Dissecting Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra

Hey y'all, Pez here, ready to explore the social mores and gender conventions that defined the Ancient world of Egypt and Rome. Shakespeare's play addresses the tension between the resounding existence of beauty in human complexity and the tragic expectations that traditional masculinity and femininity impose on the human experience, that which blunts any idiosyncrasy.

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Caesar’s reduction of Cleopatra to a “bounty” that “feed[s] and sleep[s]” is emblematic of a homosocial society lacking in an appreciation for the ‘other’. The Egyptian Queen’s sexual dynamism in her “gypsy’s lust” is an unabashed rebellion against male hegemony. But, the patriarchy manipulates this very trait to forcibly define her entire being, neglecting Cleopatra’s development from her “salad days” and into the enigmatic figure she now champions. Given the destructiveness of curtailing human intricacy, Antony’s appreciation for human complexity reveals the good in an “overplus” of metaphorical graces, something that characterises the “mutual pair” that is him and his Queen. Ultimately, then, when idiosyncrasies are repudiated, it is flagrant denial of the very essence of being human; by the same token, when such complexity is genuinely recognised, innately human connections – predicated on empathy – are created.

When the patriarchy pares Cleopatra’s multichromatic character into a vulgar “whore”, Shakespeare calls upon his audience to lament such blatant dissolution of human complexity. How Cleopatra threatens to “spurn [the messenger’s] eyes!…unhair thy head!”, as the repetition of exclamation points augment the vehemence in which this visceral imagery is asserted, exemplifies a side of her that is fervently violent and unfeeling, affording no compassion for the plight of a mere messenger. And her deceptive antics in “laughing him into patience [that night]”, although jocular, are suggestive of a brazen sexual expression, a sentiment that, perhaps, even unsympathetically slights Antony’s “sword Philippian”. But there is also something deeply tender about Cleopatra calling upon Antony as “my lord”, a calculated concession, connoting hues of affection. It is not blemished with the mindless submission with which Octavia “kneel[s]” to Antony – we see Cleopatra overtly subvert this through her “hal[ing]” a male messenger – but rather a comfortable acknowledgement of the patriarchy’s existence, and a controlled embracement of a more submissive role in goodwill for her lover. And it is with this dexterity that she “be[comes]…Cleopatra”, wherein she is free to embody her true self, a relinquishment of the “slav[ish]” façade that is maintained in Caesar’s presence. Most astonishing, though, is the way in which she detaches her incorporeal essence, “I”, from one of many physical manifestations of such – “Cleopatra” – a notion the hearkens back to the “infinite variety” that cannot be reduced into one form for men to quantify. Shakespeare reveals a profound complexity here, in that Cleopatra has the autonomy to “will” her psyche into different shades of herself, a skill that is a privilege in the unfettered atmosphere Antony provides, but a grave torment under a patriarchy that obsessively relegates her varieties to a mere “Egyptian dish”, suppressing such abounding intricacy. So, the fluidity in how Cleopatra can both savagely “draw a knife”, and dearly laud Antony as a “demi-atlas of this earth” evinces that human complexity is inherently incompatible with the patriarchy; Enobarbus latches onto Cleopatra’s multifaceted eroticism, thereby forcing such to define her entire character, whilst ultimately even reducing that to “riggish”. But instead, true complexity is the comprehensive embracement of all colours intrinsic to the human condition, “faults” and blessings alike. In this way, then, Shakespeare asks us to find empathy in our lamentation, encouraging the readership to appreciate reflections of ourselves in the so very human Cleopatra; because if we fail to do so, we too are engendering the patriarchy’s active “bereave[ment]” of human complexity.

But, in moments where Antony is empathetically candid, there is great beauty in the virtues such actions entail. For even in the imminence of “malicious” war, one that requires him to be “treble-sinewed, -hearted, -breathed,”, Antony still finds ethereal solace in Cleopatra, calling on her for a “gaudy night” as he temporarily relinquishes the responsibilities of a war general. Though when contextualised with how Antony “set[s]” his “teeth”, the way in which he marks such a night as “one [more]” signals at a bleak undercurrent to the festivities, wherein, perhaps, this may be the last night he spends with his lover. Given such, then, the way that his insistence on becoming “drunk” is altered from its typical imprudence to desperation; it is but an internally broken man, steadfast on protecting “[his] Queen”, knowing that in this process he, jarringly, may not even see her ever again. From such, the complexity required to mount a “brave” façade, by lying to Cleopatra that “there’s sap in’t yet”, is one that demonstrates Antony’s ability to navigate through his mental whirlwind to preserve the gaiety of his partner, thereby also encapsulating the empathy he feels toward Cleopatra. And just as Antony feels this deep human compassion for Cleopatra, so too does he appreciate the human complexity of Enobarbus, even after he “leaves him”. After learning about this betrayal, the syntactical terseness in “he’s gone?” alludes to the compassion engrained in Antony’s character; there is no hint of hostility in his question, but its rather a tacit acceptance of his friend’s choice. He shows an implicit candour too, as Antony, without interrogating for Enobarbus’ justification, immediately “sends” his “treasure” to him, his magnanimity only elevated by the accompanying “greetings…gentle good-byes”. Such a sincere gesture exemplifies the way in which Antony utilises his empathetic insight to see beyond a “traitor”, rather appreciating Enobarbus as a loyal friend, an almost unfathomed degree of complexity under the callous Roman patriarchy. And so, the potent guilt that Enobarbus feels upon receiving the gifts, characterising himself as “the villain of the earth”, symbolises a genuinely moving sentiment, a notion in which Enobarbus reciprocates a degree of humanistic consideration. Perhaps, then, even one as bigoted as Enobarbus can “blow” his “heart”, while the truthfulness inherent in this phrase speaks to the contagiousness of empathy. In this degree, therefore, when intrinsic complexity is truly appreciated, seemingly inflexible patriarchal barriers that so unyieldingly divide people gradually disintegrate, and a more authentically human “feel[ing]” for one another is established.

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Aggripa’s characterisation of Octavia, as “beaut[iful] [with] graces”, is reflective of the myopic social expectations that the patriarchy imposes on women. Shakespeare’s punctation and syntax in “Caesar’s sister…Octavia” distils the way in which, under male hegemony, women are the siblings of brothers and, perhaps, mothers and wives, before they are themselves. But, even if the patriarchy subsumes female autonomy as part of man, there is a similarly unsympathetic societal expectation that men are forced to uphold. As, in the wake of uninvited responsibility of always maintaining a “true…face”, there is bitter resentment and a longing for an acceptance for human complexity. So, then, Shakespeare decries the unrelenting destructiveness and redundancy of patriarchal norms, in which both genders ultimately suffer – despite a more overt oppression of femininity – at the benefit of few.

The insensitively rigid definition of femininity in Antony and Cleopatra is emblematic of the social subjugation inherent under a patriarchy. The natural causality inherent in Menas’ “who would not have his wife so” implies that the concept of virginal “holy…cold[ness]” in subservient women is one that is inflexible within patriarchal norms: all women, to be considered as acceptable, let alone valuable, must stringently conform to this societal image. And, although Octavia is “admired” as an exemplar of female docility, showered with praises of “beauty…virtue…graces”, such charming commendation is tainted with insidious undertones of patriarchal control; as, when contextualised with its male speaker Agrippa, his repetition of “to” augments this insincerity, tacitly reducing Octavia to an object of diplomacy, instead of someone that can embrace their intrinsic worth. That Shakespeare consciously chooses to use men to communicate for Octavia speaks to the repressive “power” of male hegemony, wherein this homosocial society warps the intricate meaning of femininity to their reductively homogenous – subservient, “modest” – ideals. Perhaps most disturbing, though, is the way in which even Octavia perpetuates such values, characterised by the metaphorical “knee” she bends to Antony; even further, she obediently “bows” her “prayers” in service to Antony, insinuating that even the intimate connection one has with personal spirituality, the “gods”, is distorted “for” the male. The play’s construction magnifies such – given that the dialogue is the first time Octavia physically appears – that the implicit character definition in an introduction is, perhaps, so engrained within her that even she subscribes to these apathetic standards. But so, we see that Shakespeare enkindles hues of compassion for Roman womanhood, propounding that the way in which the metaphorical fist of male hegemony is foisted “unto” women is, indeed, a sentiment that asks us to recognise the unfathomed complexity of femininity. Therefore, then, the Ancient Roman patriarchy may not intrinsically value the virtues of blind piety; rather, they define muliebrity in such inhumanly unmalleable fashions to subjugate women under the shroud of their own ignorance, thereby quelling any threat to masculine supremacy.

And yet, paradoxically, the same patriarchal structures that so destructively confine women obliquely constrict, too, the socio-emotional experience of men. The romantic candour with which Antony invites Cleopatra to “wander through the streets…people” – given their aristocratic positions – speaks to a side of him that is gently tender, demonstrating an emotional complexity that a Roman “general” would typically stifle. And, indeed, Philo’s denial of Antony’s “dotage”, characterising it as “o’erflow[ing]”, exemplifies the way in which the patriarchy monochromatically truncates masculinity, only acknowledging stoicism and intransigency. Wherein, the fact that a “measure[ment]” for such ethereal sensations, such endearing expressions, even exists verifies the patriarchy’s obsession with forcefully attempting to quantifying notions they fail to understand. Rather, such passion is only appreciated when directed at the “musters of…war”, and, when coupled with the “glowing…eyes…like plated Mars”, conjures visceral imagery that implies a veneration of hypermasculinity. Even more so, the intrinsic truthfulness and self-identity that “goodly eyes…captain’s heart” symbolises is reduced to only serve “great fights”, despite his spirit clearly resenting the “grat[ing]” circumstances of Rome. Wistfully, then, the inevitable responsibility that tethers him as “pillar of the world” eclipses his autonomy in loving Cleopatra; Antony seems to be ensnared in inescapable dilemma, in that the abandonment of Rome results in the destruction of his home, as the imagery suggests, but, in abiding by his duty, the “new heaven…new earth” his heart yearns for remains merely as a figment of his imagination. Ultimately, such is symbolical of the wider quandary that Roman men face, as Shakespeare laments the patriarchy’s gratuitous repudiation of masculine emotion.