Regarding the third act of The Winter’s Tale, Old Shepard’s discovery of the abandoned baby is reminiscent of Oberon’s and Titania’s engagement over the changeling in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Initially, Old Shepard assuming the baby with the box is “some changeling” (3.3.109) is the obvious reasoning for such an inference. However, there’s additional similarities, as well as interesting differences. For instance, instead of the baby being a changeling boy, this baby is something of a changeling girl. Moreover, instead of the female character Titania claiming the boy, the old man claims the girl; thus, there’s a bit of a gender role reversal. Yet, both changelings are a means of gaining power. For Titania, the possession of the male child is symbolic of femininity overpowering masculinity. On the other hand, for Old Shepard, the baby girl, along with the box full of gold, represents the belief of fairy-riches, as long as the secret is kept safe (3.3.110-15). Again, both instances of inheriting the changelings, or something like inheriting a changeling in The Winter’s Tale, occur after someone dies. In Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titania’s friend, the “vot’ress of [her] order,” (2.1.123) dies and leaves the boy for Titania to foster. In comparison, in The Winter’s Tale, Antigonus leaves the baby behind and is mulled to death by the bear (3.3.88-90). And what of Puck’s equivalent in The Winter’s Tale? Clown is Old Shepard’s son and does his father’s bidding. Having said that, Clown should be on the opposing side, as Puck takes orders from Oberon, Titania’s husband and momentary enemy. Still, Puck is something of a complex character because he also helps Titania’s allies:

Take heed the Queen come not within his sight,
For Oberon is passing and wroth
Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy stolen from an Indian king. (2.1.19-22)

Thus, Puck potential parallels the role of Clown. Furthermore, the aforementioned Indian king is likely comparable to Leontes, who’s the baby’s father. After Leontes realizes the baby’s his daughter, after the message from Apollo’s priest, in combination with his wife’s and son’s suicide, Old Shepard’s possession of the girl in secrecy is something like the supposed stealing of the Indian king’s son (3.2.131-33 &192-99). Ultimately, I’m interesting in discovering how the rest of The Winter’s Tale plays out.

I am really fascinated by the relationship between Leontes and Polixenes presented in act one of Shakespeare’s play The Winter’s Tale. We learn from Camillo, one of the lords of Sicilia, that the relationship between the two kings is said to be one of blissful boyhood and camaraderie. “They were trained together in their childhoods, and there/ rooted betwixt them then such an affection which cannot/ choose but branch now…The heavens continue their loves,” (1.1. 19-27). According to Camillo they were the best of friends growing up, and it was only the monarchical politics that could separate them. In act two, Polixenes tells Hermione of his friendship with her husband in a speech in which he remarks how he and Leontes were “twinned lambs that frisk i’th’ sun/ and bleat the one at th’other,” (1.2. 67-68). Camillo and Polixenes’ speeches on this famed friendship seem too tidy in my opinion.

In class we discussed whether or not Leontes’ transformation in act one was believable, and I actually found it to be quite believable. This is because I don’t find their idealistic, fairytale-like friendship to be believable. The direct information we learn regarding this friendship we learn from these two speeches, but they sound too scripted and clean to be believable. Also, the behavior of these two men, even before Leontes voices his fears, is suspicious. Polixenes is essentially threatened and forced to stay in Sicilia at the demand of  Leontes, which is not very friendly. Also upon realizing his own suspicions, Leontes’ first reaction is to have his “best friend” murdered. If they truly were the inseparable halves of a whole that they are said to be, why then would Leontes choose to murder Polixenes rather than merely sending home and banishing him? I think that their friendship is not as neat as they would like people to believe.

In a way, although it might be a stretch, I think their friendship is a commentary on rumors vs reality in building one’s image. Leontes and Polixenes claim to have been really good friends starting from boyhood, and this story is supported by their loyal subordinates. What they want us to know is all that we do know. This reminded me a lot of historical figures, especially from ancient times, and what and how we learn about them. We only learn about them through the biased writings of the elite and limited men who knew how to read and write. The best example of this that I can think of is Alexander the Great. Most of the writings we have on him are actually from the height of the Roman Empire. They are written from the perspective of an empire that admired the military superiority and mastery of Alexander; the millions whom were murdered at his hand are forgotten by the Roman Empire. Literature from his time is, for the most part, engineered towards bettering his appearance either out of loyalty for him or out of fear of him, making it not the most reliable for historical record.

Could this be similar to the friendship between Leontes and Polixenes? Perhaps they only claim to be friends in order to maintain political stability in their respective empires, but in reality they do not share a bond of friendship and trust. I honestly find this more believable in regards to Leontes’ behavior more than their friendship being legitimate. Perhaps my opinion will change as we continue reading the play.

The Winter’s Tale, though not the most commonly known Shakespeare play, draws on various themes seen in past plays we have read in this class. The comparisons between this play and Othello nearly mirror one another, with elements including jealousy, misogyny, betrayal, and revenge (Leontes is somehow both Othello and Iago in one). However, I am interested in the comparison between characters in Hamlet and The Winter’s Tale. Shakespeare’s characters, who are dominantly men, portray similar characteristics that have become socialized over time—especially the assumption of women as secondary characters and a masculine, possessive trait to go along with it. Furthermore, men’s insecurities come to light through the social scope of things: status, marriage, children, legitimacy. To me, it seems all connected in mismatched ways, yet ever present. Though it cannot be said for all, there is a fragility and insecurity to men when it comes to themselves and their power and control being tested. Women seem to be stuck in place in Shakespeare’s plays– perpetually under speculation. Legitimacy comes into the equation as well, questioning the morality of women and the corruption of status.

Gender is an unquestionably large role in Shakespeare’s works, and Hamlet as well as The Winter’s Tale are no exceptions. Misogyny also makes an appearance (unfortunately) in both of these works. Leontes and Hamlet both play victims to women’s “corruptive” nature, while the closest thing readers receive to an opposition is Ophelia’s response to her brother’s plea to stay away from Hamlet:

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep

As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,

Do not as some ungracious pastors do

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven

Whiles, a puffed and reckless libertine,

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads

And recks not his own rede.

(1.3 44-49)

Though Hamlet and Leontes have different experiences and storylines, it goes to show the normal mindset men are allowed to have and how frustrated they become when things are not going exactly as they ‘should be.’ In Act I of Hamlet, Hamlet rants on about how disgusted he is with his mother, and by the end, he becomes cynical toward women in general (“Let me not think on’t– Frailty, thy name is woman–” [1.2 146]). Leontes, in the very first act of The Winter’s Tale, creates this unnecessary image of his wife being unfaithful and convinces himself of it (with no plausible evidence, other than the length of her pregnancy and Polixenes’ stay):

Or I am much deceived, cuckholds ere now;

And many a man there is, even at this present,

Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,

That little thinks she has been sluiced in’s absence

And his pond fish’d by his next neighbor, by

Sir Smile, his neighbor: nay, there’s comfort in’t

Whiles other men have gates and those gates open’d,

As mine, against their will. Should all despair

That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind

Would hang themselves.

(1.2 190-199)

Not only is Leontes declaring ownership of his wife, but he refers to a “cuckhold,”—that women make men grow horns after they have cheated on their husbands. Similarly, Hamlet also uses this sort of reference when speaking to Ophelia in Act III: “Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them” (3.1. 134-136). This evidence (on both accounts) not only gives into this idea that women are betrayers and men fall victim to their wicked ways, but just how fragile men’s characters are if they must come to this conclusion. Leontes displays his insecurities to the audience quite plainly when he devises this idea about his wife having an affair. On the other hand, Hamlet takes a rather odd interest in his mother’s sexuality, which could also lead to assumptions about his own insecurities.

Legitimacy also comes into play within both works, which also leads back to the roles of men and women. Throughout Hamlet, Hamlet believes it is his duty to avenge his father, but does not at the opportune moment in Act III. He prolongs the process, whereas later on, after Polonius is killed, Laertes storms back to Denmark with an army and declares, “That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard” (4.2 117). We are able to question Hamlet’s legitimacy as his father’s son because of his actions, which ultimately leads us back to Gertrude, his mother. If Hamlet is not legitimate, then it shows yet another speculation of female infidelity. Though I have only read Act I thus far of The Winter’s Tale, there are already moments where by the suspected betrayal of a woman, legitimacy is questioned. Leontes turns to his son in Act I and says, “Mamillius, Art thou my boy?” (1.2 118) when he questions whether his wife, Hermione has been unfaithful all along and his son’s legitimacy as his own. He continues, “Why, that’s my bawcock. What, hast smutched thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine” (1.2 121-122). Legitimacy dominates social status, and yet it all circles back to the morality and fidelity of women to their husbands. Male characters absorb such a perception that they are free to do as they wish, but women remain prisoners to their social expectations, and when this comes into question, chaos takes over—Leontes and Hamlet being the prime examples of this.

So far, The Winter’s Tale is my least favorite play of Shakespeare’s. Having only read Act I, perhaps that will change. The problem I have is mainly with Leontes’ quickly spurned jealousy and motivation to kill Polixenes. At least Othello had Iago in his ear to persuade him, Brutus felt the pressure of the Roman Empire–I just can’t understand why Leontes would turn on his best friend and his wife so hastily. Maybe he was always a misogynistic jerk who had it out for his friend.

Leontes says that “many a man there is, even at this present,/Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,/That little thinks she has been sluiced in ’s absence,/And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by/Sir Smile, his neighbor (1.2 240-245). He is so confident of adultery’s prevalence that he claims “Should all despair/That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind/Would hang themselves (1.2 245). I think this passage really illustrates what Leontes believes is happening between Hermione and Polixenes; in his mind, it’s inevitable.

Leontes character lacks loyalty to anyone. In Othello, Othello loves Desdemona more than anything until he’s corrupted by Iago’s manipulative ways. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the love potion was responsible for the lovers’ change of hearts. Even Brutus still claimed Caesar was his best friend (that he just so happened to murder). In Act 1.2 when Hermione asks Polixenes about his childhood memories with Leontes, I find it telling that Polixenes does all the talking:  “We were as twinned lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun/And bleat the one at th’ other. What we changed/Was innocence for innocence. We knew not/The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dreamed/
That any did” (1.2 85-89). After re-reading this passage, it seems like Polixenes is foreshadowing Leontes’ “ill-doing”; Polixenes becomes a lamb drawn to the slaughter. 

Besides the possibility that Leontes could have been harboring some kind of childhood grudge towards Polixenes, in my opinion the text seems to point to his madness. During the live performance clip we watched in class, Hermione and Polixenes’ actions seem heavily misconstrued by Leontes. The “paddling palms and pinching fingers” combined with “practiced smiles” (1.2 146-147) are all figments of Leontes’ imagination. Hermione’s sighs in the clip were from labor-pains, not from a sexual desire for Polixenes. But if we only rely on the text, I think the obvious answer is that Leontes has gone mad. There’s no evil henchman whispering in his ear–it’s himself. He even doubts poor Mamillius, who hasn’t done a thing but agree that he’s his father’s “wanton calf” (1.2 160-161). I’m interested to see the evolution of Mamillius as the play continues. Will he “take eggs for money” (1.2 201) or will he fight his father’s madness?

 

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar was one of my favorite plays we read this semester. Having never read the play before, I was surprised at how quickly Caesar is murdered in Act 3.1. As we said in class, it’s not Caesar himself who is a tragic character–it’s the event of his death. By the end of the play, I felt like the play should have been called The Tragedy of Brutus because the play richly illustrates his own demise.

All of the tragedy is foreshadowed by the Soothsayer, who warns “Beware the ides of March (1.2 19). Of course, Caesar ignores this: “He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass” (1.2  26). That he ignores the repeated warnings of the Soothsayer coincides with Cassius’ description of Caesar as “bestrid[ing] the narrow world/Like a Colossus”, and that he and Brutus are “petty men”, “the underlings” (1.2 136-137, 142). It’s as if Caesar is this larger than life figure that Cassius cannot bear to approve of; he will not be the little guy while Caesar is the Colossus.

While it’s easy to chalk Cassius’ villainy up to jealousy and power plays, Brutus’ motives are more complex. “Remember March, the ides of March, remember./Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?/What villain touched his body, that did stab/And not for justice” (4.2 70-73). Clearly, Brutus sees the act of murdering Caesar not as a crime but as an act of justice. He didn’t want Caesar’s ambitions to corrupt Rome and thought he was doing the right thing for the Roman people.

However, I found it odd that Brutus repeatedly calls Caesar one of his dearest friends; after all, what kind of friend stabs you to death? Following Caesar’s violent death, Brutus explains that he will tell his fellow Romans “Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,/Have thus proceeded” (3.1 183-184). His confidence in doing the right thing is terrifying. Brutus also rationalizes his crime by saying he’s done Caesar a favor by having “abridged/His time of fearing death” (3.1 105-106). It’s the ultimate betrayal of friendship and perhaps that is why Shakespeare decided to have Brutus be the last one to stab Caesar, “the most unkindest cut of all” (3.2 177). That last stab is so horribly tragic and disgusting that Caesar must ask “Et tu, Brute?” (3.1 77) before he falls and dies.

As a reader, I found redemption in Mark Antony’s speech. By using Caesar’s body as a prop, he appeals to the plebians in a way that won’t mark him as an outright traitor. He is also careful to repeatedly call Brutus “an honourable man”(3.2 91, 96, 121) but in a way that both subverts and supports that claim. Perhaps Brutus wanted to help his fellow Romans, but he was persuaded by Cassius and his fellow conspirator’s tongues. I think it’s his shame and loyalty to Rome that drives him to kill himself: “Caesar, now be still. I killed not thee with half so good a will” (5.5 50-51). I interpreted those lines to mean that he knows he was corrupted by the powers of persuasion; he has more faith that he is doing the right thing by killing himself than he did when he stabbed Caesar. It’s the real tragedy of Brutus because he has lost everything, his life included, at the end of the play.

 

To begin, Brutus’s knowledge of his wife’s, Portia’s, death appears inconsistent because he mentions it to Cassius with resistance, but afterwards acts as if he’s hearing the news for the first time from Messala. However, I believe Brutus attempts to repress the anxiety and disappointment of his wife’s death. For instance, he contemptuously recollects the suicide of Marcus Portcius Cato:

Even by the rule of that philosophy
By which I did blame Cato for the death
Which he did give himself–I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly and vile
For fear of what might fall so to prevent
The time of life–arming myself with patience
To stay the providence of some high powers
That govern us below. (5.1.100-07)

Thus, Portia’s suicide is an attack on Brutus’s honor. The fact that Portia kills herself is unbearable for Brutus to talk about with Cassius and he potentially plays the fool with Messala because he doesn’t want to except it. Not to mention, Brutus is drinking wine with Cassius so you never know if he’s being accurate. And on a side note, I don’t believe that Portia literally swallows embers to end her life. Instead, I believe the swallowing of smoldering coals is symbolic of embracing the flames of Hell after committing suicide as described in Christianity. Ultimately, Brutus is already disconcerted before the battle at Philippi.

Moreover, the other aristocratic soldiers in Brutus’s army are thrown into the confusing cycle of suicides and misunderstandings. For example, Cassius despairs after Pindarus misinterprets the approaching defeat and death of Titinius, Cassius’s best friend. Consequently, Cassius asks Pindarus to kill him with his own sword, the sword that stabbed Julius Caesar as a sort of repentance. However, the victorious Titinius appears afterwards with the champion-wreath on his head, but he’s too late. Similarly, Titinius despairs and stabs himself with Cassius sword. Thus, Pindarus’s misinterpretation of Titinius’s death leads to Cassius’s and Titinius’s brotherly and despairing suicide which ultimately devastates Brutus’s army; and Brutus himself dishearteningly runs into his own sword held by Strato. In conclusion, Brutus’s suicide is intriguing because he chooses not to hold the impaling sword that mortally wounds him. Does he believe this method circumvents the eternal punishment of burning in Hell? Or is this repentance for murdering Julius Caesar and dishonoring the memory of Marcus Porcius Cato, young Cato’s father?

Something that resonated greatly with me while reading Julius Caesar was this theme of opposing sides, or rather two sides of the same coin. There is a debate between Cassius and Brutus as to whether our lives are dependent upon our own actions or rather fate (“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings” [1.2. 140-141]). Similarly, there is this ongoing contrast between reason/rationality and superstition/irrationality. However, I am most interested in exploring the power of faces, or private versus public life in Julius Caesar. The public image of a person is quite different from the private, yet (to draw the image again) they are two sides of the same coin, or rather face. Though they show the same physical appearance, it is apparent that some characters in this play seem split and caught between who they are as a person and how they are seen in the public eye.

This theme was looming over my head as I was reading Julius Caesar. At first, I was hesitant to choose it because I thought that perhaps I was going on too many limbs, but I ultimately decided that maybe I can clarify some things for myself as I write and explore this theme of public versus private faces. The most obvious example of this split identity is Julius Caesar himself. As we read, it is easier to view Caesar as a thing rather than a person. There are more times he is spoken-of, praised, and plotted against than times he has appeared and spoken in the play. (I mean, the guy dies in Act III…). Nevertheless, it is nearly forgotten by the people of Rome and the conspirators (Brutus, especially) that behind this elevated, monarch-like leader is a human being. Caesar’s public image is one of strength and perfection. The people adore him, and he is even able to break through the barriers of the republic, if he so wished to do so. Caesar even views himself as this immortal, god-like figure:

I could be well moved, if I were as you;

If I could pray move, prayers would move me.

But I am constant as the Northern Star,

Of whose true-fixed and resting quality

There is no fellow in the firmament.

The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks;

They are all fire, and every one doth shine.

But there’s but one in all doth hold his place.

So in the world: ‘tis furnished well with men,

And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive,

Yet in the number I do know but one

That unassailable holds on his rank

Unshaked of motion; and that I am he

Let me a little show it, even in this:

That I was constant Cimber should be banished

And constant do remain to keep him so.

(3.1 59-73)

It is easy to assume that Caesar forgets he is like any other, but rather lives in this fantasy where he is such a praised and important being. Although he does acknowledge that they are all stars, he also recognizes men as “flesh and blood” while he remains strong and resolute. By comparing himself to the northern star, he is elevating himself as a constant ruler. This also leads him to believe his voice is law, which is everything the Republic is against and all that the Monarchy is for. On the other hand, Caesar’s private image is practically on the opposite side of the spectrum. Caesar is described as this ailing man who is deaf in one ear and has epilepsy. Cassius even complains to Brutus how he saved Caesar’s life when they were once in the river:

But ere we could arrive the point proposed,

Caesar cried, ‘Help me, Cassius, or I sink!’

I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber

Did I the tired Caesar; and this man

Is now become a god, and Cassius is

A wretched creature and must bend his body

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.

(1.2 110-118)

What I find so fascinating about this is that we are given an actual scenario where we see Caesar as a mortal being. He would have drowned had it not been for Cassius, and yet as Cassius states in line 116, Caesar has “become a god.” His public image has disillusioned his private image. This could have led Caesar straight to his death sentence, especially in the scene where he defies Calpurnia and goes out even though she believes it to be unsafe. His ambition and public image ultimately out-wins his private life when Decius persuades him to go accept the crown. It could be argued that Caesar has lost sight of his vulnerable human self, and thus was killed by the stabbings. But even after death, Caesar’s public image did not die; in fact, you could say it is immortal, even if his mortal body lies cold.

The second instance lies with Brutus. Brutus is very obviously the most beloved character in Julius Caesar. Though Caesar is worshipped, he has enemies. Brutus, however, does not; he is beloved by the people of Rome, his wife, his friends, and, above all, Caesar himself. Brutus uses the “greater good” as his alibi to blanket his private image. This is evident in his restraint in confiding in his wife, Portia, and by soothing himself into killing his close friend, Caesar. In Act II Scene I, the conspirators contemplate also killing Mark Antony. Brutus, however, states, “For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. Let’s be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius” (2.1 165-166). Brutus’s public identity is confident in his plan to rid Rome of Caesar. He pushes all personal thoughts away and focuses on the good of Rome and the republic.

Another interesting factor concerning Brutus is the two reports of Portia’s death. The first is intimate; he speaks with Cassius about how he is “sick of many griefs” (4.3 143). He opens up to Cassius about Portia killing herself by swallowing fire or coals out of despair and impatience of his absence (4.3 152-155). It seems really emotional and even pulls on our heartstrings as readers. Brutus is affected, and it sheds light on his personal life and love for Portia. However, not long after Brutus receives word from Messala that Portia is dead and he acts as though it was the first time he has heard the news (even with Cassius right there), which even Messala finds strange: “Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now” (4.3 189-191). I find this to be a raw example of Brutus’s public face, as opposed to his private face. What seems like moments before, Brutus is lamenting her death with Cassius and drinking wine to “bury all unkindness” (4.3 158) and yet very soon after, he rashly says that everyone must die at some point. Even if this was not Shakespeare’s intent, it is interesting and curiously representative to this game of faces these men like to play.

Caesar and Brutus, both, in different fashions harden and dehumanize themselves into political robotic-like figures, void of any humane attachment if it interferes with Rome and the public good, whatever they believe that to be. Their public images interfered greatly with their personal lives, to the point where they melded together and by the end, they both met their untimely demises.

William Shakespeare’s play The Tragedy of Julius Caesar is an interesting play to analyze. As we discussed in class, this play’s title is a little puzzling. Julius Caesar is an important historical figure, and his life story is rather famous so it is not surprising for a playwright to be inspired by it. However, Shakespeare’s play does not focus on the life of Caesar but rather his death, which happens in act three, and the many misfortunes that follow it. Why name a play after a character that is destined to die so early? Would it not be more appropriate, as was suggested in our discussion, to name this play The Tragedy of Brutus? I think this is an interesting argument, as a great deal of this play does focus on the downfall of Brutus more so than the physical murder of Caesar. But, this play is not just about Brutus either; it is about everything that results from the behavior of the murderous senators. I would argue that Shakespeare’s title is appropriate because it is Caesar’s murder that breaks the floodgates for the tragedies that follow.

Many characters suffer in this play because of Caesar’s murder, and I believe that the tragedy component of this play is not just in his death, but also in the suicides that follow. This play is then not about the tragedy of a murder, but of suicides. There are three suicides in this play: Portia, Cassius, and Brutus. I think it is interesting to observe this play as a commentary on the tragedy of suicide, and by titling it The Tragedy of Julius Caesar but having Caesar himself be an arguably minor character, Shakespeare allows for interpretations such as this. Caesar is dead, but the tragedy (the play) does not end.

With this interpretation in mind, I think it is also plausible to question how fate plays into the tragic suicides of this play. There are many omens, signs, predictions, etc… throughout The Tragedy of Julius Caesar that foreshadow an already predetermined end. Instances of this include the soothsayer’s warning to Caesar to “Beware the Ides of March” (1.2.18), the dangerous and extreme weather in act one scene three, the lion roaming the city also in act one scene three, and others. The senators interpret theses signs as indicators of Caesar’s ineptitude, Caesar doesn’t seem to notice or care about them, and his wife sees them as warnings of tyranny. These omens are interpreted differently by different characters, but I believe they are meant to be signifiers of the predestined tragedies to come including and instigated by the murder of Caesar. Many characters of this play try to avoid the inevitability of fate, but what results is exactly what was destined: tragedy. Caesar avoids fate with ignorance of invincibility and he is murdered. Portia avoids fate with ignorance of gender, claiming that

I grant I am a woman; but withal
A woman well-reputed, Cato’s daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father’d and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels; I will not disclose ’em.
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh. Can I bear that with patience.
And not my husband’s secrets?

(2.1.294-302). While she is one of the more feminist female characters in Shakespeare’s play, she does confirm to gender roles in her eventual submission to Brutus. The result of her ignorance is suicide. Cassius and Brutus avoid fate with ignorance of motive and they also commit suicide.

Caesar’s fate is played out as is destined and he is murdered. The fates of Portia, Cassius, and Brutus’ also prove to be unavoidable. These characters meet their fate in suicide. While their deaths are arguably predetermined, can we question if it was meant to be at their own hands? Or in suicide do these characters attempt to exhibit control and free will in a world that is no longer in their control? In this way, the tragedy of this play is in the deterioration of free will to a point where the only control these characters have is in the decision to end their lives.