PR 2991 ^ ^ »i ■'* \* .. *» -•••" A* * ^ v • •« ^ %^ :&£\ S.J >* ..*••• *< «A V o • " * • *^ °o 1? .. *l» •■• * v /\ -.W y^* 0* s«i&. °o .,*> > >fc 4V Vj, %' *V*S*>* V %••••••> V^S^V* ' v** * o»», cP *^ -ifWzf AT ft^ Wk - ) Studies Shakespeare's Women by Marie M . McKenney BS ^i L J . 1909 i itry CLASS CX. vv Jal F- 000k Copyright, 1908 fiy Marie'M. McKenney Published and Printed by McGill -Warner Co. St. Paul, Minn. 1908 Affectionately Inscribed to My Daughter Grace M. M. McK. Engravings gf Studies gf Shakespeare's Women Idealized by the Author Portia ... Opposite Page . 21 Katharine of Arragon 37 n Cordelia . . 49 Lady M.acbeth 65 Beatrice . . . 79 Juliet .... 87 Rosalind . . 97 ""•Ophelia 103 Cleopatra . . 113 Contents Page ^Portia . 21 Katharine of Arragon . 37 >/ Cordelia ..... . 49 Lady Macbeth 65 Beatrice . . 79 Juliet ..... 87 /Rosalind . . 97 •Ophelia .... 103 Cleopatra ..... . 113 PORTIA PORTIA JN his wonderful pictures of woman's mentality, Shake- speare has revealed the capacity of her mind, which was held of little account in his age. For a woman to possess gifts of mind then cast her among the obnoxious, and to Shakespeare belongs the honor of introducing to the world examples of beautiful and intelligent women, com- bining tender grace and spiritual worth with true strength of character, proto- ypes whom we of the twentieth century may be proud to claim. "The thousand-souled Shakespeare" discovers and presents the versatile characteristics of his women, portrays tneir wit, wisdom and genius, exalts their virtues, and as forcefully pictures [Page 21] their vices. Among his characters of strength, Lady Macbeth, Katharine of Arragon and Portia are prominent. Portia and Beatrice are frequently classed together as strong characters, of strong intellect, widely different in ex- pression, yet each superior in thought. In Portia, all sweetness, womanly modesty and tenderness breathe from her gracious presence. Her eloquence and noble discourse are but the natural outpouring of a mind attuned to har- mony of being. She is as merry with- in the limits of becoming mirth as she is womanly and wise. To this, she adds such skill that what she wills to do seems "wisest, virtuest, best." Her love for Bassanio in its renun- ciation is all womanly, all generous; she yields herself and her entire posses- sions to her soul mate and bends in acknowledgment to her lord, wishing herself "a thousand times more fair, [Page 22] ten thousand times more rich to stand well in his account." That, for herself alone, she would not be ambitious; yet, for him, she would be trebled twenty times to stand high in his regard* "Myself and what is mine, to you and yours Is now converted This house, these servants, and this same myself Are yours, my lord. I give them with this ring." Words of such faith might well call forth a kingly reply* "Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; As after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing, pleased multitude, "Where every something, being blent to- gether, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, Expressed and not expressed. But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence. [Page 23] The pledge is made in warmth of love and all sincerity, to be broken by the oncoming messenger of disaster and the pressure of untoward circumstances. The happiness of these lovers, crossed by tidings from Antonio of the loss of ships and the bond of forfeiture held by Shylock, the Jew, revealed the ob- ligation of her lord to the friend who made possible their marriage. Portia, with woman's devotion, rises to the full height of her vows, yields to the exigency of the situation, and ban- ishing dreams of stately nuptial splen- dor, she becomes at once the keen, efficient woman of sound judgment. "Oh, my dear lord, dispatch this busi- ness and be gone. You shall have gold to pay the money twenty times over before this kind friend shall lose a hair by my Bassanio's fault." Immediately they were married and Bassanio set out for Venice, blessed by f Page 24] the cheerful words and encouragement of his bride. Now t Portia straightway falls to reasoning whether by any means she can be instrumental in saving her dear Bassanio's friend, and doubting not her own powers, she feels called into action by the peril of one so greatly valued by her dear lord. The philos- ophy of her life being practical as well as poetic, she departs for Venice to speak in Antonio's defense, not feeling that she is stooping from her elevation thus to defend her husband's friend. With quickness and decision, she sets about to unwind the intricate web, shrinking not from public gaze; but di- vested of self, she stands the forceful counselor, whose rare tact, wisdom and efficiency are the cruel Jew's undoing. Having a relation, Bellario by name, counselor at law, she wrote to him, stating the case and desiring his opin- ion; asking also that he send her the [Page 25] dress worn by a counselor, to which Bellario responded with advice and all necessities for her equipment. Now, Portia has hope of solving the dilemma of both husband and friend. Bravely she crosses swords with wise counselors in the cause of mercy and jus- tice, incomparably displaying the most tactful diplomacy, to which the world for centuries has turned in admiration and wonder. The court has just opened and the cause is being presented when Portia enters, offering a letter from Bellario asking that the young doctor be per- mitted to plead in his stead. Side by side stand the two pictures, Portia and Shylock, in the same rich framework. Portia with the brilliant light of her noble character, a magnificent, beauty- breathing Titian; Shylock, the inexor- able Jew, a shadowy, dark Rembrandt. :!6| She beholds her husband and friei with agony of fear blanching their faces Her undaunted courage and determina- tion give the incentive of instant action and immediately she addresses the Jew: "Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; Yet in such rule that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you as you do proceed, You stand within his danger, do you not?" "Ay, so he says." "Do you confess the bond?" "I do." "Then must the Jew be merciful." "On what compulsion must I? tell me that." "Xii5_guality of mercy is not strained, It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven Upon the earth beneath; it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest It is enthroned in the heart of kings; It is an attribute of God himself; And earthly power does then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice." How she tempts him with her prayer, [Page 27 j "Shylocki there'i thrice thy money offered thee." "Shall I 1.1 y perjury upon my soul? No, not fur Vfiiicc." Again she appeals to his pity, "Take thrice thy money end bid mc i».r rh.irity." At this, Shylock, witli savage bent, springs on his victim. How grand the scorn, indignation and disgust of Portia! Mark with what subtlety she leads him on to his destruction. "A pound oi th.it lame merchant's flesh is thine; The court awards it and the law doth give it." Looking at the bond, the Daniel-like Portia in even tone continues: ii-.i, "Tarry a little; there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh'; But in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy land and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice." "Is that the law?" "Thyself shall see the act. For as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest." He sees the trap, hesitates and shrinks away as she lets fall upon him all her crashing avalanche of equity and wise counsel. She now reminds him of his position; of his wealth being forfeit to the state; of his having conspired against the life of a citizen, and demands that he go down on his knees and ask par- don of the duke, who, tempering justice with mercy, had pardoned his life, giv- ing half his wealth to Antonio, half to the state. " The generous Antonio relin- [ Page 30] quishes his share in the Jew's riches tip- on Shylock's promise that, at his death, it should go to his disinherited daughter and her Christian husband, the friend of Antonio* The Jew, disappointed in his revenge, despoiled of his wealth, gladly leaves the scene of his discomfiture at the duke's words, "Get thee gone, and sign this agreement, and if you repent your cruelty and turn Christian, the state will return the other half of your riches/' Dismissing Antonio and the court, the duke invites the wise young counselor to dine at his home, which invitation she must of necessity decline. The duke, turning to Antonio, says, "Re- ward this gentleman, for in my mind you are much indebted to him/' And the duke and senators leave the court. Bassanio, with expressions of grati- tude for the wise services rendered him [Page 31] and his friend Antonio, urges the young counselor to accept the three thousand ducats due the Jew. Portia declines, but still being pressed to accept some reward, asks his gloves that she may wear them for his sake. The bared hand reveals the ring and she added, "And for your love, I will take this ring." Sadly distressed that the counselor should ask as reward the only thing he could not part with, and in much con- fusion he tells her it is the gift of his wife and he has vowed never to part with it, but would get for her the most valuable ring in Venice. Affecting ef- frontery, the young counselor appears the selfish, arbitrary character as she leaves the court with the words, "You teach me, sir, how a beggar should be answered." Bassanio listens to the pleadings of his friend, Antonio, that the love and [Page 32] services he had rendered him be valued against his wife's displeasure, and the weak Bassanio, ashamed to appear un- grateful, yields and sends a messenger with the ring, Portia, dropping the robes of counsel- or, is again the diplomat with her need of strong action, judgment and tense pressure; is again all woman; and with the reaction and its sense of relief, she does not analyze her husband, but makes of his act a merry jest. And all the time, the consciousness of a good action has brought to her its reward of peaceful content. What floods of happy thought must have filled her mind as she turns home- ward, chatting with Nerissa, her maid. A bright, new and stainless page has been opened for Portia. With sweet content she nears her rest, her mission fulfilled. She remarks to Nerissa: [Page 33] "That light we see is burning in my hall. How far the little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world." Surely, she had proved it in its full- ness. How fascinating her joyous man- ner in welcoming her husband and friends, whose home-coming followed so soon upon her own! How skilful her merry-making over the giving away of the betrothal ring! With much grace and innocence, she explains to Bassanio that she was the young counselor and Nerissa her clerk. Bassanio is again overwhelmed with joy and wonder at the noble courage and wisdom of his wife. He sees that this beautiful sunbeam of brightness before him is no illusion, but a person of solid sense and sober certainty. The value of her wise, courageous act meets with a happy conclusion, and the power of her goodness and love will en- dure through all time. [Page 34] KATHARINE OF ARRAGON KATHARINE OF ARRAGON >RE-EMINENTLYthe strong, est of Shakespeare's women is Katharine of Arragon, whose extraordinary mother had implanted in her mind the most austere principles and the highest ideals of decorum. At five years of age she was affianced to Arthur, Prince of Wales. At seven- teen she was made wife and widow and at twenty-four she married Henry the Eighth, brother of Prince Arthur, the marriage being celebrated with royal splendor. It was discussed in couricil and its fitness and lawfulness deter- mined by the highest authority of every realm, including her own wise father, the King of Spain. It was considered a [Page 37] match of many advantages, promising great happiness to ruler and people. Katharine possessed a disciplined in- tellect, great courage, and such unusual perception that both King and council stood in awe of her. Yet Henry was always fond of displaying his respect for his Queen, most noticeably expressed love for her on all occasions and accord- ed her honor and confidence. Katha- rine's highest happiness sprang from the consciousness of doing right and was the pinion on which her spiritual in- fluence over the King was borne. For many years Katharine and Henry lived happily together, notwithstanding the difference in their beliefs and the austerity of Katharine's faith. Henry was fond of listening to her and she ex- ercised a strong influence over his tur- bulent spirit. Had Henry died at this time, history would have recorded him LPase38] a magnificent and virtuous prince in- stead of the tyrant that after years proved. When he went to France in \ 513 he left her Regent of his kingdom with full power to carry on the war against the Scots. Bravely did she meet difficul- ties and encounter obstacles; earnestly did she aim to remove all instruments of wrong and to uplift the suffering. In humility before the King t fearless before the right, for the poor she plead- ed; for those whose freedom was sacri- ficed to the load of taxation and exac- tion, the desolation of wars and the extravagance of a gay and heartless regime. Henry daily grew more and more in- different without cause, and the won- derful charms of his Queen lost their beauty in the fascinations of Anne Bul- len, who, as maid of honor, appeared at court in 1529. At this time Henry be- [Page 89] gan to tire of his royal consort, and sought any means of escape from mar- ital vows, while she t who, "like a. jewel had hung for twenty years about his neck, yet never lost its luster/' was as a fetter to his unworthy ambition. This two-fold life of the King carried with it no emotion which inspired a single act of goodness or virtue to be set forth in history. A multitude of subterfuges were brought out by the court and council, actuated by the most ignoble purposes, to sever the sacred ties that bound Henry to his peerless Queen, whose matchless qualities had made his world so fair, his administra- tion so marked with distinction, glory and strength when under her guidance. But Wolsey's advice and intrigue fast enveloped the court atmosphere till all honor crumbled and the King stifled the last cry of conscience and seized with avidity the slightest suggestion of I Page 40 1 scheme and villainy, moulding himself into a reincarnation of Satan. With his own hand he placed the fatal bandage over his eyes, for at this point sin be- came so easy that his conscience slept and he felt no remorse. He knew only the intoxication of this new dream and his determination to exercise his own sweet will, steeped in blackness though it was. And the shadow which dims the luster of his name falls on it by his own hand, and like a fretting rust eats away the gold that once illuminated it. One of his subterfuges was a seeming contrite heart when he expressed to Katharine a fear that an illegal mar- riage might be proved. This brought out all her love and sympathy, together with vigorous protests that she might quiet his unreasoning fears and uneasy conscience, troubled as he told her he was by his religious convictions and fear of wrongdoing. With Katharine's high I Page 11 I ideals, upright, wise and ever honorable course, she unhesitatingly and courage- ously urged the principles of right as against wrong. But her arguments did not sink deep into the heart or con- science of the King, who had already chosen the means to achieve his desire. At this time, Katharine's character had reached the highest level of excel- lence, and her promising life was at its prime when Henry's determined course reached its climax. Nowhere is there recorded courage greater and more he- roic than in Katharine's appeal to the King for justice and for protection of her own and her daughter's dignity; courage that shall redound to her honor throughout the ages. "Alas, sir, in what have I offended you? What cause hath my behavior given to your displeasure that you should proceed to put me off and take your good grace from me? Heaven witness I have been to you a true and lawful wife/' [Page 42] With dignity she proclaims herself a lawful wife t the debatable question set- tled before she took the vow. With virtuous scorn she challenges Cardinal Wolsey, who had "blown the coal be- tween my lord and me." With dignity grand in its purport, she makes that splendid appeal to the King, an appeal for justice and wifely protec- tion. The Cardinal urges the most hate- ful conditions upon her, but shrinks at her words, Uut upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge That no king can corrupt." In the King's efforts to persuade her to enter a religious house, she rejected with disdain his advice. "I am the King's true wife and to him married; And if all doctors were dead, or law or Learning far out of men's minds at the time Of our marriage, yet I cannot think that the [Page 43] Court of Rome and tin* church of England would Have consented to i thing unlawful and detestable As you call ii. Still I say. I atn his wife And for him will T pray." Shortly after this the King ordered her to repair to a private residence and no longer consider herselt his lawful wile, to which the Queen replied that no matter to what place she was re- moved, nothing would prevent her from being the King's true wife. Immediate- ly thereafter the King married Anne Bullcn, while the decision relating to his former marriage was still pending. Katharine never recovered from the blow, but grandly asserting her right, thus addressed the heartless King: "My most dear Lord, Kin£ and Husband: The hour of my death now approaching. I cannot choose but. out of the love I bear you, advise you of your soul's health, which you ought to prefer before all con- siderations of the world or flesh whatso- 1 44] ever, for which you have cast me into many calamities and yourself into many troubles. But I forgive you all and pray God to do so likewise. I commend unto you Mary, our daughter, beseeching you to be a father to her as I have heretofore desired Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things. —Farewell!" Thus we leave the fair Katharine, whose letter to the King was read through a mist of tears, the only tears ever recorded of Henry. We admire the Queen, not so much as a character of history, as a living ideal, exalted by trials, made perfect by affliction, into whom the Master of the human mind has put all the love, beauty and strength of womanhood. A sad, broken-hearted woman, dying as she had lived, loyally, royally, there can be no better tribute to her than the words once uttered by Henry: "Go thy ways, Kate. That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in naught be trusted, For speaking false in thatl Thou art alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness, saint-like, wife-like govern- ment, Obeying in commanding; and thy parts, Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out The queen of earthly queens. She's nobly born, And like her true nobility she has Carried herself towards me." I Page 46 J CORDELIA CORDELIA )NE of the sweetest flowers that bloom in Shakespeare's literary garden of fair women is Cordelia, youngest daughter of King Lear, whose achieve- ment in conquering difficulties proved a mental poise beyond the power of prov- ocation or irritation to destroy. Her intense love for her father cannot be told, yet when she learns of the protestations of love so lavishly pro- claimed by her sisters, she cannot make up her mind to utter such flattering as- sertions. Ashamed to say aloud those sacred things held so tenderly in her heart to buy a dowry, she silently covers her sorrow and bears the hard- ship and asperities, which can be made worse than death by explanation, and [Page 49] is, consequently, disinherited by her father, for whom she feels the deepest affection* How pitiful! How woeful seems this tragedy oJ misunderstanding caused by the delieacy ot her nature. Her father, whose ruin is inevitable on account of the avarice and malignity of her sisters, leaves her. a solitary, sensitive spirit. searching vaguely for her place in this cold and uncharitable world. She is a heart-stirring picture; love and longing all swell within her, while griefi tear and misery press upon her. In the entire horizon of the human mind, no picture "mirrored in fancy's glass" could show greater distress. Cor- delia felt that it were better to forbear in silence than to be heard at this in- opportune moment. When we consider the great age of King Lear, we can more easily excuse his vanity in demanding an expression Pat* 5oi of affection from his daughters. Call- ing first his eldest daughter, Goneril, he demands an expression of her heart, which she protests is filled with great- est love for him; that he is more to her and dearer than her own life. Regan, the second daughter, protests with great oaths that she loves him more than tongue can tell. Then, calling Cordelia, he asks what account she makes of him. She ans- wers, "Knowing the great love and fatherly zeal which you have borne to- ward me, I protest that I have loved you ever; and while I live, shall love you as my natural father, and if you will assure yourself that so much as you are worth, so much I love you and no more." Lear, astonished at this reply, mar- ried his eldest two daughters, one to the Duke of Cornwall, the other to the Duke of Albany, willing his land to be divided between them after his death; one -half to be immediately assigned to them* For Cordelia* he reserved nothing. But one Prince of Gallia* named AganipptfS, learning of her loveliness and beauty of character, asked her hand in marriage, answer being made that he might have her, but without dower. AganipptSS eared only for her charming and amiable virtues and married her for what was grandest and truest in her nature, prising this as a blessing in comparison with which all wealth and grandetrr sank into nothingness* The vanity of her sisters flourished for a time, then withered like stricken trees. Cordelia's was "A nature t ti.it is noble and loyal. Sublime in all thai la grand) (.■twit tn tiu- supreme conception Of the work oi an Omnipotent hand*" i Pag* BS l The beauty which springs from a life like this has in its qualities a perma- nent vitality without mixture of the in- jurious and the evil. Take away the soul of a woman and what is she? De- stroy the faculties of the soul and you extinguish her. The unnatural dealings of Cordelia's sisters with their father took away their souls, leaving nothing but avarice and intrigue. Picture, if you can, daughters so av- aricious as to despoil their father of the government of his lands, assigning him only a portion, which in time became so diminished as to be unsuited to his position. The rancor in his heart sank deeper and deeper each day from the unkind- ness of his elder daughters, who seemed to think their father possessed too much, little though it was. Going from one to the other, he was brought to such misery that he fled the [Page 63] land and sailed to Gallia, to seek Cor- delia, forgetting the bitterness he had entertained toward her. Cordelia re- ceived him affectionately, and in her ardent sympathy, privily sent him a sum of money suitably to apparel him- self to appear at court, where he was so becomingly and lovingly received that his sore heart was greatly com- forted, for he was no less honored than in former days. Aganippus then caused a large army to be put in readiness and a great navy to be constructed, and all passed into Britain with the old King, his father- in-law, Cordelia accompanying father and husband. A severe battle ensued in which Maglanus and Hennius were slain. Lear was restored to his king- dom and ruled for two years, dying after a reign of forty years. The reconciliation of father and daughter proves the loving heart of [Page 54] Cordelia* It was intended in the Divine plan that love should be the ruling pas- sion of the world. The meaning of love is faithfulness, devotion and truth. What better example could be brought than this of Cordelia and her sisters, whose cold-hearted stratagems wrecked their lives and caused the ruin of their husbands and the loss of their empires? When avarice is made the first principle of life t how soon do the choic- est qualities disappear, lessening every strong and noble purpose. The heart's affection becomes only superficial and is not developed by human kindness into that which is good and true; but that which is wicked and false. The affection and true-heartedness brought back her dear old father from misery and degradation and won for her hus- band a kingdom. The malignant natures of Goneril and Regan, and their filial ingratitude, stand [Page 55] in striking contrast to the sweet vir- tues of Cordelia. Goneril, especially, in her innate selfishness, deserves the greatest censure. Her husband, how- ever, shared not in her malice, but re- mained always true to the King. Regan, on the other hand, had in Cornwall a husband who was in perfect accord with her plotting against her father, joining her in the personifica- tion of ingratitude. Had Shakespeare been the author of the human heart, it seems hardly possible he could have better understood what it is in it or how it is made. Cordelia unwillingly sees the infirmi- ties of her beloved father and pities them in the spirit of a true daughter. Her marvelous silence in the presence of her sisters evidences a character God- given, which does not appear to the eye or sense. The beautiful flowers of her good deeds do not wither, but con- I Page 66] tinue to bloom with cultivation; to en- chant in many hues; ablaze with the glories of crimson, purple and gold, so that new joy, new hope and new wis- dom encompass hen Her life was not a long life but a strong life, rich in every quality that endears* She possessed the tenderest of hearts, full of sympathy, so sunny in nature that the stars sang for her in their silent beauty and the winds made music for her ears* Lear, in speaking of her to the King of France, said, "I loved her most and thought to stay my rest on her kind nursery." Lear seemed to hunger and thirst for expressions of affection from his children, while Cordelia with gra- cious charm, kept his faculties in good tune, save for the strategy of her sis- ters* She longed to protect him, and would have done so had he not cast [Page 57] her off in anger* Thwarted in his hope, he was aflame with rage and speaks of her as "Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dowered with our curse, and strangered With our oath." The King of France replies, "This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle So many folds of your favor/' Hudson says, "Lear's behavior to- ward Cordelia is like a child who is peevish and fretful, and prevented from kissing his nurse, falls to striking her." Lear knows that he has wronged his best beloved child, and to appear that he is right, he binds the act with an oath, a striking evidence of his weak- IPage 58] ened mind. Sensitive to the wrong he has done her, his remorse renders him more provoked regarding the treatment of his elder daughters and a chaos of mind ensues. What a wonderful tran- sition must have followed, first in still- ness, then tempest and storm! What alterations of feelings! What sudden and grief-stricken emotions must have filled his heart as he sat with stars shining above, the silence broken only by the fountain and a long colonnade of people, who seemed like statues stand- ing wraith-like in the soft light. Beau- tiful and in full glory shone the moon, but the winter snows of his heart chilled and folded the world in its frosts. Cordelia asks the physician, "What can man's wisdom in the restoring his bereav- ed sense ?" The physician replies, "There is means, madam; Our foster nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks/' [Page 59] And again the reply is significant. The physician, in giving directions for pre- venting a relapse, tells her, "Be comforted, good in.ul.un, the great rage You *>.v ts cured in him; and ye1 'tis danger To make even o'er the time he lias lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more Till further sitting" A critic says of Cordelia that "every- thing in her lies beyond our view and affects ns in such a manner that we rather feel than perceive it." The strongest affections are not the most demonstrative. He who knows how to persist through discouragements can achieve a power which enables him to uplift and illumine conditions. Cordelia possessed a peculiar fitness for filial piety which she enacted in sacred duty religiously observed, veiling her acts in such pure simplicity as to reflect an influence of loving sympathy [Page 60] all her own. She thinks and shapes her acts instead of her speech, save on occasions, as when, kneeling before her father, she entreats him "to hold his hands in benediction o'er her." She knows the wiles of her sisters, but, in true allegiance to her family, veils their faults and holds her heart's woe in silence. Her poor old father had cast her off from his bounty but he could not cast her from his heart. Noting again from Hudson, "We seem almost to hear her sighs and feel her breath as she hangs like a ministering angel over her reviving father; the vis- ion sinks sweetly and quietly into the heart." Schlegel says, "Of Cordelia's heavenly beauty of soul I dare not speak." Rich indeed was her sway over all loving and sympathetic emotions. Her benev- olence and kindly acts made life beau- tiful to many who were sore of heart [Page II] and stricken of soul, pouring into their existence light, gladness and sunshine. Unlike the sordid earthiness of her sisters, her character reveals qualities generous and affectionate, beaming in tact and penetration; in spiritual beau- ties and moral consciousness. Her nat- uralness and nobility creep into the heart. We seem to hear the sweet tones of her voice as of modulated music which fills the air with touching sym- phony, like that which drops from a lute of heaven when a seraph breathes on it. [Page 62] LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH L "ADYMacbeth,the most force- ful of Shakespeare's women, stands alone. Her insatiable ambition, overpowering every gentler quality, has a fascination in its horrible method of winning a crown. We stand aghast at her calm- ness in planning the murder of the good old King, her guest, who had so gener- ously raised her husband to greatness. We shrink from the details of a crime against the trusting, silver-haired man, who comes, it would seem, in answer to a terrible thought of opportunity. Macbeth longs for the object of his pursuit but shrinks from the means to attain the end. He fears "to let the sun see his wished-for crime/' Hudson says,. "The weird sisters do not create [Page 65] the evil heart; they only unite the evil hands/' They put nothing into Mac- beth's mind? merely draw out what is already there. We are naturally made conscious of what is within us by the shadow it casts in the light of occasion. Lady Macbeth had been growing and expounding an ambition to have her husband wear the crown; and to do her justice, we must acknowledge it was a wish of affectionate unselfishness, a de- sire to see him honored. Lady Mac- beth knows her husband's weakness per- fectly, and stimulates his courage and ambition by her connivance and own vicious planning of the crime. The let- ter which Macbeth writes to her con- cerning the witches, shows perfect love and trust as he addresses her; "This have I thought to deliver to thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is prom- ised thee." rtti| When her husband's nature, more cowardly than her own, recoils from the deed of horror, Lady Macbeth asks, "What beast was't then That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man." Her "undaunted mettle" disdains the cowardice of her husband. She would have died rather than have uttered a complaint. Only one purpose was be- fore her. Preparing herself for the or- deal, she cries, "Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage of remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature rPageGTJ Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace be- tween The effect and it." In considering Lady Macbeth's char- acter, notice particularly one thing, that she is ambitious more for her husband than for herself. In her reflections on his character, she remarks on the fluid- ity of his nature, but not in scorn does she speak of him, rather with womanly respect and wifely love. "Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; thou shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way." Fully conscious of her intellectual en- dowments, she appreciates, too, what her future position will mean to her, and the dream of power lures her on. "Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both by the all-hail hereafterl l Page 68] Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant!" Although there is no proof that Lady Macbeth was the accomplice in more than one crime, she, certainly, was the instigator of all that was foul. At the suggestion of failure, she exclaims: "We faill But screw your courage to the sticking- place And we'll not fail." And earlier than this she has said to him: "Art thou afeared To be the same in thine own act and valor As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteemst the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?" Macbeth's reply shows that he is stung to action. [Pajre 6»] "Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none." Surely, he has reached the acme of wickedness. In this awful plotting, he has let go his hold on heaven that he might wear a crown. A crown is won, but heaven is lost. With sinister desire and remorseless determination, she urges the means which justify the end, until the horrible tale is told. Like a woman unsexed, she calmly makes preparations for the deed t intoxicating the men in Duncan's chamber, carrying the weapons with which Macbeth is to perform the crime, weakening from doing it herself only when, looking upon the peaceful victim of her vile intent, she sees his resem- blance to her father. Memories of innocence and filial de- votion come flooding back and paralyze l Page 70] the hand uplifted to slay. But there is no recoil to Lady Macbeth — to plan is to execute. The most demoniacal situation given to Lady Macbeth is that wherein she commands her husband to return, to the King's chamber, the daggers which he has brought, and to smear the "sleepy grooms with blood." Macbeth, in his remorse, wishes he could rouse the sleeper to life again; and we pity the agony of his self-accusation. "I'll go no more. I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again, I dare not." In contempt of fear, she replies, "Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers; the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of child- hood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt." [Page 71] Returning from the chamber of death with nerves of steel, she holds out her blood-stained hands to the terrified partner of her crime, and as though challenging fate, she cries, "My hands of your color, bat I shame To wear a heart so white." The horror of retribution comes later when she cries out in agony of mind, "What! will these hands ne'er be clean?" When morning light discloses the tragedy, Lady Macbeth, feigning with consummate skill untold pity for the dear friend, shields and strengthens her husband with such astounding calm- ness that no suspicion falls upon the guilty couple. In reading the terrible tragedy, it ap- pears that Lady Macbeth holds her self- control, keeps her remorse in abeyance only until the object of her ambition is 1 Page 72] attained. She does not take part in the foul murders which her husband instigates to assure his supposed safety. "She has plunged with her husband in- to the abyss of guilt to secure to all their days and nights to come, sole sovereign sway and masterdom." Her ambition has now been gratified, her husband is king, but the honors thus gained rest not easy upon her brow, for conscience has quite over- thrown her. The spirits of evil, who came at her call, go not at her bidding. They are under her eyelids when she would sleep, and, in her waking hours, they are her constant companions. In her dreams, they bring back nightly her hideous crime. Her blood-stained hands cry out unceasingly in silent wit- ness of her guilt. After all, the crown for which she sinned so premeditatedly, is but one of thorns. [Page 73] In the sleep-walking scene, we have a glimpse of her inner torture* Her sleep is no longer repose, but helpless despair, Wailingly she cries, "Oat, damned spot! Out, I say! One; two; why, then 'tis time to do it. Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier and afeared? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call oar power to ac- count?" Lady Macbeth was a woman without woman's greatest attribute, a tender heart. The lure of power and its glory is her absorbing thought, but, soon after wearing the crown, her inner conscious- ness wakes tb bitter unrest, and it is only to cover Macbeth's behavior and the words let fall before their astonished guests, that she can summon energy to excuse him and to maintain a calm de- meanor. But secrets which her waking mind would ne'er reveal, are laid bare in [Page 74 J helpless slumber, and this strong-willed woman, with her masterful control, wan- ders about the castle, uttering the tale of her crime and trying to wash the blood stains from her hands which "all the perfumes of Arabia cannot sweeten/* "Wash your hands pot on your night- gown; look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of's grave." And thus she lives over those terrible scenes. Her doctor says, "More needs she the Divine than the physician/* How little value is the realization of any ambition on which the blessing of God cannot rest! Lady Macbeth had reaped what she had sown — Evil. [Page 75] BEATRICE I BEATRICE !N Beatrice, we have a char- acter most interesting and one that appeals to us in its many-sidedness. She pos- sesses the quality of exuberance in so marked a degree as to enhance her beauty and make it more entrancing. She is a woman spontaneous, vivacious and resolute, whose fiery spirit and dom- inating will make her feared while she is admired. She stings to pique the self-esteem of those at whom she aims the dart, while her words do violence to smiling lips and eyes made brighter by malicious enjoyment. This pleasing, enjoyable wit she studies, cultivates and relies upon as a passport in the world of which she is a part; that world ever praising and [Page 79] caressing the favorite of the hour, whose entertaining jests are lavishly bestowed to please or to wound. As guest of her imcle t the Governor of Messina, she meets Benedick, Lord of Padua, and their introduction is the signal to arms, each recognizing the challenge to a skirmish of wit. Benedick, "ne'er ruffled by those cat- aracts and breaks which humor inter- posed too often makes/' ignores the presence of the merry jester when he again enters the home of the Governor, with whom he begins a lively conver- sation. Beatrice, piqued by being left out of the discourse, interrupts Bene- dick by saying: "I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick, nobody marks you." To which Benedick replies, "What, my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?" "Is it possible Disdain should die while she Page 80] hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence/' "Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; And I would I could find it in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for truly I love none." "A dear happiness to women: They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor; I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than to hear a man swear he loves me." As like begets like, so surely do these two "rare parrot teachers" each claim the thought of the other, and while claiming it, the Cupid they both de- clare against is following his course not smoothly. The prince shows delight in the con- versation of Benedick, and Beatrice, observing this, calls him the prince's jester. For a time Benedick resents this; still, each believing the other to be in love with another, the malady of [Page 81] jealousy creeps in and at last produces the result so much desired by the uncle* While Beatrice, in outward behavior, appears to dislike Benedick, she holds him in high favor, disguising her inner feeling with witty conversation, which often produces a tragic dish for diges- tion. She laughs out her sadness, plays out her seriousness and bows in heart to her honored victor, while her true self is revealed to Benedick by the kind conspiracy of friends. At the same time, Benedick hears that the Governor has said that, if they were married a week, they would talk themselves mad; and it was said of Beatrice that she was wise in all things save in loving him. At this Benedick was roused, and, thinking that no great argument of her folly, earnestly resolved to win her affections. But, at each meeting, the wordy battle was renewed [Page 82] in no lavender and rosewater manner. Yet we find them each anxious for the good opinion of the other, and a com- mon sympathy for Lady Hero t Beatrice's cousin, so wrongfully accused, gives a favorable opportunity to bring out the best and highest qualities of each* They had been tricked into love by the power of a false jest, but the affec- tion which a merry invention had cheated them into, had grown too pow- erful to be shaken by a serious expla- nation. And, since Benedick proposed to marry her, he was resolved to think nothing of what the world might say against it. So he merrily kept up the jest and swore to Beatrice that he took her out of pity, while Beatrice pro- tested that she yielded to great per- suasion and married him to save his life, for she heard that he was "in a consumption/' [Page 83 J Pronounced characteristics must ever hold sway; but it is to be hoped that the united qualities of patience and for- titude, soundness of heart and judg- ment, came to them and tempered their imperious pride to devotion and kind consideration. For, as are the contin- uous thoughts, so also will be the char- acter of the mind. We will leave Benedick and Beatrice to their matrimonial triumphs with the hope that, as Benedick asserts they were both too wise to woo peaceably, they may be able to sheathe their sharp steel in velvet and soften their wordy blows to tender caresses. The volatility of the past was re- placed by purposeful and ennobled char- acter, choosing the significant rather than the insignificant; the permanent rather^ than the transient pleasures of life, [Page 84] JULIET JULIET SHE well known character of Juliet is viewed from many points* Her life's story has been charmingly told, to be exceeded in beauty only by the subject which inspired it. Her sweet t young face looked goodness and her laugh lighted all around her as though she were the brightest wit of a conversa- tion. She possessed a delicate, intense nature, often indulged in delicious rev- eries and fairy dreams in the privacy of her own chamber, where she divined things which held her happily entranced. The vital fire of love which was to rouse her from a dreaming childhood into a sentient, passionate woman, had not yet awakened, and the cruel god- dess of her dreams was pluming her [Page 87] wings for flight, leaving Juliet gazing from the forest crowned heights on which a mist still lay sleeping. No lamb had a warmer sheep-fold than the home where her childhood nestled. But the day had arrived when the sovereignty of her own heart was no longer hers, and a higher and still higher light shone for her, creating a beautiful world out of chaos. The cre- ative touch has been given and, from the quiet seclusion of her home, she has rushed outward to a life of fascination, unfolding into the eternal flower of love's being. Young hearts, just set- ting forth upon the journey, cannot solve the enigma of this experience, but, sooner or later it comes to all. An image appears like the marble stat- ue of Pygmalion, the eyes and lips give signs of turning into speaking, loving life, which entrances and governs the heart. IPagre 88] No character in Shakespeare appeals more keenly to our sympathies than does that of Juliet. With life all un- tried before her, she rushes on to de- struction, unhindered. She has no com- panion save the garrulous old nurse, who proves a very incompetent guide through the quicksands and shoals that await her. The unyielding, tyrannical nature of her father, in his determina- tion to force her into a distasteful mar- riage with Count Paris, must in a meas- ure excuse her duplicity. In judging Juliet, we must remember her tender years. Not quite fourteen, she gives her passionate first love to the enemy of her home, without thought or reason, and when the merry feast and dance is ended, tells, to the night, the burden of her thought. "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, For my sake." [Page 89 J To which comes the answer: "Call me but love, and I'll be new baptised; Henceforth I will never be Romeo/' Impetuously comes the promise and fulfillment of the secret marriage, fol- lowed closely by her father's promise of her hand to the gallant young noble- man, Count Paris* The struggle now begins between love and evil destinies and a cruel world. A few short hours of unalloyed happiness are theirs in which to recount the romance of their meeting, when Juliet can assert her right to be wooed in words of maidenly modesty. "Ah, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully; Or, if thou thinkst I'm too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo." This storm tossed Romeo is as su- preme in the realm of love is as Hamlet [Page 90] in the realm of thought; and Juliet in love overshadows all other women* Drinking of the potion which will lay her unconscious in the cold earth, for- getful of fears, with all faith and re- nunciation for love's sweet sake, Juliet is the embodiment of devotion, of cour- age undaunted* We think of her as the child-wife, hearing her father's fate- ful words, "An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the street, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee." The child, pleading to her mother, re- ceives no solace, no support. "O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if thou do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies." Lady Capulet answers, f Page 9 1 ] 'Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word. Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee/' Torn by conflicting emotions, love, duty, obedience, she still seeks counsel in her woes and appeals to her nurse: "O nurse! how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in hea- ven; Comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself!" Nurse replies, "Faith, here it is: Romeo is banished, and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. Oh, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye [Page 92] c As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first; or if it did not, Your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use to him." "Speakest thou from thy heart?" "And from my soul, too, Or else beshrew them both." "Amen! Well, thou hast comforted me marvelous much, Go in and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Lau- rence' cell, To make confession and be absolved." The girl to womanhood has sprung, and her bursting heart with determi- nation awaits any hardship. In frenzy, she exclaims: "Oh, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower, Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a deadman in his shroud, And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstained wife to my sweet love." [Pag© 93 J The artifice of the potion is perfect, though in execution it becomes a trag- edy. She is carried to her grave in solemn state, waking in due time only to discover the riot of death about her, and, thinking that Romeo has taken poison, she first kisses his lips, so that, if possible, some slight portion might there be found that would also work its power on her. Then, discovering his dagger, she seizes it, saying, "O happy dagger!" stabs herself and dies. The sacrifice of these child-lovers to the quarrels and dissensions of the fam- ilies of Capulet and Montague ends the feud, and to Juliet Lord Montague erects a statue of pure gold, that while Verona shall keep its name, no figure shall be so esteemed for the richness and workmanship as that of the true and faithful Juliet. And Shakespeare may well declare "Never was there story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo." [Page 94] ROSALIND ROSALIND SOSALIND inherited from her dethroned and banished father the spirit of meek submission, gentleness, and a greater attribute, forgiveness. En- vironed by court splendor, loved by her uncle, the usurper, adored by her cousin, Celia, the Naomi of the romance, Rosalind draws her father's loyal sub- jects closer to him by her sad, sweet beauty, speaking the story of the Arden forest and depicting its gloom with a silence and melancholy more impressive than any spoken word. Adjusting her- self to new conditions without envy, sur- rendering her rightful homage to another with loving unselfishness, we see in her a character full of womanly worth, possessed of Christian virtues, many and rare. [Page 97] When she, too, is banished by the cruel uncle, envious of her growing favor, fearful of his daughter's pres- tige, she accepts the trial bravely, with- out grief or regret, with a calm resigna- tion to the inevitable, developing and strengthening faculties lying dormant until called into action by this sudden demand. Celia, a voluntary exile for her cous- in's sake, elicits the strength of a chiv- alrous brother. Gladly, as well as hu- morously, Rosalind dons the attire to speed them well on their weary jour- ney, and we find, throughout the drama of this love play, that, with the change of scene and raiment, a merry heart and sparkling wit bubble forth to cheer her devoted companions, and her gen- ial spirit touches into life whatever it shines upon. Added to her experiences, there has come a deeper knowledge. She has met [Page 981 Orlando, the wrestler, the hated brother of a reigning duke, whose father, Sir Rowland de Boys — dead some years since — was a firm and honored friend of her father* Her pity for Orlando's sad condition (and pity's always akin to love) had lighted a flame in both voting hearts, giving to her both joy and pain and to him the conquering valor and love to be rewarded in the forest of Arden, where in the amusing role of Ganymede, she puts her lover to the full test and learns the measure of his love and constancy* Rosalind, in intellect, is the equal of Beatrice; in wit, as sparkling, but more kind, never wounding, but always hold- ing to her own high ideals* In woman- ly worth, she is superior to many char- acters portrayed by Shakespeare, though as a dramatic character not so strong* We admire her courage as the shep- herd in the lonely forest, her loyalty to [Page 99] the man without a career, Orlando, a toy of chance as he seems, deprived of education by his unnatural brother, is saddened, dismayed at the dangers be- fore them; but Rosalind smooths the rough places, smiles away the frown of despair, seeks her father's blessing upon their union, and with womanly genius, weaves the web to capture fortune and success. Meanwhile, her faith is bring- ing its reward in the reconciliation of the two brothers, the restoration of the estates and her father's dukedom. The wedding chimes ring joyously as the Duke gives the fair Rosalind into the keeping of another, closing the last chapter in the book of the exiles: "Then is there mirth in heaven, "When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter; Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within her bosom is." [Page 3 00] OPHELIA r- 1 OPHELIA ,OULD a character be more replete with tragic intensity and heart touching experi- ences than that of Ophelia! Brought from a life of obscurity into the circle of a pompous and dissolute court, the gentle, motherless girl is placed as a favorite attendant upon an artful queen t who t recognizing her beau- ty and innocence, bestows upon her much love and earnest solicitude* The tender-hearted, responsive child, oft,- spring of a delicate mother, nurtured in quiet seclusion, and with loving care, opened like a flower to the benign in- fluence of this atmosphere and raised her sweet face to the sunshine of life unafraid. [Page 103] The Queen's affection for Ophelia is one of the commendable things record- ed of her and the mother-love shown to both Hamlet and Ophelia portrays an unselfish nature, in a measure recon- ciling us to this changeful, rather unique character. That she had hoped to see Ophelia her son's wife is, in itself, a tribute to her winsome ways and mental endow- ments and to Ophelia's virtue and faithfulness. The distress of the queen mother is manifested as she looks for a cure for the madness, assumed or real, which possesses her much-loved son, for whom she feels the mother's thrill, joy and pride in the success which had crowned his brilliant career. / Hamlet's is a delicate, impassioned nature, possessing the purest type of thought, cradled under the influence of the noblest of fathers; passionately in [Page 104] love with the purest, sweetest of girls. Looking "from the heights of the throne to which he is born," he perceives naught but beauty and happiness await- ing him, when suddenly the blow falls like a clap of thunder from a cloudless sky. The most earnest students of Shake- speare have called Ophelia intellectual and of marked and unusual ability. One writer asserts that "Hamlet's love for Ophelia was the most mastering im- pulse of his life." Another says, "There is nothing in Ophelia which could make her the object of an engrossing passion to so majestic a soul as Hamlet." An- other avers that the love of Hamlet for Ophelia is deep and true, precisely the kind of love which a man like Hamlet would feel for such a woman as Ophelia. Julia Marlowe asserts that "Ophelia's attitude toward Hamlet was always one of most extreme solicitude for his wel- fare." [Page 105] Sfj Hamlet's coldness and rudeness to- ward her after a time is excused by tender pity. The once noble intellect and clear understanding is clouded by melancholy, so that the former perfect harmony of being has touched a jarring chord. All serenity and grace of mind is dead. This Ophelia sadly observes. Consequently, the deception shown in her reply to Hamlet's inquiry regard- ing her father, was in the hope that by it she could help him and save her father. So deeply is her exquisite na- ture touched in sympathy for his mal- ady that any sacrifice of herself is glad- ly offered. Constantly in the society of Hamlet, she drank in the pledges of his love with unquestioning faith. Then occurs the scene where Hamlet upbraids himself, and Ophelia says lit- tle under the blasting sting of his words: "I did love you once." "Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so* [Page 106] "You should not have believed me. I loved you not/' "I was the more deceived." How cruel seems this treatment to the one who had been taught by love to feel herself the one beam of light and joy of her lover. His love- vows had been the food of her existence. In the delicacy of her pure mind t she sees the ruin of her hopes, the madness of her lover. Life's blandishments are be- yond her comprehension; she is hardly aware of her own feelings. She says little; she seems more conscious of be- ing loved than of loving. Yet, there is every evidence of hon- orable intention and sincerity in Ham- let's love making. In the letter which Polonius intercepts, Hamlet declares that he loves her "best, Oh, most best!" As we read the story, we have the con- viction that Hamlet regards Ophelia with the tenderness — love, if you will — [Page 107] which a morbid, contemplative nature may feel toward such a gentle, inno- cent girl as she. After his interview with the ghost, all his nature seems changed, and, in his malady, he forswears all earthly interests other than revenge. And his love for Ophelia must be at an end, erased from his heart, in answer to the vow he takes upon himself. Life offers no more joy for him; his future must be cast in a new mould. He does not wish to oppress Ophelia with his woes; he cannot reveal to her the terrible influences that have changed the current of his life. What an appalling situation presents itself to her! The sudden, violent death of her father, to whom she is devotedly attached, coming from the hand of her lover, touches the heart of those who can feel her sorrow and comprehend the [Page 108] web of horrors in which she is so inex- tricably entangled. Made orphan by the hand of her lov- er, to whom she had been so faithful, though repulsed and forsaken, the strain snaps the thread, and we feel almost glad that she goes on singing the frag- ments from a happy, fading memory, no longer capable of realizing her own distress. With garlands mixed of dais- ies and nettles, bright flowers and dark- some weeds, the brook reflects its play- mate, an innocent sweet child, with her symbolic crown, singing her own re- quiem. [Page 109] CLEOPATRA f CLEOPATRA j|HE barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water; the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so per- fumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars Were silver; which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, And made the water, which they beat to follow faster. For her own person, It beggared all description; she did lie- In her pavilion (cloth-of-gold of tissue) O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see The fancy outwork nature; on each side her Stood pretty, dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers colored fans. Her gentle women, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her in the eyes. At the helm, A seeming mermaid steers; from the barge A strange, invisible perfume hits the sense [Page 113] Of the adjacent wharves. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthroned in the market place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air, which but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra, too, And made a gap in nature." The portrait of this marvelous woman could not be put upon canvas as strong- ly as in the word-coloring of the great Shakespeare, when he pictures her sail- ing up Cydnus in her gorgeous barge, bringing her allurements to bear on the heart of the sensuous Roman, whom she meets as an enemy and judge. She has reached her full-blown beau- ty ere she meets Antony and bewilders him with this dazzling picture of Orien- tal splendor. On her arrival, Antony invites her to the dinner of the Romans. She declines until he shall have called upon her, and he, with true urbanity, complies, and finds such splendor of entertainment as he has never before f Page 1141 witnessed. He is enslaved from that hour. He departs as her conquered lover t but as a debased and cowardly warrior. Lewes says, "Because she was an Egyptian and a barbarian, she caught the Roman hero in her toils through the power of her charms, and caused a man, born with all the qualities of great- ness, to belie himself to his own ruin/' Antony seems hardly to have made an effort to resist the power of this vo- luptuous, beauty-breathing coquette, so experienced in the wiles of fascination, luxury and prodigality. Her changeful moods leave nothing for thought of moral sense, but by variety and every caprice of a spoiled woman, she be- guiles and holds spell-bound her new lover. And he, who was once the splen- did Mark Antony, calls out all her pas- sionate love, satisfies her inordinate van- ity, and by her wit and wondrous gifts, she accomplishes her desired end. [Page 115] With a rare knowledge of the lan- guages, she conversed without inter- preters with Greeks, Jews, Arabians, Syrians, Medes and Parthians, which en- tirely bewitched Antony. Instead of continuing his momentous duties, he gave up all manliness and followed her to Alexandria, there to revel in idleness and splendor, squandering riches and precious time, till he became the scan- dal of Rome. Never was a strong man more enthralled than was Antony by this fascinating woman. The effect of the wars, or the prosperity of his peo- ple were a secondary consideration to him. After months and months of dissipa- tion, which would seem to come from dethroned reason, Fulvia dies, which brings remorse and stirs Antony to a moment's consciousness. He realizes that a great soul is gone. "She's dead, my wife, my queen/ ' But the jeal- [Page 116] ousy of his "serpent of the Nile" and her taunting rebukes, lead but to quick forgetfulness and greater abandon in reconciliation. He seemed mad as the winds, and Cleopatra created for him an alluring atmosphere in which he basked. Occasionally we find Antony return- ing her taunts, as when he tells her that Octavia, his second wife (who is sister of Octavius Caesar, his greatest enemy), is the type of woman who can love so truly that a sacrifice of herself to the cause of duty seems but a light and necessary act. Upon hearing of Fulvia's death, Cleo- patra upbraids Antony by saying that she can see by Fulvia's death how hers "received will be." Yet, for fourteen years this mysterious chain bound him, and the toils of the serpent clung so closely as to lull to sleep all ambition. Kingdoms were sacrificed to this Egyp- [Page 117] tian, who, acting her well-planned part, enjoyed the lavish bestowal of gifts, in- cluding the famous Alexandrian library. How indignant must have been the people of Alexandria when they found that he had given her this library of such value, which he had no right to bestow. This treason to the state seemed little worse than his giving up the Parthian exposition; and his general abandonment of duty and official trust must have incensed every patriot. Cleopatra is the consummate actress, yet she is filled with passionate love for her Roman, and her anger and jealousy when she hears of Antony's marriage to Octavia proves its sincer- ity. Her mastering vanity, however, sustains her pain, and it is with delight that she learns of the ill-favored Oc- tavia, from the messenger who brings tidings of the marriage. [Page 118] This marriage was undoubtedly one of political importance, for Octavia was not only a stately and noble woman, but sister of a Roman grandee; and Antony must have considered her a more desirable match than the beauti- ful Egyptian. One would have sup- posed that after Fulvia's death, he would have selected as his wife his daily and hourly charmer, especially as she was a queen* How this must have piqued the proud daughter of the Ptolemies, that with all her charms, she was not equal to Caesar's sister. But she stifled her resentment and bided her time. She was too politic to show anger. She was not an impulsive woman and had a political point to gain as well. Octavius, in giving in marriage his sister, hoped to unite the kingdoms. "There is my hand, A sister I bequeath to you, whom no brother [Page 119] Did ever love so dearly; let her live To join our kingdoms and our hearts, and never Fly off our loves again." Octavia was the opposite of Cleo- patra: devoted and true; loving her brother and realizing the advantage of uniting the kingdoms. She gave her pure life into the keeping of Mark An- tony, loved him as her lord, watched and considered his every interest, even to caring for and carefully educating his three children, belonging to Cleo- patra, according to the historian Lord* Octavia's character in her pure, wom- anly virtue stands out as a clear light, a noble example of domestic worth and tranquillity of nature, whose life was an unbroken chain of acts of devotion. Her self-sacrifice in marrying Antony to bring about peaceful results for the kingdoms and her affection for Antony are superb. She sees his good qualities, [Page 120] and trusts that, by her faithfulness and influence, she may wean him from his weakness. Octavia was one of the most re- proachless women of antiquity. By the beautiful spirit which animated her life, she triumphed over great difficulties, and her deeds of heroism are too numer- ous for mention. Her discreet and open character was in heavenly contrast to the earth-stained Cleopatra, who "quailed before the silent protests of her modest eyes." But withal, she failed in her most desired object; her quiet virtue could not hold the heart or conscience of a man given to indul- gence, constantly looking for fresh de- lights. He goes back to Cleopatra, and the cry, "I am dying, Egypt, dying!" is the sacrifice offered up to an unlawful passion. The second wife stands be- fore us with heart torn and bleeding, [Page 121] with nothing left but the memory of her ineffable benevolence; and the trag- edy of life has enfolded another soul. The voluntary death of the evil- minded Cleopatra might reconcile as to her at the close of the chapter, were it not that we realize that she brought about Antony's defeat at Actium by her cowardly flight. Failing to enslave this third great Roman by. her charms, and finding that she had been spared only to grace his triumph in Rome, her proud spirit chose death rather than humiliation. At last Antony's eyes were opened when it be- came too late, and Shakespeare makes him bitterly exclaim, "All is lost, This foul Egyptian has betrayed me. . . . Betrayed I am. Oh, this false soul of Egypt!" proving that there were moments when his conscience smote him, little as it availed. [Page 122] Great as he might have becn t he was but poorly organized. Whether his daily life be discordant or harmonious, Cleopatra was the dominant portion. She proved herself his master as well as his mistress. There was no sunshine in life for him unless she shared it; she dominated his every affection. When he commanded one of the largest armies that any Roman general had ever com- manded, Antony wished to fight upon the land, but influenced by Cleopatra against his better judgment, he con- tended upon the sea. Never was in- fatuation followed by more serious and tragic consequences for him, but the result was of immense benefit to the Roman world. For Octavius was a peace-loving man, and the development of the new regime was vigorous and strong. Oh, Egypt! what a charming fraud; what a delightful, living, breathing pre- [Pagel23] tense; what a maze of bewildering con- tradictions! The irresistible elegance and grace of this wonderful being, her unconquered temper, her caprice and fickleness, her magnificent spirit and royal pride mingle into one brilliant picture of Oriental grandeur* Nor does it seem possible that a hu- man soul could be stowed away so art- fully to trap and allure such greatness. When a heart becomes wedded to vice, then as now, it is divorced from all good and ambition, and the magnif- icence of crowns and glory lose all charm. How revolting the thought of those pagan days when a woman, possessed of rare beauty and accomplishments, could put so much ruin in her path! Could exchange the priceless blessing of virtue for lavish gifts and orna- ments, those excitements and pleas- fPage 124] tires which ancient paganism gave as the only compensation for the loss and degradation of her immortal soul! [Page 125] \$' .4*3* 8 o- °o % ^* 4>^ °o ^ 4* i*1^itfr^ri* *\t» Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 » * 5^ ** . P V ..« K.*^x y.^j&v y,*a.-x y.*s UERT BOOKBINDING JV.-tt .7* A ««v_ ^^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 106 398 4