Love is of course the dominant theme of Antony and Cleopatra, though we are also always conscious of the struggle for power that lies behind the passion of the main characters. The running commentary as it were that is provided by Enobarbus, one of the most significant of Shakespeare’s minor characters, helps us keep the whole dramatic love affair in perspective, given indeed that what was going on was a struggle for the soul of Europe. Had Antony won out, I suspect Christianity would not have spread so readily, and a less structured system of government might have provided greater space for Middle Eastern cults rather than monotheism.
But while the background is important, and the powerful last words of the future Augustus Caesar make clear what was at stake
Take up her bed;
And bear her women from the monument:
She shall be buried by her Antony:
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity than his glory which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
In solemn show attend this funeral;
And then to Rome.
the power of the play lies in its depiction of love in a warm climate. The language exudes sensuality but also expressed devotion of a sort that governed perceptions of what romantic love means for future generations. One has only to set the earlier statements of passion
Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words: no going then;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor,
But was a race of heaven: they are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn’d the greatest liar.
against Cleopatra’s final lament to understand how love can grow and take the place of all else
I dream’d there was an Emperor Antony:
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!…….
His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course,
The little O, the earth….
His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear’d arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in’t; an autumn ’twas
That grew the more by reaping: his delights
Were dolphin-like; they show’d his back above
The element they lived in: in his livery
Walk’d crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropp’d from his pocket…
Think you there was, or might be, such a man
As this I dream’d of? Continue reading