The Bill / Shakespeare Project [dot] com

Podcast 36: The Two Gentlemen of Verona -- Pop Culture Edition

bill-w — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 14:13:00 GMT

This week's podcast is a continuation of our month-long discussion of The Two Gentlemen of Verona, including DVD reviews of both the BBC Complete Works production and the 1998 romantic comedy Shakespeare in Love, and a review of the soundtrack to the 1971 stage musical version; plus, we'll do our usual recap of this week's blog entries.

The Bill / Shakespeare Project YouTube page, with selections from the 2005 revival of the musical Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Errata:
5:09 -- Text should be "familiar to" instead of "familiar with"

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 movie sound clips are from the film Shakespeare in Love, released on December 3, 1998, by Miramax Films and Universal Pictures, available at Amazon.com.

The clips from the songs "Summer, Summer", "I'd Like to Be a Rose", "Bring All the Boys Back Home", "Night Letter", "Love Me", and "Exit Music" are from the album "Two Gentlemen of Verona [Cast Recording][Original Recording Remastered][Soundtrack]" by the 1971 Original Broadway Cast, released on CD on May 14, 2002, by Decca Broadway, available at the iTunes store and Amazon.com.
http://www.deccabroadway.com/

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.

In the Name of Clowns and Dogs (Part One, the Speed-y edition)

bill-w — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 12:48:00 GMT

In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, we have two clowns of note, Speed and Launce, the servants of Valentine and Proteus, respectively. These two characters, besides having different "masters," also have very different types of clownish behavior.

Speed (whose name not only means the modern "quickness," but also "abundance", "power, might", and "success, prosperity" [Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM (v. 4.0)]), is the kind of clown for whom interaction is crucial; his comedy comes from witty asides and banter.

In his first appearance in the play's opening scene, he trades quips with Proteus after delivering a letter to Julia's woman (and thus delaying his arrival at the "harbor" for his master Valentine's departure to Milan). While this conversation is without asides (as it's just he and Proteus on stage), there's no want of wit:

SPEED
Twenty to one then he is shipped already,
And I have played the sheep in losing him.
PROTEUS
Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be a while away.
-- I.i.72-75

It begins simply enough, with a pun by Speed "sheep" for "shipped" ... because his master has "shipped" or left, Speed has "played the sheep" and is lost. Proteus agrees, saying that a sheep will often stray when the shepherd's away. But Speed questions the analogy, and later attempts to prove to Proteus that in actuality it is Speed who is the shepherd and Valentine who is the sheep:

SPEED
The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me: therefore I am no sheep.
PROTEUS
The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.
SPEED
Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'
-- I.i.86-93

When Proteus answers with a sheep/shepherd analogy of his own, Speed is ready to end the conversation (saying that if Proteus can continue to answer Speed's theses, then Speed will have to capitulate and admit his sheep-position). But when Proteus instead asks if Speed has delivered his letter to Julia, Speed sees (and seizes upon) another opportunity to extend the livestock metaphor: "Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labor" (I.i.96-98). Again, the clown Speed begins with a pun: "lost mutton" (himself) for "laced mutton" (Julia) ... and the key here is connotation of "laced mutton": a prostitute. And there begins a fairly bawdy exchange; we'll discuss this to a greater extent later in the month, but suffice to say some of the words used have both clean and not-so-clean meanings ("stick her" ... "noddy" ... "stones").

When we next see Speed, he's in Milan with his master and the two banter on Valentine's newly found lover status... with Speed perfectly describing a man in love:

you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malecontent; 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. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
-- II.i.18-31

It's a perfect (and perfectly comic) cataloging of love's outward shows; it's also interesting that Speed uses the verb "metamorphosed" near the end... it mirrors Proteus' use of the verb just before their banter of the opening scene ("Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me" [I.i.66]).

[is this a clue to the director that Speed's entrance should come a few lines earlier than the stage direction (I.i.69 following), so that Speed can hear this line?]

In this scene, however, it's not just Speed's comical description of Valentine that is the mark of the clown; so, too, is his playful banter with his master:

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.
VALENTINE
Belike, boy, then, you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
SPEED
True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.
-- II.i.66-80

Speed teases Valentine, saying his master cannot see his mistress, as "Love is blind," and if he can see, then he should see his "own present folly and (Silvia's) passing deformity." When Valentine attempts to retort that Speed must be in love as well, since he could not see (remember) to wipe Valentine's shoes yesterday morning, Speed doesn't miss a beat: he simply responds that Valentine is right--Speed WAS in love... in love with his bed.

When Silvia arrives on the scene, we see Speed move into yet another kind of clownish behavior: the witty aside to the audience commenting on the actions of the other characters on stage. Valentine welcomes her with "a thousand good morrows" (II.i.93-94), and Speed tells us that his welcome is "a million of manners" (II.i.95-96), saying that Valentine's courtesy (manners) has gone too far, and playing on his master's use of "thousand." When Silvia responds with "two thousand" (II.i.97), Speed tells us that Valentine "should give her interest, and she gives it him" (II.i.98-99). Here, he not only plays with language, but sets himself up for the wordplay: Valentine should show Silvia his personal connection to her (interest), but instead she gives him a banker's interest (increasing his one thousand to two).

Speed appears again at the very beginning of Act Two, Scene Four, with Valentine, Silvia, and Thurio. While his comments to Valentine could be considered asides, they certainly are not to us, nor are they explicitly humorous.

Humorous, however, is exactly how you can describe Speed's next appearance, in Act Two, Scene Five, when we see the meeting of the play's two clowns, Speed and Proteus' servant Launce. As with the first scene, there are no asides here; it's all interaction between the two clowns. In the scenes that have led us here, Speed has been the comic, playing off others' words. Now, Speed is put in the position of playing mostly straight man to Launce, feeding him softball questions for Launce to knock out of the comic park. We'll discuss this scene more later in the month (either when we discuss Launce as clown, or when we dive in the bawdy-pool... not quite sure yet), but here's an example of the kind of setting-up of Launce's jokes that Speed is reduced to:

SPEED
'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest thou, that my master is become a notable lover?
LAUNCE
I never knew him otherwise.
SPEED
Than how?
LAUNCE
A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
-- II.v.35-39

Speed refers to Valentine's new status as a "lover," but Launce says that he's always seen him as an oaf, thus playing on what love can do to a man, and punning "lubber" to "lover."

When we see Speed again, in Act Three, Scene One, he continues to play straight man to Launce, feeding him lines even written by Launce himself, as Proteus' servant has Speed read his "cate-log" (III.i.271) of his love's qualities. Again, we'll discuss this in greater depth later (as it both focuses on Launce, and dives deep into the bawdy)... suffice to say, Speed's moment of glory as the king clown in this play is long past, as he no longer has the ability to make quips, and now he's running late to find his newly banished master.

If there is any doubt to the demise of Speed's comic power, it's seen in his next--and last--appearance in Act Four, Scene One, where he is captured along with his master by the outlaws, and his only aside is a suggestion to Valentine to become "one of (the outlaws); it's an honorable kind of thievery" (IV.i.39-40). While the line could be presented in a humorous way, it's certainly not to us, and the situation makes it deadly serious (as we learn that if Valentine doesn't become their leader, Valentine "shalt not live to brag what [the outlaws] have offered" [IV.i.70]).

The play opens with a witty Speed, but as he meets and interacts with Launce, Valentine's servant is no match for the man with the dog, and Speed fades into the wings.

As for Launce, we'll discuss him in greater depth next week...

What's in a Name: I Don't Need a Proteus to Know Which Way the Wind Blows

bill-w — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 12:24:00 GMT

Proteus

In mythology, Proteus is "A sea-god, the son of Oceanus and Tethys, fabled to assume various shapes" (Oxford English Dictionary Second Edition on CD-ROM [v. 4.0]). This is the perfect name for The Two Gentlemen of Verona's Proteus, as his feelings, loyalties and affections are infinitely changeable.

Julia

The name "Julia" is the feminine of Julius. More importantly, however, is the reference to Saint Julia, who was a noble virgin of Carthage, who was sold into slavery when the city was captured. Julia in this play is the (possibly) noble love of Proteus (virgin? ... not sure... need to look for that in the text during the second read-through); she later travels to Milan in male disguise and becomes the servant (slave) of Proteus.

Lucetta

The name "Lucetta" is short for Lucia, which is the feminine of Lucius, which means "light." Saint Lucia was the patron saint of the blind, ironically enough (given Lucius' meaning) and yet fitting (on numerous occasions Love is referred as "blind"). Lucetta provides for Julia the light of "reason" (II.vii.23).

Valentine

Valentine comes from the Greek, meaning "strong, vigorous, healthy." Saint Valentine was Roman martyr, whose feast day was on the same day as Lupercalia (February 15), a fertility festival; this led to Valentine's Day being February 14. A Valentine is also defined as "A person of the opposite sex chosen, drawn by lot, or otherwise determined, on St. Valentine's day, as a sweetheart, lover, or special friend for the ensuing year" (OED). Our play's Valentine is a sweetheart and a lover... and also a "special friend" to Proteus.

Silvia

In mythology, Sylvia was the mother of Romulus and Remus. The name "Silvia" is the feminine of Silvius, meaning "woods" or "forest" ... which is fitting as that is where our play's Silvia is escaping.

Eglamour

He's Silvia partner in escape from Milan in Acts Four and Five. He's also mentioned in Act One, referenced as a suitor of Julia (I.ii.9), but this is probably NOT the same man, and in reality -- as many critics surmise -- a mistake and missed revision by Shakespeare. In either case, the name is of note because of its second half: "amour" meaning "love, affection, friendship" (OED).

Don't Know Much 'Bout Geography

bill-w — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 12:46:00 GMT

My wife Lisa and I revisit the same debate time and time again: Do lyrics matter? We're both Springsteen fans, so we tend to fall on the side of the affirmative. But every so often, a song comes out that has such a great hook, that the words really don't matter (think Outkast's "Hey Ya" or Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie"). It would be nice if the words actually meant something, but to a certain extent, they're only sound, like another instrument in the sound mix.

[I know what you're thinking: Ol' Bill's gone off the pier... he's lost it... he's obviously cut and pasted the wrong entry into the wrong blog... ]

So why do I bring this up?

Shakespeare uses some geography in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, but it doesn't make any sense.

Our boys Valentine and Proteus are from Verona. They travel by "ship" (I.i.143) to Milan.

Only, if you check out the map, both Verona and Milan are landlocked cities... between them: about 90 miles of fairly easily traversable plain (the mountains are to the north and to the south, but the east-west passage is pretty peak-free).

Is it an error by Shakespeare? Or does it not matter? In this case, is the geography like the lyrics of "Hey Ya!"... just so much sound for the blank verse?

Sources: Diana, Gisippus, and a Friar named Laurence

bill-w — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 12:45:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 12:30:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 13:41:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 14:48:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 13:11:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 12:43:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 12:48:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 12:29:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 12:27:00 GMT

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!

bill-w — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 14:36:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 13:57:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 13:44:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 12:39:00 GMT

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)

bill-w — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 12:27:00 GMT

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)

bill-w — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 12:57:00 GMT

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

bill-w — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 12:18:00 GMT

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.