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THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

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women begin to take place on something approaching an equal footing. Where in the tragedies the vivid<br />

independence of a Desdemona is stifled by the weight of male circumstance and the courage of Cordelia is ignored<br />

and disparaged, in the comedies women’s integrity and intelligence do not merely shine, they briefly triumph.<br />

The structural awkwardness and the many loose ends of what are probably Shakespeare’s two earliest comedies,<br />

The Two Gentlemen of Verona (c. 1587) and The Taming of the Shrew (c. 1588), suggest a beginner’s uncertainty<br />

about dramatic technique and form. Both plays also indicate the degree to which he was dramatizing the ambiguities<br />

of his age concerning the freedom of women to act and think independently in courtship and marriage. In the first, a<br />

woman dangerously resolves to prove her faith to an undeserving lover; in the second, a woman is brutally schooled in<br />

wifely duty by a husband who appears not to merit her service. As part of the contorted plot of The Two Gentlemen of<br />

Verona Julia disguises herself as a man in order to follow Proteus from Verona to Milan. Her action (common enough<br />

in the prose literature of the sixteenth century) is the first of Shakespeare’s many theatrical experiments with the<br />

device of female cross-dressing, or, to be more precise, with the disconcerting nuances of a boy actor dressing as a boy<br />

while playing the role of a woman. However much Julia’s romantic ploy may be related to the European carnival<br />

tradition of transvestism, it is one that the far more rumbustiously carnivalesque The Taming of the Shrew carefully<br />

eschews. The unromantic Katherina’s ‘taming’ by the far from gentle Petruchio consists of a series of rough games,<br />

staged tantrums, and physical trials. Throughout, Katherina has to meet direct challenges to her assumed identity and<br />

to cope with the antics of a man whose volatility appears to be equally assumed. Finally both have to drop false<br />

identities and proclaim their mutual respect. Katherina’s public response to her last test, in which she is called upon<br />

to affirm a kind of feudal submission to her husband’s will (‘Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, | Thy head,<br />

thy sovereign, one that cares for thee ...’), has been seen by some as a properly cynical response to a hardened cynic.<br />

Nevertheless, Katherina’s servile placing of her hands beneath Petruchio’s foot is answered not by a kick, but by a<br />

raising from her knees and a kiss.<br />

Throughout his career Shakespeare amplified, varied, and, at times, reversed the ambiguous gestures of his earliest<br />

experiments with comedy. The slick Roman symmetry of The Comedy of Errors (c. 1589-94) is relieved by reflections<br />

on family and amatory relationships which almost slip into tender-<br />

[p. 161]<br />

ness. The familial and matrimonial sulkiness of the Athenians with which A Midsummer Night’s Dream (c. 1595-6)<br />

opens is reflected in the far more acrimonious and threatening disputes of Oberon and Titania. The play begins with<br />

crossed purposes; it unwinds, ironically enough, with a tidiness enforced by the interference of that traditional<br />

embodiment of the malign disordering of human affairs, Puck; it ends with multiple marriages celebrated to the<br />

accompaniment of a superbly inept tragic entertainment and with the blessing of the once disruptive fairies. As the<br />

human lovers wake from their respective dreams in Act IV, each is discovered magically placed beside an unexpected<br />

but ‘proper’ partner, but it is the once rejected Helena who has the hazy wisdom to grasp that she has ‘found<br />

Demetrius like a jewel, | Mine own and not mine own’. Love in A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a matter of uncertain<br />

discovery; it both claims possession and is obliged to recognize distinctions, differences, individualities. Much the<br />

same is true of the discountenancing of the rash and possessive presumptions of the male lovers at the end of Love’s<br />

Labour’s Lost (c. 1593-4). In a play shaped around role-playing, word-games, and rhetorical devices it is shockingly<br />

apt that at the end life should encounter death, that verbal posturings should be countered by ‘Honest plain words’,<br />

and that sentimental male pretensions of love should be squashed by the Princess’s hard-headed insistence that they<br />

were received merely as ‘bombast and as lining to the time’. When the King of Navarre protests that his proposal of<br />

marriage should be accepted at this ‘latest minute of the hour’, the Princess has the presence of mind to rebut him<br />

with the most refined and serious of all Shakespeare's put-downs: ‘A time, methinks, too short | To make a worldwithout-end<br />

bargain in’. The play concludes with separations. Jack has not Jill, winter succeeds spring, and characters<br />

leave the stage ‘severally’ to live apart for a twelve month, perhaps for ever.<br />

Although The Merry Wives of Windsor (c. 1597) (which so inspired Verdi and his librettist, Boito) has tended to<br />

be overshadowed in the twentieth century by the popularity of the romantic comedies, its position in Shakespeare’s<br />

comic œ uvre is central in more than simply the chronological sense. Shakespeare re-introduces characters (Falstaff,<br />

Mistress Quickly, Pistol, Nym, and Shallow) from his Henry IV plays, but, by implication, he also transfers the setting<br />

from Plantagenet to late Tudor England. Its scene is a prosperous English town on the fringes of a royal castle and its<br />

park, not an imagined Illyria or an unlocated Arden; its characters are mercantile not noble, and its language is<br />

colloquial rather than lyrical. Despite this down-to-earth prosiness, the play allows for the triumph of romantic love<br />

over the well-intentioned schemes of parents and the ill-conceived ones of a would-be adulterer. Jack (Fenton) woos<br />

and wins his Jill (Anne Page), but Ford, Page, Caius, Slender, and Falstaff, all in their different ways, conspicuously<br />

fail in their designs. Although the Falstaff of The Merry Wives of Windsor may lack the bouncy resilience of the<br />

Falstaff of I Henry IV, his role as a self deceived and preposterous wooer of married women is crucial to the<br />

presentation of sexual politics in the play. He is

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