All was as cold as any stone

To start with a silly question: Is Shakespeare a great writer?

Duh! 

Let’s ask a better question: Why is Shakespeare a great writer?

Right: “Star-crossed lovers,” “To be, or not to be,” “Friends, Romans, Countrymen,” and so on and so forth through the Bard’s Greatest Hits.

But I want to approach the answer in an unorthodox way—by looking at two unnecessary inclusions in his plays—unnecessary, that is, for the advancement of the plot.

1

Act I, Scene 1 of Hamlet

Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo have, in the freezing night, seen a ghost—that of Prince Hamlet’s father. Now it is time to get these guys off the stage.

Horatio [looking at his Rolex]: My god, it’s almost six o’clock and the sun is starting to rise. Let’s get out of here and catch some zzz before we break the news to Hamlet. [Exeunt]

Or the Elizabethan equivalent.

Here, though, in part, is what Shakespeare gives us:

Horatio: But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:

Break we our watch up; and by my advice,

Let us impart what we have seen to-night

Unto young Hamlet . . .

Every time I read these words—the morn, in russet mantle clad,

Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill—I am awestruck. What a description of daybreak—and it’s just something tossed out, seemingly hastily scribbled down. And, as I stated above, unnecessary. 

OK, guys, let’s split. Catch you up at the court—say, elevenish?

2

Act II, Scene 3 of Henry V

At the end of Henry IV, Part 2 Prince Hal, newly crowned as King Henry V, exiles from the court Sir John Falstaff [That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan—1 H IV]:

King Henry: I banish thee, on pain of death,

As I have done the rest of my misleaders,

Not to come near our person by ten mile.

One problem, though: Falstaff was one of the playwright’s most popular characters. How could he write him off like that? Bowing to two kinds of pressure,* Shakespeare composes an epilogue, in which, among other things, he promises to bring Falstaff back:

our humble author will

continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make

you merry with fair Katharine of France.

But Shakespeare does not keep his promise. Probably because the disorderly, out-of-bounds nature of Falstaff would detract from the heroic stature of the king who famously overcame the odds to win at Agincourt. 

So he kills him off.

And here’s where artistic choice comes in. Of all the ways that he could have the character die, Shakespeare chooses to have Falstaff die in bed. But most importantly, he chooses not to have the death scene played out on stage. The audience will be told of the death. Who to relate it though? (And here’s greatness.) Not some gentleman of the court, someone of education and fine upbringing; but the low-comic denizens of the tavern world, and of these, most especially Mistress Quickly [AKA Hostess], a malaprop avant la lettre.

Pistol: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,

And we must yearn therefore.

Bardolph: Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in

heaven or in hell!

Hostess: Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's

bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made

a finer end and went away an it had been any

christom child; a' parted even just between twelve

and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after

I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with

flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew

there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as

a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,

sir John!' quoth I, 'what, man! be o' good

cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or

four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'

should not think of God; I hoped there was no need

to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So

a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my

hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as

cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and

they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and 

upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

Nym; They say he cried out of sack.

Hostess: Ay, that a' did.

Bardolph: And of women.

Hostess: Nay, that a' did not.

Boy: Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils

incarnate.

Hostess: A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he

never liked.

Writers are often offered the advice: “Show, don’t tell.” But Shakespeare knew better here; telling (and especially by someone who mangles the language) was better than showing. Could showing give the audience this poignant word picture:

So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my

hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as

cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and

they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and 

upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

And to return to the point of my demonstration: the scene was unnecessary, extraneous to the heroic plot of the play. 

Greatness is not only evident in the words given to the Hamlets (To be, or not to be) or the Marc Antonys (Friends, Romans, Countrymen), but also in those of minor characters who may not be advancing the storyline.

***

*The epilogue responds to the love of the populace for Falstaff, originally named Oldcastle, but more importantly, to the protestations of the descendants of Sir John Oldcastle, who were offended by the depiction of their ancestor as a debauched person (for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man, the epilogue informs us).