Shakespeare: “Soule of the Age”
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When Ben Jonson described William Shakespeare in 1623
as "the Soule of the Age . . he was not of an age, but for all
time", I wonder if he knew the truth of his words.
Shakespeare wrote in extraordinary company, Jonson, Marlowe, and
Bacon. And although
Shakespeare was popular in his lifetime, there were other writers, such as
Jonson who were considered more scholarly, University men.
Shakespeare was not. Jonson's
words are full of tribute, but I wonder at his assessment "though
thou hadst small Latine, and less Greeke."
Was Shakespeare the grudgingly accepted undereducated achiever of
his day? In an introduction to his collection of Shakespeare's
plays, Professor of English Language and Literature, Peter Alexander
explains: The Renaissance critics and their 18th century
disciples regarded plays that failed to conform to these Laws [those of
Greek dramatists] as deficient in Art.
Shakespeare ignored the Rules so constantly that his critics,
however much they admired his natural powers, could not accept him as a
great artist.[1] The debate rages on even now.
There are those today who insist that a man of average education,
such as William Shakespeare, could not have written with his level of
quality, productivity, longevity, and depth.
Shakespeare began writing before he was twenty, and continued to
write until the very last years of his life.
To me though this seems a classist argument, the educated people of
privilege wanting to keep art for themselves, including Shakespeare.
Shakespeare's brilliance is that he can't be put in a box; he is
witty, moving, complex, eternal. He
has sympathy for and an understanding of both royalty and commoners, and
the imagination to create intriguing fairies and spirits.
As Nick Rose, Artistic Director of the Cincinnati Shakespeare
Festival said to me : Shakespeare is the ultimate humanist.
Shakespeare's stories can be ludicrous and tough to follow, but his
characters are so human. He latches on to simple human truths. He doesn't explain humanity.
His characters feel and show humanity. Nick
and I had a very interesting conversation about this, and one of the
things I wonder is whether or not Shakespeare's complexity enhanced his
long-term popularity. Nick
explained to me that writers like Jonson were considered "wits",
and it was very important to be a wit.
But Jonson isn't who we know today,
Shakespeare is. Shakespeare didn't follow rules (he didn't even always use
rhyming verse) so he isn't firmly rooted in one time and place.
Or rather, he is rooted, but not entrenched. Nick explained to me that it is somewhat difficult to
set Romeo and Juliet anywhere but Verona, because Shakespeare makes
frequent reference to the city. Yet,
in other plays, like Julius Caesar, set in ancient Rome, there are
clocks. Nick also told me
that when Julius Caesar was first performed the actors wore togas,
with doublets underneath them, mixing the past and the present.
These smaller inconsistencies are doorways. They keep his plays rooted but not entrenched, open enough to
be eternal, open to changes, and most importantly, the interpretation of
each individual audience member. Rarely has a writer focused so much attention, no
matter what the setting, on character.
Think of Shakespeare's histories (he wrote ten), full of battles,
royalty, murder, power, but what stands out most is the characters like
Falstaff. Nick told me that
Falstaff is his favorite character. He
described him as "the ultimate bad boy and coward, not malicious, the
most rascally rogue that ever walked the stage." Later, while flipping through 1 Henry IV I
opened to a battle scene where Falstaff pretends to be dead so that he is
not killed. Somewhat
shocking, not too troubling. When
the battle has passed Falstaff sits up and says "The better part of
valour is discretion, in the which better part I have sav'd my life. (V.iv.)"
Funny, this is funny. He
speaks of himself as counterfeit (pretending death) - also funny- and then
stabs the dead man next to him in case he too should be
"counterfeit" and rise from the dead - not funny anymore.
Now we have passed shocking into disturbing.
Falstaff stabs a dead man and we, the readers/viewers begin to
struggle with mutilation, desecration.
But there's more. Falstaff precedes to lie and say that he killed the dead man
he just stabbed (who was killed by another) so that he can get a reward.
It is such a slippery slope. All through the play we enjoy Falstaff
because he is funny, realistic, good-natured but, as the play develops he
is also selfish, deceitful, narcissistic, a pathological liar?
What are we to make of him, and by extension ourselves?
Might any of us play dead during battle, and what after that?
And Shakespeare keeps us on our toes, funny, disturbing, funny,
disturbing. Falstaff is so
real he is profoundly troubling. He
is like a person we meet and might have to decide if we will trust. Nick is the first person who suggested to me that
Shakespeare's humanism, that his interest in and respect for people as a
worthy, maybe ultimate focus, is most clearly developed in his villains.
As he explained, Shakespeare's villains are multifaceted.
He then read me this speech by Shylock, the villain of The
Merchant of Venice. He
[Antonio] hath disgraced me and hindered me half a million; laughed at my
losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains,
cooled my friends, heated mine enemies.
And what's his reason? I
am a Jew. Hath not a Jew
eyes? Hath not a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same disease, healed by the
same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a
Christian is? If you prick
us, do we not bleed? If you
tickle us, do we not laugh? If
you poison us, do we not die? And
if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. (III,
i.) Shakespeare
is not being politically correct here, speaking out against anti-Semitism
in Renaissance England. I'm
sorry to say that Shylock is the villain.
And this is the depth and complexity that he gives to his villains.
"I am a Jew. Hath not a
Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew
hands…If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
Unlike
so much of what we see in modern films, in Shakespeare the good are not
always likable, the bad not always despicable.
His characters often make mistakes.
They possess tragic flaws which enhances the power, the tragedy, of
his stories. Can you believe
that Ophelia commits suicide in Hamlet?
This is not a foregone conclusion at the beginning of the play.
It is the tragic result of the development of Ophelia and Hamlet.
It is still shocking every time it happens. Can
you believe that King Lear kills his Fool?
Forget his beloved daughter, Cordelia's murder at the end, I'm
still stuck in the middle of the play when Lear kills his Fool.
This is the Fool who stays with Lear as he goes out into the storm
of life and weather. The Fool
says "Poor nuncle", provides humor, insight, companionship, is
self-aware, and Lear kills him. I
asked a friend of mine last week, "Why does Lear kill his fool?" My friend said, "That's a good question."
Does Lear kill the fool as he goes mad, so that he no longer has
any self-awareness. I don't
know, but there is certainly lots to think about here, and this makes Lear
much more complex, and not nearly as sympathetic, yet the end of the play
is so pathetic that one has to have sympathy for Lear who has been a fool.
I
have always admired, and then been afraid of Shakespeare, because he is
not afraid to take his characters to the logical end if all goes bad.
He does not unnecessarily save or rescue his characters. Ophelia drowns, the Fool's neck is snapped.
Romeo and Juliet both die. Shakespeare
must have been extraordinarily observant and insightful about human
beings, or himself. I have
also been thinking that he must have really loved, or at least been
fascinated, or maybe dismayed by people, their idiosyncrasies, flaws,
complexity, desires, hopes, conflicts.
Shakespeare's
tragedies rage against cruelty and injustice.
Peter Alexander explains "nowhere can one find a fiercer
invective and more withering scorn than that poured by these plays on the
baser side of our nature."[2]
I was interested to read that he didn't really start to write
tragedies until he entered his mid-thirties.
Before then he wrote mostly comedies and histories, as well as
poems (Romeo and Juliet being the only exception).
Beginning somewhere around the age of 35 he tapered off on comedies
and wrote eight tragedies - perhaps his mid-life period. This
past week I heard American Poet Laureate, Billy Collins, say "poetry
is the clear expression of mixed feelings."
He also said that the great function of poetry is to remind us that
we are part of history, and should not be swept into the vanity of
believing that we are the center of history.
For both these reason - mixed feelings and perspective - Collins
noted that now is a good time to keep a poem in your pocket. Given
this definition, Shakespeare is most definitely a poet.
We remember his phrases and speeches because they offer perspective
and mixed feelings, as well as wit, beauty, and artistry. When I thought about Collins' suggestion, perhaps
Shakespeare's most famous soliloquy came to mind, that of Hamlet. Again, the setting is Denmark, which is ground to stand upon,
but there is room to layer experiences of the present: To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep- No more,
and by a sleep to say we end The heart ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep- To sleep, perchance to dream-ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
(Hamlet, III. i.) Hamlet
is appropriately brooding, but this is not the only poem or play I thought
about. I also thought about Cincinnati Shakespeare Festival's current
production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which a First Church group
went to see two weeks ago. I
cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard.
There may have been someone else laughing louder than I there that
evening, but I don't think so. I
laughed so hard I cried. By
the time Quince began his prologue to Pyramus and Thisby I was in
tears. I
knew what he was going to say. But
given the antics and terrific acting leading up to it, I just couldn't
wait for the prologue, I started to laugh so hard I cried.
This is Shakespeare's tribute to poor writing and missed
punctuation. It's utterly brilliant. If
we offend, it is with our good will. That
you should think, we come not to offend, But
with good will. To
show our simple skill, That
is the true beginning of our end. Consider
then, we come but in despite. We do not come, as minding to content you, Our
true intent is. All
for your delight We are not here. That you should here repent you, the actors
are at hand; and, by their show you
shall know all, that you are like to know (V.i.) Delightful.
I spoke to another First Church member who attended the production
and she noted that it was very different for her to be seeing this play
now, during war. She pointed
out to me that it's humor becomes that much more enjoyable, that much more
needed, now. Even
though a comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream still has elements of
mixed feelings. When Theseus
chooses to see the play Pyramus and Thisby performed (for which we
just heard the prologue) he is swayed by its description: Merry
and tragical? tedious and brief? This
is hot ice and wondrous strange snow. How
shall we find the concord of this discord? This
is amusing, poetic, and mixed. The
whole play is full of love, madness, perception, and sight.
It is also a play about both humans and the fairy world, and the
fairy world is mischievous, brooding, powerful, just a little menacing,
enough to make us pay closer attention to the more apparently harmless
human love above it. Without
belaboring the point, the characters suggests that we all might be much
more foolish than we know. It's
a gentle way to explore limitations, which many of us, including myself,
are considering today. Shakespeare also has an affinity for knuckleheads.
They make such great characters.
With all the lovers and fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream,
it's difficult to believe that an officious, bumbler like Bottom, the
local weaver, could steal the show, but steal it he does.
Shakespeare is a very funny man. I
may or may not know an Oberon, Titania, or Theseus in my life, but I have
on more than one occasion, known a Bottom.
Bottom is ignorant and bombastic, well-intentioned and
self-centered. He is in other
words, a pain in the Bottom, and it is only delightful when the
mischievous Puck gives him the head of an ass.
Bottom is like the boss you detest, the pontificating family member
you can't stand, that person in your church committee that brings you
great delight in their absence. We
all know Bottoms. But in
Shakespeare's hand Bottom is also charming, likable.
Somehow seeing this Bottom on stage softened all the Bottoms in my
life, made them more bearable even in their continued boorishness. Here
is Bottom when he finds awakens to find his normal head in place: I
have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream.
Methought I was - there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had, but man is but a patch'd
fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had.
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's
hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to
report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream.
It shall be call'd 'Bottom's Dream', because it hath no bottom.
(IV. i.). This
is really too beautiful. He's
not going to make a bottom of himself, he's not, he is, he's not, he does.
"The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not
seen." Beautiful.
"Man is but a patch'd fool, if he will offer to say what
methought I had." Nick
pointed out to me that Shakespeare has a way of being witty but also
getting a dig in. "Man is but a patch'd fool" "For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by
tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth." For those of you who have not seen a Cincinnati
Shakespeare Festival production, I encourage you to treat yourself to the
pleasure of well-done, local, ensemble Shakespeare. My husband and I are getting a season subscription for next
year. We are sold on it.
I was astonished that there is this quality of Shakespeare in our
city. All of us have seen
terrible Shakespeare - stiff actors, stilted delivery.
It is painful. But not here. The
only Bottom in this play was the Bottom who was supposed to be there, and
he was outstanding, as was everyone else. Speaking with Nick I realized that an ensemble production is special, and the same way Shakespeare was originally performed. The actors know one another and their ranges and styles. They are collaborative and share a vision for the production. The play has a continuity through different scenes and actors. An ensemble performance in a small, intimate theater offers more opportunity for Shakespeare to stir the viewer. In the first act I wondered who wasn't going to be
able to deliver their lines. By the second act I was watching the motion
of the fairies, listening to the sounds, engrossed in the insanity of the
Helena, Hermia, Lysander, Demetrius debacle ("'Little' again! Nothing but 'low' and 'little'!"). Well done Shakespeare opens an entire venue of possibility.
Intellectually, I am not even certain why I like Shakespeare.
I just like the way it makes me feel and think. This is the transcendent quality of Shakespeare, his ability to take the patron, the actor beyond the text or stage, to disassembled and reassembled thoughts and feelings. Shakespeare extends, stretches my experience of humanity, of being human. Shakespeare makes me feel like I can know, do, and see more, that there is something more in this world, or maybe that the little things of this world are made of more something that I know. On June 29, 1613, during the first performance of
Shakespeare's last play, Henry VIII, the Globe Theatre, where so
much of his work had come alive, burnt to the ground.
A striking ending. Shakespeare's
last comedy, considered a Romance, The Tempest, also premiered
earlier in the same year. Over
time The Tempest has been considered Shakespeare's final bow, and
these words of Prospero's say much about life, death, and theatre. They
offer a strange comfort and tribute to our finite humanity. You do look, my son, in a moved sort, As if you were dismayed; be cheerful sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air; And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And like this insubstantial pageant faded Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep (IV. i.)
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