Shakespeare I-Fall 2017

by Prof. James Shapiro, Columbia University (Published in the New York Times, June 13, 2017)

https://nyti.ms/2sjVz8Z

by Andrew Pecoroni, Much Ado about Blogging Circle

“Et tu, Brute?” –Then fall, Caesar (Act 3.1, Line 78).

I don’t know about you, but whenever I read that line, I get a shiver down my spine. “You too, Brutus?” Caesar trusted Brutus this entire time, and cast suspicion upon everyone else. He never could have imagined that his “best friend” would betray him. His mind, body, and spirit were shattered into a million pieces, and as a reader you can’t help but feel sympathetic for the man that lost everything.
It was fitting, and extremely heartbreaking, that Brutus was the one that dealt the killing blow. In fact, a footnote for the play stated that Caesar stopped trying to defend himself from the attack when he saw that Brutus was a part of it. This not only shows how highly he regarded Brutus as a friend, but also how defeated it made him feel when he saw that he had been abandoned.
It’s interesting to note the first lines Brutus spoke the moment after Caesar is assassinated. “People and senators, be not affrighted. / Fly not, stand still. Ambition’s debt is paid.” This line is both horribly sad, and extremely revealing about Brutus as a character. One would think that after killing your best friend, you would say something that mourned their death. Instead, Brutus showed that he truly did care for the well being of his fellow Romans by telling them not to be afraid. His confidence in the “good deed” he just committed, makes him even more of a tragic character. He believed that Caesar had to die for his ambition, but in reality that “ambition” was a product of false rumors.

A quick Google search of the name Brutus, and you’ll find that it comes from the word meaning heavy in Latin. Brutus’s blade certainly did carry a heavy burden on Caesar, and on himself (Both physically and mentally). By the end of the play, this burden reached its climax when Brutus ran himself on Strato’s sword. “Caesar, now be still. / I killed not thee with half so good a will.” Brutus wished death upon himself more than he had wanted Caesar dead in the beginning of the play. After Brutus learned he had killed his best friend based on lies, the only way he could find any kind of peace was through his own demise.

‘This was the noblest Roman of them all. / All the conspirators save only he / Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only in a general honest thought / And common good to all made one of them. / His life was gentle, and the elements / So mixed in him that Nature might stand up / And say to all the world. “This was a man”’(Act 5.5, Line 68).

While all conspirators were against Caesar for selfish reasons, it was Brutus that truly cared about the well being of the Roman Empire. His selflessness, and overall virtuous character, made him a well respected individual, even to the people that were once considered his adversaries. In the eyes of Antony, Brutus exemplified what it truly meant to be a man.

by William Mendez, Much Ado about Blogging Circle

Historically, it was Julius Caesar who by the might of his resolve and determination, took over the Republic of Rome against the order of the senators, as he thought he would make a better ruler than the senators and Rome’s own people and he was right. Under Casear Rome expanded to dominate most of Europe in the 1st century. It was his ambition to conquer even more of the world that made him a target of the assassins who called themselves “Liberators.” In my opinion, the death of Julius Caesar was undoubtedly a tragedy as Caesar, judging by the evidence of his reign at the time, was a man of people of Rome and sought to only make Rome bigger, and where is the fault in that. Sure Caesar had ambition, but if ambition is a crime then we should all be thrown in prison! The event of the assassination of Julius Caesar was one that prompted our good friend Shakespeare to write a play about the death of a great leader, who went against the power of the senate to a conquest of his rivals that proved that Rome was not a power to be defiant to. Shakespeare presents us with the question of whether of not monarchy is a correct form of government or a republic in which the people are represented and the people in power need consent from the governed. I think that through the entire play, Shakespeare is not making a case for either, but he is simply displaying the ramafications of taking the law into one’s own hand and being a traitor. Shakespeare seems to say, through the murder of Julius Caesar that Brutus and his gang of conspirators, didn’t have the right to take another life and when should they. Under Caesars rule, the people of Rome were safe, protected and were genuinely happy under Caesar. Historically, the senators feared Caesar precisely because he was a man of the people, especially popular among the poor. I think this is portrayed somewhat well in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar  in Antony’s speech in act III when Antony tries to insight the people to rebel against the traitorous dogs Brutus and his Liberators:

by Shaun Procaccini, Blogging Circle 2

One thing about Julius Caesar that is both interesting and concerning is its treatment of the masses of Rome. The Plebeians serve a very important function both practically and abstractly in the play as the characters which the conspirators are ostensibly acting on the behalf of. Despite this, they are easily manipulated to turn on the conspirators. In fact, the only consistent thing about the Plebeians appears to be their quickness to be convinced. This is interesting because of the function this plays in the events of the play, but concerning because of the implications of this characterization regarding democratic participants in general.

The Plebeians come in to play in a significant way just after Caesar’s death when Brutus, and then Antony meet them at the pulpit. During Brutus’ interaction with them we do not begin with any textual evidence of the Plebeians being angry with Brutus. Instead they call him “noble” and quiet each other down to calmly listen to him. In the beginning, the only thing that they want is to hear the reasons the conspirators have for killing their beloved leader. This is their only request and they seem perfectly willing to receive it. By the end of Brutus’ short speech, they are ready to name him their new Caesar. It is important to understand that the Plebeians come into this scene with no original opinion on the events of the assassination. They arrive asking Brutus to tell them how to feel and they accept the first suggested outlook. They appear adopt it uniformly as well, seeing as how there is no dissent or disagreement between the Plebeians. They think and act as a single unit with no representation of divergent points of view.

It does not take long, however, for the Plebeians to go from lauding Brutus and calling for his deification, to demanding his death and the deaths of his fellow assassins. I think that the true turning point in Antony’s monologue which changes the minds of the Plebeians happens here:

Have patience, gentle friends: I must not read it.

It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.

You are nor wood, you are not stones, but men;

And being men, hearing the will of Caesar,

It will inflame you, it will make you mad.

‘Tis good you know not that you are his heirs,

For if you should, oh, what would come of it?

Here Antony states explicitly, although he pretends not to, that the citizens of Rome are the rightful inheritors of Caesar’s land and riches. During the first break in Antony’s speech, the Plebeians calmly mull over what they have heard which is mostly reasons why Caesar was not as ambitious as Brutus makes him sound. At the mention of the will they become much more animated, and with confirmation that Caesar left his estate to them they are whipped into a frenzy. This frenzy is maintained beyond the scene and sees them seek out revenge against the conspirators.

The trouble with this portrayal of the Plebeians is a combination of an absence of original thought in regards to the assassination, the easy filling of this vacuum by Brutus seemingly for no logical reason, and the equally as quick replacement of that narrative by Antony with the mention of material reward. The implications about the frivolity, greed, and susceptibility of the democratic masses are dark and concerning.

by Jacquelyn Woods, Romeo and Juliets Blogging Circle

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.

by Cassidy Kokasko, Blogging Circle 5

Within the selected works we’ve read this semester, there have been three instances of incredibly articulate male characters and while the overall language of Shakespeare is often very eloquent, these characters surpass even that. The command over language that they possess is staggering, but it’s how they each utilize this gift that’s really interesting. There’s a distinct separation between characters like Richard III or Othello who use their linguistic talents for themselves versus those like Feste who instead use it for the entertainment of others. And perhaps the fates of these characters are meant to be a lesson to the audience on how

If we were to consider Richard’s use of spoken word, we would recognize it as his main weapon in his quick rise to power. His manipulation of language twists the desires of anyone he speaks to. In his initial reaction of Anne, he woos her completely through his words, drawing out elaborate exclamations of love in an effort to convince her that he loves her. His pieces of dialogue in 1.3 are all for the purpose of crafting a facade of innocence for himself to convince his audience that he supports the King before himself. Every speech he makes is for the purpose of furthering his social status, for he understands that his voice is his power and that persuasion and intimidation will get him everywhere. Othello, on the other hand, uses his speech as a way to convince the citizens of Venice of his worth. He waxes poetic about his adventures and history in an attempt to help them understand that he is . His listeners are entranced by his stories, for they even cause Desdemona to fall in love with him. He is so eloquent that there’s almost a mystical quality to his speech, as his audience becomes enchanted and enraptured in his stories. For him, language is a tool that can be used to elevate his status.

But then there are characters like Feste who shows a different side to this character type.  Rather than serving himself, his intelligence is solely for the benefit of others, not just in entertaining them, but providing them with an intellectual equal. And while characters use this to their own advantage (like when he is forced by Maria to pretend to be Sir Topas), we still never see him utilize speech as a way to change his position as an inferior. He doesn’t brag about his higher intelligence, instead choosing to keep it concealed from other characters who might not understand him. But when he speaks to Olivia or Viola, he allows himself to be genuine in his language, for he sees that they can appreciate it and be entertained by his cunning wit.

And of course arguments could be made that perhaps these commanders of language are sort of self-insert characters that reflect Shakespeare’s command of the English language (and in fact I believe it was brought up by someone in class). This poses an interesting question, for if Shakespeare did intend for these characters to represent parts of himself, do they carry a lesson with them? Both Othello and Richard come to violent ends as a result of their own self centered nature and how they manipulate language to their own ends, while Feste instead avoids any sort of tragedy whatsoever. Perhaps an argument could be made that Shakespeare valued the use of language for a common good and hoped that his audience would understand that nothing good can come of using your talents solely for yourself and that they are instead meant to be shared and appreciated by all.

by Andrea Bialosuknia, Blogging Circle 3

Act IV scene 4 of Richard III is one of my favorites in any of the Histories, which isn’t all that grand of a statement to make, given that ~6,000 things happen within those ~450 lines. It’s probably the most stunning depiction of the women of Richard III—especially of the way they see/interact with one another—and it’s a truly tragic meditation on the human price paid for political gain. As we talked about in class, the women in this play bring with them a profound sense of history, especially in the cases of Margaret and the Duchess of York. But they also represent, on a fundamental level, the future—they are the guarantors of generativity who, despite being denied political power of their own, are essential to any and all attempts to claim (and keep) the crown. I think 4.4 beautifully represents the significance of women in the Histories; the corrupting cycle of monarchical power is made plain as day through their actions.

The dethroned Margaret of Anjou simultaneously rejoices and mourns in the face of the destruction of her (former?) enemies—Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York—as she emboldens them to use the power of their own words to combat their woes. But the cycle is not only evident in the ghosts of the past: Richard’s plan for Queen Elizabeth’s daughter illustrates the measures he (as a representative of ruthless, selfish, non-ideological political ambition) will go to in order to secure his legacy for the foreseeable future. But what Richard fails to see, and what Margaret seems to physically embody, is the inevitability of destruction in the endless pursuit of power.

There’s so much to talk about here, but—to get to my actual point—I want to focus on a few lines that might easily (and very understandably) be passed over without further consideration, especially without the benefit of having read the previous three plays in the first tetralogy. The selection is from the tail end of Richard’s conversation with Queen Elizabeth, when he has sufficiently worn the Queen down with his dogged insistence on marrying her daughter:

QUEEN ELIZABETH: Yet thou didst kill my children.

KING RICHARD: But in your daughter’s womb I bury them

Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed

Selves of themselves to your recomforture. (Richard III 4.4.339-342)

Richard uses a complex metaphor here, one that I would have completely overlooked (being bombarded as we are by his grossness) had it not been for a couple of footnotes. The Norton Anthology points out that the “nest of spicery” Richard mentions is a reference to the phoenix, which was said to build its nest out of fragrant branches of spice trees. That nest would serve as both its funeral pyre and its place of rebirth wherein, as the myth goes, about every 500 years, it would self-immolate and rise again from its own ashes. Considering the quote within the context of Richard III alone is enough to make its somewhat horrifying implications plain: by impregnating the young Elizabeth, he buries her dead brothers, whose deaths would then be recast as necessary precursors for the rise of new heirs to the House of York. The incestuous component of the situation is touched upon in the verse itself, through the idea of breeding “selves of themselves,” a crude idea that, in Richard’s mind, should somehow comfort the mother of the dead princes. But the reference grows even more significant when the action of the preceding three plays are taken into account.

The three-part saga of the reign of King Henry VI follows the events resulting from the former Duke of York—the father of Edward, George, and our very own Richard—declaring his king to be a usurper (due to Henry’s grandfather’s own usurpation of the crown of Richard II) and staking his own hereditary claim to the seat. Thus begin the Wars of the Roses, which, as we now know, didn’t work out too well for most parties involved. In 3 Henry VI, York (Richard III’s father) is captured by Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI’s queen), who mocks him ruthlessly, placing a paper crown on his head and waving in his face a handkerchief soaked in the blood of his youngest son. Charming stuff. But York knows he’s done for, and before he’s murdered by Margaret’s goons, he leaves her with a promise:

YORK: My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

A bird that will revenge upon you all,

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven

Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with. (3 Henry VI 1.4.35-38)

(Heeeere’s Richard!)

Richard III, who has in his namesake play been referred to several times as an unnatural, revenge-driven demon, thus becomes the phoenix his father invoked with his dying breath. But Richard, like York–like countless players on this world stage–gets too caught up in the glory of the rise that he neglects to recognize the equally predictable fall; the phoenix, after all, is defined just as much by its self-destruction as it is by its reincarnation. The life cycle of the phoenix, then, becomes an analogue for the cycle of kingship–one in which the glorified can exult in the power of the flames without acknowledging that he himself will burn just as easily as the rest.

by Aidan McCarthy, Blogging Circle 2

While many of Shakespeare’s more secondary villains will often use brute force, mindless raised voices, and nerve to achieve their goals (i.e. Demetrius from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Rodrigo from Othello), it seems that his most memorable and sinister villains are masters of physiological manipulation. Using their false words of comfort, and back door wheeling and dealing to con those who are less cunning and weaker than they are to attain their ultimate end goal. Richard, Duke of Gloucester is no exception to this, and he might just be the ultimate example in this case.

At the beginning of the play, he shows himself to be bitter and twisted over his self-proclaimed deformity, and finds himself to be unfit for a world that is engulfed in peace.

“But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking glass; I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity.” (1.1.lines 14-27)

However, he manages to use his mastery of language and manipulation to his advantage over others. While learning of Clarence’s imprisonment in Act I, he manages to display thoughtfulness and concern for his current situation,

“Well, your imprisonment shall not be long. I will deliver you or else lie for you. Meantime, have patience.” (1.1. lines 114-116)

Richard seems so convincing in his consolation of his brother that we as the audience are almost led to believe him ourselves, we already forget that he has promised to himself and us, the audience that his brother Clarence would be but another fatality in his ultimate scheme. This is just another example of his unwavering and uncompromising manipulation. It is almost as if he as a character is playing multiple other characters within the play, purely towards the deception of others. His manipulative ways take an even darker and more disturbing turn in Act I, Scene II, when he attempts to convince Lady Anne to marry him,

“I would they were, that I might die at once, For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops. These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear— No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father’s death And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedashed with rain—in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend, nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word. But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry— But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me. Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward— But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me.” (1.1.lines 149-169)

The entirety of this scene perfectly encapsulate Richard’s masterful use of manipulation. It is apparent from the outset of the scene that Lady Anne holds incredible disdain and hatred for Richard, threatening to at one point kill him with a sword pointed to his chest, but through sheer cunning and his beautiful use of language and acting, she agrees to marry him. He is able to play upon people’s most sensitive and deepest held emotions, and does so all whilst every word that he speaks is nothing but an absolute lie. Again, he is a character in a play playing another character for whichever suitor is unlucky enough to hear his poisonous and deceitful words.

by Kyle Baisley, Romeo and Juliets Blogging Circle

In Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of King Richard the Third, Richard proves to be the bane of his own existence and causes his own defeat by Henry, the Earl of Richmond. To begin, the ghosts haunting Richard in his sleep can be interpreted as psychological impediments to his success. In other wards, the ghosts are the memories of those he killed or setup to be killed, which is the guilt weighing down on him. Thus, Richard losses sleep and becomes weakened before meeting Richmond on the battlefield. Despite Richard having the larger army and advantage, the exhausted Richard fails to properly lead and distribute his forces against the united and virtuous army of Richmond. Even Richmond declares the importance of proper slumber before jumping into action: “I’ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, / [l]est leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow, / [w]hen I should mount with wings of victory” (5.5.57-59).

Regarding the prophecies of “G” as the murderer, Richard Gloucester proves to be the murderer of countless individuals, including the murderer of himself. For example, he slaughters the humanity within himself and contradicts his Christian faith. He prays to Saint George to inspire his forces with the rage of “fiery dragons,” (5.7.80) which is symbolic of feasting his minions with the angry flames of Hell. Moreover, it’s ironic because he’s asking the holy saint for assistance right after sentencing little George Stanley to his untimely death. Condemning one George is condemning the other. Richmond fights with Saint George on his side because he’s faithful to Christianity and doesn’t sin like Richard. Thus, Richard simultaneously coordinates the murder of an innocent child and dooms himself to eternally burning in the flames of Hell.

Furthermore, Richard’s ruthless desire for unwavering loyalty is the result of his own insecurities as a human being. For instance, he sentences his most faithful followers to death for second guessing his orders only for a second. To Richard, Buckingham asks, “Give me some little breath, some pause, dear, / [b]efore I positively speak in this. / I will resolve you herein presently” (4.2.25-27). Buckingham’s hesitation to immediately follow Richard’s orders to murder King Edward’s children causes Richard to become furious and question Buckingham’s dedications, despite his unwavering support to Richard’s ascension to the throne. In fact, Richard’s merciless actions are attempts to deny his own guilty feelings, which ultimately catches up to him in the shape of the ghosts haunting him in his sleep. Moreover, he fails to avoid the accumulation of guilt by ordering others to carry out his dirty work. During the entire play, Richard doesn’t kill anyone and tries detaching himself from any guilt by having, say, Tyrrell murder Edward’s children; and even Tyrrell himself doesn’t kill the children because he has others smother them for him. Hence, Richard unsuccessfully separates himself from the haunting memories in the shape of ghosts and becomes the weakly scared human being that he despises most when waking up from his nightmares, saying, “O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream. / What thinkest thou, will all our friends prove true?” (5.5.166-67) and “Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear” (5.5.168). He becomes this vulnerably little creature like Edward’s innocent children, but without the innocence.

by Rosemary Barber, Blogging Circle #3