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Particularly Rapid Unintelligible Patter

@shimyereh / shimyereh.tumblr.com

Mostly Gilbert & Sullivan, Shakespeare, 19th-century Russian literature. Other things that sometimes show up here: language/linguistics stuff, translations from various languages, metered verse, music discussion, photos of my knitting.
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Things that remind me of other things:

As described in Mickiewicz’s ballad “Pani Twardowska”, Twardowski’s Faustian contract was supposed to end with him meeting the devil in Rome at an appointed time and handing over his soul there. He tries to cheat death by simply staying in Poland — but Mephistopheles confronts him at the “Rome” tavern.

In Shakespeare’s 2 Henry VI, a prophecy indicates that the Duke of Somerset will meet his fate “where castles mounted stand”. He gets killed outside the Castle Inn, where a sign is mounted with an image of a castle.

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uwmspeccoll

Shakespeare Weekend

We are halfway through Nicholas Rowe’s (1674-1718) The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes! Published in London in 1709 by Jacob Tonson (1655–1736), this second edition holds an important place within Shakespearean publication history. The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes is recognized as the first octavo edition, the first illustrated edition, the first critically edited edition, and the first to present a biography of the poet.  

This week, we explore the third volume of The Work of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes. The third volume encompasses historic plays including a Shakespearean Henriad depicting the rise of English kings. The volume is comprised of King John, King Richard II, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II, King Henry V, King Henry VI Part I, and King Henry VI Part II. While the plays have recurring characters and settings, there is no evidence that they were written with the intention of being considered as a group. A full-page engraving, designed by the French Baroque artist and book illustrator François Boitard (1670-1715) and engraved by English engraver Elisha Kirkall (c.1682–1742), precedes each play. 

In addition to Rowe’s editorial decisions to divide the plays into scenes and include notes on the entrances and exits of the players, he also normalised the spelling of names and included a dramatis personae preceding each play. The only chronicled critique of Rowe’s momentous editorial endeavor is his choice in basing his text on the corrupt Fourth Folio. 

View more volumes of The Works of Mr. William Shakespear; in Six Volumes here.

-Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

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uwmspeccoll

Shakespeare Weekend!

King Henry the Sixth: Part Twoof the three part play, is the thirteenth volume of the thirty-seven volume The Comedies Histories & Tragedies of William Shakespeare, published by the Limited Editions Club (LEC) from 1939-1940. The plays were first acted in 1592. The second part was published anonymously in 1594, and the third part in 1595. All three parts were published in the folio of 1623. 

The LEC Part Two was illustrated in lithograph by American artist, illustrator, and printmaker Carlotta Petrina (1901-1997). Petrina illustrated many texts throughout her career, including special editions for the Limited Edition Club: South Wind by Norman Douglas and John Milton’s Paradise Lost. This was her first time illustrating a play, which provided new and exciting possibilities for her, she says: 

I found a new thrill not experienced in drawing for novels or poems: that of discovery. For, in a play, one is forced to judge the characters oneself from their words and actions, rather than from descriptions of them, more as one must come to understand real people.

The volume in the set was printed in an edition of 1950 copies at the Press of A. Colish, and each volume in the set was illustrated by a different artist, but the unifying factor is that all volumes were designed by famed book and type designeBruce Rogers and edited by the British theatre professional and Shakespeare specialist Herbert Farjeon. Our copy is number 1113, the number for long-standing LEC member Austin Fredric Lutter of Waukesha, Wisconsin.

-Teddy, Special Collections Graduate Intern

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While I was sifting through instances of the word “soul” in Shakespeare’s canon, I also noticed how these two passages share the same very cool extension of the metaphor THE SOUL IS A BIRD. Here we have the soul as something that can be trapped the way one catches birds, on a limed branch:

Hamlet, III.iii.72-3: O limèd soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged!
2 Henry VI, III.iii.15-6: Comb down his hair. Look, look! It stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my wingèd soul.
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When I was revisiting 3 Henry VI a few days ago to prepare the scene-by-scene for Social Shakespeare, this passage from scene II.vi jumped out at me:

I’m used to the soul being matter-of-factly “she” in some languages with grammatical gender, but this feels marked in my English. It’s the sort of thing I might sometimes deliberately do in poetry for a particular kind of effect. I got curious: how often does Shakespeare do it?

I did a quick keyword search on Open Source Shakespeare and skimmed the results for cases of a character’s soul being referred to with 3rd-person pronouns. I found 17 instances across his works: 8 where the soul is “she”, 9 where the soul is “it”. That’s not a huge dataset, but still kind of cool that it’s almost an even split. Usage varies within the same play, and even within the same scene! Also worth noting that all 17 instances were in versified dialogue. The two options seem to coexist fluidly in roughly the same register.

Full set of instances under the cut. Text copied as it appears in the Open Source Shakespeare corpus (but I cross-referenced Folger to get scene-specific line numbers for the plays).

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Preparing the scene-by-scene chart of character appearances for Social Shakespeare’s 2 Henry VI read-throughs and remembering how much I love this ridiculous play. York’s monologue at the end of III.i is such a great villain speech. Actual, onstage pirates in IV.i. Not one, but TWO dire prophecies that hinge on what turn out to be really stupid puns. And who could forget the infamous Genealogy Scene? The Henry VI plays are definitely one of my favorite parts of Shakespeare’s canon, and I think they deserve so much more love.

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A few years back when we last did 2H6, one of our admins (surprise, @shimyereh!) wrote an amazing parody of act two, scene two - York’s mid-play genealogy lesson. This time around, another admin (@purplemuskrat) decided to record it. 

Please note I am not a singer, much less a video editor. I did have a ton of fun though!

Original post with lyrics (minus a few teensy edits to help it scan)

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Have you ever written yourself into a corner and found yourself trapped in a plot complication that seems impossible to untangle? Consider doing what Shakespeare often did in such situations: introduce convenient pirates!

Thanks to Kate Pitt for once again consulting with me on this, and for compiling a list of Shakespearean Pirate Names:

A list of Shakespeare pirates: -Antonio (denied by the accused) -Bargulus -Menas -Menecrates -Ragozine -Valdes -Walter Whitmore They all have appropriate pirate-y names until the end – I’m pretty sure Walter escaped from Penzance. (h/t to @GoodTickleBrain for the inspiration)
— Kate Pitt (@KatePitt)
May 14, 2019
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Surprise history plays sighting! I found a quote from 2 Henry VI in the documentation for handling Unicode in Python.

Original context of the quote here for reference (IV.viii.56; the crowd has just declared they’ll follow the King, no wait: Jack Cade, no wait: the King).

Not the first time I’ve found interesting sample strings in the Python documentation! Bravo to whoever’s responsible.

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Linked above are two sets each of the sonnets AND the Henry VI part 2 readthroughs! 

Deepest apologies, but all of them have some audio interference. The third 2H6 readthrough taught me that even when muted, my recorder will pick up any sounds coming through my mic - there’s a lot of typing noise in that one. During the sonnets, I thought wearing headphones and covering the mic with my hand would solve the issue, but technology heard that thought and laughed aloud, so unfortunately there’s a bit of talking over some of your beautiful sonnets in both recordings. I did my best to keep it to a minimum, and shall continue in my endeavor to find a fix for the issue.

But I think everyone’s performances more than outshine my unfortunate mistakes! I hope you enjoy!

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shimyereh

Thank you so much for this! Also tagging @theresultof100notes, our excellent Cardinal Beaufort from H6P2 reading #3.

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On Friday, I saw Part 2 of the two-part all-female Henry VI! (Review of Part 1 here.) It was ALSO AMAZING, and here are a few of my favorite things about it:

1. Cade’s followers chanting “Make England great again!” as they stormed the stage at the beginning.

2. Continued use of the family tree diagram painted on the stage: while Cade explained his claim to the throne to the Cliffords, his followers tried to figure out which name was “Mortimer”. They finally had to grab the clerk (who’d just been sentenced to death for knowing how to read and write) and make him show them. One of Cade’s followers used chalk to add Cade (stick figure) and his father (line of bricks, because he was a bricklayer) to the Mortimer line.

3. The York brothers’ matching leather vests (with a white rose design on the back).

4. Young Rutland’s ghost telling the other sons of York about their father’s death in H6P3 II.i. I still have TOO MANY FEELS about this.

5. Edward (IV) and Cade were played by the same actor (who had a magnificent swagger in both roles), which added some interesting undertones to the scenes with Edward as king.

6. Super interesting staging of the “father-who-killed-his-son and son-who-killed-his-father” scene. One actor as both fathers, and one actor as both sons. They kept shifting which one was alive and which one was dead, with increasingly fast changes, until both were on the floor, alternately cradling each other’s body. And then after the dialogue there was this beautiful choreographed sequence set to music with other father-son pairs slowly going through the same motions all around the stage, while Henry watched from his molehill.

7. OMG THE ENDING. Richard was a force of nature (I reallyreallyreally want to see that actor in a production of Richard III now), so I was kind of surprised that his monologue after killing Henry in H6P3 V.vi was cut so short – right after “Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither!” – I’d always felt like the next section was super important: accepting a villainous role and starting to plot against his brothers. But it wasn’t cut, just moved… to the very end of the final scene. So you have the entire court rejoicing, people throwing white rose petals in the air, and King Edward declaring a time of peace and triumph. And then suddenly everything freezes and Richard saunters up to the throne and delivers the end of that monologue. And then the lighting goes back to normal and everybody’s still rejoicing in the background, but you know there’s a new conflict looming.

8. And finally, one of the things I found most fascinating about this production in general: the masculinity of the male characters was conveyed largely through body language and speech patterns. There was no fake facial hair, hair length was not used as a gender marker (Suffolk and Henry’s matter-of-fact ponytails, Buckingham’s braid, Edward/Cade’s wild mane, Margaret’s very short hair), and the costuming didn’t go out of its way to hide feminine curves. But there was zero suspension of disbelief for me to perceive the male characters as male. The one exception was Warwick in Part 2. The original Warwick had sustained an injury in the previous performance, so they brought in another actor to cover the role on extremely short notice. While it was super impressive to see someone step in like that, she didn’t have the same masculine presence as the rest of cast, and that made me more keenly aware of how effective everybody else’s performances were.

Seriously, if you’re near the Seattle area, check this out because it’s a fantastic production of plays that don’t get performed a whole lot and the run is almost over.

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I mentioned earlier that I was going to see a two-part adaptation of Shakespeare’s Henry VI plays, with an all-female cast. Well, I saw Part 1 last night and it was EVEN MORE AMAZING than I’d expected. It drew more from H6P2 than H6P1 – they cut Talbot, Joan of Arc, and all the French battle scenes – and ended right before the Cade rebellion (H6P2, Act IV).

A few things I found especially memorable:

1. I found all the character interpretations compelling and believable. What a strong cast! Special shout-out to Duke Humphrey, Cardinal Beaufort, and the Duke of Suffolk for being almost exactly the way I’d imagined those characters when I first read the plays.

2. Humphrey’s actor had torn an Achilles tendon right before the show opened, but was back for this performance and played the part in a wheelchair. The (improvised) line about his “choler being overblown/With… wheeling once about the quadrangle” (H6P2, I.iii) got a good laugh.

3. The way they staged York’s family tree infodump monologue (H6P2 II.ii) was ingenious. There was a huge family tree painted on the stage. (Suffolk would later pull out a piece of chalk and add Margaret’s name after engineering the Margaret/Henry marriage.) As York named each ancestor, other cast members would go stand on the names, interact with each other as described in the monologue (including a nice little shout-out to the R2 deposition scene), and sit down when declared “dead”. Easy to follow, while still emphasizing how complicated and messy the Plantagenet family tree and line of succession are. Warwick’s comment of “What plain proceedings is more plain than this?” got plenty of laughs.

4. Hume the conjurer putting his feet up on the table and matter-of-factly helping himself to Humphrey’s abandoned breakfast while revealing his scheme to the audience.

5. The way they blended two scenes from H6P2: II.iv (Humphrey and Eleanor’s farewell) and the beginning of III.i (the other nobles try to turn Henry against his uncle). The two scenes would alternately stop and start, with different lighting. Eleanor walked among frozen figures in the court as she warned Humphrey about everyone plotting against him. Super effective, and now I have even more feels about that scene.

6. Henry’s wide-eyed innocence, and the subtle way he immediately looked anxious after banishing Suffolk (his first attempt at being loud and authoritative).

7. Suffolk faced his death with the perfect mix of dignity and arrogance. (They cut his prophecy and the pirates – instead of his death being a pirate named Walter, he was killed by a crowd of angry commons with sticks and swords. It was so visceral and effective that I didn’t really mind the loss of one of my favorite Shakespearean puns.)

8. The staging of York’s soliloquies, especially the magnificent scheming monologue from H6P2 III.i, where he interacted with a frozen tableau of Cade and followers. The show ended with York suddenly appearing, back-lit, in a long black coat, striding out into a chaotic mob while echoing the end of that monologue.

AND NOW I HAVE TO WAIT A WHOLE WEEK TO SEE PART 2. If you’re near the Seattle area, I highly recommend trying to catch this production!

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shimyereh

Hey, Shakespeare histories fandom! Is anyone else familiar with Bartlett’s King Charles III? I just saw an excellent production of it and I have thoughts.

…Thoughts which I’m sure I’ll articulate better after I get my hands on a copy of the text and read through it in detail. But still.

Especially paging Richardclub, because there seem to be deliberate thematic similarities and I think this play adds some interesting things to the discussion of kingship as identity vs. loss of identity.

Yes! I finally saw the play at the CST.

Evidently (according to the program) it was ‘templated’ on Richard II and inspired by Richard’s ‘ay no; no ay’ interpreted as ‘I know no I’

It begins with a funeral and ends with a deposition/abdication (which honestly I didn’t see coming), and towards the end Charles does become increasingly Richard-like. It’s also entirely in iambic pentameter.

The major conflicts of the play revolve around the public image of royalty and the question of the practical power of the monarchy, which of course Richard was very concerned about…

Probably the most interesting thematic difference regarding the kingship/identity is that the current monarchy is almost entirely ceremonial, so the empty/hollow crown is that way because it confers no political power, as opposed to Richard’s perhaps more nihilistic ruminations on the value of power in the first place and the inevitability of death. When Charles invokes the divine right of kings, he is drawing on something that has laid disused for centuries, when Richard does so he is responding to the fabric of the world he has known all his life. Richard has no heirs, but the institution of monarchy itself is never considered to be under threat, Charles has a long line of potential heirs, but the monarchy could be abolished overnight.

And of course ghosts are a Shakespearean institution, and there seems to be a bit of Prince Hal and Lady Macbeth happening among the rest of the royal family

(Also Navy Pier was Insanely Crowded last night, and there were people sitting on the stairs waiting for fireworks, so no one could leave, so we went went backstage and left through the stage door. Shhhhh. Don’t tell anyone…)

Oh cool! Let’s see if I can remember what some of my thoughts were… (Still haven’t gotten ahold of a copy of the text, but definitely want to examine it in more detail.) I saw a different production than you did: Seattle Repertory Theatre, which isn’t a Shakespeare company.

I didn’t pick up on the “aye, no; no, aye” --> “I know no I” (NICE!!), but I definitely felt echoes of R2 in the KC3 deposition scene. Agreed about the different hollowness of the crown in this play.

Another interesting thing I thought this play brought to the kingship/identity discussion was the idea that Charles has spent almost his entire life as potential king. It’s not quite like Richard being crowned at age 10, but I think it would shape his identity in some similar ways. I remember he had a very interesting monologue about this near the beginning – about spending his life picturing various scenarios that could have led to him becoming king, and then concluding that being a potential king was much safer. I also remember that first scene had interesting commentary on the kind of persona he’s allowed and expected to show in public.

So Charles actually gets two identity shifts: potential king to actual king, and then loss of the kingship. And then there’s also two conflicting definitions of kingship in this play: (1) a figurehead who encourages stability by being a fixed point, or (2) a leader who takes an active role in governing the kingdom. Charles wants to be (2), while everybody else is expecting him to be (1). And this comes back to what you were saying about the new theme of ceremonial monarchy.

And a few other random thoughts…

  • I liked the ghost – ghost!Diana’s prophecies seemed dangerous in a similar way to what the Macbeth witches told Macbeth and Banquo.
  • I thought Kate seemed more Eleanor of Gloucester than Lady Macbeth, but I can see why people make the Lady M comparison (the program for the production I saw mentioned it, too).
  • The kebab vendor made me think of the gardeners in R2 – someone outside the court who sees the disordered state of the kingdom more clearly than the royals do, and describes it with a vivid metaphor in terms of their line of work.
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Women have more power and agency in Shakespeare’s comedies than in his tragedies, and usually there are more of them with more speaking time, so I’m pretty sure what Shakespeare’s saying is “men ruin everything” because everyone fucking dies when men are in charge but when women are in charge you get married and live happily ever after

I think you’re reading too far into things, kiddo. Take a break from your women’s studies major and get some fresh air.

Right. Well, I’m a historian, so allow me to elaborate.

One of the most important aspects of the Puritan/Protestant revolution (in the 1590’s in particular) was the foregrounding of marriage as the most appropriate way of life. It often comes as a surprise when people learn this, but Puritans took an absolutely positive view of sexuality within the context of marriage. Clergy were encouraged to lead by example and marry and have children, as opposed to Catholic clergy who prized virginity above all else. Through his comedies, Shakespeare was promoting this new way of life which had never been promoted before. The dogma, thanks to the church, had always been “durr hburr women are evil sex is bad celibacy is your ticket to salvation.” All that changed in Shakespeare’s time, and thanks to him we get a view of the world where marriage, women, and sexuality are in fact the key to salvation. 

The difference between the structure of a comedy and a tragedy is that the former is cyclical, and the latter a downward curve. Comedies weren’t stupid fun about the lighter side of life. The definition of a comedy was not a funny play. They were plays that began in turmoil and ended in reconciliation and renewal. They showed the audience the path to salvation, with the comic ending of a happy marriage leaving the promise of societal regeneration intact. Meanwhile, in the tragedies, there is no such promise of regeneration or salvation. The characters destroy themselves. The world in which they live is not sustainable. It leads to a dead end, with no promise of new life.

And so, in comedies, the women are the movers and shakers. They get things done. They move the machinery of the plot along. In tragedies, though women have an important part to play, they are often morally bankrupt as compared to the women of comedies, or if they are morally sound, they are disenfranchised and ignored, and refused the chance to contribute to the society in which they live. Let’s look at some examples.

In Romeo and Juliet, the play ends in tragedy because no-one listens to Juliet. Her father and Paris both insist they know what’s right for her, and they refuse to listen to her pleas for clemency. Juliet begs them – screams, cries, manipulates, tells them outright I cannot marry, just wait a week before you make me marry Paris, just a week, please and they ignore her, and force her into increasingly desperate straits, until at last the two young lovers kill themselves. The message? This violent, hate-filled patriarchal world is unsustainable. The promise of regeneration is cut down with the deaths of these children. Compare to Othello. This is the most horrifying and intimate tragedy of all, with the climax taking place in a bedroom as a husband smothers his young wife. The tragedy here could easily have been averted if Othello had listened to Desdemona and Emilia instead of Iago. The message? This society, built on racism and misogyny and martial, masculine honour, is unsustainable, and cannot regenerate itself. The very horror of it lies in the murder of two wives. 

How about Hamlet? Ophelia is a disempowered character, but if Hamlet had listened to her, and not mistreated her, and if her father hadn’t controlled every aspect of her life, then perhaps she wouldn’t have committed suicide. The final scene of carnage is prompted by Laertes and Hamlet furiously grappling over her corpse. When Ophelia dies, any chance of reconciliation dies with her. The world collapses in on itself. This society is unsustainable. King Lear – we all know that this is prompted by Cordelia’s silence, her unwillingness to bend the knee and flatter in the face of tyranny. It is Lear’s disproportionate response to this that sets off the tragedy, and we get a play that is about entropy, aging and the destruction of the social order.  

There are exceptions to the rule. I’m sure a lot of you are crying out “but Lady Macbeth!” and it’s a good point. However, in terms of raw power, neither Lady Macbeth nor the witches are as powerful as they appear. The only power they possess is the ability to influence Macbeth; but ultimately it is Macbeth’s own ambition that prompts him to murder Duncan, and it is he who escalates the situation while Lady Macbeth suffers a breakdown. In this case you have women who are allowed to influence the play, but do so for the worse; they fail to be the good moral compasses needed. Goneril, Regan and Gertrude are similarly comparable; they possess a measure of power, but do not use it for good, and again society cannot renew itself.

Now we come to the comedies, where women do have the most control over the plot. The most powerful example is Rosalind in As You Like It. She pulls the strings in every avenue of the plot, and it is thanks to her control that reconciliation is achieved at the end, and all end up happily married. Much Ado About Nothing pivots around a woman’s anger over the abuse of her innocent cousin. If the men were left in charge in this play, no-one would be married at the end, and it would certainly end in tragedy. But Beatrice stands up and rails against men for their cruel conduct towards women and says that famous, spine-tingling line - oh God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace. And Benedick, her suitor, listens to her. He realises that his misogynistic view of the world is wrong and he takes steps to change it. He challenges his male friends for their conduct, parts company with the prince, and by doing this he wins his lady’s hand. The entire happy ending is dependent on the men realising that they must trust, love and respect women. Now it is a society that is worthy of being perpetuated. Regeneration and salvation lies in equality between the sexes and the love husbands and wives cherish for each other. The Merry Wives of Windsor - here we have men learning to trust and respect their wives, Flastaff learning his lesson for trying to seduce married women, and a daughter tricking everyone so she can marry the man she truly loves. A Midsummer Night’s Dream? The turmoil begins because three men are trying to force Hermia to marry someone she does not love, and Helena has been cruelly mistreated. At the end, happiness and harmony comes when the women are allowed to marry the men of their choosing, and it is these marriages that are blessed by the fairies.

What of the romances? In The Tempest, Prospero holds the power, but it is Miranda who is the key to salvation and a happy ending. Without his daughter, it is likely Prospero would have turned into a murderous revenger. The Winter’s Tale sees Leontes destroy himself through his own jealousy. The king becomes a vicious tyrant because he is cruel to his own wife and children, and this breach of faith in suspecting his wife of adultery almost brings ruin to his entire kingdom. Only by obeying the sensible Emilia does Leontes have a chance of achieving redemption, and the pure trust and love that exists between Perdita and Florizel redeems the mistakes of the old generation and leads to a happy ending. Cymbeline? Imogen is wronged, and it is through her love and forgiveness that redemption is achieved at the end. In all of these plays, without the influence of the women there is no happy ending.

The message is clear. Without a woman’s consent and co-operation in living together and bringing up a family, there is turmoil. Equality between the sexes and trust between husbands and wives alone will bring happiness and harmony, not only to the family unit, but to society as a whole. The Taming of the Shrew rears its ugly head as a counter-example, for here a happy ending is dependent on a woman’s absolute subservience and obedience even in the face of abuse. But this is one of Shakespeare’s early plays (and a rip-off of an older comedy called The Taming of a Shrew) and it is interesting to look at how the reception of this play changed as values evolved in this society. 

As early as 1611 The Shrew was adapted by the writer John Fletcher in a play called The Woman’s Prize, or The Tamer Tamed. It is both a sequel and an imitation, and it chronicles Petruchio’s search for a second wife after his disastrous marriage with Katherine (whose taming had been temporary) ended with her death. In Fletcher’s version, the men are outfoxed by the women and Petruchio is ‘tamed’ by his new wife. It ends with a rather uplifting epilogue that claims the play aimed:

To teach both sexes due equality
And as they stand bound, to love mutually.

The Taming of the Shrew and The Tamer Tamed were staged back to back in 1633, and it was recorded that although Shakespeare’s Shrew was “liked”, Fletcher’s Tamer Tamed was “very well liked.” You heard it here folks; as early as 1633 audiences found Shakespeare’s message of total female submission uncomfortable, and they preferred John Fletcher’s interpretation and his message of equality between the sexes.

So yes. The message we can take away from Shakespeare is that a world in which women are powerless and cannot or do not contribute positively to society and family is unsustainable. Men, given the power and left to their own devices, will destroy themselves. But if men and women can work together and live in harmony, then the whole community has a chance at salvation, renewal and happiness.  

( @dukeofbookingham this seems up your alley )

This is interesting but I think it’s omitting some things for the sake of argument. Yes, women have a lot of agency in the comedies and yes, sometimes people listening to women could have averted disaster (the same could be said of say, Benvolio, or Horatio, or Kent, etc.) But I think writing off the female antagonists as anomalous or less powerful than the protagonists is actually a big mistake. Because by refusing to give female ‘villains’ equal attention and impact, we miss a big part of what Shakespeare is saying, which is that women are people. They are capable of everything men are capable of, and that includes violence and cruelty and murder. 

Let me expand: Shakespeare’s female antagonists (I’m calling them this because I think the term ‘villain’ is reductive) not only have agency, but they are complex human beings with conflicting motives who, crucially, make wrong choices. I don’t think Shakespeare is saying “men cause tragedy and women fix it” at all. If you look at Shakespeare’s entire body of work and give all of his characters their due, what he’s saying is “human beings cause tragedy, and women are human beings. They’re not just there to smile and laugh and fix what the boys fucked up. They have their own agendas, and those agendas are not always morally defensible, and that is important. Shakespeare’s women were allowed to be ambitious and hungry and violent. Lady M, yes, the obvious one. But also Cleopatra, and the Duchess of Gloucester, and Joan of Arc, and Margaret of Anjou. I could go on. These women are allowed to be just as ugly as the men, because Shakespeare was suffering no delusions that women were all supposed to be pretty forgiving little flowers like Cordelia. 

I’d actually like to use King Lear to illustrate my point. (This will surprise literally nobody who knows me.) OP suggests that the tragedy is set off by Cordelia’s “unwillingness to bend the knee and flatter in the face of tyranny.” But that’s really not the whole story. We know from the very start of the play that Lear’s sanity is already failing. “He hath ever but slenderly known himself” Regan says, at the end of 1.1, and Goneril replies with “The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.” Lear’s fiery temper is not a new thing. He’s been that way his whole life. If Cordelia is old enough to be of marrying age, she’s had more than long enough to learn her father’s temper. Her sisters certainly have. What she does in refusing to tell her father she loves him may come from a place of self-righteous refusal to flatter, but you know what? It’s an absolutely idiotic move. She knew how volatile her father was, especially in his old age, and she knew her sisters’ natures, and still she put her own pride above the fallout of not playing her father’s game. Noble? Maybe. Disastrous? Definitely. Selfish? Maybe that, too. Cordelia is not a perfect innocent cherub. Cordelia is a great example of how that noble, fair, head-held-high-in-the-face-of-adversity stereotype actually sometimes does a hell of lot more harm than good. Women are NOT perfect, no matter how much we romanticize them. Cordelia is grossly idealized by all the men in the play, but that’s the point. They insist she’s perfect, even though she’s not, because perfect is what they want her to be. And Shakespeare walked this tightrope so well that 400 years later male critics are still having a circle-jerk about how flawless she is. 

But let’s talk about Regan and Goneril. As OP points out, “they possess a measure of power, but do not use it for good.” Yes. But that’s not something we should gloss. They should not be relegated to a category of lesser women in the canon because they’re not “good.” They’re not exceptions to a rule. They’re half the equation. Regan and Goneril are very different characters and I hate it when they get lumped together so I’m not going to do that but basically: they’re a whole lot more than just power-hungry. They’re smart. They’re canny. There’s literally nothing in the play that tells us they wouldn’t make good rulers. They’re both willing to compromise. They’re both willing to hear both sides of a story. Do things get a little carried away in 3.7? You bet. But regardless of where our emotional loyalty lies, Gloucester has committed treason. Having your eyeballs ripped out is actually pretty mild as punishments for treason went in the early modern period. So that’s actually not great a great argument for how evil they are, but I digress: They’re not “good,” or we’re at least not supposed to think they are. Here’s what’s key about that: Are Regan and Cornwall in that perfect matrimonial equality OP talked about? You bet, more on that here. But they still rip a man’s eyes out and arrange the murders of several others. Equality doesn’t make everybody peaceful and sweet and lovey-dovey. It depends on the kind of people sharing that equality. 

Here’s the other important thing: we learn at the beginning of the play that Cordelia is Lear’s favorite and that’s no secret. How do you think it feels growing up knowing that your youngest sister is your father’s favorite? Probably not good. They’re ambitious and cruel but they are also bitter and wounded and fighting a killer inferiority complex. Does that make them morally defensible? No. But you know what? They don’t have to be. There is no rule for them to be exceptions to. And THAT is fucking important. Women are every bit as complex and convoluted and capable as men. They are capable of killing and cruelty and everything in between and minimizing that only reinforces the idea of Woman as Savior, who is meant to rescue Man from himself. That doesn’t work out so well for Cordelia. And I don’t think that’s an accident.

It is not a woman’s job to forgive everybody and be the better person and save the day. Women are people. Shakespeare understood that, and dismissing any of his characters because they don’t conform to a rule or a trend does him and them and women in general a huge disservice.

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the Tavern is currently in the middle of a run of Henry VI but also having rehearsals for christmas carol and apparently the severed heads on pikes from the former have just randomly been present in the latter

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shimyereh

One of the more unexpected consequences if Scrooge doesn’t change his ways: holes appear in the fabric of spacetime, and Jack Cade escapes to 19th-century London?

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shimyereh

Random observation: This Hungarian translation of Henry VI, Part II deals with the stealth pun in Suffolk’s prophecy by renaming the pirate who kills him.

In the original English, the prophecy from I.iv is:

What fates await the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end.

The pirate who kills Suffolk in IV.i is Walter Whitmore, and Suffolk tells him: “A cunning man did calculate my birth / And told me that by water I should die…”

In Lőrinczy Zsigmond’s translation, the prophecy is:

Mi végzet várja Suffolk herczeget? (What fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?) Elveszti őt a tengerek hajósa. (He shall be lost by a sailor of the seas.)

And in IV.i, Walter is now Józsa (diminutive of József), and Suffolk tells him: Csillagzatomból egy bölcs jósolá: / Vesztem leszen a tengerek hajósa (“From my horoscope, a sage predicted: / My doom will be a sailor of the seas…”). Less surprising than water/Walter, but still… well-played.

(I wonder how other translators have handled this? The only other translation I’ve looked at was a Russian one that kept Walter’s name (Уолтер/Uolter) and also directly translated the prophecy. But the Russian word for “water” (вода/voda) does NOT sound like “Walter”, so Suffolk’s fear when the pirate introduces himself… doesn’t exactly make sense in that translation.)

#maybe in French would they call him marin? #there are so many puns in Shakespeare’s plays I wonder how they translate them (via @itstube-rose)

You got me curious about French, and after some poking around I dug up 3 French translations of H6P2. And… it turns out that François Guizot, François-Victor Hugo, and Émile Montégut ALL translated without adapting the water/Walter pun. Aw. They also all seem to have translated in prose, without preserving the meter and rhyme patterns of the original. (Original English version for reference, since I didn’t link to it before.)

Guizot at least has a footnote explaining how the pun works in English. Montégut also has footnotes, and uses them to explain other puns in this scene, but not water/Walter.

Disappointing. I like your “Marin” idea and was hoping to find something like that. There must be other French translations out there…

So I was telling a German-speaking friend about this pun today, and the two of us ended up looking at August Wilhelm Schlegel’s 1801 translation to see how he handled it. (Note that Wikisource has a huge list of German Shakespeare translations.)

Turns out Schlegel adapted the pun! The pirate is now named “Seyfart Wittmer” (p.11 in scan: dramatis personae), and the prophecy is that Suffolk will die from a Seefahrt (sea journey) (p. 46: I.iv). Just like how English!Suffolk tries to get Walter to go by “Gualtier” and Hungarian!Suffolk tries to get Józsa to use the full name “József”, German!Suffolk argues that Seyfart’s real name is “Siegfried” (p.125: IV.i).

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