look 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
STORIES OF 
 SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 
 
Other Books by H. A. Guerber 
 
 STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES. 
 
 STORIES OF THE WAGNER OPERAS. 
 
 STORIES OF FAMOUS OPERAS 
 
 STORIES OF POPULAR OPERAS. 
 
 LEGENDS OF SWITZERLAND. 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE VIRGIN AND CHRIST. 
 
 THE EMPRESSES OF FRANCE. 
 
 HOW TO PREPARE FOR EUROPE. 
 
 YOURSELF. MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 MYTHS OF GREECE AND ROME. 
 
 MYTHS OF NORTHERN LANDS. 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE RHINE. 
 
 STORY OF THE CHOSEN PEOPLE. 
 
 STORY OF THE GREEKS. 
 
 STORY OF THE ROMANS. 
 
 STORY OF THE ENGLISH. 
 
 STORY OF OLD FRANCE. 
 
 STORY OF MODERN FRANCE. 
 
 STORY OF THE THIRTEEN COLONIES. 
 
 STORY OF THE GREAT REPUBLIC. 
 
 CONTES ET LEGENDES. 
 
 MARCHEN UND ERZAHLUNGEN. 
 
 MARIE LOUISE ET LE DUC DE REICHSTADT. 
 
 CUPID AND PSYCHE. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 
 
 JOAN OF ARC. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. FRENCH 
 
 COMPOSITION. 
 EASY FRENCH COMPOSITION. 
 
 To follow 
 
 STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH HIS- 
 TORY PLAYS. 
 
STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 
 
 BY 
 
 H. AJ G 
 
 GUERBER 
 
 Author of 
 
 "STORIES OF THE WAGNER OPERAS," 
 u HOW TO PREPARE FOR EUROPE," ETC. 
 
 With Illustrations 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 19" 
 
^ 
 
 *11 
 
 Copyright, 191 1, by 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 Published September, 1911 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 
 THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
 BAHWAY, N. J. 
 
 ©CI.A2D7114 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO THE 
 
 SHAKESPEARE SOCIETIES 
 
 OF 
 
 NYACK, N. Y. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAGE 
 
 Macbeth i 
 
 King Lear 28 
 
 Othello . .59 
 
 Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 92 
 
 Romeo and Juliet 125 
 
 Coriolanus 155 
 
 Julius CLesar 183 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra 210 
 
 Titus Andronicus 247 
 
 Timon of Athens 270 
 
 Troilus and Cressida 296 
 
 Pericles 323 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Shakespeare and His Friends 
 Macbeth and Banquo on the Heath 
 Lear Banishes Kent 
 Othello and Desdemona 
 Hamlet and the Grave-Diggers 
 Romeo and Juliet . 
 Coriolanus Leaving Rome 
 Mark Antony's Funeral Oration 
 Festival at the Court of Cleopatra 
 The Boy's Terror .... 
 Timon Visited by Painter and Poet 
 The Parting of Hector and An- 
 
 dromache 
 Marina in Danger 
 
 Frontispiece <■■ 
 Facing page 10 *■ 
 32 </" 
 68 
 104 . 
 140 , 
 162 
 188 } 
 214 
 250 
 274 
 
 300 
 330 
 
STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES 
 MACBETH 
 
 t 
 
 Act I. When the curtain rises we perceive a 
 desert place, between the upper and under world, 
 illuminated by weird lightning flashes, where three 
 witches suddenly appearing, exchange greetings, and 
 decide to meet Macbeth upon the heath, after the 
 battle is over. Then they vanish, chanting the 
 weird refrain, ' Fair is foul, and foul is fair ! ' 
 
 In the next scene we behold the camp where the 
 Scotch king, Duncan, eagerly questions a bloody 
 messenger who announces his troops are fighting 
 bravely, and that Macbeth in particular has done 
 wonders, having conquered the worst of the rebels 
 and fixed his head upon the battlements. Full of 
 admiration for a feat which will assure his mastery 
 in the realm, Duncan further learns with joy that 
 the Norsemen, who recently made a descent upon 
 his kingdom, are to be met by Banquo and Mac- 
 beth, who long to annihilate them also. 
 
 Scarcely has the messenger departed to attend to 
 his wounds, when Ross comes in, reporting in his 
 
2 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 turn that the Norsemen are conquered, and all Dun- 
 can's foes subdued, the rebel thane of Cawdor, who 
 enticed them into the realm, being now a prisoner. 
 After sentencing this wretch to death, Duncan bids 
 Ross hasten to meet Macbeth, greeting him with the 
 title of thane of Cawdor. 
 
 We now see a blasted heath near this camp, 
 where the three witches meet to report what they 
 have done. From their conversation we gather 
 that full of malice and evil thought, they are bent 
 on working harm. They are just dancing in a 
 weird way, when drum-beats herald the appearance 
 of the two generals, who are on their way to rejoin 
 the king. On perceiving the witches, — who lay 
 skinny fingers upon their lips and appear like 
 women, although disfigured by beards, — Macbeth 
 bids them speak, only to be hailed by the first by 
 name and present title, by the second as thane of 
 Cawdor to be, and by the third as ' king hereafter ! - 
 
 Seeing Macbeth — who cherishes great ambitions — 
 start, Banquo enquires why he seems dismayed at 
 prospects so fair, and playfully questions the witches 
 in his turn, only to be greeted as ' lesser than Mac- 
 beth, and greater ' ; ' not so happy, yet much hap- 
 pier,' and as begetter of kings although no king 
 himself. When Macbeth rejoins that the thane of 
 Cawdor is still alive, and that he sees no prospect 
 of ever being king, the three weird sisters vanish 
 without speaking, and Banquo sagely concludes they 
 were only 'earth bubbles,' which have vanished in 
 thin air. But although he is rather inclined to think 
 they have ' eaten of the insane root ' when Macbeth 
 
Macbeth 3 
 
 reminds him his children are to be kings, Banquo 
 good-naturedly rejoins the same spirits prophesied 
 he should be thane of Cawdor and rule. *r 
 
 Just then they encounter Ross and a companion, 
 who inform Macbeth the king has learned his suc- 
 cesses and appoints him thane of Cawdor. Startled 
 by these words, Macbeth protests against being 
 dressed in ' borrow'd robes,' until he is told that 
 Cawdor is to die for having called the Norsemen 
 into the country. As one part of the witches' 
 prophecy has been so suddenly and unexpectedly 
 fulfilled, Macbeth wonders whether the remainder 
 may not come true, and asks Banquo in a whisper 
 whether he doesn't hope his children shall be kings? 
 To this Banquo rejoins that the fulfilment of the 
 first part of the prophecy may be devised to mislead 
 them, for ' the instruments of darkness tell us truths,' 
 and ' win us with honest trifles,' only ' to betray 's in 
 deepest consequence ! ' 
 
 While Banquo engages in conversation with the 
 two gentlemen, Macbeth broods upon the fact that 
 two prophecies were uttered, and that the first being 
 accomplished, he is justified in hoping the rest will 
 come true. Still, the uncanny impression under 
 which he labours causes his hair to rise on end 
 and his heart to beat tumultuously. Noticing his 
 abstraction, Banquo jocosely remarks his new hon- 
 ours do not sit easily upon him, while Macbeth 
 whispers that ' Come what come may, time and the 
 hour runs through the roughest day.' But, when 
 Banquo reminds him they are waiting for him to 
 proceed to the king, he apologises for his absent- 
 
4 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 mindedness, and says they will now hasten on and 
 discuss the night's events at some more opportune 
 moment. 
 
 We now behold the palace at Forres, where King 
 Duncan is asking his sons whether Cawdor has been 
 executed, and whether those sent to witness his 
 death have returned? In reply, Prince Malcolm 
 states they have not yet come back, but that a spec- 
 tator reported nothing in Cawdor's ' life became 
 him like the leaving it,' for he died full of repent- 
 ance and beseeching the king's pardon. Commenting 
 that ' there's no art to enable one to read a man's 
 face,' and that there was no one he trusted more 
 thoroughly than Cawdor, the king greets the enter- 
 ing Macbeth as his ' worthiest cousin,' and assures 
 him his deserts so far outstrip thanks, that ' more 
 is thy due than more than all can pay.' 
 
 With due modesty Macbeth replies it is his duty 
 to do everything in his power for his king, while 
 Duncan turns to greet Banquo, who deserves no 
 less praise than his companion, and who is also 
 warmly embraced, a distinction which greatly pleases 
 him. Then the king announces that in honour of 
 his eldest son's appointment as his successor, he in- 
 tends to shower favours on all deservers, the chief 
 of these being a visit to Macbeth at Inverness, 
 whither the general proposes to hasten to announce 
 the king's arrival to his wife. In spite of this new 
 mark of favour, Macbeth's mind is so full of the 
 witches' prediction, that he mutters two obstacles, — 
 the monarch and his heir, — must now be removed if 
 he is to become king. Bidding the stars hide their 
 
Macbeth '5 
 
 fires so no light may reveal ' his black and deep 
 desires,' Macbeth hurries away to apprise his wife 
 of the king's coming, while Duncan graciously in- 
 forms Banquo Macbeth is so very valiant, that * in 
 his commendations I am fed,' adding that they must 
 closely follow this ' peerless kinsman ' who is play- 
 ing courier for them. 
 
 We are now transferred to Macbeth's castle in 
 Inverness, where Lady Macbeth reads aloud the 
 letter wherein her husband reports his encounter 
 with the witches and their prediction, which he bids 
 her lay to heart. Musing over the contents of this 
 missive, Lady Macbeth concludes that the first part 
 having come true, the rest will follow suit, provided 
 her husband's nature be not ' too full o' the milk 
 of human kindness to catch the nearest way.' She 
 knows that Macbeth is ambitious and would fain 
 be king, but doubts his having sufficient strength of 
 mind to frame his own fortunes, and longs for his 
 coming so she can pour her spirit into his ear, and 
 ' chastise ' from him ' with the valour of her tongue,' 
 all that impedes his obtaining the crown. 
 
 Just then a messenger announces the king's ar- 
 rival that very night, news which Lady Macbeth 
 cannot credit, until the herald adds his master is 
 following to confirm it. The messenger having re- 
 tired, Lady Macbeth concludes Duncan has been 
 sent hither so they can dispose of him, and bids evil 
 spirits fill her ' from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 of direst cruelty,' calling upon night to veil what 
 they are about to do. 
 
 Then, seeing Macbeth enter, she proudly greets 
 
6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 him by his new title, and declares that his letters 
 have transported her ' beyond this ignorant present,' 
 making her feel ' the future in the instant.' 
 
 After embracing his wife, and repeating that 
 Duncan will be with them to-night, Macbeth, when 
 she meaningly asks when the monarch will depart, 
 innocently replies, ' to-morrow, as he purposes.' 
 This answer, however, so little suits the ambitious 
 lady, that she swears the sun shall never see that 
 morrow, although she bids her husband welcome 
 his guest without revealing by any sign the existence 
 of plans which they will discuss later on, there being 
 no time at present to do so. 
 
 s In front of the same castle we next witness the 
 arrival of the king, who graciously comments upon 
 the pleasant site of Inverness, which Banquo notes 
 is haunted by many birds. While they are talk- 
 ing thus the hostess appears, and being cordially 
 addressed by the king, assures him that all their 
 services ' twice done and then done double ' would 
 be inadequate to requite his majesty for all the 
 honours he has conferred upon them. Graciously 
 enquiring where the new thane of Cawdor may 
 be, — whom he has followed so closely, — Duncan 
 offers himself as guest to Lady Macbeth, who vows 
 whatever is theirs is his, and accepting his hand 
 leads him into the castle, where Macbeth awaits 
 their arrival. 
 
 We next behold a room in this castle after the 
 banquet, where Macbeth, — while servants hasten to 
 and fro, — muses upon the murder he and his wife 
 have planned, declaring ' if it were done when 'tis 
 
Macbeth 7 
 
 done, then 'twere well it were done quickly.' 
 Stifling his conscience, he has determined to attack 
 his helpless kinsman, monarch, and guest, a man so 
 gentle it seems particularly heinous to strike him, 
 especially as Macbeth has ' no spur to prick the 
 sides ' of his ' intent, but only vaulting ambition.' 
 
 While he is thus meditating, Lady Macbeth 
 enters and he asks her how things are coming on? 
 When she states that the king has finished supper 
 and is asking for his host, Macbeth timorously ex- 
 claims they won't proceed any further in this busi- 
 ness. His ambitious wife, however, uses all her in- 
 fluence to make him stick to his purpose, taunting 
 him with cowardice for letting ' " I dare not " wait 
 upon " I would," ' and insisting when he tries to 
 silence her, that were she a man she would not give 
 up so easily a resolve once taken. In fact, she de- 
 clares that, although a loving mother, she would 
 pluck the babe from her breast, had she vowed to do 
 so, and when Macbeth dubiously suggests they might 
 fail, cries out boldly, ( We fail ! But screw your 
 courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail ! ' 
 
 Then she adds that when Duncan is asleep they 
 can easily perform the deed they have devised, fas- 
 tening the guilt upon his servants, whom she intends 
 to drug. Her strong and energetic words make 
 Macbeth exclaim that she should be mother of sons 
 only, ere he wonders whether others will believe 
 that the grooms, — who are to be smeared with royal 
 blood, — are the authors of the crime? Lady Mac- 
 beth, however, feels certain none will deem other- 
 wise on hearing their loud lament over the king's 
 
8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 death. Thus urged to tread boldly along this evil 
 path, Macbeth declares he is ready to carry out 
 her suggestions, and leaves the room, saying he 
 will ' mock the time with fairest show : false face 
 must hide what the false heart doth know.' 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in the court of 
 Macbeth's castle, where Banquo and his son arrive 
 at dawn, the father wondering what time it may be, 
 and bidding his son be armed for he feels evil is 
 brewing, and deems that merciful powers are keep- 
 ing him wide awake. Hearing some one approach, 
 Banquo draws his sword too, and recognising Mac- 
 beth and a servant, wonders why his host has not 
 gone to bed. He adds, however, that the king, 
 having spent a pleasant evening, retired after be- 
 stowing largesses upon all the inmates of the castle, 
 and charging him to deliver a diamond to his hostess. 
 When Macbeth tries to apologise for not entertain- 
 ing the king better, Banquo remarks he has dreamt 
 of the three weird sisters, part of whose predic- 
 tion has so strangely come true. In return, Mac- 
 beth vows he is not thinking of them, but intimates 
 that on some more auspicious occasion, he will dis- 
 cuss matters of moment with Banquo. Then he 
 watches the lord and his son go off to their lodgings, 
 and bids his servant retire, after notifying his mis- 
 tress that he will join her as soon as she calls. 
 
 Left alone with a mind full of the crime he is 
 about to commit, Macbeth sees a dagger hovering in 
 the air before him, and although aware it is only 
 a delusion, talks to it as if it were a reality, until 
 his wife's summons interrupt his awe-struck solilo- 
 
Macbeth 9 
 
 quy. Then he hastens to join her, hoping her bell 
 will not rouse Duncan, although he terms it the 
 1 knell that summons ' him ' to heaven or to hell.' 
 
 In the same room, a moment later, enters Lady 
 Macbeth, averring the drink which made the serv- 
 ants sleepy has made her bold. Listening intently 
 to every sound, she is startled by the shriek of an 
 owl, hears the bellman's call, and discerns the snores 
 of various sleepers through the house. Then, Mac- 
 beth's startled ' Who's there ? ' suddenly causes her 
 to fear those in the king's chamber may have awak- 
 ened before the deed is done. Still, she knows all 
 is ready, and that her husband cannot have failed to 
 find the daggers, for she laid them ready, and would 
 have used them herself, had not the monarch re- 
 sembled her father as he slept. It is at that moment 
 Macbeth rejoins her, announcing the deed is done, 
 and enquiring whether she did not hear some noise? 
 In reply she states what she overheard, asking 
 whether he did not speak coming down the stairs? 
 As in a dream, Macbeth confesses he did, and noting 
 the blood on his hands, gasps it is * a sorry sight ! ' 
 
 Still, such is his state of over-excitement, that he 
 marked everything on his way from the death- 
 chamber, and seems most troubled because he could 
 not respond ' Amen,' as usual, when one of the 
 sleepers muttered, ' God bless us! ' His wife, how- 
 ever, insists they must not dwell on such things 
 lest they become mad, and when Macbeth avers he 
 fancied he heard a voice cry, ' Sleep no more ! Mac- 
 beth doth murder sleep,' she utterly refuses to listen 
 to what she terms ' brainsickly things,' and sternly 
 
io Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 bids him wash his hands. Noticing, for the first 
 time, that he has brought back the daggers which 
 were to have been left beside the sleeping grooms, 
 she bids him carry them back and smear the sleep- 
 ers with blood, but Macbeth refuses to do so, under 
 pretext he dares not look on what he has done. Full 
 of scorn for such infirmity of purpose, and vowing 
 that ' the sleeping and the dead are but as pic- 
 tures,' Lady Macbeth seizes the daggers and goes 
 off to finish the work herself. 
 
 As she leaves the room, loud knocking causes Mac- 
 beth to start and wonder whether ' all great Nep- 
 tune's ocean ' can ever wash this blood from his 
 hands? While he is still musing, Lady Macbeth 
 returns, her hands red, too, but vowing she would 
 be ashamed ' to wear a heart so white ' as his. 
 When the knocking is repeated, she urges her hus- 
 band to follow her to their chamber, to remove all 
 traces of blood and don a nightgown, so that, if 
 called, it will appear they were roused from slum- 
 ber. While the knocking continues, they hurry out 
 of the room together, Macbeth vainly wishing all 
 this noise could awaken Duncan! 
 *The porter, trying to answer the untimely sum- 
 mons, mutters at the impudence of the knocker, and 
 wonders who can call at such an hour? It is only 
 after long fumbling, that he opens the right door 
 and admits Macduff and Lennox, who ask why all 
 are still abed? In reply the porter explains that, 
 having feasted until late last night, they did not 
 get to bed until morning. 
 
 The visitors are just enquiring whether Macbeth 
 
Macbeth 1 1 
 
 is stirring, when they see him coming from his 
 chamber to ascertain the cause of all this noise. 
 After greeting him, Macduff enquires whether King 
 Duncan is awake, adding that he had orders to call 
 him early, and wishes to obey. With courteous 
 gesture Macbeth thereupon indicates the king's 
 room, and while Macduff is absent, graciously con- 
 verses with Lennox, who comments upon an un- 
 usually blustery night. 
 
 While they are discussing its various phenomena, 
 Macduff rushes in, gasping, that ' tongue nor heart 
 cannot conceive nor name ' what he has seen. Then, 
 in reply to breathless questions from Macbeth and 
 Lennox, he adds that ' murder hath broke ope the 
 Lord's anointed temple,' a statement his hearers find 
 difficult to understand, until Macduff, horror- 
 struck, bids them go and see for themselves. Both 
 hasten out of the room, while he rouses the castle 
 by calling for the princes and Banquo and pealing 
 the alarm-bell. 
 
 In the midst of this clamour, Lady Macbeth 
 comes out to discover what it means, and Macduff 
 tells her it is impossible to describe it as ' the repeti- 
 tion, in a woman's ear, would murder as it fell.' 
 
 Then, seeing Banquo enter, he greets him with the 
 wail that their worthy master is murdered ! While 
 Lady Macbeth gasps, 'What, in our house? ' Banquo 
 exclaims it is too cruel a deed to have happened any- 
 where, and is vainly trying to make Macduff con- 
 tradict himself, when Macbeth, Lennox, and Ross 
 come in, the former exclaiming: ' Had I but died an 
 hour before this chance.' 
 
12 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 The two princes now enter, and although Mac- 
 beth informs them, in allegorical terms, of their 
 father's death, Macduff has to add the brutal word 
 1 murdered,' ere they can understand. Then, in reply 
 to their bewildered questions, Lennox describes how 
 the drunken grooms were found smeared with the 
 king's blood, while Macbeth exclaims he repents hav- 
 ing killed them, although he did so from love for 
 Duncan and horror of the deed they had performed. 
 This report causes Lady Macbeth to turn faint, 
 and while attention centres upon her, the princes 
 whisper they had better escape, as their own fate 
 may be ' hid in an auger-hole,' and may rush out and 
 seize them ! 
 
 While Banquo suggests Lady Macbeth's removal, 
 the other lords arrange a meeting to discuss what 
 shall be done, and all leave the stage save the two 
 young princes, who hastily decide to hurry away, one 
 to England and the other to Ireland, their fortunes 
 being safer separate now that there are ' daggers in 
 men's smiles.' Without any leave-taking, therefore, 
 both depart, little dreaming of the suspicions to 
 which their hasty flight may give rise. 
 
 Just outside of Macbeth's castle, Ross encounters 
 an old man, who tells him that although above 
 seventy years of age he cannot remember another 
 such night. Both he and Ross are troubled by un- 
 usual occurrences, which they are discussing when 
 Macduff appears. When Ross eagerly asks whether 
 it has been ascertained who did the bloody deed, 
 Macduff confidently rejoins ' the men Macbeth hath 
 slain,' adding that they were probably bribed by 
 
Macbeth 13 
 
 the king's sons, who have fled. Because of this flight 
 and of these suspicions, the thanes have elected Mac- 
 beth to be next king, and he has already set out for 
 Scone, leaving Duncan to be interred in his ances- 
 tral vault. Instead of attending the coronation, 
 Macduff proposes to hasten to Fife, while Ross de- 
 parts for Scone, the old man blessing them both. 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in the palace at 
 Forres, where Banquo exclaims the prediction has 
 been fulfilled in Macbeth's case, and wonders 
 whether he himself is to be ' root and father of many- 
 kings?' While he is musing on this subject, enter 
 Macbeth and his wife, attired as king and queen, 
 attended by lords and ladies. After greeting Ban- 
 quo with great courtesy, they invite him as chief 
 guest to supper, a meal he promises to attend without 
 fail, although when Macbeth courteously enquires 
 how he intends to spend the interval, Banquo re- 
 joins he is riding so far that he will have to go fast 
 to get back before night. With an enquiry whether 
 his son accompanies him, and a gracious reminder 
 not to miss the banquet, Macbeth dismisses Banquo, 
 and, addressing the rest, informs them that his 
 * bloody cousins ' are now in England and in Ire- 
 land, where, instead of confessing their crime, they 
 are filling ' their hearers with strange invention.' 
 Still, these matters are to be discussed in council 
 on the morrow, so the royal couple dismiss court 
 until seven, when the banquet is to take place. 
 
 All the rest having left the stage, Macbeth eagerly 
 asks an attendant whether those he called for are 
 awaiting his pleasure? While this servant goes out 
 
14 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 to summon men waiting at the palace gate, Macbeth 
 mutters that his present haunting fear is Banquo, 
 hailed by the weird sisters as father of a line of 
 kings! So that his crime may not have been com- 
 mitted for the benefit of Banquo's posterity, Mac- 
 beth makes up his mind to slay both father and 
 son. 
 
 Two men are now ushered in, and Macbeth, hav- 
 ing dismissed his attendant, enquires whether they 
 have considered his offer, and are ready to under- 
 take what he requires? He avers that although 
 Banquo could be tried and publicly executed, secrecy 
 seems preferable, and both men expressing readiness 
 to obey him, gives directions for intercepting and 
 slaying father and son on their return from their 
 ride. The murderers having gone, Macbeth grimly 
 cries, ' Banquo, thy soul's flight, if it find heaven, 
 must find it out to-night ! ' and leaves the hall. 
 
 In another room in the palace, Lady Macbeth is 
 questioning a servant, who reports that although 
 Banquo has gone out, he is to return toward night. 
 Hearing this, she bids the king be informed she 
 wishes to speak to him, and while the servant goes 
 out to summon him, declares that, ' Nought's had, 
 all's spent, where our desire is got without content.' 
 When Macbeth comes in, she insists upon knowing 
 why he stays alone, brooding on things it would 
 be better to forget, and when he mutters that they 
 have merely ' scotched the snake, not killed it,' — 
 for although Duncan ' after life's fitful fever sleeps 
 well ' Banquo and his son are still a living menace, 
 — she gradually perceives he wishes to dispose of both 
 
Macbeth 15 
 
 these men, although he tries to keep her ignorant of 
 his plans. 
 
 In a park near the palace, we next see the mur- 
 derers concealed, watching for the return of Banquo 
 and his son. They are greatly surprised, however, 
 to be joined by a third, also sent by Macbeth, 
 and a few moments later all three discern the 
 sounds of approaching horses, and hear Banquo's 
 voice clamouring for a light, because he has dis- 
 mounted to finish the journey on foot as usual. Be- 
 fore long, Banquo and his son appear, carrying a 
 torch, and the three murderers pounce upon them, so 
 concentrating all their efforts upon the father that 
 they allow the son to escape. Although dismayed at 
 this partial failure of their undertaking, all three 
 hasten off to report what they have done. 
 
 The curtain next rises upon the banquet-hall, 
 where Macbeth invites the thanes to be seated, de- 
 claring that, while his wife maintains regal state 
 under the dais, he will mingle with his guests. Lady 
 Macbeth has just uttered her gracious welcome, 
 when one of the murderers appears in the doorway, 
 which Macbeth gradually approaches, muttering 
 ' there's blood upon thy face.' Hearing this, the 
 murderer rejoins it is that of the slain Banquo, 
 whose son has escaped, news which appals Macbeth, 
 who dismisses the murderer only when his wife urges 
 him to give the signal for festivities to begin. 
 
 Returning to his guests, Macbeth bids ' good diges- 
 tion wait on appetite, and health on both! ' ere he 
 looks around for an empty seat. Meantime, the 
 murdered man's ghost has entered the hall and has 
 
1 6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 taken his place, and just as Macbeth cries he wishes 
 Banquo were present, he suddenly perceives this 
 spectre and stares so fixedly at it that his guests, — 
 who see naught but an empty seat, — wonder what 
 is the matter with him. Without heeding their 
 amazement, Macbeth addresses this spectre so wildly 
 that the guests deem him ill, although Lady Macbeth 
 vows he is often taken in this way, but soon recovers 
 if let alone. 
 
 Seizing her husband's arm, she then bids him, in 
 a whisper, control himself, vowing it is only the same 
 sort of delusion as the ' air-drawn dagger,' and trying 
 to shame him into more rational behaviour. But, 
 in spite of all she can say and do, Macbeth is too 
 horrified to regain full control of his senses until the 
 ghost vanishes. 
 
 Then, still urged by Lady Macbeth, he tries to 
 rekindle the festive mood by proposing the health of 
 the absent Banquo, but even as he does so, the ghost 
 reappears. When Macbeth addresses it, the guests 
 betray such amazement that Lady Macbeth finally 
 deems it best to dismiss them, saying her husband 
 is subject to such attacks, and that they had better 
 depart without standing ' upon the order ' of their 
 going. 
 
 Left alone upon the scene with his wife, Mac- 
 beth avers the spirit has come to demand blood, and 
 wonders why Macduff has not appeared although in- 
 vited? Then, shaken by the apparition, he confides 
 to Lady Macbeth he is so suspicious of the thanes 
 that he has placed spies in every castle. Besides, he 
 means to consult the weird sisters on the morrow 
 
Macbeth 17 
 
 in regard to what he has just seen, a delusion he 
 attributes to the fact that he is still ' but young in 
 deed.' 
 
 In the next scene the three witches meet Hecate, 
 goddess of Hell, who chides them for having under- 
 taken charms without her permission, and bids them 
 prepare to meet Macbeth again, while she goes in 
 quest of a drop which hangs ' upon the corner of 
 the moon,' and which is of great potency in magic 
 arts. When weird music is heard Hecate vanishes, 
 and the witches hurry off to fulfil her orders as the 
 curtain falls. 
 
 In the palace we next overhear a conversation be- 
 tween Lennox and another lord, the former stating 
 that things look strange, for although Macbeth pitied 
 Duncan, this king died, and ' Banquo walk'd too 
 late.' He knows that Fleance, Malcolm, and Donal- 
 bain have fled, but rightly concludes they are not to 
 blame for the deaths of their fathers, and enquires 
 what has become of them. His companion rejoins 
 that Malcolm is now living at the court of Ed- 
 ward the Confessor, where he is held in too high 
 esteem to be considered guilty. Besides, Edward is 
 planning to aid him and the Norsemen to recover 
 possession of the Scotch throne, so Macbeth is get- 
 ting ready to oppose them. His summons to Mac- 
 duff for aid have, however, been met by this loyal 
 gentleman's absolute refusal, which has kindled such 
 wrath that Lennox hopes he will escape to England 
 and that a blessing may soon return to his suffering 
 country, ere he departs with his companion. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in the witches' 
 
1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 cave, where a huge cauldron is boiling, into which 
 they cast in turn every evil and noisome thing they 
 have been able to collect, while dancing around the 
 pot and singing their refrain, ' Double, double toil 
 and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble/ When 
 their loathsome potion is almost ready, they cool it 
 with baboon's blood, just as the goddess of Hades 
 enters to join in their mystic dance. After she has 
 withdrawn, the second witch mutters, ' By the 
 pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way 
 comes,' as Macbeth's knock resounds. Entering into 
 the witches' cave, he greets the 'midnight hags,' 
 conjuring them at any risk to make use of their 
 black arts to answer his questions. Expressing readi- 
 ness to do so, they continue their brew, throwing 
 into it more hideous ingredients, after which, amid 
 the rumble of thunder, an armed head suddenly 
 appears, which cautions Macbeth to beware of the 
 thane of Fife, ere it descends again into the pit 
 from whence it came. Thanking the apparition for 
 this warning, Macbeth, amid renewed thunder, next 
 beholds a bloody child, who bids him ' be bloody, 
 bold, and resolute,' and declares that ' none of 
 woman born shall harm ' him, ere it vanishes, too. 
 Hearing this, Macbeth exultantly cries he will not 
 fear what Macduff can do, just as a third appari- 
 tion, also heralded by thunder, greets his aston- 
 ished glance. This time, it is a crowned child, 
 bearing a tree, who tells him ' Macbeth shall never 
 vanquish'd be until great Birnam wood to high Dun- 
 sinane hill shall come against him.' 
 
 This vision having vanished like the rest, Macbeth 
 
Macbeth 19 
 
 concludes he can never be conquered, since forests do 
 not. move from one place to another. Nevertheless, 
 he is still so eager to know whether his posterity 
 or Banquo's shall reign over the kingdom, that al- 
 though the witches bid him be satisfied with what he 
 has learned, he threatens to curse them unless they 
 gratify him fully. Amid music the cauldron dis- 
 appears, and eight kings gradually arise, the last 
 holding a glass, wherein Macbeth beholds a suc- 
 cession of many more to follow him. The resem- 
 blance of these monarchs to Banquo, who, blood- 
 stained, appears before him and proudly points to 
 them, causes Macbeth unspeakable horror. When 
 these apparitions have disappeared, the witches dance 
 around him and vanish in thin air, while Macbeth 
 mutters this pernicious hour will ever stand ' ac- 
 cursed in the calendar.' His cries finally attract 
 Lennox, from whom he breathlessly enquires whether 
 he saw the witches? Learning they did not pass by 
 him, Macbeth curses them, and demands who has 
 just arrived, the noise of galloping horses having 
 struck his ear. Then Lennox informs him mes- 
 sengers have come in haste to warn him that Mac- 
 duff has fled to England, news which causes Mac- 
 beth to regret he did not carry out his first intention 
 and slay this lord. In his wrath, he swears that 
 ' from this moment the very firstlings of my heart 
 shall be the firstlings of my hand,' and decides to 
 surprise Macduff's castle and slay his wife and 
 babes, ' before this purpose cool.' 
 
 The curtain next rises in Macduff's castle, where 
 his wife, talking to Ross, questions what her husband 
 
20 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 can have done to make him flee from Scotland? 
 Unwilling to enlighten her, Ross tries to quiet her 
 apprehensions, until she hotly declares it was cow- 
 ardly in a father to leave his family exposed to 
 perils before which he fled. When Ross departs 
 to avoid further questions, Lady Macduff enquires 
 of her boy how he will live without a father, the 
 child's innocent questions and answers forming a 
 large part of a most touching scene. They are still 
 talking, when a messenger enters to warn Lady 
 Macduff danger is approaching, and advise her to 
 flee. As he vanishes immediately after giving this 
 advice, the lady wonders what it means, but ere she 
 can act upon it, murderers enter, stab her son before 
 her eyes, and pursue her as she flees shrieking off the 
 stage. 
 
 We are now transported to England, where Mac- 
 duff has come to seek Prince Malcolm, who sug- 
 gests they retire to some secluded spot where they 
 can pour out their hearts undisturbed. Fearing 
 lest Macduff may be a spy sent out by Macbeth, 
 Malcolm dares not at first open his heart to his 
 companion; instead he enquires if things are really 
 as bad as he stated why he left wife and children ex- 
 posed to all the dangers from whence he has escaped ? 
 Perceiving at last that Malcolm takes him for a 
 spy, Macduff exclaims : ' I would not be the villain 
 that thou think'st for the whole space that's in the 
 tyrant's grasp, and the rich East to boot,' and is 
 about to depart in anger, when the prince entreats 
 him to stay a while longer. Then he confides to 
 Macduff that England offers to help him regain his 
 
Macbeth 2 1 
 
 throne, but that he feels unfit to wear the crown. 
 When Macduff exclaims, ' not in the legions of 
 horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd in evils to 
 top Macbeth,' the prince accuses himself of bound- 
 less lust, intemperance, avarice, etc., in such terms 
 that when he asks Macduff whether such a man is 
 fit to govern, this nobleman indignantly pronounces 
 such a monster unfit to live! 
 
 While Macduff is mourning over Scotland's pros- 
 pects, Malcolm suddenly reveals to him that all he 
 has said was merely devised to test his virtue, and 
 that instead of being the vicious monster he claimed, 
 he is diligently trying to cultivate all the virtues. 
 He then adds he has already made plans with the 
 Norsemen, who erelong will march toward Scot- 
 land to take up this * warranted quarrel,' tidings 
 which seem to Macduff almost too good to be true. 
 
 A doctor now joins them, and in reply to Mac- 
 duff's questions, describes how King Edward is 
 touching for ' the king's evil,' a strange virtue which 
 Malcolm declares speaks ' him full of grace.' The 
 physician gone, the Scotchmen are joined by Ross, 
 from whom Macduff eagerly asks news of Scotland, 
 his wife and family. Wishing to prepare him for 
 the awful tidings he is bringing, Ross gradually 
 reveals how he saw a power afoot, and Scotland in 
 such straits that even women would fight in its be- 
 half. When Macduff assures him England is going 
 to lend forces to Malcolm, with which they are 
 about to invade Scotland, Ross cautiously reveals 
 how his castle has been surprised, and his wife and 
 children slaughtered, — tidings which have to be re- 
 
22 Stories of Shakespeare 1 's Tragedies 
 
 peated sundry times, ere Macduff can fully grasp 
 them. Heart-broken to think they were struck down 
 on his account, Macduff seems ready to sink beneath 
 his grief, until Malcolm urges him to convert sor* 
 row into anger and avenge upon Macbeth the mur- 
 der of his race, a duty he becomes eager to perform. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens at Dunsinane, in an 
 anteroom of the castle, where a physician, talking 
 to Lady Macbeth's maid, declares that after watch- 
 ing with her two nights, he sees naught to confirm 
 her report. The gentlewoman, however, assures 
 him Lady Macbeth has often risen from her bed 
 of late, and has written letters when fast asleep, a 
 state of nervous tension which the physician states 
 denotes ' a great perturbation in nature.' When he 
 enquires what words Lady Macbeth has uttered 
 while sleep-walking, the maid refuses to repeat 
 them, just as the door opens and the patient appears, 
 holding a taper by whose light they can perceive she 
 is fast asleep, although her eyes are open. When 
 the physician enquires how she obtained a lighted 
 candle, the maid assures him one burns constantly by 
 her bedside, as she refuses to remain all alone in 
 the dark. 
 
 The two drawing aside to watch the patient, see 
 her rub her hands, and hear her mutter, ' Yet here's 
 a spot.' While the physician rapidly notes what she 
 says so as to satisfy his ' remembrance the more 
 strongly,' Lady Macbeth mutters, ' Out, damned 
 spot! ' whispers ' 'tis time to do it,' urges her hus- 
 band not to be afraid, marvels that an old man 
 should have so much blood in him, asks where Mac- 
 
Macbeth 23 
 
 duff's wife is now, and declares her husband will 
 mar all by starting. This makes the doctor shud- 
 deringly conclude she has known what she should 
 not, while her gentlewoman moans she has said words 
 that should never have passed her lips. While they are 
 thus whispering, Lady Macbeth wails that ' all the 
 perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten ' her little hand, 
 sighing so heavily that the doctor admits her disease 
 is beyond his practice, although sleep-walkers have 
 been known to die ' holily in their beds.' Just then 
 Lady Macbeth cries, ' Wash your hands ; put on your 
 nightgown; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, 
 Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.' 
 Then, with a flurried, ' To bed, to bed ! there's 
 knocking at the gate,' she darts back into her sleep- 
 ing-room, where her maid assures the doctor she will 
 now lie quiet for a while. After urging her to 
 watch Lady Macbeth closely, the doctor departs, 
 pronouncing his patient needs the divine more than 
 the physician, for he dares not express openly all he 
 suspects. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Dunsinane castle Scottish 
 soldiers have encamped to await the arrival of Mal- 
 colm, Siward, . Macduff, and their forces, who are 
 to join them to effect their revenge. Meantime, 
 they remark that Macbeth has strongly fortified 
 Dunsinane, and that those who hate him opine 
 he is mad, while others term his queer actions valiant 
 fury. When one of the generals adds that ' those 
 he commands move only in command, nothing in 
 love,' and that the kingly title hangs loose about 
 him, ' like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief,' all 
 
24 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 exclaim they are ready to march on and do their 
 ^ duty by purging their country of a tyrant. 
 
 \£ > fv In a room in Dunsinane castle, Macbeth ex- 
 ^ claims he wishes to hear no more reports, and that 
 until Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, he will 
 fear nothing, for Malcolm, being born of woman, 
 cannot hurt him. Because a servant comes in with 
 white face he reviles him, hardly listening to his 
 report that ten thousand English soldiers are draw- 
 ing near. But, when this man has gone, Macbeth 
 admits he is sick at heart, has lived long enough, and 
 that his ' way of life is fall'n into the sear, the 
 yellow leaf,' because instead of all that should accom- 
 pany old age, such as ' honour, love, obedience, 
 troops of friends,' he can expect nothing but curses. 
 
 A second messenger now confirms the bad news, 
 and while calling for his armour and issuing orders, 
 Macbeth enquires of the physician how his patient 
 is doing? The doctor rejoins that Lady Macbeth 
 is not sick, but troubled with ' thick-coming fancies 
 that keep her from her rest/ and when Macbeth 
 ^otly demands whether he cannot * minister to a 
 mind diseased,' assures him in such cases a 'patient 
 must minister to himself.' Unable to tarry longer 
 with him, Macbeth hurries away, exclaiming that 
 many of the thanes are falling from him, but that 
 nothing will daunt him, till ' Birnam forest come 
 to Dunsinane.' The doctor, however, mutters that 
 were he only clear away from Dunsinane, ' profit 
 again should hardly draw me here ! ' 
 
 The curtain now rises near Birnam wood, where 
 Malcolm and his forces have arrived, and where the 
 
Macbeth 25 
 
 prince significantly hopes the days are near at hand 
 when chambers will be safe. Then, hearing the 
 name of the forest, he directs each soldier to cut 
 down a leafy bough and bear it before him, for he 
 proposes thus to ' shadow the numbers of their host,' 
 until they are close upon Macbeth, whom the Norse- 
 man Siward describes as ready to resist them at 
 Dunsinane. 
 
 The curtain next rises upon Dunsinane castle, 
 where Macbeth is bidding his men hang out his 
 banners, assuring them that the castle is strong 
 enough to resist a long siege. Just then women's 
 cries resound, so Macbeth nervously wonders what 
 they mean and sends one of his men to ascertain. 
 Left alone, he boasts he has ' almost forgot the 
 taste of fears,' having supped so full of horrors that 
 nothing can startle him any more. When the mes- 
 senger returns, he eagerly asks the cause of the 
 clamour, only to learn that Lady Macbeth has 
 passed away. Exclaiming that ' she should have 
 died hereafter,' Macbeth adds, ' life's but a walk- 
 ing shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his 
 hour upon the stage and then is heard no more,' be- 
 fore a messenger breathlessly reports that from the 
 hilltop he beheld what seemed a forest moving in 
 the direction of Dunsinane! 
 
 Calling him ' liar and slave,' Macbeth fiercely 
 silences him, vowing if he has spoken falsely he 
 shall hang alive on the next tree, but adding that 
 if he has told the truth he does not care if the same 
 is done to him! Then, after another mention of 
 the witches' prediction, he cries he is weary of the 
 
26 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 sun, and wishes ' the estate o' the world were now 
 undone/ ere he bids the alarm-bell be rung and vows 
 they will at least ' die with harness on our back.' 
 
 Before the castle of Dunsinane Malcolm arrives 
 with his men, bidding them throw aside their leafy 
 screens and show themselves ' like those you are.' 
 Then he awards positions to Macduff and Siward, 
 and orders his trumpets blown as ' harbingers of 
 blood and death.' 
 
 The next scene is played on the battle-field, where 
 Macbeth roars he is tied to a stake and cannot flee, 
 but feels renewed confidence whenever he remembers 
 he is not to fear any man born of woman. When 
 young Siward appears, he boldly names himself, and 
 after killing the youth proclaims it's evident that 
 antagonist had a mother. While Macbeth plunges 
 back into the fray, Macduff comes in quest of him, 
 imploring Fortune to let him avenge the death of his 
 wife and children and he will ask nothing more at its 
 hands. When he, too, has gone, Malcolm and old 
 Siward appear, announcing the castle has surren- 
 dered, and the day is almost won! 
 
 As they enter the castle, the curtain falls, only to 
 rise on another part of the battle-field, where Mac- 
 beth wonders why he should play the ' Roman fool ' 
 and die on his own sword, when he can use it against 
 the foe. Just then Macduff appears, and although 
 Macbeth confesses he has avoided him, — his soul 
 being already too much charged with the blood of 
 his race, — Macduff insists upon their fighting a 
 duel. While they are thus engaged, Macbeth boasts 
 he bears a charmed life, ' which must not yield to 
 
Macbeth 27 
 
 one of woman born,' until Macduff rejoins that 
 owing to extraordinary circumstances attending his 
 birth, it has always been claimed he did not come 
 into the world in the usual way! Hearing this, Mac- 
 beth refuses to fight, but Macduff pursues him, and 
 they pass off the stage fighting, Macbeth wildly 
 crying, ' Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that 
 first cries " Hold, enough! " ' 
 
 Amid trumpet-calls, with drums beating and 
 colours flying, Malcolm now marches on the scene, 
 demanding what has become of Macduff and Si- 
 ward's son? When Ross reports that young Siward 
 has ' paid a soldier's debt,' his father, hearing all his 
 wounds were in front, gives thanks publicly, declar- 
 ing ' had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would 
 not wish them to a fairer death.' 
 
 A moment later Macduff enters carrying Mac- 
 beth's head, and greets Malcolm, King of Scotland — 
 a cry echoed by all present. Thus raised to his an- 
 cestral throne, Malcolm names all his thanes earls, — 
 a title hitherto unknown in Scotland, — promises to 
 recall those who have been exiled, bids a contemptu- 
 ous farewell to ' this dead butcher and his fiend-like 
 queen,' declares that ' by the grace of Grace,' he 
 will be a good king to Scotland, and invites all pres- 
 ent to his coronation at Scone. 
 
KING LEAR 
 
 Act I. The first act opens in the British palace, 
 where the Earl of Kent, after expressing surprise 
 that the king should favour equally both sons-in- 
 law, is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son 
 Edmund. The conversation between these three 
 men is interrupted by the appearance of the royal 
 party, when King Lear appoints Gloucester to at- 
 tend the Lords of France and Burgundy. While this 
 nobleman goes out with his son, Lear calls for a map, 
 on which his realm is divided into three parts, and 
 announces that, wishing to crawl ' unburthen'd to- 
 ward death,' he has decided to award to each of his 
 daughters a share of his realm, reserving the 
 choicest division for the one who loves him best. 
 
 Then, addressing the eldest, Goneril, wife of the 
 Duke of Albany, he bids her speak first, and listens 
 with pleased vanity while she gushingly declares 
 that all powers of speech fail to express the extent of 
 her great love. On hearing these extravagant pro- 
 fessions, Cordelia, the youngest daughter, — feeling 
 naught can really express her greater affection, — 
 murmurs in an aside that she will have to ' love, and 
 be silent.' Gratified by Goneril's fluent public testi- 
 mony, Lear graciously bestows upon her and her 
 husband one-third of his realm, ere turning to his 
 second daughter, Regan, wife of the Duke of Corn- 
 
 28 
 
King Lear 29 
 
 wall, he invites her to speak in her turn. With equal 
 volubility, and even greater exaggeration of phrase, 
 Regan asserts she feels no joy in anything save her 
 father's love, whereupon Cordelia whispers to her- 
 self that her ' love's more ponderous than her 
 tongue.' In an outburst of paternal pride, King 
 Lear bestows upon Regan a portion fully equal to 
 that of her elder sister, and, then turning to Cor- 
 delia, his favourite, — for whom the Lords of France 
 and Burgundy are both suing, — he clearly intimates 
 that he expects more from her than from her sisters, 
 by asking what she can say to draw a still more 
 opulent third ? Repelled by so sordid a view of the 
 affair, the disinterested Cordelia has nothing to say, 
 whereupon her disappointed father angrily warns 
 her that * nothing will come of nothing.' When 
 she calmly states she loves him as far as duty com- 
 mands, he urges her to mend her * speech a little 
 lest it mar' her fortunes, a time-serving con- 
 sideration her noble nature scorns. Hoping, how- 
 ever, to prove her position just, Cordelia explains 
 that although she loves and honours her father as a 
 daughter should, one-half of her love and duty will 
 belong to her husband when she marries. 
 
 Thus defrauded of the adulation he expected 
 from his favourite, Lear angrily disowns Cordelia 
 as an unnatural daughter, and in spite of the Earl 
 of Kent's well-meant attempts to dissuade him, says 
 the Lords of France and Burgundy can take her 
 portionless if they will, and divides the lands in- 
 tended for her between her two sisters. Then he 
 proclaims he will live alternately a month at a time 
 
30 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 with each of these daughters, retaining only the 
 title and pomp of a king, together with a retinue 
 of one hundred knights. 
 
 On hearing Lear thus rashly despoil himself of 
 all power, the faithful Kent again ventures to inter- 
 fere. Under plea that it behooves him to be unman- 
 nerly since Lear is mad, he assures his master that 
 Cordelia does not love him less than her sisters, and 
 warns him that the protestations of his elder daugh- 
 ters are false. Irritated by this protest, yet unable 
 to silence Kent otherwise, the king is about to draw 
 his sword, when his sons-in-law interfere. Balked 
 in this purpose, the angry monarch now banishes 
 Kent, setting a price upon his head ! With a fidelity 
 unshaken by such injustice, Kent departs, piously 
 commending Cordelia to the gods, imploring the 
 two other princesses to prove their ' large speeches ' 
 by their deeds, and bravely declaring he will ' shape 
 his old course in a country new.' 
 
 It is while Kent passes out, that Gloucester ushers 
 in the Lords of France and Burgundy, whom Lear 
 now addresses, stating they may have the hand of his 
 youngest daughter, without dowry, and pieced out 
 with his displeasure. Unable to account for so sud- 
 den a change in Lear's mood, the pretenders hesi- 
 tatingly remark a daughter must be guilty of great 
 crimes to be thus disowned by her father, where- 
 upon Cordelia summons Lear to explain to her 
 suitors the cause of his wrath. On hearing his 
 explanation, Burgundy expresses readiness to over- 
 look all the rest, provided a suitable dowry be 
 bestowed with the princess, but sorrowfully with- 
 
King Lear 31 
 
 draws his proposals when it is refused. The other 
 suitor, however, with truer affection, deems Cor- 
 delia ' most rich, being poor,' for he offers her his 
 hand, assuring her she loses ' here, a better where 
 to find.' 
 
 Having thus disposed of his youngest daughter 
 without grace, love, or benison, Lear leaves the 
 stage, while the King of France urges his bride to 
 take leave of her sisters. Grimly, Cordelia does so, 
 ironically terming them ' jewels of our father,' and 
 bidding them make good their extravagant profes- 
 sions. These doubts call forth sarcastic rejoinders 
 from her sisters, but when she has gone with the 
 King of France, Goneril and Regan freely com- 
 ment upon Lear's behaviour, which denotes the 
 ' infirmity of his age,' and foreseeing that ' such 
 unconstant starts,' as Kent's banishment, may fre- 
 quently occur, propose to meet so as to agree upon 
 some plan whereby they can deprive him of all 
 authority. 
 
 In the Earl of Gloucester's castle we next be- 
 hold his illegitimate son Edmund, holding a letter, 
 and overhear him express sentiments which plainly 
 reveal the baseness of his character, and show he is 
 weaving vile plots to supplant his elder brother. 
 When his parent joins him, therefore, announcing 
 Kent's banishment and the king's abandonment of 
 all his power, Edmund so ostentatiously secretes his 
 letter, that his father enquires what it is? The 
 evasive answers he receives determine Gloucester 
 to read this missive, which Edmund falsely assures 
 him was penned by Edgar to test his virtue. On 
 
32 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 glancing at it, Gloucester sees his eldest son con- 
 siders he has lived too long, is plotting to put him 
 out of the way, and bespeaks Edmund's aid. Hor- 
 rified by proposals which seem doubly perfidious 
 when Edmund assures him the missive was secretly 
 cast into his room, Gloucester, whose wrath increases 
 as his younger son apparently tries to mitigate it, 
 declares such unnatural sentiments can only be due 
 to the effect of adverse planets! 
 
 When he leaves the apartment, after making this 
 statement, Edmund mocks his delusions, until Edgar 
 comes in enquiring why he is plunged in such serious 
 thought? After premising that all signs point to 
 evil, Edmund enquires when Edgar last saw his 
 father, and on what terms they parted, adding that 
 he has offended Gloucester so seriously that he had 
 better avoid his presence. Touched by brotherly 
 solicitude, — which he considers genuine, — Edgar 
 consents to take refuge in Edmund's apartment, 
 trusting to his good offices, meanwhile, to soothe 
 the parental anger, in regard to which a clear con- 
 science leaves him utterly at a loss. When he has 
 thus gone, Edmund gloats over his success so far, and 
 hopes his villainous plot may result in his supplanting 
 his noble brother! 
 
 We next behold the Duke of Albany's palace, 
 where Goneril is questioning her steward in regard 
 to trouble between her own and her father's serv- 
 ants. Before long she exclaims that the present 
 state of affairs is intolerable, that she refuses to 
 see her father on his return from the hunt, and that 
 her servants will please her best by neglecting King 
 
Ad Schmitz 
 
 LEAR BANISHES KENT 
 
 Lear. "O, vassal! miscreant! 
 
 i~,>,„ i- Dear sir, forbear 
 Corn. ( ' 
 
 Kent Do; 
 
 Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
 Upon thy foul disease." 
 
 King Lear. Act i, Scene i 
 
King hear 33 
 
 Lear, who can betake himself to her sister's if dis- 
 satisfied. 
 
 As horns announce the return of the hunters, 
 Goneril disappears, just as Kent enters her hall, 
 dressed like a beggar, yet muttering that if he can 
 only disguise his voice, he may yet be able to serve 
 the master who banished him ! His entrance is soon 
 followed by that of Lear, who first calls for dinner, 
 and then enquires what the beggar wishes? After 
 giving a false name, Kent humbly offers to serve 
 the aged monarch; who, pleased with his answers, 
 enrols him among his followers, ere he repeats his 
 demand for his dinner and his Fool. Goneril's 
 steward, whom Lear addresses, now proves so dis- 
 respectful, that the king, who has been trying not 
 to see how sorely he is neglected, can no longer 
 overlook his rudeness. Instead of listening to the 
 strictures of his knights, he again calls for his 
 Fool, until one of his own men rejoins that the poor 
 fellow has been pining since Cordelia's departure. 
 Hearing this, Lear insists upon his immediate pres- 
 ence, and expresses a wish to see Goneril, a re- 
 quest the passing steward receives with such im- 
 pudence, that Lear strikes him and the beggar trips 
 him up, a deed of valour his new master approves 
 and rewards. 
 
 The Fool, entering at this moment, gravely ten- 
 ders his cap and bells to the disguised Kent, whom 
 he terms an idiot for taking the part of a man 
 who has nothing further to bestow, and who is de- 
 pendent upon two cruel daughters! Questioned by 
 his master, the Jester returns wisely foolish an- 
 
34 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 swers, interspersed with fragments of song and 
 proverbs, in which are embedded many precious bits 
 of truth, as Kent and the king can readily see. In 
 a riddle, he also clearly exhibits Lear's folly in 
 despoiling himself before death and making his 
 daughters his masters! It is during this conversa- 
 tion between Lear and his Jester that Goneril enters, 
 frowning portentously, although the Fool assures 
 Lear, when he reproves her, that she will not heed 
 his strictures since he has nothing more to give her. 
 Because these remarks are too pertinent to prove 
 palatable, Goneril vehemently reproaches her father 
 for keeping such men in his train, and insists that his 
 attendants continually ' carp and quarrel.' While 
 Lear cannot understand how a child of his can ad- 
 dress him in such a tone, the Fool bravely tries to 
 divert Goneril's anger upon his own head; but she 
 roundly declares her father must diminish his train, 
 retaining only such men ' as may besort ' his age. 
 
 Beside himself with rage and injured parental 
 feelings, Lear, remembering he has another daugh- 
 ter, loudly calls for his horses, while Goneril con- 
 tinues finding fault with him until her husband 
 comes in. Tremulously enquiring whether it is by 
 Albany's consent he is treated thus, yet receiving no 
 immediate answer, Lear denounces Goneril for in- 
 gratitude, and vows Cordelia's fault seems naught 
 beside hers. Then he vehemently curses his eldest 
 daughter, hoping her children, — should she ever have 
 any, — will teach her to ' feel how sharper than a 
 serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child ! ' 
 
 Lear, having gone out in a frenzy of grief, Albany 
 
King Lear 35 
 
 enquires what all this means, only to be contemptu- 
 ously informed that Lear is in his dotage! Passing 
 through this hall again, Lear, still brooding over 
 Goneril's advice to diminish his train, mutters in 
 regard to it, when Albany again demands what is 
 the matter? Unable to restrain his tears, — although 
 he reviles them for falling, — Lear declares he is 
 going to his other daughter, in whose affection he 
 trusts so implicitly that he threatens Goneril with 
 her vengeance. When he has gone out with his 
 train, Albany shows disapproval of his wife's con- 
 duct, while she rudely sends the Fool after his mas- 
 ter, and calling for her steward, bids him ride off to 
 Regan, to whom she has just written, and who will 
 feel as little inclined as she to maintain troublesome 
 followers. When the steward has gone, Goneril 
 hotly rebukes her husband for his * milky gentleness,' 
 paying no heed when he warns her that ' striving to 
 better, oft we mar what's well.' 
 
 Meantime, in the court before this castle, Lear is 
 entrusting a letter for his second daughter to the dis- 
 guised Kent, who is to hasten on ahead to notify her 
 of his coming. This messenger dismissed, the Fool 
 tries to cheer his master with his nonsense, although 
 Lear pays little heed to it, for he fears his sorrows 
 are driving him mad. But, when he learns his 
 horses are ready, he hastens off the scene. 
 
 Act II. The second act opens before Glouces- 
 ter's castle, where Edmund meets a messenger from 
 Regan, announcing she and her husband will be 
 there that very night. Surprised by this unexpected 
 visit, Edmund wonders what it may mean, and 
 
36 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 learns rumours are afloat of a quarrel between Al- 
 bany and Cornwall. When the messenger has gone 
 again, Edmund shrewdly arranges to turn this visit 
 to his advantage, his father having decided to 
 imprison the brother he has depicted as a traitor. 
 Calling Edgar, Edmund now bids him flee, declar- 
 ing his life is in danger; but conscious of innocence, 
 Edgar refuses to obey. Still, when his father draws 
 near, he blindly obeys when Edmund bids him draw 
 his sword, pretend to fight, and then run away. 
 Just as Edgar vanishes, Gloucester comes in, and 
 seeing blood flow from a wound Edmund has in- 
 flicted upon himself, believes his statement that Ed- 
 gar attacked him. In his anger, Gloucester orders 
 the fugitive pursued, and listens eagerly while Ed- 
 mund accuses his brother of wounding him, simply 
 because he would not help murder his father. 
 Edmund's virtuous pose so thoroughly misleads 
 Gloucester, that he vows Cornwall shall set a price 
 upon Edgar's head, a resolution strengthened by 
 Edmund's circumstantial testimony in regard to the 
 pretended plot. 
 
 It is at this juncture that Cornwall and Regan 
 arrive, having already learned of Edgar's so-called 
 criminal attempt, which they can scarcely credit. 
 Still, remembering Edgar has associated with her 
 father's followers, Regan fancies he has become im- 
 bued with the riotous spirit her sister so eloquently 
 described in the letter which induced her to leave 
 home, so if her father arrived there, he could not 
 gain admittance. When Cornwall next praises Ed- 
 mund for the service he has rendered his father, the 
 
King hear 37 
 
 villain modestly claims he only did his duty, and 
 tenders faithful service to the Duke. 
 
 The next scene is also played before Glouces- 
 ter's castle, where the steward sent by Goneril to 
 warn Regan meets Kent, who has followed Lear's 
 daughter hither to deliver his master's letter. Recog- 
 nising the servant who failed in respect to his em- 
 ployer, Kent answers him in so surly a tone that, 
 after some vehement altercation, swords are drawn 
 and they begin to fight. Roars from the steward, — 
 when beaten by the flat of Kent's sword, — summon 
 the inmates of the castle, who enquire what such 
 a brawl can mean? In reply to Cornwall's ques- 
 tions, Kent expresses so unflattering and intemperate 
 an opinion of the steward, that Cornwall, conclud- 
 ing he is in the wrong, sentences him to the stocks, 
 although he protests a royal emissary should not be 
 treated thus! In spite of this fact and of Glouces- 
 ter's intercession, Kent is placed in the stocks, and 
 all go off save the owner of the castle, who ex- 
 presses pity for him. By this time, however, Kent 
 is ready to bear his ordeal in a philosophic spirit, 
 and when Gloucester leaves him, draws out a letter, 
 — just received from Cordelia, — and reads it by 
 moonlight, ere falling asleep. 
 
 We next behold a wood, where the fugitive Ed- 
 gar is hiding, and where, having heard himself 
 formally outlawed, he decides to grime his face, 
 blanket his loins, elf his locks, and, assuming the 
 appearance of an escaped bedlamite, call himself 
 ' Poor Tom,' and beg his way to some place of 
 safety. 
 
38 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 We return to Gloucester's castle just as weary 
 King Lear arrives there with his Fool and another 
 attendant, wondering that his daughter Regan 
 should not have been at home, and marvelling at 
 her sudden departure. Hearing himself hailed, Lear 
 turns in the direction of the voice, only to discover 
 his messenger in the stocks! On learning that 
 Regan and Cornwall ordered this punishment, he 
 is so amazed that, after a first outburst of anger, 
 he listens in silence to Kent's fiery description of 
 his encounter with the steward. Meanwhile the 
 Fool chants a weird ditty, which subtly reveals how 
 thoroughly he understands the whole situation. 
 
 Feeling his sorrows rise like a tide which threatens 
 to choke him, Lear hoarsely questions where his 
 daughter may be, and learning she is in the castle, 
 hastens thither, leaving Kent to enquire of his mas- 
 ter's two followers why a king is so meanly at- 
 tended? He then learns of the heartless desertion 
 of the royal train, who have forsaken Lear as rats 
 do a sinking ship. 
 
 The Fool is just singing another song, when Lear 
 returns with Gloucester, indignant because his 
 daughter and son-in-law refuse to see him. When 
 Gloucester declines to summon them for fear of 
 rousing Cornwall's anger, King Lear bursts into 
 a rage, declaring he has double rights to their 
 obedience as king and father. Then, in the midst 
 of his tirade, becoming aware that his poor servant 
 is still in the stocks, the tender-hearted monarch 
 orders him released, and says the Cornwalls must 
 be summoned or he will batter down their chamber- 
 
King Le,ar 39 
 
 door. While Gloucester goes off, asserting he would 
 fain see peace between father and daughter, Lear, 
 who is almost choking with rage, is approached by 
 the Fool, who compassionately seeks to divert him, 
 until the Cornwalls enter escorted by Gloucester 
 and attendants. While greetings are exchanged, 
 Kent is set free ; and Lear, no longer troubled about 
 him, turns to Regan, stating he knows she is glad 
 to see him, and pathetically accusing her sister of a 
 1 sharp-tooth'd unkindness ' which rends his heart. 
 Paying scant heed to these complaints, Regan coldly 
 rejoins her sister cannot have scanted her duty, in- 
 sists she was right in diminishing his train, and bids 
 him return and beg her forgiveness. 
 
 Such a humiliation is too much for Lear who, 
 ironically acting out the scene, enquires whether 
 she expects him to kneel before his own offspring, 
 asking for ' raiment, bed, and food ' ? When Regan 
 merely reiterates what she said before, he indig- 
 nantly refuses to return to Goneril, cursing her so 
 vehemently, that Regan rejoins he will probably 
 revile her next. In tender tones, the heartbroken 
 father protests, vowing he knows she would never 
 so far forget what she owes him as to begrudge him 
 his pleasures and diminish his train. 
 
 Just then, a noise is heard without, which Regan 
 assures him heralds Goneril ; who follows close upon 
 a letter announcing her arrival. Seeing the steward 
 enter, Regan questions him, although Lear bids him 
 be gone, and, reminded by his presence of the insult 
 offered him, again demands who ' stocked ' his serv- 
 ant? Before his question can be answered, Goneril 
 
40 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 appears, and Lear, after calling upon the heavens to 
 take his part, indignantly demands whether she is 
 not ashamed to look at him, and wonders how Regan 
 can welcome her so cordially. By coolly replying 
 that ( all's not offence that indiscretion finds and 
 dotage terms so,' Regan drives Lear to such a pitch 
 of fury, that unwilling to dwell on this topic longer, 
 he again enquires who put his servant in the stocks? 
 
 Because Cornwall admits ordering the punish- 
 ment, Lear is about to chide him, when Regan, 
 rudely interrupts, bidding him dismiss half his 
 train, and return to her sister's, declining to receive 
 him until he has finished his month with her. This 
 exasperates King Lear, who vows he would rather 
 remain exposed to the inclemency of the weather, or 
 humiliate himself before the King of France! 
 Coldly bidding him suit himself, Goneril turns con- 
 temptuously aside, whereupon Lear implores her not 
 to drive him mad, and vows he will henceforth con- 
 sider her merely as a disease in his flesh, but, when 
 he concludes by stating he and his hundred men are 
 going to take up their abode with Regan, this lady 
 insists her sister is quite right, and notwithstand- 
 ing Lear's reproaches, vows so large a train as his 
 is sure to breed trouble in a household, and that she 
 can entertain only twenty-five men. 
 
 Amazed to hear such talk from those to whom he 
 has given all they own, Lear turns in bewilderment 
 to Goneril, deeming her, after all, the more gen- 
 erous of the two, since she is willing to harbour 
 half his train. She, however, now declares that 
 even five men would be too many, so poor King 
 
King Lear 41 
 
 Lear prays for patience, and with tears coursing 
 down his aged cheeks, helplessly gasps he will be re- 
 venged. Then, leaning on the shoulder of his Fool, 
 he staggers out into the storm, closely followed by 
 Gloucester and Kent. 
 
 Meantime, his heartless daughters conclude he 
 must ' taste his folly,' just as Gloucester returns, re- 
 porting his master is calling for horses, and is bound 
 he knows not whither, notwithstanding the storm. 
 His words are, however, addressed to unfeeling 
 hearts, for Lear's daughters merely hasten under 
 shelter, and the doors are locked behind them! 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in the midst of this 
 storm on a desolate heath, where Kent, stumbling 
 in the darkness upon one of Lear's men, enquires 
 who is there? This man, in answer to further 
 questions, describes Lear a helpless prey to the ele- 
 ments, with no companion save the Fool, who alone 
 has remained faithful. Believing his interlocutor 
 trustworthy, Kent apprises him that division will 
 soon break out between the Dukes of Cornwall and 
 Albany, and that a force is even now on its way 
 from France to restore Lear to his throne. Then, 
 armed with a token for Cordelia, this gentleman 
 hurries off to Dover, intending, by Kent's advice, 
 to join the invading force and make Lear's pitiful 
 plight known. 
 
 In another part of the wind-swept heath we next 
 behold Lear, vying with the storm in his passion of 
 grief, although the Fool adjures him, from time to 
 time, to cease calling down curses, and seek shelter 
 with his daughters. To distract his frantic master, 
 
42 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 this poor wight chants a weird ditty, just as Kent dis- 
 covers them, vowing pitifully such a night has never 
 yet been seen! Concurring in this opinion, Lear 
 opines that the gods are seeking criminals to punish, 
 but touchingly describes himself as a man ' more 
 sinn'd against than sinning.' It is only, however, 
 to save his Fool from further exposure that he finally 
 yields to Kent's entreaties, and goes in search of 
 shelter to a neighbouring hovel, the Fool chanting 
 his rhymes and uttering a prophecy, which he flat- 
 ters himself may some day be ascribed to the great 
 wizard Merlin! 
 
 We return to Gloucester's castle, where Edmund's 
 father confides to him how he disapproves of the 
 conduct of Lear's daughters, who will have cause to 
 rue what they have done erelong, as papers in his 
 closet prove. He adds that even should he forfeit 
 life thereby, he is going out to seek and relieve his 
 aged master, and has barely gone when Edmund 
 decides to reveal these secrets to Cornwall, thereby 
 furthering his own fortunes, and rising by his father's 
 fall. 
 
 Meantime, Lear, Kent, and the Fool have reached 
 the hovel; into which the king refuses to enter, de- 
 claring ' the greater malady ' of his daughters' in- 
 gratitude makes him oblivious of such lesser trials 
 as cold and storm. Still, even in his grief he is not 
 unmindful of others, for he bids the shivering Fool 
 get under shelter, and eloquently prays for all who 
 are homeless and unhappy, accusing himself of hav- 
 ing lacked charity in more prosperous times. 
 
 A wail from the inner recesses of the hovel, and 
 
King Lear 43 
 
 the reappearance of the terrified Fool declaring there 
 is a demon in the hut, paves the way for the appear- 
 ance of Edgar, so disguised that no one recognises 
 him. Rattling off a rigmarole in the whining tones 
 of a professional beggar, Edgar rouses the compas- 
 sion of King Lear, who sadly wonders whether his 
 daughters brought him to such a pass, and asks 
 whether he gave them all and reserved naught for 
 his own use? Interrupted by half-wise, half- foolish 
 remarks from his Jester, and pitifully watched by 
 Kent, Lear converses with this madman, whom he 
 considers the only sane person, since he alone owes 
 nothing to any man. Next the mad king begins to 
 strip off his own garments, although his Jester 
 tries to check him, by humorously remarking ' 'tis a 
 naughty night to swim in ! ' 
 
 It is at this moment that Gloucester, approaching 
 with a torch, is compared by Edgar to a will-o'-the- 
 wisp. Little suspecting that the madman before him 
 is his outlawed son, Gloucester turns to Lear, in- 
 viting him, — notwithstanding his daughters' harsh 
 commands, — to a place of shelter, an offer Kent 
 vainly urges his distracted master to accept. Mean- 
 time, he whispers to Gloucester that the old man's 
 wits are unsettled by his griefs, a state of affairs 
 which seems natural to Gloucester, who groans Kent 
 only too truly predicted what would happen. He 
 adds that he, too, is almost mad with sorrow, be- 
 cause his son recently sought to slay him! With 
 great difficulty Lear is finally induced to accompany 
 Gloucester, but consents only when allowed to take 
 with him the Fool and the madman, the latter chant- 
 
44 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ing weirdly the traditional f Fie, foh, and fum, I 
 smell the blood of a British man.' 
 
 We again return to Gloucester's castle, where 
 Edmund has revealed his father's secrets to Corn- 
 wall; the latter, after denouncing father and eldest 
 son as traitors, promises Edmund their estates, pro- 
 vided he apprehend Gloucester, who is to be made 
 an example. Knowing he will find his father min- 
 istering to King Lear, Edmund hurries off, hypo- 
 critically protesting he will persevere in his ' course 
 of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that 
 and my blood.' 
 
 The next scene is played in a neighbouring farm- 
 house, whither Gloucester conveys Lear and his 
 pitiful train, for which deed of charity the disguised 
 Kent warmly thanks him ere he leaves. The re- 
 marks of the madman and the Fool, — the latter 
 frantically trying to divert his master's mind from his 
 troubles, — are interrupted from time to time by 
 Lear's haunting speeches in regard to the ingratitude 
 of his daughters, whom he finally arraigns in a heart- 
 rending mock-trial. Only with difficulty, Kent finally 
 induces Lear to rest, as Gloucester returning, draws 
 him aside, to whisper he has just overheard a plot 
 to slay the king. He, therefore, urges Kent to 
 carry him quickly to a waiting litter, which will con- 
 vey him to Dover and out of reach of harm. Al- 
 though fearful lest Lear's temporary insanity may 
 become permanent if he is not allowed to rest, Kent 
 summons the Fool to help bear the king away, and 
 all leave the stage, save Edgar, who, no longer 
 compelled to affect madness, mournfully declares 
 
King Lear 45 
 
 that ' when we our betters see bearing our woes, 
 we scarcely think our miseries our foes.' Then, 
 concluding Lear is ' childed ' as he himself is 
 * father'd,' Edgar hurries away, resuming his role of 
 madman, and piously hoping the old king may be 
 safe. 
 
 The rising curtain reveals Cornwall, excitedly 
 bidding his sister-in-law Tiurry'home to inform her 
 husband that French forces have landed at Dover. 
 When both sisters clamour that Gloucester should 
 first be punished, he bids them leave that to him, 
 and appoints Edmund to escort Goneril, as it would 
 not be fitting he should witness his father's punish- 
 ment. At this moment the steward entering to re- 
 port Gloucester has contrived Lear's escape to Dover, 
 is directed to provide horses for the departing 
 travellers, while other men are sent to apprehend 
 Gloucester. 
 
 Pinioned like a thief, Gloucester is soon brought 
 in, only to be welcomed by such venomous speeches 
 from Cornwall and Regan that he ventures to re- 
 mind them they are his guests! Tortured by too 
 tight bonds, his beard plucked out by the cruel 
 Regan, Gloucester vainly remonstrates, refusing at 
 first to reveal what connection he has with the in- 
 vaders or whither he has sent the aged king. Finally, 
 however, goaded into speech, he defiantly acknowl- 
 edges all he has done, thereby so enraging Cornwall, 
 that he bids servants hold the prisoner while he 
 puts out his eyes. Less cruel than their master, the 
 servants seek to interfere, one of them even fighting, 
 and losing his life at Regan's hands, while trying to 
 
46 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 defend the poor prisoner. Thus enabled to work his 
 wicked will, Cornwall utterly blinds Gloucester, 
 whose grief reaches its culmination only when ruth- 
 lessly informed of Edmund's treachery. 
 
 Too late now, Gloucester realises Edgar must 
 have been slandered, and prays he may be forgiven. 
 Then Regan orders him turned out, helpless and pen- 
 niless, to i smell his way to Dover.' It is only after 
 her vengeance has thus been sated that she remem- 
 bers her husband has been hurt in the fray, and goes 
 to his rescue, little suspecting he has received a 
 mortal injury. All having left the scene save the 
 servants, they express deep compassion for Glouces- 
 ter, whose sufferings they wish to relieve by soothing 
 applications to his eyes, and for whom they propose 
 to hire the madman to act as guide. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens on the heath, 
 where Edgar, the wanderer, suddenly beholds his 
 father, led by an old man who mumbles he has been 
 his tenant fourscore years, and pities him for not be- 
 ing able to see his way. Bitterly, Gloucester com- 
 ments he ' stumbled ' when he saw, and is just 
 wishing he could see Edgar in his ' touch,' when his 
 son becomes aware of his piteous plight. At the 
 same moment, the old man perceives and addresses 
 Poor Tom, whom Gloucester remembers having seen 
 with King Lear, and whom he suddenly decides to 
 use as guide. 
 
 Bidding his old tenant charitably supply the men- 
 dicant with suitable garments, Gloucester declares 
 this madman will guide him to Dover, a task the 
 pitying Edgar eagerly accepts, while keeping up his 
 
King Lear 47 
 
 pretended role, and indulging in moved asides which 
 show how deeply he is affected by his father's suffer- 
 ings. While the old man departs in quest of apparel, 
 Gloucester enquires whether Poor Tom knows the 
 way to a beetling cliff near Dover, stating he wishes 
 to be led to its very brink, and pathetically adding 
 1 from that place I shall no leading need.' 
 
 The next scene is played before the Duke of 
 Albany's palace, just as Goneril arrives there, bid- 
 ding her escort welcome. Her steward, who has 
 preceded her with the news of her arrival, of the 
 French invasion, and of Gloucester's punishment, 
 now reports that his master received his tidings in a 
 queer way. In sudden fear for Edmund, — for whom 
 she has conceived a guilty passion, — Goneril now bids 
 him hasten back to Cornwall, and muster his forces, 
 while she collects hers. But, before parting from 
 him, the fond Goneril gives Edmund a favour and 
 kiss, promising her steward shall soon bring him 
 tidings of her. 
 
 f Edgar gone, Goneril comments upon the differ- 
 ence between him and her husband, until Albany 
 joins her, and truthfully but uncomplimentarily in- 
 forms her she is ' not worth the dust which the rude 
 wind blows ' in her face. Heedless of the just re- 
 proaches which he heaps upon her and her sister for 
 their cruelty to King Lear, Goneril reviles him as a 
 ' milk-liver'd man,' and accuses him of doing nothing 
 to defend his kingdom against French aggression. 
 Although recognising she is a fiend, Albany vows her 
 ' woman's shape doth shield ' her, just as a breathless 
 messenger reports that Cornwall has died because of 
 
48 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 
 
 the wound dealt by his servant while he was blind- 
 ing Gloucester. This is the first intimation Albany 
 has received of Gloucester's torture, and while he 
 comments in horror upon it, his wicked wife mutters 
 she does not like to think Edmund is now alone with 
 the widowed Regan! Because she hastens away to 
 answer her sister's letter, Goneril fails to hear the 
 messenger reveal how basely Edmund betrayed his 
 father, or Albany's oath to avenge Gloucester's lost 
 eyesight ! 
 
 The curtain next rises on the French camp near 
 Dover, where Kent is enquiring why the French 
 king so suddenly returned to France? He is told 
 that although political exigences demanded his re- 
 turn, his troops have been left behind in good hands, 
 ere he enquires how Cordelia acted on receiving the 
 news of her father's pitiful condition? The 
 courtier's description of that tender daughter's tears 
 and exclamations reveals to Kent how deeply Cor- 
 delia feels all that has befallen poor Lear, who, 
 although near by, refuses to see her, his present 
 madness being mainly due to a haunting sense of his 
 injustice toward his favourite child. Questioning 
 his interlocutor also in regard to the movements of 
 Cornwall and Albany, Kent next learns that their 
 forces are afoot, so he proposes the courtier take 
 his place and wait upon King Lear, as important 
 duties demand his temporary absence. 
 
 In a tent we next behold Cordelia, who is ex- 
 claiming her father has just been met wandering 
 abroad ' as mad as the vex'd sea,' crowned with 
 weeds and singing aloud. After sending out a hun- 
 
King Lear 49 
 
 dred men in quest of him, Cordelia eagerly enquires 
 of her physician what means can be employed to 
 restore her father's reason? When told sleep and 
 rest may effect a recovery, Cordelia implores the 
 doctor to use his best sedatives, just as a messenger 
 announces the approach of the British troops. Thus 
 forced to bestir herself in her father's behalf, Cor- 
 delia hurries out, hoping Lear may soon be restored 
 to his rights and senses, and that she may at last 
 1 hear and see him ! ' 
 
 In Gloucester's castle we behold Regan, closely 
 questioning the steward in regard to Albany's move- 
 ments, and enquiring whether Edmund saw this 
 nobleman when he escorted Goneril home? She next 
 expresses great curiosity in regard to a letter the 
 steward is bearing from Goneril to Edmund, which 
 he refuses to let her peruse, although she explains 
 that her husband being dead, she intends soon to 
 marry the new Duke of Gloucester. After receiving 
 a letter from her also, the steward hastens off to 
 deliver both missives to this young man, who has 
 been sent in pursuit of his blind father. 
 
 Fields near Dover meet our view, through which 
 Edgar patiently guides the blind Gloucester, assur- 
 ing him they are climbing a steep hill, that a broad 
 horizon lies all around them, and that the waves 
 are pounding the cliffs far below. Unable to detect 
 signs or sound confirming these statements, Glouces- 
 ter's suspicions are lulled only when his guide as- 
 sures him that the pain in his eyes has dulled his 
 other senses. When Gloucester suddenly remarks 
 that his voice and manner have strangely altered, 
 
50 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Edgar vainly tries to sink back into a mendicant 
 whine, for love having enabled him to divine his 
 father's purpose, he is determined to save him 
 against his will. Leading the old man cautiously 
 forward as if to the brink of some great abyss, Edgar 
 graphically describes the dizzy height, the birds 
 circling at their feet, the samphire gatherers clinging 
 to the rocks, and in reply to Gloucester's questions, 
 vows that a man leaping from the spot where he 
 stands, would fall straight down and be dashed to 
 pieces on the rocks below. 
 
 After bestowing upon his guide the promised re- 
 ward, and listening intently to the decreasing sound 
 of his footsteps, the blind Gloucester touchingly 
 prays for forgiveness, blesses his son Edgar, and 
 flings himself madly forward, under the impression 
 he is hurling himself from the top of the cliff. Such 
 is the tension of emotion that he faints away, and 
 Edgar, hurrying forward, picks him up, assuring 
 him, as soon as he recovers consciousness, that he saw 
 him fall from the top of the cliff, and that naught 
 save a miracle preserved his life. Persuaded by such 
 loving deception that this is really so, Gloucester 
 concludes death is not intended for him, and 
 bravely resolves ' henceforth I'll bear affliction till it 
 do cry out itself " enough, enough," and die.' 
 
 It is just as this satisfactory point is reached, that 
 Edgar beholds Lear approach, crowned with weeds, 
 and madly proclaiming his right to coin money. 
 This pitiful sight wrings the heart of Edgar, who, 
 amid wild divagations, hears Lear call out against 
 his ungrateful daughters. Detecting something fa- 
 
King Lear 51 
 
 miliar in the tones of this voice, Gloucester begs 
 permission to kiss Lear's hand, only to be accused 
 of squinting at him from his eyeless sockets! The 
 dialogue between the two afflicted old men proves 
 heartrending to Edgar, so noticing his tears, Lear 
 sighs that men come into the world crying, and 
 preaches a sermon on that theme. There is much 
 * matter and impertinency ' mixed in Lear's divaga- 
 tions, yet he strikes madly around him at imaginary 
 foes, when suddenly surrounded by Cordelia's serv- 
 ants, to whom he refuses to yield and by whom he is 
 hotly pursued as he runs off the stage. 
 
 Meantime, answering Edgar, who wishes to know 
 whether a battle is imminent, one of the officers 
 rejoins it can be heard raging, ere he too hurries off. 
 Turning to his blind father, to whom he now de- 
 scribes himself as a man ' made tame to fortune's 
 blows,' Edgar offers to lead him to a place of safety, 
 just as Goneril's steward rushes upon Gloucester, 
 in hopes of killing him and thus winning the prom- 
 ised reward. But, although Gloucester joyfully 
 welcomes any prospect of death, Edgar interposes 
 and fights with the steward, who, falling mortally 
 wounded, gasps a request that the letters he car- 
 ries may be immediately taken to Edmund, Earl of 
 Gloucester. 
 
 Searching the corpse at his feet, Edgar discovers 
 letters, which, as it is lawful ' to know our enemies' 
 minds,' he peruses, thus discovering how Goneril 
 is plotting against Albany's life so as to marry Ed- 
 mund. Burying these letters in the sand until 
 needed, Edgar leads Gloucester away, promising to 
 
'$2 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 place him in custody of a friend while he takes part 
 in the fray. 
 
 In a tent in the French camp we behold Lear 
 asleep, while Cordelia tearfully tries to express her 
 gratitude to Kent, who gravely assures her ' to be 
 acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.' From the con- 
 versation between Cordelia, Kent, and the doctor, 
 we gather that Lear is now under the influence of a 
 powerful opiate, and that they hope prolonged sleep 
 may restore his senses. Hanging lovingly over the 
 old man, Cordelia mourns over the traces past suf- 
 ferings have left, although he has been regally 
 clothed and surrounded with every luxury, so that 
 on awakening nothing may remind him of his 
 sorrows. 
 
 It is while music is softly playing that Lear 
 awakens, murmuring it is wrong to call him out of 
 his grave. Then, perceiving Cordelia, who tremu- 
 lously enquires whether he knows her, he takes her 
 for a spirit, and after gazing around him, pathetic- 
 ally confesses he is a ' very foolish fond old man,' 
 for he is labouring under the delusion that she is his 
 child, Cordelia! Even her assurance that he is not 
 mistaken, and the fact that her tears wet his fingers, 
 fail to convince Lear he is not dreaming, since he 
 goes on tremulously protesting he will drink poison 
 if his daughter wishes, for she has cause to hate him 
 although her sisters have not. The doctor augurs 
 hopefully from the patient's mildness, when King 
 Lear meekly goes out with Cordelia, pathetically 
 begging her to bear with him, and to forgive and 
 forget. 
 
King Lear 53 
 
 When they have vanished, a gentleman informs 
 Kent that Cornwall is dead, and that his troops are 
 now led by Edmund, whose brother and father, he 
 says, have taken refuge in Germany. When this 
 nobleman has gone, exclaiming that ' the arbitre- 
 ment ' of this quarrel ' is like to be bloody,' Kent 
 adds ' my point and period will be thoroughly 
 wrought, or well or ill as this day's battle's fought.' 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens in the British camp 
 near Dover, where Edmund, after despatching a 
 messenger to ascertain Albany's intentions, agrees 
 with Regan that some misfortune must have befallen 
 her sister's steward. When she jealously accuses 
 him of loving Goneril, he denies it, just as Albany 
 enters with wife and train. Muttering she had 
 rather lose the battle than her lover, Regan re- 
 ceives Albany's greeting and announcement that Lear 
 is now in the French camp. To discuss what had 
 best be done, Albany invites Edmund into his tent, 
 while the sisters, who have been eying each other 
 mistrustfully, go off the stage together. As Albany 
 is about to leave also, Edgar enters in disguise, and 
 delivers a letter which he charges the duke to read 
 before entering into battle, and for whose truth a 
 champion will answer whenever a herald summons 
 him. Before the duke can peruse this missive, Ed- 
 mund brings him a list of the ' enemy's ' forces, 
 which Albany carries away. Meantime, left alone, 
 Edmund comments he is pledged to both sisters, 
 whose keen jealousy is aroused. Aware he cannot 
 enjoy one as long as the other lives, Edmund decides 
 to make what use he can of Albany, leaving to his 
 
54 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 wife the care of removing him afterwards out of 
 their way. He also intends to defeat any merciful 
 intentions Albany may cherish in regard to Lear 
 and Cordelia, and leaves the stage exclaiming, ' My 
 state stands on me to defend, not to debate.' 
 
 The next scene is played on the battle-field, just 
 as Edgar places Gloucester beneath a tree, bidding 
 him ' pray that the right may thrive.' A few mo- 
 ments later Edgar returns to lead Gloucester away, 
 exclaiming that King Lear and his daughter have 
 been taken ! Seeing Gloucester refuse to stir, Edgar 
 prevails upon him to come away only by reminding 
 him that ' men must endure their going hence, even 
 as their coming hither.' 
 
 In the British camp, we next hear Edmund order- 
 ing Lear and Cordelia to prison, until Albany's 
 pleasure in regard to them be known. As they are 
 led away, Cordelia exclaims they ' are not the first 
 who with best meaning have incurr'd the worst,' and 
 pities her poor father. But he, hearing her ask 
 whether they shall not see her sisters, tremblingly 
 hurries her away to prison, where he assures her they 
 1 will sing like birds i' the cage,' and where he will 
 continually beg her forgiveness, for nothing shall 
 ever part them again. 
 
 Calling back the captain in charge of these prison- 
 ers, Edmund hands him a paper, bidding him carry 
 out the instructions it contains, and send him word 
 when all is done. In hopes of speedy advancement 
 the captain goes out, promising ' if't be man's work, 
 I'll do it.' 
 
 Trumpets next announce the arrival of Goneril, 
 
King Lear 55 
 
 Regan, and Albany, the latter congratulating Ed- 
 mund upon the captives he has secured, in regard 
 to whose disposal he intends to decide later. On 
 learning, however, that Edmund has already con- 
 signed them both to prison, Albany reproves him so 
 sternly for presumption, that Regan haughtily as- 
 serts, as her representative and leader of her forces, 
 Edmund has rights equal to his own! Then, in 
 reply to remarks from Goneril, she intimates she in- 
 tends to marry Edmund, a statement which rouses 
 Goneril's jealousy to such a pitch that she betrays 
 her infidelity. 
 
 The time having come for Albany to act, he 
 orders the arrest of Edmund on the charge of capi- 
 tal treason, grimly tells his sister-in-law she cannot 
 marry this gallant since his wife is pledged to do so, 
 and flings down his glove at the traitor's feet. It is 
 at this moment that Regan is overcome by a sudden 
 illness, which Goneril knows is due to the poison 
 she has secretly administered. Meantime, Edmund 
 flings down his gauntlet, too, offering to prove with 
 his sword he is no traitor. Hearing this, Albany 
 bids a herald sound his trumpet and summon Ed- 
 mund's accuser, just as Regan, too ill to remain on 
 the stage any longer, is led away. The three 
 trumpet calls resound, and at the herald's third and 
 last summons Edgar appears, fully armed, declaring 
 when questioned that, although nameless at present, 
 he is ready to cope with the man whom he denounces 
 as ' false to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father.' 
 Although Edmund haughtily states he has the privi- 
 lege of refusing to fight a nameless opponent, he, 
 
$6 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 accepts this challenge, and the fight begins. Soon 
 Edmund falls, to the horror of Goneril, whose inter- 
 ference her husband effectually checks by producing 
 her letter, which he next hands to the mortally 
 wounded Edmund. Without admitting her guilt, 
 Goneril leaves the stage, and arguing from her ex- 
 pression that she is desperate, Albany orders her 
 watched. Just then, Edmund gasps out, ' what you 
 have charged me with, that have I done; and more, 
 much more ; the time will bring it out : 'tis past, and 
 so am I.' Then he demands the name of his victor, 
 and when Edgar makes himself known, Albany em- 
 braces him, vowing he never hated him or his father, 
 a fact of which the young man is aware. Albany 
 also eagerly enquires where father and son have been 
 hiding, whereupon Edgar briefly describes how he 
 played the part of blind man's guide, and saved 
 Gloucester from committing suicide, but adds that, 
 when he revealed his identity half an hour ago, 
 Gloucester's ' flaw'd heart,' ' twixt two extremes of 
 passion, joy, and grief, burst smiling.' 
 
 On hearing this, Edmund, — who is still alive, — 
 shows deep emotion, but Edgar, without heeding it, 
 describes how, just as he was summoned, the ban- 
 ished Kent fell upon his father's corpse, moaning out 
 a piteous tale in regard to Lear, whom he had fol- 
 lowed and served in disguise. His account is now 
 interrupted by the appearance of a man with a bloody 
 knife, who gasps that Goneril stabbed herself, after 
 poisoning her sister! Just as the dying Edmund adds 
 the information that he was contracted to both sis- 
 ters, and that all three will ' marry in an instant/ 
 
King Lear 57 
 
 Albany orders the bodies produced, declaring this is 
 Heaven's judgment upon the wicked. At this junc- 
 ture Kent enters, begging permission to ' bid my 
 king and master aye good-night.' Thus reminded 
 of Lear's existence, Albany asks Edmund where the 
 king may be, while the bodies of Goneril and Regan 
 are brought in. 
 
 After proudly explaining the cause of their death 
 to Kent, Edmund, seized with tardy repentance, im- 
 plores Albany to send in haste to the prison, where 
 his writ threatens the life of Lear and Cordelia. 
 Bearing his brother's sword, as ' token of reprieve/ 
 Edgar rushes off, while Edmund gasps that his orders 
 were to hang Cordelia in prison, and give her death 
 the appearance of suicide. Praying the gods may de- 
 fend her, Albany orders Edmund removed, just as 
 Edgar ushers in King Lear, bearing the dead Cor- 
 delia in his arms, and wildly calling upon all to 
 mourn for one who is ' gone for ever ! ' 
 
 The next moment the frantic father tries with 
 mirror and feather to detect traces of life, the others 
 meantime crowding around him, in pity and horror. 
 
 All tests, however, prove vain, and when faithful 
 Kent falls at his master's feet, he is impatiently 
 told to go away, Lear having no thought save for 
 the daughter whose ' voice was ever soft, gentle, and 
 low, an excellent thing in woman.' The aged king 
 a moment later boasts how he slew, with his own 
 hand, the slave who was hanging Cordelia, a fact 
 confirmed by the captain. Then, suddenly meeting 
 Kent's glance, Lear recognises in the man who served 
 him in adversity, his former faithful vassal. 
 
58 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 It is Kent who breaks to Lear the news of the 
 death of his eldest daughters, tidings he receives 
 without emotion, and which are followed by a cap- 
 tain's report of Edmund's demise. Turning to the 
 bystanders, Albany now proclaims he will restore all 
 Lear's wealth and honours, and reinstate Kent and 
 Edgar in their rights, adding that ' all friends shall 
 taste the wages of their virtue, and all foes the 
 cup of their deservings.' But such consolation as 
 these words might afford fails to reach Lear, who 
 moans his poor Fool has been hanged, and renews 
 his efforts to revive Cordelia, across whose body he 
 finally drops dead! With a heartfelt prayer that 
 his sufferings may at last be over, Kent forbids them 
 to try and recall Lear's departing spirit, assuring 
 them ' he hates him, that would upon the rack of 
 this tough world stretch him out longer.' 
 
 All the corpses are finally borne away by Albany's 
 order, who bespeaks the aid of Kent and Edgar, the 
 1 friends of his soul,' to govern the realm wisely. 
 This invitation Kent briefly declines, stating: * I have 
 a journey, sir, shortly to go; my master calls me, I 
 must not say no.' And, while following the funeral 
 procession off the stage, Edgar sadly exclaims: ' The 
 weight of this sad time we must obey; speak what 
 we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest has 
 borne most: we that are young shall never see so 
 much, nor live so long.' 
 
OTHELLO 
 
 Act I. The first act opens in a street in Venice, 
 where Roderigo is reproaching his friend Iago for 
 having neglected his interests in favour of Othello. 
 Far from doing anything of the sort, however, Iago 
 cherishes a deep-seated grudge against this general, 
 who, instead of granting him the lieutenancy he 
 coveted, awarded this office to his rival Cassio. In 
 his bitterness Iago concludes that ' preferment goes 
 by letter and affection, and not by old gradation,' and 
 explains that, although about to follow Othello to 
 the wars, he does so now merely in hope of wreaking 
 his revenge. 
 
 Then Iago slyly adds that since Othello carried 
 off Roderigo's lady-love, Desdemona, he, too, can 
 secure sorne redress by rousing her father and sending 
 him in pursuit of the elopers. Thus instigated, 
 Roderigo soon pauses before Brabantio's silent house, 
 and attracts his attention by noisy calls. The 
 startled Brabantio, peering out of the window, re- 
 fuses at first to believe the news brutally conveyed 
 by the disturbers of his peace, for he recognises in 
 Roderigo one of his daughter's rejected suitors. 
 Still, when their circumstantial report is supported 
 by his daughter's absence from home, he realises 
 that their news confirms a bad dream, and eagerly 
 grasps at Roderigo's suggestion to pursue the couple 
 and seek redress. 
 
 59 
 
60 Stories of Shakespeare *s Tragedies 
 
 While Brabantio retires to dress and collect his 
 servants, Iago proposes to join Othello at the inn, 
 saying that, although he hates him, ' yet for neces- 
 sity of present life, I must show out a flag in sign 
 of love, which is indeed but sign.' He also advises 
 Roderigo to lead Brabantio and his party thither in 
 quest of the missing Desdemona, and vanishes as 
 Brabantio eagerly emerges from the house, asking 
 whether Roderigo thinks the couple are married, as 
 that alone could mitigate his grief. Then, wailing 
 that Desdemona must have been charmed or drugged 
 by some love-potion, or she would never have left 
 him for the Moor, Brabantio proposes to summon his 
 friends and his kinsmen to his aid and goes off with 
 Roderigo. 
 
 The second scene occurs in the street before the 
 inn, where Iago boasts to Othello he was strongly 
 tempted to slay his superior's detractors, although 
 he holds ' it very stuff o' the conscience to do no 
 contrived murder.' After adding that Brabantio 
 threatens revenge, he eagerly enquires whether the 
 marriage has already taken place, warning Othello 
 that Brabantio will do all he can to secure a divorce 
 and hinder his advancement. To all these objec- 
 tions Othello proudly rejoins he is of noble lineage, 
 although a Moor, and that the services he had 
 rendered Venice will force the Republic to respect 
 his marriage. While he is still talking a troop draws 
 near, which Iago at first mistakes for that of Bra- 
 bantio. This is, however, headed by Cassio, 
 Othello's new lieutenant, who reports the Duke re- 
 quires his immediate presence in the senate, as 
 
Othello 6 1 
 
 momentous news has just arrived from Cyprus. 
 Promising to follow soon, Othello vanishes into the 
 house, behaviour which seems strange to Cassio until 
 he learns the general's bride lodges there. 
 
 Just as Othello reappears to accompany Cassio 
 to the senate, Brabantio's troop arrives, but, although 
 an affray seems imminent, Othello uses his authority 
 to restrain both parties and gravely assures Braban- 
 tio he is at his command. The irate father, after 
 accusing him of using charms to lure his daughter 
 to his ' sooty bosom,' suddenly bids his followers 
 arrest him, but Othello rejoins he cannot go to 
 prison since the senate demands his presence. In 
 hope of immediate redress, Brabantio decides to 
 escort him to the senate, where we next behold Duke 
 and senators discussing the news. Although all 
 have received different tidings, there seems no doubt 
 the Turks are about to attack Cyprus, — where re- 
 inforcements are needed. While they are talking 
 thus, one sailor reports the Turkish fleet is prepar- 
 ing to attack Cyprus, and another that the governor 
 begs for aid. Measures for relief are therefore being 
 discussed, when Brabantio and Othello enter, the 
 latter to be warmly greeted by the Duke, who pro- 
 poses to send him against the Turks. 
 
 Only after greeting Othello, does the Duke per- 
 ceive Brabantio, who excitedly demands that they 
 attend to his grievance before these matters of state. 
 When the Duke wonderingly enquires what has hap- 
 pened, Brabantio sobs 'My daughter! O my daugh- 
 ter ! ' adding, — when asked if she is dead, — that she 
 has been taken from him by magic arts. Hearing 
 
62 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 the Duke solemnly promise to punish her beguiler, 
 Brabantio denounces the Moor, Othello, whom he 
 has just escorted into their presence. Because 
 Othello is the only man able to aid Venice in her 
 peril, this accusation proves unwelcome to the Duke, 
 who, turning to the Moor, gravely asks what he can 
 say in his defence? After admitting he carried off 
 Brabantio's daughter and married her, Othello adds, 
 ' I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,' and de- 
 scribes his courtship, proving none but legitimate 
 arts were used to win Desdemona's heart. But see- 
 ing Brabantio still doubts him, Othello finally begs 
 the Duke to summon his wife, offering should they 
 find him * foul in her report,' to forfeit their trust, 
 his office, and his very life! 
 
 While Iago hastens to the inn to fetch Desde- 
 mona, Othello further describes his visits to Braban- 
 tio's house, where he related his ' moving accidents 
 by flood and field,' hair-breadth escapes, visits to 
 strange countries, and other extraordinary tales, all 
 of which proved so interesting to the wondering 
 damsel that they wrung tears from her eyes. He 
 adds when she once exclaimed that if he ' had a 
 friend that loved her ' he should teach him how to 
 tell this story and thus win her heart, he could not 
 but seize the hint and speak, seeing she loved him 
 * for the dangers he had pass'd,' while he loved her 
 because she pitied them. He concludes with the 
 modest, manly statement, ' This only is the witch- 
 craft I have used : — here comes the lady ; let her wit- 
 ness it,' just as the Duke admits that tales so told 
 would have won his daughter, too ! 
 
Othello 63 
 
 Seeing Desdemona enter, Brabantio bids her state 
 to whom she owes obedience, whereupon she 
 promptly yet modestly rejoins she is now in presence 
 of a ' divided duty,' being bound to Brabantio by 
 filial ties, and to her husband for the duty which 
 her mother showed to her father. Hearing this, 
 Brabantio refuses to prosecute Othello any farther, 
 and reluctantly admits the marriage, bitterly adding 
 he would rather ' adopt a child than get it,' and 
 rejoicing that he has no other offspring. Pleased 
 with this result, yet wishing to comfort Brabantio, 
 the Duke emits sundry wise maxims, which Bra- 
 bantio grimly caps, before the senate is invited to 
 devise measures of relief. 
 
 After briefly stating the case in hand, the Duke 
 appoints Othello to defend Cyprus, a charge he 
 promises to fulfil with due energy. But, before 
 leaving Venice, he wishes to provide for his wife's 
 safety, and when the Duke proposes that she return 
 to her father, objects as strongly as she or Bra- 
 bantio. Before any other plan can be suggested for 
 her custody, Desdemona gently entreats permission 
 to accompany her husband to Cyprus, a request 
 which so delights Othello, that he urges the senate 
 to grant it, promising his wife's presence shall not 
 hinder the faithful discharge of his duties. Al- 
 though the Duke willingly consents, he urges Othello 
 to depart immediately, leaving a messenger to follow 
 with further orders. 
 
 After selecting Iago for this purpose, Othello sug- 
 gests that he and his wife also convey Desdemona to 
 Cyprus, and is just leaving when Brabantio solemnly 
 
64 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 warns him, ' look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to 
 see: she has deceived her father, and may thee.' 
 This warning, however, does not daunt Othello, who 
 loyally declares he is willing to stake his life on his 
 wife's truth, ere he bids her follow him, as they have 
 but one brief hour for leave-taking and final direc- 
 tions. 
 
 All the rest having gone, Roderigo grumbles to 
 Iago that he must drown himself, since the lady is 
 lost forever! Instead of agreeing with him, Iago 
 bids Roderigo play the man instead of the fool, and 
 artfully suggests he accompany them to Cyprus, 
 where, — Moors being proverbially fickle, — he may 
 yet succeed in winning Desdemona's favour. To ac- 
 complish this, however, Iago insists funds will be 
 necessary, so intersperses all his recommendations 
 with the words ' put money in thy purse.' After 
 making sure Iago will aid him, the credulous Rode- 
 rigo promises to raise funds and go to Cyprus in 
 hope of undermining Othello in his wife's affections. 
 
 After Roderigo has gone, Iago reveals how cun- 
 ningly he intends to use this fool and his purse to 
 compass his own revenge upon Othello, whom he 
 suspects, without cause, of having alienated his wife's 
 affections. Besides, he is determined to oust Cassio 
 from his lieutenancy, and proposes to reach these 
 double ends by persuading Othello this officer loves 
 his wife. After brooding over his plans for a while, 
 Iago grimly concludes, ' I have't. It is engender'd. 
 Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the 
 world's light.' 
 
 Act II. The second act opens on the quay in 
 
Othello 6$ 
 
 Cyprus, where, in the midst of a hurricane, the gov- 
 ernor and his suite watch for sails bringing them 
 succour. While so doing they comment that, although 
 this tempest may wreck the Turkish fleet, it may also 
 damage the expected reinforcements. Their spirits 
 are therefore greatly cheered when word is brought 
 that a Venetian galley in charge of Cassio, Othello's 
 lieutenant, has entered port, and reports witnessing 
 the wreck of the greater part of the Turkish fleet. 
 
 After courteously welcoming Cassio, who now 
 appears, the governor expresses great concern for 
 Othello, enquiring how he is shipped, and seems glad 
 to learn he is on a well-steered bark. The cry, 
 • a sail ! a sail ! ' now causes the crowd to hasten 
 again to the shore, in hopes this time of welcoming 
 the general who is to defend them against Turkish 
 aggressions. Meanwhile the governor enquires of 
 Cassio whether Othello is married, and learns that 
 his wife Desdemona surpasses all other women in 
 attraction, just as some one reports the arriving ves- 
 sel is that of Iago, who escorts this lovely lady. 
 
 A moment later Desdemona enters upon the scene, 
 and after acknowledging Cassio's flattering greeting, 
 anxiously enquires for her husband. Briefly re- 
 joining he has not yet arrived, Cassio bids all pres- 
 ent do homage to Othello's wife, a courtesy Desde- 
 mona absent-mindedly acknowledges, owing to her 
 extreme anxiety for her husband. But, before she 
 can suffer further apprehensions, another vessel is 
 sighted, and booming cannon soon proclaim the ar- 
 rival of a guest of distinction. After sending down 
 to the port for news, Cassio welcomes Iago and his 
 
66 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 wffe, gallantly kissing the latter, although Iago 
 tartly remarks that should Emilia give him as much 
 ' of her lips as of her tongue she oft bestows on 
 me,' he would soon have more than enough! This 
 discourteous remark grieves Desdemona, who, hop- 
 ing to change the subject, archly enquires what Iago 
 would say if called upon to praise her? Promptly 
 rejoining he is ' nothing if not critical,' Iago cleverly 
 evades the question by resorting to maxims and to 
 paradoxes, which Desdemona receives and parries 
 with considerable wit. 
 
 Then, seeing Cassio offers his hand to conduct 
 Desdemona to the palace, Iago, noting his courteous 
 bows and gallant manner, artfully proposes ' with as 
 little a web as this ' to ' ensnare as great a fly as 
 Cassio.' Just as they are about to leave, however, 
 trumpet blasts announce the arrival of Othello, who 
 rapturously greets his wife, in regard to whose safety 
 he has been so anxious. But, when he exclaims his 
 contentment is now at its height, Desdemona tenderly 
 assures him their * loves and comforts ' will increase 
 with their days, a statement to which he ejaculates a 
 fervent ' Amen ! ' 
 
 While the general and his wife are thus exchang- 
 ing loving speeches, Iago, in an aside, grimly deter- 
 mines to disturb their harmony. Turning at last 
 to the spectators, Othello briefly announces, ' our 
 wars are done, the Turks are drown'd,' ere he bids 
 Iago see to his luggage, and the rest accompany him 
 to the citadel. He is leading Desdemona off the 
 scene, when Iago invites Roderigo to meet him at the 
 port, stating that as Cassio is to mount guard that 
 
Othello 67 
 
 night, they must seize this fine chance to under- 
 mine him in the general's favour. To induce 
 Roderigo. to execute his plans, Iago hints that Des- 
 demona is in love with the lieutenant, news Roderigo 
 refuses at first to believe; still, Iago manages to 
 work him up gradually to the point of challenging 
 Cassio that evening, intending by means of that broil 
 to attain his wicked ends. 
 
 Left alone at last, Iago avers Cassio doubtless 
 loves Desdemona and she him; he adds, however, 
 that he too loves her, but that, in order to avenge 
 the injury he fancies Othello has done him, he pro- 
 poses to deprive the Moor of his wife by making 
 him so jealous he can never enjoy her society again. 
 He also proposes to oust Cassio from office, and 
 leaves the stage determined that Roderigo shall serve 
 as his tool to compass both these ends. 
 
 Scarcely has he gone when a herald marches 
 down the street, loudly proclaiming festivities for 
 that evening, in honour of the destruction of the 
 Turkish fleet and of the general's wedding! 
 
 The next scene is played in the castle, where 
 Othello charges Cassio to maintain strict order, say- 
 ing that Iago, who is a ' most honest ' man, will 
 loyally help him. Then, turning to his wife, the 
 general invites her to withdraw with him, so they 
 can celebrate their reunion in private. 
 
 When they have gone Iago enters, and hearing 
 Cassio propose that they begin their watch, exclaims 
 it is far too early, and that the general has dis- 
 missed them merely because he wished to be alone 
 with his wife. Because Cassio terms her a charming 
 
68 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 lady, Iago cleverly induces him to add all manner 
 of complimentary phases, all of which he interprets 
 in an evil sense. Then Iago presses Cassio to drink, 
 an invitation the latter declines, frankly stating he 
 is too easily affected by liquor. In spite of this wise 
 refusal, the wily Iago soon induces Othello's lieu- 
 tenant to join him and a few others in celebrating 
 their victory. 
 
 While Cassio goes out in quest of these guests, 
 Iago reveals how he intends to make him drunk, and 
 then play upon his excitable feelings until a brawl 
 ensues. As he concludes, Cassio and his compan- 
 ions enter, and Iago proceeds to entertain them with 
 drinking songs and descriptions of foreign drinking 
 customs. Meantime, he secretly plies the light-headed 
 Cassio with drink until he becomes so intoxicated 
 that he boasts of being perfectly sober! Such re- 
 marks greatly divert the other drinkers, who encour- 
 age Cassio, until he staggers out to mount guard; 
 but he is no sooner gone than Iago ' damns him with 
 such faint praise ' that the governor of Cyprus infers 
 Othello's lieutenant is seldom sober and hence utterly 
 untrustworthy. 
 
 A moment later, when Roderigo enters, Iago 
 whispers to him to go and challenge the lieutenant; 
 then, resuming his conversation with the governor, 
 he virtuously exclaims he loves Cassio far too well 
 to betray his weaknesses to Othello ! Just then they 
 are interrupted by loud cries for help, and see Cassio 
 drive Roderigo into the room at the point of his 
 sword, abusing him vehemently. Because the gov- 
 ernor tries to separate the fighters by exclaiming 
 
F. Piloty 
 
 OTHELLO AND DESDEMONA 
 
 Otliel. "Yet I'll not shed her blood, 
 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 Othello. Act 5, Scene 2. 
 
Othello 69 
 
 Cassio is drunk, the lieutenant suddenly turns upon 
 him, and Iago seizes this opportunity to send Rod- 
 erigo out to give the alarm. Then, pretending to 
 quell the fight he has instigated, he chides the gov- 
 ernor and Cassio, until the clanging of the alarm- 
 bell causes him to exclaim in pretended dismay that 
 the town will rise, and the lieutenant be * shamed 
 for ever,' for having caused such a disturbance! 
 
 The cries and bell-ringing soon bring Othello on 
 the scene, sternly demanding what is the matter? 
 When the governor faintly exclaims Cassio has mor- 
 tally wounded him, Othello sternly reproves his 
 lieutenant for fighting and frightening the islanders 
 whose nerves are still on edge. Then, becoming 
 aware of Cassio's condition, he demands an explana- 
 tion from Iago, who states the gentlemen were ami- 
 cable until a moment ago, when, without cause, they 
 suddenly drew swords and began to fight! This 
 statement so rouses Othello's wrath that he then and 
 there dismisses his lieutenant from his service, al- 
 though he confesses he loves him. He has barely 
 pronounced this sentence when Desdemona appears. 
 Incensed to think her rest has been disturbed, he 
 becomes even more severe to the delinquent, and 
 tries to soothe her and lead her away. 
 
 .Left alone with Cassio, Iago enquires whether he 
 is hurt, only to hear him moan he has lost his reputa- 
 tion, the ' immortal part of himself ! ' Callously 
 assuring him such a trifle is not worthy of considera- 
 tion, Iago palliates his drunkenness, bids him scheme 
 to recover Othello's favour, and offers himself as 
 advocate, slyly suggesting that Desdemona also be 
 
70 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 enlisted to plead in his behalf. Thoroughly humili- 
 ated, Cassio departs, promising to put Iago's good 
 advice into immediate practice, for he, too, fancies 
 that, if the virtuous Desdemona will only plead his 
 cause, he can yet obtain Othello's forgiveness. 
 
 After his dupe has gone, lago prides himself on 
 the manner in which he has acted the villain's part, 
 adding that, when Desdemona intercedes for Cassio, 
 he will make it appear she is in love with the courte- 
 ous lieutenant and faithless to her swarthy husband. 
 By such insinuations he proposes to poison Othello's 
 ears until he makes him suspicious of his wife, whose 
 virtue is to be turned ' into pitch,' for it is ' out 
 of her own goodness ' that the villain intends to 
 weave ' the net that shall enmesh them all.' 
 
 He is just brooding over this fiendish design, when 
 Roderigo re-enters, crossly stating most of his money 
 has been spent on tokens, entrusted to Iago's care, 
 for Desdemona. After this night's experience he 
 knows he will have to leave Cyprus without funds, 
 but lago heartens him up, assuring him that things 
 will soon take a more favourable turn. Having 
 pacified and dismissed Roderigo, lago decides to 
 persuade his wife to intercede with Desdemona in 
 Cassio's behalf, and then gradually bring the Moor 
 to suspect his lieutenant of loving his wife. So the 
 act closes with the words, ' Ay, that's the way : dull 
 not device by coldness and delay.' 
 
 Act III. The third act opens before the castle, 
 where Cassio has brought musicians to serenade 
 Othello and Desdemona, in hopes of making his 
 peace. After exchanging witticisms with them, a 
 
Othello 71 
 
 clown dismisses the musicians in Othello's name, 
 while Cassio, approaching him, beseeches him to in- 
 form Emilia he wishes to speak to her. The clown 
 having departed, Iago appears, and Cassio confides 
 to him he is following his advice and trying to ob- 
 tain an interview with Desdemona. Under pretence 
 of helping him, Iago goes to summon his wife, prom- 
 ising meanwhile to divert the Moor's attention long 
 enough to enable Cassio to bespeak Desdemona's 
 intercession. • This officiousness so touches Cassio 
 that he vows he never saw a kinder or more honest 
 man, before Emilia joins him, reporting that Des- 
 demona has already spoken in his behalf. Because 
 he now humbly sues for an interview with Desde- 
 mona, Emilia leads him into the house. 
 
 In the next scene we see Othello entrusting letters 
 to Iago, to forward to the senate, before he goes to 
 inspect the fortifications with the Cyprian officers. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the garden, Desdemona promises to 
 do her best for Cassio, a promise Emilia approves, 
 adding that the lieutenant's disgrace grieves Iago as 
 sorely as if it were his own. To cheer the dejected 
 officer, Desdemona playfully assures him she will 
 allow Othello no rest until he has reinstated him. 
 Cassio is just taking leave of Desdemona by kissing 
 her hand, when Othello reappears with Iago, whose 
 portentous, * Ha! I like not that,' causes him to 
 wonder whether it was not Cassio who parted from 
 his wife? Virtuously assuring him Cassio would 
 never steal away at his approach with so guilty a 
 look, Iago watches Desdemona draw near her hus- 
 band, and begin to plead for Cassio's forgiveness. 
 
72 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 When she assures Othello that his former lieutenant 
 departed in so humble a mood that he really should 
 recall and forgive him, the Moor absent-mindedly 
 promises to do so some other time, and tries to dis- 
 miss the question. But she coaxes for a more definite 
 answer, murmuring at last that she would not hesi- 
 tate to grant a favour, especially in behalf of a man 
 who so often came wooing with him ! These tender 
 reminders and entreaties prove so efficacious that 
 Othello says Cassio can come whenever he likes, and 
 he will deny her nothing. Still, as his tone is con- 
 strained, Desdemona does not feel satisfied, and goes 
 off reluctantly when he bids her leave him to himself. 
 After she has gone, Othello avers he loves her so 
 dearly that chaos will come again when he ceases to 
 believe in her ! His loving soliloquy is, however, soon 
 interrupted by Iago's return and insinuating en- 
 quiry whether Cassio knew of their love and was 
 present at their wooing? The unsuspecting Othello 
 answers frankly, but Iago artfully refuses to be 
 more definite, until he has succeeded in rousing 
 jealous suspicions. When, turning fiercely upon him, 
 the general finally bids him give the ' worst of 
 thoughts the worst of words,' the villain, still pre- 
 tending to think the best and shield the guilty, vir- 
 tuously declares he would not for his ' manhood, 
 honesty, or wisdom,' let Othello know his thoughts! 
 Angrily summoned to explain what this means, the 
 hypocrite insinuates that those who steal his purse 
 steal trash, ' but he that filches from me my good 
 name robs me of that which not enriches him, and 
 makes me poor indeed.' 
 
Othello 73 
 
 Having thus paved the way, Iago warns Othello 
 against ' the green-eyed monster ' jealousy, ' which 
 doth mock the meat it feeds on,' until the Moor, 
 who has never before felt its pangs, fervently prays 
 to be delivered from them, adding that he has no 
 cause to entertain any such a feeling, since the fact 
 that his wife is beautiful, loves company, and is ad- 
 mired, does not detract in any way from her virtue. 
 Because Desdemona chose him from a number of 
 suitors, he nobly vows, * I'll see before I doubt; when 
 I doubt, prove,' a decision Iago apparently approves, 
 although he hints Venetian women are prone to 
 deceive, and that since Desdemona tricked her father 
 she may do the same by her husband. Then, still 
 pretending to urge his master to lay no stress upon 
 remarks which involuntarily escaped him, Iago takes 
 leave of Othello, who proudly reiterates Desdemona 
 is honest, and that he is not troubled by what he has 
 heard. Still, that Iago's crafty lies have not been in- 
 effectual, is proved by Othello's despairing query 
 as soon as alone, why he married, and his bitter 
 comment that honest Iago doubtless knows more than 
 he is willing to reveal! 
 
 Othello has barely come to this conclusion when 
 Iago returns, to insinuate that should Desdemona 
 prove importunate in her prayers for Cassio's rein- 
 statement, it would prove she feels deeply interested 
 in him. After he has gone, therefore, Othello again 
 praises Iago's honesty, mournfully adding that 
 should his present suspicions be confirmed, he will 
 have nothing more to do with his wife, his love being 
 based solely on her virtue. This conclusion is 
 
74 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 hardly reached when Desdemona enters with 
 Emilia, and seeing how beautiful and innocent she 
 looks, Othello groans that ' if she be false, O, then 
 heaven mocks itself ! ' 
 
 Having come to remind Othello of the banquet 
 pending, and seeing he appears weary, Desdemona 
 tenderly enquires what ails him; then, attributing 
 his headache to lack of sleep, she gently binds her 
 handkerchief about his brow. He, however, angrily 
 tears it off, and dashes it on the floor, where it 
 remains, while the startled Desdemona follows him 
 meekly out of the room. Snatching up the fallen 
 handkerchief, Emilia expresses delight at securing 
 it, for her husband has frequently begged her to 
 steal it for him. Although unaware of his purpose, 
 she is so glad to ' please his fantasy ' that, when 
 lago enters, she playfully informs him she has some- 
 thing for him. Then, after some coquettish delay, 
 she bestows the handkerchief upon her spouse, en- 
 quiring what use he wishes to make of it, and 
 warning him that Desdemona will sorely miss her 
 husband's first gift. 
 
 Emilia having left the room, cautioned to keep 
 the matter secret, lago explains how he intends to 
 drop this handkerchief in Cassio's room, knowing 
 * trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations 
 strong as proofs of holy writ.' He thinks he can 
 thereby increase the jealousy of the Moor, who now 
 enters, and in regard to whom he mutters with 
 fiendish glee, ' not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all 
 the drowsy syrups of the world, shall ever medicine 
 thee to that sweet sleep which thou ownedst yester- 
 
Othello 75 
 
 day.' It is plain Othello is still brooding over 
 Iago's words, for suddenly hissing he is on the rack, 
 he demands to know all. The mere thought that 
 Cassio has been making love to his wife so poisons 
 all his pleasures, that he mournfully declares his 
 occupation is gone, and unable to bear further sus- 
 pense, fiercely demands convincing proof of Des- 
 demona's guilt. 
 
 With pretended reluctance Iago now relates how, 
 sleeping with Cassio lately, he overheard him talk 
 about Desdemona in terms which left no doubt con- 
 cerning their guilty intimacy. This narrative so hor- 
 rifies Othello that he threatens, ' I'll tear her all to 
 pieces,' and then suggests it was but a dream, for his 
 wife cannot be as guilty as appearances indicate. 
 Artfully, Iago enquires whether she does not own 
 a certain handkerchief, and after Othello has ad- 
 mitted giving it to her, testifies he saw Cassio using 
 it that very day. This seems so conclusive a proof 
 of infidelity, that Othello swears he will avenge him- 
 self without mercy, an oath Iago slavishly repeats, 
 devoting himself ' wit, hands, heart, to wrong'd 
 Othello's service ! ' Such devotion is immediately 
 rewarded by the coveted appointment as lieutenant, 
 in exchange for which boon, Othello bids Iago kill 
 Cassio within three days' time, undertaking mean- 
 while to dispose of Desdemona, whom he terms a 
 'fair devil!' 
 
 The next scene occurs before the castle, where 
 Desdemona and Emilia bid the clown go and tell 
 Cassio that Othello has been placated and all will 
 soon be well. The clown having disappeared after 
 
76 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 some witticisms, Desdemona questions Emilia in 
 regard to her missing handkerchief, vowing she 
 would sooner have lost a purse full of gold, and 
 adding that were her husband not noble-minded, he 
 might wax jealous or deem her neglectful. When 
 Emilia enquires whether Othello is really not jealous, 
 Desdemona confidently rejoins ' the sun where he 
 was born drew all such humours from him,' and 
 seeing her husband draw near, gladly dismisses her 
 attendant. 
 
 She is surprised, however, when her loving greet- 
 ing is answered in a constrained way, and when 
 Othello groans in an aside that it is hard to dis- 
 semble. Suddenly seizing her hand, he exclaims it is 
 a good one, whereupon she gently reminds him it 
 gave her heart into his keeping. Then she recalls 
 his promise in regard to Cassio, although Othello, 
 pretending not to hear her, begs for her handker- 
 chief, as he has a cold. The one she proffers fails to 
 satisfy him for he insists upon her producing the one 
 he gave her, which he describes as endowed with 
 magic powers. His cautions never to lose this treas- 
 ure disquiet Desdemona, who, after promising to be 
 careful of it, renews her plea in Cassio's behalf. To 
 gain time she coquettishly pretends to consider all his 
 enquiries for the handkerchief artful evasions, until 
 her persistency whets her husband's jealousy to such a 
 pitch that he leaves the room in a fury. This be- 
 haviour is so identically that of a jealous man that 
 Emilia comments upon it, while Desdemona admits 
 she never saw anything of the kind in Othello be- 
 fore. She is just wondering where the handker- 
 
Othello 77 
 
 chief may be, whose loss is causing her so much 
 trouble, when Cassio reappears. 
 
 After answering her greeting, he groans he longs 
 to be reinstated, and when Desdemona sadly volun- 
 teers, ' my lord is not my lord,' seems surprised to 
 hear Othello's humour has so strangely altered. 
 While Desdemona feels sure something must have 
 occurred to displease her husband, Iago — who joins 
 them — declares that cannot be, and offers to go and 
 discover what marred the general's equanimity. 
 After he has gone, Desdemona remarks her husband 
 may have had news from Venice, for she feels sure 
 weighty matters only can thus disturb an even mind. 
 She further reproaches herself for lack of sympathy, 
 until Emilia assures her that, if jealousy has not 
 caused her husband's wrath, all will soon be well. 
 Because she has never given Othello the least cause 
 to doubt her love, Desdemona feels certain he can- 
 not be jealous, although Emilia wisely assures her 
 such a feeling requires no cause. Finally, Desdemona 
 leaves the room to seek her spouse once more, bid- 
 ding Cassio linger in the vicinity, and assuring him 
 that, if Othello is in a -favourable mood, she will 
 renew her efforts to obtain his pardon. 
 
 While Cassio lingers there alone, the courtesan 
 Bianca steps in to enquire why he has deserted her 
 for the past week ? After replying his mind has been 
 too distracted to permit of any dalliance, Cassio 
 hands her the handkerchief Iago dropped in his room, 
 and bids her copy its exquisite design. Believing it 
 a token from some fair lady, Bianca feigns reluctance, 
 until Cassio promises to join her at supper, when she 
 
78 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 goes away, leaving him to wait for the general and 
 be reinstated in office. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens before the castle, 
 where Iago is still trickling vile suspicions into his 
 master's mind, by reiterating his lies in regard to 
 the handkerchief, until Othello fiercely demands 
 what he means? In reply, the villain's revelations 
 assume so base a character that the jealous husband 
 finally falls in a trance. While he is lying there, 
 unconscious, Iago exclaims that his poison is work- 
 ing, for credulous fools are often caught in this way, 
 and ' many worthy and chaste dames even thus, all 
 guiltless, meet reproach.' 
 
 He is trying to revive Othello when Cassio comes 
 in, and is told the general has had two fits since 
 yesterday and should never be disturbed when in a 
 lethargic state. Having thus dismissed Cassio, Iago 
 watches until Othello opens his eyes, gasping that he 
 has been wounded in his deepest affections. While 
 apparently trying to comfort him, Iago fiendishly 
 drives the sting still deeper into his tortured soul. 
 Finally, he advises Othello to watch his wife when 
 with Cassio, declaring their conduct will plainly 
 reveal whether they are guilty. Under pretext of 
 aiding his master, he further offers to discuss the 
 matter with Cassio, bidding Othello hide and watch 
 the lieutenant's face while he relates his amours with 
 Desdemona. After agreeing to this, Othello with- 
 draws, while Iago, in a soliloquy, cunningly de- 
 cides to question Cassio in regard to Bianca, mean- 
 time allowing the hidden Othello to think they are 
 discussing Desdemona! 
 
Othello 79 
 
 A moment later, seeing Cassio enter, Iago begins 
 to twit him about his passion for Bianca, a woman 
 so little deserving respect that the lieutenant does 
 not hesitate to talk lightly of her, imitating her 
 wiles, and by such pantomime kindling fierce jeal- 
 ousy in the hidden Othello's heart. The watched 
 dialogue continues until the return of Bianca, who 
 pettishly flings the handkerchief at Cassio, vowing he 
 obtained it from some sweetheart. The token, how- 
 ever, is immediately recognised by Othello, who feels 
 convinced Iago has told the truth and his wife has 
 tricked him. Meantime, Bianca flounces out, ex- 
 claiming that, unless Cassio sup with her to-night, 
 she will never receive him again! Perceiving her 
 wrathful state, Iago advises Cassio to follow her, 
 lest she denounce him openly in the street, and is 
 delighted to hear him decide to accept her invitation. 
 
 When Cassio has gone, Othello steals out of his 
 hiding-place, grimly wondering how to put his rival 
 to death. To add fuel to his wrath Iago cun- 
 ningly reviews the supposed points of their conversa- 
 tion, enquiring whether his master saw how Cassio 
 laughed, and marked the handkerchief? It is, how- 
 ever, no longer necessary to stimulate Othello's rage, 
 for it has reached such a pitch that he is determined 
 to kill Desdemona, although he does not know what 
 means to employ. First, he bids Iago procure poison, 
 then, dreading its effect on his wife's beauty, he 
 eagerly seizes the suggestion that he strangle her in 
 bed, leaving Iago the care of disposing of Cassio. 
 
 At that moment trumpets peal, and when Othello 
 enquires what they mean, he is informed his wife's 
 
80 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 uncle is bringing news from Venice, just as he enters 
 the apartment with her. After exchanging greetings 
 with Othello, Desdemona's uncle delivers his letter, 
 which the general respectfully kisses, and while he 
 gravely peruses it, Desdemona welcomes the people 
 in her uncle's train and begs for news. One of the 
 newcomers asking for Cassio, Othello so grimly re- 
 joins ' he is alive ' that Desdemona feels compelled 
 to explain her husband and the lieutenant are at 
 present estranged, but she hopes her uncle will soon 
 effect a reconciliation. Although apparently ab- 
 sorbed in his letter, Othello, hearing what she says, 
 mutters comments which finally attract their atten- 
 tion; and when his wife innocently states she would 
 do much ' for the love ' she bears Cassio, he sud- 
 denly gives vent to so angry an oath that Desdemona 
 gazes anxiously at him, until her uncle whispers that 
 the letter summons him home, and appoints Cassio 
 in his stead. Because this news pleases Desdemona, 
 Othello's fury waxes so violent, that when she steps 
 forward with a gentle remark, he roughly strikes 
 her, an act of cruelty so horrifying to the bystanders 
 that they exclaim it would not be credited in 
 Venice. 
 
 Perceiving she has displeased her husband in some 
 mysterious way, the weeping Desdemona offers to 
 withdraw, a humility her uncle approves, although 
 he urges Othello to beg her pardon for his rough- 
 ness. Scornfully complying, Othello orders Desde- 
 mona out of the room, declaring he will hand over 
 the command to Cassio after he has entertained the 
 company at supper. Because he leaves the room in 
 
Othello 8 1 
 
 an unmistakable passion, Desdemona's uncle wonders 
 that so self-contained a man should show such rage 
 merely because his services are no longer needed in 
 Cyprus! Turning to Iago, Lodovico then enquires 
 whether Othello is insane, whereupon the villain 
 pretends it would not be proper for him to speak, 
 urging the Venetian, however, to watch the gen- 
 eral's actions, and adding, ' you shall observe him, 
 and his own courses will denote him so that I may 
 save my speech.' Thus the Venetian deputation 
 withdraws, full of regret to have been so mistaken 
 in regard to Othello's character. 
 
 In the next scene Othello is cross-questioning 
 Emilia, to discover whether she ever saw anything 
 suspicious between Cassio and her mistress. In- 
 variably present at every interview, Emilia vows 
 she has never seen anything amiss ; but, although she 
 is ready to stake her soul on Desdemona's purity, 
 Othello merely concludes she is paid to keep a 
 guilty secret. Bidding Emilia summon his wife, the 
 Moor next forces Desdemona to look him straight in 
 the eyes, and when she quails at his angry brow, 
 orders Emilia to mount guard at the door, and warn 
 them should any one approach. Left alone with her 
 husband, Desdemona sinks on her knees, vowing that 
 while she perceives fury in his words and glances, 
 she cannot guess its cause. In answer to Othello's 
 fierce, breathless questions, she gently assures him 
 of her fidelity, assurances he evidently does not be- 
 lieve, since he furiously terms her ' false as hell.' In 
 her despair, Desdemona implores him to state how 
 that may be, and then, fancying he attributes his 
 
82 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 recall to her father's enmity, begs him not to blame 
 her for that. When Othello passionately rejoins he 
 could have borne any other affliction — shame, pov- 
 erty, captivity, — but cannot brook becoming ' a fixed 
 figure for the time of scorn to point his slow unmov- 
 ing finger at,' she wonderingly enquires whether he 
 can doubt her honesty ? This innocent question only 
 causes him to berate her harshly, in spite of her gentle 
 protests, until Emilia returns. After rewarding 
 her for watching, Othello stalks out in wrath, leav- 
 ing her to assist her fainting mistress. But, on 
 raising Desdemona, Emilia finds her so dazed that 
 she can only moan she has no husband left! Then, 
 her grief being too deep for tears, yet seeking com- 
 fort, she bids her attendant deck her bed with her 
 wedding-sheets and summon Iago, orders which 
 Emilia hastens to fulfil, marvelling the while at 
 the sudden change of relations between a once loving 
 couple. 
 
 Meantime, Desdemona wonders why Othello has 
 treated her thus, since she has given him no cause for 
 displeasure, and when Iago appears, she brokenly 
 gasps that those who teach babes do it gently. Hear- 
 ing Emilia explain that Othello has insulted his 
 wife, and pity her mistress for forsaking father, coun- 
 try, and friends, only to be treated thus, Iago bids 
 Desdemona cease weeping, assuring her she must be 
 mistaken. But, when his wife excitedly avers some 
 insinuating rogue has devised this slander, he hypo- 
 critically declares it quite impossible, and shows no 
 emotion even when Desdemona brokenly exclaims 
 ' if any such there be, heaven pardon him.' His 
 
Othello 83 
 
 wife, however, less ready to forgive, grimly declares 
 a halter would be the just reward for baseness which 
 could coin such accusations as this, and that which 
 once roused his jealousy. In dread of exposure, 
 Iago tries to silence his wife, until Desdemona im- 
 plores him to tell her by what means she can regain 
 Othello's love, averring that, no matter how unkind 
 he may be, she will never show him aught save wifely 
 devotion. She is, therefore, a trifle comforted, when 
 Iago assures her Othello is merely troubled by mat- 
 ters of state. 
 
 Hearing trumpets summon them to the banquet, 
 Desdemona and Emilia leave the room, where Rod- 
 erigo soon appears to demand of his confederate 
 Iago an account of the money and jewels entrusted 
 to his keeping for Desdemona. Of course, none of 
 these tokens have ever reached their destination, and 
 when Roderigo insists upon their return or some 
 sign of favour, Iago realises his thefts will soon be 
 discovered. Nevertheless, he protests he has dealt 
 honestly, and promises a favourable outcome of the 
 whole affair, provided Roderigo will again aid him. 
 Then he informs his dupe of Cassio's appointment, 
 adding that Othello and Desdemona are bound for 
 Mauritania, whence they will never return. This 
 news blasts Roderigo's hopes, until Iago suggests 
 that were Cassio only removed, Othello would have 
 to remain, and urges Roderigo to attack the lieu- 
 tenant on his way home from supper, promising 
 that between them they will soon dispose of this 
 man whom they have good reasons for slaying. 
 
 The Venetian senators are just taking ceremonious 
 
84 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 leave, when Othello whispers to Desdemona to retire 
 quickly, so he can find her alone when he returns 
 from escorting their guests. After his departure, 
 Emilia comments he seems gentler than a while ago, 
 and Desdemona is elated because he wishes to see 
 her alone. In her haste she bids Emilia help her 
 disrobe, enquiring whether she has decked her bed 
 with the wedding sheets, one of which is destined 
 to serve as her shroud? While undressing, she is 
 somehow reminded of an insane girl, whose quaint 
 song seems to haunt her, for she softly hums it now 
 and then. Then she queries whether itching eyes 
 forbode weeping, and wonders whether wives ever 
 proved unfaithful? When Emilia sagely avers such 
 things have been, the horrified Desdemona demands 
 whether she would commit such a crime for the sake 
 of the whole world, and refuses to credit her when 
 she states she might do it for the sake of bestowing 
 such wealth upon her spouse. When Emilia adds, 
 however, that women have often proved faithless 
 merely to repay their husbands in kind, and that ' the 
 ills we do, their ills instruct us so,' the pure Des- 
 demona finds such reasoning incredible, and goes out 
 praying heaven ' such uses send, not to pick bad from 
 bad, but by bad mend ! ' 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens in a street in Cyprus 
 at night, just as Iago is directing Roderigo to hide 
 behind a wall and deal Cassio a deadly blow, assur- 
 ing him this deed ( makes us, or mars us ! ' Thus 
 stationed in ambush, Roderigo adjures his fellow- 
 conspirator to remain close by and finish the work 
 in case he does not complete it; but, after Iago has 
 
Othello 85 
 
 retired to some distance, the youth admits he has 
 no desire to commit this crime, notwithstanding 
 Iago's ' satisfying reasons.' 
 
 On his part, Iago gleefully murmurs that he has 
 stirred the young soldier to wrath, and that whether 
 he kill Cassio or vice versa, equal gain will redound 
 to him, for he argues that, should Roderigo live, he 
 will be compelled to restore his tokens, and that the 
 * daily beauty ' in Cassio's life, is a tacit rebuke 
 and makes him dread he may yet reveal the plot and 
 thus imperil his life. 
 
 This double soliloquy is interrupted by the appear- 
 ance of Cassio, whom Roderigo attacks, but whose 
 coat of mail protects him so effectively that he turns 
 and deals Roderigo a mortal wound. Stealing up 
 from behind, Iago now slashes Cassio's leg, and flees as 
 he sinks,calling for aid. These loud cries soon attract 
 the attention of Othello, who, recognising Cassio's 
 voice, and feeling sure Iago has disposed of his foe, 
 marches grimly on, praising this doughty deed which 
 nerves him to do his part. 
 
 Shortly after Othello follow the Venetian visitors, 
 who, hearing cries, hesitate to approach, lest they 
 fall in an ambush. While they are deliberating, 
 Iago rejoins them with a light, enquiring with pre- 
 tended innocence what this clamour means? Recog- 
 nising his voice, Cassio begs for aid, and all present 
 seem amazed at his sorry plight. When he re- 
 lates how he was attacked by a villain, Iago, 
 who has been prowling around and has found 
 Roderigo still alive, suddenly deals his associate 
 a deadly thrust, to prevent any revelation of 
 
86 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 his share in the attack. Sinking beneath this cow- 
 ardly blow, Roderigo dies cursing Iago, who loudly 
 accuses him of attempting murder. The confusion 
 reaches its height when Bianca, rushing forward, 
 wails over Cassio's injuries, while friends bind up 
 his wound and call for a chair. Although most 
 active in all measures of relief, Iago craftily con- 
 trives to draw the attention of the rest to the fact 
 that the courtesan is startlingly pale, and probably 
 had a hand in this affair. 
 
 The wounded and dead have barely been removed 
 when Emilia, rushing up with enquiries, learns that 
 Cassio is wounded, and Roderigo, his assailant, slain. 
 While she bewails this death, Iago sanctimoniously 
 ascribes the trouble to Cassio's fast life, and casts 
 such accusations upon Bianca that his wife loudly 
 reviles her. Then he bids Emilia run home and 
 report what has happened, while he attends to Cas- 
 sio's wounds. No sooner has she gone, however, 
 than the villain mutters ' this is the night that 
 either makes me or fordoes me quite,' before he 
 hurries off. 
 
 The next scene is played in Desdemona's dimly- 
 lighted bedroom, where she lies asleep, while Othello 
 murmurs he is about to do what is just, although he 
 has not the courage to shed a drop of her blood or 
 mar the purity of her snow-white skin. Unable to 
 commit a deed of darkness while the light shines, 
 Othello extinguishes it, commenting how easily a 
 candle can be relighted, while no power on earth will 
 ever restore light in his wife's eyes after it is once 
 extinguished. Then, comparing Desdemona to a 
 
Othello 87 
 
 rose, he so passionately kisses her that she awakens, 
 sleepily asking whether he is coming to bed ? When 
 he replies by an enquiry whether she has said her 
 prayers, muttering he will not kill her unprepared 
 lest he slay her soul as well as her body, he so ter- 
 rifies her, that she implores him not to kill her, 
 pleading, ' guiltiness I know not.' 
 
 Although Othello hoarsely bids her remember her 
 sins, Desdemona truthfully rejoins the greatest con- 
 sisted in forsaking her father to follow him, and 
 adds that it is unnatural he should slay her for loving 
 him too much. Then, hearing him gasp an accusa- 
 tion in regard to the handkerchief she gave Cassio, 
 she denies it, innocently suggests the lieutenant may 
 have found it, and entreats her husband to ques- 
 tion him. Hearing this, Othello mutters that Cas- 
 sio has confessed, and that his mouth is stopped for- 
 ever by his order. His sinister expression, even more 
 than his words, so terrifies Desdemona that she wails 
 Cassio has been betrayed and she is undone. This 
 sorrow and her tears soon work Othello up to such 
 a pitch of fury that, without further ado, he stifles 
 her in bed ! 
 
 Her struggles are just ceasing when Emilia knocks, 
 and Othello, perceiving his wife is not quite dead, 
 gasps he is too merciful to let her linger in pain. It 
 is in the midst of his renewed efforts to smother her 
 that Emilia's cries for admittance are heard, but only 
 when sure his wife is dead does Othello prepare to 
 let her in, knowing she will report Cassio's murder. 
 Lest she should discover the crime he deems black 
 enough to cause ' a huge eclipse of sun and moon,' 
 
88 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Othello carefully draws the bed curtains, ere he 
 admits her. 
 
 Breathlessly, Emilia reports Roderigo's murder 
 and Cassio's wound, news which infuriates Othello, 
 who would fain have heard that Cassio was slain. 
 Just then, a moan from the bed startles Emilia, who, 
 darting forward and discovering her mistress' sad 
 plight, loudly calls for aid, wondering who can have 
 done this terrible deed? Her cries rouse the dying 
 Desdemona, who, in a last attempt to serve her 
 husband, gasps she slew herself, and leaves her love 
 to Othello with the message ' a guiltless death I die.' 
 But, unwilling to profit by such devotion. Othello 
 hisses she is going down to Hades a liar since he 
 killed her! At this confession, Emilia wonders how 
 he could commit so black a deed, and when he tries to 
 justify himself by accusing Desdemona of infidelity, 
 demands how he learned it ? Hearing Othello quote 
 Iago, Emilia scorns the accusation and pronounces 
 Desdemona a model of virtue. When Othello ex- 
 claims that had she been true he would not have 
 exchanged her for a world ' made of one entire and 
 perfect chrysolite,' Emilia retorts that, if her husband 
 accused Desdemona of infidelity, he is a villain, and 
 calls so frantically for aid that the whole household 
 assembles, including the governor and Venetian am- 
 bassadors. 
 
 Perceiving her husband among the crowd, Emilia 
 summons him to give the lie to Othello, who avers 
 he accused Desdemona of breaking her marriage 
 vows. When, instead of denying this charge, Iago 
 admits it, his wife vehemently ejaculates, ' you told a 
 
Othello 89 
 
 lie, an odious, damned lie; upon my soul, a lie, a 
 wicked lie,' wailing that on the strength of such a 
 falsehood her mistress has been slain ! These tidings 
 horrify the bystanders, but although Iago terms his 
 wife insane and tries to silence her, she insists he is 
 responsible for it all. Hearing this, the spectators 
 urge her to speak, while Othello, already half con- 
 vinced of his wife's innocence, falls prone upon the 
 bed, moaning in despair. Unmindful of his evident 
 grief, Emilia accuses him of killing * the sweetest 
 innocent that e'er did lift up eye,' words which sting 
 him to gasp that Desdemona was false, and he bound 
 to avenge his honour. 
 
 This statement causes the uncle to exclaim it is 
 well Brabantio died of sorrow over his daughter's 
 elopement, as such news as this would have caused 
 him cruel suffering. Meanwhile, Othello insists 
 that Iago knew of the guilt of his wife and of Cassio, 
 since he too saw the handkerchief! Although Iago 
 forcibly tries to silence her, Emilia now proclaims 
 how she stole the handkerchief at her husband's re- 
 quest, little suspecting the use he would make of it. 
 Othello no sooner hears these words than seized with 
 revengeful fury, he rushes forward to slay Iago, 
 although the latter brazenly denies Emilia's accusa- 
 tion. While the bystanders seize and disarm 
 Othello, Iago, after stabbing the wife who betrayed 
 him, flees. Emilia now faintly begs to be laid by 
 her mistress' side, while the governor gives orders 
 for Iago's capture, and places a guard to prevent 
 Othello's escape or his commission of further crimes. 
 
 Left alone in the death chamber, Othello sees 
 
90 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Emilia softly caress her dead mistress, and hears her 
 repeatedly assure him ' she loved thee, cruel Moor ! ' 
 This assertion of his wife's innocence finally drives 
 him to such despair that he searches wildly for 
 another weapon, because he does not wish to live any 
 longer. 
 
 Entering a moment later, the Venetian is amazed 
 to find Othello armed with a dagger, with which he 
 assures him he could cut his way through a host of 
 foes! He adds, however, that he has no desire to 
 escape, and turning to his dead wife, murmurs that 
 the cold look upon her face will hurl his ' soul from 
 heaven.' Then, in his remorse, he calls down upon 
 his head all manner of torments, and moans over 
 Desdemona's corpse. 
 
 At this juncture a number of people bring in the 
 wounded Cassio, and Iago, who has just been cap- 
 tured. At their call Othello slowly rises from the 
 bed, and although they try to restrain him, deals a 
 wound to the villain Iago. Still, he soon declares 
 he is glad this is not mortal, for he would have him 
 live and suffer, and considers death the greatest boon. 
 His wild talk startles the Venetian senators, who 
 cannot understand how so good a man became the 
 tool of a vile slave. They are, however, silenced on 
 learning Iago has confessed his crimes, and on hearing 
 Cassio loyally protest that Othello had no cause for 
 suspicions. After begging his former lieutenant's 
 pardon, Othello grimly enquires why Iago ensnared 
 his soul and body? But the villain refuses to an- 
 swer, although the bystanders remind him torture 
 may unlock his tight-closed lips. Then a senator 
 
Othello 91 
 
 produces letters found in Roderigo's pocket, one of 
 which reveals the plot against Cassio, while the 
 other, — addressed to Iago, — exposes his villainy. 
 Hearing this, Othello demands how Cassio obtained 
 his wife's handkerchief, and is stricken with remorse 
 on learning he merely picked it up in his room, 
 where, as he has just heard, Iago dropped it to 
 compass his evil designs. 
 
 On perceiving how sorely he has been fooled and 
 Cassio wronged, Othello gives way to mad grief, 
 until the senators bid him accompany them to Venice 
 where his fate will be decided. Pleading for a mo- 
 ment's grace, Othello bids them testify he served 
 Venice faithfully, adding that, although he sinned, he 
 1 loved not wisely but too well,' and that his jealousy, 
 — not easily roused, — drove him to extremities. He 
 ends his peroration by stating that just as he once 
 slew one of his country's foes, he will now kill him- 
 self, and after dealing himself a mortal wound, drags 
 himself to Desdemona's side, moaning, ' I kiss'd thee 
 ere I killed thee: no way but this; killing myself, 
 to die upon a kiss,' and falls lifeless across the bed. 
 
 All present are horrified, and Cassio gasps he 
 feared this, knowing Othello's great heart, yet hoped 
 that, having no weapon, he would not be able to 
 compass his death. Turning upon Iago, whom he 
 reviles as ' Spartan dog,' the Venetian ambassador 
 bids him gaze upon the tragic load of that bed ; then, 
 placing one of his companions in charge of the house, 
 he orders the Cyprian governor to enforce the law 
 upon Iago, adding that he will return immediately to 
 Venice to relate this ' heavy act with heavy heart.' 
 
HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 Act I. The first act opens on a platform before 
 the castle of Elsinore, just as an officer, on his rounds 
 at night, nervously starts on meeting a sentinel 
 who challenges him. This officer has come to re- 
 lieve guard, so the sentinel, glad to leave a cold 
 post, reports nothing has occurred to disturb him. 
 The officer dismisses him, bidding him hasten the 
 movements of two of his friends, just as they ap- 
 pear. In reply to the challenge, they give the 
 countersign, and, when the sentinel is gone, one of 
 them, — Marcellus, — mysteriously enquires whether 
 1 this thing appeared again to-night ? ' He adds that, 
 deeming what they saw a mere delusion, Horatio 
 has come to share their watch, determined to ad- 
 dress the apparition should it return. Sitting on the 
 parapet, the officer and Marcellus now graphically 
 describe to Horatio what they saw twice running, 
 and while talking perceive the spectre of the dead 
 king ! 
 
 Urged by his companions, Horatio addresses this 
 apparition, which stalks away without answering, 
 while his friends, more familiar with its appearance, 
 comment upon his trembling limbs and startled 
 looks. Confessing he would not have believed it 
 had he not seen it, Horatio pronounces its resem- 
 blance to the deceased king remarkable, and when 
 
 92 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 93 
 
 his companions repeat this is its third visit, he 
 opines it ' bodes some strange eruption to our state.' 
 Because his friends eagerly enquire the cause for some 
 warlike preparations afoot, Horatio explains that 
 the former king won, from Fortinbras of Norway, 
 lands which his son is trying to recover. This 
 seems cause enough to disturb the spirit of the de- 
 ceased, especially as Horatio reminds his friends 
 what great portents were seen before Caesar's death. 
 
 He is interrupted by the return of the Ghost, 
 whom he beseeches to speak, promising to do any- 
 thing ' that may to thee do ease and grace to me.' 
 He adds that if the Ghost knows of any danger to 
 the country, or has buried a secret hoard, he had 
 better speak. Just then the cock crows, and the 
 spectre vanishes, although all three men try to seize 
 and hold it. Still, Marcellus admits it is wrong 
 to offer violence to anything so majestical, while 
 the others declare the Ghost was about to speak when 
 the cock crowed. Horatio, however, claims that 
 spectres can walk only until ' the trumpet to the 
 morn ' wakes ' the god of day,' an opinion confirmed 
 by both his friends. Finally Horatio suggests that 
 they impart what they have seen to Hamlet, in whom 
 perchance the spectre will more readily confide, a 
 decision which all three approve ere they depart to 
 seek the prince. 
 
 The next scene is played within the castle, where 
 the new monarch declares that although sorrowing 
 for a brother's death, he deemed it best to marry 
 his widow immediately, postponing to some more 
 auspicious moment all mirthful adjuncts of the wed- 
 
94 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ding. He adds that, taking advantage of the change 
 of dynasty, young Fortinbras demands the return 
 of the lands his father lost, and, under cover of his 
 uncle's old age and infirmity, is collecting forces 
 for war. To warn the aged monarch of Norway of 
 the trouble brewing, the king proposes to despatch 
 two courtiers, whom he summons, instructs, and 
 watches out of sight. Then turning to Laertes, the 
 king enquires what suit he wishes to urge, graciously 
 promising to grant it, as ' the head is not more 
 native to the heart, the hand more instrumental to 
 the mouth, than is the throne of Denmark to thy 
 father.' 
 
 Thus encouraged, Laertes expresses a desire to 
 return to France, whence he came for the corona- 
 tion festivities. After ascertaining that Polonius, — 
 Laertes' father, — is willing his son should leave, the 
 king grants this permission, then, turning to his 
 stepson Hamlet, queries what he can do for him, 
 and why he appears so sad? The prince mutters 
 the king is ' a little more than kin, a little less than 
 kind,' but vouchsafes no more explicit reply, where- 
 upon his mother entreats him to doff his mourning, 
 reminding him that ' all lives must die, passing 
 through nature to eternity.' To this Hamlet re- 
 joins that the outward signs of woe, — which he 
 enumerates, — signify little, but that he has ' that 
 within which passeth show.' On hearing this the 
 king, after praising his filial devotion, reminds him 
 that ' to persevere in obstinate condolement is a 
 course of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; 
 it shows a will most incorrect to heaven.' He bids 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 95 
 
 the prince henceforth consider him father, but adds 
 that instead of allowing him to return to Witten- 
 berg, he has decided to keep him ' here, in the cheer 
 and comfort of our eye, our chiefest courtier, cousin, 
 and our son.' His mother adding her entreaties, 
 Hamlet consents to remain; whereupon the king, in 
 token of satisfaction, proclaims a drinking bout, where 
 every time a toast is carried, the cannon shall peal. 
 All follow the regal party off the scene, except Ham- 
 let, who, in a wonderful soliloquy, wishes ' this too 
 too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself 
 into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 his canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! ' The world seems 
 ' weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable ' to him, for 
 he cannot conceive how his mother, having been 
 wedded to one he enthusiastically compares to Hy- 
 perion, could in the course of one brief month trans- 
 fer her affections to a satyr. His pessimistic con- 
 clusion is ' frailty, thy name is woman ! ' for the 
 wicked haste with which these second nuptials have 
 been consummated breaks his heart, although he 
 must hold his tongue. 
 
 Just then Horatio and the officers enter in quest 
 of him, and converse with him for a while about 
 Wittenberg, whence Horatio came to attend the 
 old king's funeral. With bitter sarcasm, Hamlet 
 wonders whether it was not rather to attend his 
 mother's wedding, and when Horatio admits the 
 two events followed each other very closely, sarcas- 
 tically adds that, for thrift's sake, the ' funeral 
 baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage 
 tables.' When he adds he thinks he sees his father, 
 
96 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Horatio, — having so recently beheld the spectre, — 
 questions him eagerly, only to hear him declare it 
 is merely ' in his mind's eye.' After mentioning 
 the apparition, Horatio, in reply to Hamlet's 
 startled interjections, relates how the Ghost twice 
 visited the men on the watch, how he joined them 
 the third time, and how the spectre was about to 
 speak when a crowing cock summoned him back 
 to the nether world ! This account so amazes Ham- 
 let that he plies all three men with close, breath- 
 less questions, which they answer most convincingly. 
 The prince, sure at last they really saw his father's 
 spirit, bids them keep the matter secret, promising 
 to join them on the platform at night; then, his three 
 companions gone, Hamlet resumes his soliloquy, de- 
 claring there must have been some crime, for ' foul 
 deeds will rise, though all the earth o'erwhelms 
 them, to men's eyes.' 
 
 The next scene is played in Polonius' dwelling, 
 where Laertes informs his sister Ophelia he is about 
 to depart, and begs her often to send him news. 
 Next he cautions her to attach no importance to 
 Hamlet's attentions, which he attributes to mere 
 fancy, and reminds her that on the prince's choice 
 1 depends the safety and health of this whole state.' 
 For that reason he thinks it is imperative Hamlet 
 should conclude a political alliance, and bids Ophelia 
 not heed his blandishments, warning her that ' vir- 
 tue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes,' a caution 
 she promises to heed. But, in her turn, she now 
 recommends him ' do not, as some ungracious pastors 
 do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 97 
 
 whiles, like a pufFd and reckless libertine, himself 
 the primrose path of dalliance treads, and recks not 
 his own rede.' 
 
 After assuring Ophelia she need feel no fears for 
 him, Laertes greets his father, who, in a wonderful 
 speech, gives his son a string of worldly precepts, — 
 the epitome of parental good advice, — every clause 
 of which has become a familiar quotation. This 
 speech concludes with the well-known ' to thine own 
 self be true, and it must follow, as the night the 
 day, thou canst not then be false to any man,' ere he 
 bestows his blessing upon Laertes, who departs. 
 
 The father having overheard part of his chil- 
 dren's conversation, now inquisitively asks Ophelia 
 what Laertes said of Hamlet, adding that, although 
 the prince has shown her much attention of late, he 
 would have her consider what she calls ' tenders of 
 affection,' mere politeness. He further pronounces 
 Hamlet too young for his wooing to be serious, and 
 makes his gentle daughter promise to have as little as 
 possible to do with him hereafter. 
 
 We now return to the platform, where Hamlet 
 arrives with Horatio and Marcellus, just after 
 twelve has struck. The night silence is broken only 
 by salvoes, which Hamlet attributes to the king's 
 wassail, a custom that gives the Danes an unenviable 
 reputation abroad, and which would be ' more hon- 
 our'd in the breach than the observance.' It is while 
 he is disserting upon this theme, that his compan- 
 ions suddenly call his attention to the spectre, which 
 reappears. After the involuntary invocation, 
 'angels and ministers of grace defend us;' Hamlet 
 
98 Stories of Shakespeare } s Tragedies 
 
 addresses the Ghost, imploring him to reveal why 
 he is revisiting the earth and ' making night hid- 
 eous ? ' Instead of answering, the Ghost moves on, 
 but Horatio and Marcellus see it beckon Hamlet 
 away, as if to hold a private conference with him. 
 Afraid lest their friend may run into danger, they 
 try to detain him; but, heedless of warnings, Ham- 
 let rushes off, threatening to make a ghost of any 
 one who tries to detain him! When the spectre 
 and Hamlet have vanished in the darkness, both 
 young men decide to follow, for they feel sure 
 1 something is rotten in the state of Denmark.' 
 
 In another part of the platform we see again the 
 Ghost and Hamlet, just as the spectre bids the prince 
 note his words, for he has but a short time to linger 
 above ground, — so short that instead of wasting any 
 of it in pity, Hamlet is urged to avenge his father, 
 whose spirit seeks him for this purpose only. In 
 a wonderful speech, the Ghost then avers he ' could 
 a tale unfold,' which would harrow his son's soul, 
 freeze his young blood, make his eyes ' start from 
 their spheres,' and ' each particular hair to stand 
 on end, like quills upon the fretful porcupine.' 
 Still, as it is not a hearing for his sufferings, but 
 an avenger for his murder, he is anxious to secure, 
 the Ghost states that, although it was published 
 the king was slain by the bite of a venomous snake, 
 while sleeping in his orchard, he was in reality killed 
 by his brother. Then he describes how the present 
 king of Denmark, inflamed with love for Hamlet's 
 mother, poured a deadly poison in his ear, and a 
 month after his decease married his widow. Al- 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 99 
 
 though calling upon Hamlet to avenge his death, 
 the spectre cautions him ' taint not thy mind, nor let 
 thy soul contrive against thy mother aught: leave 
 her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom 
 lodge, to prick and sting her.' Then, perceiving 
 signs of coming dawn, the Ghost bids Hamlet fare- 
 well, and vanishes, crying, 'Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, 
 remember me.' 
 
 Staggered by what he has seen and heard, the 
 prince wonders body and soul do not dissolve, but 
 vows he will forget all save the task his father 
 imposed, to avenge his murder upon the man who 
 can ' smile, and smile, and be a villain.' To make 
 sure not to forget any item, he notes down the 
 Ghost's words, just as his companions, who have been 
 vainly seeking for him, rush upon the scene. He 
 answers their exclamations and questions in such 
 enigmatical terms that they are sorely mystified; 
 then, deeming it wise all should go about their busi- 
 ness, Hamlet adds the request that they keep secret 
 all they have seen and heard. Although his friends 
 readily consent to this, he requires them to take 
 an oath upon his sword, starting nervously when a 
 voice from the depths, bids them in sepulchral tones 
 ' swear.' 
 
 Afraid of eavesdroppers, Hamlet makes them 
 change position, until realising they are dealing 
 with a ghost, he exclaims ' there are more things in 
 heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in 
 your philosophy,' and bids the tortured spirit rest. 
 Then he bids the young men take a solemn pledge 
 of secrecy, and parts from them with the despair- 
 
ioo Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 ing cry, 'the time is out of joint: O cursed spite, 
 that ever I was born to set it right ! ' 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in Polonius' 
 house, just as he is giving money and instructions to 
 a servant bound for Paris to find out how young 
 Laertes is behaving. In the course of conversation, 
 Polonius artfully suggests to the servant to use ' the 
 bait of falsehood ' to discover what he wishes, thus 
 initiating him in a secret of diplomacy. The man 
 dismissed, Polonius questions Ophelia, who informs 
 him Hamlet recently sought her in disarray, look- 
 ing ' as if he had been loosed out of hell to speak 
 of horrors.' When the father wonders whether 
 these are not signs of the madness of love, Ophelia 
 describes how the prince approached her, sighed, 
 wrung her hand, and went away, still gazing mourn- 
 fully at her. Because such behaviour convinces 
 Polonius Hamlet is suffering from ' the very ecstasy 
 of love,' he bids his daughter come with him to the 
 king, to tell him all about it, assuring her love often 
 1 leads the will to desperate undertakings,' and that 
 her obedience has had greater effect than he antici- 
 pated, since it has driven Hamlet mad ! Father and 
 daughter leave the room, therefore, to seek the king 
 and impart all they know or suspect in regard to 
 lovelorn Hamlet. 
 
 The curtain next rises in the palace, where king 
 and queen welcome Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, 
 his majesty telling them they have doubtless heard 
 of Hamlet's eccentricities, which can only be ascribed 
 to sorrow for his father's death. Knowing they 
 were the prince's fellow-students, he bids them try 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 101 
 
 and cheer him, and especially discover, if possible, 
 * whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
 that open'd, lies within our remedy.' The queen 
 adding her entreaties to those of the king, both 
 young men assure their majesties of their readiness 
 to serve them, ere an attendant is summoned to con- 
 duct them to Hamlet, to whom they hope their 
 presence and practices may be pleasant and helpful. 
 
 A moment after they have gone, Polonius reports 
 to the king that the ambassadors have returned from 
 Norway with good news, and that he has discovered 
 the cause of Hamlet's lunacy. Still, he implores 
 the king to receive the ambassadors first, and when 
 told to introduce them, hastens out in quest of them, 
 while the monarch informs his wife that the source 
 of her son's distemper has been found, although she 
 sagely attributes it to his father's death and their 
 ' o'erhasty marriage.' Before she can add any 
 more, however, the ambassadors enter, reporting 
 that the aged king of Norway not only checked his 
 nephew's plans, but wrung from him a promise 
 to employ his forces against the Polacks and not 
 against the Danes. They are commissioned, how- 
 ever, to request that those forces may pass through 
 Denmark, a permission the king immediately grants. 
 
 After they have gone, seeing the king and queen 
 eagerly await his disclosures, Polonius, after a wordy 
 preamble, exclaims that ' since brevity is the soul of 
 wit,' their son is mad ! Then, after some digres- 
 sion on insanity, he reveals how Ophelia received 
 verses, — which he produces, — in which Hamlet ad- 
 dresses her as his ' soul's idol.' Sundry poems like 
 
102 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 this have been sent to the young lady, who, enjoined 
 by her father, has revealed to him all. When the 
 king enquires whether Ophelia is in favour of the 
 prince, Polonius virtuously rejoins he knows his 
 place too well to covet such an alliance for his 
 daughter, adding that he has instructed Ophelia to 
 meet all the prince's advances with extreme reserve. 
 He fancies it is this very coldness which has un- 
 settled Hamlet's wits, and offers to prove it by 
 hiding with the king and watching the young 
 people meet. 
 
 Because Hamlet now approaches in disordered 
 array, reading a paper, Polonius begs the royal 
 couple to leave him alone with the youth, and the 
 rest having gone, begins a dialogue with him. But 
 Hamlet gives such distracted answers to the coun- 
 sellor's questions, that Polonius is surer than ever 
 he is mad. When Hamlet abruptly mentions his 
 daughter, he takes this as proof his madness is due 
 to unrequited love. Still, some of Hamlet's re- 
 marks contain so much sense that Polonius ex- 
 claims in an aside, ' though this be madness, yet 
 there is method in't.' After some more conversa- 
 tion, he goes off in quest of his daughter, while 
 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern draw near, and are 
 kindly welcomed by Hamlet, who exchanges playful 
 remarks with them. Then he suddenly asks why 
 they came to Denmark, which he terms a prison. 
 When they intimate they came to visit him, Hamlet 
 realises their majesties have sent them to discover 
 the cause of his melancholy. Although he volubly 
 answers all their remarks, his companions, unable to 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 103 
 
 find out anything, yet hoping to divert him, inform 
 him players are coming to court. This news greatly 
 interests Hamlet, who asks many questions in regard 
 to these actors before their arrival is announced. 
 
 After calling a welcome to the players, Hamlet 
 bitterly informs Guildenstern * his uncle-father and 
 aunt-mother are deceived,' and intimates he is not 
 entirely mad since he can still distinguish the flight 
 of birds, and can even discriminate between ' a hawk 
 and a hand-saw.' Just then Polonius reenters, and 
 Hamlet whispers to Rosencrantz that the ' great 
 baby ' they behold, ' not yet out of his swaddling 
 clothes,' has come to tell them of the players' 
 arrival. His prediction is verified, for Polonius 
 immediately launches into a panegyric of the actors' 
 talents, in regard to which Hamlet makes jeering 
 comments which his hearers misinterpret. Then the 
 players reenter, and Hamlet, after greeting them by 
 name, draws one apart, mentioning a speech he once 
 made, which particularly pleased him although 
 * 'twas caviare to the general.' By quoting bits of 
 familiar parts, Hamlet so stimulates this actor that 
 he gives an example of the histrionic art of the time, 
 working himself up to the pitch of shedding real 
 tears, like the character he impersonates. When 
 most of the actors follow Polonius out of the room, 
 Hamlet, in a quiet aside, arranges that this man 
 shall interpolate in the play he has chosen, a few 
 extra lines which he promises to furnish for him in 
 good season. 
 
 This settled, the actor joins his companions, and 
 Hamlet, after dismissing his friends, muses how 
 
104 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 strange it is that a man should so well simulate a 
 passion he did not feel as to weep real tears, while 
 he, who has ' motive and the cue for passion,' is 
 such a coward and villain that he dares not execute 
 his vengeance! He murmurs that in order to make 
 sure a crime has been committed, he intends to have 
 the actors represent the very scene the Ghost nar- 
 rated (which occurs in an old play) and watch its 
 effect on his guilty uncle, triumphantly conclud- 
 ing ' the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the 
 conscience of the king.' 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in the castle, 
 where their majesties question Rosencrantz and 
 Guildenstern in regard to Hamlet's abstraction, and 
 are disappointed that he did not confide in them, 
 although he treated them with marked courtesy. 
 When asked if they suggested some diversion, these 
 young men joyfully report the arrival of the 
 players, Hamlet's keen interest in them, and the 
 fact they are to give a representation this evening. 
 This news is confirmed by Polonius, bringing their 
 majesties an invitation from the prince, which they 
 joyfully accept, urging the young men to continue 
 cheering Hamlet. When they have gone, the king 
 tenderly begs his wife leave him alone with Polonius, 
 for they wish to watch an encounter between Ham- 
 let and Ophelia, so as to determine whether the 
 prince is love-mad or not. As anxious as they to 
 solve this problem, the queen withdraws, imploring 
 Ophelia to play her part cleverly, and exclaiming 
 that, if love is at fault, Hamlet can soon be cured! 
 
 Following paternal direction, the girl now takes 
 
F. Stiele 
 
 HAMLET AND THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 
 
 Ham. "That skull had a tongue in it, 
 and could sing once," 
 
 Hamlet. Act 5, Scene 1. 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 105 
 
 a book and paces up and down the gallery, while 
 the king, — in a guilty aside, — comments upon her 
 father's remarks. When sounds of footsteps are 
 heard, king and counsellor vanish behind the hang- 
 ings, just a moment before Hamlet appears on the 
 stage, pronouncing his famous soliloquy, ' To be or 
 not to be : that is the question ' ; wherein he debates 
 a vital matter in lines which are the boast of Eng- 
 lish literature. At the end of his speech, suddenly 
 becoming aware of Ophelia's presence, he addresses 
 her gently, until she offers to return his tokens and 
 keepsakes, sadly stating ' to the noble mind rich 
 gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.' In his 
 wrath, Hamlet's talk now becomes very odd. When 
 he exclaims he once loved her, she admits he made 
 her believe it; although he immediately declares she 
 never should have done so! Then he roughly bids 
 her go into a nunnery, depicting himself and all 
 other men as ' arrant knaves.' When, in answer to 
 a question regarding her father, Ophelia replies he 
 is at home, Hamlet exclaims Polonius should be 
 locked up, so he could play the fool nowhere else, 
 adding a speech which seems so insane to Ophelia 
 that she pitifully prays Heaven to restore his senses! 
 After another enigmatical speech, Hamlet leaves 
 Ophelia, who bewails the overthrow of his noble 
 mind, which reminds her of ' sweet bells jangled, out 
 of tune and harsh.' Just then the king and Polon- 
 ius emerge from their hiding-place, the former at- 
 tributing the prince's madness not to love but to 
 melancholy. To cure it, he determines to send the 
 prince to England to demand the tribute, hoping a 
 
io6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 sea journey will dispel this cloud. Not only does 
 Polonius approve this plan, but suggests that, after 
 the play, Hamlet's mother try to worm her way into 
 her son's confidence; while she does so, he proposes 
 to listen, so as to report all they say to the king. 
 
 The next scene represents the hall of the castle, 
 as Hamlet ushers in the actors, bidding one of them 
 recite the lines he has given him without mouthing 
 them or trying ' to out-herod Herod " — the King of 
 the Jews being at the time the greatest ranter on the 
 stage. These stage directions reveal an intimate 
 knowledge of histrionic art, and for that reason have 
 served as actors' directions ever since. While the 
 players vanish to prepare for their parts, Hamlet is 
 joined by Polonius and the two young men, from 
 whom he enquires whether their majesties are com- 
 ing to view the play? While the youths hasten off 
 to summon them, and Polonius goes to hurry the 
 players, Hamlet has the opportunity to inform 
 Horatio that, considering him a just man and true 
 friend, he bespeaks his aid. He adds that the play 
 to-night is to represent his father's death, and that 
 he wishes him to watch both king and queen closely 
 so as to detect any signs of guilt which may appear. 
 This scheme appeals to Horatio, who promises to 
 keep his eyes open, as the audience begins to appear. 
 
 The formal entrance of king and queen is followed 
 by the courteous exchange of greetings between them 
 and the prince. Then Hamlet addresses Polonius, 
 who plumes himself upon having played the part 
 of Julius Caesar while at the university. Although 
 the queen invites Hamlet to sit at her feet, he 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 107 
 
 places himself near Ophelia, remarking to his 
 mother ' here's metal more attractive.' Then he 
 plunges into a very Elizabethan conversation with 
 this young lady, remarking when she comments 
 upon his gay spirits, that he has every cause to be 
 merry, seeing his mother is so joyful although his 
 - father died within these two hours ! ' In surprise, 
 Ophelia contradicts this statement, reminding him 
 that event is already two months old, ere the music 
 begins, accompanying a dumb-show presentation of 
 the coming play. 
 
 In pantomime a loving royal couple part in a 
 garden, where the sleeping king is soon surprised 
 by a poisoner, who, after stealing his crown, pours 
 venom into his ear. The queen, on returning, finds 
 her spouse dead, but in the midst of her grief, ac- 
 cepts gifts from the poisoner and then his hand. 
 Unable to grasp the meaning of this dumb-show, 
 Ophelia begs an explanation from Hamlet, who 
 mysteriously bids her listen to the prologue. Only 
 three lines however, introduce the play, and as they 
 merely bespeak the audience's patience, Ophelia is 
 not much enlightened. 
 
 But the rising curtain, reveals the play-king con- 
 gratulating himself upon having been happily mar- 
 ried thirty years, years which his spouse assures 
 him have been sweet and happy for her. When the 
 king adds that being the elder, he will soon have 
 to leave her a widow, and mentions the fact she may 
 marry again, she indignantly denies all such inten- 
 tion, virtuously declaring ' none wed the second but 
 who kill'd the first,' words whose effect upon their 
 
io8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 majesties Hamlet keenly notes. Meantime, the play 
 goes on, the royal actors smoothly acting their parts, 
 and protesting undying affection for each other. 
 Finally the play-queen withdraws, leaving her hus- 
 band to rest, and Hamlet, turning abruptly, asks his 
 mother how she likes what she has seen. Coldly 
 remarking ' the lady doth protest too much, me- 
 thinks,' she avoids all further reply, while the king 
 enquires what the plot is, only to be told by his 
 stepson it * is the image of a murder done in 
 Vienna.' 
 
 Just then a new actor appears on the scene, whom 
 Hamlet designates as a nephew of the play-king, 
 adding that the poison he holds is of such potency 
 that a few drops in the monarch's ear will end his 
 life. Even while Hamlet is explaining the action 
 on the stage, his uncle suddenly rises and leaves the 
 room. Deeming him ill, Polonius calls for lights, 
 orders the play suspended, and most of the courtiers 
 leave the hall, but Hamlet idly hums snatches of 
 song, and discusses with Horatio the effect of this 
 representation upon the king. Finally, Hamlet calls 
 aloud for music to end the entertainment, just as 
 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern join him, reporting 
 the king angry and the queen sending for him in 
 ' most great affliction of spirit.' Hamlet sarcas- 
 tically comments upon their message, while the play- 
 ers produce their instruments. Then, seizing these, 
 he suddenly begins talking about them, explaining 
 glibly that it ' is as easy as lying ' for experts to 
 handle the stops, subtly intimating that his friends 
 have not the required skill to play upon his feelings. 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 109 
 
 This by-play is interrupted by Polonius' repeating 
 the queen's summons to Hamlet, who still pays no 
 heed, but calls the bystanders' attention to the shape 
 of the clouds. To humour what they consider in- 
 sane fancies, Polonius and the rest agree with all 
 he says, until the prince comments upon his friends' 
 pliancy, shrewdly remarking ' they fool me to the 
 top of my bent.' But, when they have left him, 
 nerved by ' the very witching time of night,' he pre- 
 pares to join his mother ' and speak daggers to her, 
 but use none.' 
 
 In another room in the castle, the king, convers- 
 ing with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, announces 
 he is about to send Hamlet to England with them, 
 deeming it unsafe to keep a madman so near his per- 
 son. Both young men again promise to do their 
 best to lure the prince out of his melancholy mood, 
 ere they leave to prepare for the journey. 
 
 Joining his master, Polonius now reports Hamlet 
 on his way to visit his mother, adding that he will 
 listen to them from behind the arras. As the king 
 approves of this eavesdropping, Polonius hurries off, 
 while his majesty bewails his offence, which is so 
 1 rank, it smells to heaven.' His sense of guilt, and 
 of the unforgivableness of his crime, so weighs upon 
 him, that longing to be reconciled to Heaven, he 
 retires to pray, although he still has no intention of 
 making atonement. 
 
 Meanwhile Hamlet comes in, and seeing the king 
 on his knees, is seized with a desire to avenge his 
 father's death on the spot. But, suddenly remember- 
 ing his parent had no time to make his peace with 
 
no Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Heaven, he decides to postpone his vengeance until 
 some moment when he can catch the villain revel- 
 ling in crime. Instead, therefore, of drawing his 
 sword upon the unconscious king, Hamlet steals 
 out again in quest of his mother, while the monarch 
 slowly rises from his knees, ruefully exclaiming, 
 ' my words fly up, my thoughts remain below : words 
 without thoughts never to heaven go.' 
 
 The next scene is played in the queen's closet, 
 where Polonius instructs her what to say and do, 
 before vanishing behind the arras. On entering, 
 Hamlet finds his mother apparently alone, and, 
 when she remarks he has offended his father, bluntly 
 retorts she has offended him still more. This re- 
 joinder is resented by the queen, who, finding all 
 her reproofs caught up in the same way, and alarmed 
 by her son's wild looks, suddenly calls for help. 
 This cry being echoed by the hidden Polonius, Ham- 
 let madly stabs him through the arras, under the 
 hysterical impression he is slaying his father's mur- 
 derer, and thus effecting the promised revenge! 
 When the fall of Polonius causes the queen to ex- 
 claim in horror, Hamlet coolly informs her it is no 
 worse to kill a king than marry his brother, and 
 then, raising the hangings and discovering the slain 
 man, he sadly comments, ' I took thee for thy better.' 
 Turning to his mother, Hamlet bids her sit down 
 while he ' wrings her heart,' which, in spite of her 
 protests, he proceeds to do in the coldest-blooded 
 fashion, by setting forth the heinousness of her crime 
 for which she had no shadow of an excuse. So 
 graphically is it brought before her that the queen 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark in 
 
 cringes before her son, wailing his words have 
 entered her ears like daggers! It is at this moment 
 the spectre reappears, and Hamlet, seeing him, as- 
 sures him he has not forgotten his injunctions. 
 Meanwhile, his mother, noticing he stares at some- 
 thing she cannot see, deems him insane, a belief 
 which is strengthened by his trying to make her 
 see the Ghost, too; but it vanishes, just as she ex- 
 claims, ' This is the very coinage of your brain.' 
 
 After imploring his mother to repent, and ' as- 
 sume a virtue' if she has it not, Hamlet expresses 
 deep regret for Polonius' death; then he bids the 
 queen farewell, saying he must start for England 
 with his comrades, whom he is as little inclined to 
 trust as ' adders fang'd,' and whom he fully intends 
 to ' hoist with their own petar,' for he has dis- 
 covered they bear sealed orders. The curtain falls 
 just as Hamlet draws away Polonius' corpse to dis- 
 pose of it. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in the castle, 
 where the king wonders why his wife sighs so deeply. 
 After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have been dis- 
 missed, she says it is because Hamlet is mad, as he 
 has proved by slaying Polonius, who was hiding in 
 her room. More convinced than ever of the danger 
 of leaving Hamlet free, the king exclaims they must 
 place him under restraint, or they will regret it. 
 Then he wonders how he can account for the coun- 
 sellor's death, which he fears may be laid at his 
 door, and enquires where the unfortunate prince is 
 now? When the queen describes Hamlet, weeping 
 in solitude over his crime, the king decides to ship 
 
112 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 him off immediately, and summoning the two young 
 men, bids them convey Polonius' corpse to the chapel, 
 while he and his wife impart to their friends what 
 has occurred, and consult with them how to prevent 
 further misfortunes. 
 
 Hamlet is muttering that the corpse is safely 
 stowed away, when the two young men draw near 
 calling his name. On entering, they demand what he 
 has done with the body, and refuse to believe him 
 when he grimly retorts he has " compounded it 
 with dust, whereto 'tis kin.' As he refuses to be 
 more explicit, and dubs them ' sponges ' because they 
 ' soak up the king's countenance, his rewards, his 
 authorities,' they deem him really mad and soon 
 withdraw. 
 
 In another room, the king, talking to himself, 
 awaits their return with the corpse. Finally one of 
 them enters empty-handed, reporting the body can- 
 not be found, and that, as the prince will give them 
 no satisfaction, he is now at the door, guarded by 
 his companion. Giving orders to admit Hamlet, the 
 king sternly demands of him where Polonius may 
 be, and is startled to be briefly informed ' at supper,' 
 until Hamlet adds a grim description of the feast the 
 worms are having, and of the mutations human flesh 
 can undergo! Unable to obtain what he considers 
 a sensible answer from the prince, the king finally 
 orders a search for the corpse, announcing that 
 Hamlet must prepare immediately to sail for Eng- 
 land. Unresisting, the prince bids him farewell, 
 terming him ' mother,' a title he considers justifiable 
 since husband and wife are one flesh. When he has 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 113- 
 
 gone, the king charges both young men to watch 
 closely over him, and sail without delay, exclaiming 
 when they have gone, that if England wishes to 
 please him, Hamlet will soon be put to death, and 
 he will thus be able to enjoy the fruits of his 
 crime. 
 
 The curtain next rises on a plain in Denmark, 
 where Fortinbras, marching with his troops, sends a 
 captain to secure the king's conveyance across his 
 realm. This force moves out of sight, before Hamlet 
 appears, and, gazing at the vanishing army, enquires 
 of the Captain what it is, and whither bound ? The 
 Norse Captain replies that his master is on his way 
 to recover ' a little patch of ground that hath in it 
 no profit but the name,' and Hamlet, shrewdly 
 perceiving the real import of these words, dismisses 
 him. When his companions implore him to follow 
 them, he promises to do so shortly and, left alone, 
 soliloquises that ' all occasions do inform against 
 me, and spur my dull revenge ! ' Still, with a father 
 slain and a mother dishonoured, he feels it wrong 
 not to act, yet hesitates to do the bloody deed he 
 has been called upon to perform. Hoping to nerve 
 himself for it, he prays ' from this time forth, my 
 thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.' 
 
 In a room in the castle we next overhear the 
 queen asked to grant an interview to Ophelia, whose 
 reason has evidently been unsettled by her father's 
 sudden death. Seeing the queen's reluctance, Hora- 
 tio urges her to speak to the poor girl, lest she 
 ' strew dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.' 
 Thus reminded of appearances, the queen orders 
 
1 1 4 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Ophelia admitted, and Horatio hastens out to get 
 her. But, instead of answering her majesty's kindly 
 questions, Ophelia chants snatches of song, looking 
 so distracted that the queen, in pitying horror, points 
 her out to the king when he comes in. He, too,, 
 tries to soothe and question the maiden, but receives 
 nothing save chanted or irrelevant replies, until, all 
 at once, Ophelia calls for her coach, and taking 
 ceremonious leave of an imaginary audience, goes 
 away. 
 
 Bidding Horatio follow to see no harm befalls 
 her, the king turns to his wife, mournfully declar- 
 ing, ' when sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 but in battalions,' and adds that this is one result of 
 Polonius' murder. He is so haunted by fears, that 
 he declares ' this, like to a murdering-piece, in many 
 places gives me superfluous death,' just as a sudden 
 noise startles him, and makes him nervously call for 
 his guards. But, instead, a gentleman bursts in with 
 the tidings that young Laertes, heading some mal- 
 contents, is advancing, hailed everywhere by the 
 cry ' Laertes shall be king! ' Before their majesties 
 can grasp what this means, a tumult is heard in the 
 palace itself, and Laertes appears with his followers, 
 whom he bids tarry at the door, while he demands 
 his father of the king. When the queen admonishes 
 him to be calm, Laertes hotly declares that is impos- 
 sible, and looks so threatening that the monarch re- 
 minds his wife of the ' divinity doth hedge a king.' 
 Then, hearing Laertes reiterate a demand for his 
 father, the king informs him Polonius is dead. 
 When the queen tremblingly adds that her husband 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 115 
 
 is not responsible for this death, Laertes accuses 
 them both of trying to deceive him and grimly vows 
 he will be avenged. 
 
 The king pronounces these sentiments praise- 
 worthy, and has just repeated he is not to blame 
 for Polonius' death, when their attention is diverted 
 by Ophelia's reentrance. On beholding his de- 
 mented sister, Laertes wails aloud that it is strange 
 a young maid's wits should be as easily destroyed 
 as an old man's body! Meanwhile, Ophelia sings 
 snatches of song, her wild actions adding to her 
 brother's fierce longing for revenge. Then she 
 distributes the flowers she has gathered to those 
 around her, with such pretty speeches that her 
 brother wails she turns ' thought and affliction, pas- 
 sion, hell itself,' ' to favour, and to prettiness.' 
 After another weird ditty Ophelia passes out of 
 the room, while Laertes calls God to witness this is 
 a sad sight. The king, however, now prevails upon 
 the excited youth to appoint friends to judge be- 
 tween them, volunteering to forfeit title and estates 
 should he be found guilty of Polonius' death. This 
 offer is accepted by Laertes, who mutters his 
 father's plain funeral is another matter to be ac- 
 counted for ; but, after bidding him * let the great 
 axe fall,' wherever he • finds offence,' the king suc- 
 ceeds in leading him away. 
 
 Meantime, in another room in the castle, a serv- 
 ant approaches Horatio, announcing that recently 
 landed seafarers wish to deliver letters addressed to 
 him. While the servant goes in quest of these men, 
 Horatio opines the missives can be from Hamlet only 
 
Ii6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 since he has no other friend abroad. A moment later 
 sailors enter, and after exchanging greetings, 
 proffer the letter they received from ' the ambassador 
 bound for England.' Upon opening this missive, 
 Horatio discovers that the messengers bear letters 
 to the king, that two days out at sea Hamlet and 
 his companions were attacked by pirates, and that, 
 having boarded their vessel, the prince was carried 
 off by accident. The pirates have, however, treated 
 him so mercifully that in exchange he proposes to 
 do them a good turn; meanwhile, he implores his 
 friend to join him, for he has matters of such mo- 
 ment to impart that they will strike him dumb. 
 As the letter concludes with the information that 
 Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are continuing their 
 journey to England, Horatio, fancying the king may 
 be glad to have these tidings, leads the sailors away. 
 
 Meantime, the king and Laertes have been hold- 
 ing their momentous conference, and the curtain 
 rises just as his majesty concludes that, after hearing 
 all, Laertes can but hold him guiltless. He adds it 
 was impossible to proceed against the real criminal 
 in the manner Laertes suggests, without almost kill- 
 ing Hamlet's mother, and that besides the Danes 
 are so devoted to their prince that any arrow aimed 
 against him would have rebounded on the sender! 
 From all this Laertes sadly concludes he has lost 
 both father and sister, yet must bide his time for 
 the revenge which the king promises shall ultimately 
 be his. 
 
 Just then the messenger delivers the letters the 
 sailors have brought for king and queen. On open- 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 117 
 
 ing them, the king reads aloud how Hamlet has 
 been ' set naked on his kingdom,' and will soon 
 present himself to beg pardon and explain the rea- 
 son for his return. These tidings sorely displease 
 his majesty, who, with Laertes' help, scans every 
 word, in hope of discovering some hidden meaning. 
 Although unable to account for this news, his 
 majesty persuades Laertes not to seek immediate 
 revenge, but to be guided by him, promising to 
 entice the prince to some exploit, ' under the which 
 he shall not choose but fall,' for, although deter- 
 mined to get rid of Hamlet, he does not wish to 
 seem to have caused his decease. 
 
 Having wrung from Laertes the required prom- 
 ise, the king reveals how a skilled fencer recently 
 so praised Laertes' skill that Hamlet became madly 
 jealous. He intends to manipulate matters so 
 cleverly that the prince will accept a challenge to 
 fence with Laertes before the court, when he sug- 
 gests that Laertes' rapier be unbuttoned. This 
 scheme of revenge suits the youth, who further pro- 
 poses to poison the point of his weapon, so that the 
 least scratch will prove mortal, promising to play his 
 part so skilfully that his father shall be avenged. 
 The king promises that a poisoned drink shall also 
 be ready to slake Hamlet's thirst, and thus further 
 hasten his departure from this world. 
 
 Just as this plan is settled, the queen comes in, 
 pitifully announcing to Laertes that his sister is 
 drowned! Then, gradually she reveals how, lean- 
 ing upon a willow overhanging a stream (which she 
 was decorating with flowers), the branch broke, hurl- 
 
1 1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ing Ophelia and her garlands into the water, where, 
 upheld for a little while by her garments, she finally 
 sank singing into a watery grave. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens in the churchyard, 
 where two grave-diggers at work comment upon 
 Ophelia's death. They wonder whether it was due 
 to suicide or accident, quote the coroner and the law, 
 and come to the conclusion that, had Ophelia not 
 been a gentlewoman, she would doubtless have been 
 refused Christian burial. Not only do they extol 
 their calling above all other, but propound conun- 
 drums, until finally one goes for liquor as Hamlet 
 and Horatio draw near. Because the sexton hums 
 a tune, Hamlet deems him unfeeling, until Horatio 
 reminds him how custom dulls one's senses. Soon 
 the man throws up a skull with the dirt, and Ham- 
 let pounces upon it, wishing it might speak. He 
 adds that it may have belonged to some courtier, and 
 is dilating on the subject to Horatio, when the man 
 digs up a second skull, which the prince fancies may 
 have belonged to a lawyer. After a while, Hamlet 
 questions the grave-digger, who, after some am- 
 biguous replies, admits he is digging a grave for a 
 woman. Asked how long he has pursued this trade, 
 he rejoins ever since Hamlet was born, adding rue- 
 fully that the poor prince has been shipped to Eng- 
 land because he was mad, although he deems such a 
 voyage will scarcely benefit him, seeing all English- 
 men are insane! When Hamlet questions how long 
 it takes a corpse to resolve into dust, the sexton 
 gives him some gruesome data, and picking up a 
 skull, explains it once belonged to Yorick, the king's 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 119 
 
 fool. Hamlet, who remembers Yorick as a fellow 
 of ' infinite jest,' with whom he played as a child, 
 comments upon this cranium, and finally asks Hora- 
 tio whether great Alexander can have looked and 
 smelled like that, setting it aside with disgust. The 
 fact that ' imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to 
 clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away/ 
 serves as epilogue to the homily on death which 
 Hamlet pronounces ere a funeral procession draws 
 near. 
 
 To his surprise, Hamlet recognises the royal cou- 
 ple among the mourners, and soon concludes from 
 the maimed rites that the corpse did ' foredo its own 
 life.' Drawing aside with Horatio, he closely observes 
 what's going on, and thus overhears Laertes demand- 
 ing what other ceremonies can be used ? The priest 
 compassionately informs the bereaved brother the ut- 
 most has been done in allowing the corpse to rest 
 in sanctified ground, instead of reposing outside, ex- 
 posed to insult. But the mere mention of insult 
 offered to Ophelia drives Laertes almost mad, and 
 makes him hotly retort his sister will be ' a minister- 
 ing angel,' while the priest lies howling in Hades! 
 These remarks reveal to Hamlet it is Ophelia they 
 are burying, just as the queen steps forward to 
 strew flowers into her grave. Then, unable to part 
 with such beloved remains without another embrace, 
 Laertes springs down into the hole, wildly bidding 
 them pile earth above them both! 
 
 Excited by this example, Hamlet, — whose sense of 
 loss is equally great, — suddenly leaps down into the 
 grave, too, to dispute the possession of the corpse 
 
120 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 with Laertes. In his rage at facing his father's mur- 
 derer and the unconscious cause of his sister's death, 
 Laertes fiercely attacks Hamlet, and both young 
 men wrestle madly until the attendants forcibly 
 separate them by order of the king. Her majesty 
 reproaching Hamlet for this unseemly demonstra- 
 tion, the prince hotly rejoins he loved Ophelia more 
 than ' forty thousand ' brothers, and challenges 
 Laertes to outdo him in devotion to her. Softly 
 imploring Laertes to remember the prince is mad and 
 pay no attention to his speeches, their majesties, see- 
 ing Hamlet now hurry off, beseech Horatio to follow 
 him. Then, again whispering to Laertes, the king 
 reminds him of their plot, promising to l put the 
 matter to the present push,' ere he repeats the queen 
 should have her son closely watched, and volunteers 
 to erect a monument over Ophelia's grave. 
 
 In a hall in the castle, Hamlet talking to Horatio 
 alone, exclaims ' there's a divinity that shapes our 
 ends, rough-hew them how we will,' and that, owing 
 to this providence, he discovered while on shipboard 
 that his companions were bearing sealed orders from 
 the king. Having secured the packet from his sleep- 
 ing fellow-travellers one night, Hamlet discovered it 
 contained the order for his immediate execution, 
 which he hands to Horatio. Having decided to meet 
 treachery with treachery, he next describes how he 
 replaced this letter by another, — ordering the bear- 
 ers slain, — sealing it with the seal of Denmark 
 which his father had given him, and replacing the 
 packet where he found it, so no one could suspect 
 it had ever been touched. On the very morrow 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 121 
 
 occurred the piratical raid, in the course of which 
 Hamlet was separated from his companions, whose 
 * defeat does by their own insinuation grow.' Hor- 
 rified by all he has learned of the king's crimes, 
 Horatio cries out against him, warning Hamlet, 
 however, that news from England will soon reveal 
 the fact that he tampered with the sealed letter. 
 Still, as the interim is his, Hamlet intends to use it 
 to secure his ends. 
 
 The entrance of the steward, — whom Hamlet 
 mystifies by ambiguous remarks, — puts an end to this 
 conversation, and starts another in a more playful 
 vein. By setting this man at ease and inducing him 
 to talk, Hamlet soon learns about the fencer's visit, 
 of his extravagant praise of Laertes' skill, and of 
 the king's wager the latter cannot get the better 
 of Hamlet. When the messenger eagerly enquires 
 whether Hamlet will accept such a match, the prince 
 rejoins if Laertes will meet him in the hall, he 
 will fence with him in presence of the court. De- 
 lighted with this satisfactory answer, the man hur- 
 ries off, but, after he has gone, Hamlet and Horatio 
 comment upon his empty-headedness, until a lord 
 comes in to enquire when the fencing-bout shall take 
 place. Ready to consult the king's pleasure in this 
 matter, Hamlet receives the lord courteously, even 
 when he delivers a message from the queen im- 
 ploring him to ' use some gentle entertainment to 
 Laertes,' before beginning to fence. Finally, the 
 lord goes off to assemble the spectators, while Hora- 
 tio warns Hamlet he will lose in this wager, al- 
 though the prince does not deem defeat possible, see- 
 
122 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ing he has kept in constant practice. Nevertheless, 
 Hamlet further betrays his fatalistic turn of mind, 
 just as their majesties and train enter the hall, fol- 
 lowed by servants, bearing foils and a table covered 
 with refreshments. 
 
 When the king bids both young men shake hands 
 and be friends, Hamlet publicly declares that, if 
 he wronged Laertes, his madness is to blame. 
 Then both prepare to fence, while a servant hands 
 them the foils, and his majesty mentions the con- 
 ditions of the bout and the wagers staked upon it. 
 Although Hamlet accepts the first foil offered him 
 without demur, Laertes calls for a lighter one, 
 while the king anxiously superintends the arrange- 
 ment of the refreshments to be offered to the 
 fencers between bouts. 
 
 At a given signal the match begins, both young 
 men showing great skill ere the first breathing spell 
 occurs, when the king reveals his satisfaction by 
 offering a pearl and drink to Hamlet. Not feeling 
 thirsty, the prince pushes the cup aside without 
 tasting it, and continues to fence, until his adversary 
 admits he has been touched. The queen, after pro- 
 nouncing her son ' fat and scant of breath,' offers 
 him her handkerchief to dry his brow, and, feeling 
 thirsty, catches up the cup he rejected, without 
 heeding her husband, who tries to restrain her and 
 exclaims in an aside that she has quaffed the poisoned 
 drink! While she tenderly mops the perspiration 
 from Hamlet's face, Laertes approaches the king, to 
 whisper he will now touch his antagonist. Stealthily 
 slipping off the button during the next encounter, 
 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 123 
 
 he does wound Hamlet; but, in the midst of the 
 scuffle, both fencers drop their weapons, and while 
 hastily recovering them, Hamlet, by accident, seizes 
 Laertes' foil, with which he now wounds him in 
 his turn. Just as he is crying that the champions 
 are incensed and must be parted, the king beholds 
 the queen sink fainting to the ground. While at- 
 tendants rush to her rescue, Horatio supports Ham- 
 let, and a servant, discovering Laertes is wounded 
 too, solicitously asks how he feels, only to hear him 
 gasp, ' I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.' 
 
 Meantime, Hamlet shows deep concern for his 
 mother, who, recovering her senses, gasps she is 
 poisoned by the drink ere she expires! Calling for 
 the doors to be locked until the poisoner is dis- 
 covered, Hamlet is informed by Laertes that, 
 wounded with a poisoned rapier, he, also, has not an 
 hour to live. But although mortally hurt by the self- 
 same weapon, Laertes still retains energy enough to 
 accuse the king of poisoning the cup out of which 
 the queen drank. 
 
 To avenge his mother's death, Hamlet pierces 
 the king with the poisoned rapier, and then, fearing 
 he may yet escape, compels him to drink some of 
 the drugged wine. A moment later the king ex- 
 pires in agony, while the dying Laertes exchanges 
 forgiveness with noble Hamlet. About to follow 
 his former friend into the better world, Hamlet bids 
 farewell to Horatio, charging him ' report me and 
 my cause aright to the unsatisfied.' But Horatio, 
 unwilling to survive him, and ' more an antique 
 Roman than a Dane,' tries to drink what is left of 
 
124 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 the drugged wine, while Hamlet frantically strug- 
 gles to prevent his doing so, imploring him to live 
 and tell his story. 
 
 Their generous dispute is interrupted by shouts 
 and the sound of an advancing army, which a serv- 
 ant exclaims is that of Fortinbras, coming with the 
 returning ambassadors. Regretting not to live long 
 enough to learn what tidings they bring, Hamlet 
 appoints Fortinbras his successor, and dies exclaim- 
 ing, ' the rest is silence.' 
 
 His friend, opining * now cracks a noble heart,' 
 hangs speechless over Hamlet's corpse, just as For- 
 tinbras appears. Standing in the midst of the awe- 
 struck court, Fortinbras wonders at the corpses he 
 sees, while the English ambassador regrets not to 
 be able to deliver a message, assuring the Danish 
 monarch Guildenstern and Rosencrantz were exe- 
 cuted as prescribed. 
 
 Addressing Fortinbras and the ambassador, Hora- 
 tio solemnly promises to explain all about ' the 
 carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,' which have 
 finally ' fall'n on the inventors' heads.' Meantime, 
 Fortinbras orders that Hamlet receive the honours 
 due a brave soldier, and has the rest of the corpses 
 borne away, while a dead march is played and a 
 salute fired. 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 This play opens with a fine prologue, stating 
 that two noble houses in Verona are at feud, and 
 that in the course of a couple of hours we shall see 
 what befell ' a pair of star-cross'd lovers,' from the 
 time they first met until their tragic death put an 
 end to their parents' strife. 
 
 Act I. The first act opens on a square in 
 Verona, where two Capulet retainers converse in a 
 punning strain about the feud until interrupted by 
 some Montagues, whom they decide to insult. In 
 consequence a fight ensues, in the midst of which 
 Benvolio, a Montague, hastens up and beats down 
 the fighters' swords. While he is doing this Tybalt, 
 a Capulet, approaches and defies him until he fights. 
 This duel naturally occasions a clamour, and at- 
 tracts spectators, including old Capulet, who fussily 
 calls for his sword, although his wife deems a 
 crutch would be a more appropriate weapon for an 
 infirm man. Montague and his spouse also appear, 
 and the former has just defied his rival, when Prince 
 Escalus comes up with attendants. Not only does 
 he compel the brawlers to throw down their 
 weapons, but declares should further trouble oc- 
 cur, death will be the penalty. Then he disperses 
 the crowd until none remain upon the scene save 
 Montague with his wife, and Benvolio, who graph- 
 ically relates how the tumult arose. 
 
 125 
 
126 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 The account is barely finished when Lady Mon- 
 tague enquires for her son, expressing satisfaction 
 he was not involved in this fray. Benvolio tells 
 her Romeo was seen an hour before sunrise, seeking 
 solitude in a grove. Having noticed such signs of 
 perturbation in his son, old Montague vows he has 
 vainly tried to discover its cause, just as Romeo 
 draws near ; so, bidding the parents step aside and let 
 him question the youth, Benvolio engages to discover 
 the root of this melancholy. 
 
 The parents gone, Benvolio accosts his cousin, and 
 after a few remarks demands ' what sadness length- 
 ens Romeo's hours?' Then, on discovering the 
 youth is a victim of unrequited love, he bids him 
 forget the lady he cannot win, although Romeo 
 declares such a feat impossible. Certain that were 
 he to examine other beauties, he would soon discover 
 his lady-love less charming than he deems her, Ben- 
 volio urges him to give ' liberty unto thine eyes.' 
 
 In the next scene Capulet informs Paris, a kins- 
 man of the prince, that the houses of Capulet and 
 Montague are subject to equal penalties should they 
 break the peace. Although the elders can easily re- 
 spect the prince's order, he fancies it will be diffi- 
 cult for the younger members of the families to do 
 so, a fact which fails to interest Paris, who insists 
 upon an answer to his suit for Juliet's hand. 
 
 Because his daughter is under fourteen, Capulet 
 tries to temporise, until Paris assures him many 
 women in Verona have married earlier. Rejoining 
 1 my will to her consent is but a part,' Capulet 
 then suggests that Paris woo Juliet at the ball that 
 
Romeo and Juliet 12"] 
 
 evening, where he will have opportunity to com- 
 pare her with others, ' and like her most whose 
 merit most shall be.' Turning to a servant, Capulet 
 then hands him a list, bidding him notify the people 
 on it to attend the ball that evening, adding 'my 
 house and welcome on their pleasure stay.' 
 
 When Capulet has passed ofr" the stage with Paris, 
 the mystified servant stares at the paper, for, not 
 knowing how to read, he is unable to carry out these 
 orders until he finds out what names it contains. 
 While he is in this quandary, Benvolio and Romeo 
 stroll past, still arguing, and Benvolio states ' one fire 
 burns out another's burning, one pain is lessen'd by 
 another anguish,' as the servant accosts them. After 
 an awkward preliminary, the man entreats Romeo 
 to read him the list, so the youth good-naturedly 
 rattles off the names, including that of the very 
 lady he loves. When the man has gone, Benvolio 
 suggests that as Rosaline, — object of Romeo's pas- 
 sion, — will be at the ball, they should go thither 
 in disguise, to compare her with the other beauties 
 in town. The prospect of an evening near his be- 
 loved proves too alluring for Romeo to refuse, al- 
 though he feels sure none can outshine her, since 
 ' the all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first 
 the world begun.' 
 
 In a room in the Capulet mansion the mistress 
 asks for her daughter. Loudly summoned by her 
 old nurse, Juliet soon appears, submissively greeting 
 her mother, who, to an enquiry whether she is not 
 fourteen, receives a voluble answer which proves the 
 accuracy of the nurse's memory. Silencing this 
 
128 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 loquacious woman, Lady Capulet states the time 
 has come to think of Juliet's marriage, although the 
 young lady herself has not dreamt of such an hon- 
 our; but when Lady Capulet adds that Paris sues 
 for her hand, the nurse expatiates on his charms un- 
 til rebuked. Her communication made, Lady Capu- 
 let leaves the room, bidding her daughter study that 
 evening whether she wishes to accept Paris, and 
 receiving her promise to ' look to like, if looking 
 liking move.' 
 
 In a street in Verona strolls Romeo attended by 
 Mercutio, Benvolio, and a troop of gay maskers. 
 When he wonders how they can account for their 
 uninvited presence in the Capulet dwelling, Benvolio 
 assures him they will not even be noticed. In his 
 indifference, Romeo offers to act as torch-bearer, 
 although his companions advise him to join in the 
 dance; but in spite of their joking he remains sad, 
 listening only half-heartedly to Benvolio's descrip- 
 tion of the way the queen of the fairies haunts mor- 
 tals' dreams. 
 
 Transferred to a hall in the Capulet mansion, we 
 see musicians waiting until their services are re- 
 quired, and servants hurrying to and fro exchanging 
 remarks. All at once Capulet appears, leading his 
 daughter, to welcome the masked guests, play- 
 fully stating that any lady refusing to dance will be 
 suspected of suffering from corns! At his signal 
 the music begins and the guests dance, Capulet 
 looking on, for he is too old to take part in the 
 revels, and prefers talking to an aged kinsman. 
 These two are indulging in reminiscences when 
 
Romeo and Juliet 129 
 
 Romeo, who has been lurking in a corner, detains a 
 passing servant, to ask who the lady may be who is 
 treading a measure close by? Although this man 
 does not know her, Romeo, enraptured by her 
 beauty, exclaims, ' she hangs upon the cheek of night 
 like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear,' adding that he 
 ' ne'er saw true beauty till this night.' Fancying 
 he recognizes a Montague voice, Tybalt now calls 
 for his rapier, vowing that if one of their hated 
 foes has forced his way in, it is in scorn for their 
 solemnities! Hearing his nephew fume, Capulet 
 demands what it means, and when informed of 
 Romeo's presence, declares he will have no affray, 
 but that as long as the guest behaves properly, he 
 can remain unmolested. This decision so enrages 
 Tybalt, that after some protest he withdraws, ex- 
 claiming, ' this intrusion shall now seeming sweet 
 convert to bitterest gall.' 
 
 Unaware of the commotion his presence has 
 caused, Romeo approaches Juliet, — the object of his 
 admiration, — and gallantly addresses her in a play- 
 ful vein to which she readily responds. After some 
 exchange of compliments, he ventures to kiss the 
 maiden, who, far from resenting such familiarity, 
 would gladly have continued the conversation with 
 him, had she not been summoned away by her nurse. 
 In hopes of discovering who his fair interlocutor may 
 be, Romeo detains this woman, who fussily informs 
 him her mistress is the good, wise, and virtuous lady 
 of the house, mother to the young lady, whom she 
 nursed. Learning thus Juliet's origin, the horrified 
 Romeo is about to rush out, when his friend Ben- 
 
130 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 volio detains him, saying the sport is at its height. 
 While they are talking Capulet passes through the 
 room, and invites all his guests to partake of the 
 banquet just served. 
 
 Watching the maskers file out, Juliet begs her 
 nurse tell her their names, pointing out last of all 
 the man in whom she feels specially interested. On 
 learning he is Romeo, ' the only son of your great 
 enemy,' she wails in despair her ' only love ' sprang 
 from her ' only hate ! too early seen unknown, and 
 known too late ! ' before she withdraws with the 
 nurse. 
 
 Act II. In the prologue to the second act we are 
 told that the young people, having fallen in love with 
 each other, ' passion lends them power, time means, 
 to meet, tempering extremities with extreme sweet.' 
 
 Immediately after the ball, Romeo strolls down 
 the lane beside the Capulet orchard, unable to go 
 home because his heart lingers in this neighbour- 
 hood. He has just climbed over the wall, and 
 leaped down into the Capulet orchard, when his two 
 friends call for him, wondering where he has gone? 
 While Mercutio supposes he is off to bed, Benvolio 
 feels sure he has climbed the orchard wall, so the 
 former conjures his friend by all he holds sacred to 
 answer or appear. Afraid lest Romeo may resent 
 their banter, Benvolio finally draws Mercutio away, 
 sagely declaring, ' 'Tis in vain to seek him here that 
 means not to be found.' 
 
 Overhearing his friends, Romeo murmurs, ' he 
 jests at scars that never felt a wound,' ere he creeps 
 forward until a light appears in a window above, and 
 
Romeo and Juliet 131 
 
 affords him a lovely glimpse of the object of his adora- 
 tion. In his rapture Romeo wishes Juliet were aware 
 of his presence, and noticing how she leans on the 
 window-sill, exclaims, * O, that I were a glove upon 
 that hand, that I might touch that cheek! ' In the 
 night's silence he finally catches Juliet's sigh and is 
 beside himself with joy to hear her softly breathe his 
 name, regretting he should be a Montague. While he 
 hesitates whether to answer, she dreamily concludes 
 a name is nothing, for ' that which we call a rose, 
 by any other name would smell as sweet,' and 
 wishes he would doff his distasteful appellation. 
 
 Impetuously, Romeo swears he takes her at her 
 word, and is new baptised, his voice so startling her 
 that she timidly enquires who ' thus bescreen'd in 
 night,' stumbles upon her counsel? Unwilling to 
 pronounce a name hateful to her, Romeo vows he 
 cannot answer, but although she has heard so few 
 words from his lips, Juliet immediately recognises 
 his voice. She wonders how he came thither, since 
 ' orchard walls are high and hard to climb,' but 
 he fervently assures her ' love's light wings ' helped 
 him over, for * stony limits cannot hold love out.' 
 When Juliet exclaims her kinsmen will murder him, 
 Romeo assures her ' there lies more peril in thy 
 eye than twenty of their swords,' adding that he is 
 besides well hidden by ' night's cloak.' Because 
 Juliet wonders how he discovered this place, Romeo 
 reiterates love was his pilot, thus causing such a 
 vivid blush to rise to her cheeks that she is glad he 
 cannot see it. Nevertheless, so eager is Juliet to 
 hear him openly proclaim his affection that she 
 
132 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 invites him to state his feelings, adding that should 
 he deem her too quickly won, she will ' frown and 
 be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but 
 else, not for the world.' She also implores him not 
 to consider her behaviour light, but when he attempts 
 to swear by the moon, hastily checks him, vowing 
 that is inconstant. Nevertheless, believing he truly 
 loves her, she whispers a gentle good-night, although 
 he entreats her not to leave him thus unsatisfied. 
 
 The nurse's call interrupts one of the most ex- 
 quisite love scenes ever penned, and Juliet vanishes 
 still imploring Romeo to be true. In his rapture, 
 the lover blesses the night which has brought him 
 such joy, yet fears this is a dream ' too flattering- 
 sweet to be substantial.' 
 
 He is still lingering below, when Juliet reap- 
 pears above, whispering that should his purpose be 
 marriage, he can send her word on the morrow by 
 the messenger she will despatch, informing her where 
 to meet him to have the wedding rite performed. 
 She has just fervently declared ' all my fortunes at 
 thy foot I'll lay and follow thee my lord through- 
 out the world,' when the nurse again interrupts. 
 Then she timorously adds that should Romeo not 
 mean honourably he had better depart and leave 
 her to her grief, and has barely time to hear him 
 protest fidelity ere she goes in. 
 
 When she has vanished, Romeo decides that ' love 
 goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, but 
 love from love, toward school with heavy looks.' 
 Just then Juliet reappears a third time at the bal- 
 cony, comparing herself to a falconer who would 
 
Romeo and Juliet 133 
 
 fain lure his bird back again. To her surprise, 
 Romeo softly addresses her and when she enquires 
 at what hour she must send her message, and he 
 appoints nine, she sighs the time will seem long 
 until then. Because she cannot remember what she 
 wished to say, Romeo offers to stand there till her 
 memory return, but Juliet reluctantly dismisses him, 
 admitting, ' parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall 
 say good-night till it be morrow.' When she has 
 finally gone in, Romeo hastens off to Friar Lau- 
 rence's cell, ' his help to crave, and my dear hap to 
 tell.' 
 
 The curtain next rises on the friar's cell at dawn, 
 just as he enters with the basket of herbs he has 
 culled in the forest. While he is soliloquising on 
 their medicinal properties, Romeo appears, and when 
 the friar wonders at so early a visit, denies having 
 been with Rosaline whom he has almost forgotten. 
 He confesses to have been feasting, instead, with his 
 enemy, where, although mortally hurt, he dealt a 
 similar wound, for which the friar possesses the 
 only remedy in his ' holy physic' Then, as the 
 friar rejoins ' riddling confession finds but riddling 
 shrift,' Romeo sets forth more explicitly that, hav- 
 ing fallen in love with Capulet's only daughter, he 
 has come to beg the friar to marry them to-day. 
 Marvelling at so sudden a transfer of affections, 
 yet hoping ' this alliance may so happy prove, to 
 turn your households' rancour to pure love,' the 
 friar consents, although he prudently admonishes 
 the impetuous lover to go ' wisely and slow.' 
 
 In the street we next behold Mercutio asking 
 
134 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Benvolio where Romeo can be? In reply Benvolio 
 rejoins he is not at home, for Tybalt has sent 
 thither a challenge far more serious than the love- 
 bolt with which Mercutio claims Romeo has been 
 slain. In such a punning guise that Benvolio has 
 difficulty in following his meaning, Mercutio re- 
 lates what has occurred, and has barely finished when 
 Romeo joins them. 
 
 Welcomed with the remark that he cleverly gave 
 them the slip, Romeo tries to appease his friends by 
 joking with them. He is still talking when Juliet's 
 nurse draws near in festive array, solemnly escorted 
 by Peter, whom she orders about to the amusement 
 of the three young men. Sailing up to them, the 
 nurse enquires for Romeo, with whom she wishes 
 to have some private talk. This statement amuses 
 his friends, who, after jokes and snatches of song, 
 depart with mocking farewells. 
 
 The youths gone, Romeo pacifies the offended 
 old woman by assuring her Mercutio is ' a gentle- 
 man, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will 
 speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a 
 month.' Then he implores her to commend him to 
 her mistress, who she avers will be ' a joyful woman/ 
 Next, he bids her tell Juliet to come to the friar's 
 cell that afternoon, under pretext of confession, 
 so they can be married. Forcing the nurse to 
 accept a tip, he adds that his man will presently 
 bring her a rope-ladder, of which she must take 
 charge, and which will enable him to visit his bride 
 at night without being seen. This romantic plan 
 so appeals to the old woman that she volubly pro- 
 
Romeo and Juliet 135 
 
 nounces her little mistress the sweetest lady in town, 
 prolonging the scene by her tedious speeches, and 
 sailing off again, with Peter in attendance, only 
 when Romeo has duly impressed upon her the main 
 points of his scheme. 
 
 The curtain next rises on the Capulet orchard, 
 where Juliet impatiently awaits the return of her 
 nurse, whom she chides for slowness, so eager is she 
 to learn what message Romeo sends. When nurse 
 and Peter therefore appear, Juliet, after dismissing 
 the man, eagerly questions the old lady, who puffs 
 and blows, complains of her back, and refuses to 
 answer, until she has driven her nursling almost 
 wild. Finally, Juliet learns that Romeo will meet 
 her at the friar's cell, where they will be married, 
 and that her nurse is presently to fetch ' a ladder, 
 by the which your love must climb a bird's nest 
 soon when it is dark.' This information causes 
 Juliet to part from her nurse, longing for after- 
 noon, when she will ' hie to high fortune ! ' 
 
 We return to the friar's cell, just as the holy man 
 hopes the heavens will so smile ' upon this holy 
 act, that after hours with sorrow chide us not ! ' 
 He has barely finished this pious hope when Romeo 
 exclaims it will be bliss enough to call Juliet his, 
 although the friar gravely warns him ' violent de- 
 lights have violent ends, and in their triumph die.' 
 At this moment the light-footed Juliet draws near, 
 gently greeting her confessor, who declares Romeo 
 must express thanks for them both. The lover's 
 measure of joy is, however, too overflowing to per- 
 mit ready utterance, a state of affairs from which 
 
136 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Juliet is suffering also; so, perceiving the depth of 
 their mutual passion, the friar invites them in, say- 
 ing, 'you shall not stay alone till holy church in- 
 corporate two in one.' 
 
 Act III. On a public square, Benvolio sug- 
 gests to Mercutio they had better retire for fear of 
 a broil, an excuse which seems passing strange in 
 one who is c as full of quarrels as an egg is full of 
 meat.' The two friends are arguing about the mat- 
 ter when Tybalt and his companions enter, demand- 
 ing to speak to the representatives of the Mon- 
 tagues. So truculent is Tybalt's manner that he 
 and Mercutio, notwithstanding Benvolio's efforts, 
 soon begin a quarrel. Then Romeo appears, whom 
 Tybalt immediately dubs a villain and challenges; 
 but Romeo, — who has special reasons for keeping 
 the peace, — refuses to fight, declaring Tybalt will 
 soon learn the reason for such forbearance. En- 
 raged by what seems a lame excuse, Mercutio chal- 
 lenges Tybalt, who begins fighting, while Romeo 
 rushes between them, imploring them to cease, and 
 reminding them of the duke's prohibition. Even 
 while he stands thus between the combatants, Tybalt 
 deals Mercutio a treacherous wound and flees. Call- 
 ing for his page to fetch a surgeon, Mercutio answers 
 Romeo's comforting remarks by grimly assuring him 
 that, although his wound is ' not so deep as a well, 
 nor so wide as a church-door,' he will be dead be- 
 fore the morrow. In his agony he entreats Ben- 
 volio to help him into a neighbouring house, while 
 Romeo laments that his dear friend should have 
 received a mortal hurt, and his reputation should be 
 
Romeo and Juliet 137 
 
 smirched, by the very man who has been his kins- 
 man one brief hour. He also confesses his for- 
 bearance has been exercised merely for love of 
 Juliet, whose ' beauty hath made me effeminate and 
 in my temper soften'd valour's steel ! ' 
 
 A moment later Benvolio reports Mercutio dead 
 and Tybalt coming back in a rage. This news so 
 infuriates Romeo that he attacks the cowardly as- 
 sassin, bidding him retract his ' villain,' and declar- 
 ing Mercutio awaits one of them to accompany him 
 to the better world. Because Tybalt is aching for 
 a fight, they close with fury, and fight until Romeo 
 sees his adversary fall. His friend now anxiously 
 urges him to flee, for a crowd is gathering and it is 
 likely the prince will condemn him to death. With 
 the heartrending cry that he is ' fortune's fool,' 
 Romeo dashes off, just as citizens rush in on all 
 sides, clamouring for Mercutio's slayer. While point- 
 ing to Tybalt, Benvolio himself is seized as the mur- 
 derer, just as the prince, Montague, and Capulet 
 appear. When the ruler of Verona enquires how 
 this fray began, Benvolio, with a running accom- 
 paniment of exclamations from both factions, ac- 
 cuses Tybalt of murdering Mercutio, describes 
 Romeo's reluctance to fight, and depicts his gen- 
 erous indignation on learning his friend's death. 
 Although he swears to the truth of this tale, the 
 Capulets refuse to believe him, and clamour for 
 Romeo's punishment, while the Montagues insist 
 that the fault lies solely with Tybalt. After hear- 
 ing both sides, the prince decrees Romeo shall be 
 exiled, adding that should further brawls occur, 
 
138 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 neither ' tears nor prayers shall purchase out 
 abuses.' 
 
 The curtain again rises on Capulet's orchard, 
 just as Juliet at her window bids the hours travel 
 apace, so night may soon bring her newly-plighted 
 husband. So deeply is she in love that she exclaims 
 when Romeo dies he should be cut * in little stars, 
 and he will make the face of heaven so light, that all 
 the world will be in love with night and pay no 
 worship to the garish sun.' She is still soliloquising 
 when her nurse comes in, and flings the rope-ladder 
 at her feet, gasping that ' he is dead,' and they are 
 undone ! As the pronoun applies to one man only in 
 Juliet's mind, she is horrified, and when the nurse 
 cries, ' O Romeo, Romeo ! who ever would have 
 thought it ? ' she passionately enquires whether her 
 lover is dead? Instead of answering, the nurse 
 dilates upon the wound and the appearance of the 
 corpse until broken-hearted Juliet feels sure she will 
 fill the same coffin as her lover. Then the foolish 
 old woman wails Tybalt was the best friend she ever 
 had, and Juliet, noting the past tense, wonders 
 whether Romeo and Tybalt are both dead? Only 
 then does the nurse inform her Tybalt is slain and 
 Romeo banished! On hearing her lover killed her 
 kinsman, Juliet despairingly wonders how it all came 
 about, and why Romeo did not spare one so closely 
 related to her? But the nurse pessimistically as- 
 sures her * there's no trust, no faith, no honesty 
 in men,' although Juliet pronounces Romeo's brow 
 far too noble for shame to sit upon it. Hearing 
 the wife thus defend her husband, the nurse chides 
 
Romeo and Juliet 139 
 
 Juliet for speaking well of Tybalt's murderer, until 
 the girl insists Romeo killed her kinsman in self- 
 defence, and vows she will uphold her beloved at 
 any cost. The word banishment, which the nurse 
 has uttered, now returns to her memory, and she 
 mourns that Romeo should be sent away, and en- 
 quires what has become of her parents? When the 
 nurse reports both weeping over Tybalt's corpse, 
 Juliet rejoins her tears will all be for Romeo, from 
 whom, although just wed, she is already parted. 
 Hearing this, the nurse bids her retire to her cham- 
 ber, promising Romeo shall come there to com- 
 fort her, for she knows he is hidden in the friar's 
 cell, whither she now proposes to betake herself, 
 bearing the ring Juliet gives her, and an entreating 
 message to come and bid farewell to his bride. 
 
 The next scene reveals the friar, summoning 
 from the dim background of his cell Romeo the 
 ' fearful man,' ' wedded to calamity.' When Romeo 
 emerges from the gloom, dully enquiring what sen- 
 tence the prince has pronounced, the friar gently 
 informs him he is banished, but not condemned to 
 death. But, as banishment entails parting with 
 Juliet, Romeo deems it even worse than death, 
 although the friar reproaches him, and declares the 
 prince has dealt mercifully. When Romeo de- 
 scribes the pain it costs him to part from his be- 
 loved, the friar bids ' adversity's sweet milk, philoso- 
 phy,' comfort him, although Romeo, sure no 
 philosophy can ever evolve a Juliet, bitterly re- 
 jects it, declaring were the friar as young as he, 
 and in love, he might then understand his feelings! 
 
140 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Romeo has just flung himself on the ground, in 
 despair, when a knock impels the friar to urge him 
 to hide. Because Romeo refuses to move, the holy 
 friar only partly opens the door, until he beholds the 
 nurse, who no sooner says she is come in Juliet's 
 name than he describes Romeo's grief. The nurse 
 avers it is the exact counterpart of that of her mis- 
 tress, and then, perceiving the young lover, ad- 
 dresses him directly. When he eagerly enquires for 
 his beloved, Romeo is told Juliet does nothing but 
 weep and call out alternately his name and Tybalt's. 
 This report adds such poignancy to his remorse that, 
 longing to end his life, Romeo draws his sword, 
 wildly asking in what part of a man's anatomy his 
 name lodges, as he is determined to cut his out. 
 Staying his hand, the friar informs him he has no 
 right to take his own life, and lectures him sternly 
 on duty. Then he bids him take leave of Juliet and 
 retire to Mantua, where he promises him frequent 
 tidings of her, holding forth a hope that soon he can 
 call him ' back with twenty hundred thousand times 
 more joy ' than he went forth in lamentation. This 
 hope not only cheers the lover, but fills the nurse 
 with open-mouthed admiration for clerical wisdom, 
 and she goes off, after giving Romeo the ring, to 
 announce his coming to her mistress. 
 
 Although the friar approves of this parting inter- 
 view between the married lovers, he gravely warns 
 his charge to steal to Juliet's side only under cover 
 of darkness, and to leave her before dawn, as it will 
 not be safe for him to linger in Verona. Such is 
 the comfort the friar's words have bestowed that 
 
Wm. Kaulbach 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 First Watch. "Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain: 
 And Romeo dead; and Juliet dead before, 
 Warm and new kill'd." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. Act 5, Scene 3. 
 
Romeo and Juliet 141 
 
 Romeo rapturously assures him, ' But that a joy 
 past joy calls out on me, it were a grief, so brief to 
 part with thee.' 
 
 In a room in the Capulet mansion, Juliet's parents 
 are talking to Paris, who is renewing his suit for 
 their daughter's hand. The father regrets Juliet 
 should show such extravagant grief for the death of 
 a cousin, and deems it wise to change her ideas by 
 hastening the marriage. He, therefore, declares that, 
 although grand nuptials are now impossible, the 
 marriage can be privately celebrated on Thursday, 
 and urges his wife to prepare their daughter for it. 
 Eager to secure so beautiful a bride, Paris wishes 
 Thursday nearer, while Capulet goes out, repeating 
 his instructions that Juliet is to be immediately noti- 
 fied of her coming wedding. 
 
 We again perceive the orchard toward dawn, just 
 as Romeo and Juliet appear at the window. En- 
 treating her husband not to leave her, Juliet as- 
 sures him it was the nightingale which ' pierced the 
 fearful hollow of thine ear,' to which Romeo re- 
 gretfully rejoins it was ' the herald of the morn,' 
 and points out streaks of light in the east. When 
 Juliet ascribes them to meteoric effects, and im- 
 plores him to remain with her, Romeo promises to 
 linger, saying he is ready to hail death should Juliet 
 will it. But, trembling for his life, Juliet now fever- 
 ishly urges him begone, and they are clinging sadly 
 together in farewell, when the nurse warns them to 
 separate as day is breaking, and Lady Capulet is 
 coming to visit her daughter. Hearing this, Romeo 
 springs out of the window, and after a last em- 
 
142 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 brace vanishes down the ladder, while Juliet, lean- 
 ing over the railing, implores him to write, re- 
 minding him that ' in a minute there are many days.' 
 
 Romeo has barely gone, after a lingering fare- 
 well, and Juliet is still hoping fickle fortune will 
 soon bring him back, when Lady Capulet is heard 
 enquiring whether her daughter is still up. A visit 
 at such an hour surprises Juliet, who, in reply to her 
 mother's questions, confesses she is not well. Per- 
 ceiving tears, which she attributes solely to sorrow 
 for Tybalt's death, Lady Capulet bids her child 
 cease mourning, insisting that * some grief shows 
 much of love; but much of grief shows still some 
 want of wit.' But, when she proceeds to revile 
 Romeo, Juliet warmly exclaims she wishes none 
 but she might 'venge her cousin's death.' Think- 
 ing this betokens a longing for revenge and hoping 
 to comfort her, Lady Capulet suggests sending some 
 one to Mantua to poison Romeo, and Juliet eagerly 
 begs the poison be entrusted to her, promising to 
 temper it so that Romeo will ' soon sleep in quiet.' 
 These remarks entirely blind the mother, who, fur- 
 ther to cheer her daughter's downcast spirits, reports 
 how her ' careful father ' has fixed her marriage 
 with Paris for Thursday next ! The terrified Juliet 
 then protests she has no desire to marry, adding that, 
 although they know she hates Romeo, she would 
 rather espouse him than be married on such a short 
 notice. So passionate a protest merely irritates 
 Lady Capulet, who, seeing her husband approach, 
 coldly bids Juliet repeat this statement in his hearing. 
 
 Entering the apartment, Capulet demands why 
 
Romeo and Juliet 143 
 
 his daughter is weeping, and whether she has re- 
 ceived his message ? When Lady Capulet petulantly 
 rejoins their foolish daughter refuses consent, Capu- 
 let is surprised she should prove so ungrateful when 
 he has picked out so fine a husband for her. Juliet, 
 trying to speak, is roughly silenced by her father, 
 who decrees she shall either betake herself to church 
 on Thursday next of her own free will, or be 
 dragged thither on a hurdle. Because Juliet now 
 falls at his feet imploring him to listen patiently, he 
 exclaims his fingers itch to strike her, adding bitterly 
 that, whereas he once regretted having only one 
 child, he now finds one too many. When the nurse 
 interferes to defend her charge, she, too, is harshly 
 scolded, and the testy old gentleman finally stalks 
 out, muttering as ultimatum that his daughter shall 
 marry Paris on Thursday, or beg her bread ! 
 
 Wondering ' is there no pity sitting in the clouds 
 that sees into the bottom of my grief ? ' Juliet wildly 
 implores her mother to delay the wedding, for a 
 month or week, or lay her in the tomb where 
 Tybalt lies; — frantic entreaties, which Lady Capu- 
 let considers so foolish that she merely hastens out to 
 further the wedding preparations. 
 
 Turning to her nurse, Juliet now despairingly asks 
 how to prevent this crime, for ' my husband is on 
 earth, my faith in heaven.' But, instead of helping 
 and comforting her, the unscrupulous woman rejoins 
 that since Romeo is banished, and she will never hear 
 of him again, she had better accept Paris and be 
 happy in a second marriage. When Juliet ques- 
 tions whether she can be speaking from her heart, 
 
144 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 the nurse replies with such sincerity, that perceiving 
 she can obtain no aid from her, Juliet, dissembling 
 her real feelings, bids her inform Lady Capulet 
 she has gone to the friar's cell, to confess and be 
 absolved for displeasing her father. Then she dis- 
 misses the unprincipled attendant, who cordially ap- 
 proves of so pious a course; but, left alone, Juliet 
 reviles the old woman for giving such unscrupulous 
 advice, declaring that she will hasten to the friar, 
 and adding that if he knows no remedy, and ' all else 
 fail, myself have power to die.' 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in Friar Lau- 
 rence's cell, while he is conversing with Paris, who 
 has come to make arrangements for his wedding, 
 and seems very eager to claim his bride. When the 
 friar asks whether he has ascertained the lady's 
 wishes, Paris rejoins that, while Juliet is still dis- 
 solved in tears over Tybalt's murder, their wedding 
 is being hastened purposely to divert her thoughts. 
 The friar has just muttered such nuptials should 
 rather be ' slow'd,' when he sees Juliet coming, and 
 calls Paris' attention to that fact. Greeting his be- 
 trothed joyfully, as his lady and his wife, Paris is 
 coldly reminded that title does not yet belong to 
 her; still, gallantly assuring her it will before long, 
 he enquires whether she has come to confess, a ques- 
 tion she puts off, until the friar contrives to dis- 
 miss him. 
 
 When he has gone, Juliet bids Friar Laurence 
 close the door and weep with her, and when he cries 
 he knows the cause of her grief, wildly entreats 
 him to devise some means to prevent this marriage. 
 
Romeo and Juliet 145 
 
 She passionately adds that she will stab herself 
 rather than break her vows ; — words which sug- 
 gest to the friar a fine plan whereby she can be 
 saved from bigamy. Because he exclaims desperate 
 circumstances require desperate remedies, Juliet 
 volunteers to do anything, rather than marry Paris, 
 excitedly offering to face all manner of horrors, so 
 as to remain * an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.' 
 Since such are her sentiments, the friar bids her re- 
 turn home pretending joyful assent, and on her 
 wedding eve quaff the drug he gives her, which will 
 induce a sleep so like death that she will be laid away 
 in the family vault. He promises that when she 
 wakens at the end of forty-two hours, Romeo, — 
 warned by him, — will be in the vault, whence he and 
 the friar will bear her off to a place of safety. The 
 prospect of joining her beloved so charms Juliet, 
 that she unhesitatingly accepts this poison, vowing 
 love will give her strength to bear even this ordeal. 
 Then she leaves the friar, who assures her one of 
 the brethren will hasten immediately to Mantua to 
 apprise Romeo of their plan. 
 
 In a room in the Capulet mansion, the owner, 
 after bidding his steward invite certain guests, 
 charges him to hire twenty extra cooks, whose 
 efficiency the man proposes to try by observing 
 whether they lick their fingers, a sovereign test for 
 expert cooks. The steward gone, Capulet enquires 
 for his daughter, and is pleased to learn she has 
 gone to the friar's, because he hopes to see her re- 
 turn in a better frame of mind. Just then the nurse 
 reports her charge coming * from shrift with merry 
 
146 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 look,' and Juliet on entering immediately begs her 
 father's pardon, promising henceforth to be ruled 
 by him. Such submission gratifies Capulet, as does 
 the news she met Paris and spoke kindly to him. 
 Then, turning to her nurse, Juliet invites her to 
 help her choose her wedding attire, and Capulet sends 
 his wife after them, promising to look after household 
 matters and interview Paris, while she devotes her 
 attention to adorning the bride. 
 
 In Juliet's chamber we next overhear the young 
 lady begging her nurse to leave her alone for the 
 night, as she has ' need of many orisons to move 
 the heavens to smile upon my state.' Just then Lady 
 Capulet comes in, and learning all is ready, and 
 Juliet anxious to retire, goes off with the nurse, 
 after bidding her daughter a fond good-night. They 
 have barely gone when Juliet exclaims, ' God knows 
 when we shall meet again,' and shudders with name- 
 less fears. Nevertheless, determined to do her part 
 bravely to escape sin, she not only produces the 
 phial, but prepares a dagger, so, in case the mixture 
 fails to work, she can save herself from perjury. 
 Gazing at the phial, she then wonders whether the 
 friar can have given her poison, and shudders at the 
 thought of waking in the vault before Romeo joins 
 her. But, in spite of all the horrors her lively 
 imagination can conjure, Juliet drinks the dose, 
 exclaiming, ' Romeo, . I come ! this do I drink to 
 thee.' 
 
 In a hall in the same house we see Lady Capulet 
 and the nurse making final arrangements for the 
 wedding, while Capulet bustles about giving orders. 
 
Romeo and Juliet 147 
 
 A moment later he dismisses the women to rest, and 
 after they have gone, examines the dishes carried to 
 and fro, and issues commands. All at once music 
 without announces the arrival of the bridegroom 
 to awaken the bride; so, hastily summoning the 
 nurse, Capulet bids her dress Juliet, while he enter- 
 tains this early guest. 
 
 The curtain next rises on Juliet's chamber as the 
 nurse steals in, and deeming her charge fast asleep, 
 tries to rouse her, first by pet names and then by 
 gentle chiding. Obtaining no reply, she finally 
 draws aside the curtains, only to behold her nursling 
 lying upon the bed fully dressed. Because even then 
 Juliet does not stir, the nurse bends over her, and 
 discovering her inanimate, cries out in such terror 
 that Lady Capulet comes rushing in. She, too, un- 
 able to believe her eyes, raises such a commotion 
 that the father arrives, sternly bidding the women 
 hurry, since the bridegroom is waiting. When wife 
 and nurse wail that Juliet is dead, Capulet refuses 
 to believe them until he notes her joints are stiff 
 and cold. 
 
 All are loudly lamenting when the friar ushers 
 in the bridegroom, enquiring whether the bride is 
 ready for church ? Despairingly exclaiming she will 
 go there never to return, Capulet adds that Paris' 
 bride has wedded death! Although he had longed 
 for a glimpse of Juliet's ' morning face,' Paris is 
 so horrified by the sight which now meets his eyes 
 that he joins with the rest in bewailing this untimely 
 death, until, silencing this wild outburst of grief, 
 the friar declares Heaven had the best right to the 
 
148 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 fair maid. To this consolatory speech Capulet bit- 
 terly adds the wedding-feast can serve as funeral 
 banquet, and the bridal flowers to deck his daugh- 
 ter's grave! Still, this seems a more reasonable 
 mood to the friar, who bids all prepare to consign 
 the beloved remains to the tomb. 
 
 After the parents, Paris, and the friar have sadly 
 passed out of the room, the musicians also decide to 
 depart, a resolution in which the nurse and Peter 
 strengthen them. But, even in the presence of death, 
 these men cannot refrain from exercising their wit 
 upon Peter ere they file out. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens on the street of 
 Mantua where Romeo strolls, musing on a dream 
 he has had of Juliet, and declaring some great bliss 
 is surely coming, since his ' bosom's lord sits lightly 
 in his throne.' His meditations are interrupted by 
 the arrival of one of his servants, from whom he 
 eagerly craves news of his father, Juliet, and the 
 friar. This man, — who is not sent by the friar, but 
 has heard the news, — now bluntly announces Juliet's 
 death, testifying he saw her laid in the vault before 
 starting to bring the news. Hearing this, Romeo 
 wildly defies the stars; then suddenly calls for pen, 
 ink, and post-horses, declaring he must leave to- 
 night. His pallor and wildness terrify his servant, 
 although Romeo reassures him and bids him hasten 
 to execute the orders received. 
 
 His servant gone, Romeo in a wonderful solilo- 
 quy, promises to be with Juliet to-night, for, having 
 noticed a poverty-stricken apothecary in Mantua, 
 he intends to purchase from him some drug which 
 
Romeo and Juliet 149 
 
 will rid him of life. Talking thus, Romeo reaches 
 the apothecary's shop, where he knocks so loudly 
 that its owner immediately appears. Proffering 
 money, Romeo demands a speedy poison, although 
 the vender insists Mantuan laws will not allow 
 its sale. Nevertheless, he yields after a while to 
 Romeo's prayers, under pretext ' my poverty, but not 
 my will consents,' and, giving Romeo a phial of 
 poison, bids him pour it into any liquid, stating it will 
 instantly kill. With this treasure, Romeo prepares 
 to journey straight to Juliet's grave, where he in- 
 tends to commit suicide. 
 
 The curtain next rises on the friar's cell, as he 
 starts in surprise in beholding the brother he sent 
 to Mantua. In reply to his questions, this monk 
 relates how on the way thither he entered a house, 
 where, as there was a contagious disease, he has been 
 quarantined until now. Instead of delivering the 
 letter to Romeo, therefore, he is bringing it back, 
 to the intense horror of the friar, who wildly bids 
 him fetch a crowbar. Wondering at such an order, 
 the brother shuffles off, while the friar mutters he 
 must hasten to the monument, where, within three 
 hours' time, Juliet will awaken. He realises how 
 she will chide him for not having warned Romeo, 
 and decides to hide her in his own cell until she 
 can rejoin her husband. Thus he leaves the scene, 
 pitying the poor lady ' closed in a dead man's tomb ! ' 
 
 In the churchyard near the Capulet vault Paris 
 appears, having vowed to visit the tomb of his be- 
 trothed each night. After taking torch and flowers 
 from his page's hand, Paris bids him watch, whistling 
 
150 Stories of Shake spear e } s Tragedies 
 
 a warning should any one appear. Although afraid 
 to mount guard in a churchyard, the page dares not 
 disobey, and Paris, left alone, murmurs he is about 
 to strew Juliet's bridal-bed with flowers. Just as 
 he enters the vault a shrill whistle resounds, so, 
 knowing some one is near, Paris muffles his light 
 and hides, for he does not wish to be disturbed in 
 his ' true love's rite.' 
 
 While he is thus lurking in concealment, Romeo 
 draws near, with a servant bearing a torch and 
 mattock. Bidding the man give him the instru- 
 ment with which he proposes to break open the tomb, 
 Romeo hands him a letter to deliver to his father on 
 the morrow. Then, explaining he wishes to secure 
 a valuable ring on Juliet's finger, Romeo charges 
 this man not to interrupt him, whatever he sees or 
 hears, threatening to tear him limb from limb should 
 he dare spy upon him. Terrified by such threats, 
 the servant moves off, muttering he fears his mas- 
 ter's looks and doubts his intentions. 
 
 Left alone, Romeo passionately addresses the ' de- 
 testable maw ' which has swallowed up his beloved, 
 and bids it unclinch its jaws to receive more food! 
 Then he violently breaks open the vault, on be- 
 holding which act Paris fancies this Montague has 
 come ' to do some villainous shame to the dead 
 bodies.' He, therefore, rushes forward, bidding 
 Romeo pause. Warning this antagonist he is a 
 desperate man, Romeo, — as Paris disregards his 
 words, — begins madly fighting with him, to the ter- 
 ror of the page, who rushes off to summon the 
 watch. A moment later Paris falls, mortally 
 
Romeo and Juliet 151 
 
 wounded, but using his last breath to beg Romeo to 
 lay him beside Juliet. Bending over this victim, 
 Romeo now recognises with amazement Count Paris, 
 whom he vaguely remembers hearing was to marry 
 Juliet the very day she died. Taking up the corpse, 
 he grimly proceeds to fulfil the dead man's last re- 
 quest, exclaiming as he enters the vault, that Juliet's 
 beauty fills the place with light. 
 
 First disposing of Paris, Romeo muses upon the 
 sights he sees, and after addressing his victim Tyb- 
 alt, approaches Juliet, who is so beautiful and life- 
 like in her immobility that she does not seem dead. 
 After lingering farewells, feeling Juliet has been 
 gone too long without him, Romeo drinks the poison 
 and expires embracing her. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the further end of the churchyard, 
 Friar Laurence appears with lantern and spade, 
 praying St. Francis' aid, but starting on meeting 
 Romeo's man. Perceiving at the same time a light 
 in the vault, he breathlessly enquires what it means, 
 whereupon the man informs him that his master 
 entered that place about half an hour ago. Vainly 
 inviting the terrified servant to follow, the friar 
 hurries on into the vault, murmuring he fears some 
 unlucky occurrence, while the man calls after him 
 that, while dozing under a yew tree, he dreamt his 
 master fought with another man and slew him. 
 
 Advancing, softly calling Romeo, the friar marks 
 the bloodstained swords and gory soil. Then, on 
 entering, he perceives Romeo, pale as death, and 
 Paris steeped in blood ! At this moment Juliet's 
 eyes unclose, and recognising the friar, she eagerly 
 
152 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 asks for Romeo. Hearing some noise without and 
 fearing consequences, the friar whispers they must 
 hasten forth from this ' nest of death, contagion, 
 and unnatural sleep,' where a ' greater power than 
 we can contradict has thwarted our intents.' Then, 
 as Juliet does not stir, he shudderingly adds her hus- 
 band and Paris lie dead beside her, but that he will 
 take her away and place her in a sisterhood. No 
 sooner is Juliet aware of Romeo's proximity, than 
 oblivious of everything else, she bends over him, 
 bidding the friar depart alone, for she will not go. 
 Fearing to be caught, the priest hurries out, while 
 Juliet, discovering the cup in Romeo's hand, gently 
 chides him for having drunk all its contents without 
 leaving her a share. Then she passionately kisses 
 him, hoping some poison may still cling to his lips. 
 Meanwhile, the watch without have summoned 
 the page to show the way, and Juliet, hearing them 
 approach and fearing their intervention, seizes 
 Romeo's dagger and sheathes it in her breast. 
 
 The swords and marks of conflict, first startle 
 the watchmen, who, on entering the vault, discover 
 Paris slain, Romeo dead, and Juliet warm and 
 bleeding, although buried two days before. They, 
 therefore, excitedly bid the page notify the Capulets, 
 Montagues, and prince, and meanwhile seize Romeo's 
 servant, and the friar whose suspicious tools prove 
 he was bent on some strange errand ! 
 
 When the prince appears, he sternly demands 
 what all this means? But, before his questions 
 can be answered, the Capulets rush in, exclaiming 
 the streets resound with the names of Romeo, Juliet, 
 
Romeo and Juliet 153 
 
 and Paris, and crowds are hastening to the monu- 
 ment! Bidding them forbear until he can ascertain 
 what has happened, the prince questions the watch- 
 men, who testify having found Paris slain, Romeo 
 dead, and Juliet, — whom they deemed already life- 
 less, — -breathing her last. They point out the in- 
 struments which served to open the vault, while 
 Capulet, bending over his daughter's body, calls his 
 wife's attention to the fact that a Montague dagger 
 is sheathed in her breast! While Lady Capulet 
 bewails this sight, old Montague rushes in, and the 
 prince questioning him, learns he is overwhelmed 
 with sorrow, because his wife has died of grief at her 
 son's exile. Then, suddenly beholding Romeo's 
 corpse, the bereaved father passionately reproaches 
 his son for being so unnatural as to ' press before 
 thy father to a grave.' 
 
 Meanwhile, investigating further, the prince hears 
 the friar condemn and excuse himself in a breath, 
 stating how he married Romeo, but how, on their 
 wedding day, Tybalt was slain, and the bridegroom 
 banished! Friar Laurence also reveals how Juliet, 
 to remain true to her beloved, took a powerful 
 drug, and adds that Romeo, summoned to lead her 
 out of the tomb, failed to receive his letter. For 
 that reason he came hither himself, only to discover 
 how Romeo and Paris, visiting the same grave, 
 had crossed swords at its mouth. Next he describes 
 how he found Paris bathed in blood, and Romeo 
 breathing his last beside Juliet, further declaring 
 he was about to lead the poor girl away, when, 
 startled by the approach of the watch, he fled. It, 
 
154 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 therefore, becomes evident that, left alone in the 
 vault, Juliet took her own life in despair. 
 
 The prince, knowing the friar is a holy man, next 
 questions Romeo's servant, who relates all he knows, 
 and delivers the letter. Then, calling Paris' page, 
 the prince interrogates him, too, and from him learns 
 how his master perished. On opening Romeo's let- 
 ter, the prince not only perceives the whole truth 
 has been told, but informs all present that Romeo 
 procured from a Mantuan apothecary the poison 
 which enabled him to die beside his Juliet. Then, 
 turning to the life-long foes, the prince solemnly 
 bids them behold ' what a scourge is laid upon 
 your hate,' adding that in punishment for coun- 
 tenancing their feud, he, himself, has lost two kins- 
 men. 
 
 The broken-hearted Capulet now offers his hand 
 and forgiveness to Montague, as his daughter's mar- 
 riage portion, while the latter volunteers to raise 
 a golden statue to Juliet, so all Verona may know 
 she was ' true and faithful.' Not to be outdone 
 by his quondam foe, Capulet proposes to erect an 
 equally rich effigy of Romeo, ere the prince bids all 
 disperse, decreeing that ' some shall be pardon'd, 
 and some punished: for never was a story of more 
 woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.' 
 
CORIOLANUS 
 
 Act I. The first act opens in a street in Rome 
 where mutinous citizens, armed with staves and 
 clubs, talk excitedly, being determined to rebel 
 rather than starve. They are loudly yelling that 
 Marcius, — a descendant of their ancient kings, — 
 is the chief foe of the people, that the surplus 
 wasted by the patricians would maintain them all in 
 comfort. Besides, they resent the fact that one class 
 of Roman society revels in luxury while the other is 
 starving. They, therefore, declare that Marcius, 
 although a brave soldier, protects only the rich and 
 cares naught for the poor, and are just proposing 
 to storm the Capitol when checked by the arrival 
 of Menenius, whom, — knowing he is ever ready to 
 befriend them, — they hail with joy. 
 
 After a brief parley, Menenius informs them 
 that the patricians have always taken care of them, 
 and that the dearth of which they complain is due 
 to the gods alone. Seeing the mob incredulous, he 
 tries to explain the situation by the fable of the 
 limbs and the stomach, which latter was considered 
 a, lazy glutton, for whom the poor limbs were 
 obliged to work. During this narration, there are 
 frequent interruptions, but Menenius finally arouses 
 mirth in his hearers by addressing one of the noisiest 
 among them as the ' Great Toe ' of the body politic. 
 
 155 
 
156 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 Then he demonstrates how the limbs were at fault, 
 as the stomach was working to make blood to nour- 
 ish the different parts of the body, and adds that, 
 while the senators of Rome may be likened to the 
 stomach, the common people, like the mutinous 
 limbs, merely injure themselves by rebelling. 
 
 He has almost persuaded the plebeians to obey 
 when Marcius joins him, roughly reproving the 
 rioters for insubordination. To his aggressive 
 haughtiness the people reply by ironical remarks, 
 whereupon he shows how little he cafes for their 
 good opinion, knowing they always bow down before 
 those least deserving of honour. When he again de- 
 mands the cause of their outcries, they clamour for 
 corn at low rates, thus giving him a good opportunity 
 to tell them that if they would only use their swords 
 to fight, they could quickly win all they need! 
 But he grudgingly adds that the senate has just 
 appointed tribunes to watch over their interests, a 
 concession which enrages him. 
 
 While Menenius is marvelling at it, a messenger 
 breathlessly calls for Marcius, announcing that the 
 Volscians being under arms, his services are re- 
 quired to defend his country. A moment later a 
 deputation of consuls, senators, and tribunes reports 
 an attack imminent, whereupon Marcius exclaims 
 the Volscians are well led by Aufidius, a lion he is 
 ' proud to hunt,' and whom he has frequently met 
 in battle before. Knowing this, the senators bid 
 him accompany their consuls to war, a charge 
 Marcius gladly accepts, because it will give him 
 another chance to distinguish himself in the face 
 
Coriolanus 157 
 
 of the foe. His enthusiasm causes Lartius, the 
 second consul, to boast that although wounded, he 
 will enter battle leaning on his crutch! 
 
 Marcius is about to accompany the deputation 
 back to the Capitol to take measures for Rome's 
 safety, when an attempt is made to disperse the mob. 
 Because the plebeians hesitate to obey, Marcius 
 ironically invites them to come with him and fight 
 the Volscians, who possess rich granaries, and thus 
 secure all the food they need. The rabble, afraid 
 to fight, melts away, and after a brief time, two of 
 the tribunes remain alone on the scene, to comment 
 upon the taunts and jibes Marcius flung at the peo- 
 ple, adding that the coming campaign will only 
 increase his pride. Still, they do not doubt he will, 
 by his bravery, outshine both consuls and reap all 
 the honours, ere they betake themselves to the, 
 senate. 
 
 The next scene occurs in the senate at Corioli, 
 where all have assembled to receive Aufidius, who 
 announces that although there are no tidings from 
 Rome, he expects a speedy attack. Then he reads 
 aloud a letter, wherein is stated both Roman con- 
 suls and Marcius, his old enemy, are coming to meet 
 him. Lastly, he reproaches the senators for not 
 allowing him to strike the first blow, as in his opin- 
 ion they should have secured a number of towns 
 before the Romans were afoot. Knowing Aufidius' 
 talents as general, the senators implore him to act as 
 he deems best, leaving them meantime to guard 
 the city. This decision pleases the general, who 
 vows should he and Marcius meet, they will strike 
 
158 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 1 'till one can do no more,' ere he takes his leave, 
 accompanied by the good wishes of all the people. 
 
 We are now transferred to Rome, where, in 
 Marcius' house, we behold his mother Volumnia, 
 and wife, Virgilia, sewing. Although the wife 
 sighs because her husband has been summoned to 
 war, the mother exults, for he has always returned 
 victorious; she, therefore, dwells upon his triumphs 
 from early boyhood, and answers proudly when Vir- 
 gilia suggests that instead of conquering he might 
 have been slain. Their conversation is interrupted 
 by the arrival of a visitor, who is shown in while 
 Virgilia is still timorously praying her husband may 
 be protected from Aufidius' blows. This guest, 
 Lady Valeria, after greeting both ladies, enquires 
 for Marcius' son, who, although but a child, bids 
 fair to rival his father in bravery and activity. 
 After a while, however, Volumnia and the caller 
 decide to visit one of their friends, but Virgilia 
 prefers to linger at home, anxiously thinking of her 
 husband, who is besieging Corioli. 
 
 We are now granted a glimpse of the siege of 
 this town, before which Marcius and Lartius are 
 making a wager on the issue of the day. Then 
 they summon the Corioli senators, who appear aloft, 
 proclaiming that although Aufidius is not within 
 their walls, they hear his drums summoning the 
 young men to drive away the foe. A moment later 
 a Volscian host issues from the town, whereupon 
 Marcius bids his men make a brave stand, promis- 
 ing them victory provided they do their part. In 
 spite of his eloquence, the Romans are driven back 
 
Coriolanus 159 
 
 to their trenches, Marcius swearing hotly at them 
 to turn and fight or incur his lasting wrath. By 
 his rough eloquence he finally encourages them to 
 make a new attempt, which proves so successful that 
 the Volscians flee, Marcius pursuing them to their 
 very gates, which he urges his men to enter boldly. 
 But> at the critical moment, the soldiers hang back, 
 and Marcius rushes alone into Corioli, whose gates 
 slam between him and his forces! 
 
 The Romans deem him dead, and Lartius, join- 
 ing them and hearing Marcius entered the city 
 alone, loudly mourns such a jewel should be lost 
 to his native land. While the Romans are still 
 bewailing his loss, Marcius suddenly reappears, 
 bleeding but alive, and seeing him beset with foes, 
 Lartius flies to his rescue. This time, the Roman 
 force, fighting bravely, penetrates into Corioli, where 
 it soon begins plundering. While the rest are thus 
 occupied, Marcius and Lartius scornfully watch 
 them, until, noticing how freely his companion bleeds, 
 Lartius implores him to have his wounds dressed. 
 The hero, however, scorns to do anything of the 
 sort, vowing he will appear before Aufidius in this 
 bloody guise, and, leaving Lartius to guard Corioli, 
 he hastens off to help the other consul. 
 
 In the next scene we behold the camp of Consul 
 Cominius, who bids his men rest after fighting, 
 briefly stating that although forced to retreat, he 
 intends soon to charge again, and will sacrifice to 
 the gods if successful. A breathless messenger now 
 informs him how the citizens of Corioli effected 
 a sortie, driving back the Romans to their trenches; 
 
160 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 but, as this happened an hour ago by his own show- 
 ing, Cominius fancies had a victory since been won, 
 tidings of it would have reached him ere this. The 
 messenger, however, replies no such news could 
 come, as he himself was obliged to take a round- 
 about way to escape the Volscian spies. 
 
 While they are still discussing the probabilities, 
 bloodstained Marcius appears, breathlessly enquir- 
 ing whether he has come too late? On hearing 
 from Cominius that the fight is not yet finished, 
 Marcius rejoices, and when asked how Lartius is 
 thriving, reports he is holding Corioli, condemning 
 some of its citizens to death, and the others to exile 
 or ransom. When asked what gave rise to the re- 
 port his troops were beaten, Marcius explains how 
 the common file did fall back at first, but how he 
 prevailed in the end, as he will relate at some fitting 
 moment. Meantime, he is eager to learn where 
 the foe is situated, and hearing Aufidius still lingers 
 in the neighbourhood, craves permission to chal- 
 lenge him, vowing he will win if allowed to do so. 
 
 Although Cominius suggests it might be better 
 first to attend to his wounds, Marcius considers 
 them mere trifles, and eagerly calls those who love 
 their country to follow him and defend it. There- 
 upon a number of volunteers brandish their swords 
 and catch him up in their arms, vowing he shall 
 lead them against Aufidius, with whom they are 
 anxious to try issues again. Having thus worked 
 them up to the right pitch of enthusiasm, Marcius 
 leads his men off, promising the rest that all shall 
 share in the booty. 
 
Coriolanus 1 6 1 
 
 We again behold the gates of Corioli, where 
 Lartius, having posted guards, comes forth with 
 drums and trumpets to rejoin his fellow-consul, bid- 
 ding his lieutenant meantime hold the town and 
 close the gates behind him. 
 
 The battle-field between the Roman and Vol- 
 scian camps next appears, where trumpets are blow- 
 ing and drums are beating, as Marcius and Aufidius 
 enter from opposite sides of the stage. Such is their 
 reciprocal hatred that they hurl defiance at one an- 
 other ere they engage in single combat, their troops 
 meanwhile rushing madly to and fro. 
 
 In the next scene the recall brings Marcius back 
 to the Roman camp, his arm tied in a sling, only 
 to be told by the admiring Cominius that were 
 some one to relate to him his feats of that day, he 
 would never believe them ! Although pleased with 
 such praise, Marcius seems embarrassed when the 
 general adds he will relate his prowess to the senate, 
 so the patricians can applaud him, the ladies shud- 
 der at his dangers, and the plebeians, who have 
 hitherto hated him, thank their gods that Rome 
 possesses such a champion. 
 
 It is just as Cominius finishes his laudatory 
 speech that Lartius returns, declaring he was merely 
 an auxiliary to Marcius, who vows their praise em- 
 barrasses him as much as that of his mother when 
 she extols him to his face. Good-naturedly retort- 
 ing his modesty will be spared as much as pos- 
 sible, Cominius, nevertheless, adjures Marcius to 
 bear his honours as gracefully as possible, remarks 
 which make little impression upon the hero, who 
 
1 62 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 growls his wounds are smarting. Besides, he 
 haughtily declines the proffered tenth of the booty, 
 stating he craves no pay for what he has done, 
 but will be content to share as usual with the rest. 
 While the trumpets blow and cheers resound for 
 Marcius, he fervently hopes his companions' voices 
 will never be raised against him, and, vowing he 
 cannot make a speech, begs permission to retire to 
 dress his wounds. . 
 
 Before allowing him to depart, Cominius pub- 
 licly crowns him with an oaken garland, gives him 
 his choicest steed, and hails him as ' Coriolanus,' 
 since it is to his efforts the capture of Corioli is 
 due. Although the new name is greeted with re- 
 newed demonstrations of joy, Coriolanus, still re- 
 fusing to make a speech, vows he will have to go 
 and wash his face so people can see his blushes. 
 Then, while Cominius escorts him to his tent, 
 Lartius hastens back to Corioli, after sending word to 
 Rome of their victory. It is just as they are leav- 
 ing the scene that Coriolanus remembers how an old 
 prisoner implored his aid, and intercedes in his be- 
 half, although he is too faint and weary to recall 
 the man's name. 
 
 The curtain next rises on the Volscian camp, 
 whither Aufidius returns announcing the loss of 
 Corioli, and exclaiming he wishes he were a Roman, 
 for the conquered cannot expect good treatment. 
 He next avers that, although he has been beaten 
 five times already by Marcius, he will conquer or 
 die should they ever meet again. When his men 
 exclaim that Marcius is a devil, he vows he is the 
 
Geo. E. Robertson 
 
 CORIOLANUS LEAVING ROME 
 
 Cor. "Farewell, my wife, my mother: 
 
 I'll do well yet. Thou old old and true Menenius, 
 Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's 
 And venomous to thine eyes," 
 
 Coriolanus. Act 4, Scene 1. 
 
Coriolanus 1 63 
 
 boldest man he ever met, adding he hates him so 
 bitterly that he would fain wash his ' fierce hand 
 in's heart.' Then he bids the bystanders find out 
 which Volscians are to be hostages, and promises to 
 await their report in a neighbouring grove. 
 
 Act II. The second act opens on the public 
 square in Rome, where Menenius, talking to two 
 tribunes, tells them good news has been promised 
 by the augurs ere night. Hearing his interlocutors 
 exclaim such tidings will not be welcome to the peo- 
 ple, who hate Marcius because of his boastful pride, 
 he justly accuses them of the very fault for which 
 they blame Marcius. 
 
 After the tribunes have withdrawn, the three 
 women approach, and Menenius courteously en- 
 quires why they are thus abroad? Thereupon 
 Volumnia proudly announces they are going to meet 
 her son, who is returning victor, as a letter has just 
 made known. She then adds that he will prob- 
 ably find a similar missive awaiting him at home, 
 and when Menenius anxiously enquires whether 
 Marcius has been wounded, joyfully exclaims he 
 has indeed, and that these new wounds will bring 
 him further honours. On hearing how Lartius him- 
 self wrote the news of Marcius' triumphs and of 
 Aufidius' escape, Menenius rejoices ere he enquires 
 whether the news has also reached the senate? 
 Then, turning to the two tribunes who appear 
 again, he tells them Marcius is coming, interrupt- 
 ing himself in the midst of his recital to find out 
 from Volumnia where her son was wounded, and 
 how many scars he can now boast. A moment later 
 
164 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 a blast of trumpets heralds Marcius' arrival, his 
 proud mother exclaiming that, while noise goes be- 
 fore him, he leaves tears behind him, for she knows 
 many foes have fallen beneath his hand. 
 
 We now behold the triumphal return of the Ro- 
 man troops, Coriolanus, crowned with his oaken 
 garland, marching between the consuls, while a 
 herald proclaims that fighting alone before Corioli, 
 he won the name of Coriolanus, by which he is 
 henceforth to be addressed. While all acclaim, 
 Coriolanus deprecatingly implores them not to 
 cheer him, just as Cominius calls his attention to 
 the little group of women by the roadside. Kneel- 
 ing respectfully before Volumnia, Coriolanus thanks 
 her for her prayers, and then seeing his wife's tears, 
 questions with playful deference whether she would 
 have laughed had he been brought home dead. 
 Next, he receives greetings from Menenius, who 
 vows Rome will ever honour his name, — a state- 
 ment to which all present subscribe. 
 
 Taking leave of his wife and mother, Coriolanus 
 now continues with the procession to the senate, 
 Volumnia exclaiming as he leaves the scene that 
 she covets but one more honour for him, — the 
 consulship, — although he rejoins he would rather be 
 the people's servant in his own way than sway with 
 them in theirs. 
 
 After the triumphal procession has swept out of 
 sight, the tribunes comment on the fuss made over 
 Coriolanus, adding that should he ever be elected 
 consul their offices would ' go to sleep,' for no au- 
 thority would be left in their hands. Their only 
 
Coriolanus 165 
 
 hope, therefore, lies in the fact that a consul's elec- 
 tion depends upon the votes of the people, and that 
 to obtain them, a candidate must humbly beg for 
 them, exhibiting his wounds on the Forum, and 
 thus bespeaking the favour of the voters. They art- 
 fully decide to remind the plebeians how Coriolanus 
 has hated and scorned them, and thus subtly work 
 to defeat his ambitions. Just as they have reached 
 this decision, a messenger summons them to the 
 Capitol, where Coriolanus is to be proposed as con- 
 sul in reward for his heroic deeds. But, although 
 they obey this summons, the tribunes do so fully 
 determined to use their eyes and ears to direct af- 
 fairs according to their wishes. 
 
 We next behold the Capitol, where two officers 
 are laying cushions for the consular candidates, re- 
 marking while doing so that Coriolanus is ' venge- 
 ance proud,' and has never shown any regard for the 
 people. Still, as they cannot but agree he has 
 deserved well of his country, they hope his haughti- 
 ness will not interfere with his election. A moment 
 later a blast of trumpets announces the arrival of 
 the two consuls, attended by a train of lictors and 
 senators, as well as by the candidates for office. 
 .While all the rest take their places, Coriolanus, 
 seeing Cominius about to make a speech in his be- 
 half, begs permission to withdraw, muttering he 
 would rather be wounded again than sit still and 
 hear himself praised. Then Cominius, in a won- 
 derful speech, recalls the great deeds Coriolanus has 
 performed in behalf of his country from the time 
 when he was sixteen. His eulogy is so warmly ap- 
 
1 66 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 proved by all present that on his reappearance the 
 senate select the hero as next consul, adding that 
 he will, however, have to bespeak the votes of the 
 people in the Forum, ere his title is secure. Averse 
 to don the garb of humility and sue for votes, 
 Coriolanus reluctantly yields to his friends' 'wishes, 
 and betakes himself to the market-place, to display 
 his scars and ask for voices; but, perceiving his un- 
 gracious attitude, the tribunes ardently hope he will 
 instead offend the people by addressing them in so 
 haughty a manner. 
 
 The curtain next rises on the Roman Forum, 
 where citizens, passing to and fro, discuss the coming 
 election, adding that if Coriolanus humbles himself 
 sufficiently, they will support his election, as they 
 do not wish to appear ungrateful. Still, they feel 
 it so unlikely the hero will try to conciliate them 
 that they are greatly surprised to see him appear in 
 the usual garb of humility, accompanied by Mene- 
 nius. The latter, — evidently encouraging the re- 
 luctant candidate, — urges him to seize this oppor- 
 tunity to win the votes of some men passing by. 
 Stiffly and ungraciously, — for he would rather bid 
 the plebeians keep at a distance and wash their 
 faces, — Coriolanus now bespeaks these men's votes. 
 When asked, as usual, what claim he urges to such 
 a distinction, he haughtily rejoins his ' own deserts,' 
 thereby further antagonising his interlocutors, who 
 feel his election depends solely upon their favour. 
 Still, notwithstanding his repellent attitude, Corio- 
 lanus succeeds in winning a few votes, although he 
 obstinately refuses to exhibit his wounds, and res- 
 
Coriolanus 167 
 
 tively cries, ' Better it is to die, better to starve, 
 than crave the hire which first we do deserve.' 
 
 Nevertheless, with a sneer he cannot entirely 
 suppress, Coriolanus concludes that, having gone so 
 far, it is best to continue to the bitter end, and so 
 goes on asking for votes in a surly way. It is at 
 this moment Menenius returns with the tribunes, 
 who sullenly inform Coriolanus, that having stayed 
 in the market-place the customary length of time, 
 and having won a certain number of popular votes, 
 he is entitled to be invested with the emblems of" 
 his office. But they angrily frown when he pro- 
 poses to change his garments ere repairing to the 
 senate with Menenius. When he has gone, they 
 also comment upon his evident irritation, and see- 
 ing some of the voters pass by, enquire why they 
 favoured a man who mocks them, until they gradu- 
 ally make them discontented with their choice. 
 Finally they work the people up to the point of ex- 
 claiming that Coriolanus, not having asked votes 
 properly or exhibited his wounds, is unworthy of 
 election, and that as he has not yet been installed 
 in office, they will go to the senate and denounce 
 him as their enemy. This decision delights both 
 tribunes, who, after giving the mob explicit direc- 
 tions how they are to proceed, watch the rabble out 
 of sight, ere they, too, hasten to the Capitol, sepa- 
 rately, for they do not wish to appear to have had 
 any hand in the coming turmoil. 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in a street in 
 Rome, where Coriolanus, Menenius, and many 
 others are welcoming Lartius, who has just re- 
 
1 68 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 turned, announcing that Aufldius is at Antium 
 gathering new troops to attack Rome. This is 
 startling news; but when Coriolanus hears the Vol- 
 scian general longs to meet and beat him, he eagerly 
 exclaims, ' I wish I had a cause to meet him there, 
 to oppose his hatred fully.' 
 
 Then, seeing the two tribunes arrive, he ex- 
 presses contempt for ' the voice of the people,' and 
 when they forbid him to advance any further, 
 haughtily demands what this means, only to be told 
 his election is not yet assured, as the people are 
 incensed against him. Although Menenius strives 
 to keep Coriolanus calm in face of this calculated 
 insult, he doesn't succeed, for the hero hotly de- 
 nounces the tribunes in the most sarcastic way, al- 
 though they insist they are acting in behalf of 
 the plebeians whom he has scorned and deprived 
 of corn. Such remarks so incense Coriolanus that 
 his contempt for the ' mutable, rank-scented many ' 
 becomes more and more apparent. In fact, his 
 remarks finally become so offensive that the tribunes 
 declare they will make them known to the people. 
 Hoping to deter them, Menenius reminds them they 
 are stirring up evil feelings which will have bad re- 
 sults; but in spite of his efforts, Coriolanus de- 
 nounces the tribunes, declaring the senators were 
 wrong to allow the people such officers, — a state- 
 ment they consider such rank treason that they call 
 for an aedile to arrest the traitor. But, when this 
 officer appears to lay hands on Coriolanus, he is 
 reviled and beaten off by the hero's friends. 
 
 The ensuing commotion attracts a rabble of 
 
Coriolanus 1 69 
 
 plebeians, and although Menenius pleads for mod- 
 eration on both sides, the tribunes instigate rabid 
 cries against Coriolanus for refusing corn gratis. 
 Thus, before long, the hero is surrounded by a 
 mutinous rabble; for, in spite of the speeches of 
 Menenius and of some of the senators in his behalf, 
 the tribunes persuade the people to take their re- 
 marks in bad part, to accuse Coriolanus of trying 
 to destroy the city, to refuse to let him become con- 
 sul, to call him traitor, and to clamour for his 
 death. Unable to brook the disgrace of arrest by an 
 aedile, Coriolanus finally draws his sword, swearing 
 some of them have already seen him fight and that 
 he will now give the rest a chance to see what he 
 can do. In the midst of the confusion caused by 
 Menenius' cries for peace, and the tribunes' 
 clamours to have Coriolanus arrested, a fight en- 
 sues, in which Coriolanus and the patrician party 
 succeed in defeating the plebeians. This being ac- 
 complished, Menenius entreats Coriolanus to return 
 home, while some of the other patricians bid him 
 stand fast and hold his own. Although Coriolanus 
 would feel no compunctions were he dealing only 
 with foes, he yields to Menenius and Cominius 
 when they urge him to forbear, and goes .off with 
 them, while a patrician sagely concludes he has 
 1 marred his fortunes,' because his nature is too noble 
 to stoop to flattery. 
 
 The tribunes soon return, heading a rabble de- 
 manding the traitor who spoke ill of the Roman 
 people, as they wish to throw him down from the 
 Tarpeian Rock like a common criminal. Even 
 
170 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Menenius' remonstrances are not heeded, and when 
 he states that Coriolanus, — as consul, — cannot be 
 touched, the cry arises he shall never hold office, 
 as the people won't be governed by him. If he can- 
 not be executed, the tribunes demand his banish- 
 ment, although Menenius begs them to overlook 
 Coriolanus' hasty words. All his eloquence can 
 obtain is permission to seek the hero, and prevail 
 upon him to apologise in the Forum, in which case 
 the people will consider whether they can forgive 
 him. 
 
 The curtain next rises in a room of Coriolanus' 
 house, where, conversing with Menenius and the 
 patricians, he vehemently declares that, although they 
 pull his house down over his head, or hurl him from 
 the Tarpeian Rock, he will never truckle to plebeians 
 again! To his great surprise, however, his mother 
 does not approve of these sentiments, although she 
 fostered this intense pride; in fact, when he asks 
 whether she would see him false to her teachings, she 
 opines he should have held his feelings in check 
 until invested with authority. Next Menenius urges 
 that unless he apologise, their good city will ' cleave 
 in the midst, and perish,' an opinion seconded by the 
 rest, which determines Coriolanus to be influenced 
 by his friends, and humbly accept his mother's sug- 
 gestions in regard to the style of address he is to 
 make. Thus schooled, the senators and Cominius 
 escort him to the Forum, warning him every step 
 of the way to restrain his wrath and speak ■ mildly,' 
 because meanwhile the tribunes have been steeling 
 the people's hearts against him. 
 
Coriolanus 171 
 
 We are next transferred to the Forum once more, 
 where the tribunes are eagerly plotting to charge 
 Coriolanus with affecting tyrannical powers, and 
 with not justly distributing the spoil. They are 
 soon joined by an asdile, announcing that Coriolanus 
 is coming, accompanied by the patricians who fa- 
 vour him. He adds that the disaffected people have 
 been assembled and duly instructed, and seems glad 
 when the tribunes state at their mention of fine, 
 banishment, or death, the plebeians will take up the 
 cry, until there will seem no appeal against the 
 popular sentence. These measures settled, the asdile 
 withdraws, while one of the tribunes arranges to 
 irritate Coriolanus by repeated contradictions, thus 
 forcing him to speak out so boldly and intemperately 
 that he will be condemned by his own mouth. 
 
 When Coriolanus, therefore, reluctantly appears, 
 the aedile ushers in the citizens, whom the tribunes 
 invite to draw near so as to hear what Coriolanus 
 has to say. Then, in the presence of the mob, the 
 tribunes demand that the consular candidate submit 
 to lawful censure for his behaviour. But while 
 Menenius tries to turn the tide by mentioning 
 Coriolanus' services and wounds, the hero himself 
 unwisely pronounces them trifling matters, and by 
 such bluntness further antagonises the commoners, 
 although Menenius reminds him to keep calm and 
 conciliate them. When openly accused by one of the 
 tribunes of treachery, Coriolanus, unable to restrain 
 his wrath, publicly calls him a liar, which insult the 
 tribune bids the people note. Thereupon cries arise, 
 ■ to the rock, to the rock with him ! ' until the 
 
172 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 tribune calls for silence, stating that, although 
 Coriolanus deserves death for opposing the laws, his 
 services in behalf of Rome entitle him to certain 
 consideration. 
 
 This statement proves so offensive that Coriolanus 
 declares he would rather be sentenced to death or 
 exiled than have anything more to do with un- 
 grateful people. Whereupon the tribune immedi- 
 ately pronounces the sentence of banishment, and, 
 as prearranged, the people shout Coriolanus shall 
 leave Rome under penalty of death ! In spite of all 
 Cominius can do, these shouts become so persistent 
 that the banishment is decreed, while Coriolanus 
 fiercely avers he is glad to leave a place where he is 
 so misunderstood. Ere he departs, however, he 
 reviles both tribunes and people, showing them how 
 he despises them, and reminding them that, when 
 he has turned his back upon the city, they will be 
 defenceless. When Coriolanus has departed with 
 the patricians, the plebeians and aediles shout for 
 joy, thinking they are rid of a foe, and the tribunes 
 decide it will be well to see Coriolanus safely out 
 of the city. They, therefore, bid the citizens ac- 
 company them, a duty these men perform with en- 
 thusiasm, calling upon the gods to preserve their 
 noble tribunes! 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens before the gates 
 of Rome, where Coriolanus is taking leave of fam- 
 ily and friends, urging his mother, Volumnia, to 
 remember her own teaching, for she has always 
 told him that ' extremity was the trier of spirits,' 
 and has striven by wise precepts to steel him against 
 
Coriolanus 173 
 
 fate. The tears of his wife, however, almost un- 
 man him ; still, when his mother curses the Romans, 
 he reminds her she is not acting in a patriotic man- 
 ner. Then Coriolanus pities Menenius, whose tears 
 are far more bitter than those of a young man, and 
 refuses Cominius' proffered company for a month, 
 although he seems glad to accept his escort a short 
 distance. After exchanging touching farewells with 
 his wife, mother, and friends, Coriolanus departs, 
 saying they shall hear from him often, but ■ never 
 of me aught but what is like me formerly.' 
 
 A little later the two tribunes and an aedile are 
 seen on the street gloating over the fact that they 
 have seen the last of Coriolanus. But, although 
 triumphant, they deem it best to show humility and 
 bid the aedile dismiss the mob which is no longer 
 needed. Then, seeing the women return from the 
 gate, the tribunes try to avoid them, but are unable 
 to do so. When they come face to face, Volumni-a 
 vehemently reviles her son's enemies, — although 
 Menenius tries to restrain her, — and silencing every 
 remark the tribunes try to make, declares her noble 
 son as far exceeds them as the Capitol does the mean- 
 est house in Rome. 
 
 We next behold a highway between Rome and 
 Antium, where a Roman and Volscian, meeting, be- 
 gin to converse about public affairs. On hearing 
 the Roman report Coriolanus has been banished, and 
 that the two political parties in Rome are divided, 
 the Volscian expresses great delight, since his general 
 means to take advantage of this unfortunate state of 
 affairs to attack Rome. He predicts that, know- 
 
174 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ing his worst enemy, Coriolanus, has been banished, 
 Aufidius will surely be victorious in this campaign. 
 
 The succeeding scene is played in Antium before 
 Aufidius' house, whither Coriolanus arrives dis- 
 guised as a beggar, and mutters that having made 
 so many widows in this city, it will be best not 
 to make his presence known. Accosting a passing 
 citizen, therefore, Coriolanus merely enquires for 
 Aufidius' house, and is surprised to learn he is stand- 
 ing directly before it, and that the general is enter- 
 taining the senators that night. But, when his inter- 
 locutor passes on, Coriolanus bitterly muses on the 
 change in his fortunes, for he, who was once Au- 
 fidius' greatest foe, has come hither to join forces 
 with him for the sake of revenge ! 
 
 A moment later he has penetrated into the hall 
 of Aufidius' house, where servants pass to and fro, 
 while music is heard in an inner apartment. Re- 
 peatedly dismissed by the servants, — who take him 
 for a beggar, and bid him begone, — Coriolanus, in 
 spite of these orders, presses on to the hearth, whence, 
 not daring to oust him, they call their master to 
 turn him out. A moment later Aufidius, seeing a 
 beggar on his hearth, enquires who he is? Remov- 
 ing the folds of his mantle, Coriolanus, as Aufidius 
 does not recognise him, prepares him for the an- 
 nouncement of his name, by stating it is unmusical 
 to Volscian ears. Then the exile makes himself 
 known, adding he has been driven out of Rome and 
 has come here to seek revenge. When he grimly 
 proposes to join the Volscians and help Aufidius in 
 his present undertaking, the general exclaims in de- 
 
Coriolanus 175 
 
 light, and offers him one-half of his command so 
 he may lead a force against his native city. Then 
 he leads him off to introduce him to the senators in 
 the banquet hall, where a warm welcome awaits 
 him. 
 
 When Coriolanus and Aufidius have passed off the 
 stage, the servants claim they noticed something 
 imposing in the stranger's bearing, and are delighted 
 not to have followed their first impulse to turn 
 him out of doors. The alliance just concluded be- 
 tween Aufidius and Coriolanus wins their full ap- 
 proval, and they rejoice at the prospect of great 
 victories, when one of their companions reports how 
 gladly the senators are welcoming him. 
 
 We are now transferred to the public square in 
 Rome, where the tribunes congratulate themselves 
 upon the peaceful mood of the people, but wonder 
 no news has been heard of Coriolanus. While they 
 are talking, Menenius appears, and when they taunt 
 him, saying his friend is not missed, he warns them 
 they may yet have cause to regret their action, al- 
 though he admits neither wife nor mother has 
 heard from the banished man. The people around 
 him are showing great adulation to the triumphant 
 tribunes, when an zedile joins them, stating a slave 
 has just been imprisoned for reporting the Volscian 
 armies have entered Roman territory. While Mene- 
 nius deems Aufidius' forces have been emboldened 
 by Coriolanus' absence, the tribunes discredit these 
 tidings and exclaim the slave should be whipped. 
 But, before measures can be taken to inflict such a 
 punishment, or to question the man as Menenius 
 
176 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 suggests, another messenger proclaims that all the 
 senators are hastening to the Capitol, with sober 
 faces, owing to ominous news received. 
 
 Although the tribunes ascribe this perturbation to 
 the slave's false report, the messenger affirms it has 
 been ascertained Coriolanus has joined forces with 
 Aufldius, and that both are about to attack Rome. 
 His news is confirmed by another man, who reports 
 the troops are advancing in two columns, one led 
 by Coriolanus in person. After the tribunes have 
 hurried away, Cominius and Menenius vehemently 
 reproach the plebeians for their share in the recent 
 troubles, predicting that if Coriolanus has really 
 joined the Volscians, Rome will be destroyed. Ere 
 dispersing, the terrified citizens blame their tribunes 
 for misleading them, declaring they were opposed to 
 Coriolanus' banishment, and would fain have him 
 recalled. For that reason, the tribunes ruefully 
 comment on the variability of popular moods as soon 
 as they leave the stage, but privately admit that the 
 news they have heard is alarming indeed. 
 
 The scene is now transferred to a camp near 
 Rome, where Aufldius asks his lieutenant whether 
 people are still flocking to Coriolanus' standard? 
 This man rejoins there must be witchcraft in the 
 Roman, and that Aufldius has obscured his own 
 reputation by accepting so powerful an ally. Al- 
 though ruefully admitting he has made a mistake, 
 Aufldius cannot change matters now, and tries to 
 excuse Coriolanus' haughty bearing as innate. He 
 adds that their new ally is faithfully doing all he can 
 for the Volscian people, that it is likely he will soon 
 
Coriolanus 177 
 
 take Rome and lay down the law there to those who 
 judged him, and that, after this consummation is 
 reached, his former foe and present ally will be 
 wholly in his power. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens on the public square 
 in Rome, where two tribunes, Menenius, and Comi- 
 nius meet with sundry others. All are talking ex- 
 citedly and we soon gather that Cominius has vainly 
 entreated Coriolanus to spare the city. Although 
 admitting the banished man often termed him 
 * father,' Menenius refuses to go forth to plead with 
 him in his turn. Instead, he reproaches the tribunes 
 for having stirred up this trouble, and consents to 
 intercede only after repeated entreaties on their 
 part, although he cherishes little hope of success. 
 
 Knowing human nature, he decides it will be 
 best to approach Coriolanus after dinner, when he 
 will feel more inclined to mercy. But after Mene- 
 nius has departed, Cominius sadly avers he doesn't 
 expect him to succeed, as the hero is brooding on 
 revenge, and after listening coldly to him, dismissed 
 him, vowing unless Rome subscribed to his conditions 
 her fate was sealed. The consul adds that Corio- 
 lanus' mother and wife are about to go forth to 
 solicit his mercy, and that he trusts their prayers 
 may avail even if all the rest fail. 
 
 The next scene occurs in the Volscian camp, 
 where sentinels check Menenius' approach, although 
 he proclaims he is an emissary from Rome to their 
 general. It is only after a lengthy parley, and after 
 angry assurances that they will be punished if they 
 deny him access, that the noise of this discussion 
 
178 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 attracts Coriolanus and Aufldius. Boasting that the 
 sentinels will now see in what honour he is held, 
 Menenius approaches Coriolanus, whom he addresses 
 as his son, pleading, with tears, in Rome's behalf. 
 In reply, Coriolanus states he does not know the 
 Romans any longer, and hands Menenius a letter 
 he had intended to send him. Then, turning to 
 Aufldius, Coriolanus bids him note what reply he 
 makes to such attempts to soften his heart and how 
 true he remains to Volscian interests. After this 
 Coriolanus and Aufldius depart, the latter compli- 
 menting his ally upon his ' constant temper,' while 
 the sentinels slyly taunt Menenius for having less 
 influence than he supposed with their general, thus 
 calling down upon their heads the vehement curses 
 of the departing senator. 
 
 We next behold the interior of Coriolanus' tent, 
 where he is explaining to Aufldius and other com- 
 manders the plans he has made, stating that on the 
 morrow they will be before the walls of Rome. 
 At Coriolanus' request, Aufldius bears witness to his 
 fidelity to the Volscians, and to his steadfastness in 
 repelling all intercessions. Just as Coriolanus has 
 vowed he will listen to no further pleading, his wife, 
 mother, and little son are ushered in with their 
 friends, having come hither to implore him to spare 
 his country. On seeing them, Coriolanus realises 
 with a pang that those he loves best are about to be- 
 siege his heart. Still he tenderly embraces his wife, 
 assuring her he has not kissed any one else since 
 they parted, and falls on one knee before Volumnia, 
 who bids him stand and let her kneel, since she has 
 
Coriolanus 179 
 
 come as a suppliant. Although Coriolanus feels the 
 stars must have fallen from their orbits since posi- 
 tions are so reversed, he courteously greets Valeria at 
 his mother's request, and when his little son is made 
 to kneel before him, perceives how they are trying 
 to soften him by every means in their power. He, 
 therefore, sternly assures them that it will be vain to 
 ask him to dismiss his soldiers or make peace with 
 the plebeians, since he is now an ally of the Vol- 
 scians and obliged to serve them. Then, seeing 
 Aufidius and the other chiefs draw suspiciously 
 aside, he bids them listen to all that is said, for 
 he wishes them to see he is wholly devoted to their 
 interests. 
 
 His mother now describes how they have spent 
 their time since his departure in tears, her eloquent 
 speech being backed by Virgilia's trembling hands 
 raised in entreaty, and by a defiant speech from the 
 child when his grandmother exclaims his father is 
 about to tread on their hearts. Unable to endure 
 longer the torture of such prayers, Coriolanus rises 
 as if to leave, but his mother clings frantically to 
 him, vowing he shall not depart until he has shown 
 mercy. The united eloquence of mother, wife, and 
 child, finally prevails, for, exclaiming his mother 
 doesn't know what she has done in winning this vic- 
 tory for Rome, Coriolanus turns to Aufidius, promis- 
 ing to conclude an honourable peace, and challeng- 
 ing him to act differently in his stead. 
 
 Although admitting the women's prayers touched 
 him, Aufidius, — when Coriolanus announces he will 
 never march on to Rome, — mutters in an aside that 
 
180 Stories of Shakespeare 1 s Tragedies 
 
 since mercy and honour are at difference in his ally, 
 he'll take advantage of this fact to work out his 
 own fortunes. Addressing the women, meantime, 
 Coriolanus promises to give them a treaty to bear 
 back to Rome, adding that they deserve to have a 
 temple built in their honour, for ' all the swords in 
 Italy, and her confederate arms, could not have 
 made this peace.' 
 
 The curtain next rises on the Forum in Rome, 
 where Menenius is assuring a tribune it would be 
 easier to displace a corner-stone of the Capitol 
 than to change Coriolanus' heart. When the trib- 
 une urges that Coriolanus is devoted to his mother, 
 Menenius retorts ' there is no more mercy in him 
 than there is milk in a male tiger.' Terrified by this 
 assurance, the tribune starts when a messenger runs 
 in, bidding him flee for his life, for the people 
 have seized his fellow in office, and swear that, 
 unless the women return with news of peace, they 
 will slay the men who devised Coriolanus' banish- 
 ment! A moment later another messenger joy- 
 fully announces the ladies have prevailed, — news 
 the tribune refuses to credit until loud trumpet 
 blasts confirm it. Greatly relieved, Menenius pre- 
 pares to go and meet the ladies, who have done more 
 for Rome than tribunes, senators, and people put 
 together. Not to remain behind at a time of joy, the 
 tribune accompanies the patricians, who hasten off 
 in a body to meet the bearers of good tidings. 
 
 Further on, in a street near the gate, two senators 
 soon appear escorting Volumnia and the other ladies 
 back to the city, calling out to the people as they 
 
Coriolanus 1 8 1 
 
 pass that the peace is due to these ladies, who are, 
 therefore, entitled to honour and acclamation. 
 
 We next behold the public square at Antium, 
 where Aufidius arrives, saying he wishes the lords of 
 the city apprised of his return, as it is his duty to 
 denounce a man who will soon enter the city. Soon 
 after he is joined by a few members of his faction 
 who come with eager offers of assistance. When 
 they suggest that the fall of Coriolanus will leave 
 him sole wielder of the power, Aufidius doubts 
 whether it is advisable to resort to drastic measures, 
 and describes how Coriolanus appealed to him, and 
 how bravely they marched together toward Rome. 
 This was already within their grasp, when, influ- 
 enced by women's tears, Coriolanus concluded the 
 peace for which he is to die! 
 
 The noise of trumpets and cheers now heralds 
 Coriolanus' approach, and the conspirators exclaim 
 that if Aufidius wishes to remain master he must get 
 rid of his rival. While he is trying to silence them, 
 the lords of the city appear, and begin to reproach 
 him for yielding to Coriolanus' desire for peace. 
 
 Just then this Roman joins them, vowing he is 
 as true to their interests as ever, and tendering the 
 peace he has concluded with all due regard to Vol- 
 scian interests. Imploring all present not to read it, 
 Aufidius hotly denounces Coriolanus as a traitor, 
 who has abused the people's confidence and betrayed 
 them at his mother's request! 
 
 Such a statement necessarily provokes a quarrel, 
 during which Aufidius treats Coriolanus with such 
 contempt, that the hero proudly rehearses his great 
 
1 82 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 deeds, including the taking of Corioli, and demands 
 whether such are the deeds of a ' boy ' ? This re- 
 minds the Volscians that he has slain many of their 
 kin, and, rousing their passions, makes them clamour 
 for his death. Under pretence of obeying these 
 angry people, the conspirators now rush forward, and 
 repeatedly stab Coriolanus, who falls lifeless at Au- 
 fidius' feet, while the Volscian lords stand by 
 appalled. 
 
 Standing on the corpse of his fallen foe, Aufidius 
 promises an explanation which will cause all to re- 
 joice that a threatening danger has been averted. 
 Then the Lords of Corioli order the body removed 
 with all honour, Aufidius adding: 'Though in this 
 city he hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
 which to this hour bewail the injury, yet he shall 
 have a noble memory.' 
 
JULIUS CESAR 
 
 • 
 
 Act I. In a street in Rome, two tribunes are 
 urging some bystanders to hasten off to their work, 
 for a Roman law prohibits workmen being seen 
 abroad, save on feast days, without the implements 
 of their trade. Challenged in regard to his occu- 
 pations, a witty cobbler replies ambiguously, ere 
 explaining that he and his companions have come 
 hither to witness Caesar's triumphal entry into Rome. 
 Because they are partisans of Pompey, whom Caesar 
 has conquered, the tribunes, after reminding these 
 men of former triumphs, order them to leave the 
 scene; then they remove all festive tokens from the 
 images, for they wish to deprive the hated victor 
 of as much honour as possible; 
 
 We next behold a public square, where Caesar 
 bids his wife, Calpurnia, stand close beside the 
 course of the Lupercalian runners, as their touch is 
 supposed to have a special potency upon barren 
 women. Then he adjures Antony not to forget 
 her, before a flourish of trumpets warns the con- 
 testants to take their places. Just then a soothsayer 
 loudly cries ' Caesar ! ' and, although bystanders try 
 to silence him, utters the portentous warning: ' Be- 
 ware the ides of March.' Startled by these words, 
 Caesar has the soothsayer summoned into his pres- 
 ence, but as the man only repeats his oracular say- 
 
 183 
 
184 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ing, soon dismisses him with scorn. While he and 
 the rest depart to view the races, Brutus and Cassius, 
 left alone upon the stage, begin a conversation, 
 wherein, after reproaching Brutus for being less 
 friendly of late, Cassius learns he is at war with 
 himself, but flatteringly assures him that were he 
 to see himself as others see him, he would realise 
 he was the most respected man in Rome! 
 
 At this juncture loud cheers are heard, and 
 Brutus nervously exclaims he fears they are choosing 
 Caesar for their king, — a thought abhorrent to a 
 namesake of the man who drove the Tarquins from 
 Rome, and established a republic nearly three cen- 
 turies before. This remark gives artful Cassius a 
 clue to his interlocutor's feelings of which he takes 
 immediate advantage, assuring Brutus, — who insists 
 that, although he loves Caesar, he is ready to sacri- 
 fice everything to the general good, — that they were 
 1 born free as Caesar,' whose inferior physical 
 strength he derides, having saved him from drown- 
 ing during a swimming match, and nursed him dur- 
 ing a fever in Spain. He is just wondering that 
 * a man of such a feeble temper ' should so ' get the 
 start of the majestic world, and bear the palm alone,' 
 when the cheers are renewed, thus forcing these 
 two interlocutors to conclude new honours have been 
 awarded to the man whom they fear because he 
 1 doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus.' 
 
 Urging that, as ' men are masters of their fates,' 
 it rests with them alone whether they shall be under- 
 lings, Cassius artfully increases Brutus' dissatisfac- 
 tion by enquiring why Caesar's name should be 
 
Julius Casar 185 
 
 sounded more than his? He uses, besides, clever 
 flattery to induce Brutus to admit by degrees that 
 having pondered deeply the matters in regard to 
 which hints have been dropped, he will not be averse 
 to hear more about them at a fitting time, although 
 he swears he had ' rather be a villager than to 
 repute himself a son of Rome under these hard con- 
 ditions as this time is likely to lay upon ' them. 
 
 Satisfied with the progress he has made in win- 
 ning Brutus to join the plot he is meditating, Cas- 
 sius next suggests he ' pluck Casca by the sleeve,' 
 when he passes by, to find out the cause of the cheers 
 which have thrice been heard. When Caesar and his 
 train reappear, Brutus shrewdly concludes from 
 Caesar's frown, Calpurnia's pallor, and Cicero's 
 ferret-like glance, that matters of moment have oc- 
 curred. Full of curiosity, therefore, he detains 
 Casca, the sycophant, while Caesar, summoning An- 
 tony, remarks meaningly that he likes about him 
 men ' that are fat ; sleek-headed men and such as 
 sleep o' nights ; ' adding that he considers Cassius, 
 who ' has a lean and hungry look,' most dangerous. 
 He thereby reveals that he has detected with un- 
 erring glance the real head of the coming conspiracy. 
 When Antony good-naturedly assures him Cassius 
 is not to be feared, he declares the man reads too 
 much, indulges in no pleasures, and smiles too sel- 
 dom, ere he passes on, bidding Antony come to his 
 other side for he is deaf in one ear, and thus cannot 
 hear easily in a crowd. 
 
 All having gone save Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, 
 the latter, in reply to his companions' eager ques- 
 
1 86 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 tions, relates how Antony thrice offered a crown to 
 Caesar, which was thrice refused by him, amid such 
 cheers from the populace that the air, vitiated by 
 their breath, caused Caesar to swoon and froth at 
 the mouth, symptoms of disease Brutus has often 
 noted. But although Casca has hitherto acted as 
 flatterer to Caesar, it soon becomes evident he does 
 not really like him, for he boasts that on Caesar's 
 recovering and plucking open his garments, — offer- 
 ing his throat to be cut as pledge of his good faith 
 toward the Roman people, — he would gladly have 
 availed himself of the opportunity to kill him. When 
 asked whether Cicero made any comments upon this 
 scene, Casca replies he did so in Greek, which was 
 all ' Greek to him,' ere adding the information that 
 the tribunes have been punished for tearing down the 
 trophies erected in Caesar's honour ! Then, declining 
 an invitation to supper that evening, Casca pledges 
 himself to meet Cassius on the morrow and departs. 
 
 While Brutus comments upon Casca's blunt ways, 
 Cassius remarks he is quick to execute any bold or 
 noble plan, his very rudeness being the ' sauce to his 
 good wit.' Then, after appointing a meeting with 
 Brutus for the morrow, Cassius watches him out of 
 sight, shrewdly soliloquising that however noble his 
 friend may be, he is not proof against flattery ! Still, 
 because Caesar loves Brutus, Cassius is determined to 
 win this man's support in his scheme. He, therefore, 
 plans to throw in at his window and place along his 
 path anonymous writings, all tending to warn him 
 against Caesar's ' vaulting ' ambition. 
 
 The curtain next rises upon the streets of Rome, 
 
Julius Casar 187 
 
 in the midst of a violent electric storm, which fills 
 all hearts with superstitious fears. Rushing along 
 with drawn sword, Casca encounters Cicero, who is 
 returning after escorting Caesar home, and assures 
 him that nothing short of ' civil strife in heaven,' or 
 some great coming evil, can account for such a dis- 
 play of lightning, or for sundry extraordinary por- 
 tents which he enumerates. Then, asked whether 
 Caesar will visit the Capitol on the morrow in spite 
 of all this, Casca reports that the great man bade 
 Antony meet him there when they parted a while 
 ago. 
 
 No sooner has Cicero gone to seek shelter, than 
 Cassius comes up, and recognises Casca by his voice. 
 They, too, comment upon the unusual phenomena, 
 Casca vowing it is ' the part of men to fear and 
 tremble ' under such circumstances, while Cassius 
 exclaims they are being divinely warned to arm 
 against the man who most resembles this awful 
 night! This hint makes Casca eagerly enquire 
 whether he means Caesar, but, unwilling to put his 
 accusations into more definite words, Cassius merely 
 dilates on the old Roman spirit. He listens atten- 
 tively, however, to Casca's report that the senators 
 propose to make Caesar king on the morrow, allow- 
 ing him to wear a crown everywhere save in Rome, 
 and grimly swears in that case Cassius will deliver 
 himself from bondage by using his dagger! But, 
 when he hears that Casca, too, hates the idea of a 
 tyrant, he confides to him that a number of the 
 noblest-minded Romans are meeting to plan ' an 
 enterprise of honourable-dangerous consequence,' and 
 
1 88 StGries of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 are even now awaiting his coming in Pompey's 
 porch. 
 
 It is at this moment Cinna joins them, and after 
 reminding Cassius that his friends expect him, begs 
 him to urge Brutus to join their ranks. In return, 
 Cassius gives him sundry papers, to place on Old 
 Brutus' statue, on the praetor's chair, and on Brutus' 
 window-sill, before he rejoins them in Pompey's 
 porch. Then, taking Casca with him to enlighten 
 him further in regard to their plans, Cassius departs, 
 exclaiming that Brutus being already three-fourths 
 won, will be wholly theirs ere long. This assur- 
 ance delights Casca, who fervently exclaims : ' O, 
 he sits high in all the people's hearts,' adding that 
 what might seem presumption in them alone, will, 
 if Brutus favour it, ' change to virtue and to worthi- 
 ness.' 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in Brutus' gar- 
 den, where, unable to sleep, he is walking at night. 
 Summoning a drowsy servant, he bids him place a 
 light in his study, musing, after the lad has gone, 
 that, although devoid of personal grudge against 
 Caesar, he can kill him for the public good. Once 
 crowned, he deems Caesar's nature may undergo a 
 complete change, and that, having reached the top 
 of ambition's ladder, he may scorn ' the base de- 
 grees by which he did ascend.' For that reason, 
 Brutus deems it best to treat him ' like a serpent's 
 egg,' and crush him ere he can become a menace td 
 the Roman Republic! 
 
 The return of his servant, announcing that his 
 lamp is lighted, and that a letter addressed to him 
 
A. Zick 
 
 MARK ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION 
 
 Ant. "Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 
 Here is himself, marr'd as you see," 
 
 Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2. 
 
Julius Casar 189 
 
 lay on his window-sill, checks further meditation. 
 Bidding the lad find out whether the ides of 
 March occur on the morrow, Brutus takes advan- 
 tage of the heat-lightning to peruse the mysterious 
 missive, which consists of sentences purposely un- 
 finished, but which imagination can easily piece out. 
 They repeatedly admonish him to ' speak, strike, 
 redress,' in the name of his famous ancestor, and 
 for the sake of the glorious republic he founded! 
 Brutus has barely sworn Rome shall not have ap- 
 pealed to him in vain, when his servant reports the 
 ides fall on the morrow, just as a loud knock 
 startles them both. While the lad hastens to the 
 door, Brutus ejaculates he has not been able to 
 sleep ' since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar/ 
 adding that ' between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 and the first motion, all the interim is like a phan- 
 tasma, or a hideous dream.' 
 
 In reply to the announcement that Cassius and 
 others — whom the servant cannot name because their 
 faces are hidden by folds of their togas — beg ad- 
 mittance, Brutus orders them shown into his pres- 
 ence, muttering after his man has gone, that this 
 must be the faction which dares not show its ' dan- 
 gerous brow by night,' and for which no darkness 
 can be too dense. Then the conspirators are ushered 
 in, Cassius, the spokesman, after a scant apology, 
 introducing his companions. Next, he draws Brutus 
 aside for a brief private conference, while his com- 
 panions, — not to seem to listen, — indulge in irrele- 
 vant conversation, to which Casca gives a significant 
 turn just as Brutus again joins them. But, when 
 
190 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Casca proposes that all present bind themselves by 
 an oath of secrecy, Brutus urges Romans need no 
 spur save their own cause ' to prick them to re- 
 dress/ adding that oaths are intended to bind cow- 
 ards, and that any man who failed to carry out this 
 pact would be beneath contempt. Hearing Cassius 
 enquire whether Cicero should be invited to join 
 them, Brutus, after listening to the opinions of the 
 rest, suggests that Cicero is too accustomed to lead 
 to follow any one else. All, therefore, decide to 
 leave him out of their conspiracy, which is to be 
 directed against Caesar only, although Cassius sug- 
 gests removing Antony also. 
 
 Arguing that a double murder would make their 
 course appear too bloody, and that Antony will be 
 harmless when Caesar is no more, Brutus expresses 
 regret that even one dangerous Roman should have 
 to be sacrificed. He then advises the conspirators 
 to proceed boldly, declaring all Antony can do is 
 to die for Caesar, a sacrifice hardly to be expected 
 from such a pleasure-loving nature. The striking 
 of the third hour warns the conspirators to part, 
 just as Cassius suggests that superstitious Caesar may 
 be deterred from going to the senate by the night's 
 fearful presages, and by the soothsayer's warning in 
 regard to the ides of March. To prevent his linger- 
 ing at home, Decius, one of the conspirators, under- 
 takes to persuade him, and all agree to meet and 
 escort the great man to the senate, showing them- 
 selves true Romans when the decisive moment comes. 
 
 All having gone, Brutus, after pledging himself 
 to secure another ally, marvels at his servant's sound 
 
Julius Casar 191 
 
 sleep. Then his wife, Portia, joins him, having 
 purposely left her bed to enquire what has so trou- 
 bled him of late that he cannot rest? When 
 Brutus assures her he is not ill, Portia implores 
 him, by all he holds sacred, to disclose what is on 
 his mind, and why six or seven men stole through 
 the darkness to hold secret conference with him? 
 Although determined to resist her persistent en- 
 treaties to share his anxieties as a loyal wife should, 
 Brutus seems conquered when she shows him with 
 what fortitude she has endured a self-inflicted 
 wound, and has just promised to tell her all when 
 loud knocking warns them to part. 
 
 Having watched Portia out of sight, and roused 
 his servant to open the door, Brutus is next called 
 upon to receive a man who pretends to be ill, but 
 who, in reality, is a new member of the conspiracy, 
 ready to risk even the impossible for Rome. Sure of 
 his loyalty, Brutus promises to unfold to him the 
 details of their plot, and both leave the scene to- 
 gether, the conspirator promising to follow wherever 
 Brutus leads! 
 
 We next behold Caesar's house, just as he emerges 
 from his bedroom, exclaiming that the storm and 
 his wife's restless, thrice-repeated cries of ' Help, 
 ho ! they murder Caesar ! ' have not permitted him 
 to rest. Prompted by his superstitious inclinations, 
 he directs a servant to bid the priests offer a sacri- 
 fice, sending him immediate word what omens they 
 find. 
 
 When the man has gone, Caesar is joined by Cal- 
 purnia, who vows he shall not leave the house that 
 
192 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 day. Although he haughtily rejoins that ' the things 
 that threaten'd me ne'er look'd but on my back; 
 when they shall see the face of Csesar, they are van- 
 ished,' his confidence fails to reassure her, for she 
 excitedly enumerates the extraordinary portents of 
 the night as so many warnings. She is, however, 
 contemptuously told ' cowards die many times be- 
 fore their deaths;' just as the servant brings word 
 that the priests, too, bid him remain at home. In 
 her anxiety, Calpurnia now falls at her husband's 
 feet, and has barely wrung from him a promise to 
 tarry with her, when the conspirators appear to 
 escort him to the senate. 
 
 Decius, who promised to determine Caesar to go 
 thither, is haughtily told to inform the senate 
 * Caesar will not come,' a bald excuse which causes so 
 much comment that Caesar condescendingly explains 
 he is lingering at home to please his wife. Whereas 
 his first excuse was discourteous, this one seems so 
 puerile, that Decius spurns it, declaring the senate 
 will doubtless think better of their intention to 
 offer him a crown, should he not appear. Equally 
 afraid of seeming afraid, or too ready to yield to 
 his wife's foolish fancies, Caesar finally decides to 
 go, notwithstanding Calpurnia's dreams, and gra- 
 ciously greets the rest of the conspirators, when they 
 arrive together with Antony, who is rallied on 
 early rising. Leaving his house with them, Caesar 
 bids one of their number keep close beside him, 
 whereupon this man utters the grim aside, ' so near 
 will I be, that your best friends shall wish I had 
 been further.' 
 
Julius Casar 193 
 
 The next scene occurs in a narrow street, leading 
 up to the Capitol, where Artemidorus, a rhetorician, 
 is reading a paper, warning Caesar to guard against 
 the conspirators, who are duly named, and among 
 whom but one mind reigns and that ' bent against 
 Caesar.' This paper he intends to hand to the 
 great man, for he murmurs, ' if thou read this, O 
 Caesar, thou mayst live; if not, the Fates with 
 traitors do contrive.' 
 
 In another part of the same street Portia issues 
 from her house, excitedly bidding her servant run 
 to the senate for news. As the man pauses to 
 await further orders, she chides him for delay, vow- 
 ing she could have gone there and back while he 
 deliberates! But, when asked to give more definite 
 orders, Portia, — who merely suspects what is about 
 to take place,— lamely bids the servant find out how 
 his master looks, what Caesar is doing, and which 
 senators approach him. Such is her nervous tension 
 that, imagining she hears a tumult in the direction 
 of the Capitol, she eagerly questions the rhetorician, 
 on his way to entreat Caesar to ' befriend himself.' 
 Being old, however, this man is bent upon seeking 
 some more open place, lest he be crushed to death 
 in this narrow street. Artemidorus having gone, 
 Portia retires into her house to pray for the suc- 
 cess of Brutus' suit, which he informs her servant 
 1 Caesar will not grant.' 
 
 Act III. The third act opens before the Capi- 
 tol, where all are waiting for Caesar, who, perceiv- 
 ing the soothsayer in the crowd, triumphantly tells 
 him : ' the ides of March are come ! ' only to receive 
 
194 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 in reply the oracular, ' Ay, Caesar ; but not gone/ 
 A moment later he is surrounded by petitioners, 
 each urging his claim to special attention. Although 
 these petitions thrust at him should have been pre- 
 sented in the senate, Caesar accepts them all, paying 
 little heed tb the one tendered by Artemidorus, 
 although he is impressively told it concerns him 
 closely. This very plea, however, defeats the rheto- 
 rician's ends, for Caesar cries for the benefit of the 
 crowd : ' What touches us ourself shall be last 
 served,' ere he passes on. Arrived in the Capitol, 
 Cassius starts when a man whispers to him, ' I 
 wish your enterprise to-day may thrive.' Ter- 
 rified to think their plan is discovered and 
 may yet be disclosed to Caesar, Brutus and Cas- 
 sius closely watch this man, and are relieved when 
 after a mere greeting to Caesar, he draws Antony 
 aside. According to a prearranged plan, and so as 
 to have some excuse for approaching and attack- 
 ing Caesar, the conspirators now crowd around him, 
 each pleading in turn for the pardon of an offender 
 the senate has banished. This pardon, — which he 
 cannot legally grant, — Caesar sternly refuses, until 
 Casca, — who has been reminded he is to strike 
 first, — deals the great man a blow, immediately 
 followed by a score of others, against which he 
 vainly defends himself. But, when Brutus' hand 
 strikes him, too, Caesar exclaims, ' Et tu, Brute ! 
 Then fall, Caesar ! ' and sinks lifeless at the foot of 
 the statue of his rival Pompey. 
 
 Seeing him dead, the conspirators brandish aloft 
 their bloody daggers, crying: 'Liberty! Freedom! 
 
Julius Casar 195 
 
 Tyranny is dead ! ' until Brutus remarks it is time 
 to inform the people that ' ambition's debt is paid.' 
 The conspirators thereupon suggest that both Cas- 
 sius and Brutus address the people from the public 
 pulpits, and are about to escort them thither, when 
 they learn that Antony has fled and that men, 
 women, and children are rushing through the streets 
 in a panic. Arguing themselves into the belief that 
 by cutting Caesar's life short they have saved him 
 from the fear of death and other woes, the con- 
 spirators wash their hands in the noble blood they 
 have shed, Cassius dramatically exclaiming how in 
 future ages, this scene will be reenacted on the 
 stage, where Caesar shall again be made to ' bleed 
 in sport,' and adding that as often as this is done 
 people will be reminded of ' the men that gave their 
 country Liberty.' 
 
 They are just starting for the Forum, Brutus 
 leading the way, when Antony's servant kneels be- 
 fore him, saying his master sent him humbly to ask 
 Brutus,— whom he honours and loves, — why Caesar, 
 whom he honoured and feared, has been put to 
 death? He adds his master will be glad to hear 
 Brutus' reason and will immediately join him if 
 assured of safety. In reply to so flattering a speech, 
 Brutus bids the man tell his master to come with- 
 out fear and promises they will satisfy him. Then, 
 while awaiting Antony's coming, Brutus assures 
 Cassius, — still full of misgivings, — that they will 
 soon win his adherence. 
 
 A moment later Antony appears and pauses fas- 
 cinated by the sight of ' mighty Caesar ' lying low ; 
 
196 Stories of Shake spear e } s Tragedies 
 
 then, quite heedless of Brutus' greeting, he muses 
 how the hero's conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 can have ' shrunk to this little measure ? ' Only- 
 after a solemn farewell to the corpse, does he turn 
 to the conspirators, saying that, although he does not 
 know why they have done this, nor whether they 
 have designs against his life, no place or means of 
 death could please him better than those which cut 
 short ' the master spirit of this age.' 
 
 In reply, Brutus assures him that however bloody 
 and cruel they appear, they have slain Caesar only 
 out of love of Rome, and cherish no evil designs 
 against him. Then knowing how highly Antony 
 values wealth and power, Cassius shrewdly adds 
 he shall have as much influence as they in distrib- 
 uting new dignities, a promise which Brutus 
 confirms, although he begs to postpone all explana- 
 tion until they have satisfied the people. Pretend- 
 ing confidence in, and friendship for, all present, 
 Antony shakes hands with them all, vowing that, 
 although he loved Caesar and mourns his death, he 
 trusts them as true patriots. Then, overcome by 
 his feelings, he praises Caesar so eloquently that 
 Cassius wonderingly enquires whether he will side 
 with them or not? With renewed protestations of 
 fidelity, Antony again promises to await their ex- 
 planations, begging permission, meanwhile, to pro- 
 nounce Caesar's funeral oration on the Forum. The 
 unsuspecting Brutus immediately subscribes to this 
 request, although Cassius warns him it may prove 
 dangerous, for they do not know what Antony may 
 say or do to move the people. Seeing he is to ad- 
 
Julius Casar 197 
 
 dress the people first, and confident he can make 
 them judge this matter rightly, Brutus does not 
 heed these objections; but bids Antony take up the 
 body, and pronounce the oration, saying all the 
 good of Csesar he can, but plainly stating he has 
 been authorised to speak by the conspirators, whom 
 he is, however, not to blame for what they have 
 done. 
 
 All having left the scene save Antony, he ad- 
 dresses the corpse in a wonderful speech, imploring 
 the wounds to speak, so that the man who looms up 
 greatest in the history of Rome can be honoured 
 by a fitting funeral oration. He adds that this 
 murder is but the prelude of wars and bloodshed 
 which will devastate all Italy, until it will seem as 
 if Caesar's great spirit were ' ranging for revenge.' 
 His soliloquy ended, Antony is informed by Oc- 
 tavius' servant that his master is near, and has re- 
 ceived Caesar's letters. Then, suddenly beholding 
 the august corpse, this servant bursts into tears 
 which almost unman Antony, who, seeing this, be- 
 speaks his aid to carry the remains to the Forum, 
 ere he sends him back to warn Octavius that as yet 
 there is no safety for him in Rome. 
 
 We next behold the Roman Forum, where the 
 citizens greet the conspirators with loud clamours 
 for an explanation, whereupon Brutus suggests that 
 Cassius take a part of them with him, while he ad- 
 dresses the rest. The crowds follow either orator as 
 they list, and when silence has been secured, Brutus 
 begins a speech to ' Romans, countrymen, and 
 lovers ! ' But, although he entreats all present to 
 
198 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 believe him for his honour's sake, and explains how 
 he loved Rome even more than Caesar, and although 
 he demands whether they prefer slavery to freedom, 
 he gives no adequate explanation for what has just 
 been done. Nevertheless, his eloquence so im- 
 presses the mobile mob that, when he enquires 
 whether they are offended, all fervently assure him 
 they are not. 
 
 It is just as his speech concludes that Antony 
 and others bring in Caesar's body, whereupon* 
 Brutus announces that Antony, — who had no share 
 in the hero's death, — will pronounce his funeral 
 oration, by permission of the conspirators, and 
 winds up his peroration with the assurance that, 
 should Rome ever require it, he will kill himself 
 with the same dagger that slew Caesar! This part- 
 ing burst of eloquence carries away the spectators, 
 who, while crowding around Antony, loudly ex- 
 press their admiration, and mutter that no one shall 
 speak ill of Brutus under penalty of their wrath. 
 
 Silence being restored, Antony, in his turn, ad- 
 dresses them as ' Friends, Romans, countrymen,' 
 announcing he has come ' to bury Caesar, not to 
 praise him.' In his magnificent speech, he repeatedly 
 assures his hearers that Brutus and the other con- 
 spirators, — who are ' all honourable men,' — declare 
 that Caesar was ambitious, and then gradually, but 
 artfully, wins the mob's sympathy by reminding 
 them of all Caesar has done for the Commonwealth. 
 
 His emotional breaks, his allusions, and veiled sar- 
 casms, soon produce a complete revulsion in popular 
 opinion, and after he has mentioned the fact that the 
 
Julius Casar 199 
 
 dead hero made a will in their favour, the listeners 
 demand its purport. Instead of immediately grati- 
 fying this curiosity, Antony feigns reluctance to 
 comply, while further inflaming their anger against 
 1 the honourable men whose daggers have stabb'd 
 Caesar! ' 
 
 Discovering by his hints that they are Caesar's 
 heirs, the plebeians now clamour so loudly for more 
 information, that Antony comes down from the 
 rostrum and bids them cluster around the august 
 corpse, where he pathetically points out rents in its 
 cloak, designating that of Brutus, Caesar's friend, as 
 the ' most unkindest cut of all.' His description of 
 Caesar's death, after this visible proof of ingratitude, 
 and his assurance that in that fall they all fell, 
 ' whilst bloody treason flourish'd over ' them, wrings 
 groans and tears from the fickle populace, who, per- 
 mitted at last to gaze upon the remains, become so 
 excited that they clamour for revenge. While pre- 
 tending to use every effort to quiet and restrain 
 them by speaking in favour of Brutus and of his 
 friends, Antony really adds fuel to the fire of their 
 wrath, until, to prove how dearly Caesar loved them, 
 he mentions how he left a sum of money to each 
 citizen and bequeathed his chief estates as pleasure 
 grounds for the people. This munificent donation, 
 coming on top of all the rest, provokes a mad burst 
 of enthusiasm among the spectators, who, without 
 listening any longer, take possession of the corpse to 
 burn it in the holy place, vowing they will set fire 
 to the traitors' houses with brands from Caesar's 
 pyre! 
 
200 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 Meantime, Antony watches the raging of the 
 popular tempest he has stirred up, muttering : ' Now 
 let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, take thou 
 what course thou wilt ! ' When he is left alone on 
 the scene of this tumult, Octavius' servant reports 
 that his master and Lepidus are at Caesar's house, 
 where Antony promises soon to join them, for he 
 deems ' Fortune is merry, and in this mood will 
 give us anything.' As they leave together, the serv- 
 ant also relates how he saw Brutus and Cassius 
 ride ' like madmen through the gates of Rome,' tid- 
 ings which prove to Antony they have already 
 learned the effect produced by his stirring funeral 
 address. 
 
 We next behold a Roman street, where a poet is 
 wondering why a strange dream should have lured 
 him out, just as the excited mob pounce upon him. 
 Deeming him on account of his name one of the 
 conspirators, they propose to slay him in spite of his 
 protests, ere they rush off to burn down the con- 
 spirators' houses. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in a house in 
 Rome, where the triumvirs, Antony, Octavius, and 
 Lepidus, making out their proscription lists, sacri- 
 fice sundry relatives to each other's wrath. Next 
 Lepidus is directed to fetch Caesar's will so they can 
 determine how to reduce the legacies as much as 
 possible, and when he has gone to execute this 
 order, Antony contemptuously terms him ' a slight, 
 unmeritable man, meet to be sent on errands,' and 
 openly regrets that one-third of the Roman world 
 should be his to rule, the second triumvirate having 
 
Julius Casar 201 
 
 thus divided it. Still, he comforts himself with 
 the thought that for the present they can use Lepi- 
 dus, and that when his services are no longer needed, 
 they can turn him off, ' like to the empty ass, to 
 shake his ears, and graze in commons.' Next, 
 Antony remarks that as Brutus and Cassius are 
 raising forces in Asia Minor, it behooves them to 
 consult speedily with their friends how best to op- 
 pose them. 
 
 We are now transferred to a camp near Sardis, 
 where Brutus halts before his tent, eagerly enquiring 
 from the man on guard whether Cassius is near at 
 hand? In reply a messenger from Cassius steps 
 forward to deliver his master's greetings, to whom 
 Brutus states he will be glad to see his fellow- 
 conspirator, although the latter has given him 
 ' cause to wish things done, undone.' On learning 
 from his own man that Cassius received him courte- 
 ously, but far less familiarly than of old, Brutus 
 shrewdly deems this an accurate description of ' a 
 hot friend cooling,' and eagerly enquires whether 
 Cassius will soon arrive with his force? His ques- 
 tion is answered by a blast of trumpets, heralding 
 Cassius at the head of his troops, which halt at his 
 command, while he steps forward to exchange greet- 
 ings with Brutus and reproach him for wronging 
 him. Protesting that having never wronged his 
 enemies he would be incapable of injuring a 
 brother, Brutus checks Cassius' further remarks by 
 inviting him into his tent, where they can confer 
 unobserved. Orders are therefore given for the 
 disposal of the soldiers, who are led off by sub- 
 
202 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 ordinate officers, while Brutus and Cassius enter the 
 tent, before which Brutus' servants mount guard. 
 
 The next scene consists in the famous interview 
 between the two ex-conspirators, wherein Cassius 
 reproaches Brutus for having punished one of his 
 men for accepting bribes from the Sardians, while 
 Brutus rejoins that people justly accuse Cassius of 
 having ' an itching palm,' and of being ready to 
 sell offices even to undeservers. Hearing Cassius 
 resent this accusation, Brutus reminds him it was 
 not for their advantage, but ' for justice's sake ' that 
 they cut down Caesar, ' the foremost man of all 
 this world,' and virtuously declares that rather than 
 contaminate his fingers with bribes, he would ' be 
 a dog, and bay at the moon ! ' 
 
 There is so much truth in his remarks that Cas- 
 sius, goaded to anger, bids him cease baiting him, 
 and reminds him he is the better soldier. Gradu- 
 ally their quarrel grows more bitter, but when Bru- 
 tus contemptuously exclaims, ' Shall I be frighted 
 when a madman stares ? ' Cassius grudgingly re- 
 tracts his former remarks, crying that even Caesar 
 would not have dared to move him thus to anger! 
 After a few more taunts, Brutus returning to the 
 matter in hand, hotly reproaches Cassius for not 
 sending him funds to pay his troops, thus showing 
 that> although unable to wring money ' from the 
 hard hands of peasants ' himself, he is not averse to 
 make use of ill-gotten goods. When Cassius de- 
 nies having refused such an appeal, Brutus proves so 
 incredulous that Cassius calls for Octavius and An- 
 tony to end his life, since, having forfeited Brutus' 
 
Julius Casar 203 
 
 love, he is ' aweary of the world.' His tender 
 of his dagger, — so his former friend may plunge it 
 into his heart, — finally disarms the anger of Brutus, 
 who bids him sheathe it, adding he is ' yoked with a 
 lamb,' who, although he shows fire at times, immedi- 
 ately cools down again. This quarrel, which threat- 
 ened their alliance, ends with a half-proffered apol- 
 ogy on the part of both, just as a poet forces his 
 way into their presence, to adjure them to cease dis- 
 puting. After turning him out ignominiously, the 
 generals call for wine to drink to their reconciliation, 
 Brutus excusing his recent irritability, under plea 
 of grief at his wife Portia's violent death, news 
 which appals Cassius. 
 
 Immediately after they have pledged each other, 
 Messala and Titinius, Brutus' officers, enter, and 
 letters recently received from Rome are canvassed. 
 Not aware that Brutus had already heard of Portia's 
 death, Messala gently breaks it to him, and admires 
 the fortitude he displays. Then all three decide 
 that since Octavius and Antony, — after ridding 
 themselves of many Romans, including Cicero, — 
 are wending their way toward Philippi, it will be 
 well to meet them there. This decision is reached 
 only after a lively dispute between Brutus and 
 Cassius, the former prevailing by an able speech, 
 wherein occurs the famous simile, ' there is a tide in 
 the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads 
 on to fortune.' 
 
 This decision reached, seeing the night already 
 far advanced, Cassius withdraws, leaving Brutus to 
 call for his slumber robe and bid his attendant sum- 
 
204 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 mon two soldiers, who are told to sleep in his tent, 
 so he can rouse them when he needs them. These 
 soldiers comfortably disposed of, Brutus prepares to 
 while away part of the night by reading, bidding 
 his servant play for him a little while. The lad 
 is, however, soon overcome by sleep, so Brutus, 
 after removing the instrument to a place of safety, 
 lets him enjoy his well-earned rest. While all is 
 quiet around him, the light grows dim and Brutus, 
 looking up, is confronted by Caesar's ghost! Feel- 
 ing his blood run cold and his hair rise on end, 
 Brutus commands the apparition to speak, only to 
 hear that his evil spirit has come to warn him they 
 will meet again at Philippi. Then the ghost dis- 
 appears, just as Brutus' loud calls awaken his sleep- 
 ing attendants, none of whom has seen or heard 
 anything unusual. Having thus roused his men, 
 Brutus bids them go and tell Cassius to set out 
 early in the morning, leaving him to follow at his 
 pleasure. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens on the plains of 
 Philippi, where Octavius and Antony are encamped, 
 and where the former rejoices to think his com- 
 panion was mistaken in declaring the foe would not 
 meet them in battle. Just as Antony rejoins they 
 have done so to give the impression of courage, a 
 messenger announces the enemy is drawing near. 
 After a brief dispute in regard to the positions they 
 are to occupy, Octavius gains his way, just as their 
 opponents appear to parley. Unable to restrain 
 their wrath, the four principals exchange uncompli- 
 mentary remarks, Antony taunting Brutus with 
 
Julius Ccesar 205 
 
 dealing base strokes, — as the hole his dagger made 
 in Caesar's heart bears witness, — and reviling Cassius 
 for his share in the murder. Then Octavius vows 
 that having drawn his sword against the conspira- 
 tors, it shall never be sheathed again ' till Caesar's 
 three and thirty wounds be well avenged.' To these 
 contemptuous speeches Brutus haughtily rejoins that 
 Octavius could die no more honourable death than by 
 his sword, ere both parties separate, still hurling 
 defiance at each other. 
 
 Octavius and Antony having gone to rejoin their 
 forces, Brutus converses apart with his servant, 
 while Cassius informs Messala that he regrets hav- 
 ing to stake all his chances on the issue of the 
 coming battle on his birthday, for bad omens have 
 occurred. His conversation with his man finished, 
 Brutus rejoins Cassius, who fervently hopes the 
 gods will allow them to end their lives in peace 
 together. Still, in case they lose, he wishes to know 
 what Brutus intends to do? His philosophy teach- 
 ing it is cowardly to anticipate death, Brutus replies 
 that arming himself ' with patience,' he means ' to 
 stay the providence of some high powers that govern 
 us below.' But, when Cassius demands whether he 
 could stand being led in triumph through the streets 
 of Rome, Brutus' philosophy suddenly deserts him, 
 for he passionately declares ' he bears too great a 
 mind ' to brook such disgrace, and adds that this day 
 1 must end that work the ides of March begun.' 
 Then, solemn farewells exchanged, these two sepa- 
 rate, Brutus exclaiming, ' O, that a man might know 
 the end of this day's business ere it come! But it 
 
206 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 sufficeth that the day will end, and then the end is 
 known.' 
 
 The next scene occurs on the battle-field, where 
 Brutus is despatching Messala with written orders 
 for the legions on the other side to charge and thus 
 defeat Octavius. In another part of the field, Cas- 
 sius tells Titinius how he has just slain, with his 
 own hand, a cowardly ensign who was beating a 
 retreat, and how Brutus has lost his temporary ad- 
 vantage over the foe by allowing his troops to pillage 
 ere victory was assured. The result is that, sur- 
 rounded by Antony's forces, Cassius now takes 
 refuge upon a neighbouring height, from whence, 
 discerning fire near his tents, he bids Titinius ride 
 thither in haste and ascertain whether they are in the 
 hands of friends or foes. Meantime, another officer, 
 Pindarus, directed to report from a higher point all 
 he sees, exclaims that Titinius is surrounded by 
 troops, whose joyful shouts reach Cassius' ear. Bid- 
 ding his man come down, Cassius reviles himself for 
 living to see his best friend a prisoner, and then re- 
 minds Pindarus how, having taken him captive in 
 war, he granted him life on condition of implicit 
 obedience. When he, therefore, bids Pindarus slay 
 him, this man feels bound to obey, and Cassius dies 
 exclaiming, ' Caesar, thou art revenged, even with 
 the sword that kill'd thee.' Freed from further 
 obligations by this death, Pindarus flees, just as 
 Titinius returns with Messala, who joyously an- 
 nounces Cassius and Brutus have triumphed. Feel- 
 ing sure such tidings will be welcome, they eagerly 
 seek for Cassius, and are horrified to discover him 
 
Julius Casar 207 
 
 weltering in his blood. Sure some misunderstand- 
 ing caused this awful catastrophe, Messala hastens 
 off to warn Brutus, while Titinius sorrowfully 
 decks the corpse with the crown of victory which 
 the enthusiastic troops had entrusted to him for 
 Cassius. Then, having paid his last respects to his 
 master, this faithful officer kills himself with Cas- 
 sius' sword. 
 
 Trumpet peals next usher on the scene Brutus 
 and Messala, who at first imagine Titinius is mourn- 
 ing over his master's body. When they discover, 
 however, that he too is dead, Brutus exclaims : ' O 
 Julius Csesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit 
 walks abroad, and turns our swords in our own 
 proper entrails,' ere he marks that Titinius' last act 
 was to crown his master. Having no leisure at 
 present to pay these corpses a fitting tribute of 
 tears, Brutus, after giving orders for the disposal 
 of Cassius' body, hastens back to the battle-field, 
 where, ere night, he means to ' try fortune in a 
 second fight.' 
 
 In another part of the field, where a mad strug- 
 gle is raging, Brutus is heard encouraging his 
 friends, who are making desperate efforts to die 
 since they cannot win. While Cato falls, Brutus 
 rushes deeper into the fray, just as his opponents 
 seize his faithful servant, who, to enable his master 
 to escape, personates him for a few minutes. But, 
 when Antony appears and the pious fraud is dis- 
 covered, Brutus' man proudly proclaims no enemy 
 will ever take his master alive. Bidding his men 
 continue their quest, yet closely guard this prisoner 
 
208 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 whom he would rather have as friend than foe, 
 Antony departs. 
 
 Meanwhile, Brutus and his last remaining com- 
 panions have retreated to a rocky height, where, 
 after counting heads, they bewail their companions' 
 loss. Still, death now seems so far preferable to 
 life that Brutus tries, in a whisper, to induce his 
 companions one after another to slay him. But 
 even his old schoolfellow, — to whom he confides 
 how Csesar's ghost has twice appeared to him, — 
 refuses to hold his sword so he can run upon it. 
 A new alarm finally causes these few survivors to 
 exchange hasty farewells, Brutus assuring them, 
 ■ Countrymen, my heart doth joy that yet in all my 
 life I found no man but he was true to me,' ere 
 they disperse. He and Strato, his last friend, re- 
 main on the stage alone, where, unable to refuse 
 Brutus' last request, this man, after obtaining his 
 pardon, holds his sword while he falls upon it, ex- 
 claiming: ' Caesar, now be still: I kill'd not thee 
 with half so good a will.' 
 
 A moment later Octavius and Antony enter with 
 Messala, who, on perceiving Strato, eagerly en- 
 quires for Brutus, only to hear he is ' free from the 
 bondage you are in, Messala! ' Then Strato 
 proudly adds that ' Brutus only overcame himself, 
 and no man else hath honour by his death,' and that 
 all the conquerors can do is to burn his body. 
 Happy to think his master justified his proud boast, 
 Brutus' attendant now consents to serve Octavius, 
 as does Strato also, who is praised for rendering the 
 last service to his master. Then Antony solemnly 
 
Julius Casar 209 
 
 pronounces Brutus ' the noblest Roman of them all/ 
 adding that ' all the conspirators save only he did 
 that they did in envy of great Caesar.' Because 
 Brutus acted from patriotic motives only, Antony 
 claims he deserved to be held up to the world as 
 ' a man/ while Octavius orders his remains treated 
 with due respect, ere he departs with Antony ' to 
 part the glories of this happy day.' 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 Act I. The first act opens in the palace at 
 Alexandria, where two Romans discuss Mark An- 
 tony's infatuation for Cleopatra until a flourish of 
 trumpets ushers in this couple and their train. 
 While one Roman whispers that ' the triple pillar 
 of the world ' is transformed : into a strumpet's 
 fool,' Cleopatra implores Antony to say how much 
 he loves her, until he fervently rejoins ' there's 
 beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.' Their 
 amorous talk is interrupted by a message from 
 Rome, which Cleopatra sarcastically bids Antony 
 heed as his wife, Fulvia, may be angry, or ' the 
 scarce-bearded Caesar,' may be sending him man- 
 dates. Such taunts cause Antony to declare Rome 
 is naught and the universe represented solely by 
 Cleopatra, whom he embraces. When she inquires 
 why he married Fulvia, he proposes that instead of 
 wasting the day in vain recriminations they devote 
 it to pleasure, and when she urges him to receive 
 the messengers, declines to have anything to do with 
 Rome. As both leave the hall, the Roman specta- 
 tors marvel at Antony's contempt for Caesar, gravely 
 admitting that ' sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
 he comes too short of that great property which 
 still should go with Antony.' 
 
 In another room in the same palace, the queen's 
 
 2IO 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 211 
 
 women and eunuch are consulting a soothsayer, who 
 predicts their fortunes according to the lines on 
 their hands. But, when he states the women's end is 
 near, and that they will die together after the lady 
 they serve, both coquettishly protest against such 
 gruesome predictions, amid bantering remarks from 
 the eunuch. 
 
 Just then Cleopatra enters demanding her lord, 
 who left her abruptly, ' a Roman thought ' having 
 evidently struck him. She is just sending for An- 
 tony when she sees him draw near, and artfully 
 decides not to look at him, but pass him by. With- 
 out heeding this, Antony continues to question the 
 messenger, who describes how Fulvia and his 
 brother, foes at first, joined forces against Caesar. 
 He adds that a large part of the lands Antony 
 conquered is already lost, and that Rome reviles 
 Cleopatra for beguiling him into idleness. Sadly 
 admitting that ' when our quick minds lie still,' they 
 bring forth weeds, Antony dismisses this messen- 
 ger and calls for the next. 
 
 He is muttering ' these strong Egyptian fetters I 
 must break, or lose myself in dotage,' when the 
 next messenger announces Fulvia's death, and de- 
 livers a letter giving further particulars. While he 
 passes out, Antony musingly avers * there's a great 
 spirit gone ! ' adding that he did not desire this, and 
 is more than ever determined to break away ' from 
 this enchanting queen,' for he realises his idleness is 
 hatching many ills. Calling his officer Enobarbus, 
 Antony therefore informs him they must leave, a 
 move Enobarbus opines ' will kill all our women.' 
 
212 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Seeing Antony does not heed this objection, this 
 officer describes how ' Cleopatra, catching but the 
 least noise of this, dies instantly'; adding that he 
 has seen her die twenty times on lesser provoca- 
 tion. When Antony admits she is ' cunning past 
 man's thought,' Enobarbus urges the great strength 
 of her passions, until Antony exclaims he wishes 
 he had never seen her; but his man assures him he 
 1 had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work.' 
 
 When he learns Fulvia is dead, Enobarbus 
 philosophically rejoins the deities take a man's wife 
 from him, only to comfort him with a new love, 
 and because Antony remarks the business his wife 
 began ' cannot endure his absence,' he suggests 
 Cleopatra cannot endure it either. This answer the 
 general dismisses as light, stating he will break ' the 
 cause of our expedience to the queen,' for now that 
 Pompey has ' given the dare to Caesar,' and is mas- 
 ter of the seas, Antony foresees that, unless some- 
 thing is done immediately, they may yet have to 
 reckon with another master of the world. He 
 therefore bids Enobarbus announce to the court his 
 imminent removal while he arranges for departure. 
 
 In another room Cleopatra enquires of her women 
 and eunuch where Antony may be, and bids one of 
 them go in quest of him, reporting her dancing in 
 case he is sad, but if mirthful to describe her as ill. 
 The eunuch having gone, Charmian, the maid, re- 
 marks if Cleopatra really loved Antony, she would 
 not act thus, whereupon the queen sagely informs 
 her that to give way to a man in everything and 
 cross him in nothing is the best way to lose him. 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 213 
 
 A moment later Antony enters to inform the pout- 
 ing Cleopatra there is bad news. Although she 
 petulantly vows she will not listen, he coaxes until 
 she jealously demands ' what says the married 
 woman ? ' Antony, therefore, tries to impart to 
 her Fulvia's death, but it is only after some time that 
 he can sufficiently quiet her suspicions to make her 
 understand his wife is gone, Italy a prey to civil 
 war, Pompey threatening Rome, and he obliged to 
 go there and fight. As Cleopatra refuses to believe 
 him, Antony bids her read his letters, whereat she 
 petulantly rejoins she now perceives how coldly he 
 will welcome the news of her demise! Entreating 
 her not to quarrel with him and promising fidelity, 
 Antony is about to depart, when Cleopatra threatens 
 to faint and thus detains him by her side. Then, 
 after having taunted and teased him to the verge 
 of endurance, she suddenly melts and confesses she 
 loves him, begs his forgiveness for detaining him, 
 and finally sends him off with wishes for victory 
 and success. This softness overcomes Antony, who 
 passionately assures her, ' thou, residing here go'st 
 yet with me, and I hence fleeting, here remain with 
 thee.' 
 
 We now remove to a house in Rome, where 
 Caesar, after reading a letter, informs Lepidus how 
 news from Alexandria reports Antony fishing, 
 drinking, and revelling with Cleopatra, but paying 
 no heed to state affairs. When Lepidus opines 
 Antony's faults are hereditary, Octavius considers 
 he is too indulgent, for Antony should know better 
 than to become Cleopatra's lover, reel through the 
 
214 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 streets, and buffet with knaves! This dialogue is 
 interrupted by a messenger, reporting Pompey strong 
 at sea and constantly joined by malcontents, tidings 
 which do not surprise Octavius, for he considers 
 * this common body, like to a vagabond flag upon the 
 stream, goes to and back, lackeying the varying 
 tide, to rot itself with motion.' When the messen- 
 ger adds that pirates are making inroads into Italy 
 which Pompey alone can check, Octavius fervently 
 wishes Antony would leave his ' lascivious wassails ' 
 and come and fight, for he remembers what hard- 
 ships this general formerly endured and the feats he 
 performed when merely a dauntless soldier. This 
 reminder of Antony's previous prowesses causes 
 Lepidus to wail their companion is no longer the 
 same, while Octavius exclaims it is time to show 
 themselves in the field, since ' Pompey thrives in 
 our idleness.' Promising to furnish on the morrow 
 a full account of the forces he can muster, Lepidus 
 departs, after farewells which show both are deter- 
 mined to turn all their energies against the foe. 
 
 In Alexandria Cleopatra implores her maids and 
 eunuch to give her a sedative, so she can ' sleep 
 out this great gap of time ' during which her An- 
 tony is away. When her attendants assure her she 
 thinks too much of him, Cleopatra reviles them for 
 talking treason, and bids one of her men sing to 
 her. Still, she pays no heed to his music, but 
 keeps wondering what Antony is doing or saying, 
 and whether he is thinking of her and of the ex- 
 travagant compliments he once used to lavish on 
 his ' serpent of old Nile ' ? While she is thus 
 
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Antony and Cleopatra 215 
 
 musing, Alexas delivers a jewel and letter from 
 Antony, vowing his master kissed them many times 
 before forwarding them to her. Because Cleopatra 
 eagerly enquires whether Antony was sad or merry, 
 he rejoins neither, a mood she interprets most fa- 
 vourably, ere she enquires whether Alexas met her 
 posts? Although he reports crossing twenty dif- 
 ferent messengers, she calls for ink and paper to 
 forward another missive, questioning meanwhile 
 whether she ever loved Caesar so fervently, and 
 threatening to strike Charmian when this maid at- 
 tempts to paragon with Caesar her ' man of men ' ! 
 When the maid humbly objects she was merely re- 
 peating her mistress' words, Cleopatra rejoins she 
 was then in her ' salad days,' and ' green in judg- 
 ment,' before she again calls for writing materials, 
 vowing Antony shall have ' every day . a several 
 greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.' 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in Pompey's 
 house in Messina, just as he enters exclaiming, ' if 
 the great gods be just, they shall assist the deeds of 
 justest men.' His friends rejoin that, although the 
 gods delay they do not deny, ere Pompey admits his 
 powers are increasing, and he hopes to triumph, for 
 Antony is feasting in Egypt, Caesar alienating his 
 followers by his avarice, and Lepidus weakening his 
 cause by flattery. When one of his followers rejoins 
 that Caesar and Lepidus are in the field with mighty 
 forces, Pompey refuses to believe him, for he fancies 
 they must be still in Rome, waiting for Antony, 
 who, bewitched by Cleopatra, proves oblivious to 
 everything else. ■ 
 
216 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Just then an officer reports Antony has already 
 left Egypt and is hourly expected in Rome; news 
 unwelcome to Pompey, who wonders Antony should 
 have donned his helmet for ^uch a petty war, and 
 should have consented to forsake Cleopatra. When 
 one of his followers suggests Caesar and Antony 
 cannot remain friends owing to Fulvia's machina- 
 tions, Pompey shrewdly opines ' lesser enmities may 
 give way to greater,' and that, through fear of him 
 and his party, their petty divisions may be healed. 
 
 The next scene is played in the house of Lepidus, 
 who cautions Enobarbus to entreat Antony to be 
 gentle, an office the confidant haughtily refuses, de- 
 claring should Caesar irritate Antony, the latter will 
 doubtless ' speak as loud as Mars.' Just as Lepidus 
 reminds him this is no time for private quarrels, and 
 that ' small to greater matters must give way,' An- 
 tony and Caesar enter with friends. The former 
 remarks, if they succeed here they can soon pass 
 on to Parthia, while the latter refers some question 
 to Agrippa. Lepidus now reminds those assem- 
 bled that it behooves them to cease debating private 
 differences and think only of the public weal. 
 All present having taken seats, Antony opens the 
 council by remarking his fellow-triumvirs have 
 1 taken things ill which are not so.' When Caesar 
 retorts it would be strange were he not offended, 
 Antony haughtily demands what difference it made 
 whether he lingered in Eg3^pt? To this Caesar re- 
 joins that, during his absence, his wife and brother 
 made war against him, a move Antony never upheld, 
 as he declares his letters prove. Assuming he is 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 217 
 
 trying to patch up excuses, Caesar answers so coldly 
 that Antony hotly wishes he, too, had a spirited wife, 
 for, owning one-third of the world, he needs such 
 a companion. Nevertheless, Caesar insists Antony 
 is to blame for all the trouble stirred up by his 
 wife, as well as for the riots in Alexandria, and 
 taxes him with scorning his letters and gibing at 
 him publicly. Imperiously, Antony explains these 
 letters came when he had been feasting and was not 
 himself, adding that the next day he made due atone- 
 ment. But, when Caesar accuses him of having 
 broken the article of his oath, Lepidus interferes, 
 although Antony insists Caesar speak out since he 
 has attacked his honour, which is sacred. Because 
 Caesar states Antony denied him the arms and aid 
 he requested, Antony exclaims that, fancying his wife 
 was making war merely to force him to leave Egypt, 
 he naturally refused to budge. This excuse seems 
 pertinent to Lepidus and the others, who try to 
 reconcile Caesar and Antony by suggesting that they 
 wrangle * when they have nothing else to do.' Thus 
 admonished, Caesar reluctantly admits he doesn't 
 so ' much dislike the matter, but the manner ' of 
 Antony's speech, yet is willing to overlook all and 
 make friends, a concession which Agrippa tries to 
 make binding by suggesting that Octavius' sister be 
 given in marriage to Antony. When Caesar bit- 
 terly remarks Cleopatra may not admit Antony is a 
 widower, the general haughtily returns he is not 
 married, but ready to consider Agrippa's proposal. 
 In detail, this man now sets forth the advantages 
 of such an alliance, his arguments convincing both 
 
218 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 
 
 parties, who agree to the alliance and shake hands 
 on the strength of this contract. The third triumvir 
 seems equally delighted with this suggestion, and 
 when it has been duly settled, all three amicably 
 discuss how best to oppose Pompey, whose forces 
 have been increasing every day. But because they 
 have decided to conclude the marriage before arm- 
 ing, Caesar invites Antony to come immediately and 
 view his beloved sister. 
 
 Amid a flourish of trumpets the three generals 
 march out, while their friends begin to talk of 
 Egypt, Enobarbus describing for the benefit of the 
 rest the feasting and merriment, and especially the 
 beauty of Cleopatra, when she first met Antony on 
 the Cydnus River. His enthusiastic description of 
 the state barge's silken and perfumed sails, of the 
 queen's attire and attendants, accounts for the deep 
 impression she produced upon Antony, who not 
 only joyfully accepted her invitation to supper, but 
 prepared for it as a bridegroom for his wedding. 
 When Agrippa admits Cleopatra is ' such a royal 
 wench ' that she conquered the great Caesar, Eno- 
 barbus adds there is little prospect of his master 
 really forsaking her, since ' age cannot wither her, 
 nor custom stale her infinite variety: other women 
 cloy the appetites they feed: but she makes hungry 
 where most she satisfies.' Although convinced of 
 all this, Mecaenas concludes that if beauty, wisdom, 
 and majesty can make a lasting impression, Oc- 
 tavia will soon fetter Antony for good, and all agree 
 to sup together ere they separate and leave the 
 house. 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 219 
 
 The next scene occurs in Caesar's dwelling, after 
 Antony's first momentous interview with Octavia, 
 for he enters walking on one side of her while 
 Caesar escorts her on the other. When Antony 
 gravely explains to his newly betrothed that ' the 
 world and my great office will sometimes divide me 
 from your bosom,' she graciously rejoins that dur- , 
 ing such times she will pray for his success. Fas- 
 cinated by such gentleness, Antony begs her not to 
 believe the world's report in regard to him, and 
 promises to live squarely hereafter, ere he bids her 
 good-night. Caesar and his sister having retired, 
 a soothsayer joins Antony, who, remembering hav- 
 ing seen him in Egypt, begins talking to him. Not 
 only does the soothsayer wish he had never left 
 that country, but advises Antony to hasten back 
 there, warning him Caesar's fortunes are fated to 
 rise highest. This prediction displeases Antony, 
 who refuses to listen when the soothsayer warns 
 him that in playing with Caesar he will lose the 
 game. After dismissing this bird of ill omen, An- 
 tony calls for Ventidius, whom he intends to send 
 to Parthia, while he returns to Egypt, for although 
 he has concluded a marriage with Octavia for 
 peace's sake, he owns it is in the East his pleasure 
 lies. When Ventidius joins him, therefore, Antony 
 bids him start immediately for Parthia, and soon 
 leaves with him to complete arrangements. 
 
 Meantime Lepidus bids his friends Mecaenas 
 and Agrippa escort him no further, but hasten back 
 to their general, who, they rejoin, is taking leave of 
 Octavia. They playfully predict they will reach the 
 
220 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 tryst before Lepidus, who admits such may be the 
 case, as he is coming by a roundabout way. 
 
 In Egypt Cleopatra capriciously refuses to listen 
 to the singer she summons, or to play billiards with 
 her eunuch, with whom she indulges in a dubious 
 play of wit. But all at once she proposes to go 
 fishing, and her mention of angling reminds Char- 
 mian of the day when her mistress had a diver 
 fasten salt fish to Antony's hook! This reminder 
 pleases Cleopatra, who exclaims she laughed Antony 
 out of patience that day, but laughed him into it 
 again before night. 
 
 Just then a messenger arrives, from whom she ea- 
 gerly demands news. Because he hesitates to answer, 
 Cleopatra wails Antony is dead, adding that should 
 he confirm her fears he will kill his mistress, but if 
 he assure her of the contrary, he may kiss her hand. 
 When the messenger gasps Antony is well, Cleo- 
 patra effusively rewards him, only to interrupt him 
 incredulously when he adds Antony and Caesar 
 are friends. Because even this statement concludes 
 with a timorous ' but,' Cleopatra waxes so impa- 
 tient that he finally blurts out the news of Antony's 
 marriage to Octavia! In her rage Cleopatra strikes 
 the messenger, although her attendants try to check 
 her fury, and hales him up and down by the hair, 
 the man meantime feebly protesting the match is not 
 his fault. When the jealous queen bids him take 
 back his words, he regrets not being able to do so, 
 and thus so exasperates her that she is about to slay 
 him, when he saves himself by flight. Drawing near 
 her mistress, Charmian now implores her to exer- 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 221 
 
 cise some self-control, and Cleopatra, after raging 
 for a while longer, recalls the man, from whom she 
 wishes to extract further information. When 
 Charmian reports him afraid to appear, Cleopatra 
 promises not to hurt him, murmuring her hands 
 lacked ' nobility ' in striking a meaner than her- 
 self. When the maid reushers in the poor mes- 
 senger, therefore, Cleopatra tells him it is an un- 
 grateful task to bear bad news, yet makes him repeat 
 Antony has married Octavia, although she inter- 
 rupts him frequently by exclamations of rage. Dis- 
 missing him finally, Cleopatra gives way to a 
 paroxysm of fury which Charmian vainly tries to 
 soothe, until turning finally to her, Cleopatra en- 
 quires whether in praising Antony she did not often 
 dispraise Julius Caesar ? When her attendant assures 
 her such was the case, she bitterly rejoins she is ' paid 
 for't now.' Then, feeling faint, Cleopatra asks to 
 be led to her apartment; but ere leaving, charges 
 Alexas to make the messenger report Octavia's 
 features, her age, the colour of her hair, and her 
 inclinations, for the Egyptian queen is madly jealous 
 of the person who now receives Antony's attentions. 
 The next scene is played near Cape Misenum, 
 where Pompey enters with his forces on one side, 
 and the triumvirs on the other. Haughtily ad- 
 dressing his foes, Pompey declares that having 
 exchanged hostages, they can confer before fighting; 
 a move Caesar approves, for he remarks they sent 
 written statements for Pompey to consider, and that 
 unless he tie up ' his discontented sword ' many will 
 perish on the field of battle. In return Pompey, al- 
 
222 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 luding to the conspiracy which drenched the Capitol 
 with blood and caused the battle of Philippi, claims 
 to be his father's avenger. Although assured that 
 Caesar and Antony are not afraid to meet him, 
 even at sea where his forces are greatest, Pompey 
 taunts them, until Lepidus enquires whether he will 
 accept Sicily and Sardinia, rid the sea of pirates, 
 send wheat to Rome, and cease to make war against 
 the triumvirs? This proposal Pompey says he was 
 on the point of accepting when Antony's truculent 
 speeches angered him. He is, however, ready to 
 make friends, as he proves by shaking hands with 
 Caesar, who notices a great change in him, which 
 Pompey ascribes to the harsh fortunes he has re- 
 cently endured. To cement this alliance feasts are 
 suggested, Antony entertaining the rest with the 
 famed Egyptian cooking, which it is reported made 
 even Julius Caesar grow fat ! 
 
 In the course of the ensuing playful conversation, 
 Pompey asks Enobarbus whether Cleopatra really 
 was carried to Caesar in a mattress, and after 
 genially conversing with the rest, invites them on 
 board his galley. All follow him thither, save 
 Menas and Enobarbus, who discuss this meeting, 
 and wonder that Pompey should conclude such a 
 treaty. They also mention the marriage of Antony 
 and Octavia, in reference to which Enobarbus 
 shrewdly predicts that, ' the band that seems to 
 tie their friendship together will be the very strangler 
 of their amity,' for he feels certain Antony will ' to 
 his Egyptian dish again,' and foresees that Octavia 
 will then stir up Caesar's wrath. 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 223 
 
 Amid music, servants pass to and fro on Pompey's 
 galley, commenting on the fact that their generals 
 are drinking so freely that they are no longer re- 
 sponsible. After a while trumpets usher in the 
 generals, Antony gravely stating that in Egypt the 
 height of the Nile waters serves to gauge the pros- 
 perity which will visit the country at harvest time. 
 When Lepidus enquires whether strange serpents 
 are bred there from the mud, Antony gives a fan- 
 tastic description of the crocodile, to which the 
 others listen, while one of Pompey's men draws him 
 aside. It is clear Pompey does not approve of this 
 man's suggestion, since he indignantly terms him 
 mad; still, the man insists if Pompey wishes to be 
 master of the world, he need but have the cables 
 of his galley cut, and convey these drunken world- 
 conquerors out to sea, where, after disposing of 
 them, he need fear no rivals! Rejoining this would 
 be villainy on his own part, Pompey hints had his 
 friend only known how to serve him, he would 
 have executed this plan without consulting him. 
 This remark so enrages the officer that he goes off, 
 muttering he will no longer follow the fortunes of 
 a man ' who seeks, and will not take when once 
 'tis offered,' a chance he feels he shall never find 
 again. Meantime, turning to his companions, 
 Pompey proposes healths, until Lepidus, overcome 
 by potations, has to be carried off the ship, where- 
 upon the servants sarcastically comment that a third 
 part of the world is very drunk! 
 
 Meanwhile Pompey enquires whether this ap- 
 proaches an Alexandrian feast, only to be told by 
 
224 Stories of Shakespeare' 's Tragedies 
 
 Antony it is gradually nearing one; so the drinking 
 continues, until the music entices the generals to 
 dance. After this Caesar prepares to retire, declar- 
 ing his tongue is splitting, and as they land, Eno- 
 barbus warns both Antony and Caesar to be careful 
 lest they fall, while Menas proposes going down 
 into the cabin to talk sundry matters over with 
 him. 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in a plain in 
 Syria, where Ventidius, having avenged Crassus' 
 death, returns in triumph with the body of the 
 prince of Parthia. Although his followers urge 
 him to pursue the fugitives through Media, Ven- 
 tidius deputes a lieutenant to finish this work, lest 
 Antony wax jealous of his successes. Meantime, he 
 proposes to send word of what he has done in An- 
 tony's name to Athens, following these tidings in 
 person as soon as possible. 
 
 We now witness a scene in Caesar's antechamber, 
 where Agrippa asks Enobarbus whether the brothers 
 have parted? He learns in return that Pompey 
 has gone, and the rest are about departing, Octavia 
 weeping because she must leave Rome. Hearing 
 Enobarbus profess devotion to Caesar, his master, 
 Agrippa returns the compliment by saying he adores 
 Mark Antony ; and both conclude Lepidus is only 
 the tool of these great men. They have barely de- 
 parted together when Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and 
 Octavia come in, Antony begging his host not to 
 escort them any further, while Caesar reminds him 
 he is bearing away a ' piece of virtue,' which has 
 been set betwixt them ' as the cement ' of their love. 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 225 
 
 When he urges Antony to take good care of his 
 wife, the latter begs him not to offend him by mis- 
 trust, and takes leave, praying the gods to keep 
 Caesar during his absence. While bidding Octavia 
 farewell, Caesar notes ' the April's in her eyes,' for 
 she weeps at parting from him, while smiling upon 
 her new husband. After some whispered words 
 Caesar reluctantly lets her go, his followers mean- 
 while wondering whether he will weep, and men- 
 tioning the tears in Antony's eyes when Julius Caesar 
 died, and when Brutus was slain. After embracing 
 both sister and brother-in-law, Caesar watches An- 
 tony depart with his wife, while trumpets sound the 
 farewell note. 
 
 We return to Cleopatra's palace to find her lying 
 on a lounge, wondering why the messenger does not 
 appear? Her attendants rejoin the man is afraid, 
 a fact proved by his timid mode of approach, and 
 by his remark that even ' Herod of Jewry dare not 
 look upon you but when you are well pleased.' 
 Bidding him fear naught, the queen cross-questions 
 him about Octavia, rejoicing when he describes her 
 as a widow of thirty, with poor complexion and 
 undignified gait. Not only does she reward him 
 for this information with gold, but bids him pre- 
 pare to carry a letter to Rome, complacently inform- 
 ing her attendants after he has gone, ' I repent me 
 much that I so harried him.' When they flatter- 
 ingly remark the man is a judge of beauty since 
 he has had the opportunity of seeing her, she* goes off 
 in a fine humour to write her letter, saying she 
 will question him further later on. 
 
226 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 The curtain next rises in Athens, where Antony 
 informs his wife her brother is not treating him 
 properly, and complains so bitterly that Octavia 
 sighs it is hard to stand between two men for both 
 of whom she is inclined to pray, knowing while 
 she entreats heaven to favour one, she is praying 
 against the other. To this Antony retorts she will 
 have to mediate between them, while he raises an 
 army to eclipse her brother's in case of war. Pleased 
 to be selected as peacemaker, Octavia prepares to 
 set out for Rome, her husband speeding her de- 
 parture. 
 
 In another room of the same house, Enobar- 
 bus asks Eros what news he has heard? The re- 
 port that Caesar and Lepidus have triumphed over 
 Pompey causes Enobarbus to predict ' they'll grind 
 the one the other,' ere he wonders what has become 
 of his master. Eros describes Antony pacing up and 
 down the garden, denouncing Lepidus and threat- 
 ening those who murdered Pompey. When Eno- 
 barbus asks why the vessels are rigged, Eros rejoins 
 they are bound for Italy, ere he hastens off to 
 join his master. 
 
 The rising curtain reveals Caesar exclaiming An- 
 tony has gone back to Egypt, where he and Cleopatra 
 have been seen enthroned, with their offspring at 
 their feet! Not only has Antony bestowed upon 
 Cleopatra all his recent conquests, but has pro- 
 claimed his Egyptian son ' king of kings.' These 
 tidings shock Agrippa, who vows Antony is get- 
 ting too insolent, while Caesar claims the Romans 
 can plainly see he is unworthy of respect. He adds, 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 227 
 
 besides, that they will not credit the accusations 
 that he has despoiled Pompey, deposed Lepidus, and 
 detained part of Antony's revenues, — charges which 
 Agrippa thinks it would be well to answer, al- 
 though Caesar asserts he has done so by proving 
 Lepidus cruel and by giving Antony Armenia. 
 Nevertheless Agrippa and Mecaenas deem Antony 
 will not be satisfied, just as Octavia arrives, affec- 
 tionately greeting the brother who hails her as 'a 
 castaway.' After denying this, she explains she has* 
 come hither of her own free will to make peace be- 
 tween her husband and brother. Hearing her re- 
 mark that Antony granted her leave of absence, 
 Caesar sarcastically retorts he was only too ready 
 to let her go, and questions whether she knows 
 where he is at present. When Octavia innocently 
 rejoins ' in Athens,' Caesar grimly informs his ' most 
 wronged sister ' that her spouse has gone back to 
 Egypt, where he is again subject to Cleopatra's 
 wiles, news which Octavia refuses to credit until it 
 is confirmed by Mecaenas. 
 
 The next scene occurs near Actium, in Antony's 
 camp, where Cleopatra threatens Enobarbus, because 
 he pronounces her unfit for war, although she has 
 decided to take part in the coming encounter. In 
 an aside, Enobarbus comments upon the unwisdom 
 of such a decision, and when Cleopatra enquires 
 what he is muttering, declares her presence ' needs 
 must puzzle ' Antony, who, having been ' traduced 
 for levity,' requires all his strength to oppose Caesar. 
 He adds it is rumoured in Rome her eunuchs and 
 maids are managing this war, an accusation which 
 
228 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 causes her charitably to hope Rome may sink and 
 the tongues of her detractors rot! 
 
 Just then Antony enters with his general Canid- 
 ius, discussing the news received and wondering that 
 the fight should be so near at hand. When Cleo- 
 patra exclaims ' celerity is never more admired than 
 by the negligent,' Antony declares it is a fitting 
 rebuke, and decides the battle shall be by sea. This 
 decision is opposed by Cleopatra and by the general ; 
 but Antony insists upon accepting Caesar's challenge, 
 although Enobarbus reminds him his vessels are but 
 poorly manned. 
 
 While Canidius is vainly trying to make Antony 
 change his mind, a messenger reports Caesar's force 
 in view. This man, too, implores Antony not to 
 trust to rotten vessels, but to settle this quarrel by 
 land. Notwithstanding these warnings, Antony 
 embarks with Cleopatra and Enobarbus, leaving a 
 soldier and the general to conclude sadly, ' our 
 leader's led, and we are women's men.' 
 
 In the next scene Caesar reviews his army on a 
 plain near Actium, and bids his general Taurus 
 keep these forces in reserve until he has triumphed 
 at sea, warning him that ' our fortune lies upon this 
 jump.' 
 
 In another part of the same plain Antony points 
 out to Enobarbus where his squadrons are to be 
 stationed, ere he goes off to count the ships of his 
 foe. Then forces march to and fro on the scene, 
 while a naval battle is being waged, at the end of 
 which Enobarbus cries all is over, and Antony's 
 fleet of sixty sail in full flight! While he is be- 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 2ig 
 
 wailing this defeat, the soldier, Scams, joins him 
 exclaiming ' we have kiss'd away kingdoms and 
 provinces,' and describing how in the midst of the 
 fray Cleopatra fled, and how Antony clapped on 
 ' his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,' followed 
 her. This soldier avers he ' never saw an action of 
 such shame,' just as Canidius enters, declaring if 
 Antony had not fled all would now be well. Asked 
 in what direction the fleet has gone, he designates 
 the Peloponnesus, bitterly adding that he will sur- 
 render to Cassar, six kings having already given 
 him this example. But Scarus and Enobarbus de- 
 cide to follow Antony's fortunes, although ' reason 
 sits in the wind against ' them. 
 
 After the battle of Actium, Antony enters Cleo- 
 patra's palace, exclaiming the earth is ashamed to 
 bear him, and bidding his followers divide his treas- 
 ures and join Caesar. When they refuse to desert 
 him, he vows he set them a cowardly example for 
 which he blushes. In his humiliation he longs to be 
 alone, and has just sunk into dejected revery, when 
 Cleopatra comes in, supported by her women and 
 Eros. These attendants beseech the queen to com- 
 fort Antony, who shudders at her sight, and hides 
 his face when they urge him to make the first ad- 
 vances. Bitterly, Antony recalls the part he played 
 at Philippi, where his rival proved an inglorious spec- 
 tator, and heaves a regretful sigh; so, seeing he will 
 not make any advances, Cleopatra draws near him 
 in a suppliant attitude, and when he reproachfully 
 states he is trying to ' convey his shame ' out of her 
 eyes, entreats his pardon for fleeing. Hearing her 
 
230 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 stammer she little thought he would follow her, An- 
 tony rejoins she knew his heart was to her ' rudder 
 tied by the strings,' so it was inevitable she should 
 tow him after her. But, because she humbly sues for 
 pardon, he finally kisses away her tears, vowing c one 
 of them rates all that is won and lost,' and adding 
 that he will see what answer his schoolmaster will 
 bring from Caesar. This scene closes with his as- 
 surance that ' Fortune knows we scorn her most 
 when most she offers blows.' 
 
 The next scene is played in camp, where Caesar 
 receives Antony's messenger, his lieutenant com- 
 menting upon the fact that the defeated general, 
 who once had ' superfluous kings ' at his command, 
 now has to use humble emissaries. After transmit- 
 ting Antony's greeting, the schoolmaster requests 
 he may continue to live in Egypt, or retire to 
 Athens, while Cleopatra and her children continue 
 to reign over Egypt. Although Caesar haughtily 
 refuses to treat with Antony, he declares if Cleo- 
 patra will drive away or kill ' her all-disgraced 
 friend,' ' she shall not sue unheard.' It is as bearer 
 of this message that the schoolmaster departs, while 
 Caesar enjoins upon Thyreus to go and win Cleo- 
 patra away from Antony, noting, besides, how the 
 latter ' becomes his flaw, and what thou think'st 
 his very action speaks in every power that 
 moves.' 
 
 In the palace Cleopatra consults Enobarbus, who 
 deems they have no alternative save to ' think, and 
 die.' Still, he blames Antony only, considering the 
 queen justified by her sex for showing fear. He can- 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 231 
 
 not conceive, however, how Antony could forfeit 
 half the world to follow her, and is discussing this 
 knotty point with Cleopatra, when Antony enters 
 with the schoolmaster, whose report he can hardly 
 credit. When told again the queen will be cour- 
 teously treated provided she yield him up, Antony 
 grimly bids her send his grizzled head ' to the boy 
 Caesar.' Hearing these bitter words, Cleopatra tries 
 to pacify him, but he hastens out to challenge Caesar 
 ' sword against sword,' although Enobarbus feels 
 sure the conqueror will not accept, and shrewdly 
 adds, ' I see men's judgments are a parcel of their 
 fortunes.' 
 
 At that moment an attendant announces a mes- 
 senger from Caesar, his abrupt manner proving some 
 of Cleopatra's power is already gone. She bewails 
 this, while Enobarbus comments that c loyalty well 
 held to fools does make our faith mere folly.' 
 Still he realises those who follow a fallen lord, 
 ' conquer him that did his master conquer,' and earn 
 ' a place i' the story.' Thyreus is now ushered in, 
 and craves a private interview with Cleopatra, who 
 assures him ' none but friends ' are present. When 
 Thyreus objects they may be friends of Antony as 
 well, Enobarbus retorts his master needs them just 
 as much as Caesar ! Turning to the queen, Thyreus 
 explains that, knowing she clung to Antony through 
 fear more than love, Caesar is inclined to pity rather 
 than blame her. When Cleopatra hypocritically 
 concedes she was conquered rather than won, Eno- 
 barbus questions this statement beneath his breath, 
 and concludes that as his master, like a sinking ship, 
 
232 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 is being deserted, he had better follow the general ex- 
 ample. He, therefore, slips out, while Thyreus en- 
 quires what reply he is to convey to Caesar, who 
 offers to be Cleopatra's ' staff,' provided she will for- 
 sake Antony and place herself wholly under his pro- 
 tection. After enquiring the messenger's name, the 
 subtle Cleopatra bids him report she lays her crown 
 at Caesar's feet, and awaits the doom of Egypt ' from 
 his all-obeying breath.' Pleased to bear so satis- 
 factory a message, Thyreus begs permission to kiss 
 her hand, a favour she grants with the remark 
 that ' your Caesar's father oft . . . bestow'd his 
 lips on that unworthy place, as it rain'd kisses.' 
 
 Even while Thyreus is receiving this token of 
 favour Antony appears, and driven mad by jealousy, 
 orders the ambassador whipped. Then, while the 
 culprit is hurried off to his doom, he reviles Cleo- 
 patra, angrily mentioning all the lovers she had be- 
 fore him, and accusing her of trying to win every 
 man she sees. He is still raging when the chastened 
 Thyreus is brought back by his order, and told to 
 return to Caesar bearing Antony's challenge. After 
 he has gone, Cleopatra cleverly soothes her irate 
 lover, and so restores his confidence in himself that 
 he proposes to celebrate her birthday by another 
 ' gaudy night.' After that he will go forth to fight, 
 and swears: 'I'll make death love me; for I will 
 contend even with his pestilent scythe.' As Antony 
 and Cleopatra leave the room, Enobarbus sagely 
 comments, ' when valour preys on reason, it eats 
 the sword it fights with,' and feels more than ever 
 inclined to desert so rash a master. 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 233 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in the Roman 
 camp, where Caesar, after reading Antony's chal- 
 lenge, contemptuously bids his friends ' let the old 
 ruffian know I have many other ways to die.' Then, 
 after deciding he will on the morrow fight ' the last 
 of many battles,' he gives orders that his army be 
 feasted. Meantime, on receiving Caesar's refusal 
 to meet him in single encounter, Antony boasts 
 • by sea and land I'll fight: or I will live, or bathe 
 my dying honour in the blood shall make it live 
 again.' This settled he, too, orders a feast, and, to 
 Cleopatra's surprise, shakes hands with all his serv- 
 ants, thanking them for having served him faith- 
 fully. Then he bids them wait upon him once more, 
 assuring them their services won't be required any 
 longer, and seeing tears in their eyes, tries to cheer 
 them by saying, ' I hope well of to-morrow ; and 
 will lead you where rather I'll expect victorious life 
 than death and honour.' 
 
 While the revelry of Antony's ' gaudy night ' is 
 at its height, the soldiers on guard without the 
 palace exchange remarks, commenting upon the com- 
 ing battle, and strange noises heard in the streets. 
 Suddenly their attention is attracted by mysterious 
 music in the air, which gradually seems to pass out 
 of the city, whence they superstitiously conclude 
 the god Hercules is forsaking Antony and going 
 over to the enemy. 
 
 At dawn, Antony calls for his armour, although 
 Cleopatra tries to beguile him to rest a little longer. 
 When Eros produces the weapons, Cleopatra insists 
 upon helping her lover don his armour, thereby 
 
234 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 winning his praise and the gallant assurance that ' he 
 that unbuckles this, till we do please to darf't for 
 our repose, shall hear a storm.' He is wishing 
 Cleopatra could see him fight, proudly assuring her 
 she would see ' a workman in't,' when soldiers enter, 
 whom he jovially greets; then, kissing Cleopatra 
 good-bye he leaves her, ' a man of steel,' bidding all 
 who wish to fight follow him closely. 
 
 After he has gone, Cleopatra is tenderly led back 
 to her chamber by Charmian, murmuring Antony 
 has departed gallantly, and that she wishes * he 
 and Caesar might determine this great war in single 
 fight!' 
 
 Arriving at camp, Antony is greeted by good 
 wishes from the soldier who, at Actium, tried to 
 make him stake his fortunes on a land battle rather 
 than trust to rotten ships. Since then the soldier 
 has noted many desertions, reporting as the latest 
 the departure of Enobarbus, who has just gone over 
 to Caesar's camp. Hearing this man left his treas- 
 ures behind him, Antony generously orders them 
 sent after him, with a letter containing ' gentle 
 adieus and greetings,' together with the hope he will 
 ' never find more cause to change a master.' Then 
 he groans to himself that his ' fortunes have cor- 
 rupted honest men ! ' 
 
 Meantime, in Caesar's camp preparations are be- 
 ing made for the coming battle, where Antony is to 
 be taken alive, if possible, and where Caesar predicts 
 * the time of universal peace is near. Prove this a 
 prosperous day, the three-nook'd world shall bear 
 the olive freely.' 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 235 
 
 Just then a messenger reports Antony is in the 
 field, so Caesar orders those who have deserted him 
 to fight first. While he hurries out to see his 
 orders executed, Enobarbus remarks that Alexas, 
 who deserted Antony, has been hanged, that none of 
 the deserters enjoy ' honourable trust,' and concludes 
 he did ill to forsake his master and can 'joy no 
 more.' While he is talking to himself a soldier in- 
 forms him Antony has sent his treasures, but when 
 Enobarbus bids him take them all, the soldier, deem- 
 ing he is joking, enjoins upon him to see the mes- 
 senger safely out of camp, adding admiringly, ' your 
 emperor continues still a Jove.' Pierced to the quick 
 by Antony's generosity, Enobarbus declares it has 
 so broken his heart, that he will seek ' some ditch 
 wherein to die; the foul'st best fits my latter part 
 of life.' 
 
 On the battle-field between both camps Agrippa 
 retreats with his forces, exclaiming their ' oppression 
 exceeds what we expected.' He is closely followed 
 by Antony and Scarus; and the latter, although 
 wounded, enthusiastically exclaims that had they 
 fought thus before, they would surely have con- 
 quered. When Antony urges him to go and have 
 his wounds dressed, Scarus jocosely rejoins there is 
 room on his person for many more gashes. They 
 are still talking when Eros appears to report they 
 are triumphing, news which puts new ardour into 
 both Antony and Scarus. 
 
 Beneath the walls of Alexandria Antony arrives 
 in triumph, having beaten the foe back to their 
 tents, and decided to postpone the rest of the victory 
 
236 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 until the morrow. He is shaking hands with Scams 
 when Cleopatra appears, whom he rapturously 
 clasps to his heart, bidding her ' ride on the pants 
 triumphing! ' When she exults that he has come 
 1 smiling, from the great world's snare uncaught,' 
 he dubs her his nightingale, and relates the day's 
 feats, bidding her allow brave Scarus to kiss her 
 hand. Not only does Cleopatra grant this favour, 
 but she promises the man a golden armour, ere An- 
 tony leads her off to the city, where music heralds 
 their triumphant return. 
 
 Night has come, and sentinels in Caesar's camp 
 watch the stars, discussing the coming battle, and 
 declaring the one just waged proved very unkind to 
 their party. While they are talking, Enobarbus 
 strolls on the scene, talking to himself, and his ac- 
 tions seem so suspicious that the sentinels hide to 
 watch him, commenting softly on all he says and 
 does. They thus overhear him confess to the moon 
 how sorely he repents his treachery, and wail that 
 the world will register him as ' master-leaver,' His 
 grief is so heartrending that the sentinels are about 
 to address him, when he falls in what they take for 
 a swoon. But, when they emerge from their hid- 
 ing place and try to revive him, they discover he is 
 lifeless, and bear away his corpse. 
 
 Between the two camps Antony and Scarus ap- 
 pear, the former exclaiming Caesar is about to try 
 his fortunes by sea. Undismayed, he calmly awaits 
 the result of this battle, which he has come to 
 watch from a neighbouring height. Meantime, in 
 another part of the field, Caesar informs his army 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 237 
 
 that as all Antony's best forces man the ships, he 
 proposes to attack him by land. 
 
 Unable to see as much as he wishes from the 
 point he has chosen, Antony climbs higher still, while 
 Scarus comments that ' swallows have built in Cleo- 
 patra's sails their nests,' that the augurs refuse to 
 speak, and that Antony's spirits are so fluctuating 
 that the result of the day seems very doubtful. 
 Great noise of a battle at sea is heard, and before 
 long Antony rushes in exclaiming all is lost, since the 
 Egyptian fleet has surrendered! In his wrath he 
 curses Cleopatra, bids his men save themselves, and 
 declares that ' when I am revenged upon my charm, 
 I have done all.' Scarus, having hastened off to 
 warn the army of the fleet's defeat, Antony bids 
 farewell to the sun, whose rising he never expects to 
 see again, bitterly adding that the people who once 
 fawned upon him will now pay court to Caesar. 
 He realises he has been beguiled into this war by 
 ' this false soul of Egypt,' and is just calling for 
 Eros when Cleopatra enters. Recoiling from her in 
 horror, Antony bids her not approach lest he mar 
 her beauty, and thus detract from Caesar's triumph! 
 His allusions to her progress through Rome behind 
 the conqueror's chariot, where patient Octavia will 
 plough her visage l with her prepared nails,' so 
 horrify Cleopatra, that she flees in dismay, while 
 Antony compares himself to the tortured and dying 
 Hercules. Still he is determined Cleopatra shall 
 perish, too, for having betrayed him, and loudly 
 calls for Eros to execute his revenge. 
 
 Having fled from Antony's enraged presence to 
 
238 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 her own apartment, Cleopatra hysterically sobs he 
 is mad; then eagerly adopts Charmian's suggestion 
 that she take refuge in the monument, where she can 
 guard against every attack, since ' the soul and 
 body rive not more in parting than greatness going 
 off.' She, therefore, bids her eunuch report to An- 
 tony she died breathing his name, and send word 
 after her how this news is received. 
 
 Meantime, Antony asks Eros whether he was 
 ever mocked by mirage, and vows he does not at 
 present behold Antony the conqueror, but one whom 
 Cleopatra has betrayed. His man is weeping over 
 his sorrows when the eunuch enters, to inform 
 Antony his mistress has just expired with his name 
 on her lips! These tidings are received with un- 
 canny calmness by Antony, who, after dismissing 
 the eunuch, bids Eros unarm him, for ' the long 
 day's task is done, and we must sleep.' While his 
 man removes the battered gear Antony never ex- 
 pects to don again, he mutters he will soon over- 
 take Cleopatra and sue her pardon for having mis- 
 judged her. Then, left alone, he ardently pictures 
 their entrance, hand in hand, to the land of shades, 
 ' where souls do couch on flowers,' and where they'll 
 enter ' hand in hand, and with our sprightly port ' 
 will ' make the ghosts gaze.' 
 
 Summoning Eros, who has carried away his dis- 
 carded weapons, Antony next states it is a disgrace 
 to live since Cleopatra has gone, and reminds his 
 man of the promise once given to slay his master 
 when the latter bade him do so. Seeing Eros 
 shrink from this task, Antony fiercely demands 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 239 
 
 whether he wishes to see him grace Caesar's triumph, 
 and urges him to keep his oath. At first, all An- 
 tony's eloquence proves vain, but finally Eros gasps 
 he may gain courage to do it if his master will only 
 assure him of his forgiveness, bid him farewell, and 
 turn aside his noble countenance. But, when all this 
 has been done, Eros stabs nimself, exclaiming ' thus 
 do I escape the sorrow of Antony's death.' Pro- 
 nouncing his man i thrice-nobler ' than himself, and 
 vowing Eros and Cleopatra have set him such an 
 example that it behooves him to act as a bridegroom 
 and run to his death ' as to a lover's bed,' Antony 
 falls upon his sword, inflicting so painful a wound 
 that he groans for his guards to despatch him. These 
 men, rushing in, refuse this humane office; but one 
 of them, picking up Antony's bloody sword, darts 
 oflE with it to Caesar. Meantime, pleading for 
 death, Antony addresses a newcomer, whose remark 
 that Cleopatra sent him, reveals she is not dead as 
 was supposed. On discovering his charmer has 
 taken refuge with her treasures in the monument,, 
 Antony, anxious to die in her presence, implores 
 the guards to carry him thither; so, although fear- 
 ing he may expire on the way, they gently raise and 
 bear away the general who so often led them on 
 to victory. 
 
 In the interior of the monument, Cleopatra moans 
 she will ' never go from hence,' and insists, in spite 
 of all proffered consolations that ' our size of sor- 
 row, proportion'd to our cause, must be as great as 
 that which makes it.' While she is moralising thus, 
 a messenger bids her look out and see the dying An- 
 
240 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 tony brought to her by his guards. A moment later 
 Antony appears upon the scene, and perceiving his 
 plight Cleopatra's heart melts. To reassure her, 
 * Antony himself exclaims, ' Peace ! not Caesar's 
 valour hath o'erthrown Antony, but Antony's hath 
 triumph'd on itself,' a state of affairs she deems 
 fitting though passing sad. When Antony adds he 
 is dying fast, and wishes to exhale his last breath 
 in a kiss, she refuses to come down lest she fall into 
 Caesar's hands. But she and her maids laboriously 
 draw him up into the monument, where she strains 
 him to her heart. Collecting his last strength, An- 
 tony then warns beloved ' Egypt,' as he calls her, not 
 to trust any of Caesar's followers save Proculeius, 
 and bids her remember him only as he was in his 
 prime, rejoicing that he dies ■ a Roman by a Roman 
 valiantly vanquish'd.' Then, as his eyes close in 
 death, Cleopatra wails ' the crown of the earth doth 
 melt,' and that ' there is nothing left remarkable be- 
 neath the visiting moon.' In the midst of her lament 
 she sinks into a swoon, so that her maids fancy she is 
 dead, too; but, after a while, Cleopatra comes to 
 life again, only to bewail her lot, and question 
 whether ' it is sin to rush into the secret house of 
 death, ere death dare come to us?' Then, perceiv- 
 ing her women's grief, Cleopatra rouses herself suf- 
 ficiently to say they will bury Antony, ' and then, 
 what's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the high 
 Roman fashion, and make death proud to take us.' 
 Act V. The fifth act opens in Caesar's camp 
 just as he is directing an officer to go and demand 
 Antony's surrender. This man has barely departed 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 241 
 
 when a guard bursts in, accounting for his un- 
 mannerly intrusion by gasping Antony was his mas- 
 ter while he lived. When he reveals Antony's sui- 
 cide, Caesar, at first, can scarcely credit it, although 
 he eloquently praises the man whose faults he depre- 
 cates while lauding his great deeds, and concludes 
 his panegyric with the statement that they ' could 
 not stall together in the whole world,' because their 
 stars were unreconcilable. 
 
 The arrival of a messenger from Cleopatra, asking 
 his intentions, so she ' preparedly may frame her- 
 self to the way she's forced to,' interrupts this 
 scene. Bidding the man rejoin that Cleopatra may 
 be of good heart ' for Caesar cannot live to be un- 
 gentle,' he dismisses this messenger, sending Procu- 
 leius after him to comfort the queen, ' lest, in her 
 greatness, by some mortal stroke she do defeat us; 
 for her life in Rome would be eternal in our tri- 
 umph.' Then Caesar invites the rest to his tent, 
 where he offers to prove to them ' how hardly ' he 
 was drawn into this war, and how calmly and gently 
 he proceeded in all his writings. 
 
 In the interior of the monument Cleopatra is 
 musing how even a Caesar is only ' Fortune's knave,' 
 when Proculeius delivers the conqueror's greetings 
 and request that she ' study on what fair demands ' 
 she wishes him to grant her. Ascertaining that this 
 is the very man Antony bade her trust, Cleopatra 
 rejoins that when a queen turns beggar she can sue 
 only for a kingdom, and that hence she entreats her 
 son may have Egypt, promising all gratitude in re- 
 turn. All Proculeius can rejoin is the assurance she 
 
242 Stories of Shakespeare' f s Tragedies 
 
 has fallen ' into a princely hand,' together with a 
 promise to convey her request to see Caesar face 
 to face. 
 
 The hollowness of this exchange of courtesies is 
 proved by the fact that, having forced their way 
 into the monument as ambassadors, the Romans now 
 treacherously take possession of it, and make Cleo- 
 patra their prisoner, deftly disarming her when she 
 draws a dagger to slay herself. Then they sternly 
 warn her not to abuse their master's bounty by 
 undoing of herself, whereupon she calls for death, 
 vehemently declaring she will neither eat nor drink 
 if she cannot save herself otherwise from being 
 stared at in Rome. To pacify her, Proculeius as- 
 sures her ' you do extend these thoughts of horror 
 further than you shall find cause in Caesar.' Then, 
 summoned to his master, he entrusts her keeping to 
 his comrade Dolabella, and departs, promising to do 
 his best for the captive queen. 
 
 When he has gone, Dolabella vainly tries to 
 rouse Cleopatra, who finally gasps she dreamt there 
 was a man called Antony, whose ' legs bestrid the 
 ocean,' and whose ' voice was propertied as all the 
 tuned spheres.' It is only when her enthusiastic 
 description of Antony is finished, that she becomes 
 conscious of Dolabella, from whom she wrings the 
 admission that she is, indeed, destined to figure in 
 Caesar's triumph. 
 
 Just then trumpets proclaim the arrival of Caesar, 
 before whom Cleopatra sinks on her knees as a 
 suppliant, only to be told to rise since her injuries 
 are forgotten, and assured if she prove amenable to 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 243 
 
 reason she will find ' a benefit in this change.' 
 Caesar adds the stern warning, however, that if 
 she resorts to ' Antony's course ' she will jeopardise 
 her children's future. Hearing this, Cleopatra 
 humbly proffers the inventory of her treasures, as- 
 suring Caesar she reserves naught, as her treasurer 
 can bear witness. But, instead of confirming these 
 words, her treasurer reveals she has reserved more 
 than half her fortune for her own use, a thrift 
 Caesar admires, while Cleopatra hotly reviles the 
 man for betraying her. Hoping to give a favour- 
 able colour to this unexpected revelation, Cleopatra 
 next pretends she reserved these things as propitiatory 
 gifts for Caesar's wife and sister, and after dismiss- 
 ing her treasurer philosophically remarks, ' Be it 
 known, that we, the greatest, are misthought for 
 things that others do; and, when we fall, we an- 
 swer others' merits in our name, are therefore to be 
 pitied.' 
 
 After assuring her she can retain her treasures, 
 and that he will do nothing without consulting her, 
 Caesar leaves, while Cleopatra watches him depart, 
 murmuring he is trying to prevent her from being 
 ' noble ' to herself. Then she whispers a few words 
 in Charmian's ear, whence Iras gloomily concludes 
 1 the bright day is done, and we are for the dark.' 
 Just then Dolabella reenters and curtly informs 
 the captive queen that Caesar is about to leave for 
 Syria, where she and her children are ordered to 
 precede him. 
 
 Grateful for this warning, Cleopatra watches 
 Dolabella retire, and then asks Iras how they could 
 
244 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 endure to be exposed to the stares of the vulgar in 
 Rome, where their Alexandrian revels will be staged, 
 and ' some squeaking Cleopatra ' will ' boy my 
 greatness.' Rather than undergo such humiliation, 
 Iras is ready to scratch out her own eyes; a way 
 to ' fool their preparation ' that Cleopatra approves. 
 But, when Charmian reenters, she surprises both 
 maids by bidding them attire her as when she met 
 Antony on the Cydnus, assuring them that, that 
 duty fulfilled, she will give them ' leave to play till 
 doomsday.' 
 
 While the women are preparing this elaborate 
 toilet, a guard reports that ' a rural fellow ' insists 
 upon being admitted, so Cleopatra bids him usher the 
 man in, whispering ' he brings me liberty. My reso- 
 lution's placed, and I have nothing of woman in 
 me: now from head to foot I am marble-constant.' 
 As this soliloquy ends, the peasant enters, and when 
 sure the guard cannot overhear them, Cleopatra 
 eagerly enquires, ' Hast thou the pretty worm of 
 Nilus there, that kills and pains not ? ' She seems 
 gratified when she learns the basket contains figs 
 and deadly asps, whose bite the man volubly assures 
 her is mortal. Bidding him set the basket down, 
 Cleopatra dismisses him, so he reluctantly leaves, 
 wishing her ' all joy of the worm.' After he has 
 gone, the women bring in Cleopatra's regal attire, 
 wherein she urges them to hurry and array her, for 
 Antony is calling her, and will surely praise her 
 noble act. When duly decked out, Cleopatra kisses 
 both maids farewell and as her lips touch Iras, the 
 girl, overcome by her emotions, falls dead, while 
 
Antony and Cleopatra 245 
 
 her mistress dully wonders whether she can have the 
 aspic in her lips? 
 
 While Charmian weeps, Cleopatra reiterates she 
 must hurry or Iras will be first to meet Antony, 
 who will ' make demand of her, and spend that kiss 
 which is my heaven to have.' Saying this, Cleo- 
 patra takes an asp from the basket and applies it 
 to her breast, exclaiming, 'with thy sharp teeth this 
 knot intrinsicate of life at once untie.' Because 
 Charmian laments at the sight, Cleopatra murmurs 
 it is her babe feeding at her breast, and rouses her- 
 self from her lethargy, only to apply a second asp 
 to her arm, such is her eagerness to rejoin Antony. 
 She has just breathed her last, and Charmian is 
 tenderly adjusting her crown and robes, when guards 
 rush in. Muttering Caesar has sent too slow a mes- 
 senger, Charmian deftly applies an asp to her own 
 arm, just as the guards become aware there is some- 
 thing strange in the queen's attitude. While some 
 loudly call for Dolabella, one reproachfully asks 
 Charmian whether this is well, whereat she tri- 
 umphantly rejoins ' It is well done, and fitting for a 
 princess descended of so many royal kings,' ere she, 
 too, sinks down lifeless. 
 
 When Dolabella enters, therefore, he finds three 
 corpses, and exclaims Caesar himself is coming only 
 to ' see perform'd the dreaded act ' which he sought 
 to hinder. These words are scarcely uttered when 
 Caesar marches in, only to be greeted by the remark, 
 ' O sir, you are too sure an augurer, that you did 
 fear is done.' Exclaiming ' bravest at the last, she 
 levell'd at our purposes, and being royal, took her 
 
246 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 own way,' Caesar bends over the bodies to investi- 
 gate the mode of death employed; while Dolabella 
 questions the guards and hears of the rustic's visit. 
 The basket of figs is still in evidence, while the 
 guard describes how Charmian was alive when he 
 came in, and how suddenly she died. Sure if they 
 had taken poison their beauty would be marred, 
 — whereas now Cleopatra ' looks like sleep, as she 
 would catch another Antony in her strong toil of 
 grace,' — Caesar continues to search. Just then Dola- 
 bella discovers a slight puncture on the queen's arm 
 and breast, and one of the guards perceives the slimy 
 trail of an asp on the fig leaves. The mystery be- 
 ing thus solved, Caesar explains he has just learned 
 from Cleopatra's physician, that his mistress ' pur- 
 sued conclusions infinite of easy ways to die.' After 
 ordering her body removed, and decreeing ' she shall 
 be buried by her Antony: no grave upon earth shall 
 clip in it a pair so famous,' Caesar adds that after 
 the funeral he will return to Rome, but bids Dola- 
 bella ' see high order in this great solemnity.' 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS * 
 
 Act I. The rising curtain reveals a square in 
 Rome, — from whence the Capitol and the tomb of 
 the Andronici are visible, — just as the two sons of 
 the late emperor, Saturninus and Bassianus, appear 
 with their followers, each urging his claim to the 
 imperial crown, and bespeaking the people's votes. 
 
 Their speeches are barely finished when Marcus 
 Andronicus appears above, holding the disputed 
 crown, and saying the people wish to elect his 
 brother Titus in reward for his successful ten years' 
 struggle against the Goths. In this war Titus has 
 lost many brave sons, some of whose remains he is 
 again bringing home. 
 
 Although this speech is answered by an ironical 
 remark from Saturninus, Bassianus, who is in love 
 with Lavinia, Titus' daughter, openly declares his 
 willingness to abandon his claims and abide by the 
 people's choice, ere he departs. Turning to his 
 partisans, Saturninus now dismisses them also, an- 
 nouncing he will follow his brother's example, 
 trusting Rome will prove gracious to him in the end. 
 
 Both imperial candidates having gone, a captain 
 enters, proclaiming the arrival of Titus, whose titles 
 
 1 This tragedy and those which follow are seldom, 
 if ever played. Besides, many critics claim that only 
 parts of them can be attributed to the master-poet. 
 
 247 
 
248 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 to glory he enumerates in a loud tone. After his 
 peroration and some trumpet blasts, the victors, of 
 the Gothic campaign enter with their prisoners, 
 bearing spoils and a coffin containing the remains of 
 the general's brave sons. The centre of attraction 
 is, however, Titus himself, who pauses at the family 
 tomb to address his native city and countrymen, 
 saying that, although he returns weighed down with 
 laurels, he grieves to think that of his five-and- 
 twenty stalwart sons only four now remain, the 
 rest having all fallen in the Gothic campaign ! Four 
 times already his ancestral tomb has opened to re- 
 ceive his offspring, and he now intends to consign 
 to its keeping the latest victims. 
 
 While this is being done, Lucius, his eldest liv- 
 ing son, steps forward to demand in the name of 
 his brothers that the most exalted among the Gothic 
 prisoners be sacrificed to appease the manes of the 
 dead. In reply to this request, Titus grants him the 
 eldest son of Tamora, Queen of the Goths, one of 
 the prisoners in his train. On hearing this decree, 
 Tamora frantically begs for her son's life, pleading 
 it is enough to have lost her crown, to see her people 
 conquered, and to be a captive, without also losing 
 her first-born. But, although she implores Titus to 
 show mercy, he calmly informs her she will have to 
 submit to the sacrifice demanded, and allows the 
 victim to be hurried away by his four sons, who 
 fiercely vow that they will hew him limb from limb ! 
 
 While the Gothic queen and one of her remaining 
 sons are exclaiming in horror over this cruelty, an- 
 other prince assures them his brother will soon be 
 
Titus Andronicus 249 
 
 free from earthly ills, but hopes the time will come 
 when it will be in their power to avenge his death. 
 Just then Titus' sons return with bloody swords, 
 announcing that, the victim having been sacrificed, 
 it only remains to place the dead in their tomb. At 
 Titus' signal, trumpets resound, and after he has 
 pronounced the usual funeral oration, the coffin 
 is placed in the vault. Then Lavinia, who wel- 
 comes the living with tears of joy, strews flowers 
 on the dead, her evident affection deeply touching 
 Titus, who hopes this daughter may live to con- 
 sole his old age. 
 
 A moment later Marcus Andronicus also greets 
 his victorious brother and nephews, hailing living 
 and dead as heroes, and offering Titus the imperial 
 candidacy in the people's name. Such honours 
 gratify Titus, who replies, however, that having 
 been a soldier for forty years and buried twenty-one 
 valiant sons, he has done enough for Rome without 
 assuming the task of governing it. Instead, he urges 
 all present to support the claims of Saturninus, 
 thus checking the quarrel which threatens to break 
 out between the opposing political factions. His 
 rough eloquence wins the day, and when he bids all 
 those who would fain vote for him transfer their 
 allegiance to Saturninus, whom he hails emperor, he 
 carries their votes. Amid deafening trumpet-peals, 
 Saturninus therefore becomes emperor of Rome. 
 
 Realising his elevation is due to Titus, Saturninus 
 thanks him, and proposes to make Lavinia his em- 
 press, — an honour Titus so appreciates that he then 
 and there dedicates his sword, his prisoners, and all 
 
250 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 he owns to the service of his new sovereign ! Turn- 
 ing to the Gothic queen, Titus next informs her 
 that she is now prisoner of an emperor, who will 
 treat her with due consideration; a promise which 
 Saturninus immediately echoes, for he falls in love 
 with her at first sight. After courteously begging 
 Lavinia's permission to set this august prisoner free 
 without ransom, he entirely forgets the presence of 
 his betrothed and begins to court Tamora with 
 glances, although not in words. 
 
 Seizing this first opportunity to speak, Bassianus 
 cries that Lavinia already belongs to him, a claim 
 Titus denies, but which his brother and sons up- 
 hold, because it is consistent with Roman law. 
 Seeing them lead Lavinia away, Titus not only 
 protests, but drawing his sword, slays one of his 
 sons, who is covering his sister's retreat. Under 
 the pretext that their lives are in danger, Saturninus 
 now leads Tamora away, only to reappear by her 
 side in the Capitol, out of reach of harm. 
 
 One of Titus' sons now reproaches his father 
 for his fury, vowing that Lavinia shall never marry 
 the emperor, whereupon Saturninus, overhearing this 
 speech, gladly seizes this pretext to be rid of an un- 
 welcome bride. He, therefore, insultingly informs 
 Titus that he has no further need of him or of the 
 daughter he is trying to palm off upon him, a sudden 
 change of manner which seems incomprehensible to 
 Titus. He is further amazed to hear the emperor 
 add that, instead, he is going to marry Tamora, who 
 accepts his suit. Then Saturninus invites all present 
 to his marriage, and when all have gone, Titus 
 
Thos Kirk 
 
 THE BOY'S TERROR 
 
 Young Luc. " Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia 
 
 Follows me everywhere I know not why : — 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes. — 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mearii" 
 
 Titus Andronxus, Act 4, Scene 1, 
 
Titus Jndronicus 251 
 
 marvels to find himself deserted and publicly dis- 
 graced ! 
 
 He is soon joined by his brother and three sur- 
 viving sons, who reproach him for killing the 
 fourth, thus partly rousing him at last from his 
 abstraction. But, when they propose to put the 
 youth just slain into the same tomb as his brothers, 
 Titus angrily refuses to allow a brawler to rest be- 
 side heroes. After some vain argument, his sons and 
 brother kneel before him to obtain this boon, which 
 he reluctantly grants. The tomb is, therefore, re- 
 opened to receive another inmate, and the funeral 
 rites over, Marcus enquires how the captive Queen 
 of the Goths so suddenly became empress of Rome? 
 Although at a loss to account for her elevation, 
 Titus assures them that Tamora, whom he claims 
 he has always treated with special consideration, will 
 remember all she owes him. 
 
 Two wedding processions now appear from oppo- 
 site ends of the stage, that of the imperial couple 
 crossing the pathway of Bassianus and Lavinia, who 
 have also just been united. Unable to restrain his 
 anger, Saturninus reviles his brother as a kidnapper, 
 an accusation which Bassianus denies, testifying that 
 Titus is misjudged, and that he actually slew one of 
 his sons in a vain attempt to defend the emperor's 
 rights. 
 
 But, although Bassianus pleads, Titus humbly 
 begs to be restored to favour, and Tamora seems to 
 intercede in his behalf, Saturninus does not yield 
 until his bride bids him, in a whisper, to dissemble 
 and not further anger the patricians and people, who 
 
252 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 are already accusing him of ingratitude, a heinous 
 sin in the eyes of the Romans! She adds the com- 
 forting, secret assurance that she will aid him to find 
 the right moment to slay Titus and his sons, whom 
 she hates since they sacrificed her eldest offspring. 
 Yielding to her intercession, therefore, Saturninus 
 forgives Titus, who gratefully thanks the imperial 
 couple, and begs that his family and Bassianus may 
 be included in the imperial pardon. This, too, be- 
 ing granted at Tamora's intercession, all present 
 are invited to attend the nuptial feast at the palace 
 that day, and a hunting party in Titus' forest on 
 the morrow. 
 
 Act II. The second act opens before the palace 
 in Rome, where Aaron, Tamora's Moorish lover, 
 comments upon her elevation to a power she has 
 coveted, so as to avenge her son's death and her own 
 captivity. Sure that the queen loves him only and 
 feels no affection for her imperial spouse, he deter- 
 mines, while humbly attending her, to maintain his 
 position and privileges by helping her to wreck the 
 emperor and the Roman commonwealth. 
 
 Sounds of a quarrel interrupt his meditations, 
 making him aware that Tamora's sons are disput- 
 ing about Lavinia, both having fallen in love with 
 her, and being determined to possess her. From 
 taunts, these undisciplined Gothic princes soon come 
 to blows, only to be separated by Aaron, who sternly 
 warns them such conduct will shame their mother. 
 At first, the youths refuse to listen to his arguments, 
 vowing they are ready to brave all to win Lavinia, 
 who, being but a woman, can be wooed and won, 
 
Titus Andronicus 253 
 
 although she is already the wife of Bassianus. Lov- 
 ing the empress, a married woman, Aaron sees no 
 objection to Lavinia having lovers, too; so, over- 
 hearing one of the young princes state that many a 
 deer has been stricken down and carried off under 
 the keeper's nose, he suggests that during the com- 
 ing hunt, Lavinia be decoyed to a spot in the forest, 
 where she can become their victim in turn, evil 
 advice eagerly accepted by the vicious princes, who 
 propose to carry it out with their mother's aid. 
 
 The scene is now transferred to a forest near 
 Rome where hunting horns herald the arrival of 
 Titus Andronicus, his brother, and sons. All exult 
 in the fine weather, ere they welcome the approach- 
 ing emperor and his train. But, although the im- 
 perial couple deem they have been roused too early, 
 Lavinia claims to have been awake for some time; 
 and, while Titus and Marcus boast of their horses 
 and dogs, Tamora's sons, lurking in the background, 
 gloat upon the charming quarry they propose to run 
 down. 
 
 In a remote part of the same forest, Aaron is 
 next seen hastily burying a bag of gold under a 
 tree, while muttering that this is part of their strata- 
 gem. As he finishes his task, Tamora joins him, 
 inviting him to enjoy a brief interlude of love with 
 her; but Aaron replies that his heart, instead of 
 being attuned to love, is bent on revenge. So, after 
 designating a letter she is to pick up and give the 
 emperor, he informs her how her sons, having exe- 
 cuted their vile plans, intend to cut out Lavinia's 
 tongue, so she can never betray them. They also 
 
254 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 plan to slay Bassianus, and to contrive by means of 
 the buried gold and forged letter to cast all blame 
 upon innocent victims. 
 
 A moment later, while still clasped in each other's 
 arms, the guilty pair are surprised by Bassianus and 
 Lavinia, who reproach the empress for deceiving her 
 new-made husband, whose eyes they threaten to 
 open. It is while this dispute is still raging that 
 Tamora's sons join her, and when she exclaims that 
 Lavinia and Bassianus have lured her to this lonely 
 place to murder her, they promptly draw their 
 daggers and slay Bassianus! But, although Tamora 
 seems eager to kill Lavinia with her own hand, both 
 youths soon compel her to abandon her to their 
 tender mercies. Instead of heeding desolate La- 
 vinia's piteous entreaties, Tamora, remembering 
 only how deaf Titus was to her prayers, cruelly 
 bids her sons lead their victim away. Casting Bas- 
 sianus' body into a neighbouring pit covered with 
 brush, the princes bear the struggling Lavinia off 
 to a remote cave, while Tamora rejoins her swarthy 
 lover. 
 
 The stage now remains deserted until Aaron 
 guides thither two of Titus' sons, under plea he has 
 discovered a panther fast asleep in the thicket. Led 
 by him, the youths near the hidden pit, into which 
 one of them falls, and where, groping about in the 
 darkness, he discovers murdered Bassianus. This 
 discovery so unmans him that no strength remains 
 to him to climb out of the pit, into which he drags 
 the brother who tries to help him, while Aaron 
 hastens away to summon Saturninus. 
 
Titus Andronicus 255 
 
 Both young men are, therefore, found in this 
 place by the emperor, who, learning his brother 
 lies there murdered, believes them guilty of the 
 crime. This suspicion is confirmed by the letter 
 Tamora hands him, wherein he reads of a plot 
 to murder Bassianus, in exchange for a bag of gold 
 buried beneath a certain tree. The letter, the gold, 
 and the dead body, all seem to fasten the guilt upon 
 Titus' sons, although their father, who has joined 
 the emperor, begs they may be duly tried ere sen- 
 tenced. Too angry to yield to this entreaty, Satur- 
 ninus orders the youths apprehended and forbidden 
 to speak, while Tamora pretends to comfort their 
 father by promising to intercede in their behalf. 
 
 Meantime, in another part of the forest, re- 
 appear Tamora's sons, who, having sated their lust, 
 have cut off poor Lavinia's hands and tongue, so 
 she can never reveal either by word or writing 
 what has befallen her. After mocking this muti- 
 lated victim, these cruel youths abandon her in a 
 remote part of the forest, where her uncle Marcus 
 meets her. Enquiring, in surprise* where is her 
 husband, and why she is alone, he suddenly dis- 
 covers her horrible plight, of which he remembers a 
 similar example in the classic story of Philomel. 
 Then, full of compassion both for what he sees and 
 what he suspects, Marcus conducts his unfortunate 
 niece to her father, whom this sad sight will craze 
 with grief. 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in a street in 
 Rome, where the authorities are leading to execu- 
 tion Titus' sons, while their father pleads in broken- 
 
256 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 hearted accents, saying he never mourned for the 
 twenty-two youths who fell for their country, but is 
 ready to abase himself in the dust in order to obtain 
 the pardon of these. Deaf to his eloquent pleas, the 
 tribunes pass on, and his last remaining son Lucius, 
 finding him still there, bids him rise, explaining, — 
 when asked why he is armed, — that after vainly try- 
 ing to rescue his brothers, he has been banished for- 
 ever from Rome. Such a sentence seems enviable to 
 Titus, who vows Rome is now ' but a wilderness of 
 tigers,' — a belief in which he is strengthened when 
 he beholds Marcus and the unhappy Lavinia. 
 
 When both father and son vehemently question 
 the unfortunate girl, she is able to vouchsafe them 
 no reply; so Marcus explains how he found her, his 
 description wringing tears and words of compassion 
 from his hearers. He adds that, when he informed 
 Lavinia her brothers were accused of slaying her 
 husband, her tears flowed faster still. But when 
 Titus exclaims that they must by this time have paid 
 the penalty of their crime, if they did commit it, 
 Lavinia's grief increases. Seeing the tears course 
 down her cheeks, the three men clumsily try to 
 wipe them away, as she is unable to perform that 
 task herself. 
 
 It is while they are thus occupied, that Aaron 
 enters, bringing word that if either Marcus, Titus, 
 or Lucius will chop off his right hand, and send it 
 to the emperor in token of submission, he promises 
 to pardon the youths, who have not yet been exe- 
 cuted. On hearing this Titus joyfuUy volunteers 
 to sacrifice his hand, a sacrifice his son and brother 
 
Titus Andronicus 257 
 
 try to forestall by the proffer of their own. Be- 
 cause the three Andronici generously dispute which 
 shall suffer such a loss, Aaron sternly bids them 
 make haste. While the others go off in quest of 
 an axe, wherewith to do the deed when the victim 
 has been selected, Titus easily persuades Aaron to 
 lop off his right hand with his sword, the cruel 
 wretch muttering, while doing so, that Titus will 
 soon find out how he has been deceived! When his 
 brother and son return, therefore, Titus proudly 
 exhibits his bleeding stump, urging Aaron to hasten 
 with his severed hand to the emperor and redeem 
 the life of his children, ' jewels purchased at an easy 
 price/ Although Aaron departs, promising his sons 
 will soon be with him, he gloats beneath his breath 
 over the fact that Titus shall never again behold 
 them alive. 
 
 Bidding Lavinia kneel beside him to implore 
 Heaven's aid to avenge his woes, Titus now pro- 
 ceeds to characterise them with great eloquence. 
 He has barely finished when a messenger brings 
 him his own hand and his sons' heads, indignantly 
 exclaiming great services are ill-requited by cruel 
 mockery! While Titus stands speechless with grief 
 and horror, his brother and son pour out their 
 wrath, and Lavinia, by tears and kisses tries to 
 show the compassion she cannot otherwise express. 
 This horrible scene closes with the lament of uncle 
 and son, and an outburst of mad laughter from 
 Titus, who, having no further tears to shed, vows 
 he, Lavinia, and Marcus will piously bury his sons' 
 heads and his own severed hand, while Lucius hur- 
 
258 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 lies off to raise a Gothic army and attack Rome. 
 Left alone on the stage, when the mourners have 
 departed, this youth breathes a touching farewell to 
 Titus, whom he rightfully terms ' the wofull'st man 
 that ever lived in Rome,' and to his poor mutilated 
 sister, swearing, if he lives, to avenge their wrongs 
 ere long. 
 
 In the next scene we behold a room in Titus' 
 house, where a banquet is spread, to which the host 
 invites his brother, Lavinia, and a little grandson, 
 to preserve strength enough to obtain revenge. The 
 sight of his unhappy daughter, however, fills him 
 with such a rage of pity that Marcus rebukes him, 
 although both show tender compassion for Lavinia, 
 feeding her and giving her to drink. Besides, Titus 
 vows he is gradually learning to interpret her 
 glances. 
 
 The child, suggesting his aunt might be cheered 
 by merry tales, is silenced by his elders ; but Marcus 
 gives vent to some of the feelings he cannot express 
 by viciously killing a fly, for which act of cruelty 
 Titus reproaches him, pathetically saying the fly 
 had a father and mother. When Marcus, however, 
 mutters that the fly was as black as the empress's 
 lover, Titus suddenly approves of its execution, in 
 words which savour so strongly of insanity that his 
 brother murmurs, ' Alas, poor man! Grief has so 
 wrought on him, he takes false shadows for true 
 substances.' This scene closes when Titus leads his 
 daughter away, saying he and his grandson will read 
 stories to her to distract her thoughts. 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in Titus' garden, 
 
Titus Andronlcus 259 
 
 where the child, running in terror away from his 
 aunt, seeks refuge in Marcus' arms. His uncle and 
 grandfather reassure him by saying his aunt means 
 him no harm, but wonder what can be the meaning 
 of the signs she keeps making, and which have in- 
 duced the lad to think she is mad. Now, the two 
 men notice how Lavinia is turning over, with her 
 stumps, some books which the child dropped, and 
 perceive she is trying to communicate with them 
 by signs. After a while, painfully turning over 
 the leaves of Ovid's Metamorphoses, she finds the 
 story of Philomel, to which she calls their atten- 
 tion, so they conclude she, too, has been ravished 
 ere her tongue was cut out and her hands lopped off. 
 
 Suddenly inspired, Marcus proceeds to show his 
 niece how, by holding a stick between his teeth, and 
 guiding it with his feet, he can write upon the sand 
 in the garden walks, imploring her to do so in her 
 turn and reveal the name of her ravisher. The stick 
 placed between her teeth, Lavinia painfully guides 
 it with her stumps, and writes in the sand the names 
 of Tamora's two sons. Father and uncle read them 
 with horror, and, kneeling down beside her with 
 the child, pledge themselves to avenge her. They 
 decide, however, to keep this intention secret lest 
 Tamora defeat it, and seeing the boy understands 
 their purpose, bespeak his aid to execute it. Then 
 Titus, Lavinia, and the lad leave the scene, while 
 Marcus calls upon Heaven to avenge the wrongs of 
 the Andronici ! 
 
 The scene is now transferred to a room in the 
 palace, where Tamora's sons marvel because Titus' 
 
160 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 grandson has brought them a message. When ad- 
 mitted, although the child utters aloud a courteous 
 greeting, he prays in an aside that the gods may 
 confound his hearers. Then, as instructed, he adds 
 that his grandfather sends the princes choice weapons 
 from his armory, muttering beneath his breath that 
 they are bloody villains! After the lad has taken 
 his leave with outward courtesy but secret defiance, 
 the young men examine their presents, only to dis- 
 cover, wrapped around the daggers, a verse of 
 Horace, whose meaning they do not comprehend, 
 although Aaron does. When they, therefore, ex- 
 press wonder that Titus should send them gifts, he 
 sarcastically suggests it is in return for their 
 * friendly ' treatment of his daughter, a reminder 
 which causes both fiends to express gruesome wishes 
 worthy of their base natures. 
 
 Then the young princes elect to pray for their 
 mother in travail, just as trumpets proclaim the 
 birth of a male child to the imperial couple. A mo- 
 ment later a nurse hastily enters, asking for Aaron, 
 and exclaiming when she beholds him that they are 
 undone! Noting she carries some squirming ob- 
 ject, Aaron questions her, only to discover that the 
 empress has given birth to a black child, — his off- 
 spring, — which, owing to its colour, it is impossible 
 to pass off as the emperor's heir. On hearing these 
 tidings, both princes wish to strangle the infant, 
 whom their mother has sent to Aaron to dispose of 
 immediately. His paternal feelings aroused, how- 
 ever, Aaron defends the babe whom they would 
 fain slay, threatening both Tamora's sons with his 
 
Titus Andronicus 26 1 
 
 sword, and vowing he'll murder them if they lay 
 a finger upon his child! Then, sending word to 
 the empress that he will keep what is his own, he 
 declares the infant is smiling ingratiatingly upon him 
 and recognises his own image stamped upon its face. 
 
 When the nurse and princes demand how their 
 mistress and mother is to be saved from disgrace 
 and from the emperor's wrath, Aaron, after ascer- 
 taining that none but the nurse, midwife, and em- 
 press are aware of the fact that a coloured babe has 
 been born, promptly decides that ' two may keep 
 counsel when the third's away,' and stabs the nurse 
 so she can never reveal their secret. Then, he jus- 
 tifies what he has done to the princes as an ' act of 
 policy,' ere he adds that the wife of one of his friends, 
 having given birth to a fair child, he will purchase 
 this babe, which Tamora can pass off as the em- 
 peror's heir. Bidding the princes dispose of the 
 nurse's corpse, he promises to rid them of the mid- 
 wife, too, and charges both to guard their mother's 
 secret. When both young men have borne off the 
 body, Aaron decides to carry his babe to the Goths, 
 to be bred among them as a warrior. 
 
 In a public square in Rome we next behold Titus, 
 bearing arrows to which letters are attached, and 
 summoning his kinsmen to see how cleverly his 
 grandson can shoot. He declares these letters are 
 addressed to Pluto, Apollo, and Jupiter; talking so 
 wildly the while that all present compassionately 
 murmur he has lost his wits. Marcus, while watch- 
 ing his irresponsible brother, secretly urges the rest 
 to join the Goths in war against Rome. Suddenly 
 
262 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 Titus enquires what answer Pluto is sending; so 
 one of the bystanders humours him by pretending 
 to deliver a message, purporting that Revenge will 
 execute his orders as soon as she has leisure to attend 
 to his affairs. This delay seems irksome to Titus, 
 who bids his grandson shoot letters to Mars, Mer- 
 cury, and the other gods in turn, and rejoices when 
 the spectators give fantastical descriptions of the 
 havoc his shots are effecting among the constellations. 
 Seeing a clown pass by with doves in a basket, Titus 
 next hails him as a messenger from Heaven; but, 
 his questions being answered in such a way that a 
 misunderstanding arises, Marcus smoothes it out 
 with the suggestion that the clown bear the pigeons 
 to the emperor, together with a letter from Titus, 
 adding directions in regard to his behaviour while 
 in the palace. 
 
 The actors in this scene have barely left when 
 Saturninus appears, accompanied by Tamora, her 
 sons, and his suite, holding in his hand some of 
 Titus' arrows, and angrily exclaiming that never was 
 emperor so annoyed as he since the execution of 
 Andronicus' sons! He adds that the crazed old 
 man is now appealing to the gods, his letters lying 
 broadcast in Rome to stir up sedition among the 
 people. In his wrath Saturninus vows he will see 
 justice dealt out, a resolve which Tamora pretends 
 to oppose by urging that Titus' actions are the 
 result of age and sorrows. But, in an aside, she 
 exclaims her revenge is near at hand, provided 
 Aaron has executed her orders. It is at this moment 
 that the clown appears, and in his confusion ad- 
 
Titus Andronicus 263 
 
 dresses Tamora as emperor, before he manages to 
 deliver his letter to the right party. He gives way 
 to noisy grief when, instead of receiving the reward 
 he expects, he is led away to be hanged. Having 
 meantime read his letter, Saturninus exclaims he will 
 no longer stand such persecution, and orders Titus 
 brought before him to suffer his just doom. 
 
 Before this order can be carried out a Roman 
 rushes in, exclaiming that the Goths, led by An- 
 dronicus' son, are on their way to attack Rome, so 
 that worse peril now threatens the city than in the 
 days of Coriolanus. These tidings cause dismay at 
 court, for Saturninus knows the common people will 
 favour Lucius, whom they deem unjustly perse- 
 cuted. Although Tamora encourages him to believe 
 that the city is so well fortified it will be easy to 
 defend, the emperor shows such dejection that she 
 urges him to bestir himself, promising to win old 
 Andronicus ' with words more sweet, and yet more 
 dangerous, than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to 
 sheep.' Her plan consists in inducing the old man 
 to invite his son to his house, the messenger who 
 has brought news of Lucius' arrival being selected 
 to summon him to Rome for a parley, and offer 
 him any hostages he cares to ask. Then, the mes- 
 senger having gone to carry out her orders, Tamora 
 prepares to visit Andronicus, and use all her arts to 
 separate Lucius from the Goths, assuring the em- 
 peror he can trust her to help him. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens on the plains near 
 Rome, where Lucius is encamped with the Gothic 
 army, which he eloquently addresses, saying Saturni- 
 
264 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 nus is hated in Rome, where all long for his presence. 
 The Goths, proud to be led by the son of their 
 former brave foe, express delight at these tidings, and 
 promise to follow Lucius wherever he leads them, an 
 offer he receives with due gratitude, as a sentinel 
 ushers in Aaron and his babe. They have just been 
 found in a deserted monastery, where the father 
 was overheard exclaiming that had not the child's 
 colour betrayed him, he might have been emperor 
 of Rome. 
 
 On recognising Aaron as the villain who tricked 
 his father into sacrificing his hand, and as the para- 
 mour of Tamora, Lucius begins to question him, 
 and finding he will not answer, orders him hanged 
 with his child. But Aaron peremptorily forbids 
 them to touch a babe of royal blood, a statement 
 Lucius refuses to credit owing to the marked re- 
 semblance between father and child. A ladder being 
 brought, Aaron declares that, if Lucius will only 
 spare the child and carry it to the empress, he will 
 reveal to him matters of great moment. On this 
 condition Lucius promises the babe shall live, and 
 learns it is the offspring of Aaron and Tamora, and 
 that the latter's sons, after murdering Bassianus, 
 ravished and mutilated Lucius' sister, while Aaron 
 decoyed his brothers in to the pit, wrote the letter, 
 and buried the gold, which served as proof of their 
 guilt. Aaron adds that all this was done at Tam- 
 ora's instigation, to punish Titus for sacrificing her 
 eldest son, and that, hidden behind a wall, he 
 laughed on beholding Titus' dismay when confronted 
 with his severed hand and his sons' heads. 
 
Titus Andronicus 26$ 
 
 Such is the fiendish glee he exhibits in describing 
 these crimes that all present marvel, while the 
 criminal adds his sole regret is not to have com- 
 mitted more black deeds! Because hanging seems 
 too merciful a death for such a monster, Lucius has 
 him brought down from the ladder, and securely 
 gagged, so he can utter no further atrocities. It is 
 at this juncture that the messenger appears to in- 
 vite Lucius to a parley in his father's house, offering 
 any security he wishes. After a moment's consider- 
 ation Lucius accepts this invitation, bargaining that 
 hostages be delivered to his father and uncle. 
 
 The next scene is played in Rome before Titus' 
 house, where Tamora and her sons appear in dis- 
 guise; for, taking advantage of Titus' delusion, 
 Tamora personates the Revenge he summoned, and 
 her sons her traditional attendants. In reply to 
 their knocking, Titus peers from a window above, 
 demanding who disturbs his contemplations? When 
 Tamora replies that Revenge has come to converse 
 with him, Titus bitterly retorts that wanting a 
 hand he cannot gesticulate; still, he is not so mad 
 as the empress deems him, for, notwithstanding her 
 disguise, he recognises her plainly. Insisting she is 
 not his foe, the empress, but his friend Revenge, 
 come from the infernal regions to execute his orders, 
 Tamora implores him to admit her. Recognising the 
 princes beside her as Rape and Murder incarnate, 
 Titus grimly bids her slay them both if she would 
 have him believe her, whereupon she reiterates they 
 are not the Gothic princes, but the attendants of 
 Revenge. Then Titus suddenly consents to admit 
 
266 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 the trio, and while he is coming to the door, Tamora 
 instructs her sons how she means to trick him into 
 sending for Lucius, and that while all are feasting 
 in his house, she will find some pretext to scatter 
 the Gothic host. 
 
 Opening wide the door, Titus now bids Revenge, 
 Rape, and Murder welcome, adding grimly that 
 were they only accompanied by a swarthy Moor, he 
 would swear they were the empress and her sons! 
 To play her part, Revenge now enquires what he 
 wishes, while her sons beg him to point out any 
 criminals and they will punish them. Sternly bid- 
 ding them go in the wicked streets of Rome, where 
 they will find wrong-doers in plenty, Titus adds 
 that there is, for instance, an empress, her lover, 
 and sons, who have treated him and his with such 
 cruelty that they deserve violent deaths. After as- 
 suring him his orders will be duly executed, Tamora 
 suggests he invite Lucius to a banquet at his house, 
 where the emperor, the empress, her sons, and all 
 his foes will be present and at his mercy. Ac- 
 quiescing, Titus summons Marcus, who is told to 
 go in person and invite Lucius and the Gothic 
 chiefs, — leaving the army meanwhile in camp, — and 
 warning them that they are to feast with the imperial 
 couple at his house. After Marcus has hastened 
 away, Tamora proposes to depart with her satellites, 
 but Titus refuses to lose sight of the princes, under 
 penalty of recalling his invitation to his son. After 
 a whispered conference with both youths, there- 
 fore, wherein she bids them humour mad Titus 
 while she apprises the emperor of what she has done, 
 
Titus Andronicus 267 
 
 Tamora departs, not noticing Titus' grim aside that, 
 although they deem him insane, he ' will o'erreach 
 them in their own devices.' 
 
 The empress having gone, the princes enquire 
 what Titus wishes them to do, whereupon he as- 
 sures them they shall soon be put to good use, and 
 summons some friends. Confronting them with the 
 disguised princes, — whom they have no difficulty in 
 recognising, — Titus declares it is not Tamora's sons 
 they behold, but Rape and Murder, whom they are 
 to bind and gag. Thus, although both princes 
 struggle and vainly proclaim their real names, they 
 are soon bound fast and gagged. Meantime, Titus 
 has gone out, only to reappear with Lavinia, he 
 bearing a knife and she a basin. Leading his daugh- 
 ter before her ravishers, he denounces them to all 
 present as the murderers of her husband and 
 brothers, adding that they defiled and mutilated her, 
 and declaring that with his sole remaining hand he 
 intends to cut their throats, while Lavinia receives 
 their guilty blood in her basin! To punish their 
 mother, who has tried to delude him into the be- 
 lief that she is Revenge, he further means to make 
 her eat her sons' flesh in a pasty, vowing that since 
 they treated his only daughter like Philomel, he 
 will take the same revenge as Progne. Thereupon, 
 he carries out this ghastly programme, himself pre- 
 paring the cannibal dish he has devised for Tamora's 
 delectation at the coming banquet. 
 
 The next scene represents the banquet hall, where 
 Lucius and his companions are welcomed by Marcus, 
 into whose hands they deliver their prisoner Aaron. 
 
268 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 He is to be confronted with the empress later on, a 
 prospect which causes him to hope some demon will 
 then prompt his tongue to utter all ' the venomous 
 malice ' of his swelling heart. 
 
 A blast of trumpets next heralds the arrival of 
 the imperial party, and Saturninus, on entering, 
 greets Lucius in such haughty terms that Marcus 
 hastens to avert a quarrel by inviting all to table. 
 There, Titus dressed as a cook, and Lavinia closely 
 veiled, bring in dishes, which are set on the table, 
 ere the host welcomes his guests, telling them he is 
 playing cook to do honour to august visitors. Then, 
 under guise of polite conversation, Titus enquires 
 whether Saturninus deems Virgilius did well when 
 he slew his daughter ? 1 Being told this was an ex- 
 ample all Roman fathers should follow, Titus stabs 
 Lavinia, bidding her shame die with her! When 
 Saturninus exclaims he is an unnatural parent, Titus 
 explains his daughter was ravished, but goes on press- 
 ing the viands upon his guests. Next, he accuses 
 Tamora's sons of having dishonoured and muti- 
 lated Lavinia, revealing when the emperor demands 
 they be summoned, how he has baked them into the 
 pie on which their mother has feasted ! Then, draw- 
 ing his dagger, Titus stabs Tamora, only to fall 
 himself, a moment later, by the emperor's hand. 
 
 To avenge the father's death Lucius now slays 
 Saturninus, and hearing a tumult without, hurries 
 to the upper balcony to harangue the people. It is 
 from this position that Marcus, addressing the Ro- 
 mans, informs them that Lucius, their friend, will 
 1 Guerber's • Story of the Romans,' pp. 96-98. 
 
Titus Andronicus 269 
 
 explain all that has just occurred, which the latter 
 immediately proceeds to do by rehearsing the horrors 
 with which this tragedy teems. When he explains 
 that the black babe, — whom he points out, — is son 
 of Aaron and Tamora, all admit Titus did right in 
 slaying the empress, and when Marcus offers that 
 he, and his kinsman, — the last of the Andronici, — 
 be sacrificed if the Romans wish, the people reply 
 by hailing Lucius as emperor and demanding Aaron's 
 death. Descending among them, Lucius promises 
 to govern Rome well, ere he pays a last tribute of 
 respect to his dead father, while his uncle and 
 nephew also honour the noble corpse. 
 
 Then Aaron is brought in to hear his sentence from 
 the lips of the Andronici, who doom him to be buried 
 alive up to his head, and abandoned on some desert 
 plain, to die there of exposure and starvation. This 
 cruel sentence does not cause Aaron to repent, for 
 even then he cries that, if he ever did one good deed, 
 he repents it from his very soul. After giving orders 
 for Saturninus' burial, Lucius adds that his father 
 and Lavinia are to be laid in the tomb of the An- 
 dronici, and Tamora's remains cast to the dogs. 
 Then, justice having been done, he proposes to 
 1 order well the state, that like events may ne'er 
 it ruinate,' and the curtain falls on the most grue- 
 some collection of tragic events that has ever been 
 brought together. 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS 
 
 Act I. The first act opens in Athens, in the 
 hall of Timon's house, just as poet, painter, jeweller, 
 and merchant, enter by different doors to await the 
 coming of their wealthy lord and patron. Mean- 
 while, they exchange greetings, the poet and painter 
 entering into conversation together, and presently 
 asking the jeweller what he has brought to sell? 
 Proud of his wares, the jeweller exhibits a gem of 
 such uncommon beauty and value that all present 
 rave about it. Meanwhile, the poet cons over the 
 lines he has written, until the painter, noticing his 
 abstraction, wonders whether he is about to dedicate 
 some new work to the great lord whose favour they 
 are all seeking. The poet negligently rejoins it is 
 only a trifle, which idly slipped from him, ere beg- 
 ging permission to see in his turn what the painter 
 has to offer? The picture he is shown is evidently 
 a portrait of Timon, since he praises it until the 
 pleased painter modestly admits ' it is a pretty mock- 
 ing of the life.' 
 
 Meantime, senators are passing through the hall 
 on their way to join Timon, who, painter and 
 poet decide, must be a happy man since so many 
 people pay court to him. The poet now states he 
 has tried to describe in his rough work ' a man, 
 whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug with 
 
 270 
 
Timon of Athens 271 
 
 amplest entertainment,' using for his verse the bold 
 flight of an eagle. He also remarks that all condi- 
 tions of men come to tender their service to Lord 
 Timon, whose popularity depends even more upon 
 his large fortune than upon the good and gracious 
 nature which ' subdues and properties to his love 
 and tendance all sorts of hearts,' from that of the 
 cynical philosopher Apemantus, — who enjoys nothing 
 so much as abhorring himself, — down to the lowest 
 of those who kneel at his nod. In his poem, the 
 poet claims he has represented Fortune enthroned 
 upon a high hill, up whose sides climb all manner 
 of men with eyes devoutly fixed upon their sovereign 
 lady. But one of these men, — who, of course, per- 
 sonates Timon, — is wafted up to Fortune's side by 
 a motion from her ivory wand, only to receive in- 
 numerable gifts, which he carelessly passes on to 
 others. The painter deems this conceit a happy one, 
 although the poet fancies the people who surround 
 Timon with their flattery might, should Fortune 
 change her mood and spurn him down from the top 
 of the hill he has climbed, refuse to accompany ' his 
 declining foot.' The painter avers, however, such 
 is the common lot of mankind, and exclaims ' A 
 thousand moral paintings I can show that shall 
 demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's more 
 pregnantly than words.' Still, he praises the poet for 
 making his meaning plain even to Timon's eyes. 
 
 Just then the sound of trumpets is heard, and 
 Lord Timon enters, speaking to his various visitors 
 in turn. All at once, he is approached by a mes- 
 senger from Ventidius, reporting that his lord is in 
 
272 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 prison, where, unless five talents are immediately 
 sent, he will have to remain. In his distress, Ven- 
 tidius beseeches the aid of Timon, who generously 
 exclaims : ' I am not of that feather to shake off my 
 friend when he must need me.' On the contrary, 
 knowing Ventidius to be a gentleman deserving 
 help, Timon generously volunteers to pay the whole 
 debt and set him free, sending the messenger off with 
 an invitation, to present himself, as soon as he is 
 released, to Timon, who will give him further aid, 
 for ' 'tis not enough to help the feeble up,' but one 
 must ' support him after.' 
 
 The messenger having gone, an old Athenian steps 
 forward, and after greeting the rich man, bitterly 
 complains that his servant, Lucilius, frequents his 
 house and wooes his young daughter. The old 
 Athenian does not approve of this suitor, because he 
 wishes his daughter to marry a man of means. 
 When Timon remarks that his servant is honest, 
 the old father coolly rejoins ' his honesty rewards 
 him in itself,' but that he shall not have his daugh- 
 ter. On learning that the young people love each 
 other dearly, but that the father will disinherit the 
 girl if they persist in seeing each other, Timon en- 
 quires what dowry the Athenian intends to give 
 her in case she marries according to his wishes? 
 After hearing the father's intentions, Timon declares 
 his man has served him so faithfully that he will 
 strain a little i to build his fortune.' He, therefore, 
 bargains, that provided the Athenian give Lucilius 
 his daughter, he, Timon, will bestow upon his serv- 
 ant an amount equal to the girl's dowry. This 
 
Tlmon of Athens 273 
 
 fully satisfies the avaricious parent, who, trusting in 
 Timon's promise, goes off with the overjoyed and 
 grateful Lucilius. 
 
 The poet and painter now draw near Timon, who 
 graciously accepts the proffered poem and praises 
 the painting, promising to prove his satisfaction to 
 both artists in some substantial manner. Turning 
 to the jeweller, Timon next informs him his ' jewel 
 hath suffer'd under praise,' a remark which alarms 
 the merchant, but which Timon explains by adding 
 that should he pay it as highly as it has been ex- 
 tolled, it would bankrupt him. The jeweller rejoins 
 1 things of like value differing in the owners are 
 prized by their masters,' and assures him he will 
 1 mend the jewel by the wearing it.' When Timon 
 hints this is meant sarcastically, the merchant as- 
 sures him, * no, my good lord ; he speaks the common 
 tongue, which all men speak with him/ 
 
 Just then the churlish philosopher Apemantus 
 comes in, and the rest whisper he will spare none 
 of them, as he is noted for his propensity for utter- 
 ing surly and disagreeable truths. He does not 
 disappoint their expectations, for he returns the 
 greetings of Timon, poet, merchant, and painter 
 with such acerbity, that the dialogue soon degen- 
 erates into a verbal fencing match, wherein the surli- 
 ness of the philosopher becomes only too apparent. 
 He derides everything, and when Timon proudly ex- 
 hibits his recent purchases, runs them down, too, 
 vowing everybody is merely trying to make as much 
 as possible out of a wealthy patron. 
 
 In the midst of this talk a blast of trumpets is 
 
274 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 heard, and when Timon enquires what this noise 
 means, a servant informs him Alcibiades has just 
 arrived with some twenty horsemen. Giving orders 
 that they, too, be well entertained, Timon turns to 
 the rest, inviting them to dine with him, and charg- 
 ing them not to depart until he has had time to thank 
 them properly for coming and to examine all they 
 have brought. Then, Alcibiades appearing, Timon 
 steps forward to greet him, while the philosopher 
 sarcastically comments that everybody shows polite- 
 ness to the rich man. 
 
 Meantime, Alcibiades and Timon have exchanged 
 greetings; the latter assures his guest he is welcome, 
 and vows that ere they part they ' will share a 
 bounteous time in different pleasures.' To begin 
 with, Timon conducts his guests into a neighbouring 
 banqueting-room, thus leaving Apemantus alone on 
 the stage for a few moments. He is soon joined, 
 however, by a couple of lords, who attempt to enter 
 into conversation with him, but he gives churlish 
 replies to their bantering remarks and finally goes 
 off, still snarling at the rich man and his friends. 
 The lords now prepare to join the banqueters and 
 enjoy the lavish hospitality of Timon, vowing he 
 * out-goes the very heart of kindness,' and that no 
 gift is ever bestowed upon him ' but breeds the giver 
 a return exceeding all use of quittance.' It is 
 evident they approve of Timon's lavishness, for they 
 express a hope he may long live in fortune. 
 
 We are next transferred to the banqueting-room, 
 where soft music is played, while Ventidius address- 
 ing Timon, exclaims it has at last pleased the gods 
 
« o .E 
 
 0. Q. (_ 
 
 E 
 i- 
 
Timon of Athens 275 
 
 to recall his aged father and leave him very rich. 
 In ' grateful virtue,' he can now return the five 
 talents through whose aid he recovered his freedom. 
 But Timon refuses to accept this payment, exclaim- 
 ing, ' I gave it freely ever ; and there's none can 
 truly say he gives, if he receives.' Then, turning 
 to his other guests, and noticing they are still stand- 
 ing, he invites them all to sit down, declaring 
 ' ceremony was but devised at first to set a gloss on 
 faint deeds, hollow welcomes, recanting goodness, 
 sorry ere 'tis shown ;' and adds that where ' there 
 is true friendship, there needs none.' Instead of 
 grace, he calls to his friends * more welcome are ye 
 to my fortunes than my fortunes to me,' and urges 
 them all to sit down. All rejoice in such a welcome 
 except Apemantus, who insists he has come here 
 only to be thrown out, for he wishes to give his 
 host a well-meant warning. Without paying heed 
 to his strictures, Timon politely expresses a hope his 
 meat will annul all objections, but the philosopher 
 refuses to be silenced. He vows that Timon is blind 
 since he fails to see that all these people are dipping 
 in his blood, and adds that his greatest madness 
 consists in cheering them on to do it. In fact, 
 Apemantus clearly gives his host to understand that 
 he considers his guests mere parasites, and as Timon, 
 in reply, proposes a health, he vows it will not be 
 long before such health-drinking ' will make thee 
 and thy state look ill.' Then he pronounces a grace 
 which is the acme of cynicism, wherein among other 
 things he prays he may never be so foolish as ' to 
 trust man on his oath or bond.' 
 
276 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 His grace ended, the philosopher sits down to 
 eat and drink, while Timon, turning to Alcibiades, 
 asks whether his heart is already in the field, and 
 whether he prefers a breakfast of enemies to a din- 
 ner of friends? Their playful conversation is in- 
 terrupted by sarcastic remarks from Apemantus, 
 and by enthusiastic praises on the part of the 
 other guests in regard to the magnificence of the 
 feast. In reply Timon assures them he is proud to 
 entertain so many friends, and that he has often 
 wished himself poor so he might come nearer to 
 them. Still, he realises fully that the least thing a 
 rich man can do is to share his wealth with others 
 as with brothers, principles highly approved by all 
 present, save Apemantus. This conversation con- 
 tinues with unabated vivacity until sounds of a new 
 arrival are heard. 
 
 Before long a servant announces that some ladies 
 have come and are sending a herald to beg for 
 admittance. After ordering this emissary shown in, 
 Timon is greeted by Cupid, who announces ' the 
 five best senses acknowledge thee their patron; and 
 come freely to gratulate thy plenteous bosom.' In 
 return, Timon bids such guests heartily welcome, 
 whereupon Cupid ushers in five ladies in masks, 
 who sing and dance, to the delight and entertain- 
 ment of all present, save the churlish Apemantus. 
 He seems to consider them mad women, and deems 
 the spectators fools to gaze admiringly at them and 
 expend flatteries upon their host! 
 
 A moment later some lords rise from the table, 
 and after returning thanks in pantomime to Timon, 
 
Timon of Athens 277 
 
 join the ladies and dance with them to the strains 
 of gay music. It is only when all are out of 
 breath, and when the music ceases, that Timon can 
 thank the strangers for adding worth and lustre to 
 his entertainment; the praises he utters being offset 
 by snappish, mocking comments on the part of the 
 philosopher. Then Timon invites his female guests 
 to step into an adjoining room, where a banquet 
 awaits them, for he wishes to entertain them in 
 return for the pleasure they have given him and his 
 friends. 
 
 The ladies and Cupid having gone, Timon bids 
 his steward bring him his casket, whereupon the 
 man wonders whether his master is going to bestow 
 more jewels upon his friends? He knows, however, 
 * there is no crossing him in's humour,' and that it 
 is vain to warn him he is spending more than he 
 can afford, so goes off grumbling. Meanwhile, sev- 
 eral of the guests call for their horses and prepare to 
 depart; but, when the steward returns, Timon 
 eagerly snatches the casket from him, and begs them 
 to accept trifles, — as he calls them, — which he be- 
 stows with many gracious words. All his gifts are 
 received with delight by the guests and the presenta- 
 tion ceremony is barely finished, when the servant 
 announces some senators are arriving. Timon has 
 just exclaimed he will receive them with joy, when 
 his steward, bending down to his ear, anxiously begs 
 a moment's hearing, as he has matters of importance 
 to communicate. Carelessly rejoining he will listen 
 some other time, Timon bids the steward hasten off 
 to prepare suitable entertainment for newcomers, 
 
278 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 an order poor Flavius does not know how to carry 
 out, seeing there is nothing left! 
 
 Just then a servant reports that Lord Lucius, 
 1 out of his free love,' presents Timon with ' four 
 milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver,' a gift which is 
 graciously accepted, as well as that from Lord 
 Lucullus, who sends a brace of hunting hounds, 
 with an invitation to hunt on the morrow. Timon 
 bids these gifts be accepted and the bringers re- 
 warded, while the steward wonders what will come 
 of it all, and how he can supply his master's wants 
 from empty coffers? He murmurs that Timon's 
 1 promises fly so beyond his state ' that he is already 
 deeply in debt, his lands having long been mort- 
 gaged, and no further devices remaining whereby 
 funds can be raised. He wishes, before the ruin is 
 complete, he might gently be removed from office, 
 and sadly vows * happier is he that has no friend 
 to feed than such that do e'en enemies exceed.' 
 
 Meantime, Timon goes on bestowing jewels, 
 promising steeds, and assuring his friends he gauges 
 their affection by his own, and that hence all he 
 has is at their disposal. Such an assurance is grate- 
 ful to the parasites, who depart uttering voluble 
 thanks for his gifts. All the rest having gone, the 
 philosopher assures Timon that only ' honest fools 
 lay out their wealth on court'sies,' to which Timon 
 rejoins he would fain be good to him, too. But 
 the philosopher protests should he be bribed to keep 
 silence, no one would ever remind Timon of the 
 foolishness of his behaviour. Weary of what sounds 
 like idle croakings, Timon passes out of the room, 
 
Timon of Athens 279 
 
 while the philosopher mutters it is a pity ' men's 
 ears should be to counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! \ 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in a senator's 
 house, at the moment when he is looking over some 
 papers, and remembers how Timon has lately bor- 
 rowed large sums of money, which, seeing his waste- 
 ful habits, there is no likelihood he can ever repay. 
 This senator, remembering how, whenever a gift 
 is bestowed upon Timon he always repays it ten- 
 fold, suddenly decides to call in his loans, and sum- 
 moning a servant, sends him off to Timon's house 
 to ask for the repayment of his funds. The man 
 is instructed not to leave without obtaining the 
 money, for his master feels sure that Timon, who 
 flashes now like a phoenix, will soon be nothing but 
 a ' naked gull.' Having secured the necessary vouch- 
 ers, the servant departs, and the curtain next rises 
 on the hall in Timon's house, where the steward 
 Flavius, his hands full of bills, sadly remarks there 
 is no end to his master's senseless expenditure. He 
 vows that Timon takes no account of the things that 
 go from him, and that, when he returns from hunt- 
 ing, he must again call his attention to his disordered 
 affairs. 
 
 At that moment the servants of three of Timon's 
 friends enter together, all bound on the same errand, 
 that is to say, to collect loans. A moment later, 
 Timon, Alcibiades, and their respective trains ap- 
 pear, the master of the house loudly calling for his 
 dinner, and hospitably inviting all to partake of 
 this meal with him. Approaching him with the notes 
 they wish paid, all three servants are referred in 
 
280 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 lordly fashion to the steward, although they ob- 
 ject he has put them off again and again. When 
 Timon impatiently rejoins he has no leisure to at- 
 tend to them now, all three become so importunate 
 that he urges his friends to pass into the banqueting- 
 room without him, promising to join them soon. 
 Then, turning to his steward, Timon indignantly 
 demands how it comes he is thus besieged by duns, 
 and why debts long due have not been paid? Not 
 wishing publicly to expose his master's poverty, 
 Flavius promises to explain matters as soon as 
 Timon has leisure to hear him, and persuades the 
 duns to wait until dinner is over. Giving orders 
 that they be hospitably entertained, Timon goes off 
 to join his guests, while Flavius leaves the stage in 
 despair. 
 
 The duns are now joined by the philosopher and 
 a fool, with whom they enter into a bantering con- 
 versation, which lasts until a page appears bringing 
 letters. He, too, exchanges witticisms with them, 
 ere he begs Apemantus to read for him the ad- 
 dresses on the letters he has to deliver. The fool and 
 philosopher, renewing their argument, come to the 
 conclusion that the duns serve usurers, and that 
 Timon acted unwisely in allowing himself to be 
 plucked so ruthlessly by his friends. 
 
 They are interrupted in their talk by the entrance 
 of Timon and of the steward, the master of the 
 house impatiently dismissing them all, so he can 
 converse privately with his man. When alone, 
 Timon enquires why Flavius has not sooner called 
 his attention to the present state of affairs, stating, 
 
Timon of Athens 281 
 
 * I might so have rated my expense, as I had leave 
 of means.' The man assures him he. has often 
 vainly tried to do so, mentioning in self-defence, 
 how frequently he has brought his accounts, only to 
 be dismissed to see to this or procure that, until 
 what is left of Timon's fortunes scarcely suffices 
 to cover outstanding debts. 
 
 When Timon exclaims that all his lands, extend- 
 ing as far as Lacedcemon, must immediately be 
 sold, the steward reminds him they have long been 
 pledged, and that this money has gone in riotous 
 feasting, for his friends have been preying upon him 
 shamefully. Granted the opportunity to speak, the 
 steward adds that ' when the means are gone that 
 buy this praise, the breath is gone whereof this praise 
 is made,' giving such an eloquent and detailed state- 
 ment in regard to Timon's disordered finances that 
 the unfortunate man finally bids him cease, exclaim- 
 ing, ' no villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; 
 unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.' 
 
 Because Flavius weeps over his ruin, Timon 
 proudly informs him he has many friends, and can 
 easily tide over present difficulties by borrowing from 
 them. Confident that all whom he has helped will 
 be glad to aid him, Timon summons two servants, 
 and bids them hasten to the lords Lucius, Lucullus, 
 Sempronius, and the senators, with requests to lend 
 him funds. He refuses to heed the steward when 
 the latter states he has already tried to borrow 
 from them, but that whenever he has done so they 
 have shaken their heads and dismissed him empty- 
 handed. To convince his incredulous master, 
 
282 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Flavius repeats their excuses, and describes their 
 actions ; whereupon Timon vows his man must have 
 angered these true friends or they would surely have 
 complied with his request. Timon feels so sure 
 that Ventidius, whom he so recently helped, and 
 who is now so rich, will gladly assist him in his 
 turn, that he haughtily bids Flavius ' ne'er speak, or 
 think, that Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can 
 sink,' when this man continues incredulous. 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in Lucullus' house, 
 where Timon's servant is waiting for admittance. 
 On entering the room and perceiving one of Timon's 
 men, Lucullus fancies he is bringing, as usual, a 
 costly gift. Because he dreamt last night of a great 
 silver basin and ewer which he would like to pos- 
 sess, Lucullus fancies this gift is being brought to 
 him, and, therefore, playfully enquires what the 
 man is concealing beneath his cloak? When the 
 servant rejoins it is an empty box, in which he hopes 
 to carry off the money Timon needs, Lucullus re- 
 joins his friend is passing foolish to keep an open 
 house, and that, although he often went there to 
 dinner to remonstrate with him, and stayed to sup- 
 per to continue the good work, he regrets to state 
 Timon has always refused to heed his warnings. 
 Ashamed to refuse his aid, however, he tries to bribe 
 Timon's servant to report him not at home; but 
 the man, knowing how lavish Timon has always 
 been in his gifts to Lucullus, is so indignant at such 
 meanness, that he refuses the tip Lucullus offers, 
 only to be called a fool and fit for his master! 
 Left alone, the servant curses Timon's false friend, 
 
Timon of Athens 283 
 
 venomously declaring he hopes his master's meat 
 still in Lucullus' stomach will turn to poison, and 
 wondering ' has friendship such a faint and milky 
 heart, it turns in less than two nights?' 
 
 On a public square we next behold Lucius, — one 
 of Timon's former flatterers, — discussing with three 
 strangers the rumours afloat concerning the great 
 man's loss of all his worldly goods, and his friends' 
 churlish refusal to lend him aid. All agree it is 
 contemptible friends should refuse favours to a man 
 who has been so generous with them, but Lucius 
 has barely protested his own extreme devotion, when 
 one of Timon's servants approaches him, begging for 
 a loan. With great volubility, Lucius now explains 
 how gladly he would aid Timon, had he not just 
 purchased goods for which he must pay out every 
 cent he owns. With loud protestations of affection 
 and devotion, he sends the servant empty-handed 
 away ; then, turning to the strangers, declares Timon 
 is ruined, since he is vainly trying to borrow, and 
 sagely adds, * he that's once denied will hardly 
 speed.' After Lucius has left them, the strangers 
 comment upon his heartlessness, declaring that, al- 
 though not acquainted with Timon, they would 
 willingly serve one who in his prosperity has al- 
 ways been generous, and whom they admire for ' his 
 right noble mind, illustrious virtue, and honour- 
 able carriage.' 
 
 In another house in Athens Sempronius is won- 
 dering why Timon should apply to him for funds 
 rather than to Lucius, Lucullus, or Ventidius? 
 When he asks this question of the servant who has 
 
284 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 come to borrow money, the man assures him all these 
 friends have been tried and found wanting. Hear- 
 ing this, Sempronius pretends to feel insulted be- 
 cause he was asked last, and for that reason refuses 
 to help Timon, exclaiming * who bates mine honour 
 shall not know my coin.' Leaving the room after 
 this burst of pretended virtuous indignation, Sem- 
 pronius does not hear the servant term him a villain, 
 or exclaim Timon is being sorely punished for his 
 lavishness, before he ruefully adds ' this is all a 
 liberal course allows; who cannot keep his wealth 
 must keep his house.' 
 
 We now return to Timon's dwelling, where the 
 creditors' servants have assembled, and are eagerly 
 asking whether Timon cannot be seen, and will not 
 pay their claims ? They conclude ' deepest winter ' 
 must have come to his purse, and one of them adds 
 he is ashamed of his master, who wears a jewel 
 Timon has not paid for, yet refuses to share any 
 of his wealth with his friend. They are still dis- 
 cussing this affair, when a servant passes through 
 the room, of whom they eagerly enquire when 
 Timon will appear? A moment later they perceive 
 the steward trying to slip out, so muffled up in a 
 cloak that he looks as if he were going ' away in a 
 cloud.' They, therefore, seize him and demand 
 money; whereupon he bluntly informs them none is 
 left, and that as his master has nothing for him to 
 reckon, he is about to leave. A moment later the 
 servant comes back, gravely informing the duns 
 Timon is too much out of health to see them. Such 
 being the case, the impudent duns declare he should 
 
Timon of Athens 285 
 
 pay his debts, so as to be reconciled to the gods and 
 depart in peace. 
 
 Their clamours for payment become so noisy at 
 last that Timon enters in a rage; but when all 
 thrust their bills at him, he rushes out again in 
 despair. Then, only, do they leave, exclaiming 
 their masters will have to consider these debts ' des- 
 perate ones, for a madman owes 'em,' and of course 
 insane persons are not held responsible for bills. 
 When they have gone Timon comes back into this 
 apartment, in company with his steward, railing 
 bitterly against the men who so cruelly dun him; 
 nevertheless, he soon bids Flavius go and invite these 
 false friends to a last feast, and when the man cries 
 there is nothing left to lay before them, vows he and 
 his cook will provide all that is necessary for this 
 final entertainment. 
 
 We now behold the senate house, where the sena- 
 tors have decided on the death of a soldier, a decree 
 against which Alcibiades comes to plead, indignantly 
 exclaiming that ' pity is the virtue of the law, and 
 none but tyrants use it cruelly.' As the senators 
 will not yield to his entreaties, and accuse him of 
 1 striving to make an ugly deed look fair,' Alcibiades 
 pleads the services this man has rendered the state on 
 different occasions, and the many wounds he has re- 
 ceived, and even reminds them of his own deserts. 
 The senators, however, remain obdurate, and when 
 Alcibiades reviles them, become so indignant Uiat 
 they banish him and go away. This decree calls forth 
 hot curses from Alcibiades, together with the threat 
 that he will collect all the discontented, and with 
 
286 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 their aid besiege Athens, of which he has no doubt 
 he will soon become master. He deems ' 'tis honour 
 with most lands to be at odds ; soldiers should brook 
 as little wrongs as gods,' and, therefore, goes off in 
 high dudgeon. 
 
 The curtain next rises on the banqueting-room in 
 Timon's house, where all has been prepared for the 
 guests, who come thronging into the house, as usual, 
 shamefacedly concluding all rumours have been false, 
 and that Timon has merely been testing their affec- 
 tion. All, therefore, glibly set forth their valid ex- 
 cuses for not honouring his demands, making their 
 refusals sound as plausible as possible, in hope of 
 deceiving each other. When Timon enters, they 
 surround him as usual with adulation, feeling sure 
 he is still the lavish host who will enrich them with 
 gifts, and declaring fulsomely ' the swallow follows 
 not summer more willing than we your lordship,' 
 when he invites them to the feast. 
 
 On crowding around the table, the guests per- 
 ceive none but covered dishes in sight, and hence 
 gleefully conclude they contain gifts to be lavished 
 upon them. Meantime, they openly continue their 
 remarks, regretting they could not oblige Timon 
 at the moment, and expressing amazement that Al- 
 cibiades should have incurred banishment. When 
 all are seated, Timon pronounces an extraordinarily 
 cynical grace, concluding with the words ' for these 
 my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in 
 nothing bless them, and to nothing are they wel- 
 come.' Then, with the words, ' uncover, dogs, and 
 lap,' Timon orders the covers of the dishes removed, 
 
Timon of Athens 287 
 
 and his guests perceive they contain nothing but hot 
 water! Because they stare in mute amazement, 
 Timon first reviles them as detested parasites, and 
 then throws the water in their faces, driving them 
 out amid the deafening clash of the dishes he hurls 
 after them. In this way the banqueting-room is 
 speedily cleared, and Timon, standing alone in the 
 midst of his wrecked fortunes, grimly vows he will 
 in future hold no feast ' whereat a villain's not a 
 welcome guest,' and that Athens shall ' henceforth 
 hated be of Timon, man, and all humanity ! ' 
 
 Only after he has gone, do the visitors sneak back 
 into the room to collect their belongings, marvelling 
 over what they term Timon's madness, and fran- 
 tically searching for the jewels which have fallen 
 from their caps, some of which were bestowed upon 
 them by Timon himself, who one day * gives us 
 diamonds, next day stones.' 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens outside the walls 
 of Athens, just as Timon, leaving the city, gazes 
 his last upon it, and curses it volubly, calling down 
 every imaginable woe upon the place where he was 
 once so happy, and whence he now flees in wrath, 
 hoping ' his hate may grow to the whole race of 
 mankind, high and low ! ' Leaving everything be- 
 hind him, he intends to take refuge in the woods, 
 1 where he shall find the unkindest beast more kinder 
 than mankind.' 
 
 We next behold a room in Timon's house, where 
 Flavius sadly takes leave of his fellow-servants, all 
 of whom bewail their master's departure and regret 
 his friends should have shrunk away from him. One 
 
288 Stories of Shakespeare 1 f s Tragedies 
 
 and all declare they would gladly do anything in 
 their power for Timon, until the steward, touched 
 by their devotion, assures them as long as he has 
 anything left he will gladly share it with them. 
 Exclaiming, ' thus part we rich in sorrow/ all em- 
 brace and go, the steward murmuring he will fol- 
 low Timon, who ' flung in rage from this ingrateful 
 seat of monstrous friends.' He wishes to follow his 
 master, because he knows Timon has taken noth- 
 ing with him to maintain life, and resolves, ' I'll 
 ever serve his mind with my best will ; whilst I have 
 gold, I'll be his steward still.' 
 
 We now view an abandoned spot near the sea- 
 shore, in the midst of the woods, where Timon, 
 issuing from a rude cave, blesses the sun, although in 
 the same breath he accuses it of causing great harm 
 on earth. He now has nothing but curses left to 
 bestow upon mankind, and all he asks of earth is a 
 few roots to sustain his failing strength. While dig- 
 ging for them, Timon accidentally discovers a huge 
 treasure of gold, which he vehemently curses, for 
 he knows this metal brings nought but evil in the 
 world! His eloquence in regard to the liarm gold 
 can do is astounding, and he has just decided not to 
 allow this treasure to be seen, lest it do more dam- 
 age, and has barely covered it over, — reserving a 
 part for his immediate needs, — when music is heard 
 in the distance, which causes him to hurry. 
 
 A moment later Alcibiades marches upon the 
 scene, followed by an army of discontented men. He 
 is flanked on either side by gay courtesans, and no 
 sooner beholds the hermit than he eagerly enquires 
 
Timon of Athens 289 
 
 who he may be? When Timon morosely rejoins 
 he is one who hates mankind, Alcibiades exclaims 
 in that case he should follow him! Timon, how- 
 ever, refuses to do this, although he approves of 
 Alcibiades' intentions, which are ' with man's blood ' 
 to ' paint the ground.' On beholding the courtesans, 
 Timon exchanges curses with them, ere Alcibiades 
 enquires what he can do for him, for by this time he 
 has recognised his former host. After wringing from 
 Alcibiades a solemn promise to execute his wishes, 
 Timon enjoins upon him to do all the harm he can 
 to Athens and the world, and bids the courtesans 
 also do their very worst. In order to help in what 
 he terms this worthy undertaking, Timon, hearing 
 they have only the slight funds which they gener- 
 ously offer to share with him, lavishes upon them 
 the gold he has found, hoping it will enable them 
 to carry out their plans. But while loading Alci- 
 biades and the courtesans with wealth, Timon ac- 
 companies his gift with curses, suggesting all the 
 harm they can do by means of these new subsidies. 
 Delighted with having thus obtained new sinews for 
 war, the troops go off to destroy Athens, while 
 Timon accompanies their departing footsteps with a 
 rumble of curses. 
 
 When all have gone, Timon reverts to his dig- 
 ging, as he is anxious to secure one poor root to sus- 
 tain life; and he is still greedily gnawing this find, 
 when the philosopher Apemantus joins him, stating 
 he has heard Timon is following his example and 
 living like a cynic. He enquires the meaning of the 
 spade, and asks why Timon has withdrawn to this 
 
290 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 remote place, giving vent meanwhile to many morose 
 views. Finally he advises Timon to forego every- 
 thing else, and turn flatterer, reminding him how his 
 friends thus obtained rich gifts from him, and sug- 
 gesting he might ' seek to thrive by that which has 
 undone thee.' These suggestions prove unwelcome 
 to Timon, who bids the philosopher begone and play 
 the flatterer and knave if he will, declaring he him- 
 self is too proud to do so and prefers to live on the 
 roots he digs. In pity for Timon's fallen estate, 
 the philosopher expresses compassion, until Timon 
 assures him he has more gold than he can use. Even 
 the philosopher now shows signs of toadying, and the 
 conversation continues, until Timon, irritated by the 
 philosopher's cynical remarks, drives him away by 
 pelting him with stones, thus earning his curses 
 also. 
 
 Sick of the world, and feeling it time to prepare 
 for death, Timon now decides to carve his own 
 epitaph, so ' that death in me at others' lives may 
 laugh.' Then, suddenly remembering his treasure, 
 he again mentions it, his words being overheard by 
 the philosopher, who has stolen back to spy upon 
 him, and who decides to publish abroad that Timon 
 has found a treasure ! 
 
 Soon after, we behold some bandits, wondering 
 how Timon can still have such stores of gold, and 
 why in that case he lives in such a deserted spot? 
 These thieves are, however, determined to obtain 
 the treasure, and for that purpose cautiously ap- 
 proach Timon, describing themselves as soldiers in 
 want. When Timon bids them feed upon the roots 
 
Timon of Athens 291 
 
 in the ground and the berries on the bushes, they re- 
 tort it is impossible to thrive upon such things, so 
 he gives them large sums of gold, adding curses to 
 his gift, and bidding them continue their evil 
 courses, robbing each other, cutting throats, and 
 doing every harm they can think of. His curses 
 and evil suggestions almost disgust the bandits with 
 their trade, because ' 'tis in the malice of mankind ' 
 never to wish to do what one is told. 
 
 The bandits having gone, the steward enters, mur- 
 muring his poor master must now be in a sorry 
 plight, and hoping he can still serve him out of love. 
 When Flavius addresses Timon, the latter pretends 
 to have forgotten him ; and when the steward insists 
 he is an honest poor servant of his, mutters he never 
 had an honest man about him! Still, when Flavius 
 actually weeps over his misfortunes, Timon is so 
 touched that when his man offers him all he owns, 
 he wonders how he did not sooner recognise the one 
 honest man in his company. Nevertheless, he re- 
 fuses the steward's offers, telling him that instead of 
 receiving he can bestow upon him enough to make 
 him rich. He then gives Flavius a large part of 
 the treasure he has found, bitterly bidding him live 
 rich and happy, and never show charity to any one, 
 for no one will have pity upon him should he ever 
 be in need. Although anxious to stay with his 
 master and comfort him, Flavius is dismissed by 
 Timon, with the injunction never to come again. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens in the same forest, 
 before Timon's cave, just as poet and painter draw 
 near, remarking that Alcibiades and the two cour- 
 
292 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 tesans report their former patron still has wealth 
 to bestow. They have also heard rumours of the 
 fashion in which Timon has enriched stragglers and 
 his steward, so come here in hopes that their 
 Mecaenas will again lavish money upon them. Hid- 
 den in the thicket, Timon overhears the hypocritical 
 plot they are weaving to persuade him they have not 
 forgotten him, but have come here merely to offer 
 him their services. 
 
 While the two artists are talking, Timon ex- 
 presses his views in an aside, vowing he will sur- 
 prise them presently by meeting them as if by acci- 
 dent, and murmuring ' then do we sin against our 
 own estate, when we may profit meet, and come too 
 late.' A moment after, stealing around behind the 
 bushes, he meets his visitors face to face, and when 
 they greet him, pretends to be happy to see two hon- 
 est men. When the painter and poet assure him 
 they have come to offer their services and share his 
 lot, he innocently enquires whether they can eat 
 roots, and drink cold water? Hearing them vow 
 they will do anything he wishes, Timon angrily turns 
 upon them, saying he knows they have learned he 
 is wealthy. Then, after a little more talk, instead 
 of bestowing upon them some of the riches they are 
 so anxious to receive, he informs them he has already 
 given them gold enough, and drives them away with 
 harsh blows. 
 
 A little while later, Flavius draws near with two 
 senators, assuring them it will be vain to apply to 
 Timon, who no longer looks or acts like a man, and 
 is not willing to be friends with any one. The sena- 
 
Timon of Athens 293 
 
 tors, however, insist upon being led to the cave, and 
 on reaching its entrance, summon Timon to come 
 forth and speak to them. Issuing from this den 
 with curses upon his lips, Timon is greeted by the 
 senators, who inform him they have come hither to 
 lead him back to the city, and there invest him 
 with certain dignities, for they attribute all the mis- 
 fortunes which have befallen Athens of late to the 
 city's ingratitude toward him. 
 
 Although Timon declares they surprise him, they 
 insist upon his returning to Athens, vowing his mere 
 presence will enable them to drive back Alcibiades, 
 who is even now approaching, and who ' like a boar 
 too savage, doth uproot his country's peace.' 
 
 To this speech Timon rejoins he doesn't care 
 if Alcibiades does kill his countrymen, sack fair 
 Athens, and bring every imaginable woe upon its 
 unfortunate people. He declares his sole occu- 
 pation now consists in carving his epitaph, for he 
 soon expects to die, as he feels his ' long sickness of 
 health and living now begins to mend.' Mean- 
 while, he cynically hopes Alcibiades will prove their 
 plague and they his. Perceiving it is vain to try and 
 persuade him further, the senators depart, Timon 
 calling out after them that a tree still stands near 
 his cave, where his friends can come and hang them- 
 selves, if they like, ere it falls beneath his axe. Then, 
 retiring into the cave, Timon watches the senators 
 depart, convinced that their hopes in him are dead 
 and that they will have to ' strain what other means 
 is left unto us in our dear peril.' 
 
 Before the walls of Athens two other senators 
 
294 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 meeting a messenger, eagerly enquire whether Alci- 
 biades' troops are as formidable as has been declared, 
 and whether Athens is really doomed? They are 
 also anxious to know whether he has met the sena- 
 tors despatched in quest of Timon, and are dismayed 
 to learn that they have failed to bring him and that 
 Alcibiades is near at hand. Then the senators ap- 
 pear, vowing nothing is to be expected of Timon, 
 and that their fall is near since the drums of the 
 enemy can already be heard. 
 
 We again return to the woods near Timon's cave, 
 where only a rude tomb is now to be seen. A soldier, 
 penetrating into this solitude to seek Timon, seems 
 surprised to discover a tomb bearing a fresh in- 
 scription. As he cannot read it, he decides to take 
 its imprint in wax, so his captain Alcibiades, now 
 besieging Athens, ' whose fall the mark of his am- 
 bition is,' can interpret it for him. 
 
 The rising curtain next reveals the walls of 
 Athens, just as Alcibiades' trumpets announce his 
 approach to the cowardly and lascivious town. At 
 this martial summons, senators appear upon the 
 walls, and Alcibiades arraigns them for their crimes. 
 To placate his wrath they assure him every effort 
 has been made to atone for former mistakes, and that 
 they are now anxious to have him and Timon back in 
 their midst. They add that it behooves him to show 
 mercy, because few in town are guilty of offending 
 him, and that the rest should be exempt from his 
 wrath. In their terror, they offer to submit to any 
 humiliation, provided he will enter their city in a 
 friendly mood. Called upon to cast down his glove 
 
Timon of Athens 295 
 
 in sign of consent, Alcibiades soon does so, and 
 bids the Athenians throw open their gates. All he 
 requires is that they shall surrender to him his own 
 and Timon's foes; in exchange he promises to spare 
 the rest. This decision satisfies the senators, who 
 therefore descend to open the gates. 
 
 Meantime, the soldier rushes up announcing to 
 Alcibiades that Timon rests in a tomb close by the 
 sea, and that on his grave stands an inscription whose 
 waxen impression he produces. Alcibiades, there- 
 upon reads aloud Timon's epitaph, which is, ' Here 
 lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: seek 
 not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs 
 left ! Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men 
 did hate: pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and 
 stay not here thy gait.' 
 
 This grim epitaph convinces Alcibiades that his 
 friend is dead, so, turning to the senators, he bids 
 them lead him into the city, where he proposes to 
 ' use the olive with my sword, make war breed 
 peace, make peace stint war, make each prescribe 
 to other, as each other's leech.' Then he marches 
 into the city, like a conqueror, in the midst of drum- 
 beats ! 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 Act I. The prologue states that the scene is 
 located in Troy, whither sixty-nine haughty Greek 
 princes have gone to recover Helen, the kidnapped 
 wife of Menelaus. The fight has lasted seven years 
 when begins the play, which the prologue bids us 
 ' like or find fault ; do as your pleasures are : now 
 good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.' 
 
 The first act opens in Troy, before the palace 
 of Priam, where Troilus, one of his younger sons, 
 talking to Pandarus, asks to be disarmed, and refuses 
 to continue fighting without the gates while so cruel 
 a conflict rages in his heart. When Pandarus en- 
 quires whether the war shows no signs of ending, 
 Troilus rejoins the Greeks are too strong to be 
 routed, and that his mental conflict makes him 
 1 weaker than a woman's tear.' He, therefore, pays 
 little heed to his companion's speeches, most of which 
 contain wearisome reiterations and the fussy asser- 
 tion: I'll not meddle nor make no further.' 
 
 When Pandarus finally suggests that Troilus, 
 whose wishes he has been furthering, is too impa- 
 tient, the youth rejoins he is patience incarnate, for, 
 constantly thinking of Cressida, he has nevertheless 
 disguised his feelings before his family. To pacify 
 him, Pandarus admits his niece, although only the 
 daughter of a renegade priest, surpasses Helen in 
 
 296 
 
Troilus and Cressida 297 
 
 beauty and Cassandra in wit. Like a true lover, 
 Troilus then indulges in raptures about his lady- 
 love, declaring her charms unparalleled. To set 
 them forth he uses eloquent similes; Pandarus, by 
 means of clever contradiction, meantime urging him 
 on, until summoned away by trumpet-calls. 
 
 Left alone, Troilus exclaims he longs to win Cres- 
 sida's heart, and regrets he can find access to her 
 only through Pandarus, who is ' as tetchy to be 
 woo'd to woo, as she is stubborn-chaste against all 
 suit.' Then he wonders whether Daphne seemed 
 as fair to Apollo, and sentimentally compares his 
 beloved to an Indian pearl, and her uncle to the 
 vessel by means of which he hopes to reach her. 
 
 Just then iEneas appears, asking why Troilus is 
 not on the field of battle ? The young prince, after 
 replying with a womanish ' because,' demands what 
 news there is, only to be told Paris has been wounded 
 by Menelaus. Then the trumpets sound again and 
 iEneas, by exclaiming there is ' good sport out of 
 town to-day,' entices Troilus to sally forth and take 
 part in it. 
 
 In a street of Troy we next behold Cressida, ask- 
 ing her man-servant who are the two women hurry- 
 ing past? She learns they are Hecuba and Helen, 
 bound for a tower which commands the whole val- 
 ley, from whence they can witness the battle. The 
 servant adds that Hector, ' whose patience is, as a 
 virtue, fixed,' proved strangely impatient to-day, for 
 it is rumoured he chid his wife, and struck his 
 armourer, ere he hastened off to the fray, undeterred 
 by sundry omens of bad luck. When Cressida won- 
 
298 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ders what caused the Trojan hero's anger, the serv- 
 ant informs her that Ajax, who is ' as valiant as the 
 lion,' ' as churlish as the bear,' and as ' slow as the 
 elephant,' got the better of him the day before, and 
 that since then, shame and rage have kept Hector 
 ' fasting and waking.' 
 
 At this moment Pandarus joins his niece and, 
 after dismissing her servant, enquires what they were 
 discussing when he appeared? In reply, Cressida 
 informs him Hector went in a rage to take part in 
 the fray, and that Helen has not yet arisen. Know- 
 ing the cause of Hector's rage, Pandarus fancies he 
 will do great things to-day, but asserts ' Troilus will 
 not come far behind him,' for he is anxious to interest 
 Cressida in the latter's affairs. Pretending not to 
 know whom he means, Cressida by her teasing, dis- 
 paraging remarks, induces Pandarus to praise Troilus 
 above Hector, Paris, and the rest. Next, she coaxes 
 him to retail some racy court gossip, one item of 
 which is Helen's witticism on discovering a white 
 hair on Troilus' chin. Their mocking, suggestive 
 conversation continues until the retreat sounds, caus- 
 ing Pandarus to exclaim the warriors are returning 
 so they can pass them in review. 
 
 Anxious to behold so martial a sight, Cressida ac- 
 companies him, and Pandarus points out to her the 
 brave ^neas, the shrewd Antenor, the bloodstained 
 Hector, the unwounded Paris; and, last of all, 
 Troilus, whom he has repeatedly pronounced brav- 
 est of all, although not yet twenty-three. With 
 enthusiasm he calls her attention to his hero's bloody 
 sword and hacked helmet, vowing ' Paris is dirt to 
 
Troikis and Cressida 299 
 
 him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give 
 an eye to boot.' Then, as the bulk of the army files 
 past, Pandarus contemptuously terms the soldiers 
 ' crows and daws,' and continues to chant Troilus' 
 praises. 
 
 They are busy discussing this youth, whom Cres- 
 sida still affects to depreciate, when Troilus' page 
 summons Pandarus to his master. Declaring he 
 fears the young hero may be wounded, Pandarus 
 hastens away, playfully promising to bring his niece 
 a love-token from Troilus ere long. 
 
 Left alone Cressida, who has betrayed lewdness 
 in her conversation, declares she knows her uncle 
 wishes to make a match between her and Troilus, 
 and adds that, although she sees a thousand-fold 
 more in the young hero ' than in the glass of Pan- 
 dar's praise may be,' she is holding off, merely be- 
 cause ' men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.' 
 Besides, she 1 deems ' that she was never yet that 
 ever knew love got so sweet as when desire did sue.' 
 Sure, therefore, that Troilus will appreciate her more 
 if hard to obtain, she decides to disguise her real 
 feelings, for ' women are angels, wooing,' but 
 1 things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.' 
 
 We are now transferred to the Greek camp, before 
 Agamemnon's tent, just as he issues from it, telling 
 his companions that the reason they are no nearer 
 success at the end of seven years' warfare is lack 
 of unity in their forces. The aged Nestor, who 
 patiently listens to his long speech, answers it by 
 one of equal length, ere Ulysses suggests to them 
 both their ends can yet be secured. Asked to ex- 
 
30O Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 press himself freely, since he will not rail like 
 Thersites, Ulysses cleverly expounds that there are 
 many ' hollow factions ' in their party. Then he 
 adds that, just as all things in the universe have 
 their appointed place, harmony and unity should 
 reign in their ranks. He vows the main trouble lies 
 in the fact that each Greek wishes to be a leader, 
 although ' take but degree away, untune that string, 
 and, hark, what discord follows! ' He winds up his 
 argument by stating • Troy in our weakness stands, 
 not in her strength,' for he has proved that, had 
 not the Greeks been divided, they would have tri- 
 umphed long ago over their foes. 
 
 Nestor readily agrees that Ulysses ' discover'd the 
 fever whereof all our power is sick,' but when 
 Agamemnon asks what remedy he would suggest, 
 Ulysses rejoins that the divisions which have crept 
 in among the Greeks are mainly due to the atti- 
 tude of Achilles and of his men. Then, to stir 
 up his hearers' resentment, he artfully describes how 
 Achilles amuses his leisure by making his friend 
 Patroclus mimic them all in turn. Resenting this 
 mockery, Agamemnon and Nestor declare it is time 
 to act, for many of the Greeks are about to desert 
 them; and, deeming their policy mere cowardice, 
 Ajax has grown self-willed and Thersites insolent. 
 
 They have reached this point in the discussion 
 when trumpet-blasts resound, heralding a deputation 
 from Troy. At its head marches /^Eneas, who 
 haughtily enquires for the Greek general's tent, 
 demanding by what outward signs he can recog- 
 nise Agamemnon, as he wishes to assume proper 
 
Troilus and Cressida 301 
 
 demeanour in his presence. The chief of the Greeks, 
 who has personally answered these questions, deem- 
 ing them dictated by scorn, now retorts so haughtily 
 that, discovering whom he addresses, iEneas requests 
 a private interview. He is told, however, that his 
 message will have to be proclaimed before the 
 Greek host, as Agamemnon refuses all private com- 
 munication with the foe. Bidding his trumpeter 
 blow a loud blast, iEneas then proclaims that Hector 
 challenges any Greek to single combat in honour 
 of their lady-loves, and is ready to meet any cham- 
 pion midway between the camps on the morrow. 
 
 On hearing this, Agamemnon replies the challenge 
 shall be made known to the Greeks, adding that 
 should none respond he will do so himself. This 
 assurance is echoed by the aged Nestor, who feels so 
 sure Greek women surpass their Trojan sisters in 
 attractions, that he is willing to ' prove this truth 
 with my three drops of blood.' The bystanders, 
 however, exclaim such a move will not be necessary, 
 ere Agamemnon invites the Trojans to his tent to 
 partake of refreshments, giving orders that /Eneas' 
 proclamation be repeated through the camp. 
 
 The scene being deserted by all save Ulysses and 
 Nestor, the former draws his aged companion aside, 
 to inform him he feels certain this challenge is in 
 reality addressed to Achilles, although he has not 
 been named. To shame this hero, sly Ulysses pro- 
 poses to deprive him of all chance to accept Hector's 
 challenge, and suggests that lots be drawn among 
 the Greeks, it being cleverly arranged that Ajax 
 shall meet the Trojan. The foe will naturally as- 
 
302 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 sume Ajax is the best Greek warrier; but, Ulysses 
 sagely adds, ' if he fail, yet go we under our opinion 
 still that we have better men.' Should Ajax win, 
 however, Achilles will have suffered the double 
 humiliation of having been passed over, and of see- 
 ing an inferior warrior triumph over the very foe he 
 has longed to conquer. Nestor sagely agrees to 
 his statement, ' Ajax employ 'd plucks down Achilles' 
 plumes,' ere he goes off to propose this subtle scheme 
 to the other Greek chiefs. 
 
 Act II. The second act opens in the Greek camp, 
 just as Thersites, a professional joker, is making 
 the rounds to repeat Eneas' proclamation. When 
 he encounters Ajax, they exchange conundrums and 
 witticisms, the latter soon assuming such acerbity 
 that Ajax beats the messenger, who takes his re- 
 venge in scurrilous abuse. After many words have 
 been wasted, and while Ajax is striking Thersites for 
 the third time, Achilles and Patroclus appear, en- 
 quiring what this means. In angry tones, Thersites 
 vows Ajax has no wit at all, wasting many words 
 while making this statement and barely avoiding an- 
 other chastisement. When he has gone, without 
 having delivered his message, Achilles volunteers 
 he has heard that Hector is challenging the Greeks 
 to single combat on the morrow. Because Ajax 
 eagerly asks who is their champion, Achilles rejoins 
 it is to be decided by lottery, and departs with 
 Patroclus, leaving Ajax to find out as best he can, 
 more about the affair. 
 
 The next scene is played in Priam's palace, at 
 Troy, just as the aged king informs his sons how 
 
Troilus and Cressida 303 
 
 Nestor has again summoned them to surrender 
 Helen, and indemnify the Greeks for their losses 
 during the past seven years. Although not in favour 
 of yielding, Hector admits he never deemed it right 
 to detain Helen, a statement which irritates Troilus, 
 who opines that, having encouraged Paris, they 
 should stand by him now. Besides, he deems his 
 brother rash to weigh ' the worth and honour of a 
 king so great as our dread father in a scale of 
 common ounces,' or to declare Helen ' is not worth 
 what she doth cost the holding.' 
 
 They are still discussing this matter when Cas- 
 sandra rushes on the stage, wailing that Paris, their 
 ' firebrand brother,' will destroy them all ! In her 
 ravings she terms Helen their scourge, and predicts 
 ruin, crying, ' Troy burns, or else let Helen go.' 
 All present, save Hector, deeming her insane, con- 
 sider these mere ' brain-sick raptures ;' still, all com- 
 ment upon her remarks, until Paris exclaims it 
 would be a shame to give up Helen ' on terms 
 of base compulsion ! ' He declares ' well may we 
 fight for her whom, we know well, the world's large 
 spaces cannot parallel,' and thus determines them to 
 continue the war. Wishing to prove he is not afraid, 
 Hector explains he has sent a challenge to the Greeks, 
 although he still insists that ' thus to persist in 
 doing wrong extenuates not wrong, but makes it 
 much more heavy.' 
 
 We now return to the Greek camp, where Ther- 
 sites is indulging in a monologue before Achilles' 
 tent, in which he denounces Ajax for ill-treating 
 him. In the midst of his railing, Patroclus and 
 
304 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 Achilles join him, and begin a conversation bristling 
 with witticisms and misunderstandings. In its 
 course, Thersites demonstrates that the Greeks are 
 fools to allow themselves to be ordered around by 
 Agamemnon, and adds he is of opinion that should 
 Troy not be taken until Patroclus and Achilles 
 undermine it, its ' walls will stand till they fall by 
 themselves.' After a while, wearying of this talk, 
 Achilles returns to his tent, declaring he doesn't wish 
 to see any one, while Thersites gleefully mutters he 
 has set things in train by his railing! 
 
 A moment after Thersites has departed, Agamem- 
 non appears, asking for Achilles, whom Patroclus 
 reports ill-disposed and in his tent. Hearing this, 
 Agamemnon haughtily demands why Achilles re- 
 fuses to receive his messengers, adding that he has 
 laid aside his dignity to come in person and find 
 out what this means. While Patroclus goes into the 
 tent to summon his friend, Agamemnon's followers 
 assure him Achilles is not ill, since they saw him at 
 the door of the tent as they drew near. Ajax, who 
 owes the hero a grudge for beguiling his fool Ther- 
 sites away from him, now tries to set Agamemnon 
 against Achilles, while Nestor and Ulysses whisper 
 that his wrath is justifiable. Very soon Patroclus 
 returns, saying his master hopes the chiefs have come 
 merely for pleasure, and by way of exercise, as he 
 is sorry not to be able to receive them. Declaring 
 they must see Achilles, Agamemnon again demands 
 admittance, and when Patroclus departs to carry 
 this message, sends Ulysses after him to ask for a 
 personal interview. 
 
Troilus and Cressida 305 
 
 Meantime, Ajax urges Agamemnon to show some 
 pride until the chief testily reminds him ' he that is 
 proud eats up himself.' They are arguing this point 
 when Ulysses returns, reporting that Achilles refuses 
 to go into battle on the morrow, but will give no 
 other excuse save his pleasure. Hearing this, 
 Agamemnon suggests that Ajax try and mollify the 
 hero, a suggestion Ulysses combats, claiming such a 
 move would only increase Achilles' pride. His 
 arguments are approved by Nestor and Diomedes, 
 who shrewdly note their effect, not only upon 
 Agamemnon, but also upon the vain Ajax, who is 
 moved thereby to loud boasting. Then, as pre- 
 arranged, under pretence of calming Ajax's fury, 
 the three sarcastically urge him on until the foolish 
 fellow accompanies them to the council, worked up 
 to the right pitch to serve as their tool. The act, 
 therefore, closes with Agamemnon's oracular, 
 ' Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
 deep.' 
 
 Act III. The third act opens in the palace of 
 Priam, where Pandarus enquires of a servant 
 whether he is not a follower of Paris? After some 
 witty remarks the servant admits he is, and reveals 
 the fact that the music they hear is played in Helen's 
 honour. Hearing the adjectives he lavishes upon 
 Helen, Pandarus suggests they would better fit his 
 niece Cressida, ere he states he has a message from 
 Troilus to Paris. Just then Paris and Helen 
 enter, and after exchanging remarks with him which 
 smack far more of Elizabethan than Homeric times, 
 try to induce him to sing. Although coy, Pandarus 
 
306 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 finally yields to persuasions and all comment upon 
 his selection. Presently, Paris mentions the fact 
 that Helen would not let him go out to-day, and 
 asks why Troilus is not in the fray. When Pan- 
 darus has gone, he informs Helen that since she 
 detained him from the battle-field, she must go with 
 him and watch the warriors return home, personally 
 disarming the brave Hector, a feat no enemy has 
 ever been able to compass. 
 
 The curtain next rises on Pandarus' orchard, 
 where, strolling about, he enquires of a servant where 
 Troilus may be. The lad rejoins his master is wait- 
 ing for Pandarus to conduct him to his niece Cres- 
 sida, just as Troilus comes upon the scene. Then, 
 the boy having withdrawn, Troilus confesses he has 
 been stalking about his beloved's door ' like a strange 
 soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage,' 
 and implores Pandarus to play the part of Charon 
 and conduct him to his niece, an office the uncle 
 is only too ready to perform. He suggests, however, 
 that Troilus await the lady in this orchard, and 
 while he goes to fetch her, the youth soliloquises that 
 if ' the imaginary relish is so sweet that it enchants 
 my sense,' he can not imagine what realisation will 
 be! In fact, he thinks it 'some joy too fine, too 
 subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, for the 
 capacity of my ruder powers.' Just then Pandarus 
 returns, announcing his niece will soon be here, and 
 bidding Troilus show his wit when she appears, en- 
 couraging him by describing the emotion she showed. 
 
 A moment later he introduces Cressida to Troilus, 
 urging them to kiss without further ado, and leaves 
 
Troilus and Cressida 3°7 
 
 them after uttering sundry facetious remarks in bad 
 taste. Speechless at first, Troilus soon finds his 
 tongue and begins a love dialogue, in which Cres- 
 sida, with pretended innocence, invites him into the 
 house. Before Troilus can comply with her invita- 
 tion, Pandarus returns, still joking on their love- 
 affairs in a lewd way. Pretending to be emboldened 
 by his presence, Cressida confesses she has long loved 
 Troilus, and has frequently wished she were a man 
 so as to have the privilege of speaking first. Then, 
 affecting to consider she has been too bold, she 
 bashfully exclaims ' see, your silence, cunning in 
 dumbness, from my weakness draws my very soul of 
 counsel ! ' In her confusion, she declares Troilus 
 should stop her mouth, which he does with a kiss, to 
 her simulated dismay. 
 
 In the course of his conversation with Cressida, 
 Troilus questions whether it is within woman's 
 power to remain faithful, while she declares that, 
 ' to be wise and love exceeds man's might!' He 
 vows that his own feelings are such that hereafter 
 his name will be a synonym for fidelity, whereupon 
 Cressida assures him that, in case she proves faith- 
 less, she is willing people should adopt the term 
 * as false as Cressida.' This talk so charms Pan- 
 darus that he invites the lovers into the house, 
 vowing after he has taken such pains to bring 
 them together, that he is willing all ' pitiful goers- 
 between ' should be called by his name ! Then, he 
 urges them to retire, and the curtain falls upon his 
 lascivious valediction. 
 
 We are next transferred to the Greek camp before 
 
308 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Achilles' tent, where Calchas, addressing Agamem- 
 non and the other chiefs, claims in return for his 
 services, that their prisoner, Antenor, be exchanged 
 for his daughter Cressida, who still remains in Troy. 
 This request is immediately granted by Agamem- 
 non, who bids Diomedes undertake the embassy, 
 bringing word, besides, whether Hector will consent 
 to meet Ajax. After Diomedes has gone with 
 Calchas, Achilles is seen at the door of his tent 
 with Patroclus. Speaking to the rest, Ulysses sug- 
 gests they disappoint this hero by marching past him 
 with careless or cold greetings. He decides to pass 
 last, knowing Achilles will stop him to ascertain 
 the cause for so discourteous behaviour. The fact 
 that ' pride hath no other glass to show itself but 
 pride,' makes all present agree to this plan, and, one 
 after another file past Achilles, greeting him care- 
 lessly, although he assumes they are coming to visit 
 him and urge him to fight against Troy. Watching 
 them out of sight, Achilles marvels at such be- 
 haviour, which Patroclus wonderingly compares with 
 their former obsequiousness, until, his pride up in 
 arms, the hero vows ' 'tis certain, greatness, once 
 fall'n out with fortune, must fall out with men too,' 
 and decides to question Ulysses, who draws near 
 reading a letter. 
 
 When Achilles, after some preliminaries, suspi- 
 ciously asks whether his companions ' find out some- 
 thing not worth in me such rich beholding as they 
 have often given,' Ulysses pretends not to under- 
 stand him, and replies Ajax is to meet Hector in the 
 coming fight. Learning thus that he is passed over 
 
Troihis and Cressida 309 
 
 ' as misers do by beggars,' Achilles becomes so in- 
 dignant that Ulysses coolly reminds him ' Time 
 hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, wherein he puts 
 alms for oblivion,' thus giving him plainly to under- 
 stand how, by his conduct, he has forfeited the 
 respect of many among the Greeks. In his speech 
 occur many fine lines, including the statements that 
 * perseverance keeps honour bright,' ' one touch of 
 nature makes the whole world kin,' and that ' since 
 things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not 
 stirs,' Achilles is no longer their cynosure. Then he 
 further hints that they have discovered he is court- 
 ing one of Priam's daughters, a proceeding the young 
 son he left at home will sorely mourn, as he will 
 also to hear that Ajax had the honour of defeating 
 Hector in his father's stead. 
 
 Ulysses having departed, Patroclus suggests 
 Achilles must rouse himself if he does not wish to 
 be set aside. The one thing Achilles cannot bear 
 is the fact that Ajax will meet Hector; yet, since 
 this is fixed, he decides to send the fool Thersites 
 to Ajax, asking that, after the combat, the Trojan 
 lords may sup in his tent. Just then Thersites 
 enters, reporting Ajax so elated at the thought of 
 fighting Hector that it looks as if he would break 
 his neck ' in vain-glory.' Interrupting his tirade, 
 Achilles bids him carry his message, after making 
 him repeat it to make sure he will deliver it straight. 
 As he goes out, Achilles exclaims c my mind is 
 troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; and I myself see 
 not the bottom of it,' while the fool ardently hopes 
 his mind will soon clear, exclaiming contemptuously, 
 
310 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 * I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a 
 valiant ignorance.' 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act opens in a street in 
 Troy, where Paris beholds iEneas bearing a torch. 
 After rallying him on being up so early, and telling 
 him that with so lovely a companion he should 
 not leave her so soon, iEneas explains he is escorting 
 Diomedes into the city to exchange Cressida for 
 Antenor. 
 
 On meeting the Greek Diomedes, iEneas bids 
 him welcome ' during all question of the gentle 
 truce ; but when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
 as heart can think or courage execute.' Then, learn- 
 ing Diomedes' errand, and knowing Troilus has 
 spent this night with Cressida, he fancies his kinsman 
 would rather ' Troy were borne to Greece, than 
 Cressid borne from Troy.' Because Paris states 
 they have no choice save to obey, they pass on, Paris 
 conceitedly enquiring of Diomedes whom he con- 
 siders worthier of Helen, himself or Menelaus ? To 
 this Diomedes contemptuously remarks that neither 
 seems hard to please, since both make no l scruple 
 of her soilure.' When Paris pronounces him too 
 bitter toward his countrywoman, Diomedes retorts 
 she has been bitter to her country, ' every false 
 drop ' in her veins having cost a Greek his life, and 
 ' every scruple of her contaminated carrion weight ' 
 the fall of a Trojan. To this Paris rejoins Diomedes 
 is acting like a chapman, dispraising the very thing 
 he desires to buy, ere both go off to fulfil their 
 errands. 
 
 The curtain next rises in the house of Pandarus, 
 
Troilus and Cressida 311 
 
 where Troilus and Cressida are seen, the lover im- 
 ploring his lady not to accompany him further, but 
 to return to bed and sleep. When he declares the 
 larks are singing, Cressida claims the night has been 
 all too brief, and that she might perchance have 
 induced him to tarry longer, had she not yielded so 
 readily to his entreaties. Just then her uncle ap- 
 pears and she simpers he will surely tease them, 
 expectations duly fulfilled, for Pandarus indulges in 
 sundry coarse jokes. His remarks are, however, an- 
 swered in kind by Cressida, who continues this 
 bantering talk with him until the sound of a knock 
 causes her to draw her lover into an inner room, for 
 she doesn't wish him to be seen. 
 
 On opening the door, Pandarus discovers .ZEneas, 
 and when he enquires for Troilus, wonders with 
 pretended innocence that any one should seek that 
 prince here. .ZEneas, however, insists upon seeing 
 his kinsman, as he has an important message to de- 
 liver; so Troilus, who has been listening, steps for- 
 ward asking what he wants? Compassionately, 
 iEneas answers that Paris is coming with Diomedes, 
 who has arrived in Troy to exchange Antenor for 
 Cressida. Unable to believe this, until assured it has 
 been decided in solemn council, Troilus, struck to 
 the heart, declares he will go and meet the mes- 
 sengers, and bids iEneas reveal to no one where he 
 was. Assuring him ' the secrets of nature have not 
 more gift in taciturnity,' ^Eneas leads him out to 
 meet Diomedes, while Pandarus curses Antenor, 
 wishing he had broken his neck, for he opines this 
 separation will drive Troilus mad. 
 
312 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 Just then Cressida enters, and noticing her uncle's 
 dejection, demands its cause. When she finally hears 
 her father is claiming her, she passionately declares 
 she will not leave Troy, for she has forgotten all 
 ties save the one which binds her to her lover, whom 
 her absence will slay. Her uncle, however, assures 
 her she will have to obey, whereupon she protests 
 all her time henceforth will be spent in sobs and 
 tears ! 
 
 The next scene is played in the street in front of 
 Pandarus' house, where Paris declares the hour has 
 come to surrender Cressida, and bids Troilus go in 
 and prepare her for their coming. In return Troilus 
 promises to deliver the damsel with his own hand, 
 although it will seem as if he were leading a victim 
 to the altar. He has no sooner vanished in the 
 house than Paris remarks that knowing what it 
 is to love, he wishes he could help his brother in 
 some way. 
 
 We now return to the interior of Pandarus' house, 
 just as he is urging his niece to moderate her grief, 
 and is being chidden for such advice, as her ' love 
 admits no qualifying dross.' Just then Troilus 
 enters and is rapturously embraced by Cressida, Pan- 
 darus watching this demonstration while mockingly 
 quoting the lines of a popular play which he pre- 
 tends to admire. Telling Cressida he loves her so 
 dearly the gods are taking her from him, Troilus in- 
 forms her she will have to leave Troy, and their 
 parting is near at hand. His eloquent farewell 
 speech is interrupted by Eneas' call for the lady, 
 a summons Troilus considers equivalent to a death 
 
Troilus and Cressida 313 
 
 sentence. To enable the lovers to exchange parting 
 words, Pandarus hurries out to try and delay mat- 
 ters a trifle. Meantime, Cressida enquires whether 
 she must go, and learns there is no way to refuse 
 compliance, while Troilus implores her to be true 
 to him, promising to bribe the Greek sentries so as 
 to visit her some night. He is ready to * grow friends 
 with danger ' for her sake, and so repeatedly enjoins 
 upon her to be faithful that she resents it, saying 
 there is no inclination to anything else in her heart. 
 Then they exchange tokens, she giving him a glove, 
 and he bestowing upon her a sleeve, although j^Eneas 
 and Pandarus repeatedly call upon them to part. 
 
 Because they do not obey, the deputation finally 
 enters, and Troilus, while presenting Diomedes to 
 Cressida, warns him that unless he treats her in a 
 satisfactory manner, his life will be forfeit! Grace- 
 fully greeting his charge, Diomedes assures her she 
 will have fair treatment, looking so admiringly upon 
 her the while that he rouses Troilus' jealousy to 
 such a pitch that he haughtily declares this lady ' is 
 as far high-soaring o'er thy praises as thou unworthy 
 to be call'd her servant.' To this remark Diomedes 
 truculently rejoins that, although willing to respect 
 the lady, he is quite ready to answer a challenge. 
 Troilus, perceiving the moment of parting has come, 
 takes Cressida's hand to lead her to the gate, and all 
 march out in the midst of trumpet-blasts, the hour 
 having come when Hector is to sally forth to fight 
 Ajax. For this reason ^Eneas remarks, as they pass 
 out, ' the glory of our Troy doth this day lie on his 
 fair worth and single chivalry.' 
 
314 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 We now behold the Greek camp, where Ajax, 
 fully armed for the coming encounter, is receiving 
 Agamemnon's last directions. Hearing trumpet- 
 calls, Ajax fancies they summon him, until the rest 
 assure him they merely announce the return of Dio- 
 medes with Calchas' daughter. A moment later, 
 the procession appears, so stepping forward Agamem- 
 non greets Cressida by embracing her, a privilege 
 all the leaders insist upon sharing. In fact, the 
 bold Patroclus claims two kisses, one for Menelaus 
 and one for himself, while the lady answers all their 
 polite, jesting remarks in a similar vein. When she 
 has passed on, Nestor pronounces her a woman of 
 quick sense, but Ulysses shrewdly remarks ' her 
 wanton spirits look out at every joint and motive 
 of her body.' They are still discussing her when 
 the Trojan trumpets are heard and Hector appears. 
 
 Acting as spokesman, .ZEneas asks the Greeks the 
 terms of the fight, whereupon Agamemnon rejoins 
 it will be as Hector wishes. Hearing this, Achilles 
 gives vent to so scornful a comment that /Eneas 
 demands who he is, only to receive the haughty an- 
 swer ' if not Achilles, nothing.' It is now decided 
 that, since Hector and Ajax are kin, the fight shall 
 not be carried to extreme lengths, but will be 
 limited ' either to the uttermost or else a breath.' 
 The two champions and their seconds then enter the 
 lists, Ulysses and Agamemnon commenting upon 
 their appearance, while bestowing considerable atten- 
 tion upon Troilus, whom they pronounce ' manly as 
 Hector, but more dangerous.' 
 
 When the battle begins, the spectators call out all 
 
Troilus and Cressida 315 
 
 manner of encouragement to the champions on either 
 side, until the breathing time comes when Ajax, vow- 
 ing he is not even warm, wishes to renew the fight, 
 but Hector declines to do so, in a speech wherein he 
 offers, instead, to embrace his foe. This proposal is 
 graciously received by Ajax, although he boasts he 
 has come hither intending to kill his opponent, and 
 thus * bear hence a great addition earned in thy 
 death.' After some conversation between both par- 
 ties, Hector is escorted by Ajax to the banquet in 
 Achilles' tent, amid an exchange of compliments. 
 
 Troilus and Ulysses remaining alone upon the 
 scene, the Trojan prince seizes this opportunity to 
 enquire the locality of Calchas' tent, begging Ulysses 
 to guide him thither. After stating it lies next that 
 of Menelaus, Ulysses adds that he is entertaining 
 Diomedes, ' who neither looks upon the heaven nor 
 earth, but gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
 on the fair Cressid.' Then Ulysses enquires what 
 was this lady's reputation in Troy, and whether she 
 had a lover, only to be informed ' she was beloved, 
 she loved; she is, and doth: but still sweet love is 
 food for fortune's tooth.' 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens on the Grecian camp 
 before Achilles' tent, while he is discussing with 
 Patroclus the gorgeous feast he means to give 
 Hector. Just then Thersites draws near, and he 
 and his new master indulge in a war of wit, ere the 
 fool delivers a letter he brings from Hecuba. 
 While Achilles peruses it, Patroclus and the fool 
 banter each other. Then Achilles withdraws to 
 trim his tent, and Thersites, left alone, indulges in a 
 
3 16 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 soliloquy, wherein he derides this ' petticoat war ' 
 and those who take part in it. 
 
 Upon this scene enter Hector and Troilus, led by 
 Agamemnon and the other Greek chiefs, who are 
 trying to find their way through the dark camp. 
 Even the Greeks are doubtful of their bearings, so it 
 is only when Achilles appears at the door of his tent 
 that Agamemnon and Menelaus take leave of the 
 Trojans, who are to partake of the feast. Mean- 
 while, Ulysses noticing that Diomedes is excusing 
 himself, whispers to Troilus, that if he follows this 
 recreant's course, he will soon arrive at Calchas' tent. 
 Heeding this advice, Troilus trails Diomedes, while 
 Ulysses goes with him to witness the outcome of the 
 affair. During this time, Achilles invites his guest 
 into his tent, but Thersites, vowing Diomedes is 
 a ' false-hearted rogue,' who has fallen in love with 
 Cressida, decides to follow and see what befalls. 
 
 We next behold Calchas' tent, at the moment when 
 Diomedes arrives there, begging for admittance. 
 Calchas answers from within that his daughter will 
 soon appear, a remark overheard by Troilus and 
 Ulysses, who have taken their stand at a point of 
 vantage, but are unconscious that Thersites has crept 
 close to them in the dark to watch what is going on. 
 Bidding his companion stand so the torch light will 
 not fall upon him, Ulysses admonishes Troilus to be 
 silent when Cressida appears. While she whispers to 
 Diomedes, therefore, Troilus, Ulysses, and Thersites 
 comment upon this meeting, the lover betraying 
 jealousy, Ulysses curiosity, and Thersites a cynical 
 estimate of man and womankind. From his hiding- 
 
Troilns and Cressida 317 
 
 place, Troflus perceives how readily Cressida re- 
 sponds to the admiration of another lover, and 
 jealously notes every caress she bestows upon him. 
 His anger reaches a culminating point, however, 
 when Diomedes persuades her to go back into the 
 tent to procure him a love-token. Seeing his anger 
 Ulysses tries to lead him away, but Troilus lingers 
 until he sees Cressida bestow upon her new lover the 
 very token he gave her when they parted. Then, 
 with coquettish arts, she tries to recover it, but 
 Diomedes retaining possession of it, declares he will 
 wear it upon his cap, so the Trojan who bestowed it 
 upon her can challenge him on the morrow. Hear- 
 ing this boast, Troilus swears that, even were he the 
 devil, he would challenge him! After lingering 
 good-nights, Diomedes and Cressida part, but 
 scarcely has her new lover gone, than Cressida 
 sentimentally exclaims ' Troilus, farewell ! One eye 
 yet looks on thee; but with my heart the other eye 
 doth see.' When she adds that ' minds sway'd by 
 eyes are full of turpitude,' Ulysses agrees and tries 
 to comfort Troilus, who positively raves in his 
 anger at Diomedes. 
 
 At this juncture iEneas appears, vowing he has 
 been seeking them for some time past, and that Hec- 
 tor has gone back to Troy to arm. Bidding Ulysses 
 farewell, Troilus goes away heart-broken, while 
 Thersites, left alone on the stage, declares he will 
 hasten to notify Patroclus how easily Cressida can 
 be won, for he knows this hero is a lover of fair but 
 false dames. 
 
 In front of Priam's palace, we next behold An- 
 
3 1 8 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 dromache, telling Hector she has been troubled by a 
 bad dream, and hence doesn't wish him to fight to- 
 day. He has just refused to listen to her, pronounc- 
 ing dreams folly, when Cassandra issues from the 
 palace, and is asked by Andromache to help her 
 detain Hector at home. Troubled by apprehensions, 
 too, Cassandra mentions the evils threatening her 
 brother, who, nevertheless, decides that he will have 
 to go, since a ' brave man holds honour far more 
 precious-dear than life.' Hearing this, Andromache 
 bids Cassandra summon Priam to help them, just 
 as Troilus comes up to ask his brother's permission 
 to join in the fray, for he, too, has wrongs to avenge. 
 Because Hector is determined to fight alone, his 
 brother urges him to be off, vowing women could not 
 detain him in this idle fashion. 
 
 Meanwhile, Cassandra has fetched the aged 
 Priam, who clings to his son, calling him his prop 
 and that of Troy, and declaring that should he 
 fall all would be lost. Although Andromache, 
 Priam, and Cassandra unite in eloquent entreaties. 
 Hector proves obdurate, and finally banishes his wife 
 into the house. But when he turns to reprove his 
 sister, she utters a prophecy in regard to the woe 
 in Troy when the news of his death is made known. 
 After comforting his aged father, who is deeply im- 
 pressed by the women's fears, Hector craves his 
 blessing and bids him farewell, while Troilus mutters 
 he longs for nothing so keenly as to encounter Dio- 
 medes, since he has sworn to lose his arm or recover 
 his token ! It is at this moment that Pandarus brings 
 him a letter from Cressida, which Troilus tears up 
 
Troilus and Cressida 319 
 
 after reading, contemptuously declaring it contains 
 'words, words, mere words, no matter from the 
 heart,' and bitterly adding, ' my love with words and 
 errors still she feeds; but edifies another with her 
 deeds.' 
 
 The scene is now transferred to a plain between 
 Troy and the Grecian camp, where fighting is going 
 on, and where Thersites reports both parties ' are 
 clapper-clawing ' one another. Taking no part in 
 the fray himself, he nevertheless exults in every 
 quarrel, and watches for encounters between Dio- 
 medes and Troilus, and sundry others. He is just 
 declaring that the policy of Nestor and Ulysses has 
 proved worthless, when Diomedes passes across the 
 stage closely pursued by Troilus, who insults him, 
 and with whom he exchanges uncomplimentary re- 
 marks. A moment after they have passed out of 
 sight fighting, Hector rushing in, offers to fight 
 Thersites, who excuses himself in cowardly wise as 
 1 a very filthy rogue,' unworthy to encounter a hero. 
 
 In another part of the plain we next behold Dio- 
 medes, directing his servants to present Troilus' 
 horse, — which he has just captured, — to Cressida. 
 He is soon joined by Agamemnon, who reports sun- 
 dry victories, enumerating some of the great deeds 
 which have been performed. Then Nestor calls 
 out that Patroclus' body is about to be taken to 
 Achilles, bidding ' snail-paced Ajax arm for shame,' 
 as a thousand Hectors await him on the field. Join- 
 ing these two, Ulysses reports how Achilles, having 
 heard of Patroclus' death, is now on the battle- 
 field, where Hector can be seen ' here, there, and 
 
320 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 everywhere! ' Having lost a friend also, Ajax rages 
 against Troilus, and crosses the stage calling loudly 
 for his foe. But, just after Diomedes has pointed 
 out to him the direction in which Troilus has gone, 
 Achilles rushes across the scene, demanding Hector, 
 the one foe he is anxious to meet. 
 
 In another part of the plain we next behold Ajax 
 and Diomedes, both calling for Troilus, whom they 
 wish to correct. The two Greeks are quarrelling 
 which shall have the privilege of fighting Troilus 
 when he appears, and the question remains unsettled 
 as he passes off the stage, warding off a double 
 attack. 
 
 We next hear Hector approvingly mentioning 
 Troilus' conduct, just as Achilles proposes a fight. 
 But, as his armour is out of order Achilles hurries 
 off to remedy this defect, promising Hector shall 
 soon hear from him again. This news Hector 
 welcomes, although he cannot help wishing he were 
 fresher to encounter such a foe. Just then Troilus 
 appears, announcing Ajax has taken iEneas, whom he 
 proposes to deliver at the cost of his life. A moment 
 later, a Greek, in handsome armour, is challenged 
 by Hector, who, boasting that armour will soon be 
 his, hotly pursues its wearer. 
 
 In another part of the plain, Achilles calls to his 
 Myrmidons to follow him into battle, and form 
 a circle around Hector wherever they find him, so 
 he cannot escape, but must pause and answer his 
 challenge. They have barely vanished when Mene- 
 laus and Paris are seen fighting, Thersites mean- 
 while sarcastically commenting that Helen's two hus- 
 
Troilus and Cressida 321 
 
 bands are now at swords' points. His scurrilous 
 comments are, however, soon interrupted by the ar- 
 rival of a Trojan, who no sooner attacks him than 
 he cravenly flees. 
 
 In another part of the plain, — after winning the 
 goodly armour he covets, — Hector sits down to rest, 
 dropping his sword, removing his helmet, and hang- 
 ing up his shield behind him. While he is thus 
 disarmed, Achilles and his Myrmidons come upon 
 the scene, exclaiming that just as night is falling, 
 Hector's life ' even with the vail and darking of 
 the sun,' is nearly done. Vainly the Trojan hero 
 protests he is unarmed; Achilles attacks him, and 
 as soon as Hector falls, bids his men proclaim aloud 
 ' Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' Because 
 the retreat then sounds, Achilles sheathes his sword, 
 which ' pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to 
 bed,' and bids his men bind Hector's body to his 
 horse's tail, cruelly adding, ' along the field I will 
 the Trojan trail.' 
 
 Elsewhere Ajax enquires the cause of all this 
 shouting, and hearing Achilles has slain Hector, 
 rejoices. He feels that with Hector dead, ' great 
 Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended,' but 
 declares it does not become the Greeks to boast, 
 since Hector was fully as good a man as Achilles. 
 At another spot, j^Eneas informs the Trojans they 
 are masters of the field, just as Troilus rushes up 
 to proclaim Hector's death. His hearers seem in- 
 credulous, until Troilus assures them the news is 
 only too true, for Achilles is even now dragging the 
 august corpse around the city. After Troilus' speech 
 
322 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 in praise of Hector, — whose death will bring con- 
 sternation not only into Troy, but into the hearts 
 of his kindred, — /Eneas leads his forces off the 
 stage. 1 
 
 A moment later, seeing Pandarus pass, Troilus 
 exclaims, ' hence, broker-lackey ! ignomy and shame 
 pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! ' and 
 hastens away. When he has gone, Pandarus sighs 
 that his trade is always ill-requited, and brazenly 
 claims the public's applause because he intends to 
 give it up after bequeathing his diseases to his 
 victims. 
 
 1 For the classic story of the Siege of Troy, see Guer- 
 ber'sv 4 Myths of Greece and Rome.' 
 
PERICLES 
 
 Act I. An actor reciting the prologue before 
 the palace at Antioch, tells us this is a new version 
 of an old Greek story, which has often entertained 
 the public, and which relates how Antiochus the 
 Great, founder of this city, became guilty of incest, 
 and compelled all who came to sue for his daugh- 
 ter's hand to solve a riddle on that unsavory sub- 
 ject or forfeit their lives. 
 
 The first scene represents the palace, at the mo- 
 ment when the king is receiving Pericles, Prince of 
 Tyre, who has come hither to woo the beautiful 
 princess. After questioning whether he is willing to 
 risk all and is aware of the terrible penalty, the 
 king allows Pericles to behold the dazzling beauty of 
 his daughter, which causes the new candidate for her 
 favour to exclaim he realises the perils of the task 
 but is ready to venture all for her sweet sake. After 
 a little more conversation, intended to deter him 
 from so rash a venture, Pericles induces Antiochus 
 to propound the riddle, saying, ' like a bold cham- 
 pion, I assume the lists, nor ask advice of any 
 thought but faithfulness and courage.' 
 
 The enigma given him is framed in such oracular 
 style that previous solvers have all lost their lives. It 
 does not, however, baffle the superior intelligence of 
 Pericles, who, on discovering its horrible purport, 
 
 323 
 
324 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 betrays such dismay in his changed countenance and 
 in the gasping cry that he no longer aspires to the 
 princess' hand, that Antiochus, wishing to ascertain 
 whether his secret has really been guessed, forces 
 him to give an answer. Driven thus to bay, the 
 Prince of Tyre replies in so guarded a manner that 
 only the criminals realise he has solved their riddle. 
 Muttering in an aside that he will have this bold 
 guesser's life, Antiochus remarks aloud that, although 
 he could pass immediate judgment and retrench 
 Pericles' life for failure, he means to grant him a 
 respite of forty days, during which time he can 
 think the matter over, and be entertained as ' doth 
 befit our honour and your worth.' 
 
 All going out after this statement, the unfortu- 
 nate Pericles is left alone, and we overheat him 
 bitterly commenting upon his ghastly discovery, and 
 hotly reviling the criminals, whom he compares to 
 serpents. Then, fearing lest they may murder him 
 should he remain, Pericles suddenly decides ' by 
 flight I'll shun the danger which I fear,' and hastens 
 away. 
 
 He has barely gone when Antiochus enters the 
 apartment, wondering how he can slay this bold 
 prince, and thus prevent his publishing abroad his 
 shameful discovery. When joined by his confidant, 
 Antiochus bribes this man with gold and the promise 
 of advancement to poison the Prince of Tyre. His 
 confidant is about to depart to execute these orders 
 when a messenger rushes in, reporting that Pericles 
 has fled! Bidding his confidant hasten after the 
 fugitive like an ' arrow shot from a well-experienced 
 
Pericles 325 
 
 archer,' and not return until he can report him dead, 
 Antiochus hears him use this queer anachronism, ' if 
 I can get him within my pistol's length, I'll make 
 him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.' 
 
 We are next transferred to a room in the palace 
 of Tyre, where Pericles, just arrived from Antioch, 
 is explaining that since his discovery of Antiochus' 
 guilty secret, he has not enjoyed a moment's peace, 
 but constantly dreads being pursued and slain by this 
 implacable foe. While he is talking, his chief friend, 
 Helicanus, escorted by some Tyrian lords, comes to 
 welcome him home. Greeting them kindly, the 
 prince soon begs to be left alone with his friend, 
 whom he wishes to consult on matters of state, and 
 then, only, reveals to Helicanus his discovery of 
 Antiochus' incest, his flight, and fear lest vengeance 
 may be wreaked upon Tyre. Pericles vows that this 
 ' drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, 
 musings into my mind, with thousand doubts how 
 I might stop this tempest ere it came.' That such 
 fears are not vain, Helicanus keenly realises, since 
 he advises Pericles to go away and travel, meanwhile 
 entrusting the government of Tyre to some one 
 else. He vows that, should that charge be confided 
 to him, ' day serves not light more faithful than I'll 
 be.' Hearing which, Pericles decides to sail imme- 
 diately for Tarsus, where he directs Helicanus to 
 write and keep him posted how things are pro- 
 gressing. 
 
 Shortly after, in an antechamber of the same 
 palace, we behold the arrival of the confidant of 
 Antiochus, who gazes fearfully around him, murmur- 
 
326 Stories of Shakespeare* s Tragedies 
 
 ing he has come here to kill the prince, and must 
 either fulfil this task or be slain on his return home. 
 All at once Helicanus enters with some other lords, 
 and the confidant learns from their conversation 
 how Pericles, having been so unfortunate as to incur 
 Antiochus' displeasure, has banished himself from 
 Tyre for a time, leaving its rule to Helicanus, and 
 has gone to sea as a species of penance. Unable to 
 reach his prey, yet sure Pericles will perish at sea, 
 the confidant resolves to go back to Antioch and an- 
 nounce his death. This decision taken, he presents 
 himself to the Tyrians, saying he had a message for 
 Pericles which he perceives he will not be able to 
 deliver. He accepts, however, the invitation they 
 extend and feasts with them ere he returns home. 
 
 We now behold a room in the governor's house, 
 at Tarsus, where Cleon, the governor, is sadly re- 
 marking to his wife, Dionyza, that their woes have 
 reached their culminating point, for the city has so 
 long been a prey to famine that the inhabitants are 
 reduced to the last extremity. No grief ever 
 equalled theirs, Dionyza assures him, while she re- 
 jects his suggestion to forget her sufferings in sleep. 
 Both mourn that a city, once so prosperous, should 
 now be in such dire straits, that even cases of can- 
 nibalism have occurred! 
 
 They are still talking, when a lord rushes in re- 
 porting that a vessel under full sail is bearing 
 straight down upon the city in a threatening way. 
 Sadly convinced that ' one sorrow never comes but 
 brings an heir, that may succeed as his inheritor,' 
 Cleon fancies this vessel is laden with foes about 
 
Pericles 327 
 
 to capture his defenceless city. His fears are slightly 
 allayed, however, when the messenger states white 
 flags float from its masthead, although these peace- 
 ful tokens may be mere feigning, for he ' who makes 
 the fairest show means most deceit.' After bidding 
 the lord ascertain as soon as possible the intentions 
 of the newcomers in regard to the stricken city, 
 Cleon anxiously awaits further developments. 
 
 A few moments later the same lord ushers in 
 Pericles, who declares he has come here in a friendly 
 spirit, having learned at Tyre that Tarsus was suf- 
 fering from famine. Instead of hostile forces his 
 ship is laden with provisions, which will ' give them 
 life whom hunger starved half dead.' These joyful 
 tidings cause delirious joy among the Tarsians, and 
 Cleon gratefully assures Pericles they will never for- 
 get his timely help. In reply to an invitation to 
 tarry with them, Pericles promises to ' feast here a 
 while, until our stars that frown lend us a smile.' 
 
 Act II. The second act also opens with a pro- 
 logue by the actor, recapitulating all that has al- 
 ready occurred, and describing how the inhabitants 
 of Tarsus have gratefully erected a statue in honour 
 of their benefactor Pericles. Then the curtain rises, 
 and in dumbshow we behold Pericles entering by one 
 door, apparently talking to Cleon and his train. 
 Through another door appears a gentleman, who 
 hands a letter to Pericles, which he soon passes on 
 to Cleon, who rewards the bearer by knighting him. 
 Then we witness the parting of Pericles and Cleon, 
 ere the dumbshow ceases, and the actor resumes 
 his explanations. He declares that this letter, for- 
 
328 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 warded by Helicanus, reports that Antiochus sent 
 a messenger to Tyre to murder Pericles, and warns 
 him not to linger long at Tarsus lest another 
 assassin be despatched thither- to slay him. It is on 
 account of this caution that Pericles sails away and 
 soon finds himself in great peril at sea. 
 
 When the curtain next rises, we behold a beach 
 near Pentapolis, just as Pericles has been cast there 
 by the waves, which he reviles for swallowing up his 
 ship and companions. While he is bidding them 
 cease raging, since they have shown their power by 
 depriving a prince of all he owns, three fishermen 
 come forward to cast their nets. They are gossiping 
 about their occupations and the storm, during which 
 many lives were evidently lost, for distressing cries 
 were repeatedly heard. They describe the ,signs 
 which herald a great tempest, and mention the fact 
 that big fishes live on small ones, just as misers 
 thrive on the spoils of others, until Pericles, who 
 is hiding in the rocks near by, learns from their 
 conversation that he has been cast on the shores of 
 Simonides, the most peaceful and benevolent of 
 monarchs. 
 
 After commenting upon the labours of these men 
 and their shrewd wit, Pericles suddenly emerges 
 from his hiding-place, and advancing toward them, 
 wishes them peace and prosperity. Amazed at the 
 sight of a stranger, the fishermen enquire whence he 
 came, and on hearing he has been shipwrecked, offer 
 all manner of assistance. They feel sure, however, 
 that unless he is expert at their trade, he will never 
 be able to make a living here. Still, because Pericles 
 
Pericles 329 
 
 seems cold and hungry, they charitably promise him 
 food and raiment, ere two of them go oif* to draw 
 up their nets, while the third lingers behind to give 
 the stranger further information in regard to the 
 country and its king. Among other interesting items, 
 the fisherman mentions that Simonides' daughter, 
 Thaisa, will celebrate her birthday on the morrow, 
 and that many princes and knights have ' come 
 from all parts of the world to just and tourney 
 for her love.' 
 
 Hearing this, Pericles, — who is an adept in all 
 chivalric games, — fervently wishes he had saved his 
 armour, at least, so he might try his luck in this 
 tournament. At that moment, the two fishermen 
 loudly call for help, as their net proves too heavy to 
 haul in, and unexpectedly find, caught in its meshes, 
 the very armour Pericles mourns. Hailing this suit 
 with rapture, Pericles explains to the men under 
 what circumstances it was given to him; how lost; 
 and adds that his shipwreck is now no ill since he 
 has here his ' father's gift in's will ! ' He, therefore, 
 begs the armour from the fishermen, saying he will 
 don it and try his luck; and, promising that if he 
 succeeds thereby in improving his fortunes, he will 
 reward them richly for their aid. The fishermen 
 consent to his wishes, and Pericles rejoices that he 
 still possesses a jewel of sufficient worth to secure 
 him a horse, ere he gratefully accepts the offer of a 
 pair of trousers from one fisherman, and the services 
 of another as guide to court. 
 
 We now behold the pavilion where the king, 
 princess, and lords have come to view the tourna- 
 
33° Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 ment. After enquiring whether all are ready to 
 begin the knightly game, Simonides gives the neces- 
 sary signal, announcing that Thaisa will first pass 
 in review all the candidates about to strive for her 
 favour. The princess, who is very modest, chides 
 her father for overpraising her in this speech, al-, 
 though he proudly insists it is impossible to do so, 
 ere he begs her to expound for his benefit the devices 
 on each knight's shield. 
 
 One champion after another now prances past 
 the princess, holding aloft his shield for her inspec- 
 tion, and she readily reads not only the owner's name 
 and country, but interprets the meaning of his Latin 
 device. Five knights have passed by, and the princess 
 has cleverly translated all their mottoes, when last of 
 all Pericles appears. His graceful bearing dis- 
 tinguishes him amid the rest, and his device, a 
 withered branch still green at the top, with the motto 
 4 in that hope I live,' seems particularly appropriate, 
 since all know he has lost everything at sea and 
 hopes to mend his fortunes by triumphing in these 
 games. The lords present, however, comment scorn- 
 fully on the rustiness of his armour, and on his pre- 
 sumption in daring to appear among so many famous 
 and wealthy candidates. Hearing this, Simonides 
 reminds Pericles' detractors that ' opinion's but a 
 fool, that makes us scan the outward habit by the 
 inward man,' ere he leads his daughter up to the 
 gallery. There, a few moments later, loud cries 
 proclaim that Pericles, ' the mean knight,' has pre- 
 vailed over every foe and has reaped all the honours 
 of the day! 
 
MARINA IN DANGER 
 
 Boult " Come, mistress; come your ways with me." 
 
 Mar. "Whither wilt thou have me?" 
 
 Boult. "To take from you the jewe I you hold so dear." 
 
 F Kirchbach 
 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre. Act 4, Scene 5. 
 
Pericles 331 
 
 We next behold a hall of state, where Simonides, 
 his daughter, and court are entertaining the cham- 
 pions. After the king has addressed the assembled 
 knights, the princess bestows upon the victor a 
 crown, which he modestly assures her was won 
 1 more by fortune, lady, than by merit.' Hearing 
 this, the king insists it was no small feat to triumph 
 over so many brave foes, and that Pericles has nobly 
 earned the honour to sit beside his daughter. Wish- 
 ing to show themselves true sportsmen, all the lords 
 present declare ' we are gentlemen that neither in 
 our hearts nor outward eyes envy the great nor do 
 the low despise,' a courtesy for which Pericles re- 
 turns hearty thanks. 
 
 Meantime, the princess, who has been watching 
 Pericles, murmurs in an aside that he is such ' a gal- 
 lant gentleman ' that she has fallen deeply in love 
 with him. Her father also seems to approve highly 
 of the youth, while Pericles is impressed by Simon- 
 ides' resemblance to his own father, who used to sit 
 in similar state, and for whom he always felt great 
 admiration and respect. After some drinking of 
 healths, Simonides, becoming aware of the fact that 
 the stranger is melancholy, bids his daughter chal- 
 lenge him to drink. At first Thaisa demurs, think- 
 ing this too bold a step for a maid to take, and 
 whispering that the stranger ' may my proffer take 
 for an offence, since men take women's gifts for im- 
 pudence.' Still, urged by her father, she finally 
 turns to Pericles, remarking her father wishes to 
 drink his health and would fain know his name. 
 After duly acknowledging the proffered courtesy, 
 
332 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 Pericles states he is a gentleman from Tyre, who 
 seeking adventures, was shipwrecked on their coast. 
 He conceals his title, however, for fear lest An- 
 tiochus may still be pursuing him; but such is the 
 distinction of his bearing that father and daughter 
 seem as well pleased with him as if he had proclaimed 
 his real rank. 
 
 To divert him from his melancholy, the king now 
 orders the knights to dance, and encourages Pericles 
 to take part in the revels by treading a measure with 
 the princess. Such grace does the stranger display 
 in this exercise, too, that he wins high praise ere 
 the company separates for the night, Simonides de- 
 claring the time of rest has come, but that ' to- 
 morrow all for speeding do their best.' 
 
 We next behold a room in the governor's house 
 at Tyre, where Helicanus is informing one of his 
 friends how Antiochus and his daughter met due 
 punishment for their heinous crime while riding to- 
 gether in a chariot of inestimable value. We are 
 briefly told that ' a fire from heaven came and 
 shrivelled up their bodies,' leaving both corpses in 
 such loathsome condition that no one was willing to 
 approach to bury them. Such a doom seems fitting 
 to the listener, who has barely expressed approval 
 when sundry other lords come in. After the usual ex- 
 change of civilities, these Tyrians inform Helicanus 
 that, feeling sure their prince has perished, they 
 have come to beg permission to seek for his remains, 
 so they can bury them properly, ere they elect a new 
 sovereign. They pronounce no one better fitted to 
 govern than Helicanus, whom Pericles himself 
 
Pericles 333 
 
 selected as his representative. When they unani- 
 mously cry ' Live Helicanus,' he implores them to 
 be patient for another twelve-month, so as to make 
 sure poor Pericles has perished at sea and will never 
 return. It is only after considerable demur that 
 the lords accede to this delay, which the faithful 
 Helicanus insists upon, for he is not at all anxious to 
 supplant his master. This agreement reached, Heli- 
 canus nobly concludes ' then you love us, we you, 
 and we'll clasp hands: when peers thus knit, a king- 
 dom ever stands/ 
 
 We now return to Pentapolis, where Simonides 
 enters a room in his palace, intently reading a letter, 
 from which he glances up only to return the greet- 
 ings of his knights. It is the day after the tourna- 
 ment has ended, and he announces that Thaisa has 
 decided to postpone marriage for another twelve- 
 month, meantime denying herself to all her suitors. 
 On learning they will not even be favoured with a 
 glimpse of the beautiful princess during these long, 
 weary months, the knights regretfully depart. When 
 they have gone, Simonides reveals that he has re- 
 sorted to this stratagem because his daughter in- 
 forms him in a letter that she will either marry the 
 stranger knight, or nevermore ' view nor day nor 
 light.' Because her choice fully coincides with his 
 own wishes, Simonides decides Thaisa's decision shall 
 not long remain a secret, just as Pericles steps into 
 the room. 
 
 After a little talk in regard to some music with 
 which Pericles favoured them on the previous even- 
 ing, Simonides carelessly asks his opinion of his 
 
334 Stories of Shakespeare' *s Tragedies 
 
 fair daughter? In return he receives a flattering 
 reply, which causes him to rejoin that Thaisa thinks 
 well enough of Pericles to wish to become his scholar. 
 Because Pericles seems incredulous, Simonides shows 
 4iim the princess' letter, which so amazes the prince 
 that he wonders whether this is not some crafty device 
 to entrap a distressed stranger. His fears seem to be 
 confirmed when Simonides suddenly accuses him of 
 having bewitched his daughter, an accusation he hotly 
 refutes, saying he considers it base to use magic arts 
 to win a maiden's heart ! When denounced as a vil- 
 lain, traitor, and liar, Pericles haughtily rejoins his 
 actions are as noble as his thoughts, ' that never 
 relish'd of a base descent,' and asseverates he came 
 to this court i for honour's cause,' as he haughtily 
 offers to prove at the point of his sword! 
 
 Seeing the princess enter just then, Pericles im- 
 petuously implores her as she is as virtuous as fair, 
 to state whether he ever tried to make love to her? 
 When Thaisa rejoins that even if he had, no one 
 would take offence at it, her father is secretly de- 
 lighted, for he is more and more convinced the 
 stranger is far nobler than he has confessed. He, 
 therefore, invites Pericles to respond to the princess' 
 wooing, makes them join hands, and bids them kiss 
 each other, ere he proceeds to wish them joy. Such 
 a consummation of his hopes proves so delightful to 
 Pericles, that he fervently swears to love the princess 
 1 even as my life my blood that fosters it,' and the 
 scene closes with Simonides' formal announcement 
 that the wedding will take place without further 
 delay. 
 
Pericles 335 
 
 Act III. The third act also opens with a pro- 
 logue by the actor, who describes how the marriage 
 feast being over, quiet reigns in the palace, where the 
 married couple dwell happily for several months. 
 Then, in dumbshow, we see Pericles and Simonides 
 greeted by an ambassador from Tyre, who delivers 
 a letter. After reading this missive, Pericles hands 
 it over to his father-in-law, and receives the homage 
 of the Tyrian lords. While he is doing so, his wife, 
 Thaisa, enters, closely attended by a nurse, and 
 when she too has perused the letter, betrays signs 
 of keen joy. We next see her and Pericles taking 
 affectionate leave of Simonides, ere they pass off the 
 stage escorted by the Tyrian lords, and the nurse. 
 This dumbshow finished, the actor resumes his ex- 
 planations, stating how Helicanus, after careful 
 search, has at last discovered Pericles, and in this let- 
 ter announces to him the death of his foe, and sum- 
 mons him to return to Tyre unless he wishes to for- 
 feit his crown. For this reason Pericles decides to 
 return home immediately, yet hesitates to expose his 
 beloved wife to a rough sea-journey, since she is now 
 in delicate health. Her entreaties, however, prevail 
 over his fears, so the royal couple embark, Pericles 
 fervently hoping the waters will be smooth so that 
 they can land in Tyre before the critical moment 
 comes. Instead of this, however, a terrible tempest 
 overtakes his ship, and inspires poor Thaisa with 
 such terror, that her babe comes into the world 
 before its time. 
 
 The rising curtain reveals this tossing ship, and 
 we overhear the almost frantic Pericles calling alter- 
 
33 6 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 nately upon the god of the sea to abate his wrath, and 
 upon the goddess of child-birth to watch over his 
 beloved wife. While he is wildly praying, the nurse 
 appears on deck with an infant, which she bids 
 him take to his bosom as sole reminder of his dead 
 queen! At first Pericles cannot realise his beloved 
 wife has gone ; then he wails, ' O you gods ! why do 
 you make us love your goodly gifts, and snatch them 
 straight away? We here below recall not what we 
 give, and therein may use honour with you.' The 
 nurse, however, implores him to be manly for the 
 helpless child's sake, words which touch unsuspected 
 depths in Pericles' heart, for even while giving way 
 to his grief, he fervently prays that his babe's life 
 may be mild, although it has found in the world so 
 rude a welcome. 
 
 Just then two sailors appear, and Pericles enquires 
 whether the storm will not soon abate, for he fears 
 it may yet cost the life of the delicate babe as well as 
 that of the mother. With true sailor superstition, 
 these men no sooner hear the queen is dead than they 
 fancy it is the presence of her corpse which is plac- 
 ing their lives in peril. They, therefore, insist that 
 Pericles place her in a coffin and cast her overboard ! 
 Although loath to part so soon with Thaisa's be- 
 loved remains, Pericles feels compelled to yield to 
 such superstitious terrors. He, therefore, calls for 
 the coffin always carried on board ship, and gives 
 orders that his wife be placed in it, enveloped in a 
 white satin cerecloth. He also adds some jewels 
 and a letter, which he writes himself, wherein he 
 implores the finder for charity's sake to give this 
 
Pericles 337 
 
 corpse a suitable burial. After a tender leave-taking 
 of the remains which are to be cast into the sea, 
 Pericles decides that instead of pursuing their jour- 
 ney to Tyre, they will land at Tarsus, to secure 
 Cleon's care for the delicate babe. 
 
 The next scene is played at Ephesus, in the house 
 of the physician Cerimon, who is comforting some 
 persons who have suffered shipwreck in this fright- 
 ful storm. He and his attendants, while dealing out 
 food and medicine to those who come in quest of 
 them, converse with some gentlemen, who comment 
 upon the fury of the storm, and compliment Cerimon 
 on the skill which has enabled him to save so many 
 lives. The physician assures them his calling brings 
 its own reward, since there is ' more content in course 
 of true delight than to be thirsty after tottering 
 honour, or tie my treasure up in silken bags, to 
 please the fool and death.' 
 
 While they are still talking, servants stagger in 
 with a huge chest, reporting with excitement that the 
 biggest wave they ever saw cast it at their feet, and 
 that it must contain great treasures. The gentle- 
 men, however, opine it looks more like a coffin, for 
 it is carefully sealed and closed. In the physician's 
 presence it is now opened, and he is surprised to be 
 greeted by a strong odour of spices and to discover 
 therein a corpse carefully wrapped in a satin cere- 
 cloth. On discovering the jewels and paper Ceri- 
 mon quickly reads Pericles' heart-broken appeal, ex- 
 claiming that the writer must have had a ' heart 
 that even cracks for woe ! ' Then, true to his call- 
 ing, he examines the corpse, only to discover that 
 
338 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 life is still lingering within it, for the lady is in a 
 state of coma and not dead. As he concludes she has 
 not been more than five hours in this condition, and 
 knows of cases which recovered after nine, he im- 
 mediately sets to work to revive her. Friction, heat, 
 and all the applications skill can suggest are now 
 brought into play, while soft music is played so that 
 when the patient rouses she will be reassured by 
 sweet sounds. After a period of suspense, during 
 which nothing is heard save breathless exclamations, 
 interrupted by the physician's curt, pertinent orders, 
 the lady comes to life again, asking faintly where she 
 is and where is her lord? To prevent her being 
 startled, — for a relapse would mean death, — Ceri- 
 mon has her borne into a neighbouring chamber, 
 fervently praying the god of medicine to guide his 
 efforts to save her. 
 
 The curtain next rises on Tarsus, where Pericles 
 is confiding his little daughter and her nurse, — at 
 the end of a twelve months' sojourn, — to the kind 
 care of Cleon and Dionyza, bidding them care for 
 his child as tenderly as for their own. Mindful of 
 the benefits he has conferred upon them and their 
 people, Cleon rejoins that even should they be in- 
 clined to neglect Marina, — thus called because born 
 at sea, — the people of Tarsus would insist upon their 
 doing their duty to the child of their benefactor. 
 It is only because Tyre will be lost unless he re- 
 turns there, that Pericles now departs, but he vows 
 to let his hair grow until he sees his daughter again, 
 or until she is safely married. With endless assur- 
 ances of fidelity on the part of Cleon and Dionyza, 
 
Pericles 339 
 
 to whom he entrusts his babe and her nurse, Pericles 
 finally departs. 
 
 We are again transferred to Cerimon's house, just 
 after the complete recovery of Thaisa, while he is 
 relating to her in what state she was found, and 
 exhibiting Pericles' letter. All Thaisa can remember 
 is a terrible storm and her sudden illness, but, sure 
 never to see her husband again, — for she deems he 
 must have perished, — she decides to assume the duties 
 and costume of a Vestal, spend the rest of her life in 
 retirement, ' and never more have joy.' This resolu- 
 tion is approved by Cerimon, who knows of a fane 
 near by, where his own niece can attend her. The 
 curtain falls while Thaisa is still thanking her res- 
 cuer for his kind efforts in her behalf, and assuring 
 him ' my good will is great.' 
 
 Act IV. The fourth act also opens with a pro- 
 logue by the actor, describing how Pericles dwelt 
 sorrowfully at Tyre, while his wife served as a Ves- 
 tal in the temple, and his daughter was being 
 trained at Tarsus as befitted her position in life. By 
 the time Marina is fourteen ' she hath gain'd of edu- 
 cation all the grace, which makes her both the heart 
 and place of general wonder.' Such is her talent 
 that she far outshines her foster-sister, the child of 
 Cleon and Dionyza, for which reason the latter be- 
 comes so bitterly jealous of her that she determines 
 to injure her. Because every one admires the peerless 
 Marina, and pays no heed whatever to her insig- 
 nificant daughter, Dionyza decides that, since the 
 nurse is dead, she must get rid of the little princess. 
 
 When the curtain rises, we behold an open place 
 
340 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 near the seashore, where Dionyza is bargaining with 
 a murderer, and reminding him how one blow, — ■ 
 which will never be known, — will settle the whole 
 question. She fears, however, that his heart may 
 fail him, for she sternly warns him ' let not con- 
 science, which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy 
 bosom, inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which even 
 women have cast off, melt thee, but be a soldier to 
 thy purpose.' These words nerve the murderer to 
 accept this loathsome task, and he has barely said 
 so when Marina comes upon the scene, carrying 
 flowers to strew upon the grave of the nurse for 
 whom she mourns in touching grief ! She has vowed 
 to keep this grave carpeted with flowers in memory 
 of all her nurse did for her, ever since she took her 
 from her dying mother on shipboard, and moans 
 that ' this world to me is like a lasting storm, 
 whirring me from my friends.' 
 
 Seeing Marina appear, Dionyza enquires why her 
 daughter is not with her; then, pretending to con- 
 sider her pale, sends her off to walk on the seashore 
 with the murderer, Leonine, declaring exercise will 
 cause her to appear to better advantage when her 
 father comes to get her. After a little idle conver- 
 sation with her escort in regard to the wind and 
 the tempestuous sea, — with sundry touching reminis- 
 cences of her nurse's descriptions of the stormy night 
 when she was born, — Marina is startled when 
 Leonine suddenly bids her say her prayers for he is 
 going to kill her! This rough order terrifies poor 
 Marina, who pleads that she never hurt anything in 
 her life, and declares that when she once accidentally 
 
Pericles 341 
 
 trod upon a worm she shed tears about it. Not- 
 withstanding her entreaties, Leonine is about to 
 execute Dionyza's orders, when pirates suddenly ap- 
 pear and drive him away. 
 
 On perceiving a beautiful girl, these pirates de- 
 cide to carry her off and sell her as a slave, vowing 
 the money so obtained will be equally divided among 
 them. Only after they have gone with their prey, 
 does Leonine return, and, seeing their boat vanish 
 in the distance, vows he will swear that he threw 
 Marina into the sea. 
 
 The next scene is played in a house of ill-fame at 
 Mitylene, where, after considerable dialogue in re- 
 gard to their loathsome business, the owners of the 
 place conclude they had better purchase another girl. 
 One of their number is, therefore, despatched to the 
 slave-market, whence he soon returns with the pi- 
 rates, who offer Marina for sale. Such is her beauty 
 that she is immediately purchased and entrusted to 
 the care of the pander's wife. Realising suddenly 
 where she is, Marina bitterly regrets Leonine could 
 not fulfil his evil purpose ere the pirates seized her, 
 or that the latter did not cast her into the sea to 
 join her dead mother! When the rough inmates of 
 this place try to cheer her, their remarks fill her 
 with such loathing that she promises herself, ' if 
 fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, untied 
 I still my virgin knot will keep.' Meantime, her ar- 
 rival is being diligently advertised, her owners rejoice 
 to hear many patrons are most anxious to see her, 
 and foresee her presence will bring them increased 
 gains. 
 
342 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 The curtain next rises in Tarsus, where Cleon is 
 reproaching his wife and the murderer for what 
 they have done, and wondering what they shall 
 say when Pericles comes to claim his child. This 
 does not trouble Dionyza, who answers they will 
 describe how Marina died and will take her father 
 to the tomb they are going to erect in her memory! 
 All she has done seems justifiable, because Marina so 
 far outshone her own offspring that the latter had 
 no chance to secure any attention as long as her 
 companion was near. 
 
 In the next scene, an actor, standing before Ma- 
 rina's monument at Tarsus, explains under what cir- 
 circumstances it has been erected, and how Pericles is 
 even now coming to claim his child. In dumbshow 
 we next behold the arrival of Pericles and of his 
 train, and the exhibition of Marina's monument. 
 After lamenting and donning sackcloth, Pericles de- 
 parts from Tarsus, angry at fate, and the actor reads 
 aloud the lying inscription stating how Marina, 
 daughter of the king of Tyre, born at sea, is buried 
 close beside its waves! He adds that although 
 Pericles, deeming his daughter dead, intends to 
 mourn her forever, she is now in Mitylene, which 
 we next behold. 
 
 Several gentlemen are seen issuing from the house 
 where Marina is detained, vowing never have such ex- 
 periences befallen them, for they have been preached 
 at to such good effect in this place that they come 
 away resolved to lead virtuous lives hereafter. The 
 owners of the house are indignant, however, that 
 Marina's innocent talk should convert their clients, 
 
Pericles 343 
 
 and when a new one enters, hope he will prove more 
 successful than his predecessors, although they opine 
 Marina * would make a Puritan of the devil ! ' The 
 newcomer is now introduced to Marina, whose re- 
 fined speech, modesty, gentleness, and virtue soon 
 convince him that she can have come here only by 
 accident. In fact, Lysimachus, governor of Mitylene, 
 is so impressed, that he finally cries, ' thou art a piece 
 of virtue, and I doubt not but thy training has been 
 noble,' and urges her to ' persever in that clear way 
 thou goest, and the gods strengthen thee ! ' After 
 giving Marina quite a sum of money, Lysimachus, 
 too, departs. 
 
 The owner of the house is about to resort to force 
 in his wrath, when Marina, using the money the 
 governor gave her, bribes him to listen to her, and 
 urges him to practise any trade in preference to this. 
 She explains how her early training has made her an 
 expert in music, embroidery, dancing, and all the 
 fine arts, and assures him, if he will only hire her 
 out in the capacity of teacher, he can earn far more 
 than in any other way. Such is her eloquence, that 
 Marina finally wrings from this wretch a promise 
 to place her, unmolested, among honest people, where 
 she can carry out this programme and enrich him 
 with the money she earns. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act opens with a prologue by 
 the actor, stating how Marina, having escaped from 
 this evil den, lacks not pupils of 'noble race, who 
 pour their bounty on her/ Her fame in town 
 constantly increases, and Lysimachus rejoices to 
 think she has proved so successful, One day, while 
 
344 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 she and her pupils are celebrating a festival on the 
 shore, her father's vessel anchors in Mitylene har- 
 bour, where, as in duty bound, Lysimachus soon 
 appears to welcome the travellers. 
 
 As the curtain rises, we behold the deck of the 
 Tyrian ship, where Pericles is lying in melancholy 
 silence beneath an awning, for he has not spoken 
 a word since hearing of his daughter's death. A 
 Mitylene sailor, boarding the ship, enquires of one 
 of the Tyrians for the master of the ship, whereupon 
 Helicanus steps forward to answer in Pericles' 
 name. While some conversation passes between 
 them, Lysimachus boards the vessel, and greeting 
 Helicanus, is duly thanked for his courtesy. After 
 stating he is governor of the town, Lysimachus en- 
 quires who the owner of the vessel may be, and is 
 surprised to learn it belongs to Pericles, King of 
 Tyre, who is wrapped in such deep grief that he has 
 not spoken for the past three months! In reply to 
 his query in regard to the cause of this sorrow, 
 Helicanus explains it is due to the loss of a beloved 
 daughter and wife, and adds that, even if ushered 
 into the king's presence, Lysimachus could not obtain 
 a word. Anxious to make the attempt, Lysimachus 
 has himself conducted beneath the awning, where, 
 seeing he can gain no attention, he remarks that 
 Pericles might be charmed into speech by a lovely 
 maiden in Mitylene, who can beguile the most morose 
 of men. Deeming it wise to try every means to 
 effect a cure, Helicanus begs Lysimachus to send for 
 this wonderful girl. 
 
 While one of the governor's servants goes in quest 
 
Pericles 345 
 
 of Marina, Helicanus explains that they are anxious 
 to renew their stores, and offers to pay lavishly for 
 supplies. Just as the conversation between Lysim- 
 achus and Helicanus draws to a close, the page 
 returns with Marina and a female companion, both 
 of whom are courteously greeted by Lysimachus. 
 He then implores Marina to employ all her skill to 
 rouse an august traveller from his melancholy, and 
 noticing Helicanus' admiration, assures him he would 
 fain marry her, for 'she's such a one, that, were I 
 well assured came of a gentle kind, and noble 
 stock, I'ld wish no better choice, and think me 
 rarely wed.' 
 
 On condition she and her maid may go into 
 Pericles' presence together, Marina undertakes this 
 novel task, and no sooner arrives under the awning, 
 than she begins to sing. Watching from a distance, 
 the rest notice that Pericles pays no heed to the 
 music, and that Marina, becoming aware of this, be- 
 gins to speak gently to him, for a mysterious voice 
 urges her to use all her arts in behalf of this sufferer. 
 Hearing the gentle stranger murmur she has endured 
 griefs which would probably equal his, could they be 
 measured, Pericles is so startled that he demands 
 what she means ? He passionately adds, ' tell thy 
 story; if thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
 of my endurance, thou art a man, and I have suffer'd 
 like a girl.' Only then does he look closely at her, 
 and is startled by her great resemblance to his dead 
 wife. In his surprise he comments that he beholds 
 the same square brow, the same tall stature, the 
 same willowy slenderness, and abruptly asks the 
 
346 Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies 
 
 strange maiden on what shore she was born. When 
 Marina softly rejoins she was not born on any shore, 
 and that, were she to relate her history, ' it wOuld 
 seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting,' he assures 
 her he will credit whatever she says, and again urges 
 her to speak. 
 
 A moment later, when he hears her name is 
 Marina, Pericles gives such a start that she pauses 
 abruptly, and only after some encouragement ven- 
 tures to continue her tale. She then reveals that 
 she is daughter of a king, who named her thus 
 because she was born at sea, little suspecting why 
 Pericles' agitation constantly increases. .When she 
 mentions her nurse's name, however, he agonisingly 
 bids her pause, as he cannot endure any more, for 
 he remembers only too vividly the place where his 
 daughter lies buried! After a while, however, he 
 implores her to go on, and she explains how Cleon 
 and his wicked wife sought to murder her, how cruel 
 pirates rescued her, and is surprised to see the stran- 
 ger's tears flow when she calls herself the daughter 
 of ' good King Pericles,' should he still be alive ! 
 In his rapture, Pericles loudly calls for Helicanus, 
 bidding him strike him or hurt him in some way, 
 ' lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me o'erbear 
 the shores of my mortality, and drown me with 
 sweetness.' 
 
 Then he blurts out the glad tidings that the 
 maiden, who has hitherto kept her origin secret, is 
 his own daughter. As sole additional proof of her 
 identity, he bids Marina give her mothers name, and 
 after rapturously embracing her, declares he no 
 
Pericles 347 
 
 longer has cause to mourn, but will immediately don 
 fresh garments. Then, he warmly greets the gov- 
 ernor, heartily thanking him for having been kind to 
 Marina. This recognition over, Pericles suddenly 
 hears music, which none of the rest can descry, but 
 which he poetically terms ' the music of the spheres.' 
 It seems to have a peculiarly lulling effect upon him, 
 for he soon sinks back asleep, and Lysimachus sug- 
 gesting that this slumber may complete his cure, all 
 present let him rest in peace. 
 
 When all have withdrawn, Diana appears to 
 Pericles in a vision, bidding him visit her temple at 
 Ephesus, and return thanks before her altar, by 
 relating aloud the story of his wife's tragic death 
 and of his daughter's recovery. She vows that if 
 he does so he will be happy, but if he does not he 
 will live for ever after in woe! 
 
 Just as Diana departs, Pericles awakens, and Heli- 
 canus, Lysimachus, and the rest, rejoining him, are 
 told that, instead of going first to Tarsus to punish 
 Cleon, they will sail directly to Ephesus to fulfil 
 divine commands. Then Pericles accepts Lysi- 
 machus' invitation to step ashore, assuring the gov- 
 ernor when he hints he has a boon to ask, that, after 
 hearing how nobly he has behaved toward Marina, 
 he will refuse him nothing, not even her hand! 
 
 In the next scene, the actor warns us the story 
 is nearing its end, for after being entertained by 
 Lysimachus, who has been betrothed to Marina, the 
 travellers are about to enter Diana's temple, where, 
 after the goddess' orders have been fulfilled, the mar- 
 riage will take place. 
 
348 Stories of Shakespeare' s Tragedies 
 
 As the curtain rises, we behold the temple of 
 Diana, with the high priestess Thaisa, standing by 
 the altar with her attendants, while Cerimon and 
 other Ephesians appear among the audience, Next 
 Pericles enters, followed by his train, and after 
 hailing the goddess, proclaims he is Pericles, King 
 of Tyre, who wed abroad fair Thaisa, a lady who 
 died in child-bed at sea, leaving a daughter who 
 still wears Diana's livery. This daughter, after 
 escaping murder at her foster parents' hands was 
 brought to Mitylene, where she made herself known 
 to her father. The priestess, who recognised her 
 husband the moment he entered, now sinks down in 
 a swoon, whereupon the physician, hurrying forward, 
 reveals to Pericles that she is his wife! The King 
 of Tyre has difficulty in crediting this statement, 
 having thrown the beloved corpse into a raging sea 
 with his own hands. But when Cerimon relates 
 how the chest was cast ashore, and how on opening 
 it, he found letter and jewels, and was able to 
 restore Thaisa to life, Pericles begins to believe it 
 may be true. He is just asking to see the jewels, 
 when Thaisa recovering, addresses him. The sound 
 of her beloved voice, and the fact that she exclaims 
 the ring he wears was given to him by her father at 
 parting, causes him to cry with rapture, ' this, 
 this ; no more, you gods ! your present kindness makes 
 my past miseries sport,' while clasping his wife to his 
 breast, saying, ' O, come, be buried a second time 
 within these arms.' 
 
 In her joy at finding her mother, Marina mutely 
 kneels at her feet, and Pericles beholding her there, 
 
Pericles 349 
 
 proudly introduces her to Thaisa as the babe born 
 at sea, upon whom a mother's eyes never before 
 rested! Then, enquiring whether his wife recalls 
 the name of the friend who governed Tyre during 
 his absence, Pericles presents the worthy Helicanus. 
 A moment later, in reply to eager questions how she 
 was saved, Thaisa reveals how Cerimon rescued her, 
 while the doctor promises to produce all the objects 
 found in her coffin. Turning to the altar, Pericles 
 now gives fervent thanks for the vision vouchsafed 
 him, and seeing no further cause for delay, informs 
 his wife his daughter will here marry Lysimachus. 
 In honour of this festival he proposes to shear off 
 the luxuriant hair and beard he has allowed to 
 grow during long years of mourning, for he now has 
 no cause for anything save rejoicing, although the 
 aged Simonides is dead. 
 
 The epilogue is also recited by the actor, who 
 states how, in the course of this play, poetic justice 
 has been meted out; the criminals having suffered 
 the penalty of their crimes, and Pericles and his 
 family having, notwithstanding contrary fortunes, 
 been ' led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at 
 last.' He quotes Helicanus as an emblem of truth, 
 of faith, and of loyalty, and Cerimon as a model of 
 ' the worth that learned charity aye wears,' ere he 
 adds that Cleon and his wife, in punishment for 
 their villainy, were burned in their palace. The play 
 concludes with the actor's valediction 'so, on your 
 patience evermore attending, new joy wait on you! 
 Here our play has ending.' 
 
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