Pageants Murray (N. E. D. s. v.): Origin and history obscure. 1. A scene acted on the stage; specially, one scene or act of a mediæval mystery play. † 2. A stage or platform on which scenes were acted or tableaux represented; especially in early use, the movable structure or ‘carriage,’ consisting of stage and stage machinery, used in open air performances of the mystery plays. 3. A tableau, representation, allegorical device, or the like, erected on a fixed stage or carried on a moving car, as a public show; any kind of show, device, or temporary structure, exhibited as a feature of a public triumph or celebration. (This sense, in which ‘scene’ and ‘stage’ are combined, may have been the intermediate link between 1 and 2.)—[In conclusion Dr Murray gives an extremely valuable Note, wherein is discussed the two main early senses of the word, which were ‘a scene displayed on a stage’ and ‘a stage on which a scene is exhibited or acted.’ Unfortunately this purely philological question is not germane to these pages. It is not to be supposed that in using the word ‘Pageants’ Shakespeare had in mind the uncouth clumsy structures or the barbarous acting of the early Moralities or Mysteries. The pageants of his day were elaborate, allegorical, and superbly furnished. Warton (ii, 365) says ‘the frequent and public exhibition of personifications in the Pageaunts, which anciently accompanied every high festivity, greatly contributed to cherish the spirit of allegorical poetry, and even to enrich the imagination of Spenser. [Footnote.] And of Shakespeare. There is a passage [the present,] in Antony and Cleopatra, where the metaphor is exceedingly beautiful; but where the beauty both of the expression and the allusion is lost, unless we recollect the frequency and the nature of these shews in Shakespeare's age.’ On p. 202, et seq. of the same volume, Warton gives, from contemporary sources, an account of the magnificence of Pageants in which even royal personages took part. Whiter, also, writes to the same effect. ‘It is impossible,’ he says (p. 199), speaking of Pageants presented at Court, ‘for the reader to form an adequate notion of these performances, or to conceive their impression on the minds of those to whom they were familiar, unless he will himself consult the original narratives, which describe their exhibition. When he reflects on the immense sums which were lavished on these occasions; and considers that the most celebrated artists and poets of the age were employed in displaying before a voluptuous Court the most consummate specimens of their skill, he will readily acknowledge the superior grandeur of these romantic spectacles.’ See also Whiter's note on V, ii, 97.—Ed.]
the Racke dislimes Whiter (p. 195): This is a continuation of the same allusion to a pageant. . . . Mark the following quotation from Jonson's Masque of Hymen: ‘Here the upper part of the scene, which was all of clouds, and made artificially to swell, and ride like the rack, began to open,’ etc. [p. 59, ed. Gifford. It is more than probable that Whiter is here right in saying that this is a continuation of the allusion, although Anthony's speech throughout deals with actual clouds. See a long discussion on ‘rack’ or wreck in The Tempest, IV, i, 178 (of this ed.), where Staunton excellently remarks, of the phrase ‘Leaue not a rack behinde’: ‘While it is evident that by “rack” was understood the drifting vapour, or scud, as it is now termed, it would appear that Shakespeare, in the present instance, as in another occurring in Ant. & Cleop., was thinking not more of the actual clouds than of those gauzy semblances, which, in the pageants of his day, as in the stage-spectacles of ours, were often used partly or totally to obscure the scene behind.’—Ed.]
(my Knaue) . . . the Queene Thiselton (p. 24): Possibly these suggested the metaphor from cards, which is perhaps continued by the word ‘triumph.’
Packt Cards with Cæsars, and false plaid my Glory Vnto an Enemies triumph Warburton: Shakspeare has here, as usual, taken his metaphor from a low trivial subject; but has enobled it with much art, by so contriving that the principal term in the subject from whence the metaphor was taken, should belong to, and suit the dignity of the subject to which the metaphor is transferred: thereby providing at once for the integrity of the figure, and the nobleness of the thought. And this by the word triumph, which either signifies Octavius's conquest, or what we now call, contractedly, the trump at cards, then called the triumph or the triumphing sort.—Johnson: This explanation is very just; the thought did not deserve so good an annotation.—Malone: I believe Warburton here, as in many other places, saw more than his author meant. Shakspeare, I think, only intended to say, that Cleopatra, by collusion, played the great game they were engaged in falsely, so as to sacrifice Antony's fame to that of his enemy. The playing false to the adversary's trump card (as Warburton explains the words) conveys no distinct idea. The plain sense of the passage will appear from the following dialogue in Florio's Second Frvtes, 1591: ‘S. What a shooffling doo you keepe with those cardes? A. I plaie faire plaie, and shooffell them as I ought. S. Me thinkes you pack and set them.’ [p. 69. Assuredly, Malone is right. To play false to your opponents trump can do no harm to anybody but the player and his partner. Possibly, the sentence may be thus paraphrased:—She ‘stacked’ the cards in Cæsar's favour, and then, by her cheating, converted my glory into an enemy's triumph. Warburton's note renders needless the many comments on the conversion of ‘the triumph card’ into ‘the trump card.’—Ed.]
Cæsars For the superfluous s see I, iv, 11.
she has rob'd me of my Sword Capell (i, 47): Words that should not be taken metaphorically, as some have suppos'd, but literally; for that he had no sword of his own, appears by what he says to Eros [line 94], and he afterwards dies by his sword: nor is it any objection, that this sword is call'd by Dercetas Antony's sword [V, i, 30]; who only gives it that name as knowing 'twas the sword that he dy'd by, and look'd no farther. Cleopatra's action proceeded from tenderness: she saw the rage he was in; and, fearing the effects of it, withdrew (or caus'd to be withdrawn), the instrument of his harm.—[If there were any special meaning in asking Eros to use his own sword, it may have been that there was therein less thought of suicide. Later on Anthony asks Diomed also to draw his sword and give sufficing strokes for death; possibly, in this case, because the sword of Eros was still in the wound. Cleopatra had robbed Anthony of his sword just as the belief in Desdemona's infidelity had robbed Othello of his occupation.—Ed.]
Vnarme Eros Collier (ed. ii): The MS puts it ‘Unarm me, Eros’ [see Text. Notes], which we cannot believe to be right, because the metre is thus unnecessarily disturbed. Steevens, almost wantonly, read ‘Eros, unarm.’—Dyce, after quoting the foregoing, adds: ‘A note which shows that Mr Collier has rather odd ideas on the subject of metre.’—Walker (Crit. ii, 262): Shakespeare wrote ‘Unarm me, Eros.’—Lettsom (footnote to foregoing): Collier has rejected, on metrical grounds, this elegant and certain emendation, but he is quite mistaken. See Walker's Vers. Art. ix. There are more than fifty similar verses [i. e. where there is an extra syllable after a pause] in Collier's text of this very play.—[Oxen and wainropes cannot draw me from the conviction that ‘Unarm me, Eros,’ is what Shakespeare wrote. It was through the careless pronunciation of the compositor's reader that the me was lost in the final m of ‘Unarm’ and in the E of ‘Eros.’ See II, ii, 141; IV, viii, 24; V, ii, 268.—Ed.]
The battery from my heart Boswell: This means, I apprehend, ‘the battery proceeding from my heart, which is strong enough to break through the sevenfold shield of Ajax; I wish it were strong enough to cleave my sides and destroy me.’—[Anthony is unarming, and, as Eros ‘plucks off’ his breastplate, is reminded of the folly of supposing that such a mere sheet of metal could protect his heart from a battery against which Ajax's seven-fold shield would have proved vain. Then, as he breathes freer, and his chest expands, he prays his heart to cleave his sides, that for once it may find relief in breaking. Boswell's note is to me incomprehensible, and what is still more incomprehensible is that five, at least, of recent editors should have adopted it in whole or in part. A shield is for the protection of the bearer. Who, one may ask, was the bearer of Ajax's shield, who was to be protected from the battery ‘proceeding from’ Anthony's heart? Against whom was Anthony about to open a battery from his heart? and with what object? His own heart was the citadel from which the battery could not be kept.—Ed.] cleaue my sides. Heart I utterly mistrust the period in the Folio after ‘sides,’ which has been practically retained by every editor. It makes Anthony adjure his sides to cleave, scil. themselves. This intransitive or reflexive use of ‘cleave’ is rare; see Murray (N. E. D.） where comparatively few examples of it are given. Replace the period with a comma, and ‘cleave’ then becomes the imperative of a transitive verb with ‘sides’ as an object, and ‘Heart’ as the subject: ‘Oh, Heart, cleave my sides!’ Then, in a manner thoroughly Shakespearian, the idea is repeated, but in a different form: ‘for once be stronger than thy continent, crack thy frail case.’—Ed.
Continent Steevens: That is, the thing that contains thee. [Of which Schmidt's Lex. will furnish many examples.]
length Halliwell (Select. Notes, p. 35): This word may stand for length of life.—[Assuredly. And for length of time, of breathing, of heart-beats, of everything. It is what it is: length in the abstract.—Ed.] Torture . . . Torch Although it is dimly possible that the latter word was unconsciously suggested by the sound of the former, yet the similarity in sound was less in Shakespeare's day than at present. It was probably pronounced, somewhat as in French, tort-yeure.—Ed. 58-60. Now all labour Marres what it does: yea, very force entangles It selfe with strength] Walker (Crit. iii, 309) appositely compares these lines with Sonnet xxiii: ‘Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart, . . . And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.’ Deighton thus paraphrases the latter clause: ‘Yea, all strong efforts only confound themselves by their strength; what should be the source of success only ensures failure.
Seale then Theobald: Antony had offended Cleopatra with his suspicions; he is about doing something to deserve her pardon: and he thinks stabbing himself will seal that pardon.—Warburton: Metaphor taken from civil contracts, where, when all is agreed on, the sealing compleats the contract; so he hath determined to die, and nothing remained but to give the stroke.—Johnson: I believe the reading is: ‘seel then, and all is done.’ To seel hawks, is to close their eyes. The meaning will be: ‘Close thine eyes for ever, and be quiet.’—Steevens: The old reading is the true one. Thus, in Henry V: ‘And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd A testament of noble-ending love.’ [IV, vi, 26.]
Dido, and her Æneas Warburton: But Dido's fondness did not reach to the other world; she then despised Æneas, and returned to her old affection for Sichæus. I should think, therefore, that the Poet wrote, ‘Dido and her Sichæus.’ And the rather, because the comparison of Antony to Sichæus is remarkably apposite. Sichæus was murdered by his brother Pygmalion for his wealth, on which his wife, Dido, fled into Africa: So Antony was fought with and defeated at Actium by his brother Octavius, for his share of the dominion of the world, whereon Cleopatra fled from the victor's rage into Egypt. [‘and there is salmons in both.’—Ed.]—Capell (i, 47): The Poet did not stay to consider, whether Dido's love for Æneas did or did not follow her into the other world; it was very sufficient for his purpose—that the loves of her and Æneas were of great fame, which made them a fit couple to be rank'd with those he is talking of.
the Gods Detest my basenesse Walker (Crit. ii, 311): In the writers of that age detest is used in the sense which as then it still retained from its original, detestari, being indicative of something spoken, not of an affection of the mind.—[Among other examples of this use Walker quotes the present passage, and here defines ‘detest’ as cry out against; which is, possibly, correct; at the same time, there are many passages in Shakespeare where the idea of simple abhorrence obtains, as in Lear's ‘Detested kite! thou liest.’ The range of readings which the N. E. D. affords would have shown Walker that his interpretation was too restricted. Dr Murray distinguishes three meanings in the use of ‘detest.’ The third: ‘To renounce solemnly or under oath’ is obsolete and rare, and does not concern us here. The two other meanings, under which there are venerable and abundant examples in proof, are: ‘1. transitive. To curse, calling God to witness; to express abhorrence of, to denounce, execrate [Walker's meaning]. 2. To feel abhorrence of; to hate or dislike intensely; to abhor, to abominate.’ The latter meaning is certainly applicable to the present passage.—Ed.]
With Ships, made Cities Compare, Henry V: III, Chorus, line 14: ‘behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur.’ Deighton, however, understands it differently, and paraphrases, ‘his vessels being so capacious as to carry in each of them the population of a city.’—Ed. condemne my selfe, to lacke The Courage . . . lesse Noble minde Malone conceived that ‘less noble mind’ as well as ‘courage’ was the object of ‘lack’ and that, consequently, Antony said what he did not mean. But he took heart of grace in the supposition that the construction was one of Shakespeare's ‘peculiar inaccuracies’ on which we must look leniently and in which ‘the poet’ must be humoured. Finally, he received great contentment from finding that ‘however inaccurate, the text is not corrupt,’—in North's Plutarch occur the very same words! Thus Antony there says, ‘I am sorrie that having been so great a captaine and emperour, I am indeede condemned to be judged of lesse corage and noble minde than a woman.’ Steevens then remarks that ‘“Condemn myself to lack,” however licentiously, may have been employed to signify, “condemn myself for lacking even the courage of a woman.”’ Abbott (§ 356) supplies many and many an instance of the infinitive thus indefinitely used. That ‘less noble mind’ (or minded,—it makes little difference) is still governed by ‘I,’ in line 70 (‘I, that with my sword,’ etc.), might have been made a little clearer had the punctuation of the Folio been followed. But every editor since Rowe has placed a semi-colon or a colon after ‘Woman,’ and so disjointed the sentence. Walker (Crit. iii, 310) says ‘Read “less noble-minded.”’ His editor, Lettsom, in a footnote, observes, ‘So Rowe and all the earlier editors. Malone and Steevens have done their best to darken noon. Compare for the meaning of minded, Tam. of the Shrew, II, i, “I am as peremptory as she proud-minded.”’ Possibly, it would be better to accept ‘less noble-minded,’ but it is not necessary; ‘I, less noble mind’ is, to me, fully as intelligible, and rather more dignified in its humiliation.—Ed.
Th'ineuitable prosecution of disgrace and horror This line, with its eight feet catalectic, has given much metrical trouble. Its predecessor and successor are adequately correct, but this line is certainly a notable violation of the laws of blank verse. To utter these words, proclaiming his open shame, must have cost Anthony's proud spirit a fierce struggle; every word is a torture, and his emotion must have been almost uncontrollable before he could bring himself to utter ‘disgrace’ and ‘horror.’ Wherefore, disregarding all metrical laws whatsoever, I would, with a long pause after ‘of,’ put ‘disgrace and horror’ in a separate line, and allow the other lines to remain undisturbed. Although this arrangement is, in effect, for the benefit of the eye, yet through the eye it conveys an intimation of the way in which, as I think, it should be spoken.—Ed.
Put colour in thy Cheeke Elsewhere Shakespeare makes us see how terror blanches the cheek. ‘Out, you tallow-face,’ says old Capulet to Juliet when he tells her she must marry Paris. ‘What soldiers, whey-face?’ asks Macbeth of the Servant who brings the news of the approach of ten thousand English. John Hunter paraphrases it, however, ‘Rouse the blood into thy face through eagerness to defeat Cæsar.’—Ed.
pleacht Armes Johnson: Arms folded in each other.—[In the frontispiece of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy the woe-begone ‘Inamorato’ is represented with ‘pleacht arms,’ as a sign of sadness.—Ed.]
His corrigible necke, . . . penetratiue Steevens: ‘Corrigible’ for corrected, and ‘penetrative’ for penetrating. So Virgil has ‘penetrabile frigus’ for ‘penetrans frigus,’ in his Georgics. [i, 93.]
His Basenesse that ensued Johnson: The poor conquered wretch that followed.—Singer: This is a little inaccurate; the captives came before the victor in the order of a Roman triumph.
the worship Johnson: That is, the dignity, the authority.
Why there then After these words Theobald inserted the stage direction, Eros kills himself; and then, to make assurance double sure, adds at the close of the next line, Dyes. This slaying of the slain was faithfully copied by Warburton and Johnson, who, while sneering at Theobald at every turn, printed, almost slavishly, from his edition.—Ed. 117-119. my Queene and Eros Haue . . . got vpon me A Noblenesse, etc.] That is, my Queen and Eros have gained the advantage of me in the history of noble deeds. See Franz's note on II, iv, 11, ‘you'le win two dayes vpon me.’—Ed.
A Bride-groome in my death Steevens: Compare ‘If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms.’—Meas. for Meas. III, i, 83.
The Guard, how Malone lays stress on his having early ‘suspected’ that ‘how’ should here be printed ho, unmindful or ignorant of the fact that, long before, Theobald had so printed it in his text, and had been faithfully followed therein by his two beneficiaries, Warburton and Johnson. Dyce, also, not a little emphasises his own discrimination in acutely distinguishing ho from ‘how.’ Through two editions Collier bravely clung to ‘how,’ but, in his Third Ed. yielded to ho, possibly in consequence of Dyce's home-question (Strict. p. 207): ‘If Mr Collier did not intend to make Antony “call the guard,” I should like to know what meaning he would have us attach to “The Guard!” The modern editors who printed ho for “how” were evidently right.’—Ed.
This sword . . . Shall enter me with him Surely these two lines are spoken aside. I cannot, however, find that any editor has so printed them. —Ed. For ‘enter,’ meaning ‘to admit into a society, etc.; or into a condition or state,’ see N. E. D. II. 17. transitive. b. [The present line quoted.] this tydings Again used as a singular noun in ‘it is Tydings,’ V, i, 34.
Lockt . . . (feare Abbott (§§ 505, 470): It is difficult to scan this line without making the latter portion a verse of four accents. (Perhaps ‘Lóck'd in | her món(u) | ment. Shé'd | a próphe | sying féar,’ making ‘sying’ a monosyllable like ‘being,’ ‘doing.’）—[Is this really scanning? where vowels are dropped, and the final g's of participles disregarded in a scamper to utter the line in five feet?—Ed.]
She had dispos'd with Cæsar Murray (N. E. D. s. v. II. Intransitive senses. 7 † b.): To settle matters, make terms. [The present line quoted.]
Enter 4. or 5. of the Guard Collier (ed. i): The old stage-direction shows how many the theatre (supposing the tragedy to have been acted, of which, though we can have no proof, there can be little doubt) afforded for this duty. 173. Here follows Scene viii, in Kemble's version, consisting solely of ‘Mournful Music. Titius and Guards pass towards the monument, bearing Anthony on his Litter.’—Ed.
William Shakespeare. Horace Howard Furness. A New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare: The Tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. Philadelphia and London. J. B. Lippincott Company. 1907.
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