GRAND PRIZE WINNER:
Daniel K.
Mertztown, PA
School: Brandywine Heights High School

Disguise, Deceit, and Shakespearean Relativism

Although Othello features no masked bandits, no cross dressing heroes and no confused (and confusing) love struck deceitful nymphs, one would be hard pressed to find a Shakespearian play that was more deeply entrenched in the gritty manipulative politics of disguise. Here, Shakespeare shows us a masked bandit of the most dangerous breed—the kind that does not obscure his face. Iago is depicted throughout the play in two violently contrasting shades; to the world he is seen as a noble statesman and to ourselves, the readers, as a plotting manipulative tyrant. In both instances it is the same face and the same Iago, in terms of physicality and reputation, that is presented, and it is in this unsightly comparison that Shakespeare forces us not only to contemplate the notion of disguise, but also our notion of reality and the congruence we assume to exist between empirical facts and actual reality.

The most important characteristic of Othello is the nature of Iago's disguise. This disguise is not, as mentioned earlier, a physical device but is constructed of a more relative and abstract medium; that is the substance of reputation. The importance of reputation is observed, whether overtly or not, by most characters of the play, but the viewpoints that they take as individuals are varied and crucial.

The attitude of Othello himself toward the value of reputation is the simplest and what we would consider the most noble response. Othello believes that his idea of a man corresponds exceedingly well with actuality. While not completely ideologically channeled, Othello does, after all, take into account the reputation of Cassio as perceived by the local populace "Have you forgot all sense of place and duty...it frights the isle from her propriety" (I. iii. 169), he judges Cassio guiltily and Iago benevolently largely on the basis of their reputations. In his dealings with Iago this trait is particularly ironic as he repeatedly refers to Iago as 'honest Iago' even while Iago plots his master's undoing. Like the teacher, Othello is quick to reprimand the student if he is found in error, as in the case of Cassio, but never, as is hopelessly evident in his unwavering faith in Iago, does he question the desire of the student to do good.

This is a man whose job is in the practicalities, not the politics, and because of this we can observe that he retains a traditional belief in fundamental truth. Indeed, the only place where Othello is forced to question this belief is when he questions the fidelity of Desdemona and in doing this he destroys himself, "I swear 'tis better to be much abused than but to know't a little...Happy if the general camp had tasted her sweet body, so I had known nothing...Farewell the tranquil mind" (III, iii, 380) so incapable is Othello of accepting the possibility of deceit amongst his trusted circle.

It is Iago, of course, whose attitudes, professed and concealed, are the most radical of our cast of characters. Iago recognizes the importance of a reputation as is witnessed by the skillful manipulation of his own, and yet, when Cassio complains of his misfortunes Iago curiously responds that "reputation...is a most false imposition...without merit and lost without deserving" (II. III. 275). Now, we must take into account that Iago is a manipulator first and a philosopher a very distant second, but we can still extract some meaning from Iago's statement here.

When Iago asserts that Cassio has 'lost nothing' he is not disregarding the importance of a reputation, but commenting on the relativistic nature of a reputation. While Cassio, in losing his reputation (and when we speak of reputation we are not only speaking of a formal recognition among established peers but also of public and private perceptions in general) has indeed lost a great asset to his cause, he has not lost anything that had a basis in reality. Iago sees, as Cassio and Othello cannot, that there is no necessary connection between the perception and reality. Iago himself is universally perceived popularly, indeed he is ironically referred to almost constantly as 'Honest Iago' when Iago himself knows perfectly well that if his public perception was to match reality, he would hardly be viewed either popular or honest.

It is with this disguise, the disguise of public perception, or reputation as Cassio refers to it, that Iago strikes deeply not only into the world of Othello and Cassio but also, through his understanding of the nature of perception, into our own as well. Were Iago a more traditional crook, one that wore a physical mask to escape justice, we would find it easy to ostracize him. We are a sophisticated people and see through such simplistic attempts. We realize that when masks are outlawed only outlaws will wear masks, and such a demographic oddity makes such individuals easily identifiable and avoidable.

But Iago wears a mask that is not so easily discerned. His mask is a mask constructed of the currency of our civilization, a currency that we have denied the existence of, the product of which is to make the mask invisible.

The problem this mask presents is not disguise, because the disguise is a perfect one and therefore irrelevant, but the problem of truth. When every individual has the potential to wear a perfect mask, the question is not of unmasking the villains, but whether there is indeed anyone who is not a villain in a mask.

Iago, of course, presents a solution to this problem in his own classic style. "[you have] lost [a most false imposition] without deserving" (II. III. 275) is not simply a shallow statement meant to comfort his beleaguered 'friend', but a commentary upon the nature of truth. For Iago, the solution lies in the abandonment of truth. Truth, particularly truth of the value of individuals, simply does not exist. Disguise has, for all practical reasons, come to replace and consume the truth.

It might seem strange to pose such a traditional figure as Shakespeare as a relativist but an atmosphere of relativism is exactly what is communicated through his play Othello. Disguise here serves a much more notorious agenda than simple trickery or deceit but calls into question the nature of reality and the nature of evil.

FIRST PRIZE WINNERS:
Nora F.
Pawlet, VT
School: Long Trail School

In Shakespeare's tragic masterpiece Othello, the prevalent theme of disguise, both metaphorical and literal, centers on the web of deception woven by the duplicitous Iago. Throughout the play, reality and appearances are clouded as a result of Iago's perverse ability to hide the truth behind a cloak of lies. Masquerading as a trustworthy friend and soldier, Iago obscures his true nature, adding double-entendres to many of his lines and occasionally baring his two faces to the audience. Ironically, Othello's race, too, acts as an unintentional disguise, causing some to see only their prejudices in him, rather than recognizing his intrinsic nobility; yet, tragically, his misguided, savage actions of jealousy stamp him with the very vices that many had already projected onto him. Desdemona's virtue, through the deceits of Iago, is also masked. Disguise in Othello, stylistically linked to images of darkness, dishonesty, and crime, is one of the chief devices that make the work so enduring, brilliant, and heartbreaking.

Iago, one of Shakespeare's most charismatic and enigmatic villains, through his frequent artificial changing of his motives, behavior, and personality, is the key to the theme of disguise in the play. While other characters created by Shakespeare are forced to employ physical means to hide themselves, such is Iago's ability to warp reality that he deceives merely through his acting to other characters. In fact, Iago not only wears two masks during the play, honest and dishonest, but also is able to shape-shift psychologically to fit the desires of each character. With Othello, he speaks with emphasis on honor and loyalty; to Roderigo, he is roguish and persuasive; to Desdemona, he is lightly teasing and, at times, consoling; and to the dishonored Cassio, he takes on a philosophical tone. So numerous are the guises which Iago wears that even the audience is unsure whether it is the alleged infidelity of his wife, his vague hatred of Othello, his envy of Cassio's position or privileged background, or some combination of these that drives him to evil. In the end, the audience is deceived by Iago almost as much as the characters. He woos the spectators with his sardonic wit and cleverness in the tradition of other Shakespearean wrong-doers such as Richard III or Edmund in King Lear. He even cheats the audience from an explanation of his actions in the last scene, letting his silence be his final cover. Words are Iago's true cloak as he tantalizes and riddles with the audience as with Othello. He declares, "I am not what I am" (1.1.64) indicating the elusive real nature of Iago.

The blackness of Othello's skin conceals his true virtues from Brabantio and, likely, many others, branding him what he becomes through Iago's trickery. Othello's Moorish darkness naturally associated him with evil, as devils were traditionally believed by Elizabethans to be black. Furthermore, the race of Othello was considered to be prone to primitive thinking, savagery, and violent emotions. Nevertheless, such prejudice initially appears to be entirely inapplicable to Othello whose virtue and military skill are renown as a result of his service to Venice. However, his noble conduct is corrupted not because of natural suspicion as much as credulousness; because of Iago's masterful insinuations, Othello is transformed into the very barbarian which others had misguidedly believed him. Iago uses lies as reason and turns the truth "the seamy side without" (4.2.148) to change his general into a raving beast capable of murder. Upon Othello's vicious, unjust reproach and striking his wife in public, Lodovico asks, "Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate/ call in all sufficient? This the nature/ Whom passion could not shake? ...I am sorry that I am much deceived in him." (4.1.264-274) Similarly, upon discovering that Othello strangled Desdemona, Emilia calls him a "blacker devil!" (5.2.129) Thus, Iago has used Othello for his vengeance, transforming him from a wise, gentle man to the very image of what prejudice's disguise had claimed him to be.

At the opening of the play, Iago and Roderigo rouse Brabantio from his bed, Iago never revealing his identity; thus begins the recurring motif of disguise and evil in the dark of night. Although Roderigo makes himself known to Desdemona's father, Iago remains in the shadows literally and continues to do so metaphorically for almost the remainder of the play. Strangely, it is under the cover of darkness that Iago is free to express his true opinions of Othello and is first correctly identified by Brabantio: "Thou art a villain!" (1.1.116) The darkness also disguises Iago's malevolent plan to kill Cassio as he encourages Roderigo to "stand behind this bulk, straight will he [Cassio] come/ Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home". (5.1.1-2) Iago encourages concealing oneself in order to commit evil deeds, just as he has done throughout the entire play. The fruits of Iago's dishonest plots are also harvested in night, as when Othello murders Desdemona in the darkness. Darkness, whether actual or literary, is another disguise smoothly handled by Iago as he organizes his dastardly plan.

Disguise in Othello adds a significant analytical depth to the plot. Iago's dishonesty is never more intriguing than during his act of fidelity and integrity, creating dramatic irony likely to cause the audience to feel simultaneously concerned and dazzled by the virtuosity of Iago. For instance, a recurring irony is that of Desdemona described as a "wanton" or "whore" as a result of Iago's machinations although she is innocent. As another example, in Act III, Scene 3 one of the "temptation scenes" in which Othello is convinced of his wife's infidelity, Iago states that he will take his coveted role of lieutenant with the words, "I am your own forever." (472) In this statement, he establishes his two roles: the illusion of a servant and the real master of the play. In Othello, one of the greatest tragedies of all time, Shakespeare makes unrivaled use of disguise, primarily through Iago, to create pathos, tension, and a many-layered drama that stands immortal.

Rebecca H.
Cobleskill, NY
School: Cobleskill-Richmondville High School

Paralleling Disguises

The theme of disguise in William Shakespeare's comedy The Merchant of Venice allows the audience to create their own thoughts and feelings towards his characters. A disguise is the way a person appears to be- physically, mentally, emotionally- versus who a person is in reality. In The Merchant of Venice, disguise is exhibited through the main characters of Shylock, a Jew, and Antonio, a Christian. Shakespeare leaves it up to his readers to choose who the protagonist and the antagonist are. Each reader is left to decide if and when greed and audacity mask the real virtue, heart, and intelligence these characters possess, or if and when virtue, heart, and intelligence disguise the greed.

In the tragic case of Shylock, a Jew in Elizabethan Europe, even the means by which he makes a living portrays him as a negative character. From the beginning, Shylock's ego is portrayed as villainous, making him the piece's probable antagonist. At one point, Shylock even goes on a rampage expressing his hatred for Antonio:

"I hate him for he is a Christian...
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him" (I. iii. 43-47).

Just as we begin to believe that Shylock is such a dreadful character, Shakespeare switches Shylock's disposition to a calm and sensitive nature by having him refer to his relationship with Antonio like the holy story of Jacob and his sheep. Shylock uses the parable to explain how he sees no difference between usury and breeding sheep; he is merely justifying the high interest he is charging for the ducats Antonio wishes to borrow from him- the interest of a pound of flesh if Antonio cannot repay the bond in full within three months.

Shylock's rectitude becomes apparent to the audience when the Judeo-Christian conflict and anti-Semitism become apparent. Shakespeare disguises this man's heart and soul with his greed, but when it gets to the point that we can absolutely hate him as a character, something happens in Shylock that elicits our sympathy:

"He hath disgraced me and
hindered me half a million...and what's his reason?
I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes?
Hath not a Jew hands, organs dimen-
sions, senses affections, passions? Fed with the
same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to
the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum-
mer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not
bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you
poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us shall
we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong
a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian
example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I
will execute, and it hall go hard but I will better the
instruction" (III. I. 53-73).

Then, just as we begin to feel sympathy for Shylock, he wishes his daughter dead. We are left to ponder whether he is a villain with a soft spot or a sentimental old man who cloaks himself with vengeance.

Antonio is another character Shakespeare disguises both physically and figuratively to capture the audience's hearts one minute and their regrets the next. Antonio talks down to Shylock in an imperious manner, and his attitude toward Shylock throughout the entire play is one of contempt. He even hurls invectives directly at Shylock:

"I am as like to call thee so again,
To spet on thee again, to spurn thee, too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends, for when did friendship take
A breed for barren metal on his friend?
But lend it rather to thine enemy," (I.III.140-145).

On the other hand, just as Shylock has a positive and a negative persona, there is a sensitive, longing side of Antonio. When we are introduced to him in Act I, he is depressed:

"In sooth I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me, you say it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me
That I have much ado to know myself," (I. I. 1-7).

In The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare has created his main characters in a manner that allows us, the audience, to distinguish our own feelings about who is the villain and who is the hero, and why we feel the way we do about them. Shylock and Antonio are very controversial; which man wears virtue as a disguise, and who shields his virtue with a gruff and greedy surface? The personas disguised and exhibited by Shylock and Antonio inversely parallel one another; when Shylock appears an "evil Jew," Antonio looks depressed, lovesick; on the contrary, when Antonio turns a prejudiced and cruel face, Shylock seems a compassionate man. So, as readers, we must remember that it is not the outer disguise that counts. We learn there is compassion and cruelty. Shakespeare's ongoing battle between appearance and reality gives us the complexity of reality in both men.

Leesa L.
Caledonia, MI
School: The Homeschool Building

These journal entries are for Ariel, from The Tempest.

Entry #1

Today is the 678th day of my imprisonment. I know, because every day I have made a mark in the wood in front of me, and every day, I count them.

The smell of pine is no longer enjoyable.

Sunrise was quite nice this morning—it's getting earlier every day. I spent the better part of the morning thinking. I thought about death. What is it? Why do men fear it so? I saw Sycorax behind my eyes: her death, the deaths she gave to others. She could not give death to me, though; that is why I am here, trapped, unable to live or die. Is this worse than death, or is it better? While I was thinking, the sun came up, and it was beautiful, even seen through my tree-bark crack. I decided I was glad I would not die, and I made a song for death and the new dawn.

The witch's brat heard me singing. He doesn't realize I am here, so he believes the island is full of ghosts. I am thankful that his mother never told him of my prison—he always delighted in making me miserable, and his dumb, slow pranks would not help me pass the time. As it was, his fright gave me a good laugh, or at least as good a laugh as one can have when pressed in on all sides by a tree.

After that, I wiggled my hands and feet for a few hours. Pine is not a particularly hard wood, and, after working for nearly two years, I am now able to move a few inches and turn my head some. It may not be much, but progress is progress, however small.

When I finished, it was time for lunch. Today I ate the memory of cheese, mangoes, and warm bread. And water—to always hear the sound of the sea and never reach it is a hard thing, even though I feel no thirst. The bread took longest to recall. I have not smelled or felt or seen bread since we were driven out of Argier.

As I finished my lunch of dreams, I was visited by a large whitegrub: one of the more pleasant companions left to me. Whitegrubs are very well-mannered (unlike maggots), but they never have much to say (again, unlike maggots). We had a short conversation, mostly "hello, how are you," and the like, and then he was on his way.

Last week, I decided that the tree in which I currently find myself residing should be called Harold. Today, I spent a good portion of the afternoon contemplating a name for the island itself, and for the three other trees I can see through my tree-bark split. A storm rolled in after a bit, before I had really gotten anywhere, and I had to stop thinking and concentrate on making myself as small as possible, because Harold started to swell.

At least the weather is getting warmer.

Entry #2

The 51st day of my service to Prospero.

Prospero is a decent sort. He released me from Harold (the tree I was imprisoned in), so of course I am grateful, but he is also a good man, and I am not loath to serve him. I still long for freedom, but I can live with Prospero's mastery. Especially since, as of today, my Prospero-sanctioned duties include bothering Caliban whenever he gets off-task. All Prospero's kindness is wasted on that creature—he may not have his mother's power (thank the heavens!), but he definitely inherited her disposition. Now, though, when he has a tantrum or refuses to obey the master, I have free rein toÉpersuade him to do otherwise, using whatever methods I see fit. Today was a fine example. Caliban was to carry wood from the forest and stack it outside Prospero's cave. Did he do it? Yes. But so sloppily that it seemed a hurricane had blown across the island, demolished several trees, and strewn their remains all across the expanse from cave to forest. I was dispatched to tame this hurricane: I threw mud; I switched him with branches; I made myself like an ape and pulled horrendous faces, then like a hedgehog, rolling beneath his feet and poking him as he walked. I jeered, I leered, and, eventually, when he tired of my pranks, he shaped up.

It was great fun, and good exercise too. I hope it takes just as long next time.

Entry #3

Prospero has just told me of a wondrous plan he has devised to reclaim his stolen title and save himself and his daughter from exile. When it is completed, my reward will be my freedom.

Oh, little island, soon I will have rein over the whole of the world! I will dance, I will sing, I will be a bird and a fish and a great eastern Oliphaunt. Someday, maybe, I will return, to see how you fare; but first I shall roam the whole of the earth.

Prospero, and dear Miranda—they will be happy. Caliban—what do I care for him? Still, I suppose I have been rather rude, sometimes. Not that he hasn't. But I'll send him some flowers or something—no hard feelings. My friends, fellow spirits—they too will have their freedom, and perhaps we will meet again in the wide world.

Freedom, freedom; I can almost taste it. But to earn it, I must raise a storm—a storm like none that has ever been seen before.

A little work, and then a long play—wait for me.

Two days to FREEDOM!

Alice H.
Flushing, NY
School: Townsend Harris High School

May 12

Dear Diary,

Love is the source of happiness. Oh gentle Proteus, your words will keep me up tonight. I haven't been happier for my entire life. Sure, I had many suitors. But none were as touching as Proteus. Their letters are filled with fake phrases and Proteus' are as true as the morning sun. Their words are out of flattery while Proteus' is out of love. Oh Proteus! You brighten up my day with your beautiful words. There is no love as pure, no words as soft, and no oaths as touching. I am twirling around with this masterpiece that Proteus sent to me out of love, and am drowning in his moving letter. It feels like a dream, a fantasy, a magnificent hallucination. Someone pinch me. No, on second thought don't. I don't want to wake up. Let me stay in this world even if it is false. No, it's not false. Anything can be false, but Proteus' love is real. His love will survive the most brutal winter and most fearsome war. Not only will it survive, it won't change a bit. It'll be just as pure as today. His heart will forever contain me. No one else but me, Julia.

Although, there was this incident. It was Lucetta. She angered me today. Why today? It would have been perfect without that incident! You see, Lucetta had Proteus' letter the entire time. But she teased me! She kept the letter from me and pretended to know nothing about it. I felt like a fool! Oh, why today, the perfect day of my life? It could have been untainted, and filled with only the love of Proteus. But Lucetta had to do that. Tease me with the letter and cause me to rip it up. Oh my hateful hands. They should get burned for tearing such loving words! Yet, I will not hurt them for Proteus' sake. I know how sad he'd get upon seeing my burnt hands. Therefore, I will spare them. Not for my cowardice, but rather for the love of Proteus. Well, nothing can be compared with the love of Proteus. Even though there was a small unpleasant incident. Proteus' love not only had the power to cover it up, but it also left my day with sweetness. The day is still great. Proteus?

I swear I'd do anything for Proteus. Proteus my love, if you by any chance were to separate from me, I shall run away and seek you even if you're in the most dangerous place in existence. I'd do anything for you. If you turn into grass, I'll turn into a flower and be by your side. If you turn into the wind, I'll turn into sand, always flying next to you. If you go to heaven, I'll climb up with you. Wherever you go, I shall follow you and never leave your side. Nothing can tear us apart, for we are forever bound together by pure, true love.

Dreamy,

Julia

May 20

Dear Diary,

Tears, sobs, and more tears. What a dreadful day today was? A few days ago, I heard that Proteus went to Milan. Therefore, unable to keep myself away from him, I disguised myself as a boy and went looking for him. I dreamt all kinds of touching things gentle Proteus would say when he unexpectedly sees me. Would he bound his lovely arms around me and give me a nice long kiss? I have been imagining his face since forever. Finally, today was the big day. I arrived in Milan and am anxiously waiting to see Proteus. After dreaming of him for days, today is my reward. But?. Nothing turned out the way I hoped or even more, expected.

There was no hugs, no kisses, no love. Yes, I was disguised. Proteus didn't know it was I. But both mentally and physically, I had received nothing from him other than disappointment and grief. I was aside, looking at him. There he was, praising another woman the same way he once acted to me. He, with the same gentle words he said to me, he poured out his love to another woman. I left his heart as soon as he left Verona. Another woman had entered. He had promised me to be loyal. With that kiss at departure, our love is sealed. At least I thought it was. Until today? He broke our seal of love. Despite all those oaths he promised me, he left me. He forgot the existence of me, Julia. He even said to that other lady that I was dead. Dead am I? Yes, I am. The moment I died in his heart, I am dead. There is no Julia without Proteus. Julia is dead.

Heartbroken,

Julia

May 25

Dear Diary,

Confusion and torn are the only words that can describe my current status. When I arrived in Milan, I presented myself as a servant in front of Proteus. Today, he asked me to deliver a love letter and a ring to Sylvia, his new woman. The ring was the ring I gave him out of love at his departure. It was to remind him of our love and I. Now, he is going to give it to some other woman. This marks the end of his love towards me. He doesn't want to remember me anymore. I am dead within him. Therefore, he is passing the love he once had towards me to another lady, Sylvia.

I took the message although it was against my will. Proteus, with his very heart betrayed me, left me in pain. Yet surprisingly I cannot hate him. Instead, I pity him. Is this true love? Because I love him, I will help him. I am not willing to do so, but for the love towards him, I will. Love isn't possession; it is giving. I love Proteus more than myself. Therefore as long as he's happy, I will be. If another lady brings him joy, I'll help him. I shall sacrifice myself in exchange for his joy. The pain it'll cause me can't be described in words. I love him, but he doesn't love me. He loves Sylvia, but she doesn't love him. I don't want him to feel the pain I am experiencing. Therefore, I will deliver the message. However, nothing stops me from hating Sylvia. She stole my man. I will deliver the message, but I will do coldly. Sylvia, that is where I will release my anger. At least, that was what I thought.

Nothing in the world is certain. I expected to hate Sylvia. But she was so nice. Throughout the entire conversation with her, all she said was how much she pities me, and how much shame is on Proteus for leaving me. She wasn't happy when I gave her the letter and the ring. Instead, she tore up the letter into pieces. Although she never met me as myself, I sense a strong bond of friendship between she and I. How can I hate a woman that pities me? I can do nothing but thank her. I have nowhere to release this anger. It is trapped inside me.

I am torn. Torn between the love for Proteus and the hatred towards him for leaving me. Between the hatred towards Sylvia for stealing my man and the friendship between us established upon Sylvia's pity towards me. What should I do? I want to break Proteus away from Sylvia. Yet I can't. The love and friendship is acting as a barrier that is stopping me. I am like a pancake between two hungry men, my two emotions. There is nothing left to do except waiting to be devoured by the two hungry emotions.

Torn,

Julia

Nicki M.
Scotch Plains, NJ
School: Scotch Plains Fanwood High School

A Glimpse at the Porter's Journal

Today started off as usual, I had to wake up out of a slumber after drinking all night. I was ordered by Lady Macbeth put on more hot coals, adding to the already bloody boiling heat in the house. While sweeping the chimney, her foolish husband had the audacity to approach me and say that I should look presentable for tonight. The big brute should take his own advice, with his overgrown mustache and protruding belly. He told me the king was coming and that I should wash my hair and borrow the cooks tunic for tonight. Ha big deal; what did the king ever do for me? Perhaps he will bring expensive wine that I can swipe later when everyone is good and drunk. As I was making my way up the twisted staircase, I passed the young maid of Lady Macbeth, a pretty little thing. She gave me a dirty look, which I now know the reason for. Like the wisest saying goes, drink is lechery, it both "provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance". Towards mid evening I began to notice that the atmosphere had changed around the house, it turned to a feeling of some sort of anticipation or anxiety which both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth have created. As I turned into the dark hall that leads to the master sleeping quarters Macbeth appeared and it seemed he was paler then this morning and he was making uncontrolled choking noises and was murmuring under his breath. His eyes looked wild, as he passed not noticing me, poor guy, he needed a drink. Lady Macbeth seemed to behave even bolder; she had this look of hunger in her eyes that was unnatural. My master is up to something and I guarantee that tonight will affect years to come. My masters think they are slick and pretending that they are just excited to host the king, but I know what's going on, the porter knows everything.

What a night, I have never been so drunk in my life! I don't remember anything from last night except the taste of the blood red wine that I pinched right under everyone's noses. A sneaky devil I am. Anyway I'll continue on this morning's details; they are a lot more interesting to write about. I woke up from a hangover by consistent knocking on the bloody door and the heat of the room. I swear I feel like I am the gate keeper of hell it is so hot, whoever wants to enter this house is crazy. When I finally answered the door Macduff and Lennox had the nerve to ask what took so long. Macbeth entered and they all went to wake the king, I followed them so I could put more coals in the fire. Next thing I know Maduff is crying "O horror horror horror!" I thought he was just carrying on, but then he says the king is dead! I run inside the room and see a trail of old blood that came from the corpse of Duncan. As quick as a viper Macbeth declares out of rage he has killed the chamberlains. Poor lost souls, I know for a fact these men weren't drunk, I invited them to have a drink with me but they said they had a duty to guard the king. Lady Macbeth then came slithering in and, at seeing the corpse, fainted on the spot. I know for a fact however that Lady Macbeth is skilled at making herself faint at anytime; she did it last year when she didn't want to stay outside for the annual autumn harvest, so she pretended to feel sick and faint. After the bloody Macbeth ordered me out I resumed doing my chores. The sky was unusual, it was black and stormy, and it didn't look like it would let up anytime soon. Once upon entering the horse stables I saw the most peculiar thing...the beautiful horses of the king were eating each other! Something is obviously wrong and whatever it is, it's affecting even the weather and animals. Whatever it is I'm just going to mind my own business and get drunk.

A few days have gone by since last time I wrote. There are such strange occurrences going on. I can no longer sleep because Lady Macbeth suddenly began to sleepwalk and bemoans the murders of banquo and Lady Macbeth. She also complains about blood not leaving her hand. She better learn to stop sleepwalking or pretty soon people will catch on that she might have had something to do with their deaths. My master has also become a king, not a king a tyrant as the people say. He also expressed strange behavior, I heard him say he saw a bloody dagger floating, and he sees ghosts. He also boasts that he will brandish his sword at anyone women born, perhaps he is drunk. I do believe their scruples are getting the best of them. The weather is as worse as ever, there is no longer sunlight, just like there is no more happiness in all of Scotland. Macbeth's castle is quite dreary and depressing; the halls are dark and endless with an uneasy quietness. People wander around like lost souls, tortured souls stuck in hell. Even the animals are still acting strangely, the other day I saw the smallest owl attack and eat a falcon! What is to become of Scotland, with all this disorder? I believe there will be no happy ending for the Macbeth's. There is talk that Macduff is seeking help from England to get rid of Macbeth. There is talk Fleance might become the new king. I hope so, he has good liquor. I must go out into the tortured halls of the castle to put another coal in the fire and wait for all hell to break lose once and for all.

Courtney B.
Scotch Plains, NJ
School: Scotch Plains Fanwood High School

The Diary of Fleance

March 2

Today I start this diary anew, today I shall begin to tell and to record All that has occurred and is occurring In this Scottish nightmare that must occur. Dear pages of paper and ink forgive me this.

Oh how the time doth pass so slow to-night My thoughts and dreams run wild within my head. A promise of power revealed to my father, but yet The witches too revealed Macbeth a king to be! Methinks the thought hath consumed Macbeth My father believes the sisters to be untrue And so he lives day by day as though The prophecy hath not been uttered that day. But still I hope to be as great as Duncan King of Scotland, to be exalted by all.

To-night we have gone out and seen Macbeth For my father naught trusts this man too well. The accursed suspicion of my father did lead us there To check on dear Duncan, our noble king And keep Macbeth in check if only the time My father and I imparted our presence in there. Although the sisters did say Macbeth would not Forever hold this supposed power, this throne Did he wait for his time to come, this man? Or did he untimely rip life tonight From our dear king, asleep? To blame his men Is far too simple, and could Macbeth tell lies So well to cover a murder within his home That wreaks his stench? Or would two sons assail Their very creator of life and flesh, these fiends?

The days to come will be so dark and cold Until the mighty fist of truth breaks through The ugly and shadowy wall of lies and dishonor. Today I naught trust this man, Macbeth As greed and power suffice to tempt any man To act in ways in which are not admirable.

The ground shakes as the lightning strikes, and all Stands still as I write this night to morning. And though the dark deceives the hour, this morn Mark my first sleepless night of many to come.

March 16

Once more I set my words with pen and ink. The sorry story that I had guessed was true And all too dark to completely retell. The days are still full of regretful pain, Macbeth betrayed the land that he once loved. But now Malcolm is king, and all is right And back in proper order. The sun now shines And the birds once more sing songs to praise the king Of Scotland, and of sweet justice without Macbeth.

Though in this joy no peace or rest. Over and over I think back and dream, for still I know that I am written in the stars As king of Scots, but when will this be true? My father died due to Macbeth and his Prophecy caused delusion; madness that never Shall be forgotten in the house of Banquo. But how should I live this mad life, to wait To see the day when I fulfill this call? I wish to seek the weird sisters today, Before I die of worry and waiting.

One year from now, will I be king? Will I go kill Malcolm as Macbeth did To Duncan before in fury and rage and greed? I shall go mad seeing myself as Macbeth; A madman, a fiend, a crook, a liar and hound. He and his wife now lay six feet below us And all his madness has come to what? Nothing. I need to find a bride to be my queen, I need to be better than old Macbeth. At least my kin will rule for years and years; Homage to my poor, dead father Who was never to see the throne himself.

Without my father to guide my path, I may Lose track of where it is that I should go. If I should stray today, what of tomorrow? The days to come hold much promise and grief. Damn Macbeth and curse the day he took The throne and power and all that came with it. Damn my destiny to hold what he once had! Damn the sisters, damn their premonition!

February 28

Oh happy book I've found once more! Your pages full of Words that help me work through the hardest times. Not even a year has passed since Macbeth Took our Duncan from this world in hungry greed. My fears have left me now that I am king; The sisters three did see what came to be. I rose to power in such great, deep sadness. This throne was not taken, though I accepted it. Malcolm had left us untimely, his father the same.

My fears hath been undone today; this land Is mine, rightfully so. I have a wife, a son, The mistakes made by Macbeth will not repeat. I curse the man, still always hate him; deep down I can see him on that damned night; His face So pale, so worried. History will not repeat that night So long as my blood runs through the Scottish king. I know who I am and who I am not.

Alas! The sister hath had their laugh with me. One night so cold and dark I found them out Whilst I searched for light and warmth in rain. That had been my last dark day to speak of.

As for Scotland, the times fare well and good. This year of grief, I prithee, has helped us all To learn to cope even thorough the harshest of storms. The weeks of dark did shake us all. Although the petty pace from day to day is No less real than it was one year ago today Before premonitions, new kings, fresh blood, great sorrow, and dark Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow Doth not hold anything which we mere humans can change.

"The ground shakes as the lightning strikes, and all Stands still as I write this night to morning. And though the dark deceives the hour, this morn Mark my first sleepless night of many to come."

And so my sleepless nights have passed. And though I know so much I wish I naught, I know I am a walking shadow, a dead king My role on life's simple stage is simple and short. And so I walk my road to dusty death.