The Bill / Shakespeare Project [dot] com

Sources: Diana, Gisippus, and a Friar named Laurence

2010-03-10T12:45:00Z

There seems to be a number of different sources from which Shakespeare pulled to create The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

First, there is a pastoral romance novel Diana Enamorada, in which Shakespeare's characters of Julia, Proteus and Silvia find analogs in Don Felix, Felismena, and Celia. Don Felix sends a letter to Felismena, who pretends to reject it through her lady-in-waiting. Felix is sent away by his father, and Felismena journeys to follow her love (disguised as a boy), and is later hired on by Felix as his page. She learns that Felix has fallen in love with another woman, Celia, and Felix uses his new hire to be his messenger to Celia. Celia wants nothing to do with Felix, but falls in love with the boy (the disguised Felismena). In the woods, after a battle, Felismena and Felix are reunited; Celia dies of a broken heart (there is no Valentine character). The novel was written in 1542 in Spanish by a Portuguese writer Jorge de Montemayor. Though it wasn't translated into English until 1582, it's possible that Shakespeare may have read the earlier French translation, or might have absorbed it through an earlier English version (no longer extant), The History of Felix and Philomena, which was produced in the mid-1580s.

Second, Shakespeare might have been influenced by Thomas Elyot's The Boke named the Governor (published in 1531), which in turn may be been influenced by (or outright taken from) Boccaccio's The Decameron. In these source materials, Titus and Gisippus (the analogs for Proteus and Valentine) are childhood friends. Gisippus falls in love with a woman, but when he introduces the woman to Titus, Titus plans to steal the woman from his friend. Gisippus, however, sets up a "bed trick" allowing his friend to sleep with his betrothed on their wedding night, so that the girl becomes his friend's actual wife.

Third, Shakespeare also seemed to pull some ideas from The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet by Arthur Brooke (yeah, the source for Romeo and Juliet), which features a character named Friar Laurence and the use of a "corded ladder" to steal away the female love interest.

Title: Pure Simplicity

2010-03-09T12:30:00Z

Unlike last month's title (Love's Labor's Lost), there's not a whole lot of debate or deeper meaning to this month's title, The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Two Gentlemen (Valentine and Proteus) come from Verona (Italy). All of the first act and about half of the second occur in Verona (though everything after Act Two occurs elsewhere, either in Milan or the forests between Milan and Mantua).

Now about that word, "gentlemen"... the Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM (v. 4.0) defines "gentleman" as

A man of gentle birth, or having the same heraldic status as those of gentle birth; properly, one who is entitled to bear arms, though not ranking among the nobility, but also applied to a person of distinction without precise definition of rank.
A man in whom gentle birth is accompanied by appropriate qualities and behavior; hence, in general, a man of chivalrous instincts and fine feelings.

The first of these two certainly applies to both Valentine and Proteus. The second definition applies only to Valentine (though those who read into Valentine's response to Proteus' repentance a sense of offering up Silvia to his friend may feel that he doesn’t live up to the definition, either).

What's interesting to me, though, is an additional meaning of the word, just beginning to appear in the 1580's:

A man of superior position in society, or having the habits of life indicative of this; often, one whose means enable him to live in easy circumstances without engaging in trade, a man of money and leisure.

Maybe this is what Shakespeare really means: this is a story about two men of "easy circumstances" who have no real hardships or responsibilities in life... young men with no sense of meaning or purpose yet... boys in love and lust, who have no idea as to the consequences...

Act Five: The Premature Resolution Episode

2010-03-08T13:41:00Z

Act Five of The Two Gentlemen of Verona is the shortest final act in the Canon (a nice shift from last month's longest Act Five), at just over half the average number of lines in a final act of Shakespeare.

The act begins with Eglamour waiting for Silvia so that he can help her flee into the forest. She arrives, but is afraid that she is "attended by some spies" (V.i.10). Eglamour tells her that if they can make it into the forest (just "three leagues off" [V.i.11]), they'll be fine. And off they go.

Act Five, Scene Two begins with Thurio questioning Proteus regarding his wooing of Silvia by proxy. Sebastian (Julia in disguise) takes on the Speed/Launce role of providing cutting commentary in asides until the Duke arrives and asks if anyone has see either Eglamour or Silvia lately. When none on stage can give a firm answer, the Duke concludes that "she's fled unto that peasant, Valentine" (V.ii.38). The Duke vows to follow after her, Thurio agrees ("to be revenged on Eglamour" [V.ii.54]... but why Eglamour?), then Proteus agrees "more of Silvia's love // Than hate of Eglamour" (V.ii.56-57), and finally Sebastian/Julia ("more to cross (Proteus') love // Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love" [V.ii.58-59]).

Act Five, Scene Three is a quick one, where Silvia has been captured by the outlaws. They tell her that they will be taking her to their leader, but all is well; the First Outlaw (remember, he's the one who seems the most violent) even says, "Fear not; he bears an honorable mind, // And will not use a woman lawlessly" (V.iii.13-14). But Silvia is still scared: "O Valentine, this I endure for thee!" (V.iii.15).

The last scene of the act and play is not a long one, but one in which quite a bit happens in the forest. First, Valentine enters and rhapsodizes on how he has found a true home in the woods, in which he "better brook than in flourishing towns" (V.iv.3). His only wish is to see his Silvia again. He hears the outlaws shout... withdraws... and watches

[and, in three... two... one...]

Silvia enters with both Proteus and Sebastian/Julia. Proteus, it seems, has "hazard(ed) life and rescue(d her) from him // That would have forced (her) honor and (her) love" (V.iv.21-22). Valentine cannot believe what he is seeing, as it is "like a dream" (V.iv.26). Silvia is not thrilled with her rescuer, as she would rather "have been a breakfast to (a lion), // Rather than have false Proteus rescue" her (V.iv.34-35). In frustration, Proteus threatens to "woo (her) like a soldier, at arm's end, // And love (her) 'gainst the nature of love -- force (her)" (V.iv.57-58). Clearly, the morally corrupt Proteus is now willing to resort to rape to get what he wants, and Silvia exclaims, "O heaven!" (V.iv.59).

Valentine comes out from the shadows to challenge his former friend, calling him a "common friend, that's without faith or love" (V.iv.62). It's a short 11-line speech, but it has its effect, as Proteus declares, "My shame and guilt confounds me. // Forgive me, Valentine" (73-74). And believe it or not, after only a four-and-a-half-line apology, Valentine is "paid. // And once again... receive(s Proteus as) honest" (V.iv.77-78). Valentine is so willing to let bygones be bygones "that (his) love may appear plain and free, // All that was (Valentine's) in Silvia (he) gives (to Proteus" (V.iv.82-83).

[say whaaaaaa?]

Now the line can be interpreted a number of ways (and we'll play with the possibilities later in the month), but Julia cannot believe what she's hearing, calls out, "O me unhappy!" (V.iv.84), and faints. When she awakes, Sebastian/Julia apologizes for not succeeding in delivering Proteus' ring to Silvia. Proteus asks to see it, and Julia produces the ring that Proteus had given to Julia back in Verona.

[remember that cognitive dissonance we talked about a couple of days back? well, it's baaaaack...]

When Proteus recognizes the ring, Julia says that she has made a mistake and gives him the OTHER ring, but he still wants to know how she got the first ring. Sebastian/Julia says, "And Julia herself did give it me; // And Julia herself hath brought it hither" (V.iv.99-100). Huh? And at that point, Sebastian reveals herself to be Julia.

Proteus responds to the revelation with a short six-line speech, at the end of which he proclaims his

inconstancy falls of ere it begins.
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?
-- V.iv.114-116

So Proteus now wants Julia again, and his friend Valentine, the "general" of the forest's outlaws, makes like the captain of a ship and calls for "a hand from either ... to make this happy close" (V.iv.117-118), which Proteus claims will give him "(his) wish for ever" and Julia hers as well (V.iv.120 and 121, respectively).

The Duke with Thurio enters. Valentine, like any good leader or host, "welcome(s)" (V.iv.124) the Duke, but when Thurio claims Silvia as his own, Valentine tells him to step back or "embrace (his) death" (V.iv.127). Upon hearing this, Thurio renounces all claim to Silvia, and the Duke says to Valentine, "Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her" (V.iv.148).

[anyone notice that Silva hasn't said a word since "O heaven!" after Proteus' threat of rape? ... and folks, that was the last we hear from her in the play... weird, huh?]

Valentine thanks the Duke for Silvia, and asks the Duke to pardon the outlaws, a request granted quickly. Valentine then tells the Duke that as they travel back to Milan, he will have stories to tell the Duke. But, by the way--of Sebastian/Julia--Valentine asks the Duke,

What think you of this page, my lord?
DUKE
I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.
VALENTINE
I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.
DUKE
What mean you by that saying?
VALENTINE
Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along,
That you will wonder what hath fortuned.
-- V.iv.165-170

It's a joke to us and Proteus, Julia, and Silvia, who all know who the page is... while the Duke will "wonder" at what has happened. After all, we feel the same way, especially after hearing that Proteus' "penance (is) to hear // The story of (these) loves discovered" (V.iv.171-172), after which Proteus can marry Julia on the same day as Valentine marries Silvia.

Ah, the wonder of what has happened... in the last 174 lines of the play:

Proteus rescues Silvia from the outlaws
Silvia rebuffs Proteus
Protest threatens to rape Silvia
Valentine reveals himself and reprimands Proteus
Proteus repents and apologizes
Valentine forgives (to the point of offering Proteus his own love of Silvia)
Julia faints, revives, shows Proteus her ring from him, then his ring from her
Julia reveals herself
Proteus renounces his love for Silvia and is reunited with Julia
The Duke and Thurio arrive
Thurio attempt to take ownership of Silvia, then renounces his claim to her
The Duke gives Silvia to Valentine
Valentine requests and receives from the Duke a pardon for the outlaws
Valentine announces that the two couples will be married on the same day

There's enough there to fill a 900 line final scene (like last month's)... this 174-line scene, however, feels ... well, sort of rushed.

But we'll talk more about that later...

Podcast 35: The Two Gentlemen of Verona Intro

2010-03-07T14:48:00Z

This week's podcast is the launch of our month-long discussion of The Two Gentlemen of Verona, including some introductory remarks, a plot synopsis, and we'll do our usual recap of this week's blog entries.

Errata:
22:48 -- Text should be "for his pains" instead of "for his plans"
29:10 -- Text should be "of the plays" instead of "of the play"

Podcast Credits

This podcast was recorded using a Blue Snowball microphone onto a Dell XPS 400 computer, using Adobe Soundbooth recording and editing software.

The bumper music (Loop 90) and the segue music (Morning Show Segue) are courtesy of Royalty Free Music.com, which offers a comprehensive music library of production music for your various royalty free music needs including full albums, tracks and free music clips, loops, and beats available for download.

Act Four: The Lords of the Merry Men and Rings, Respectively

2010-03-06T13:11:00Z

Act Four of The Two Gentlemen of Verona begins with Valentine and Speed on the run from Milan... only they're not alone. They have been captured by "certain Outlaws" (IV.i opening stage direction), "the villains // That all the travelers do fear so much" (IV.i.5-6). When Valentine attempts to speak, he is interrupted by the First Outlaw, but then the other outlaws interrupt the First one, demanding to "hear" (IV.i.9) Valentine. And why? "For he is a proper man" (IV.i.10)... so Valentine is a good-lookin' guy.

Valentine tells them that he has nothing for them to take save his clothes, and they ask him where he's going, where he's from, and how long he's there. Now, if we can believe Valentine (and we'll see in a moment why that's in question), he's been in Milan for "some sixteen months" (IV.i.21)--which would probably be the gap between Act One, Scenes Two and Three--but he's been banished since. When the outlaws ask for what crime, Valentine tells them that he "killed a man, whose death (he) much repent(s)" (IV.i.27).

[uh, this would be why we can call the 16-month timeframe into question... a question I'm going to want to address at some time, just not today]

The First Outlaw seems unimpressed, questioning his repenting, and calling the murder "so small a fault" (IV.i.31). But the other two outlaws have a different approach: the Second asks if Valentine knows any other languages ("the tongues" [IV.i.33]), and when Valentine answers in the affirmative, the Third one announces that Valentine should be the "king for (their) wild faction" (IV.i.37) of outlaws. And if you thought the hardened First Outlaw would be tougher to convince, you'd be... wrong: "We'll have him" (IV.i.38), he immediately replies.

We learn from the outlaws their history: the Third was banished from Verona for "practicing to steal away a lady" (IV.i.49), the Second for stabbing a man in the heart (IV.i.52), and the First for "such like petty crimes as these" (IV.i.53).

[it's a weird mix of crimes, eh?]

They ask Valentine to be their "general... the captain" (IV.i.62, 66). Of course, the First reminds him, "But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest" (IV.i.69), and the Second confirms this to be true: "Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offered" (IV.i.70).

[why do I get a Princess Bride vibe? "Oh, I'll probably kill you in the morning, Wesley..." ]

Valentine accepts this offer he can't refuse, but on one condition: they "do no outrages" (IV.i.72) on women or poor people. The Third readily agrees (of course he would, he of the elopement-spurred banishment), saying they "detest such vile, base practices" (IV.i.74). And off they go, a merry band of outlaws... a pretty preposterous crew.

Act Four, Scene Two finds Proteus under Silvia's window, bemoaning in soliloquy that she isn't "to be corrupted with (his) worthless gifts" (IV.ii.6), rather "twit(ting him) with (his) falsehood" to Valentine (IV.ii.8) and telling him to "think on how (he had) been forsworn // In breaking faith with Julia whom (he) loved" (IV.ii.10-11).

[he told Silvia about JULIA??? what a moron... ]

The sad thing (or comic, depending on your point of view) is that "the more she spurns (his) love, // The more it grows, and fawneth on her still" (IV.ii.14-15).

Into this self-pity party come Thurio and musicians, as they are about to perform an Elizabethan version of John Cusack under Ione Skye's window in Say Anything (Thurio is still under the delusion that Proteus is helping him with Silvia). As the band sets up, who should arrive but Julia (in disguise as the boy Sebastian) and her guide, the Host of the tavern where she's staying, and they see the gathering and listen to the song. And Peter Gabriel it isn't... it's a sing-songy doggerel, full of compliments and fawning.

When the Host asks why Sebastian is so sad, he--er, SHE--responds that the "musician likes (her) not (because) he plays false" (IV.ii.56, 58). There is some comic misunderstanding when the Host takes this to mean that the music was out of tune, but we understand that she's talking about a different kind of falsehood in regards to Proteus. When she asks the host if Proteus is often making such protestations of love to Silvia, the Host tells, Proteus "loved her out of all nick" (IV.ii.73-74), and if (s)he wanted to know more, (s)he only had to search out Launce and his dog, which will "carry a present to his lady" (IV.ii.77-78) tomorrow.

Proteus sends Thurio and the musicians away, so that he can continue to woo Silvia in Thurio's name (at least that's what Thurio thinks). We (and Julia and the Host) witness the very UNsuccessful wooing, with Silvia reprimanding Proteus for his betrayals to both Valentine and Julia. The only victory Proteus gains is the promise that Silvia will give him a picture of herself the next day.

Act Four's short Scene Three introduces Eglamour (check out the last half of that name, boys and girls: amour ... nice for a romantic comedy, huh?). When Silvia arrives, we learn that she has employed him to help her escape her father and Milan, and head into the wilderness to find Valentine.

The fourth and final scene in Act Four begins with another canine soliloquy delivered by Launce and his dog Crab, discussing Launce's loyalty to Crab (and not the other way around): He's been locked away for two days because Crab urinated on the Duke's floor (when Launce was trying to deliver a different dog to Silvia as a gift from Proteus); Launce, in a moment of sacrifice for his best friend, said that the dog didn't do the pissing, but he himself did, so locked away he was.

Proteus arrives with his newly hired page Sebastian (Julia in disguise). Proteus is non-too-pleased with Launce's two-day absence, and less thrilled with the fact that during that time, the dog that was to be his present has disappeared. He sends Launce off to find the dog, and in Launce's place plans to employ Sebastian on an errand to Silvia: he wants the "boy" to deliver "this ring... to Madam Silvia -- // She loved me well delivered it to me" (IV.iv.68, 69-70). So it appears that he gives Sebastian (who is Julia in disguise) the ring that Julia had given Proteus, so that Sebastian can give the ring to Silvia. When Sebastian questions Proteus on Julia, Proteus' responses are forthright if not morally so, and Sebastian pities the state of the poor, long-gone Julia. Proteus pays no heed to Sebastian's statements, telling him only to deliver the ring and a letter, and to retrieve the picture from Silvia. Proteus then leaves.

Julia laments on her state, and then welcomes Silvia onto the stage. When "Sebastian" informs Silvia that he is there from Proteus, she knows what he's there for: the picture. Sebastian begins to give Silvia a letter, then says no, and gives another letter instead (there seems to be some cognitive dissonance regarding the letters and the rings in this scene, but it's only the reader who feels it, the characters have no such problems). When Sebastian attempt to give Silvia the ring, she refuses it, saying that Proteus has hurt Julia badly enough by betraying her, Silvia will play no role in hurting Julia further by accepting the ring (IV.iv.135).

When Sebastian says, "She thanks you" (IV.iv.137), Silvia questions the connection between Sebastian and Julia: "Do you know her? (IV.iv.141), she asks; Sebastian responds, "Almost as well as I do know myself" (IV.iv.142). After they commiserate over the state of the far-off Julia, Silvia pays Sebastian for his pains and sends him back to Proteus, leaving Julia alone on stage, to compare herself with Silvia (she finds herself better looking than Silvia ("her forehead's low, and mine's as high" [IV.iv.192]), and to wish that the situation was different than what it is--she wishes she could "scratched out (the picture's) unseeing eyes // To may my master out of love with" (IV.iv.203-204) Silvia. But Julia is too good for that: she will "use (the picture) kindly" (IV.iv.201).

And the scene, and penultimate act, ends...

Act Three: The "With Friends Like That..." Edition

2010-03-05T12:43:00Z

Act Three, Scene One of The Two Gentlemen of Verona begins in the court of Milan where we find Proteus throwing his "friend" Valentine under the anachronistic bus:

My gracious lord, that which I would discover
The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
But when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know you have determined to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
-- III.i.4-16

Check out the big irony on lil' Proteus: "law of friendship"... "your gracious favors // Done to me... My duty" (right, after less than a day, sooooo many favors) ... "Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates" (nothing like throwing all the competitors under the bus)... "vexation to your age" (just looking after you, OLD man). It's a pretty masterful speech... wonderful if it weren't so deceitful. The Duke is thankful--having suspected Valentine in the past, having "oftentimes... proposed to forbid // Sir Valentine her company and (the Duke's) court" (III.i.2-27)--but he isn't too worried since he "nightly lodge(s) her in an upper tower, // The key whereof (the Duke himself) have ever kept" (III.i.35-36).

Proteus tells the Duke of the "corded ladder" (III.i.40)

[foreshadowing of Romeo and Juliet, anyone?]

and tells the Duke that Valentine is on his way with said ladder, and that he can stop the elopement here. Proteus only asks that the Duke not tell Valentine that his friend betrayed him, as it is "love of (the Duke), not hate unto (his) friend" (III.i.46) that has made Proteus drop dime on his childhood buddy.

Proteus exits, Valentine enters, and the Duke stops him for a little chat, one filled with such a stratagem that one has to feel that the Duke and Proteus are cut from the same cloth: The Duke declares that he, too, is in love with a woman, and he needs Valentine to be his "tutor" (III.i.84) in love. How to woo, the Duke asks; "Win her with gifts, if she respect not words" (III.i.89), Valentine advises. But what if she's locked away in a tower? "Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords" (III.i.117), one that can be hid "under a cloak that is of any length" (III.i.130). When the Duke pulls open Valentine's own cloak, the rope ladder is found, the plan is discovered, and the punishment comes quickly:

But if thou linger in my territories
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence.
-- III.i.163-169

He is banished, and like (yet another foreshadowing of) Romeo, Valentine is lost without his love: "And why not death rather than living torment? // To die is to be banished from myself" (III.i.170-171). When Proteus reappears (now with Launce), he tells Valentine to flee, but to write to Silvia, and Proteus will "deliver (them) // Even in the milk-white bosom of (Valentine's) love" (III.i.250). The only one on stage who doesn't see Proteus for who he is Valentine, and soon Proteus escorts his (former) friend to the gates of the town. Alone on stage, even Launce admits to the audience, "I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave" (III.i.261-262). Speed arrives and the two servants engage in some banter, ironically over Launce's newly aroused love for a mysterious "milkmaid" (III.i.267), before Speed chases after his banished master.

Act Three, Scene Two finds Valentine gone, Thurio complaining to the Duke about Silvia's "despis(ing Thurio) most" (III.ii.3) since the banishment, and Proteus--always helpful--volunteering to tutor Thurio in the wooing of Silvia. The plan is to poison Silvia's thoughts of Valentine, "to slander Valentine // With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent" (III.ii.31-32). When the Duke fears that Silvia will simply believe that all these things are "spoke in hate" (III.ii.34), Proteus says that it will not be the case if it "be spoken // By one who she esteemeth as his friend" (III.ii.36-37). Then, who better to deliver the slander than Proteus? Proteus even promises to talk up Thurio as he verbally beats down on Valentine.

Of course, the Duke and Thurio don't know Proteus like we do...

Act Two: Change in Scene, Change in Gents

2010-03-04T12:48:00Z

Act Two of The Two Gentlemen of Verona--the longest in the play at almost twice the length of Act One--begins not in Verona, but in Milan, where Valentine has arrived to work in the royal court of the Duke (NOT the emperor).

The first scene of the act opens with Valentine and Speed engaged in the same kind of quick-witted repartee as we witnessed Speed and Proteus in back in Act One, Scene One, with the subject of the banter much the same: the master's folly in love.

[what, you ask, Valentine in love? ... yep... not that you're surprised, I'm sure...]

When Valentine asks his servant how he knows the master is in love, Speed lists the ways:

you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas.
-- II.i.18-25

While Speed sees Valentine as quite pathetic, he has no sympathy for his master, nor does he give his master any respite in the attacks on both man and muse:

VALENTINE
I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiful.
SPEED
If you love her, you cannot see her.
VALENTINE
Why?
SPEED
Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungartered!
VALENTINE
What should I see then?
SPEED
Your own present folly and her passing deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose, and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.
-- II.i.64-75

Speed even goes so far as to tell his master that he has become worse than Proteus, whom Valentine had disparaged earlier in the play. Valentine is so far gone, that he has agreed to write for his love Silvia "some (poetic) lines to one she loves" (II.i.84-85), playing a kind of proto-Cyrano, only gender-switched and writing so that his benefactor can love another man.

When Valentine's love arrives, Speed gives us a kind of running color commentary on the proceedings in asides. And what proceedings! Silvia toys with Valentine and his poetic lines, which she calls "clerkly done... (and) quaintly writ" (II.i.104 and 118), finally telling him to write another, "and when it's writ, for (her) sake (he should) read it over, // And if it please(s him)... take it for (his) labor" (II.i.125-126, 128). She leaves with him n a state of lustful confusion. Speed, however, sees through the ruse: "That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter" (II.i.135). She is having Valentine write love letters to her love, to himself... though he just doesn't know it.

The very short Act Two, Scene Two, takes us back to Verona, to the tearful goodbye between Proteus (leaving for Milan) and his love Julia, who gives her love a "remembrance," a ring (II.ii.5 and stage direction). Proteus gives her a ring as well, and swears his "true constancy" (II.ii.8)...

[and don't you just have a bad feeling about that...]

begs her to "answer not" (II.ii.13), and then is chagrined when she leaves "without a word... so true love should do; it cannot speak, // For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it" (II.ii.16, 17-18).

[and worse feelings about that?]

Act Two, Scene Three takes place in another part of Verona, as Proteus' servant Launce soliloquizes about the crying he's been doing over his impending departure from his family in Verona.

[is it a soliloquy if there is another soul on stage, albeit a canine one? Launce has brought his dog, Crab, "the sourest-natured dog that lives" (II.iii.5-6)]

Launce presents a long-winded metaphor of his family (sometimes diverting into the bawdy), until Panthino (Proteus' father's servant) arrives to inform him that Proteus "is shipped, and (Launce) art to post after with oars" (II.iii.32-33). If Speed was running late for Valentine's departure (delivering Proteus' letter to Julia), then Launce is even worse, having literally missed the boat.

[well, not literally... remember Verona--and Milan--are landlocked cities...

anyway... ]

Some more quick banter between the servants, and Launce is off to begin his adventure as well.

Act Two, Scene Four returns us to Milan, now (at least to the stage directions) to the palace of the Duke, with Valentine, Speed, Silvia, and a Sir Thurio. There is some cutting commentary between Valentine and Thurio, and the appearance is that both men are vying for Silvia's affections; Silvia remains seemingly non-committal. When the Duke arrives, we learn for certain what we should have been suspecting (without textual evidence) since Act Two, Scene One: Silvia is the Duke's daughter, one that is "hard beset" (II.iv.47) by suitors. But the Duke is more interested in speaking to Valentine for the moment; he asks Valentine if he knows of Don Antonio and his son (Proteus). Valentine praises his friend:

His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, for far behind his worth
Comes all the praises that I now bestow,
He is complete in feature and in mind
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
-- II.iv.67-72

Great and kind words of his friend... but are they true? "Complete in feature and in mind"? What we've seen so far would not exactly support this, but friendship is king in Valentine's world. The Duke leaves, calling Thurio to follow. And before we can see the relationship between Valentine and Silvia, Proteus arrives. He greets Silvia with courtly propriety, and Valentine calls for Silvia to allow Proteus to join him in his "entertainment" as her servant. Before she has left to speak with her father, Proteus has agreed that they "both attend on (her) ladyship" (II.iv.119).

Once alone, Valentine asks Proteus of his love back home, and Proteus responds,

My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know you joy not in a love discourse.
VALENTINE
Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now.
-- II.iv.124-126

Valentine admits to his friend what we've known for a few scenes now: Valentine is a man in love. And while Proteus gives Valentine a relatively hard time--denying Silvia's "heavenly" (II.iv.143) beauty--he says that it's payback: "When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills, // And I must minister the like to you" (II.iv.147-148). In response, Valentine offers to have Proteus' love sent from Verona to "bear (his) lady's train" (II.iv.157), and become her servant as well. And when Proteus accuses Valentine of bragging, Valentine reveals the secret behind his super-confidence:

We are betrothed: nay, more, our, marriage-hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determined of
-- II.iv.177-179

He plans to elope with Silvia, and calls for Proteus to help. Proteus promises help and sends Valentine ahead, only to reveal to us in soliloquy:

She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--
That I did love, for now my love is thawed;
Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,
And that I love him not as I was wont.
O, but I love his lady too too much,
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her!
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.
-- II.iv.197-212

He has fallen in love (“too TOO much”... emphasis mine) with Silvia, forsaking even the memory of Julia. He no longer feels the bond of love with Valentine as he is supposed to. He will attempt to end his wrong love of Silvia, but if he can't then he intends to take her from his friend.

[so much for friendship and his promises of "true constancy" to Julia... ]

In Act Two, Scene Five, the two servants Speed and Launce meet, joke about their masters in love, and join in some bawdiness and puns... another comic relief scene (and a short one).

Act Two, Scene Six is a soliloquy by Proteus, in which he attempts to work through his dilemma. He opens by stating his situation:

To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power which gave me first my oath
Provokes me to this threefold perjury;
Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear.
-- II.vi.1-6

He knows that to leave Julia would be to abandon his oath to her; to love Silvia would mean the same abandonment of his word; and to wrong Valentine would be an even greater perjury (notice the "much" in regards to Valentine that is absent in the Julia and Silvia lines). And the fault, in Proteus' mind at least, lies in Love, a power that made him swear to Julia in the first place, but now "bids" him to break that vow. From this opening, it would seem that he is going to work through the problem (we would hope to an honorable conclusion): he understands that he will be forswearing if he leaves Julia or loves Silvia, but it's worse to betray his friend. Here, we see that he puts friendship above romantic love.

[you can call this the "Bros before Hos Corollary" ... ]

However, within twenty lines, his reasoning begins to solidify:

I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
But there I leave to love where I should love.
Julia I lose and Valentine I lose:
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss
For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most precious in itself
-- II.vi.17-23

He cannot stop loving, he says, but he has, at least in regards to Julia; and he understands that it is there and with Valentine that he "should love" because if he doesn't, he will lose both Julia and Valentine. He's on the right track, but he turns on a dime, concluding that if he "keep(s)" Julia and Valentine, then he will lose himself; and if he loses them, he will find himself (in place of Valentine) and Silvia (in place of Julia). He concludes that "love is still most precious" ... especially when it's love of self, as he holds himself a "dearer than a friend" TO himself.

And from that self-centered worldview, he resolves not only to "forget that Julia is alive" (II.vi.27), but to view Valentine as "an enemy" (II.vi.29). And if that isn't bad enough, he plans "treachery" (II.vi.32) against Valentine, betraying his and Silvia's elopement to the Duke. Proteus knows full well that this will cause the Duke to "banish Valentine" (II.vi.38), which will leave the opportunity for Proteus "by some sly trick (to) blunt Thurio's dull proceeding" (II.vi.41). At no point does he consider Silvia's feelings; it's all about him.

As we see in Act Two's last and seventh scene, Proteus isn't the only one who has him at the center of his/her world. Back in Verona, Julia so misses Proteus, that she plans with Lucetta to follow her love to Milan. Lucetta attempts to dissuade Julia (trying to "qualify the fire's extreme rage, // Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason" [II.vii.22-23]), but to no avail. Julia decides to go on her journey, disguised as a boy (to "prevent // The loose encounters of lascivious men" [II.vii.40-41]). Lucetta fears that Proteus "will scarce be pleased" (II.vii.67) by the journey. That's right, my friends: IRONY ALERT.

And if that wasn't ironic enough, Julia says of "deceitful men" (II.vii.72)--men NOT like her Proteus:

Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
-- II.vii.73-78

Uh, right.

And the act ends with her preparing to leave. And what a different world we have at the end of this act than we did at the beginning: Valentine, a believer in friendship, has gone from manly focus to love to intended elopement. Love struck Proteus has gone from Verona to Milan, fallen out of love with Julia, in "love" with Silvia, and out of friendship with Valentine, going so far as planning the betrayal of his friend. And poor Julia? She's embarking on a mission of love to a man who no longer loves her (one who says he "will forget Julia is alive" [II.vi.27]).

And, remember, this is a comedy.

Act One: Setting the Scene, Meeting the Gents

2010-03-03T12:29:00Z

Act One of The Two Gentlemen of Verona is a short one, just three scenes running a total of less than 400 lines. But in those 400 lines, we meet our main characters, see their personalities and priorities, kick off their story, meet one Gent's love, and get our first change in plot trajectory.

Act One, Scene One puts us firmly in our city of title, Verona, with our two main characters--the two Gents of the title--in the midst of a conversation (this would be one of those "quieter" openings). Valentine tells his "loving" friend Proteus to stop trying to "persuade" (both I.i.1) Valentine from trying to leave the city, from which he is departing to "see the wonders of the world abroad" (I.i.6). So Valentine is off to see the world; he would love for his friend to come along, but he understands that Proteus is staying behind because he "lov'st" (I.i.9) someone; Valentine, on the other hand, hasn't yet "to love begin" (I.i.10), and with no such entanglements of the heart, he is off to see the world.

There is some friendly and witty banter between the two on the respective merits of love. For Valentine (remember, he's the one who's yet to fall in love), "by love the young and tender wit // Is turned to folly" (I.i.47-48). And when Valentine leaves, Proteus admits to himself (and us) that love for his Julia has "made (him) neglect his studies, lose (his) time, // War with good counsel, set the world at nought" (I.i.67-68). So it seems that Valentine might be right about all this lovey-dovey stuff.

Proteus' musings, however, are interrupted by the entrance of Speed, Valentine's clownish servant, who is trailing his master on his way to the harbor for their trip to Milan.

[ignore the fact that both Verona and Milan are landlocked cities... ]

There is some sheep/shepherd wordplay that turns into some bawdiness when Speed refers to Proteus' love (to whom Speed has delivered a love letter from Proteus... thus causing Speed's ironic tardiness to his master) as a "laced mutton" (I.i.97), slang for a prostitute, later regarding her as a woman "hard as steel" (I.i.157). Proteus sends the clown on his way, and (alone again) muses on his muse's response to his letter: "I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, // Receiving them from such a worthless post" (I.i.147-148).

Act One, Scene Two transports us to Proteus' love Julia, and her waiting lady Lucetta. It appears Julia is quite the hot commodity, as she has many suitors, so many in fact, that she must ask Lucetta to give her opinion of them before she can choose the "worthiest" (I.ii.6). While the other suitors are noted with only passing interest, Proteus is "lovely" (I.ii.19), but also the cause of "folly" (I.ii.15).

[this is a recurring motif: love as folly]

Lucetta finds Proteus "best" (I.ii.21), but only because of her "woman's reason: // (She) think(s) him so because (she) think(s) him so" (I.ii.23-24). And while Julia does not share the opinion ("he, of all the rest, hath never moved" her [I.ii.27]), Lucetta thinks that Proteus "best loves" her (I.ii.28).

When Lucetta says that she has accepted a letter to her from Proteus (remember, delivered by Speed), Julia demands that Lucetta return the "wanton lines" (I.ii.42) to their sender, but once Lucetta is gone, Julia immediately rethinks her decision:

And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:
It were a shame to call her back again
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
-- I.ii.50-52

Julia does call Lucetta back and takes the letter, but later ends up tearing the letter, only then to piece together the letter, as Lucetta returns again. Julia may not know her own feelings, or if she does, she's trying to hide her feelings, but her lady Lucetta can see through her: "I see things too, although you judge I wink" (I.ii.139).

Act One, Scene Three takes us to the home of Antonio, Proteus' father. Antonio decides to send his son on a trip similar to Valentine's, as "he cannot become a perfect man, // Not being tried and tutored in the world" (I.iii.20-21). In fact, the plan is now to send Proteus to "the emperor" (I.iii.27) of Milan. where "Valentine... attends... his royal court" (I.iii.26-27). When Proteus enters with a letter, he is less than thrilled with the plan, first lying about the contents of the letter (Proteus claims it's from Valentine), then claiming that he "cannot be so soon provided" (I.iii.72) for a trip to Milan.

When left alone, however, we learn that the letter is from Julia, and that Proteus feared showing his father the letter "lest he should take exception to (Proteus') love" (I.iii.81). It appears that some time has elapsed since Act One, Scene Three; but more importantly, it seems that Antonio shares the same view of love as Valentine.

At least for now...

[ooooooh, foreshadowing...]

The Two Gentlemen of Verona: a preview

2010-03-02T12:27:00Z

As I dive for the first time into the pool that is The Two Gentlemen of Verona, a couple of quick notes/observations:

It's a short one. Not nearly as short as The Comedy of Errors (but then again, what is? uh, nothing). Shorter than last month's "comedy" Love's Labor's Lost or the other comedy (note the lack of quotes on that one) The Taming of the Shrew. Under two-thirds the length of Richard the Third.

Finding a nice bit of prose in the first scene (not to the extent of last month's play, but last month was pretty atypical). Also finding a lot less rhyme as well (compared to both last month and The Comedy of Errors... but I have a hunch that it will be around the same ratio as Taming).

The language is much less showy. Now this might be because of the speakers, but I'm thinking that this might be indicative of the play as a whole. And if that's the case, we may need to revisit this later in the month to discuss my error in placing the play this deep in the Project.

And I find myself chuckling already, particularly at the clown Speed... I've read, however, that he's just the hors d'oeuvres before the scene-stealing clown Launce later in the play... I'll have to wait and see.

Oh, and I don't think we're going to have to fret too much over the title... both Valentine and Proteus, our two gentlemen, are in Verona.

Looks like a reasonably quiet month ahead (though I hear there's a final scene incident that ranks up there with Kate's speech in Taming and the news of the King's death in Love's Labor's Lost, in terms of throwing a wrench in the works of an "easy" denouement)... but again, we'll just have to wait and see...

Let Another Month Begin!

2010-03-01T14:36:00Z

Greetings. Good Morning, Good Monday, Good March to all of you.

Yesterday (or rather Saturday) we said goodbye to Love's Labor's Lost ... today hello to The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Tomorrow, I have some quick (but not dirty) notes on the play, and hopefully Wednesday, we'll begin with some plot discussions.

Podcast 34: Love's Labor's Lost--A Mashed Up Wrap-Up

2010-02-28T13:57:00Z

This week's podcast is the conclusion of our month-long discussion of Love's Labor's Lost, including a little wrap-up, touch upon the writings of Harold Bloom about this play, and I'll play around with a mashed-up production concept. Then we'll do our usual recap of this week's blog entries.

DJEarWorm's United State of Pop 2009 (Blame It on the Pop) - Mashup of Top 25 Billboard Hits

Podcast Credits

This podcast was recorded using a Blue Snowball microphone onto a Dell XPS 400 computer, using Adobe Soundbooth recording and editing software.

The bumper music (Loop 90) and the segue music (Morning Show Segue) are courtesy of Royalty Free Music.com, which offers a comprehensive music library of production music for your various royalty free music needs including full albums, tracks and free music clips, loops, and beats available for download.

Losing the Labor of Love's: Wrap-Up

2010-02-27T13:44:00Z

Ah... Love's Labor's Lost. How to sum up? For those who've been following along this month, you probably know that I'm not a big fan of the ending of the play.

But like the last competitor in a judged competition, it's the last performance that sticks in the head.

[sorry for that subliminal Olympics reference... have. no. choice. am. slave. to. television. more. curling. please]

So despite the things I really like about the play:

the explosion of linguistic variety,
the wild bawdiness,
the self-mocking of the male lover stereotype;

it's the cruelty of that ending, coupled the thwarting of the romantic comedy's conventions (by the ending), that just kills my enjoyment of the play. Overall, I'd rate this at the bottom of the comedies, and almost the bottom of the Canon thus far (that First Part of Henry the Sixth still sits at the bottom of the barrel for me). For me to enjoy the play (in production), I'd need a way to play up the language and the bawdiness, and a way to play down -- WAY down -- the cruelty of that last scene, and I think that means some cuts and some warping of the language (in much the same way as Branagh did in his musical version of the play... a version that in hindsight is growing in its charm and enjoyment for me).

For those dying for some clips from the Branagh piece (as well as some from the 2009 touring production), we've put together a LLL YouTube playlist on our BSP page.

Sorry there's no other clips, but... there were no other clips.

Love's Labor's Lost by the Numbers: Overall

2010-02-26T12:39:00Z

Love's Labor's Lost

2665 total lines; shorter than average play, longer than average comedy (average play: 2777; average comedy: 2424)
At 360 and 914 lines, Act Four Scene Three and Act Five Scene Two are the longest of their kind in the Canon
Act One: 476 lines; shorter than average, sligntly shorter than average comedy (average play: 590, average history: 488)
Act Two: 257 lines; shortest second act in the Canon; shorter than average (average play: 568, average comedy: 495)
Act Three: 202 lines; shortest third act in the Canon; shorter than average (average play: 576, average comedy: 512)
Act Four: 671 lines; longer than average (average play: 563, average comedy: 460)
Act Five: 1059 lines; longest fifth act in the Canon; longer than average (average play: 480, average comedy: 471)
935 lines of prose (35.08% of total lines [as opposed to The Comedy of Errors: 13.31%, Titus Andronicus: 1.39%, The Taming of the Shrew: 20.82%, 1HenryVI: 0.37%, 2HenryVI: 16.64%, 3HenryVI: 0.14%, and Richard III: 2.89%])
272 rhyming lines (40.86% of total lines [as opposed to The Comedy of Errors: 20.10%, Titus Andronicus: 2.42%, The Taming of the Shrew: 3.93%, 1HenryVI: 9.79%, 2HenryVI: 3.16%, 3HenryVI: 5.37%, and Richard III: 7.55%]... but a whopping 62.95% of poetic lines [the previous leader was The Comedy of Errors at just over 23%])
only 9 scenes; tied with A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest for the fewest in the Canon); less than average (average play: 21; average comedy: 16)
only 19 characters (tied with The Comedy of Errors and As You Like It for the second lowest total in the Canon, behind only next month's The Two Gentlemen of Verona (17); less than average (average play: 36, average comedy: 22)

Numbers: Midpoint (that's so Ill)

2010-02-25T12:27:00Z

Using Professor Rodes' midpoint theory, let's take a look at Love's Labor's Lost.

There are 2665 lines in this play, which puts the midpoint at line 1333, which is 87 lines into Act Four, Scene Three.

[of course, there's so much prose in this play that the whole midpoint concept is problematic... but let's just go with it, shall we?]

So what is happening at this point in the play? This is the sequence in which Berowne comments on his fellows' poetry and confessions:

DUMAINE
Her amber hair for foul hath amber quoted.
BEROWNE [Aside]
An amber-colored raven was well noted.
DUMAINE
As upright as the cedar.
BEROWNE [Aside]
                         Stoop, I say--
Her shoulder is with child.
DUMAINE
                            As fair as day.
BEROWNE [Aside]
Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine.
DUMAINE
O that I had my wish!
LONGAVILLE [Aside]
                      And I had mine!
THE KING [Aside]
And I mine too, good Lord!
BEROWNE [Aside]
Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?
DUMAINE
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood and will remembered be.
BEROWNE [Aside]
A fever in your blood! Why, then incision
Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!
DUMAINE
Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.
BEROWNE [Aside]
Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.
DUMAINE
[Reads]
"On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air.
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, can passage find,
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish himself the heaven's breath.
-- IV.iii.83-104

In this scene, Berowne is our surrogate; from the beginning of the scene, he speaks to us, comments to us about the others. Here, we hear his commentary on Dumaine's waxing poetical about Katherine, puncturing the lover's blind adoration (amber/black, upright/stoop).

Dumaine says that he would forget his love, except that he has "a fever... in (his) blood." Berowne responds, saying that Dumaine should be bled, so that the illness could be released. This idea love as an illness is reinforced by Dumaine's doggerel, in which he speaks of "the lover, sick to death."

This concept reemerges in the last scene of the play, during the women's mocking of the now undisguised men, when Berowne says to Rosaline,

Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage. bear with me, I am sick.
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see--
Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes.
-- V.ii.417-422

Illness is not anything one can control; it seizes its victim, and the patient can either overcome the disease or will be overcome by it himself. While Berowne here says that he will "leave" the disease, he really has no control in the situation, save to deflect his own malady by pointing out the sickness of his friends.

Berowne and his fellows are past cure... and as we noted before this calls to mind Shakespeare's Sonnet 147:

147
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Love as illness (one past cure... leads to death... still-birth... an abortive ending)... yeah, this midpoint solidifies my view of the play.

In Love w/ Death: Labor=Birth & Lost=Death (the Countdown Edition)

2010-02-24T12:57:00Z

I shouldn't be surprised given the recurrent death images in Love's Labor's Lost, that the play ends without a classically comedic conclusion.

The imagery begins early, in the play's opening sentence:

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live registered upon our brazen tombs
And then grace us in the disgrace of death,
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
And make us heirs of all eternity.
-- I.i.1-7

In this opening line, the King sets forth the proposition that what he and his fellows are going to attempt will outface death, and give them eternal fame. As we latter learn, their goal is less than earth-shattering, and the concept of defeating death by studying for three years is laughable.

So why is it here? You would think that a play about learning (ostensibly) or love (more clearly) would fill its opening speech with imagery more befitting those subjects. But no. Why?

When Dumaine declares his support for the period of study and abstinence, he uses some interesting words: "My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified. ... To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, // With all these living in philosophy" (I.i.28, 31-32). Again, we have language that sets a sepulchral tone.

Another instance of interestingly deadly diction comes in Act Two, Scene One, when the Princess discusses the King's proclaimed oath with the monarch:

'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it.
-- II.i.105-106

She states that it would be a deadly sin to keep the oath, but only a sin to break it. In the Catholic Church, a mortal sin is one that will send the sinner to hell (if not confessed and absolved); it also must conform to three conditions:

A grave/serious matter
Committed with full knowledge
Committed with complete consent

To keep the oath, he would be doing it with full knowledge and consent. But serious matter? Is this because to keep the oath, to forswear women, would be to work against religious procreation. Is this what she's talking about? But why?

Is there a clue subtly tossed out in Act Two, Scene One, when the King responds to the communiqué that the Princess delivers from her father, the King of France:

Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but the one half of an entire sum
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say that he or we, as neither have,
Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,
Although not valued to the money's worth.
-- II.i.128-136

The central concept of the diplomatic mission is a repayment of funds that the King's "father" had disbursed in her father's recent wars. But neither "he" the father nor the current King received such funds. We have a King (and save for a few stage directions, and unnamed one at that). This king mentions a father; presumably, given the lineage of kings, that father would have been king at the time. So that king is dead (after all, you can't have two kings). Is the three-year period of study really a self-imposed period of mourning? The idea is intriguing... especially when the period of ascetic abstinence is one that is proclaimed throughout the land (a state-wide period of mourning?).

In Act Four, Scene Two's post-hunt scene, we get our next death reference, this time related to the type of animal killed by the Princess in the hunt. We learn the categorization of deer to be hunted (pricket, sore, sorel, buck), and though there is some confusion, Dull reiterates that the Princess killed a pricket, or a two year-old buck.

In Act Four, Scene Three, Dumaine's doggerel discussed "the lover, sick to death" (IV.iii.103), and Berowne in his admission of guilt to his fellows, says that they are "pickpurses in love, and ... deserve to die" (IV.iii.205). Love, for these melodramatists, brings death.

Not surprisingly, all is is prelude to the torrent of death references in the final scene of the play...

For the women, too, Love brings Death. Cupid had "killed (Katherine's) sister... (who) might ha' been a grandam ere she died" (V.ii.13,17), if she had been of a "merry... spirit" (IV.ii.16). In their world, love is melancholy.
The women, if asked to dance, "will not move a foot" "to the death" (V.ii both 146), even if it "kills the (man)'s heart" (V.ii.149).
Katherine advises Longaville to "die a calf" (V.ii.254) before he can become a man (and thus a cuckold), to which Longaville can only wish for some "word in private... ere (he) die(s)" (V.ii.255). (remember the alternate meaning of "die"... sexual orgasm)
During the mocking of the now undisguised men, Rosaline recounts the Russian who told her that he would "wed (her) or else die (her) lover" (V.ii.448); again Love brings Death.
When discussing the upcoming show of the Worthies, the Princess says,
That sport best pleases that doth least know how,
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.
-- V.ii.514-516
Here, zeal (or "ardent feeling or fervor (taking the form of love, wrath, ‘jealousy’, or righteous indignation" [Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM (v. 4.0)] kills the substance of the lover's sport or "Amorous dalliance or intercourse")... love kills itself.
When Mercade arrives from France, he brings news, news which the Princess can predict: the King of France is "Dead, for (her) life!" (V.ii.711)
The Princess announces that for one year, she will "shut // (Her) woeful self up ... For the remembrance of (her) father's death" (V.ii.797-798, 800).
The King realizes that he cannot deny the Princess' year of mourning, or "the sudden hand of death (will) close up (his) eye!" (V.ii.805).
Berowne declares that "To move wild laughter in the throat of death... is impossible" (V.ii.839-840).

So what to make of all this death in a comedy?

Three years study and abstinence.
The killing of a two year-old male deer.
One year of mourning.

The time periods stated all move closer to zero. What is the zero point of time, of life? Birth?

What if the "labor" of the title is not work and toil, but rather "the pains and efforts of childbirth" (OED)? Is the lost labor a still-birth, a death before there is life? In a sense, the play is still-born. Is this why this comedy ends not like a comedy at all?

Rods and Mockers

2010-02-23T12:18:00Z

For those who've been keeping up, you know how I feel about the ending of Love's Labor's Lost.

But in the last week, I've kept thinking to myself,

"That last scene... maybe it's not as cruel as I read it the first time. Maybe I was just grumpy that day. Maybe I'm missing something."

As I re-read the scene, I noticed that "mock" (in one form or another) appears a whopping 17 times in that last scene. So I checked out my old friend, the Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM [v. 4.0]... and sure, enough, I WAS missing something: "mock" has multiple meanings. The usual, modern, expected meaning is there: "To hold up to ridicule; to deride; to assail with scornful words or gestures." But there's another meaning as well: "To jest, trifle; to make sport."

So I dove back into the scene again, to see if the use of mock could conform to that second meaning, and if this then could color the women's actions and words into something softer, more fun, less hurtful.

[uh, not so much.]

After the Princess talks to her ladies about the favors they've received from the men, laughing at the poems, she says, "We are wise girls to mock our lovers so" (V.ii.58). Here, the "jest"-ing definition might be at play, especially if we take "wise" to mean NOT the usual "exercising sound judgment" (OED), but rather the additional meaning "clever" (OED). Of course, in the next line, Rosaline answers (in rhyme) the Princess' statement with "They are worse fools to purchase mocking so" (V.ii.59), and this negates any connotation of jest: the mirror of "worse" to the Princess' "wise" is bad enough; the mirror of "fools" to "girls" is worse; and to say the men have "purchase(d)" the mocking, makes it pretty clear that we're not talking jokes here, but ridicule.

When the word is used again, it is by the Princess just before the entrance of the Muscovites. She states,

The effect of my intent is to cross theirs.
They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mocked withal
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages displayed, to talk and greet.
-- V.ii.138-144

She states that -- for lack of a better term -- she wants to mess with the men, toy with and defeat their intentions. She claims that the men are doing all this "in mocking merriment" (V.ii.139); and here, again, she is using the more "jest"-ing meaning. She intends to match them "mock for mock" (V.ii.140), jest for jest. She uses the term again when she declares what she intends to do upon their undisguised return: "mocked withal" (V.ii.142). Here, however, it seems that the meaning is turning from joking to ridicule again.

A few lines later, she states that the women will refuse to dance and turn their backs on the men when they speak. Boyet notes that this "kill the speaker's heart" (V.ii.149) and make him forget what he was going to say. She responds,

Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
To make theirs ours and ours none but our own.
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
And they, well mocked, depart away with shame.
-- V.ii.151-156

She states that "kill(ing)" the men's hearts is exactly the goal she is trying to achieve. It certainly feels now that we have moved from "jest" and "sport" to pure "ridicule." It's interesting that she even uses "sport" in this speech: "There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown."

And just what does "sport" mean?

Pleasant pasttime, entertainment or amusement
Pastime afforded by the endeavor to take or kill wild animals, game, or fish
Amorous dalliance or intercourse.
A matter affording entertainment, diversion, or mirth; a jest or joke.
An object or subject of amusement, diversion, jesting, mirth, etc.; a laughing-stock, plaything, toy.
A theatrical performance or show; a play.

So in a sense, she is saying there is no more "pleasant pasttime" than an "amorous dalliance" that is overthrown by "the endeavor to take or kill wild animals, game." She's going to have a great time, toying with the men's loving attempts by "killing" the their hearts. If it is interesting that she uses "sport" in the speech, then it's doubly interesting that she also uses both "kill" and "game" in the speech, as well. She will "mock.. (the) intended game," the men, and then they--having been "well mocked"--will have to leave in shame. We are certainly out of the more jovial meaning of "mock" now.

As we noted in our earlier discussion of the final scene, it seems that all of this mean-spiritedness has an effect on Boyet, who no longer enjoys the women's words and actions, discounting their worth ("no richer than rich taffeta" [V.ii.159]) and forcing them to do their own linguistic dirty work ("She hears herself" [V.ii.196]). If the mocking was merely jokes, there would be no need to call attention to it; however, both Longaville and Boyet make specific mention of the women's words--"these sharp mocks" (V.ii.252) and "The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen // As is the razor's edge" (V.ii.257-258). (I find fascinating that this last speech of Boyet also includes mention of weapons--arrows and bullets--because that's what the women's mocking has become)

Once the Muscovites have left, the women refuse Boyet's suggestion of now using words like "sweet roses in the summer air" (V.ii.294), in favor of Rosaline's plan to "mock them still" (V.ii.302). While I would like to see a less cruel avenue for performance, I'm sad to say that if we do not cut the text extensively (as Branagh did in his film adaptation, gutting much of the planned cruelty, and instead having the scene played through the women's giggling), then there is no avoiding the female cruelty.

(NOTE: this is not to say that the men are blameless: as I re-read the scene, I find the mocking of the show of the Worthies almost exclusively done by the men, and it is also filled with ridicule, rather than just jest. But one has to ask the question: is their cruelty their own, or does it stem from their frustration over their treatment by the ladies? in that case, aren't the women being just as cruel to the performance as the men?)

Just before the show of the Worthies, however, there are two moments -- poetically speaking -- that give hopes for an end to this mot-so-merry war. There are two sonnets (the form of a classic love poem) embedded in the dialogue. The first is shared between the King and the Princess:

KING
We came to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.
PRINCESS
This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:
Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.
KING
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
PRINCESS
You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke;
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest;
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
-- V.ii.344-357

Despite the King's desire to welcome the women to his court, and his flattering assertion that it was the virtue of the Princess' eye that provoked him to break his earlier vow, the Princess in relentless in her attack:

Neither God, nor she, "delights in perjured men" such as the King
The King is not a man of virtue but of vice
In comparison to the King, she has an honor "as pure // As the unsullied lily," a flower symbolic of purity itself

[I find it interesting this use of lily: it is also the "heraldic fleur-de-lis, esp. with reference to the arms of the old French monarchy" (OED)... she is the Princess of FRANCE. We have seen in earlier (history) plays Shakespeare's anti-French stance... is this a subtle clue to tell us that maybe we shouldn't like these women?]

Later, when Berowne is stating his case of love for Rosaline, he says,

O, never will I trust to speeches penned,
Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue,
Nor never come in vizard to my friend,
Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song!
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical--these summer-flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove (how white the hand, God knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be expressed
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench--so God help me, law!--
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
-- V.ii.403-416

The women have scorned the men for their foolishness ("dry-beaten with pure scoff" [V.ii.264]). And now, in confession of his own foolishness--a confession to both the ladies and himself--Berowne renounces the foolish things that love has provoked him to do:

memorizing speeches ("speeches penned")
babbling like a youth ("a schoolboy's tongue"... and remember that it was Berowne, way back in the first scene, that told the King that they were much too old to be playing the role of schoolboys: "to study now it is too late" [I.i.108])
using a mask ("come in vizard")
write poetry ("woo in rhyme"... ironically, in the midst of a sonnet!)
let language run amok ("taffeta phrases, silken terms...hyperboles...figures pendantical" ... there is irony piled on irony here: Boyet described the women as "no richer than rich taffeta" [V.ii.159]... and this from the man who is the recognized king of words... especially as he says that this wild use of language has "blown [him] full of maggot ostentation" [talk about your disturbingly extended metaphoric hyperbole])

He declares that he will only use plain words ("russet yeas and kersey noes") to state his love, and then proclaims that his love for Rosaline is "sound, sans crack or flaw." The door is open for acceptance. But Rosaline refuses, mocking him still: "Sans 'sans' I pray you" (V.ii.417).

Berowne's "wit is at an end" (V.ii.431).

I know how he feels. I tried to see the lighter side in the women's mockery, tried to see it as jest rather than ridicule. But the text just doesn't support it. The women's "courtesy // Might well have made our sport a comedy" (V.ii.859-860), Berowne concludes. He understands they've been fools. He understands that they've been playing in a mere "pleasant pasttime, entertainment or amusement" or "jest or joke" (sport: OED). He also understands that the only thing keeping that entertainment from being a comedy, one in which we have a conclusion of marriage or union, is the women's "courtesy" or "graceful politeness or considerateness in intercourse with others" (OED). But there is no courtesy; there is only mockery... and thus, no comedy, no union, no happy ending.

In a sense, Berowne steps out of the play at this point, either as a critic or an audience member: his use of "sport" has an additional meaning, remember: "A theatrical performance or show; a play" (OED). Like Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream or the Chorus in Henry V, Berowne realizes what he is in, and comments upon it to us, the audience, his peers. We are his peers because we, too, were foolish to think that this could end as a comedy. It was never meant to be... not when the women are as cruel as these.

Greasy Lips: Me So Horny For You Bawdy

2010-02-22T13:03:00Z

[NOTE: this is a slightly altered version of yesterday's podcast... as it concerns the bawdiness of this month's play, you are forewarned that this blog entry will contain mature subject matter, adult language, and adolescent humor... skip to tomorrow’s entry, if you might be offended...]

As we've done with just about every play, we're going to get down and dirty with this month's comedy, Love's Labor's Lost... We are going to dive deep into the double entendres, single entendres, and just plain sh!t and f#ck jokes. Soooooo. How do we do this? We could categorize the bawdy humor and do sections on penis, vagina, defecation, sex, upskirt, adultery, and masturbation jokes (and yes, ladies and germs, there are jokes for each of those categories... in the words of Bette Davis in All About Eve, "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night"... or in this case, a bumping and grinding night). Sure, we could do it using that categorizing method, but I think we're better off take the naughty bits in sequence, because -- you know -- smut out of context is just foul language.

But before we begin, I must give props to three books that have been invaluable in my diving into the cesspool of linguistic porn:

Eric Partridge's book, Shakespeare's Bawdy (Partridge, Eric. Shakespeare's Bawdy. New York: Routledge, 2008)
Pauline Kiernan's Filthy Shakespeare (Kiernan, Pauline. Filthy Shakespeare. New York: Gotham, 2008)
and of course Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM [v. 4.0])

Allrightythen. Love's Labor's Lost. A play about study and abstinence, at least for the first 200 lines. But even with that beginning, there seems to be a sexual energy pent up and ready to explode. And explode it does, early and often.

In Act One, Scene One, the constable Dull arrives with Costard and the letter from Armado. Berowne asks what the matter (subject) of the letter is, and Costard responds:

The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.
BEROWNE
In what manner?
COSTARD
In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is "in manner and form following." Now, sir, for the manner, it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman.
-- I.i.197-205

Costard plays with the words "manner," "manor," and "mainour"... and the speech scans something like this:

The "nature" (manner; OED) of the matter is that I was taken with the "stolen item" (mainour; OED).

Berowne, that master of words, goes along with the river of meanings: In what method (manner; OED)?

And then Costard, sensing that he has a kindred spirit with whom to play, unleashes a masterpiece: In the (il)legal way ("manner and form" was used many legal documents, such as wills; OED). I was seen with her in the manor, or "mansion" (OED)
[and any Freudian tangent you want to go on... go right ahead, I'll wait here, but as I wait, I just want to remind you (or foreshadow, depending on your Shakespeare experience) of Juliet's statement that she has bought "the mansion of love"... which Partridge describes as "the human body as the vehicle of love's physical activities" (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 188), as opposed to "temple" which is more spiritual.. but I digress]
Costard has also been caught sitting with her on the "window-frame" (form; OED... though an additional meaning of "form" is "liveliness" [OED]... and you can see how that might be taken in a bawdy direction), and taken following her into the park (to be "taken with a wench" means to have been caught having sex with her; Shakespeare's Bawdy, 257),
[and any park/bush allusions you'd like to make... like I said, go right ahead]
and Costard continues that when you take all three together, is the "legal way of looking at it" (manner and form again; he knows he's broken the law... of course, "in the mainour" also meant caught "in the act of doing something unlawful, 'in flagrante delicto'" so to speak [OED]). Now, sir, for "how" (the manner) I was doing it, it was in the manner or method that a man uses to speak to (or interact with) a woman.
[and of course, it would not be out of the question to add to the possible puns here: to "man" her... the verb "man" having many meanings including "to escort," "to furnish with a rider," and "to fill up with men" (OED) or at least sailors... you know, semen hehheh hehheh]

At the close of this discussion, the King asks Costard if he had heard the proclamation of the celibacy law:

COSTARD
I do confess much of the hearing it but little of the marking of it.
KING
It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, to be taken with a wench.
COSTARD
I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a damsel.
KING
Well, it was proclaimed 'damsel.'
COSTARD
This was no damsel, neither, sir; she was a virgin.
KING
It is so varied, too; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.'
COSTARD
If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.
KING
This 'maid' will not serve your turn, sir.
COSTARD
This maid will serve my turn, sir.
-- I.i.271-283

The repeated use of "taken" makes clear that Costard was caught in the act of having sex with Jaquenetta; Costard only tries to use descriptors of Jaquenetta to weasel his way out of the situation. By the time he uses the term "maid," the King has lost all patience and tells him that the word "maid" won't help him here (serve his turn), but Costard wittily responds, that "oh, yeah, she'll serve my purpose," which of course is sex.

Before we leave Act One, let's take a look at a different kind of bawdy humor: the classic poop joke. In Act One, Scene Two, Armado is dealing with Costard, and sends him away:

ARMADO
Take away this villain; shut him up.
MOTH
Come, you transgressing slave; away!
COSTARD
Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose.
MOTH
No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.
-- I.ii.146-151

Armado calls for Costard to be imprisoned ("shut up"), but Costard doesn't want to be "pent up," which not only means imprisoned, but constipated, as well. Costard is willing, however, to fast or starve, since he is currently "being loose" (either free, or having loose bowels). Moth then responds that would make Costard "fast and loose" (or a cheater in the Elizabethan vernacular [OED]), and thus he will need to go to prison. By the way, as you'll see, we're not done with excrement humor quite yet.

In Act Two, Scene One, when the King meets the Princess, he explains that he cannot take her to the palace:

KING
Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.
PRINCESS
Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.
KING
Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.
PRINCESS
Why, will shall break it; will and nothing else.
-- II.i.97-100

The King will not foreswear or break his oath, he says, "by his will" ("willingly" OED). The Princess responds by telling him that only "will" can break the oath, that "will" being sexual desire (OED).

[and we're back to sex]

When Berowne meets Rosaline, he uses the oldest pick-up line in the world: "Haven't we met somewhere before?" ... only his is filled with a double entendre.

BEROWNE
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
-- II.i.114

Now, two things are at work here: first, the word "dance" ... the phrase "dance with one's heels" can be found in Much Ado About Nothing to denote the woman tapping her heel against the footboard of the bed to the rhythm of the sex she's having, matching her partner's thrusts (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 115). OK, even with that, making this line overtly bawdy is still a bit of a stretch. But let's look at where this dancing took place: Brabant. And where, you might ask, is Brabant? Why, the Low Countries. Why, yes, the Netherlands. The regions down below, or "earthly" (OED). OK, so now the bawdiness doesn't seem like such a stretch, does it? So Berowne asks, "Hey, didn't we bone once?"

ROSALINE
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
BEROWNE
I know you did.
ROSALINE
How needless was it then
To ask the question!
-- II.i.115-117

So it does appear that they do have a sexual history.

[does this explain Rosaline's cruel mockery of Berowne and her refusal to stop mocking any of the men? and if so, does this also relate to Rosaline as a representation of the Dark Lady of the Sonnets?]

At this point, Pauline Kiernan, in her book Filthy Shakespeare, takes us on a ride (pun intended) that even I have problems buying.

BEROWNE
You must not be so quick.
[Kiernan takes this to mean "you should not quickly turned on"]
ROSALINE
'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions.
[This would mean "it's because you keep pricking me with your probings."]
BEROWNE
Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.
[Kiernan interprets this as "your pussy is too hot, you come too quickly, and you and it will be worn out." Here, I think Kiernan goes off the deep end.]
ROSALINE
Not till it leave the rider in the mire.
-- II.i.117-120

Kiernan takes this to mean: "Not till it leave the one who's mounted me in the shit." Of course, if Kiernan is willing to go that far, why isn't she willing to take that one extra step to bring in anal sex as well (i.e., "not until you fucked me in the pussy and in the ass as well"). Like I said, I'm not sure I buy everything Kiernan is selling here.

[but it does make me feel like less of a perv when someone else is willing and able to go even further than my dirty ol' mind]

Allrightythen, back to the King and the Princess. As they are saying their not-so-tender goodbyes, the Princess says to the King, "Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace" (II.i.177). Consort not only meant "attend" (which is the nice surface meaning here), but also "to have sex with" (both OED). In a sense, the princess is telling the King, "Screw you." His response tells us that the message has been received and returned to sender: "Thy own wish wish I in every place" (II.i.178). No, dear princess, he seems to say, screw YOU AND in every hole.

Once the men have left, and the women begin to discuss the men, the Princess says that she would have liked to have heard Boyet (one of her attendant lords) battle it out verbally with Berowne.

BOYET
I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
MARIA
Two hot sheeps, marry.
BOYET
                       And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
MARIA
You sheep, and I pastor: shall that finish the jest?
BOYET
So you grant pasture for me.
MARIA
                            Not so, gentle beast:
My lips are no common, though several they be.
BOYET
Belonging to whom?
MARIA
                   To my fortunes and me.
-- II.i.217-223

Boyet says that he was as willing to have that verbal spar as Berowne was to "board." Now since "board" has more than just the "get on-board a ship" meaning, and also can refer to "having sex" (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 86), Maria jumps on this meaning and calls for the two sheep. I suppose this is so that both Boyet and Berowne can screw the horny sheep. Boyet demurs, claiming the cleaner, naval, meaning; the sheep are only necessary if they take her "saucy talk" instead of his nicer meaning (feeding on her lips). Maria then relents a little, now calling Boyet the sheep and herself the pastor or shepherd. She asks if that will finish their spat. Boyet asks if she will be his feeding ground, since he is the sheep and she the pasture (homonym for "pastor") or grazing lands. Now it's Maria's turn to back away, saying that her lips are not a common area, but private (and depending on which pair of lips she's talking about, they could be VERY private, if you know what I mean... and I think you do... or if you don't, think lower...). Her use of "several" could mean either "separate" (as distinct from the rest of her), "having their own responsibility" (her speech), or "parted" (all OED). Hmmmm, parted private lips... If her lips aren't common or shared, Boyet asks, who do they belong to? She says her lips, either pair, belong just to herself.

In Act Three, Scene One, Moth refers to Armado's love as either a "hobbyhorse," a "colt" or a "hackney" (III.i.27, 28, 29, respectively). All of which refer to either prostitutes or wanton women (Shakespeare's Bawdy). When Costard enters, we get a flashback to our poop joke of the first Act: Armado tells Costard that the Spaniard is setting him free, where he had been "immured" and "bound" (III.i.121, 122). Costard responds that it's true, Armado will be his "purgation" (III.i.123) or enema (OED), and will "let him loose" (III.i.124), and thus, free to poop.

Later in the scene, when Berowne bemoans his state, it's the little things in his speech that belie his impure love... he talks of "plackets ... (and) codpieces" (III.i.181), the first a slit in a petticoat, symbolizing a vagina; the second, well it's a cod piece, and we're not talking fish here, it's the clothing equivalent of a penis.

[cod, interestingly enough, is actually more a reference to the scrotum than the penis (OED)... ]

Berowne also speaks of "paritors" (III.i.183), who were ecclesiastical or church court officers who uncovered sexual acts or offenses. And finally, he speaks of the object of his ~~affection~~, er LUST: "a whitely wanton... one that will do the deed" (III.i.193, 195). Yep, if the use of the noun wanton wasn't explicit enough, he spells it out by using "do the deed"... in other words, have sex.

Act Four, Scene One. We can skip that one... nothing to see there... riiiiiiiight..... nothing to see save the most openly salacious sequence I've seen in Shakespeare so far. Are you ready?

I thought you were...

OK, the sequence in question (IV.i.118-140) comes right after the hunt. After some banter back and forth between Boyet and Rosaline about cuckoldry (and her future in it), Maria is astounded

MARIA
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Maria can't believe that Boyet continues to try to argue with Rosaline, when she has talked about his brow (the area where a cuckold's horns grow). But Boyet responds,
BOYET
But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
"Hit" here has two meanings. The first is strike, as in hitting the mark in archery, and -- though there's a genitalia reference here (hitting lower) -- it is probably this meaning that Boyet uses. Rosaline, however, takes it to the other meaning.
ROSALINE
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as
touching the hit it?
Here, "hit" is slang for "sex with a woman" (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 154), the "hit it" would be the pussy or vaginal sex (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 155). The age old reference is that as long as there've been men around, there's been "hitting it" (or possibly fingering it). Boyet responds in kind:
BOYET
So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Boyet may just be playing tit for tat here, no pun intended, but he might also be saying that since there have been women, they've been fingering themselves. Rosaline then begins a bawdy song (and dance) of the time:
ROSALINE
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
BOYET
An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.
In a sense, Rosaline is saying "you can't touch this" ... or in today's vernacular "you can't tap that." But Boyet responds, and here you need to remember that "an" means "if": IF I can't touch or tap that, someone else can.
At this point Rosaline leaves, but the double entendres don't end there.
COSTARD
By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!
Costard has enjoyed the banter, and how they have "harmonized" (OED) on their verbal intercourse. It's a fairly clean line, but not after Maria is done...
MARIA
A mark marvelous well shot, for they both did hit it.
According to Maria, Rosaline's pussy was a target well shot at ("a mark marvelous well shot), because they both did hit it; in a sense, climaxing together, simultaneously--verbally speaking, of course.
BOYET
A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
A target, Boyet says, check out ("mark") that target. Let the target have an "arrow" (prick; OED) in it, to measure it. And that can be seen WAY more bawdily as: Look at that pussy. Let the pussy have a cock in it to "measure" (mete; OED) it, to sound its depth as it were. Also, just for fun, consider that an alternate meaning for mete is "to paint" (OED). Paint it, white perhaps.
MARIA
Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.
She's claiming that he's missing to the left (the bow is usually held in the left hand); so Boyet's hand must be out of practice.
[are they shooting arrows at this point, and are Costard and Boyet just riffing dirtily?]
COSTARD
Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
Costard now jumps into the double-entendre-fest, saying Boyet/he ("a'") must get closer to the target or he won't hit the "pin in the center of the target" (clout; OED); of course, to follow the others into the cesspool of bawdy/bodily fluids, Costard also means that he's got to get closer before shooting his wad, otherwise, he'll never hit her vagina with his ejaculate (is this connected to the mete as "paint" reference?).
BOYET
An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
Boyet ignores Costard's comment to go back to Maria's, saying that if his hand is out of practice, then hers is expert. And if he's talking about manipulation here, then what he's saying is if his hand is not on her pussy, it's because her hand is already there, masturbating herself.
COSTARD
Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
Costard gets to his own punch line: she will win the game (get the upshoot) by splitting the arrow in the center of the target ("cleaving the pin"...think of all those Robin Hood movies); of course, the underlying meaning is that she'll win the contest by getting her lover off first (getting the upshot) by squeezing his cock hard in her hand ("cleave" also meant "to grasp" [OED]).
MARIA
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
For some reason, now Maria finds that this has gone too far, and accuses them of talking dirty. Could it be that Maria has been oblivious to all the sexual spiel that had come before?
COSTARD
She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.
Costard turns his attention to Boyet, referencing pricks, both in the sense of an informal game of archery and of cocks themselves. The rustic clown tells the lord that Maria is far better than Boyet at archery, and he should ask her to bowl instead. The bowls game he speaks of has obstacles (or rubs) that are put in the path of the balls (OED). So Costard is also saying, she's too difficult to screw, ask her to jerk ("rub") you off instead.
BOYET
I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.
Boyet's final response is a refusal of mere masturbation ("too much rubbing"). He references the owl, a night bird, one whose name is onomonapaeic for "hole", or in this case the vagina. Boyet obviously doesn't want the hand, he wants the real thing.

See what I mean about this being one of the dirtiest sections in Shakespeare?

[wow... after this scene, anything else will seem... well, anti-climatic, so to speak...]

In the next scene (Act Four, Scene Two), we get a bit of unintentional sex humor (at least, I think it's unintentional by the speakers): Nathaniel tells Holofernes that the daughters of his parishioners "profit very greatly under" (IV.ii.74) the schoolmaster, who is a "good member of the commonwealth" (IV.ii.75 ... or is that HAS a good member?). Holofernes responds by saying, "If the daughters are capable, I will put it to them" (IV.ii.77-78)... of course, I think HE thinks he's talking about "capable of learning" and "giving them knowledge" (as opposed to we pervs in the audience, who hear "capable of having sex" and "giving them the ol’ sausage injection").

In Act Four, Scene Three, when the King's men are teasing Berowne for Rosaline's blackness, Longaville takes off his shoe and says that the black of his shoe is the same as the black of her face. Berowne responds that if the road was paved with Longaville's eyeballs, her feet are so dainty that she would not squish them. But Dumaine is horrified:

O, vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walked overhead.
-- IV.iii.276-277

If the road were paved with eyes, he says, it would be vile to look up her skirt to see her vagina.

We get a couple more bawdy references in the final scene of Act Five, Scene Two:

Rosaline talks of "do(ing) it still i' th' dark" (V.ii.24); Katherine responds that Rosaline is a "light" (or promiscuous) wench to speak of sex (V.ii.25).

Later, when a disguised Rosaline tells a disguised King that she has changed her mind because she is like the moon, the King responds, "Yet still she is the moon, and I the man" (V.ii.216); he is the man IN the moon. He thinks he'll have a part of him inside her soon. When she refuses to dance, he asks her to talk, and when she says, "In private then," he completes her line in an antilabe lustfully, "I am best pleased with that" (V.ii.230).

When Longaville and Katherine talk (V.ii.248-255), she puns on his name:
KATHARINE
Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?
Longa VEAL, get it.
LONGAVILLE
A calf, fair lady?
KATHARINE
No, a fair lord calf.
LONGAVILLE
Let's part the word.
He says, "Let's get rid of the word calf... or half of it."
KATHARINE
No, I'll not be your half
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
She responds by saying she won't be his wife (or better half... what's left after the parting or dividing of the word "calf" ... half of calf is "alf"--a homonym for "half") ; instead, she tells him to take all of the word "calf," and raise it to adulthood ("wean it"), it might grow into something strong, like an ox.
LONGAVILLE
Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
He says that she insults herself by saying that he'll be an ox because an ox has horns, horns are signs of a cuckold, and that would make her adulterous.
KATHARINE
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Then, she says, he should die before be becomes a man and is inevitably cuckolded (the implication is that all men are cuckolded).
LONGAVILLE
One word in private with you, ere I die.
But he wants some private time with her before he dies. Remember that in Shakespeare's day "to die" had an alternate meaning of "experiencing an sexual orgasm" (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 118).

Later, during the show of the Worthies, Armado tells the Princess that he adores her "sweet grace's slipper" (V.ii.659). Boyet responds, "Loves her by the foot,-- " (V.ii.660). This seems innocent enough. But remember Boyet's a Frenchman. "Foot" in English sounds like "foutre" in French. And what does foutre mean? "To fuck" (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 138), of course. Dumaine then says, "He may not by the yard" (V.ii.661). Dumaine may or may not get the French joke, but his mind is in the gutter as well: "yard" was slang for penis (OED)... in fact, yard was the defacto slang for penis until the mid 1800s when it was supplanted by cock, prick and tool (Shakespeare's Bawdy, 290).

Finally, we get the songs at the end, in which the Spring's "cuckoo" (V.ii.881) soundalike for cuckold) mocking married men (V.ii.882) for being cheated on.

So there we have it... a boatload (or would that be buttload) of bawdy references in the play. While we can always find SOMEthing dirty in these plays, I am astounded at the depth and relative depravity in this one. Wonderfully ironic given the opening oath of celibacy and virtuous study.

It this Shakespeare's way of saying, if you can't actually have sex, you're gonna think about it and most likely talk about it, too?

All I know, is THANK GOD this isn't taught in high school... you'd have parents all in an uproar... and the kids all sneaking the Bard out of the library.

now that I think of it... maybe we should teach this one...

Podcast 33: Love's Labor's Lost--Bawdy Bawdy Bawdy (The RESTRICTED “greasy lipped” Episode)

2010-02-21T14:25:00Z

This week's podcast is a continuation of our month-long discussion of Love's Labor's Lost, focusing on the bawdy humor in the play.

NOTE: This podcast contains mature subject matter and adult language (as well as adolescent humor and naughty bits, lots of naughty bits)... SO, if you're easily offended, you might want to skip this one and wait until next week's podcast, a return to safe-and-sane discussions.

Then we'll finish up with our usual recap of this week's blog entries.

Related texts:

Shakespeare's Bawdy by Eric Partridge

Filthy Shakespeare by Pauline Kiernan

Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM [v. 4.0]

Podcast Credits

This podcast was recorded using a Blue Snowball microphone onto a Dell XPS 400 computer, using Adobe Soundbooth recording and editing software.

The bumper music (Loop 90 AND Loop 5) and the segue music (Morning Show Segue) are courtesy of Royalty Free Music.com, which offers a comprehensive music library of production music for your various royalty free music needs including full albums, tracks and free music clips, loops, and beats available for download.

A Bone to Pick? Well, Duh...

2010-02-20T12:38:00Z

Back in November, when I saw the Shakespeare's Globe touring production of Love's Labor's Lost up in Santa Barbara (short review // full review in podcast), I mentioned that in the critical press, some balked at the edit of the play, complaining that the (pre-intermission) first half runs all the way to the end of Act Four.

Well, I usually like it when the intermission takes place somewhere between the halfway point and the two-thirds point of the play (as long as it feels organic to the plot and pacing of the play as a whole). Anything before the midpoint, and you're making the audience work harder in that second half when play-fatigue may be setting in; anything later, and "what's the point?" the play was going to end soon anyway.

And the end of Act Four? Well, it's about 60% of the way through the text. So that works for me. And for organically dramatic pause? Act Four ends with the men's decision to abandon their oath, woo and win the women, and provide "some entertainment for them in their tents" (IV.iii.347). And that works REALLY well.

[makes me wonder if these critics have ever read the play, or only some kind of Cliffs Notes summary of what happens in every scene, not realizing that the fifth act is a MONSTER in length...]