In the inaugural issue of this newsletter we take on the small task of unpacking one of the greatest scenes in English drama.
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I like Shakespeare. That’s an opinion that feels popular and contrarian at the same time. Obviously he is the most famous and celebrated writer in the history of the English language, and on the short list of most recognized artists of all time. On the other hand, in modern times, I think we all know on some level there’s nothing less cool than liking Shakespeare. Am I wrong in thinking his appeal today is limited to stuffy academics and theater kids? I’d wager the vast majority of the reading public—and even most professional writers—want nothing to do with him. But anyone who never gets to the bottom of what’s so great about Shakespeare is depriving themselves of something vital.
It’s my hope that a deep dive into one of Shakespeare’s most memorable scenes will foster a new appreciation for the Bard’s art in those who were not already fans. And for those who were, who could refuse another occasion to hear his praises sung?
The scene in question: act 3, scene 2 of Julius Caesar, the heart of which is performed in the clip below by none other than Marlon Brando:
For context: In the aftermath of Caesar’s death, Brutus speaks for the assassins before the people of Rome, portraying the conspiracy as a necessary evil to defend the Republic from Caesar’s rise to absolute power. He explains the deed was done despite his own great love of Caesar:
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’ love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
Brutus succeeds in quelling the public’s fears, and soon they are praising him as a hero, crying out that he shall have a statue, that he shall be the new Caesar. Then in an act of good faith—and what would prove to be a fatal error—the conspirators give leave to Mark Antony, Caesar’s friend and ally, to address the public too. Speaking over Caesar’s body, with the pretext of paying respects to the dead, Antony proceeds to thoroughly upstage Brutus, winning the rabble’s favor and whipping them into a frenzy. In a blink they go from idolizing Brutus to demanding his head—a very unflattering depiction of the fickle masses, but one we probably all see some truth in. The loss of popular support is a major blow that contributes to the ultimate defeat of Brutus’ camp.
Antony’s speech will be our focus today. It is iconic right from the opening line:
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The trochaic Friends, Romans, countrymen inverts Shakespeare’s normal use of iambic, giving it a punchier and more cut-through-the-noise effect as Brutus tries to seize the crowd’s attention. When reading Shakespeare, and other poets, notice how a change in meter can accentuate or enhance the meaning of the text.
The second line begins a recurring theme of Antony saying the opposite of what he means. A genius feature of this speech is how Antony leads the crowd to his preferred conclusions without ever voicing them. In the case of this line, not only does he indeed mean to praise Caesar, you might say he means to resurrect him. In his earlier soliloquy over Caesar’s body—which I may cover here someday if I manage to attract some readers—he speaks of “Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,” which would bring destruction to all of Italy. I think it is exactly this spirit that Antony means to conjure here, in the minds of the Roman public.
The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones. So let it be with Caesar.
Shakespeare showing off his unique ability to turn a phrase. It’s little wonder why so many of our popular saying and idioms are attributed to him. Very often Shakespeare’s characters rattle off a quote seeped with timelessness and universality in a way I think all writers wish they could do once. How many writers, given the task of writing this scene, would deliver a passionate but forgettable speech? When the moment is this large, Shakespeare doesn’t miss.
The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest (For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable men), Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me, But Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man.
The beginning of the “honorable men” motif. At first Antony is playing it straight. But by repeatedly referring to the conspirators as honorable men, he starts to underscore how dishonorable their actions seem. This scene could be studied for its rhetorical devices alone.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And sure he is an honorable man.
He now begins to undermine Brutus’ characterization of Caesar. Juxtaposing Caesar’s good deeds with the increasingly weakened image of a power-hungry Caesar creates a dichotomy, a tension that begs to be resolved. Throwing in and sure he is an honorable man now hits quite differently; it offers a solution to the paradox. If Brutus is not honorable, things are cleared right up.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff is a great line, and I personally love the verbal texture of kingly crown, both of which go to show the power of a well-placed alliteration. Speaking of verbal texture, Nabokov said of Shakespeare: “The verbal poetical texture of Shakespeare is the greatest the world has ever known, and is immensely superior to the structure of his plays as plays. With Shakespeare, it is the metaphor that’s the thing, not the play.” In my own engagement with Shakespeare, I too feel I get more out of the language than the story, latching onto such lines as these.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause. What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason!—Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. [He weeps.]
Of course, he does mean to disprove what Brutus spoke. More excellent lines here (this speech is overflowing with them). Judgment thou art fled to brutish beasts is wonderfully evocative, as is Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar. Both also bolster Nabokov’s theory above, regarding Shakespeare and metaphors. I think it’s interesting to ask to what degree those are crocodile tears from Antony after I must pause… There’s no doubt he feels a great amount of genuine grief at Caesar’s death, but his speech is also highly calculated and manipulative. I like to think of it as weaponized grief: Antony getting choked up for real, then spinning it to his advantage.
But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world. Now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters, if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong. I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But yesterday the word of Caesar might have stood against the world shows how much power a metaphor can contain, and why we need them. This line says so much in just twelve words. You feel how large Caesar loomed over Roman society, the shock and emptiness that’s left by the fall of such a titan. It also speaks to the fragility of life: But yesterday… as in just yesterday. Just yesterday Caesar was a Colossus, mighty and untouchable. Today he’s a crumpled corpse. All our power and glory evaporate upon our death, and our mortality hangs by a thread.
The venom is now escalating quickly in each honorable men from Antony. Who, you all know, are honorable men feels like Antony dropping the act; he’s really saying Who, you all are beginning to feel, are not so honorable after all. And the sarcasm is practically dripping in the one that follows.
But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar. I found it in his closet. ’Tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood— Yea, beg a hair of him for memory And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.
Antony teasing the crowd with Caesar’s will, here and further on, is rhetorical genius. And once again he says the opposite of the truth; of course there’s not a chance in hell he won’t be reading the will.
Every line here after I do not mean to read is a masterful use of imagery. With Dip their napkins in his sacred blood, which may seem befuddling at first, Antony is suggesting the people soak their handkerchiefs in Caesar’s blood to take as a keepsake. Along with kissing his wounds and plucking a hair from him to pass on as a family relic, Antony is imaging an incredible level of exaltation and reverence paid to Caesar’s corpse, such is the debt the public should feel they owe to him.
Naturally the people beg for Antony to read the will, and he pretends to resist—making it all the more tantalizing:
Have patience, gentle friends. I must not read it. It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not 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, O, what would come of it?
After a bit more pressure he cracks:
Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honorable men Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar. I do fear it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men whose daggers have stabbed Caesar is, pardon the expression, Antony twisting the knife. By now the crowd is bloodthirsty, and Antony knows it.
Antony sets the stage quite a bit more before actually reading the will, though the people are already eating from his hand. There is plenty to study in the lines that follow, but I feel this is a good stopping point. First because we have come to the end of the Marlon Brando clip, in case you were following along with it, and second because I worry this post is getting too long.
This is my first stab at Substack, and writing publicly at all, and it took me quite a lot longer than I’d hoped to produce what you’ve now read. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear from you. I hope I will manage to keep this thing going.
— Floyd
All my content is free. So if you like what you find here, why not subscribe?