Antony and Cleopatra
BY
William Shakespeare
Plot Overview
Mark
Antony, one of the three rulers of the Roman Empire, spends his time in Egypt,
living a life of decadence and conducting an affair with the country’s
beautiful queen, Cleopatra. When a message arrives informing him that his wife,
Fulvia, is dead and that Pompey is raising an army to rebel against the
triumvirate, Antony decides to return to Rome. In Antony’s absence, Octavius
Caesar and Lepidus, his fellow triumvirs, worry about Pompey’s increasing
strength. Caesar condemns Antony for neglecting his duties as a statesman and
military officer in order to live a decadent life by Cleopatra’s side.
The
news of his wife’s death and imminent battle pricks Antony’s sense of duty, and
he feels compelled to return to Rome. Upon his arrival, he and Caesar quarrel,
while Lepidus ineffectually tries to make peace. Realizing that an alliance is
necessary to defeat Pompey, Antony and Caesar agree that Antony will marry
Caesar’s sister, Octavia, who will solidify their loyalty to one another.
Enobarbus, Antony’s closest friend, predicts to Caesar’s men that, despite the
marriage, Antony will surely return to Cleopatra.
In
Egypt, Cleopatra learns of Antony’s marriage and flies into a jealous rage.
However, when a messenger delivers word that Octavia is plain and unimpressive,
Cleopatra becomes confident that she will win Antony back. The triumvirs meet
Pompey and settle their differences without going to battle. Pompey agrees to
keep peace in exchange for rule over Sicily and Sardinia. That evening, the
four men drink to celebrate their truce. One of Pompey’s soldiers discloses to
him a plan to assassinate the triumvirs, thereby delivering world power into
Pompey’s hands, but Pompey dismisses the scheme as an affront to his honor.
Meanwhile, one of Antony’s -generals wins a victory over the kingdom of
Parthia.
Antony
and Octavia depart for Athens. Once they are gone, Caesar breaks his truce,
wages war against Pompey, and defeats him. After using Lepidus’s army to secure
a victory, he accuses Lepidus of treason, imprisons him, and confiscates his
land and possessions. This news angers Antony, as do the rumors that Caesar has
been speaking out against him in public. Octavia pleads with Antony to maintain
a peaceful relationship with her brother. Should Antony and Caesar fight, she
says, her affections would be painfully divided. Antony dispatches her to Rome
on a peace mission, and quickly returns to Egypt and Cleopatra. There, he
raises a large army to fight Caesar, and Caesar, incensed over Antony’s
treatment of his sister, responds in kind. Caesar commands his army and navy to
Egypt. Ignoring all advice to the contrary, Antony elects to fight him at sea,
allowing Cleopatra to command a ship despite Enobarbus’s strong objections.
Antony’s forces lose the battle when Cleopatra’s ship flees and Antony’s
follows, leaving the rest of the fleet vulnerable.
Antony
despairs, condemning Cleopatra for leading him into infamy but quickly
forgiving her. He and Cleopatra send requests to their conqueror: Antony asks
to be allowed to live in Egypt, while Cleopatra asks that her kingdom be passed
down to her rightful heirs. Caesar dismisses Antony’s request, but he promises
Cleopatra a fair hearing if she betrays her lover. Cleopatra seems to be giving
thought to Caesar’s message when Antony barges in, curses her for her treachery,
and orders the innocent messenger whipped. When, moments later, Antony forgives
Cleopatra, Enobarbus decides that his master is finished and defects to
Caesar’s camp.
Antony
meets Caesar’s troops in battle and scores an unexpected victory. When he
learns of Enobarbus’s desertion, Antony laments his own bad fortune, which he
believes has corrupted an honorable man. He sends his friend’s possessions to
Caesar’s camp and returns to Cleopatra to celebrate his victory. Enobarbus,
undone by shame at his own disloyalty, bows under the weight of his guilt and
dies. Another day brings another battle, and once again Antony meets Caesar at
sea. As before, the Egyptian fleet proves treacherous; it abandons the fight
and leaves Antony to suffer defeat. Convinced that his lover has betrayed him,
Antony vows to kill Cleopatra. In order to protect herself, she quarters
herself in her monument and sends word that she has committed suicide. Antony,
racked with grief, determines to join his queen in the afterlife. He commands
one of his attendants to fulfill his promise of unquestioned service and kill
him. The attendant kills himself instead. Antony then falls on his own sword,
but the wound is not immediately fatal. He is carried to Cleopatra’s monument,
where the lovers are reunited briefly before Antony’s death. Caesar takes the
queen prisoner, planning to display her in Rome as a testament to the might of
his empire, but she learns of his plan and kills herself with the help of
several poisonous snakes. Caesar has her buried beside Antony.
Mark Antony
Throughout
the play, Antony grapples with the conflict between his love for Cleopatra and
his duties to the Roman Empire. In Act I, scene i, he engages Cleopatra in a
conversation about the nature and depth of their love, dismissing the duties he
has neglected for her sake: “Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch / Of the
ranged empire fall” (I.i.35–36). In the very next scene, however, Antony
worries that he is about to “lose [him]self in dotage” (I.ii.106) and fears
that the death of his wife is only one of the ills that his “idleness doth
hatch” (I.ii.119). Thus, Antony finds himself torn between the Rome of his duty
and the Alexandria of his pleasure. The geographical poles that draw him in
opposite directions represent deep-seated conflicts between his reason and
emotion, his sense of duty and his desire, his obligations to the state and his
private needs.
Antony’s
understanding of himself, however, cannot bear the stress of such tension. In
his mind, he is first and foremost a Roman hero of the first caliber. He won
his position as one of the three leaders of the world by vanquishing the
treacherous Brutus and Cassius, who conspired to assassinate his predecessor,
Julius Caesar. He often recalls the golden days of his own heroism, but now
that he is entangled in an affair with the Egyptian queen, his memories do
little more than demonstrate how far he has strayed from his ideal self. As he
points out to Octavia in Act III, scene iv, his current actions imperil his
honor, and without his honor—the defining characteristic of the Roman hero—he
can no longer be Antony: “If I lose my honor, / I lose myself. Better I were
not yours / Than yours so branchless” (III.iv.22–24). Later, having suffered
defeat at the hands of both Caesar and Cleopatra, Antony returns to the imagery
of the stripped tree as he laments, “[T]his pine is barked / That overtopped
them all” (IV.xiii.23–24). Rather than amend his identity to accommodate these
defeats, Antony chooses to take his own life, an act that restores him to his
brave and indomitable former self. In suicide, Antony manages to convince
himself and the world (as represented by Cleopatra and Caesar) that he is “a
Roman by a Roman / Valiantly vanquished” (IV.xvi.59–60).
Cleopatra
The assortment of perspectives
from which we see Cleopatra illustrates the varying understandings of her as a
decadent foreign woman and a noble ruler. As Philo and Demetrius take the stage
in Act I, scene i, their complaints about Antony’s neglected duties frame the
audience’s understanding of Cleopatra, the queen for whom Antony risks his
reputation. Within the first ten lines of the play, the men declare Cleopatra a
lustful “gipsy,” a description that is repeated throughout the play as though
by a chorus (I.i.10). Cleopatra is labeled a “wrangling queen” (I.i.50), a “slave” (I.iv.19), an “Egyptian dish”
(II.vi.123), and a “whore” (III.vi.67); she is called “Salt
Cleopatra” (II.i.21) and an enchantress who has made Antony “the noble ruin
of her magic” (III.x.18).
But
to view Cleopatra as such is to reduce her character to the rather narrow
perspective of the Romans, who, standing to lose their honor or kingdoms
through her agency, are most threatened by her. Certainly this threat has much
to do with Cleopatra’s beauty and open sexuality, which, as Enobarbus points
out in his famous description of her in Act II, scene ii, is awe-inspiring. But
it is also a performance. Indeed, when Cleopatra takes the stage, she does so
as an actress, elevating her passion, grief, and outrage to the most dramatic
and captivating level. As Enobarbus says, the queen did not walk through the
street, but rather
Hop[ped] forty paces . . .
And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And breathless, pour breath forth.
(II.ii.235–238)
And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And breathless, pour breath forth.
(II.ii.235–238)
Whether whispering sweet words of
love to Antony or railing at a supposedly disloyal servant, Cleopatra leaves
her onlookers breathless. As Antony notes, she is a woman “[w]hom everything
becomes—to chide, to laugh / To weep” (I.i.51–52). It is this
ability to be the perfect embodiment of all things—beauty and ugliness, virtue
and vice—that Cleopatra stands to lose after her defeat by Caesar. By parading
her through the streets of Rome as his trophy, he intends to reduce her
character to a single, base element—to immortalize her as a whore. If Antony
cannot allow his conception of self to expand to incorporate his defeats, then Cleopatra
cannot allow hers to be stripped to the image of a boy actor “squeaking
Cleopatra . . . / I’th’ posture of a whore” (V.ii.216–217).
Cleopatra often behaves childishly and with relentless self-absorption;
nevertheless, her charisma, strength, and indomitable will make her one of
Shakespeare’s strongest, most awe-inspiring female characters.
Octavius Caesar
Ocatavius Caesar is both a
menacing adversary for Antony and a rigid representation of Roman law and
order. He is not a two-dimensional villain, though, since his frustrations with
the ever-neglectful Antony seem justified. When he complains to Lepidus that he
resents having to “bear / So great weight in [Antony’s] lightness,” we
certainly understand his concern (I.iv.24–25). He does not emerge as a
particularly likable character—his treatment of Lepidus, for instance, betrays
the cruel underside of Caesar’s aggressive ambitions—but he is a complicated
one. He is, in other words, convincingly human. There is, perhaps, no better
example of Caesar’s humanity than his conflicted feelings about Antony. For a
good deal of the play, Caesar seems bent, rather ruthlessly, on destroying
Antony. When he achieves this desired end, however, he does not relish the
moment as we might expect. Instead, he mourns the loss of a great soldier and
musters enough compassion to be not only fair-minded but also fair-hearted,
commanding that the lovers be buried beside one another.
Themes
The Struggle Between Reason and
Emotion
In his opening lines to
Demetrius, Philo complains that Antony has abandoned the military endeavors on
which his reputation is based for Cleopatra’s sake. His criticism of Antony’s
“dotage,” or stupidity, introduces a tension between reason and emotion that
runs throughout the play (I.i.1). Antony and Cleopatra’s first exchange
heightens this tension, as they argue whether their love can be put into words
and understood or whether it exceeds such faculties and boundaries of reason.
If, according to Roman consensus, Antony is the military hero and disciplined
statesmen that Caesar and others believe him to be, then he seems to have
happily abandoned his reason in order to pursue his passion. He declares: “Let
Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch / Of the ranged empire fall” (I.i.35–36).
The play, however, is more concerned with the battle between reason and emotion
than the triumph of one over the other, and this battle is waged most
forcefully in the character of Antony. More than any other character in the
play, Antony vacillates between Western and Eastern sensibilities, feeling
pulled by both his duty to the empire and his desire for pleasure, his want of
military glory and his passion for Cleopatra. Soon after his nonchalant
dismissal of Caesar’s messenger, the empire, and his duty to it, he chastises
himself for his neglect and commits to return to Rome, lest he “lose [him]self
in dotage” (I.ii.106).
As the play progresses, Antony
continues to inhabit conflicting identities that play out the struggle between
reason and emotion. At one moment, he is the vengeful war hero whom Caesar
praises and fears. Soon thereafter, he sacrifices his military position by
unwisely allowing Cleopatra to determine his course of action. As his Roman
allies—even the ever-faithful Enobarbus—abandon him, Antony feels that he has,
indeed, lost himself in dotage, and he determines to rescue his noble identity
by taking his own life. At first, this course of action may appear to be a
triumph of reason over passion, of -Western sensibilities over Eastern ones,
but the play is not that simple. Although Antony dies believing himself a man
of honor, discipline, and reason, our understanding of him is not nearly as
straight-forward. In order to come to terms with Antony’s character, we must
analyze the aspects of his identity that he ignores. He is, in the end, a man
ruled by passion as much as by reason. Likewise, the play offers us a worldview
in which one sensibility cannot easily dominate another. Reason cannot ever
fully conquer the passions, nor can passion wholly undo reason.
The Clash of East and West
Although Antony and
Cleopatra details the conflict between Rome and Egypt, giving us an
idea of the Elizabethan perceptions of the difference between Western and
Eastern cultures, it does not make a definitive statement about which culture
ultimately triumphs. In the play, the Western and Eastern poles of the world
are characterized by those who inhabit them: Caesar, for instance, embodies the
stoic duty of the West, while Cleopatra, in all her theatrical grandeur,
represents the free-flowing passions of the East. Caesar’s concerns throughout
the play are certainly imperial: he means to invade foreign lands in order to
invest them with traditions and sensibilities of his own. But the play resists
siding with this imperialist impulse. Shakespeare, in other words, does not
align the play’s sympathies with the West; Antony and Cleopatra can
hardly be read as propaganda for Western domination. On the contrary, the Roman
understanding of Cleopatra and her kingdom seems exceedingly superficial. To
Caesar, the queen of Egypt is little more than a whore with a flair for drama.
His perspective allows little room for the real power of Cleopatra’s
sexuality—she can, after all, persuade the most decorated of generals to follow
her into ignoble retreat. Similarly, it allows little room for the indomitable
strength of her will, which she demonstrates so forcefully at the end of the
play as she refuses to allow herself to be turned into a “Egyptian puppet” for
the entertainment of the Roman masses (V.ii.204).
In Antony and Cleopatra, West
meets East, but it does not, regardless of Caesar’s triumph over the land of
Egypt, conquer it. Cleopatra’s suicide suggests that something of the East’s
spirit, the freedoms and passions that are not represented in the play’s
conception of the West, cannot be subsumed by Caesar’s victory. The play
suggests that the East will live on as a visible and unconquerable counterpoint
to the West, bound as inseparably and eternally as Antony and Cleopatra are in
their tomb.
The Definition of Honor
Throughout the play, characters
define honor variously, and often in ways that are not intuitive. As Antony
prepares to meet Caesar in battle, he determines that he “will live / Or bathe
[his] dying honour in the blood / Shall make it live again” (IV.ii.5–7). Here,
he explicitly links the notion of honor to to that of death, suggesting the
latter as a surefire means of achieving the former. The play bears out this
assertion, since, although Antony and Cleopatra kill themselves for different
reasons, they both imagine that the act invests them with honor. In death,
Antony returns to his identity as a true, noble Roman, becoming “a Roman by a
Roman / Valiantly vanquished” (IV.xvi.59–60), while Cleopatra resolves to “bury
him, and then what’s brave, what’s noble, / Let’s do it after the high Roman
fashion” (IV.xvi.89–90). At first, the queen’s words seem to suggest that honor
is a distinctly Roman attribute, but Cleopatra’s death, which is her means of
ensuring that she remains her truest, most uncompromised self, is distinctly
against Rome. In Antony and Cleopatra, honor seems less a
function of Western or Eastern culture than of the characters’ determination to
define themselves on their own terms. Both Antony and Cleopatra secure
honorable deaths by refusing to compromise their identities.
Motifs
MAIN IDEAS MOTIFS
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary
devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.
Extravagant Declarations of Love
In Act I, scene i, Antony and Cleopatra argue over whether their
love for one another can be measured and articulated:
CLEOPATRA: [to Antony] If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
ANTONY: There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned.
CLEOPATRA: I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
ANTONY: Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
(I.i.14–17)
ANTONY: There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned.
CLEOPATRA: I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
ANTONY: Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
(I.i.14–17)
This exchange sets the tone for the way that love will be
discussed and understood throughout the play. Cleopatra expresses the
expectation that love should be declared or demonstrated grandly. She wants to
hear and see exactly how much Antony loves her. Love, in Antony and Cleopatra, is not comprised of private
intimacies, as it is in Romeo and Juliet. Instead,
love belongs to the public arena. In the lines quoted above, Cleopatra claims
that she will set the boundaries of her lover’s affections, and Antony responds
that, to do so, she will need to discover uncharted territories. By likening
their love to the discovery and claim of “new heaven, new earth,” the couple
links private emotions to affairs of state. Love, in other words, becomes an extension
of politics, with the annexation of another’s heart analogous to the conquering
of a foreign land.
Public Displays of Affection
In Antony and Cleopatra, public
displays of affection are generally understood to be expressions of political
power and allegiance. Caesar, for example, laments that Octavia arrives in Rome
without the fanfare of a proper entourage because it betrays her weakness:
without an accompanying army of horses, guardsmen, and trumpeters, she cannot
possibly be recognized as Caesar’s sister or Antony’s wife. The connection
between public display and power is one that the characters—especially Caesar
and Cleopatra—understand well. After Antony’s death, their battle of wills
revolves around Caesar’s desire to exhibit the Egyptian queen on the streets of
Rome as a sign of his triumph. Cleopatra refuses such an end, choosing instead
to take her own life. Even this act is meant as a public performance, however:
decked in her grandest royal robes and playing the part of the tragic lover, Cleopatra
intends her last act to be as much a defiance of Caesar’s power as a gesture of
romantic devotion. For death, she claims, is “the way / To fool their
preparation and to conquer / Their most absurd intents” (V.ii.220–222).
Female Sexuality
Throughout the play, the male characters rail against the power
of female sexuality. Caesar and his men condemn Antony for the weakness that
makes him bow to the Egyptian queen, but they clearly lay the blame for his
downfall on Cleopatra. On the rare occasion that the Romans do not refer to her
as a whore, they describe her as an enchantress whose beauty casts a dangerous
spell over men. As Enobarbus notes, Cleopatra possesses the power to warp the
minds and judgment of all men, even “holy priests” who “[b]less her” when she
acts like a whore (II.ii.244–245).
The unapologetic
openness of Cleopatra’s sexuality stands to threaten the Romans. But they are
equally obsessed with the powers of Octavia’s sexuality. Caesar’s sister, who,
in beauty and temperament stands as Cleopatra’s opposite, is nevertheless
considered to possess power enough to mend the triumvir’s damaged relationship:
Caesar and Antony expect that she will serve to “knit [their] hearts /
With an unslipping knot” (II.ii.132–133). In this way,
women are saddled with both the responsibility for men’s political alliances
and the blame for their personal failures.
Symbols
MAIN IDEAS SYMBOLS
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used
to represent abstract ideas or concepts.
Shape-Changing Clouds
In Act IV, scene xv, Antony likens his shifting sense of self to
a cloud that changes shape as it tumbles across the sky. Just as the cloud
turns from “a bear or lion, / A towered citadel, a pendent rock,” Antony seems
to change from the reputed conqueror into a debased victim (IV.xv.3–4). As he says to Eros, his uncharacteristic defeat, both
on the battlefield and in matters of love, makes it difficult for him to “hold
this visible shape” (IV.xv.14).
Cleopatra’s Fleeing Ships
The image of Cleopatra’s fleeing ships is presented twice in the
play. Antony twice does battle with Caesar at sea, and both times his navy is
betrayed by the queen’s retreat. The ships remind us of Cleopatra’s inconstancy
and of the inconstancy of human character in the play. One cannot be sure of
Cleopatra’s allegiance: it is uncertain whether she flees out of fear or
because she realizes it would be politically savvy to align herself with
Caesar. Her fleeing ships are an effective symbol of her wavering and changeability.
The Asps
One of the most
memorable symbols in the play comes in its final moments, as Cleopatra applies
deadly snakes to her skin. The asps are a prop in the queen’s final and most
magnificent performance. As she lifts one snake, then another to her breast,
they become her children and she a common wet nurse: “Dost thou not see my baby
at my breast, / That sucks the nurse asleep?” (V.ii.300–301). The domestic
nature of the image contributes to Cleopatra’s final metamorphosis, in death,
into Antony’s wife. She assures him, “Husband, I come” (V.ii.278).
Key Facts
MAIN
IDEAS KEY FACTS
Full Title · The Tragedy of Antony and
Cleopatra
Author · William Shakespeare
Type Of Work · Play
Genre · Tragedy
Language · English
Time And Place Written · 1606–1607, London,
England
Date Of First Publication · Published in the First
Folio of 1623
Publisher · The First Folio was
published by a group of printers, publishers, and booksellers: William and
Isaac Jaggard, William Aspey, John Smethwick, and Edward Blount. Isaac
Jaggard’s and Edward Blount’s names appear on the title page of the folio.
Tone · Tragic, poetic, grandiose, decadent, stoic
Setting (Time) · 40–30 b.c.
Setting (Place) · The Roman Empire and
Egypt
Protagonist · Mark Antony, one of the
triumvirs of Rome
Major Conflict · Antony is torn between
his duties as a Roman ruler and soldier and his desire to live in Egypt with
his lover, Cleopatra. This inner conflict leads him to become embroiled in a
war with Caesar, one of his fellow triumvirs.
Rising Action · Caesar lures Antony out
of Egypt and back to Rome, and marries Antony to his sister, Octavia. Antony
eventually returns to Egypt and Cleopatra, and Caesar prepares to lead an army
against Antony.
Climax · Antony disgraces himself by fleeing the
battle of Actium to follow Cleopatra, betraying his own image of himself as a
noble Roman.
Falling Action · Cleopatra abandons
Antony during the second naval battle, leaving him to suffer an insurmountable
defeat.
Themes · The struggle between reason and emotion; the
clash of East and West; the definition of honor
Motifs · Extravagant declarations of love; public
displays of affection; female sexuality
Symbols · Shape-changing clouds; Cleopatra’s fleeing
ships; the asps
Foreshadowing · The
play’s repeated mentions of snakes—for instance, Lepidus’s drunken ravings
about the creatures of the Nile—foreshadow Cleopatra’s chosen means of suicide.
Quote 1
Let’s grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smells of sweat. Say this becomes him—
As his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils when we do bear
So great a weight in his lightness. If he filled
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
Call on him for’t. But to confound such time
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state and ours—’tis to be chid
As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to the present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgement.
(I.iv.16–33)
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smells of sweat. Say this becomes him—
As his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils when we do bear
So great a weight in his lightness. If he filled
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
Call on him for’t. But to confound such time
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state and ours—’tis to be chid
As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to the present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgement.
(I.iv.16–33)
In Act I, scene iv, Caesar meets with Lepidus to discuss the
threat that Pompey poses to the empire. Here, he chastises Antony for staying
in Egypt, where he pursues pleasure at the expense of his duty to the state.
Caesar’s speech is significant for two reasons. First, it defines the Western
sensibilities against which Cleopatra’s Egypt is judged and by which Antony is
ultimately measured. As Caesar dismisses Antony’s passion for Cleopatra as
boyish irresponsibility, he asserts the Roman expectation of duty over
pleasure, reason over emotion. These competing worlds and worldviews provide
the framework for understanding the coming clashes between Caesar and Antony,
Antony and Cleopatra, and Cleopatra and Caesar.
Second, Caesar’s speech to Lepidus is significant for its
suggestion that the oppositional worlds delineated here are a result of
perception. For example, just as our perception of Antony changes according to
the perceptions of other characters—to Caesar he is negligent and mighty; to
Cleopatra, noble and easily manipulated; to Enobarbus, worthy but misguided—so
too our understanding of East and West depends upon the ways in which the
characters perceive them. To Caesar, Alexandria is a den of iniquity where the
noontime streets are filled with “knaves that smell of sweat.” But we should
resist his understanding as the essential definition of the East; we need only
refer to Cleopatra’s very similar description of a Roman street to realize that
place, as much as character, in Antony and Cleopatra, is
a quilt of competing perceptions: “[m]echanic slaves / With greasy aprons,
rules, and hammers shall / Uplift us to the view” (V.ii.205–207).
Quote 2
Upon her landing Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper. She replied
It should be better he became her guest,
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne’er the word of ‘No’ woman heard speak,
Being barbered ten times o’er, goes to the feast,
And for his ordinary pays his heart
For what his eyes eat only.
. . .
I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street,
And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And breathless, pour forth breath.
. . .
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.
(II.ii.225–245)
Invited her to supper. She replied
It should be better he became her guest,
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne’er the word of ‘No’ woman heard speak,
Being barbered ten times o’er, goes to the feast,
And for his ordinary pays his heart
For what his eyes eat only.
. . .
I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street,
And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And breathless, pour forth breath.
. . .
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.
(II.ii.225–245)
Enobarbus makes this speech, one of the most famous of the play.
The lines before this oft-quoted passage begin with the description of
Cleopatra floating down the Nile on her gilded barge. Enobarbus moves on to
tell the men gathered on Pompey’s ship how Antony met Cleopatra. It seems that
the general, particularly susceptible to the wants of women, fell under the
queen’s spell immediately. Whatever power Antony had in relation to the queen,
he surrenders it almost immediately—in fact, before the two even meet: “She
replied / It should be better he became her guest,” and Antony, never
having denied a woman’s wishes, agrees. In addition to demonstrating the
queen’s power over Antony, this passage describes Cleopatra’s talent for
performance. Her performance in “the public street” makes “defect”—her inability
to breathe—“perfection.” Whether sitting stately on her “burnished throne”
(II.ii.197) or hopping “forty paces,” Cleopatra never loses her
ability to quicken the breath of her onlookers or persuade the “holy priests”
to bless what they would certainly, in others, condemn.
Quote 3
You
take from me a great part of myself.
Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest bond
Shall pass on thy aproof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue which is set
Betwixt us as the cement of our love
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
The fortress of it; for better might we
Have loved without this mean if on both parts
This be not cherished.
(III.ii.24–33)
Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest bond
Shall pass on thy aproof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue which is set
Betwixt us as the cement of our love
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
The fortress of it; for better might we
Have loved without this mean if on both parts
This be not cherished.
(III.ii.24–33)
Following
the advice that Agrippa offers him in Act II, scene ii, Caesar offers Antony
his sister, Octavia, as a means of securing peace between them. This gesture
attests to the power that men ascribe to women and female sexuality in this
play. What men consider the wrong kind of female sexuality—embodied proudly and
openly by Cleopatra—stands as a threat to men, their reason, and sense of duty.
What they consider the right kind, however, as represented by the modest “piece
of virtue” Octavia, promises to be “the cement” of Caesar’s love for Antony.
Caesar’s language, here, is particularly important: the words he chooses to
describe Antony’s union to Octavia and, by extension, his reunion with Caesar,
belong to the vocabulary of builders: “the cement of our
love / To keep it builded, be the ram to batter
/ The fortress of it” (emphasis added). This language
makes an explicit connection between the private realm of love and the public
realm of the state, a connection that causes Caesar more than a little anxiety
throughout the play.
Quote 4
Sometimes we see a cloud that’s dragonish,
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon’t that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper’s pageants.
. . .
That which is now a horse even with a thought
The rack disdains, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water.
. . .
Here I am Antony,
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen—
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,
Which whilst it was mine had annexed unto’t
A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has
Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory
Unto an enemy’s triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
(IV.xv.3–22)
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon’t that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper’s pageants.
. . .
That which is now a horse even with a thought
The rack disdains, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water.
. . .
Here I am Antony,
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen—
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,
Which whilst it was mine had annexed unto’t
A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has
Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory
Unto an enemy’s triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
(IV.xv.3–22)
After Cleopatra’s ships abandon Antony in battle for the second
time, the general faces the greatest defeat of his military career. Antony is
accustomed only to victory, and his understanding of self leaves little room
for defeat, either on the battlefield or in terms of love. As a Roman, Antony
has a rigid perception of himself: he must live within the narrowly defined
confines of the victor and hero or not live at all. Here, he complains to his
trusted attendant, Eros, about the shifting of his identity. He feels himself
helplessly changing, morphing from one man to another like a cloud that turns
from a dragon to a bear to a lion as it moves across the sky. He tries
desperately to cling to himself—”Here I am Antony”—but laments he “cannot hold
this visible shape.” Left without military might or Cleopatra, Antony loses his
sense of who he is. Rather than amend his identity to incorporate this loss,
rather than become an Antony conquered, he chooses to end his life. In the end,
he clings to the image of himself as the unvanquished hero in order to achieve
this last task: “[t]here is left us / Ourselves to end ourselves.”
Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras.
Saucy lictors
Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels. Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I’ th’ posture of a whore.
(V.ii.210–217)
Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels. Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I’ th’ posture of a whore.
(V.ii.210–217)
Soon
after Antony’s death, Cleopatra determines to follow her lover into the
afterlife. She commits to killing herself and, in Act V, scene ii, convinces
her handmaids of the rightness of this decision. She conjures up a horrific
image of the humiliation that awaits her as Caesar’s trophy, employing the
vocabulary of the theater, fearing that “quick comedians / Extemporally will
stage us.” She imagines that Antony will be played as a drunk, and a squeaking
boy will portray her as a whore. Given that, throughout the play, Cleopatra is
a consummate actress—we are never quite sure how much of her emotion is genuine
and how much theatrical fireworks—her refusal to let either Antony or herself
be portrayed in such a way is especially significant. To Cleopatra, the Roman
understanding of her character and her relationship with Antony is a gross and
unacceptable wrong. It does not mesh with the grandness of her self-perception—rather
than being a queen of the order of Isis, she will go down in history “[i]’ th’
posture of a whore.” Just as Antony cannot allow his self-image to expand to
include defeat, Cleopatra refuses to allow her image to be stripped to its
basest parts.
The End