
 
 essay, 383 
 Nature, affinities between it and 
 
 human thought, emotion, 228, 
 
 249, 399 "1- 
 Nemesis, 131, 416 
 Newman, John Henry, 25, 233 
 
 Oliphant, 67, footnote 
 Oracular Action, 104 
 Originality, definition of, 25 
 Othello, 22, 38, 43, 44, Chap- 
 ter VII. ; grouping in, 391 ; 
 significance of farewells in 
 Introduction, 396 ; Iago Com- 
 plicating Force in first half of 
 play, 397 ; action ushered in 
 with a storm, iqqseq.; Turkish 
 fleet destroyed, why? 401 ; scope 
 not national or international. 
 
 401 ; Gradation in, 404 seq.; 
 Iago iterates and reiterates his 
 suspicions that Othello had 
 been intimate with Emilia, 
 why ? 407 seq. ; Dramatic 
 Hedging in, 408 ; soliloquies 
 in, 414 seq.; play is self-ex- 
 planatory, 414 ; knowledge of 
 Iago derived from his solilo- 
 quies, 420 
 
 Pater, 38 
 Patroclus, 460 
 
 Pity and terror, Aristotle's 
 theory, 132 ; Lessing's theory, 
 132 ; Mahaffy's theory, 132 
 seq.; theory of Dallas, 133 
 seq.; Woodberry's theory, 134 
 
 Plato, 93 
 
 Play-impulse, imitative, 5 ; dif- 
 ference between it and art- 
 impulse, 6 
 
 Plays within plays, 346 seq. 
 
 Plot, makes play organic. 12 ; its 
 nature, 15, 17, 172 ; Aristotle's 
 opinion of, 28 ; of Merchant 
 of Venice criticised, 191 seq. 
 
 Plutarch, 235, 236 
 
 Poetic Justice, in Macbeth, 131, 
 212 seq., 416 ; in Merchant of 
 Venice, 221 ; in Julius Casar, 
 306, 380 seq. ; in Othello, 459 
 seq. 
 
 Poetry, antithesis, likeness, be- 
 tween it and Science, 18; 
 difference between it and His- 
 tory, 232 seq. 
 
 Pope, 24 
 
 Porter in Macbeth, 80 
 
 Portia, Resolving Force, 208 ; 
 her character, 225 seq. 
 
 Prose, Shakespeare's use of, 282 
 436 
 
 Prospero, 149 
 
 Raymond, George Lansing, 10, 
 13.33.47.93. 32»,3a3 
 
466 
 
 Index 
 
 Remorse, perfect description of, 
 
 in Macbeth, 80 
 Repetition, 65, 97, 98 
 Resolving Force in Merchant of 
 
 Venice, 185, 208 
 Return or Revolution in drama, 
 
 97 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, I, 29 
 Richard III. , 38, 315 
 A'omeo and Juliet, 22, 34, 36, 39, 
 
 41,45; Catastrophe of, 315; 
 
 portrays tragic phase of love, 
 
 322 
 Royce, originality and imitation, 
 
 26 
 Ruskin, Modern Painters, 2 ; 
 
 definition of Art, 16, 29, 47, 
 
 III, 131, 144 
 
 Saintsbury, 16 
 
 Scale of delineation in Julius 
 Cwsar, 248 
 
 Schiller, play-impulse, 4 ; grada- 
 tion, 40 
 
 Science, antithesis, likeness, be- 
 tween it and Poetry, 18 
 
 Selection, necessary faculty of 
 artist, 27 
 
 Shakespeare, his originality, 26 
 sea.; his division of plays into 
 Acts, 31 ; his portraitare of 
 Caesar, 247 ; his Clowns or 
 Fools, 333 sea. ; use of Con- 
 trast, 344 ; use of plays within 
 plays, 346 seq.; manifests cru- 
 dity, 347^./ couples abstract 
 and concrete adjectives, 458 
 
 Shylock, not miser, 162 ; his de- 
 scription of Antonio, 163, foot- 
 note 
 
 Socrates, 4 
 
 Soliloquies, their function, 61 
 
 Sophocles, (Edi/>us the King, 327 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, 5, 9, 436 
 
 Subsidiary Actions, nature and 
 function of, 40, 175 
 
 Sully, 33 
 
 Swinburne, 95 
 
 Symmetry, 29 ; in Macbeth, 122 
 
 Taine, citation from essay on 
 
 Napoleon, 383 
 
 Taming of the Shrew, 347 
 
 Tempest, 25 
 
 Tennyson, The Lotos-Eaters, 321 
 
 Terror and pity, Aristotle's 
 theory, 132 ; Lessing's theory, 
 132; Mahaffy's theory, 132 
 seq. ; theory of Dallas, 133 
 seq.; Woodberry's theory, 134 
 
 Theseus, 198 
 
 Thought, affinity between it and 
 Nature, 228, 249, 399 seq. 
 
 Time, intervals of, how over- 
 come by Shakespeare, 180 seq. 
 
 Todhunter, 177 
 
 Trench, 67, footnote 
 
 Trial Scene in Merchant of 
 Venice, caricature of justice, 
 211 ; written in form of arch, 
 220 
 
 Twelfth Night, 37. 38, Chapter 
 VI. ; dramatic motive of, 319; 
 portrays comic phase of love, 
 
 322 ; three groups of charac- 
 ters, 323 ; Link-Persons in, 
 
 323 seq.; Plot of, founded on 
 confusion of identity, 327 seq.; 
 duels therein stopped before 
 they are fought, reasons there- 
 IO >\ 354 seq.; Sebastian not 
 allowed to think he or Olivia 
 is insane, 360 seq.; pervaded 
 with lyrical element, 381 seq.; 
 artistic unfmish in, 382 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, con- 
 fusion of identity in, 328 
 
 Tyndall, 18 seq. 
 
 Type of Normal, in drama, 324; 
 Viola is example, 31:4 seq. 
 
 U 
 
 Unfinish, characteristic of work 
 of Art, manifested in Merchant 
 of Venice, 230 seq.; in Twelfth 
 Night, 3S2 
 
 Unity, in work of Art, 9, io, 13 ; 
 
Index 
 
 467 
 
 Unity — Con tin ued. 
 Greek law of, 21 ; in modern 
 drama implies three specific 
 properties, 21 sea., 176 
 
 Vanity Fair, 196, footnote 
 Variety in work of Art, 9, 10, 13, 
 
 176 sea. 
 Venice, its history, 154; pros- 
 perity of, based on commerce, 
 306 
 
 W 
 
 Weird-Sisters, message to Mac 
 beth and Banquo, 55 sea. , 
 Environing Action in Macbeth, 
 101, 104 
 
 Winckelmann, 198, 199, footnote 
 
 Woman, Shakespeare frequently 
 disguises in male habit, 207 
 sea.; Shakespeare's portraiture 
 of, 209 
 
 Woodberry, pity and terror, 134 
 
 Worsfold, 459 
 
 Wreteh, meaning of, in Eliza- 
 bethan English, 422, footnote 
 
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