Macbeth and Othello Essay -- Shakespeare macbeth Othello Essays

Macbeth and Othello â€Å"Upon my head they plac’d a fruitless crown And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench’d with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding† (Macbeth, III.i.62) â€Å"Renew I could not like the moon† (Timon of Athens, IV.iii.68) What distinguishes Macbeth and Othello from other tragedies is the fact that their protagonists are neither fathers nor sons, mothers nor daughters. We know nothing of Macbeth or Othello’s parents, and neither of them has children. Lady Macbeth makes a passing reference to having once â€Å"given suck† and to â€Å"how tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks [her]† but never returns to the subject, and in any case, what remains impressed in one’s memory is the line that follows: â€Å"I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums and dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn† (I.vii.54). Clearly, she is not the maternal type. This is reiterated a few scenes later, with her invocation of the spirits to â€Å"unsex me here and fill me from the crown to the toe topfull of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up th’access and passage to remorse [†¦] Come to my womanâ€⠄¢s breasts And take my milk for gall (I.v.40-47).† The notion of cruelty forming inside her cannot but be likened to that of the baby that would grow there if she were not â€Å"unsexed,† as if cruelty were somehow taking the place of the foetus. There is a definite sense of this in the phrase â€Å"stopping up th’ access and passage†, as if what is being insisted upon were the prevention of either sex/conception (â€Å"access†) or childbirth (â€Å"passage†). It is as if she will bear fruit to or cultivate cruelty rather than a son or daughter—one has the distinct impression of a misused womb and... ...o all the human sons do hate From forth thy plenteous bosom, poor root. [†¦] Teem with new monsters [†¦] Dry up thy marrows† (IV.iii..178-192). For this passage encapsulates everything I have discussed so far: the notion of giving birth to monsters and monstrous deeds instead of children, the idea of obstructing the possibility of a satisfying ending and denying that of continuation (â€Å"Dry up thy marrows† distinctly recalls â€Å"stopping up th’ access and passage†), of engendering death and wiping out everything but a transient present. There is the same bitter after-taste as in the other plays, as if we had partaken of the roots Timon is forced to live on, and that same exhaustion that comes from ranting and railing and coming to no satisfying conclusion. The bed is unmade, the sheets are tangled and dirty, our voices are hoarse, and we are none the better for it.