Julius Caesar Act 2.1.86-228

These lines form the centre piece of this scene, the meeting and pledging of the conspirators. The first nearly twenty lines apparently do little to advance the plot, consisting of mere greetings, and then a discourse or description of the imminent daybreak. However, this part does establish the identities of the conspirators, and the description of daybreak might be equated with their “dark deed” coming out into the light. This sidelight, so to speak, is also necessary so that Cassius can have a private word with Brutus, presumably for Cassius to confirm that Brutus is one of their number, or for Brutus to resolve any doubts he himself might have. (Who knows what went on in that unspoken conversation? Not even Shakespeare himself!) All that settled Brutus moves forward and by his actions demonstrates his resolve to be a part of the conspiracy: “Give me your hands all over, one by one.” Moreover, Brutus rejects (at some length, 114-140) the notion of swearing an oath on the sound basis that such a thing is an essentially empty gesture: they have real causes that are sufficient–“the sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse.” Oaths are mere outward show, as it were, and are undertaken by “priests and cowards and men cautelous [deceitful], / Old feeble carrions . . .” Then follows a short discussion about whether Cicero should be asked to join them, a notion that all but Brutus are in favour of. Brutus clearly knows his man better than the others (and the audience might also think back to 1.3 and deduce that Brutus is undoubtedly correct). Another debate ensues, and one that will prove crucial in the development of events–namely, shall they kill just Julius Caesar, or should others (Mark Antony in particular) also be their target. Here Cassius reveals his shrewdness, arguing for Mark Antony’s death because Mark Antony is “a shrewd contriver.” Brutus rejects the notion as “too bloody,” and viewing Mark Antony as “but a limb of Caesar. / Let’s be sacrificers, but not butchers.” Brutus also believes this course will be approved by “the common eyes,” making “our purpose necessary, and not envious.” The remainder of this sub-scene is concerned largely with the practical matters surrounding the actual act of assassination, although it does emerge that Caesar “is superstitious grown of late,” a hint to be elaborated upon later in the play. Brutus leaves the conspirators with a final injunction, and one that introduces a metatheatrical dimension to the scene: “Let not our looks put on our purposes, / But bear it as our Roman actors do, / With untired spirits and formal constancy.” Perhaps this might also be tied with the earlier anachronistic striking of a clock in the background. Both raise an audiences awareness of the theatrical event, and yet the whole play is, of course, concerned with a factual, historical event.

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Julius Caesar Act 2.1.1-85

Some may be slightly quizzical why Lucius, Brutus’ servant, makes so many entrances and exits in these 85 lines, though the answer is really obvious. It creates the impression of action in an otherwise static sub-scene; without Lucius’ comings and goings, Brutus would have the whole of the sub-scene to himself, and thus have only a very long soliloquy to deliver. However, Lucius does have one additional function–to carry out servant-like duties (such as presenting Brutus with one of the letters thrown through the windows); but Brutus could have carried out each one of these functions.

For the rest, Brutus debates the current situation, namely Caesar becoming king, and the consequences. In doing so, Brutus is actually weighing up Caesar’s character, particularly as it concerns his ambition–and ambition can lead easily to an abuse of power. Brutus’ thoughts are reinforced by two images, that of the adder and that of a ladder, and both are fairly commonplace. The letter thrown in through the window helps spur Brutus on, though it is also clear that he is troubled: “Between the acting of a dreadful thing / And the first motion, all the interim is / Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.” (There are parallels here with the Macbeth of the early scenes, although the language of the later play is richer and more evocative than this one.) Noteworthy too are Brutus’ comments on the nature of conspirators and conspiracy (77-85). Conspiracy is cloaked by darkness, and by cloaks themselves, since conspiracy possesses a “monstrous visage.” Embedded here is the recurrent Shakespearean theme of things not appearing to be what they really are, the disparity between truth and illusion. Brutus, being an honorable man, would of course prefer the honorable and open ways of doing things.

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Macbeth Act 2.2

This scene juxtaposition, at least the very opening, reveals much. Immediately upon Macbeth’s exit at the end of the previous scene, Lady Macbeth enters. Obviously we are meant to instantly compare and contrast the two characters. While Macbeth’s imagination was running riot (the dagger soliloquy) Lady Macbeth was taking immediate action by drugging the two servants (grooms) and placing (real) daggers ready for Macbeth to use. Note too that Lady Macbeth was ready to murder Duncan herself: “Had he not resembled / My father as he slept, I had done’t.” However, while she is saying all this, Macbeth has finally plucked up enough courage to commit the murder (note too the accompanying owl shriek). What is also notable here is that the murder takes place off stage (rather after the fashion in Greek theatre where violent action was described not depicted). Shakespeare could have chosen an onstage-murder (see Julius Caesar, for example), and there was certainly no shortage of the depiction of violence on the Elizabethan stage. Nevertheless, mere description can have a powerful effect upon an audience, leaving it up to its collective imagination to conjure up the violence. Another notable feature is Macbeth’s agitation over sleep–“Macbeth does murder sleep” etc. He himself provides the reason for this because “Sleep . . . knits up the ravelled sleave of care, / The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, / Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, / Chief nourishers in life’s feast.” Macbeth’s action has destroyed an essential quality of life, has disrupted part of the natural order–inevitably, to contemporary minds, chaos or disorder must ensue. (The disruption of sleep is to figure later in the play in a scene that harks back to this one, though with a remarkable twist.) Lady Macbeth is far more practical; she sees he has brought the murder weapons back with him, and has no hesitation in replacing them when Macbeth shows himself “infirm of purpose.” He may fret over how he has (metaphorically) made “the multitudinous seas incarnadine,” but she almost rejoices: “My hands are of your colour, but I shame / To wear a heart so white.”

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Macbeth Act 2.1

The straightforward opening to this scene emphasizes time and light, or rather the absence of light. Again a torch is used to signal a nighttime scene, reinforced by Fleance’s “The moon is down.” The latter is also tied to time (moon set), and reinforced by Fleance not hearing the clock. Banquo points out the moon sets at twelve–always an appropriate/stereotypical hour for dark deeds to be performed.  Even the stars, it would seem, are absent–“there’s husbandry in heaven; / Their candles are all out.” Also ominous is Banquo’s reference to the cursèd thoughts” that occur in his dreams. Macbeth’s entrance gives Banquo the opportunity to reveal what a generous guest Duncan is, giving presents to Macbeth’s household and a diamond for Lady Macbeth. This information reminds us swiftly of the theme (already outlined) of hosts protecting guests, along with the other duties Macbeth owes. Another reminder Banquo serves up is of the three witches/weird sisters and their predictions. It’s doubtful whether Macbeth’s response is truthful: “I think not of them” since he and Lady Macbeth have been hatching their murder plot.

Then follows another of Macbeth’s famous soliloquies: “Is this a dagger which I see before me, / The handle toward my hand?” Although some might be tempted to use an actual dagger, the text makes it plain that Macbeth’s mind/imagination is conjuring up the dagger–“I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. . . . fatal vision . . . a dagger of the mind, a false creation proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain.” These words stress the psychological aspects of Macbeth, his character, his motivations, and his mind is clearly in turmoil. The dagger imagery naturally calls forth images connected with blood, murder, and death (the accumulation of such images throughout the play has both a direct and subliminal effect upon reader and audiences alike). An added dimension is provided when witchcraft, Hecate, the wolf, and Tarquin are all evoked–these almost comprise a verbal Renaissance horror movie, and their imaginative force propel Macbeth into final action. His actual exit is prompted by the sound of a bell, and we might recall that the innocent Fleance at the opening of the scene had not heard the clock (bell), and the scene closes with the guilty Macbeth hearing a bell.

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Romeo and Juliet Act 5.3.1-73

In the opening sub-scene, Paris is given a final chance to demonstrate his innate goodness by visiting Juliet’s tomb. It’s worth noting that Shakespeare has omitted a funeral/burial scene; for what he might have done see Hamlet 5.1, a scene that bears some similarities to this in Romeo and Juliet, e.g. two men expressing their devotion by fighting over the same woman. Perhaps he felt the play long enough already, although that consideration didn’t trouble him in Hamlet. In any event, Paris’s moment is brief and to the point, with him laying down flowers. An element of suspense is created by Paris having his Page stand watch, this to reinforce the audience’s expectation that Romeo will appear–as he does, right on cue, and similarly accompanied by a servant, Balthasar. Again it’s worth noting how temporal realism is glossed over since in hardly any time at all Romeo has managed to travel from Mantua to Verona; but such theatrical sleights of hand go unnoticed in performance. Romeo is still possessed of some degree wildness, such as his threat of tearing Balthasar “joint by joint / And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs” if he returns. Perhaps the occasion renders this excusable; whether “hungry churchyard” is an effective image is perhaps questionable. Of course, at Romeo’s attempt to “desecrate” Juliet’s tomb, Paris appears, and the fight ensues–a final reminder of the earlier duels and tangentially the feud itself (no duels, no feud, no play!!). Paris death line reveals a solid aspect of his character: “If thou be merciful, / Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.”

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Julius Caesar Act 1.3.131-162

The last section of this scene deals with both some logistical details of the plot, as well as a more crucial one concerning Brutus. Since Cinna makes an appearance here, it should be noted that the play has two characters called Cinna–this one here, a conspirator, the other a poet who makes an appearance later. (Both are historical figures, and the confusion between the two does raise a passing point about what happens when there is political treachery, etc.) Cinna reminds us that “what a fearful night is this” meaning the accompanying storm, though we are now well aware of the political parallel (some might call the device pathetic fallacy). More crucial is Cinna’s remark “O Cassius, if you could / But win the noble Brutus to our party.” Obviously the decisive word here is “noble” and noble intentions and ideals are what drive Brutus (a strong contrast to the motivations of others). Moreover, Casca points out the vital importance of Brutus to the cause–“he sits high in all the people’s hearts” and obviously can persuade the people to the rightness of their cause. What is also imbedded in Casca’s short speech is the idea that if other conspirators presented their cause, it would fail; it is the “noble” Brutus’ standing that can transform the cause. (One might well ponder the nature of the cause if indeed that’s all it takes–“noble” window dressing–though perhaps all politics are simply that??? ). Nevertheless, Cassius is confident that Brutus will join them “three parts of him / Is ours already.”

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Macbeth Act 1.7.29-82

Rather than something exceptionally dramatic, this section of the scene opens with what might be termed a domestic exchange between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth (albeit in “Shakespearean language”):

Macbeth:                How now? What news?
Lady: He has almost supped. Why have you left the chamber?
Macbeth: Hath he asked for me?
Lady:                                                 Know you not he has?

This ordinary conversation contrasts sharply with the enormity of what Macbeth has been debating in his previous soliloquy (and with what will ensue). It also establishes how, in one sense, Macbeth and his wife are ordinary, just husband and wife. However, after this swift brush stroke, the scene reverts quickly to the matter at hand. Macbeth tells his wife that “we will proceed no further in this business” and gives his reasons; and there the matter (and the play) might have ended, but for Lady Macbeth who clearly becomes the catalyst for further action. Interestingly, her prodding comes in the form of questions (at least five), rather than declarations–questions need answers, answers that Macbeth must supply–and so the debate can go forward as a collaborative effort. However, embedded in Lady Macbeth’s questions are challenges to Macbeth’s manhood and bravery, to which Macbeth responds in stereotypical fashion: “I dare do all that may become a man.” It is exactly that assertion that Lady Macbeth enlarges upon: “When you durst do it, then you were a man.” Then, recalling her soliloquy in 1.5.45ff, Lady Macbeth then reveals how violently ruthless she is: “I have given suck, and know / How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: / I would, while it was smiling in my face, / Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums / And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you / Have done to this.” Such a vivid image can leave no doubt as to her character (and one might recall how like Goneril and Regan in King Lear she is). Note Macbeth’s brief, milquetoast “If we should fail?” Indeed, from line 35 to 82 Macbeth speaks only about 12 lines–even on just a word count Lady Macbeth dominates the scene, and the man. And finally, note that the method of Duncan’s murder is detailed precisely by Lady Macbeth; while Macbeth has been pondering the ethics of the murder, Lady Macbeth has been devising a workable plan, a plan that convinces her husband to do the deed. How appropriate then that the scene should conclude with a couplet that encapsulates one of Shakespeare’s favourite themes:

“Away, and mock the time with fairest show;
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.”

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Macbeth Act 1.7.1-28

Again the opening stage directions are worth noting–hautboys and torches–so once more we have the plaintive, haunting tone of the “oboe”, and it is a night-time scene. This is a prologue to a famous soliloquy from Macbeth, opening with:

“If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well
It were done quickly.”

What ambiguity! An accurate reflection of Macbeth’s state of mind (which is, of course, what an soliloquy is all about, an opening up of a character’s mind for the audience’s benefit. It’s not really addressed to the audience, even when the actor might look at the audience. The audience just “happens” to be there, almost like eavesdroppers.) And how it the ambiguity achieved? Note the use if “it” (in various forms); “it” is repeated four times in a line and a half. Macbeth knows what “it” is, but we have yet to know definitely. In fact, the revelation does not come until Macbeth uses the crucial word “assassination.” While the word “assassin” had been in use for a long time, it would appear (on the evidence of the OED, which cites this line in Macbeth as the first usage) that Shakespeare may have actually coined “assassination.” In any event, Shakespeare’s own audience would have been struck additionally by the word itself because of its novelty, and because it has now defined what “it” is. Moreover, although the word can be used loosely, it frequently is reserved for the murder of an important public or political figure. Again, this would alert Shakespeare’s own audience because of the attempt on the life of King James by the Gun Powder plot conspirators.

But back to the ambiguity. The first line and a half has two meanings. First “if the murder is done then that would be well [good]”–i.e., stopping the sense at the end of the line. Second, “if the murder is to be done then it would be a good thing to do it quickly”–i.e. the complete sentence. Having established that, Macbeth elaborates quickly in lines 2-7: if the murder could tie everything thing up, and finish off everything (“be the be-all and the end-all”–a homely adage to make all plain), then he’s willing to risk everything. However, Macbeth is a thinker with qualms, not to mention something of a conscience, and he moves on to present arguments why he should do the foul deed, arguments that would resonate strongly with Shakespeare’s own audience. Duncan is Macbeth’s relative, his king, and Macbeth the king’s subject; and to boot, Duncan is Macbeth’s guest–in short, Macbeth “should against his murderer shut the door, / Not bear the knife myself.” All these are more than conclusive arguments against murder, but Macbeth’s imagination is fertile (at least in Shakespeare’s hands), and comes up with a striking extended metaphor that should persuade anyone. This is the personification of “pity, like a naked new-born babe / Striding the blast.” Whether the metaphor is entirely explicable is neither here nor there (especially since an audience in the theatre doesn’t have time to dwell on all the nuances). What does matter is pity, new-born babe, tears as opposed to the horrid deed. So Macbeth has almost convinced himself not to murder Duncan since he recognizes it is only “vaulting ambition” that has caused him to think thus. Enter Lady M!!!!!

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Romeo and Juliet Act 5.2

The plague and letters!! Not to mention fate and coincidence. The fact that Shakespeare feels the need to include this explanatory scene does rather indicate that he himself was somewhat conscious (even uneasy?) with his own plot manipulation. An explanation is more or less necessary, I suppose, but that in itself points to the mechanical nature of the contrivance. However, it should not be forgotten that in Elizabethan times the plague was a major factor in people’s lives (not to mention their deaths), and so his audience would probably have accepted the circumstance readily. And letters too have been known to go astray. Moreover, the device is a common one in literature. Tess’s letter of explanation to Angel Clare in Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles slips accidentally under a carpet, with ultimately dire consequences. Paula Tanqueray in Arthur Pinero’s play The Second Mrs Tanqueray offers her letter explaining her chequered sexual history to her future husband–chivalrously, he declines to read it, again with dire consequences. Even Bernard Shaw, who ridiculed the device, resorts to a letter in Arms and the Man: Bluntschli’s father has died (conveniently), leaving Bluntschli with a fortune that allows him to propose marriage to Raina. Plot resolved. Whether all this bothers an audience during the performance of a play really depends upon each individual member of that audience, but probably everyone has experienced an “if only . . .” moment in life.

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