la rousée de joly mois de may a mouillé m'amie et moy
So yesterday I went to get some (thoroughly pointless) car maintenance done, and since I didn't have any way to get anywhere while waiting, I went to the extremely conveniently-located Borders near the auto repair shop to pick up something to read (which was a good move since I waited for a surprisingly long time). This Borders is generally poorly-stocked (there's a better one approximately the same distance away, which is the one I usually go to) but this time I happened across a relatively inexpensive volume of Jacobean plays. It contained two (out of seven) that I didn't own, which is actually, given the store I was in and the amount of Jacobean drama I've read, pretty good, even though only one of those two plays is one I hadn't read. Ah, well, it didn't cost very much and it doesn't hurt to own three copies of The Duchess of Malfi. ;)
I will say, though, that the back cover blurb annoyed me for saying this: "Though nearly four centuries old they display surprisingly modern sensibilities regarding sex, violence, morality, and honor." Because, you know, cynicism and frank talk about sex were inventions of the twentieth century! Doesn't the kind of sentiment expressed in these plays actually demonstrate that people now aren't that different from people in the seventeenth century? It's just that we tend to see the past by extrapolating from the Victorians, or at least that's my best guess. (I will admit to having committed the "surprisingly modern" fallacy myself, usually as regards Measure for Measure, and resolve not to do it anymore, at least not in those terms.)
Anyway, while waiting for my car to be finished I read The Changeling, by Thomas Middleton and Samuel Rowley. It's an odd play, like most Jacobean plays are, with all sorts of illicit sex and violence and amputation of body parts. Unlike The Revenger's Tragedy, though, it would not be easily adaptable into a Ferengi episode. ;)
Note that the text I linked to is more thoroughly annotated than the one I read.
Okay, so there's this rather bland-looking fellow called Alsemero, who's in love with Beatrice-Joanna, daughter of an apparently important man named Vermandero. Okay, it doesn't say he's bland-looking, but I sort of imagine he is. Accompanying him is his buddy Jasperino, who has a thing for Beatrice's waiting-woman Diaphanta; I only bring this up because they figure into a plot point later. Beatrice shares Alsemero's interest, but unfortunately her father has other ideas; he wants her to marry one Alonzo de Piracquo, who's excited enough about the whole thing that he wants to get married within the week. Beatrice is less than thrilled, and this isn't her only problem. The ugly and creepy servant De Flores has been carrying a torch for her for apparently forever, and spends a lot of time stalking her, not put off in the least by her saying nasty things to him every time he talks to her.
As if this setup weren't enough cause for wackiness to ensue, there's an odd subplot in which the doctor Alibius, who treats mental patients and exhibits them for small fees, asks his servant Lollio to keep an eye on his wife Isabella, because she's young and he's not and he's both jealous and not an astute reader of fabliaux. Lollio snarks a lot but agrees to it. A gentleman named Pedro arrives with his cousin Antonio, who's pretending to be insane, and a standup comedy routine follows. Seriously.
Alonzo and his brother Tomaso arrive at Vermandero's house and meet Beatrice. Tomaso figures out pretty quickly that Beatrice is in love with somebody else, but Alonzo (who is also lacking in generic awareness) refuses to believe him. After they go offstage Alsemero offers to challenge Alonzo to a duel, but Beatrice dismisses the idea as impractical: even if he does kill Alonzo, how are they supposed to get together if he's on the lam? But the whole conversation gives her an idea: get the annoying lovestruck servant to do it! She'll pay him off, he'll flee the country, Alonzo will conveniently vanish, everybody wins! Except Alonzo, presumably. De Flores has been listening in on the conversation anyway, and thinks she'll sleep with him if he does her bidding, so he agrees when she asks (and does that whole seductive thing that's invariably a REALLY BAD move).
As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long, because Alonzo shows up right away and thinks De Flores would be the perfect tour guide for a nice leisurely stroll about Vermandero's palatial residence. De Flores shows him the gardens, the battlements, and then the extra-special GALLERY OF STABBINATION. He then tries to take Alonzo's ring off to show it to Beatrice as proof that he's done the dastardly deed, but it's stuck. No problem: he takes a page from Gollum's book and removes the entire finger.
Then there's a random subplot scene where we learn that Alibius has no less than two patients who are just pretending so as to get into Isabella's elaborate seventeenth-century undergarments. Lollio overhears Antonio attempting to put the moves on Isabella, who doesn't actually seem that interested in him, but insists that Lollio not tell Alibius. Alibius shows up and announces that Vermandero wants to hire some madmen to entertain at Beatrice's wedding. Seriously.
Meanwhile, back in the main plot, De Flores goes to Beatrice to claim his reward. Problem: they have a difference of opinion about what, exactly, they agreed to. De Flores claims that since she's already sacrificed her honor by, you know, suborning murder, losing her virginity to him ought to be no big deal. Besides, he says, it'll be fun! The text is silent on whether or not it actually is.
Anyway, following the sudden disappearance of Alonzo, Beatrice marries Alsemero as she'd wanted to. Since she's already had sex with the aptly-named De Flores, though, she's rather anxious about the wedding night, particularly as for some reason Alsemero has a lot of stuff in his closet that can be used to make potions that determine whether or not a woman is a virgin. Beatrice, however, is a quick thinker, and isn't suffering from the lack of generic consciousness that plagues the men in the play, so she calls her maid Diaphanta and makes her drink the potion. Luckily Diaphanta is, in fact, still a virgin, so Beatrice concocts a plan: she sends Diaphanta to Alsemero to tell him that her mistress is really nervous and would like to consummate the marriage in total darkness, if that's okay? It's okay with Alsemero, but meanwhile there's a lot of trouble going on at the castle, because Alonzo's brother has turned up and wants to find the Real Killers, and Jasperino overheard the conversation between De Flores and Beatrice.
Alsemero sends for Beatrice, and for the Amazing Virgin-Testing Potion. Since Beatrice has already given it to Diaphanta, she knows how to fake the symptoms, which are really silly and involve lots of gaping, sneezing, and hysterical laughter (it's probably a fun scene for actresses!) After a really random subplot scene in which Isabella puts off her suitors by disguising as a madwoman, we're back to the main plot. Beatrice is very annoyed, because Diaphanta, having agreed to take part in a bed-trick, is having way too much fun with it and Beatrice is afraid she won't leave before the sun comes up. De Flores turns up and concludes that arson is the best solution, so he sets Diaphanta's room on fire, because if that happens and she's not there it won't look good. So once the fire starts she rushes back to her quarters, where she's met (off-stage) by a pistol-packing De Flores, who then returns and claims mournfully that she's died tragically in the fire.
Tomaso (Alonzo's brother) and De Flores trade blows fairly randomly, not because Tomaso has any real grounds to suspect De Flores, but he's very cranky. De Flores surrenders to him out of guilt. At that point Alibius and Isabella show up and announce that two of their patients are actually members of Vermandero's household, and everybody assumes they're the killers because they left at about the same time Alonzo was killed. Alsemero calls Beatrice out again on the whole affair, and she finally confesses to having arranged the murder, after which he locks her in the closet. De Flores then arrives and Alsemero says he knows about the murder. Oh, says De Flores, but you don't know that I also scored with your wife! That tears it, Alsemero says, and locks De Flores into the same closet ("I'll be your pander now!" he exclaims).
At that point, Vermandero and the rest of the cast show up and announce the mystery has been solved. It sure has, says Alsemero, and right on cue we hear the sounds of various stabbings from inside the closet. Alsemero opens the door to reveal the mortally wounded Beatrice and De Flores (who stabbed her and then himself). They confess all and die. Well, says everyone still standing, we really dropped the ball on this one, didn't we? Tomaso and Vermandero shake hands and make up, Antonio and Franciscus (the other fake!madman) resolve to behave better, and Alibius decides to lighten up. There's a group hug and then Almesero tells the audience that their applause will make everything all better.
Of course, by the standards of Jacobean tragedy, this all looks positively normal. ;)
And congratulations: if you made it through all that you can consider yourself more educated! ;)
I will say, though, that the back cover blurb annoyed me for saying this: "Though nearly four centuries old they display surprisingly modern sensibilities regarding sex, violence, morality, and honor." Because, you know, cynicism and frank talk about sex were inventions of the twentieth century! Doesn't the kind of sentiment expressed in these plays actually demonstrate that people now aren't that different from people in the seventeenth century? It's just that we tend to see the past by extrapolating from the Victorians, or at least that's my best guess. (I will admit to having committed the "surprisingly modern" fallacy myself, usually as regards Measure for Measure, and resolve not to do it anymore, at least not in those terms.)
Anyway, while waiting for my car to be finished I read The Changeling, by Thomas Middleton and Samuel Rowley. It's an odd play, like most Jacobean plays are, with all sorts of illicit sex and violence and amputation of body parts. Unlike The Revenger's Tragedy, though, it would not be easily adaptable into a Ferengi episode. ;)
Note that the text I linked to is more thoroughly annotated than the one I read.
Okay, so there's this rather bland-looking fellow called Alsemero, who's in love with Beatrice-Joanna, daughter of an apparently important man named Vermandero. Okay, it doesn't say he's bland-looking, but I sort of imagine he is. Accompanying him is his buddy Jasperino, who has a thing for Beatrice's waiting-woman Diaphanta; I only bring this up because they figure into a plot point later. Beatrice shares Alsemero's interest, but unfortunately her father has other ideas; he wants her to marry one Alonzo de Piracquo, who's excited enough about the whole thing that he wants to get married within the week. Beatrice is less than thrilled, and this isn't her only problem. The ugly and creepy servant De Flores has been carrying a torch for her for apparently forever, and spends a lot of time stalking her, not put off in the least by her saying nasty things to him every time he talks to her.
As if this setup weren't enough cause for wackiness to ensue, there's an odd subplot in which the doctor Alibius, who treats mental patients and exhibits them for small fees, asks his servant Lollio to keep an eye on his wife Isabella, because she's young and he's not and he's both jealous and not an astute reader of fabliaux. Lollio snarks a lot but agrees to it. A gentleman named Pedro arrives with his cousin Antonio, who's pretending to be insane, and a standup comedy routine follows. Seriously.
Alonzo and his brother Tomaso arrive at Vermandero's house and meet Beatrice. Tomaso figures out pretty quickly that Beatrice is in love with somebody else, but Alonzo (who is also lacking in generic awareness) refuses to believe him. After they go offstage Alsemero offers to challenge Alonzo to a duel, but Beatrice dismisses the idea as impractical: even if he does kill Alonzo, how are they supposed to get together if he's on the lam? But the whole conversation gives her an idea: get the annoying lovestruck servant to do it! She'll pay him off, he'll flee the country, Alonzo will conveniently vanish, everybody wins! Except Alonzo, presumably. De Flores has been listening in on the conversation anyway, and thinks she'll sleep with him if he does her bidding, so he agrees when she asks (and does that whole seductive thing that's invariably a REALLY BAD move).
As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long, because Alonzo shows up right away and thinks De Flores would be the perfect tour guide for a nice leisurely stroll about Vermandero's palatial residence. De Flores shows him the gardens, the battlements, and then the extra-special GALLERY OF STABBINATION. He then tries to take Alonzo's ring off to show it to Beatrice as proof that he's done the dastardly deed, but it's stuck. No problem: he takes a page from Gollum's book and removes the entire finger.
Then there's a random subplot scene where we learn that Alibius has no less than two patients who are just pretending so as to get into Isabella's elaborate seventeenth-century undergarments. Lollio overhears Antonio attempting to put the moves on Isabella, who doesn't actually seem that interested in him, but insists that Lollio not tell Alibius. Alibius shows up and announces that Vermandero wants to hire some madmen to entertain at Beatrice's wedding. Seriously.
Meanwhile, back in the main plot, De Flores goes to Beatrice to claim his reward. Problem: they have a difference of opinion about what, exactly, they agreed to. De Flores claims that since she's already sacrificed her honor by, you know, suborning murder, losing her virginity to him ought to be no big deal. Besides, he says, it'll be fun! The text is silent on whether or not it actually is.
Anyway, following the sudden disappearance of Alonzo, Beatrice marries Alsemero as she'd wanted to. Since she's already had sex with the aptly-named De Flores, though, she's rather anxious about the wedding night, particularly as for some reason Alsemero has a lot of stuff in his closet that can be used to make potions that determine whether or not a woman is a virgin. Beatrice, however, is a quick thinker, and isn't suffering from the lack of generic consciousness that plagues the men in the play, so she calls her maid Diaphanta and makes her drink the potion. Luckily Diaphanta is, in fact, still a virgin, so Beatrice concocts a plan: she sends Diaphanta to Alsemero to tell him that her mistress is really nervous and would like to consummate the marriage in total darkness, if that's okay? It's okay with Alsemero, but meanwhile there's a lot of trouble going on at the castle, because Alonzo's brother has turned up and wants to find the Real Killers, and Jasperino overheard the conversation between De Flores and Beatrice.
Alsemero sends for Beatrice, and for the Amazing Virgin-Testing Potion. Since Beatrice has already given it to Diaphanta, she knows how to fake the symptoms, which are really silly and involve lots of gaping, sneezing, and hysterical laughter (it's probably a fun scene for actresses!) After a really random subplot scene in which Isabella puts off her suitors by disguising as a madwoman, we're back to the main plot. Beatrice is very annoyed, because Diaphanta, having agreed to take part in a bed-trick, is having way too much fun with it and Beatrice is afraid she won't leave before the sun comes up. De Flores turns up and concludes that arson is the best solution, so he sets Diaphanta's room on fire, because if that happens and she's not there it won't look good. So once the fire starts she rushes back to her quarters, where she's met (off-stage) by a pistol-packing De Flores, who then returns and claims mournfully that she's died tragically in the fire.
Tomaso (Alonzo's brother) and De Flores trade blows fairly randomly, not because Tomaso has any real grounds to suspect De Flores, but he's very cranky. De Flores surrenders to him out of guilt. At that point Alibius and Isabella show up and announce that two of their patients are actually members of Vermandero's household, and everybody assumes they're the killers because they left at about the same time Alonzo was killed. Alsemero calls Beatrice out again on the whole affair, and she finally confesses to having arranged the murder, after which he locks her in the closet. De Flores then arrives and Alsemero says he knows about the murder. Oh, says De Flores, but you don't know that I also scored with your wife! That tears it, Alsemero says, and locks De Flores into the same closet ("I'll be your pander now!" he exclaims).
At that point, Vermandero and the rest of the cast show up and announce the mystery has been solved. It sure has, says Alsemero, and right on cue we hear the sounds of various stabbings from inside the closet. Alsemero opens the door to reveal the mortally wounded Beatrice and De Flores (who stabbed her and then himself). They confess all and die. Well, says everyone still standing, we really dropped the ball on this one, didn't we? Tomaso and Vermandero shake hands and make up, Antonio and Franciscus (the other fake!madman) resolve to behave better, and Alibius decides to lighten up. There's a group hug and then Almesero tells the audience that their applause will make everything all better.
Of course, by the standards of Jacobean tragedy, this all looks positively normal. ;)
And congratulations: if you made it through all that you can consider yourself more educated! ;)