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Beyond clowns and kings: Aesthetic and ideological subversion in baroque tragicomedy

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Beyond clowns and kings: Aesthetic and ideological subversion in baroque tragicomedy

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Content BEYOND "CLOWNS AND KINGS": AESTHETIC AND IDEOLOGICAL SUBVERSION IN BAROQUE TRAGICOMEDY by Barbara Anne Simerka A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (Comparative Literature) August 1992 Copyright 1992 Barbara Anne Simerka UMI Number: DP22559 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. Dissertation Publishing UMI DP22559 Published by ProQuest LLC (2014). Copyright in the Dissertation held by the Author. Microform Edition © ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106- 1346 UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA THE GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVER SITY PARK LOS ANGELES, C A LIFO R N IA 90007 This dissertation, written by Barbara Anne Simerka t .... .............. under the direction of h . D i s s e r t a t i o n Committee, and approved by all its members, has been presented to and accepted by The Graduate School, in partial fulfillm ent of re quirements fo r the degree of D O C T O R O F P H IL O S O P H Y Dean of Graduate Studies D a te. DISSERTATION COMMITTEE Chairperson This dissertation is dedicated to my aunt, Gladys Fitzsimmons MacGee, who first introduced me to the joys of reading literature Table of Contents Introduction: Subversive/ Baroque/ Tragicomedy Ambiguity in Heroic Tragicomedy: Aristocratic Self-Mastery and Popular R Satiric Tragicomedy Tragicomedy and the Miracle Play: A Baroque Examination of Providential I Metatheater as a Dramatic Mode 1 Chapter 1 Introduction: Subversive/ Baroque/ Tragicomedy The title of this dissertation immediately calls r I ! itself, and its methodology, into question. What exactly is meant by comedy and tragedy? Essays that attempt to define these two terms seem to proliferate. Genre study is also problematic. Frederic Jameson, for example, follows his assertion that it has been "totally ! discredited" with an explanation of why it is such an important factor in Marxist literary criticism (105). The debate over the validity of period designations in general, and of the baroque in particular, would seem to have rendered an approach of this type anachronistic, i at the least - why resuscitate a long-dead corpse? I i Finally, the concept of "subversion" raises questions t concerning the validity of literary history in general, ; and, more specifically, the current debates between new historicist and materialist approaches to the historical . I ! I I study of literature. This study will attempt to revise i current assumptions concerning the usefulness of genre I and period study for illuminating the difficult dramas , ' of the baroque period, and to demonstrate that it is ! I j possible and productive to supplement an analysis of form i with an examination of the period's material conditions. ; i 2 This introductory chapter will focus on the theoretical and methodological problems I have just I !outlined. Each of the subsequent four chapters will | examine a group of plays which combine tragedy and comedy ! i I in a similar manner, and which also share thematic concerns' i related to the subversion of a specific element of the j I dominant ideology. Chapter 2 deals with four plays: Corneille’s Cinna, Rotrou’s Venceslas, Philaster, by | Beaumont and Fletcher, and La vida es sueho, which I call "heroic" tragicomedy because the transformation from » tragedy to comedy is accomplished in part through the j type of heroic self-mastery common to epic literature. j The questioning of the dominant ideology in these plays stems from the representation of actual or threatened J popular uprisings as a significant factor in the comic ; reconciliations. In chapter 3, I examine the way that the inclusion of satire in tragicomedy serves to emphasize ■ the subversive elements that undermine happy endings. ! ! The focus of Measure for Measure and Ruiz de Alarcon’s 1 Ganar amigos is the problematic nature of human judicial institutions. Tartuffe and El burlador de Sevilla are ' .. . 1 1 1.... — I studied in both chapters 3 and 4, for they combine the j satire of idealized monarchical justice with a demystification of deus-ex-machina as a theatrical and I ' ! theological topos. Chapter 4 also examines Cymbeline, t demonstrating that this play, like Tartuffe and EJL ] burlador. is a revision of the medieval mystery play, ; rather than a "romance," and that all three plays subvert j I I the belief in divine intervention in human affairs. I Chapter 5 draws attention to the link between formal and ideological subversion through its examination of the ' theatrum mundi theme in L*illusion comique, Le veritable i Saint Genest, and Lope de Vega’s Lo fingido verdadero, 1 i !through the analysis of generic juxtapositions in Calderon I . ■ - ’ ; de la Barca's El medico de su honra, and through a study I of the function of parody in Troilus and Cressida. The ; work as a whole attempts to redefine tragicomedy in order ! to shed light on works that have often been called "problem1 plays," to demonstrate that this genre can be most usefully studied in conjunction with an analysis of the period complex in which it is situated, and to correct the 'critical impression that tragicomedy is an essentially : 1 I escapist genre that provides facile wish-fulfillment. j ! i i Genre study is held' in disrepute when it is associated! i with scientific practices, such as "pigeon-holing" or "classification," which are of little value for modern scholarship. Writers such as Maurice Blanchot even argue j i ! i that genres have disappeared completely in (post)modern > i ‘ I"texts." However, Tzvetan Todorov demonstrates 1 'convincingly that genres have not disappeared, instead, "the genres-of-the-past have simply been replaced by others. We no longer speak of poetry and prose, of documentary and fiction, but of novel and narrative, of narrative mode and discursive mode..." (14). Todorov [also supports the central position of the link between genre study and literary history in his assertion that, "like any other institution, genres bring to light the constitutive features of the societies to which they belong" (19). His observation that "a society chooses and codifies the acts that correspond most closely to jits ideology; that is why the existence of certain genres jin one society, their absence in another, are relevatory of that ideology" is a strong validation of my arguments concerning the period-specificity of baroque tragicomedy. Adena Rosmarin emphasizes that genres are not :"natural," that the critical act of naming a genre is I la prescriptive act which involves the prescription of "not literary but critical practice" (40, 50). She describes the task of the genre critic as the ability to convince the reader that | the posited genre is more 'like' the text j than the genres used to carry on previous ! discussions of the same text, that this genre, in other words, is the vehicle that most fully and precisely captures the tenor or text. (40) Rosmarin concludes that genre theory is a powerful critical 5 tool (hence the title of her book, The Power of Genre) because it is precisely the tool which has "not only the power to correct previous readings but also the power to inspire the future readings that constitute its own correction" 51). It is in this spirit of critical carpentry that I offer my own revisions of seventeenth- century genre criticism. I do not argue that genre theory is the best or only method for approaching literature, or even that it is the most useful approach to these particular texts. Indeed, as Catherine Larson points out in her comprehensive examination of Language and the Comedia, one major problem with any theoretical approach i is the critical tendency to try to make texts fit the j I theories chosen. She writes that "such efforts are | frequently doomed to failure because they force a reading on the literary text" (18). My hope in this dissertation I i ; is to demonstrate that the combination of genre and period i theory makes it possible to produce new and useful readings of the plays under consideration. The concept of genre as family resemblance, developed j ! ' i by Alastair Fowler, also provides a useful framework. | Fowler describes family resemblance as a relationship where "representatives of a genre may be regarded as making I up a family whose sets and individual members are related ; in various ways, without necessarily having any single feature shared in common by all" (41). Approaching genre jstudy from this perspective leads to a process of "identifying and communicating, rather than defining and I classifying...when we try to decide the genre of a work, then, our aim is to discover its meaning” (Fowler 38). i j Thus, it is not a matter of simple recategorization that I invoke in attempting to offer new generic labels for I many early 17th century dramas. Instead, I hope to use I the labels as a way to offer a new perspective on the j meaning of these plays, many of which have already been j identified as "problem plays" because their full range of significance is not adequately conveyed by current j f generic labels: dark comedy, romance, or Christian tragedy.j i As Fowler observes, genre study is a major tool in the 1 reconstruction of meaning for "old or difficult works” : i (278). The plays that I will examine are both. j 1 Genre study is central to many approaches to literary | history. The foundation of Hans Robert Jauss1 theory ! of reader reception is the "horizon of expectations” : ! the set of assumptions readers bring to any new work they i read. For Jauss, conventions of genre are an integral part of that frame of reference, "which are then varied, • changed, or just reproduced,” depending on the amount j of generic innovation present in a new work (Cohen 17). Jauss points out that one of the problems inherent in ; J the study of works that have come to be considered classics j is that changes in the horizon can close the "aesthetic 7 distance" which made the work challenging rather than ! comforting for the original audience. In order to avoid a "culinary" reading of these works, it is necessary to read them "against the grain"--to attempt to reconstruct the original horizon of expectations so that the challenging and innovative elements can be appreciated. The misconceptions about baroque tragicomedy are due, in part, to the change in horizons which now causes them to appear as escapist works which fulfill expectations which are prescribed by 1 a dominant taste by satisfying the demand for i the reproduction of familiar beauty, con firming familiar sentiments, encouraging dreams, making unusual experiences palatable as "sensations" or even raising moral prob lems, but only to "solve" them in an edifying manner when the solution is already obvious. (Cohen 19) ! !One focus of this work is the aesthetic subversions in baroque tragicomedy--the mixture of genres and tones, the "laying bare" of literary and dramatic conventions— which have become common features of twentieth-century drama, but which were challenging to the original audience. The generic label that I will assign to the plays under discussion is tragicomedy. This move will not seem i ! particularly daring to the small group of critics who \ already use genre theory as a primary tool for the study of these works. However, for the majority of critics 8 working in the fields of Shakespearean studies or Classical French drama, this will require a re-examination of some j basic, widely held beliefs. The first issue to address \ is the reluctance to use the concept of tragicomedy as a way to illuminate difficult texts. Nancy Klein Maguire writes that one possible explanation is that tragicomedy "escapes" the binary compulsion that dominates western ; (approaches to knowledge (6). Frederic Jameson’s I explanation of Derrida’s version of post-structuralism, which highlights "the unmasking and demystification of < i a host of unconscious or naturalized binary oppositions ( I in contemporary thought," does not specifically refer i to tragicomedy, but it does point out other oppositions, ; such as male and female, and norm and deviation, which I are relevant to the topic (114). I believe that Fowler is correct in his observation that generic hierarchies ( do exist, although they are usually implicit (230). The !explicit nature of the hierarchization of tragedy and J I comedy is due, at least in part, to the fact that these 1 two genres together form a binary opposition, in which I tragedy has long been privileged, through the same process applied to other binaries, in which."these axes function to ratify the centrality of a dominant term by means of 1 i i 1 the marginalization of an excluded or inessential one i (Jameson, 114). Tragedy is central and privileged because J it deals with issues related to governing and the transfer I 9 of power, which are considered '’masculine” in patriarchal i ' western societies. The most frequent topic of comedy ! is courtship and marriage, which is part of a "female,” j and therefore marginalized, discourse. The position of tragicomedy in this hierarchy is i subordinate even to that of comedy. One of the most I i important rules in the organization of values into binary j oppositions is that Of separation, or as Derrida himself says, "genres are not to be mixed" (1980, 202. However, I Derrida later shows this assertion to be questionable). j To privilege tragicomedy is to perform an act of j I deconstruction on this particular example of binary thought in order to "put into practice a reversal of the classical | opposition and a general displacement of the system", which will then allow tragicomedy to escape from its ; marginal position in seventeenth-century drama study | (Derrida, 1970, 194). Although Jonathan Dollimore is ' not specifically referring to tragicomedy, his observation , that binarism "both produces ambiguities which it can’t ; contain and invites transgression in and of its own terms" ! I is relevant here (1986, 62). His example is the breakdown | in Jacobean drama of the male/female binary which "produces the scandal of the transvestite, not to mention the I i troubling ambiguity of the hermaphrodite." "Hermaphrodite"; j is one of the images used by critics of the period to ! condemn generic mixtures. Tragicomedy has long been perceived as a threatening phenomenon. The mixing of genres was discouraged by the two most influential classic authorities, Aristotle and Horace. In the period this study addresses, the two ancient authorities are often mentioned by those who would condemn the genre as a "mongrel" (Sydney) or a "bastard" in need of "legitimization" (Yoch, in Maguire 115). This peculiar ■ i ! j vocabulary highlights the fact that writing tragicomedy j l I |is perceived as an act whose consequences have implications| outside of the realm of literature; it is a transgression ; J related to inappropriate reproductive behavior, and I therefore poses a threat to social hierarchies. Even Guarini’s defense of the genre he revived in the late 16th century utilizes sexual terminology - he calls ! i I tragicomedy a "hermaphrodite." Another supporter and f practitioner of the genre, Lope de Vega, calls it a I "Minotaur." All of these examples confirm the threat j tragicomedy's breakdown of a binary opposition held as |"natural" poses for sixteenth and seventeenth century critics, including Guarini's major opponent, Denores, I as well as Mazzoni and Scaliger. Joseph Lowenstein points I !out the political implications of this critical debate, iwhich he describes as "a poetics that testifies to their J shared conviction of the power of innovative art and which \ 11 then broods over whether this power can or cannot be I enlisted in the practical service of the Good" (Maguire, ' 39). : I The perception of tragicomedy as a threat to established hierarchies is not limited to a remote critical past. Modern critics are almost as reluctant to j acknowledge the prevalence of generic mixture in the j I |baroque period. Shakespearean scholars are particularly ! i ! noteworthy in their avoidance of this generic designation. Despite frequent usage of the term in his introductions to Pericles and Cymbeline, David Bevington’s edition of the complete works reverts to the more accepted designation! "romance" in the table of contents. Even Barbara Mowat, whose essay explores the tragicomic dimensions of both ' Shakespeare's "dark comedies" and "romances", hedges in ! 1 her conclusion: "even if not probable, even if only possible, the very chance that some of his more intriguing j | dramas are essays into new generic forms makes the question* of 'Shakespearean tragicomedy' worth our pondering" (Maguire, 95). Nicholas Grene's study of the "unusual" and "grave threats" posed in the "comedies" Volpone and | f Tartuffe suffers from the same timidity. He concludes ! that comedy is not limited to "follies and minor human j error" and that the two plays do not go beyond "endangering their status as single genre comedy" (162). 12 I It is not accidental that tragicomedy of all periods | i has been receiving an increasing amount of critical 1 r t jattention, after years of relative neglect. Harry Levin j and others attribute this increased critical interest to the resurgence of tragicomic drama after World War II, as exemplified by Beckett’s Godot and Ionesco's Les Chaises (Levin 118, Grene 183). Fowler’s analysis of the way genres change would seem to support this thesis. He writes that the reputation of an entire genre may ! I be affected when it is no longer "active," and that changes: in a genre's fortune (such as the reappearance of • tragicomedy) may affect the reception of past works, \ particularly through the canonization of newly revisioned ; texts, which may include the "lesser" works of major ( !authors, as well as formerly non-canonical authors (228, j 233). It is my hope that this study will play a part \ in canon revision: by re-categorizing works already in jthe canon, so that they may be read, taught, and i (anthologized in new ways, and by expanding the canon to I ; accommodate "lesser" plays by Corneille, Lope and I j Shakespeare, as well as works by Rotrou, Ruiz de Alarcon, and other playwrights who are currently studied only by I specialists. It is also to be hoped that this will lead I I . to an increase in the canon of plays that are considered suitable for staging in public theaters. This dissertation follows the path first broken by Marvin Herrick, whose comprehensive survey of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century 'tragicomedy remains an invaluable reference to the large corpus of Italian, French, and English tragicomedies of the period. However, this study also seeks to correct I | !some of the flaws in that work. The most obvious is j I , Herrick's failure to include Spanish tragicomedy because 1 of the fact that it did not influence the development j of neo-classical tragicomedy in England and France ! !(introduction). Herrick's reason for excluding the Spanish: i drama also reveals another weakness: a teleological approach to tragicomedy which privileges as "triumphant" ; I the neo-classical "tragedy with a happy ending" over the more complex types of mixtures which are the focus of i my work (180). Herrick marginalizes these works, which he defines as "drame libre," because the combination of j classical and medieval elements produces plays that are . "irregular" and "romanesque" (299). The most significant ! flaw in Herrick's approach is his failure to go beyond . the type of pigeon-holing that has been responsible for J I ‘ the discreditintg of genre study. Herrick categorizes tragicomedy as pastoral, "drame libre," or tragedy with : a happy ending, but does not seek to understand the i I implications of different types of genre mixtures. The goal of this dissertation is to use the designation of I ! tragicomedy as a tool to examine the way generic mixtures j ! ' contribute to the production of meaning. There are as many definitions of tragicomedy as there are scholars using the term. They range from Guarini’s very specific recommendations on the alternation of comic j I ♦ [and serious scenes for the purpose of entertaining without arousing excesses of emotion, to Fletcher’s threat of death but no actual death, to Sydney's dislike of "hornpipes and funerals", to modern theories that focus { I i on the type of audience reaction (Grene), or how comedy | land tragedy are mixed (Parr, Mowat, Hirst). To this plethora, I will add my own definition, which addresses content, reaction, and the type of mixture. A tragicomedy 1 I | is a play which combines the love interest and the final ! reconciliations typical of comic plot patterns with the threat of death or disgrace of tragic plotting in such 1 a fashion that both genres affect the outcome. A play ! like Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, in which the humorous scenes ; have no bearing on the final outcome, is not tragicomic. The content must include the threat of death, averted, j or actual death followed by a transcendence. In most ! : cases, the "happy" ending will not be unambiguous: I will i show that in many of theses plays the ending is a blatant display of artistic prowess which calls attention to the i skill of the dramatist's innovations rather than pointing !5 to some sort of divine providence that offers optimistic t implications for the world outside of the theater. The most common audience reaction, therefore, is not the often invoked purgation, which implies emotional involvement, but rather a more detached appreciation of aesthetic experimentation, accompanied by a sense of validation of a more skeptical view of experience than that evoked by comedy or tragedy. In the attempt to specify a generic label for difficult plays, as part of the task of explaining how these plays mean, it is often useful to identify the dominant genre in a play which utilizes more than one (Parr 1990, 159). In the case of tragicomedy the j "dominant" is the blending or juxtaposition of two genres in an identifiable manner, which I will outline more specifically in the appropriate chapters. As I indicated : earlier, satire, the epic, and the medieval miracle play are important presences in baroque tragicomedy. It should not be surprising that a period which routinely ignores | the separation of the two primary dramatic genres would also include elements of other genres, both dramatic and narrative. To explain the way that these supplementary genres function in tragicomedy, Alastair Fowler’s concepts ! of mode and modal transformations are helpful. He defines ' a mode as a selection of a group of features of a previous ! genre or kind, "an incomplete repertoire, a selection 16 only of the corresponding kind's features, and one from which overall external structure is absent" (107). Fowler writes that a mode is often the final stage of a genre's I development; after the genre has been "played out," certain of its characteristics "may remain lively... being able to enter into new commixtures and to continue in i - !combination with kinds still evolving" (167). The j I identification of specific modal variations of tragicomedy, and an examination of how these modal presences contribute i j to the undermining of literary and political conventions, j is an integral part of this work. There also exists a significant body of baroque plays : in which the "dominant" is self-conscious awareness— what other critics, beginning with Lionel Abel, have called i "metatheater." The parody of dramatic and other literary j ! genres and a focus on theater or theatrical elements of ' 1 ' life are the two salient features of this mode of representation. I use the term mode even though it [ l I corresponds to no traditional generic label because there is a recognizable group of characteristics, examined in | chapter 5, which do contribute a specific perspective I in drama of all genres. Self-consciousness can be seen l in many plays that are unquestionably tragedies or j ' comedies, as well tragicomedies. It is worthwhile to call I attention to this mode because it alters the way that the genres mean, and because it is the feature that ' provides, to my mind, the strongest link between the i I various dramatic genres, and between theater and other forms of literature in the period. It is also, as I } pointed out earlier, one of the most important elements j jin the fusion that results in the diachronically unique yet synchronically meshed phenomenon of baroque j i tragicomedy. I I III i | Like genre designations, period analysis can also | I be a dead end if it is a mere matter of classification : for its own sake. However, if we approach periods in the same way that we have done genres, searching for family resemblances rather than attempting to devise a list of f characteristics, for the purpose of illuminating the way 1 this group of plays communicates meaning, then it is a useful enterprise. I believe it is particularly relevant ; ! in this study, because of the strong link that I will j I attempt to demonstrate between the baroque and tragicomic aesthetic visions, as well as the similarities in the worlds they represent. Thus, this study seeks to validate both periodization as a form of literary history and the | ! baroque as a period. 18 Even among scholars who accept the validity of ' i literary history, the choice of period study as a basis j for textual analysis is often considered problematic. | Part of this negative attitude is due to the the static, ! pigeon-hole approach of nineteenth century positivist literary history, which has, rightly, been discredited since the advent of New Criticism. Most modern critics i agree that a simple listing of stylistic and thematic characteristics is inadequate as a definition of a period, \ t At the same time, if they are examined as a part of a j larger complex, in which these elements are related to |historical and philosophical concerns, then this modified J I traditional approach can be productive. Claudio Guillen writes that the effect of World War | I on history writing has also had an impact on literary I | j history: the loss of faith in the equating of history 1 with progress and development lead to a discrediting of i any notion of order in historical forces, such as that |implied by period study (425). However, recent innovations in the methodology of literary history in general have I I also benefited period study. D. W. Robertson observes j | I I I |that although Foucault’s methodological approach is quite | I different from that of art historians or those who study ; literary stylistics, the major shifts in the "substratum of thought" identified by Foucault correspond closely : t |to the period divisions suggested by other critics (Cohen 19 67). Thus, although Foucault refers to the early ^seventeenth century as "cette periode qu'a tort ou a raison1 ! on a appelee baroque," without a definite commitment, the characteristics that he identifies as indicative of a change of episteme are similar to the distinctions period ■ jcritics make when describing the Renaissance and Baroque i ■ as separate epochs, as I will demonstrate (although Foucault does not, of course, imply a notion of historical progress as did positivist historians). I It is important to emphasize that period study makes j i ‘ i , an important contribution to illuminating historically ' remote texts. In an issue of Neohelicon dedicated to period theory, Pavel Grincer writes that it is the act of ( I •distinguishing periods from one another that makes it 1 possible "to appreciate each epoch correctly from the inside, as it were, taking into account its own literary , criteria" as part of a larger goal: "to form a general J picture of the historical development of poetics" (23). | I This is not meant to imply that each epoch is a static monolith, a problem with past approaches to periodization i ( that this study will address. j | The most simplistic approach to period definition is to list a series of characteristics, stylistic and thematic, that a work must have in order to "belong" to • |a certain literary period. However, this type of I t I ,classificatory process can very easily lead to a meaningless sort of labeling for the sake of labeling I which contributes little to the understanding of the texts ! ,in question, and which may also falsely produce the type j 1 I jof homogenized harmony that poststructuralist criticism I has correctly sought to discredit. Jurij Vipper's introduction to the Neohelicon issue on periodization j I offers a more complex definition, one which does not seek j t J to cover up the tensions that are present in any historical or literary period, saying that a period is "l'ensemble des problemes de conception de monde et leurs solutions , litteraires, formant une sorte de systeme." However, ' I the idea that literature can produce "solutions" is ! uncomfortably close to the process of taming or containing , f ' I conflict that materialist critics condemn (Dollimore 1989, i introduction) . It is also important to note that, unlike scientific J categories, literary periods are not separate and discrete.; | Earlier attempts at period study have been rejected, j } I in part, because this assumption often produced criticism in which works of the past were valued only insofar as i I they could be seen as part of an evolutionary process j . i i leading to a favored modern form, a perfectly acceptable J method for evaluating extinct animal species, but one : which does not help to illuminate the ’’past significance” of literary artifacts (Weimann in Cohen, 61). My study ; draws on the more contemporary work done by Jonathan , Dollimore and Claudio Guillen, which move beyond the idea i I of periods as harmonious monolithic entities. Dollimore writes that every historical epoch is made up of the , relationship between a dominant element and its residual | and emerging competitors, as well as subordinate or i repressed undercurrents (1989, 11). My use of the image I of currents is actually from the writings of Brandes, j I \ which are successful in demonstrating that periods, like j the flowing of a river, do change over time, and are composed of multiple currents. However, as Guillen j i observes, this representation of change risks implications j of teleology, for rivers always flow towards a specific ' end, the sea, while theories of period change which are l viewed from the perspective of a perfected destination i are problematic (449). In contrast to period schemes which are reactionary in their attempts to domesticate I l , historical change, Guillen's concept of "dynamic , periodology" is a critical procedure which celebrates the notion of change, the lack of unity, and the strains and contradictions in a "criticism of becoming" (437). 1 I Thus, for Guillen the most productive way to study baroque literature is not through an examination of shared aesthetic features, but through an analysis of its I . dialectics, such as the tensions between court and country, nobility and bourgeoisie (493). This study will examine ■ b„o_th„elements of baroque tragicomedy. 22 IV I There exists a general agreement concerning the i fundamental elements of baroque literature at the thematic | and stylistic levels (Warnke, Buffum and Rousset). They include: awareness of both the corrupt nature of humanity and its potential for reformation and salvation, a j preoccupation with the gap between what the senses perceive1 and the essential nature of what is perceived, and a focus I • on the chaotic and grotesque aspects of human experience. < These perceptions are directly tied to the stylistic : I devices that describe them: paradox, oxymoron, antithesis, f elaborate conceits, self-conscious references to drama j and other forms of literature and metaphors that link apparently unlike objects are among the favored tools of poetic language. In this context, the mixture of genres . is part of a larger tendency to push to the limits the ; i artistic representation of human experience. j Even in works that study the literature of the late i sixteenth and early seventeenth century without using i i I the term baroque, there is a tendency to describe the 1 same stylistic and thematic elements, and to recognize I ! that there are three major shifts during this period. , Timothy Reiss' descriptions of three phases of French drama: the theater of destiny, theater of doubt, and 23 1 theater of illusion are similar to the more traditional « labels of Renaissance, Baroque, and Classical drama (35). I Reiss' exploration of the theater of doubt emphasizes , ! many of the characteristics associated with the baroque: metatheatrical references, stage characters confused about 1 the line between reality and illusion, and the i > subordination of plot to "the dialectic of dramatic J jelements" (58). Walter Cohen also divides English and i Spanish tragicomedy into three periods, whose middle j periods are characterized by more politically subversive t I critiques of established hierarchies and by tragicomedy in which the two genres are juxtaposed rather than blended 1 (Maguire 162-63). The dates which Reiss and Cohen use ! jto divide, these periods are different; however, as Guillen I observed, there is always an "international time lag" . which causes periods to emerge and rise to dominance at idifferent times in different countries (442). I Frank Warnke writes that the term baroque is often S i avoided by chronological references, such as the Spanish i siglo de oro, or the English designations Elizabethen j and Jacobean (18). Another critical tendency is to refer | i to all literature from the mid-sixteenth century until I the rise of (Neo-) Classicism as Renaissance literature. Such is the case with Nancy Klein Maguire’s otherwise I exemplary anthology of essays on tragicomedy from Guarini ! to the Restoration, in which the term baroque is not used 24 at all. However, critics from Warnke to Foucault have : l established that there was an epistemological shift, and j ! a corresponding modification of poetic techniques, towards j I the end of the sixteenth century. The confidence in the I ! validity of sensory experience Warnke describes as typical j of Renaissance ideology (21) is similiar to Foucault’s idea that until the late sixteenth century symbols were organized based on a system of resemblances, in which l jnatural "blazons” made visible the relations between micro-; I ! land macrocosm (42-45). The changes in aesthetic practice j I l correspond closely to the loss in faith concerning external I appearances; Warnke writes that Renaissance literature j uses a “common storehouse" of poetic images which emphasizej | physical likenesses (ruby lips, alabaster skin) while 1 baroque texts favor imagery based on similiarities i perceived by the intellect or imagination (28). Foucault j describes Don Quixote as the archetypal baroque character, one whose attempts to prove that there is a resemblance between his books and reality are perpetually doomed (60). , I Of course, the baroque period does not constitute a ! 1 total repudiation of Renaissance ideas and techniques, for all periods retain much of their predecessors. Andrej Mihailov points out that, just as the Counterreformation i ;incorporated much of Renaissance humanist belief into \ its revival of medieval traditions, baroque literature also made use of both literary sources, which it combined in an innovative fashion (Neohelicon 60-61). Baroque i stylistics thus participate in the historical moment, j both reflecting and directing a society in transition. J i I V I \ I It is already a common practice for scholars of the baroque as a period complex to emphasize the importance | | of the relationship between baroque literary production ! and social and political forces. Andor Tornai observes 1 that it is due in part to the failure to acknowledge the ! I j economic and social roots of the baroque that critics have had difficulty in understanding the variations within the period (Neohelicon 58). Robert Weimann goes beyond ; Marxist historical determinism in stating that, in the | drama of the period, "historical circumstances are not merely represented but, rather, are part and parcel of j j the representing" (1986, 466). Foucault's archaeological ! criticism is an examination of the relationship between the representative power of language and the political, ' ! . social, scientific and cultural forces "a partir de quoi j connaissances et theories ont ete possibles" (13). Materialist and new historical critics like Dollimore » and Stephen Greenblatt have attempted to revive historical ! i literary study by examining the links between the political and philosophical "crisis" of the early seventeenth century and their reflection in the contradictions and discontinuities of "Jacobean" drama (Dollimore 1989, I 'introduction). Although these critics differ greatly in their methodology, they share the belief that an understanding of the relevant material circumstances is not merely beneficial but indispensable for successful I study of this literary period. Walter Cohen and Andor Tornai agree that one of the key historical events of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries is the refeudalization of commercial l activity, du au fait que la noblesse, la classe feodale dominante a reussi a tourner a son profit les avantages de la production de marchandises et ceux de la colonisation, et dominait en gene ral la bourgeoisie a tel point que cette der- niere cherchait a s'assimiler a I'ancienne classe dominante en s'achetant des seigneuries (Tornai, Neohelicon 58, Cohen in I ! Maguire 160). I Tornai's linkage of "les metaphors etonnantes et difficiles a comprendre" which are characteristic of the i I baroque period with its "base sociale" is one indication that some critics view the class relations of the period as troubled, to say the least. | An emphasis on the unease experienced by the dominanti j social groups as a result of rapid social changes is another key element of historical analysis of the baroque period for all three of the countries I am examining. Paul Siegel's analysis of the "Elizabethan Compromise" i is not as harmonious as the label would indicate, for j his description of the uneasy balance between the middle | I > iclass, the ranks of the new nobility created by Henry j VIII to support the new Anglican Church, and the old j aristocracy, weakened by the internal rivalries of the War of the Roses, emphasizes that order consisted of the j I monarchy and the different classes playing the weaknesses ! of one group against another (3). Robert Weimann also focuses on the chaotic elements of English society during i a period when I I traditional feudal and clerical hierarchies and institutions were economically, politi-, cally and culturally uprooted without having as yet been superseded by the more modern force of social organization associated with j the rise of power of the commercial classes. \ (1986, 468) Weimann links this social and political confusion to i ' i |literary conditions in citing John Lyly's defense of mixed ' genre drama, a "mingle mangle" which reflects that "the whole world has become an hodge-podge" (1986 462). Lyly also uses this argument to support the mixing of different ' social classes on the stage, even though it violates I classical dramatic precepts. In addition, Lyly invokes the demands of "soldiers, courtiers, farmers and i shepherds," the disparate elements of his audience, to i ;justify the deauthorization of classical norms. Thus, : I |Weimann concludes, Lyly's prologue is proof of the ; 2.8 interdependence of literary and historical forces, "the new constellation of authority is inseparable from the projected image of a mixed audience demanding ]self-articulation" (1986, 463). Weimann shows that the I ' thematic and stylistic elements of baroque drama are I grounded in social and historical circumstances that j t encourage new perspectives on aesthetic as well as ethical | i jand political issues. i Michel Foucault and Lucien Goldmann describe the - changing values in early seventeenth century France by i examining intellectual and political history. Foucault writes that one significant aspect of the epistemological i shift during this period is the move from a tripartite | sign system, consisting of "le signifiant, le signifie, et la 1 conjoncture," to a sign system that is binary, ■ "puisqu'on la definira, avec Port-Royal, par la liaison ! ! d'un significant et d 1un signifie" (57). This shift is I accompanied by a new way to formulate questions about language; during the Renaissance, "on s'etait demande : comment reconnaitre qu’un signe designait bien ce qu'il l signifiait; a partir du XVII siecle on se demandera comment un signe peut etre lie a ce qu'il signifie" (58). Foucault i describes the consequences for literature in terms that j I l this study uses as important points of departure, I j particularly in its linking of the aesthetic and the Lhisto.rical, and most especially in chapter 5's examination : of self-conscious and metatheatrical dramaturgy: l ’age du sembable est en train de se refermer j sur lui-meme. Derriere lui, il ne laisse que des jeux. Des jeux dont les pouvoirs ; ! d ’enchantement croissent de cette parente nouvelle de la ressemblance et de l’illusion; j partout se dessinent les chimeres de la j similitude, mais on sait que ce sont des ! chimeres; c ’est le temps privilige du trompe | l’oeil, de l ’illusion comique, du theatre ^ qui se dedouble et represente un theatre, du I quiproquo, des songes et visions, c ’est le j temps des sens trompeurs; c'est le temps ou j les metaphores, les comparaisons et les alle- 1 gories definissent l'espace poetique du language. (65) l For. Foucault, the connection between the changed perception i of the relationship between signifier and signified is ; a historically grounded phenomenon that has important I ' I implications for literary uses of language, and for the > perception of literature as a mode of representation. : The plays this study will examine share this new vision with the Qui iote, which is the Ur-text for Foucault’s j i exploration of the period. Like Siegel and Weimann, Lucien Goldmann emphasizes ' the changing political conditions which result in I escalating intra-class tensions. Goldmann identifies several important shifts that occur in the first half ! | of the century: the domestication of the feudal ’’noblesse j i : d ’epee” and its transformation into the decorative rather I than functional "noblesse de cour," the rise of Jansenism i ; and the conflict between the friends of Port-Royal and , | the Jesuit factions in the court, as well as the formation1 of a permanent bureaucratic apparatus based on a balance iof power between the aristocracy and the Third Estate. However, as in the "Elizabethan Compromise," this balance was a volatile one, with constant attempts by both groups 'to gain ascendancy (115-56). We will see that the writings | 1 of the apologists for absolutism and of the theologians ! of the period are reflected in the political and religious i themes of the tragicomedies studied here, and that the j plays themselves are an important part of the period's attempts to define itself. J Jose Antonio Maravall indicates that the social and 1 political climate of baroque Spain is similar to that of France and England. He writes that "in all the European; I countries during the first years of the seventeenth century, the rulers, the individuals of the ruling classes, i | and the privileged feared they had gone too far in their j i tolerance of mobility" (1986, 25-26). The subtitle of his article on the period, "The Diphasic Schema of a Social; I t j Crisis," provides an immediate clue to his view of the ' ■ results of dramatic social transformations. "Expansion" is the term that Maravall chooses to describe the types ! I of changes that occur in Spain, in part because of the effect that the discovery of the New World had on the f I 1 : economy, and the subsequent increase in social mobility J (1986, 10). The influx of metals, and the corresponding surge in the amount of cash in circulation, also affected ; 31 | •the nature of property ownership, "from being a foundation j ' j of prestige and rank to being exploited for profit” ; (Maravall 9). Maravall cites Velez de Guevara's picaresque i novel, El diablo conjuelo, as an example of how the period’s perceptions regarding change are part of the literary world. In this work, the court is described I as a "human cauldron" in which "one can see men and women I I boiling, some upward, and others downward and others 1 i crosswise" (Maravall 20). For Maravall, this metaphor, i typical of baroque style in its graphic grotesqueness, "implies confusion, disorder, pain, and shameful ugliness, ! a view produced by the agitating movement that pressures people to upset their ordered positions" (20). Maravall j I i writes that social mobility is accompanied by a type of "negation" which rejects established social norms, and I that ! i 1 it is on these grounds that the upper groups proposed to take measures of subjection and insistently appealed to the King to make him see that those striving to climb higher— whether they succeeded or not— were enemies j j of the monarchy and of the privileged society that necessarily served as its support (23). Although Maravall focuses on the process of containment in his assertion that baroque writers produced "un teatro J j en apoyo de la sociedad configurada segun un orden I monarquico-senorial," (the title of a chapter in his Teatro v literatura en la sociedad barroca) the representation , of the competing interests he and the other historians I describe can also subvert the established order, as I ' j will show. | f Walter Cohen's work can be seen as representative ; of the type of historical criticism which views baroque j theater as supportive of the dominant ideology. For Cohen,' I refeudalization, the result of the "demise of capitalism" in the late sixteenth century, reduced social tensions j j in Spain and England by eliminating the struggle of the 1 bourgeois class to increase its power and produced an • "anti-individualist, collective ideology that downplays , conflict within the community" (Maguire 161). However, J in order to demonstrate this harmony within Spanish itragicomedy, Cohen is forced to resort to the type of criticism which invalidates conflict by focusing solely 1 on the final moments of reintegration, and denying the impact of challenges to absolutist perspectives which I are offered in Lope’s peasant plays and in the so-called j late romances Calderon wrote for the court theater (Maguire 1169-70). (This study will examine Cohen1s readings in I more detail in regards to the relevant plays.) In order to accept the possibility that tragicomic i plays subvert the dominant ideology, it is necessary to recognize that even the happiest ending, with the most | vehement support of the status quo, cannot erase the • j questions and challenges to established orthodoxy that are raised by the plays in this study, Jonathan Dollimore (observes that, in order to see the the conservative denouement as a cancellation of earlier transgressions within a play requires "inappropriate notions of authorial ^intention, character utterance, and textual unity (all three notions privileging what is finally said as more truthful than what went before)" (1986, 70). Dollimore argues against Stephen Greenblatt's view, which is similar to Cohen's, that textual events which appear to be subversions, such as Fausts' pact with the devil, are simply reversals of the dominant paradigm; although Marlowe's heroes "imagine themselves set in diametrical opposition to their society where in fact they have unwittingly accepted its crucial structural elements" (Greenblatt 1980, 209). Dollimore insists on the importance of "the part played by contradiction and dis-location in the mutually reactive process of 'transgression and its control"; these contradictions which surface in times of crisis are espe cially revealing: they tell us that no matter how successful authority may be in its re pressive strategies, there remains something ! uncontrollable not only in authority's objects but in its enterprise, its rationale, and even its origin. (1989, 60) This study will examine how tragicomedy, which is itself a transgression of genre boundaries, subverts orthodox ideologies concerning divine right and popular rebellion, (chapter 2) idealizing notions of royal justice, (chapter 3) providence and divine intervention, (chapter 4) and i J the role of theatrical and literary representation within the established hierarchies (chapter 5). I will argue j 1 that, despite the apparent containment of the final | ^ i reconciliations, which are in themselves questionable in several of the plays, the representation of competing ideologies poses a significant threat to the dominant j i i I ipatriarchal ideology. In baroque drama, the questioning of orthodox ideology' is not limited to the political and religious spheres. { The family is also a site of conflict, and the strained j relations between men and women play a significant role in many of the plays addressed in this study, contributing . I to the over-all pattern of subverting the conventional, ! patriarchal structure of both public and private life. I Critics of the period are increasingly aware of the importance of gender; the new introduction to the second edition of Dollimore1s Radical Tragedy emphasizes that the representation of women’s increased freedom is a ; i displacement of the patriarchal order's unconscious anxiety' I about all types of social mobility (xxxiv-v). Mary Beth Rose astutely points out a flaw in this argument: that I I sexuality is often treated as "a metaphor for what are : I I viewed as 'larger* social and political issues," thereby 1 retaining a hierarchical bias that privileges public (male); ( l i ; discourse (97). I believe that the focus on sexuality in these plays has a dual role, important in both a literal and a metaphorical sense, for as we can see in our own era, ’’women's issues” create anxiety in both the public and private spheres. Carol Leverten illustrates this duality in pointing out that "the gradual acceptance of a daughter's right of refusal (of a spouse)" is important !in both realms, for in addition to personal empowerment, ct...that implicitly chal- en's status— as object, roperty— in a social system > interest in preserving the ending itself against (in Newton, 64-5) trates the connection between ndermining of "happy" endings of the plays examined in this \ calls "Jacobean satire" construct f sexual values than can sh-fulfillment of romantic comedy the conventions of that genre" j esolved gender tensions are j ermining of comic reconciliation __________________________ nar amigos, El Burlador de Sevilla, and Troilus and Cressida, and that their representation is an important part of the subversion of dominant ideology in many baroque tragicomedies. such advances also have a destabilizing effe lenged English worn gift, commodity, p that had a vested status quo and def disr uptive change. Mary i Be th Ro se also demons gende r conf 1icts and the u that is cent ral to several study > the works that she it „ „ „ a more pointed critique o penetr ate the requisite wi preci sely by transforming (7). I will show that unr centr al to the satiric und in Me asure for Measure, Ga For many of the critics that I have cited who approach! i j iliterature from a materialist or feminist perspective, j the use of periodization or genre theory may appear to ' I be a conservative, rear-guard offensive against post-structuralist theory, and a return to precisely the type of categorization that I have condemned. However, ' j as this introduction has indicated, and as the subsequent ; i jchapters will show, the use of more recent theories about * I : I genre and period, which emphasize how these terms can help to illuminate the material conditions in which the i I plays were produced, does not constitute a return to , i outdated or anti-historical criticism. Instead, the eclectic approach that I use, combining updated genre and period criticism with materialist and feminist j perspectives, enables this dissertation to offer what j j I hope will prove to be stimulating insights concerning t , 1 plays which have long been fertile breeding grounds for : j ! j controversy. ! 37 List of works cited— Chapter 1 Abel. Lionel. Metatheater: A New Dramatic Form. New ) York: Hill and Wang, 1963. ; Bevington, David ed. The Complete Works of William ■ Shakespeare. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., ! 1980. j I Buffum, Imbrie. Studies in the Baroque from Montaigne ; to Rotrou. New Haven: Yale UP, 1957. | l Cohen, Ralph, ed. New Directions in Literary History. ■ Baltimore, Maryland: Johns Hopkins UP, 1974. ! Derrida, Jacques. "The Law of Genre” . Glyph 7 (1980): 202-32. . "Signature Event Context". Glyph 1 (1970): 172-97. ! i | ! |Dollimore, Jonathan. Radical Tragedy: Religion, Ideology. : and Power in the Drama of Shakespeare and His I Contemporaries. 2nd ed. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989. j . "Subjectivity, Sexuality and Transgression: The ; Jacobean Connection." Renaissance Drama 17 ! I (1986): 53-82. Foucault, Michel. Les mots et les choses: Une archeologie des sciences humaines. Paris: Gallimard, 1966. ’ l 'Fowler, Alastair. Kinds of Literature. Cambridge, MA: ! ; Harvard UP, 1982. 1 Gilbert, Allen H. Literary Criticism: Plato to Dryden. New York: American Book Company, 1940. j Goldmann, Lucien. Le dieu cache. Paris: Gallimard, 1959. \ Greenblatt, Stephen. Renaissance Self-Fashioning. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980. * Grene, Nicolas. The Comic Contract. Totowa, NJ: Barnes ; and Noble, 1980. j |Guillen, Claudio. Literature as System: Essays toward | the Theory of Literary History. Princeton, NJ: | Princeton UP, 1971. ( i [Herrick, Marvin. Tragicomedy. Urbana: Illinois UP, 1962. i 38 j Hirst, David L. Tragicomedy. New York: Methuen Inc., j 1984. I ! |jameson, Frederic. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1981. | f I [Levin, Harry. Playboys and Killjoys. Oxford: Oxford ! ; u p , 1987. : Larson, Catherine. Language and the Comedia: Theory and j Practice. Cranbury, NJ: Associated UP, 1991. j Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed.. Renaissance Tragicomedy. | i New York: AMS Press, 1987. : i I . : Maravall, Jose Antonio. "From the Renaissance to the ' Baroque: The Diphasic Schema of a Social Crisis." j Literature Among Discourses: The Spanish Golden Age, ed. Wlad Godzich and Nicholas Spadaccini.. Minneapolis: t U of Minnesota P, 1986. i . j • Teatro y literatura en la sociedad barroca. Madrid: Seminarios y Ediciones, 1972. j Neohelicon 1988: 15 (1). (issue devoted to periodization) I Newton, Judith and Deborah Rosenfelt, ed. Feminist Criticism and Social Change. New York: Methuen, 1985. ; Parr, James A. Confontaciones calladas: El critico frente j al clasico. Madrid: Editorial Orxgenes, 1990. . After Its Kind: Approaches to the Comedia. Kassel: ; Reichenberger , 1991. ' j I Reiss, Timothy J. Toward Dramatic Illusion: Theatrical Technique and Meaning from Hardy to Horace. New Haven: Yale UP, 1971. I iRose, Mary Beth. The Expense of the Spirit: Love and | Sexuality in English Renaissance Drama. Ithaca, Cornell. UP, 1988. i Rosmarin, Adena. The Power of Genre. Minneapolis: Minnesota UP, 1985. > I j Rousset, Jean. La litterature de l'age baroque en France: 1 Circe et le paon. Paris: Corti, 1953. Siegel, Paul. Shakespearean Tragedy and the Elizabethan Compromise. New York: New York UP, 1957. Todorov, Tzvetan. Genres in Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990. jWarnke, Frank. Versons of Baroque: European Literature in the Seventeenth Century. New Haven: Yale UP, 1972. Weimann, Robert. "History and the Issue of Authority in Representation: The Elizabethan Theater and the Reformation." New Literary History 17 (1986): 449-76. Chapter 2 Ambiguity in Heroic Tragicomedy: Aristocratic Self-Mastery and Popular Revolt I I This chapter will examine a group of four plays: . Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster, Rotrou's Venceslas, Corneille's Cinna, and Calderon de la Barca's La vida es sueno, which are tragicomic revisions of the tragic j pattern in which the attempt to interfere with legitimate | succession to the throne results in the death of a royal 1 protagonist. In these plays, tragedy— death— is averted j through the combination of a timely anagnorisis and j self-reform on the part of this monarch and an actual 1 or threatened popular uprising in favor of the legitimate 1 heir. Two of these plays, Venceslas and La vida es sueno. can even be seen as revisions of the Oedipus material i because the blocked succession involves the transfer of j power from father to son. The designation of three of these plays as tragicomedies is not particularly 1 controversial; Venceslas and Philaster were originally idesignated as such, and although La vida es sueno was originally published as a comedia, that term can simply I j mean "play," with no generic connotation at all. In this ! i chapter, then, the focus is not on what constitutes a ' tragicomedy, but on how one type of tragicomedy functions. 41 ! As I indicate in the Introduction, the mixture of tragedy and comedy is often accompanied by elements of | other genres. In these four plays, it is the j i I characteristics of the epic, both classical and chivalric, which constitute a modal presence in their contribution to the averting of tragedy. However, despite the apparent | I ideological conservatism of these tragicomedies, which i I have called ’’heroic” because of their affirmation of the potential for royal self-mastery, and of this quality j as a significant and signifying force in the political I I sphere, I will show that the popular uprisings represented in three of the plays, and the evocation of the Roman ; l Republic in Cinna, constitute a potentially subversive , undermining of those affirmations of royal heroism. Heroic tragicomedy combines some of the features I of the epic with elements of tragedy and comedy. The I 1 subject of royal succession comes from tragedy, as does the emphasis on selfknowledge. The importance of marriage! as part of the restoration of order is typical of comic I : plotting. The focus on heroic deeds, either physical ! i or spiritual, as significant for the positive outcome i I is part of the epic tradition of plot resolution, in j 1 medieval nationalist epic and sixteenth century chivalric ! ! epic as well as in those of the classical period. One ! | important innovation of baroque drama, signaled by Walter , Benjamin, is the replacement of the fatalistic tragic 42 confrontation between man and god with a conflict of i "historic" dimensions concerning princely virtues, political scheming, and royal succession (62). This is particularly true for the heroic tragicomedy of the baroque I ; i 1 iperiod. Complex plays such as Cinna, Venceslas, La vida es sueno, and Philaster draw on all of these sources, J and combine them in a manner that is uniquely baroque, . uniquely tragicomic. j i i ii * i Cinna is the one play in this chapter which is not i generally considered a tragicomedy; despite the fact that I ( there are no deaths, and that the play ends with the | I promised marriage of comic drama. David Hirst writes that, as a result of the Cid quarrel, the French Academie ; I came to classify any play with a unified plot and strict ; f l observance of the unities as tragedy, despite having "none : ! of the features Aristotle regarded as vital to the genre" j (48). Modern criticism is moving toward recognition that ' I Le Cid is, indeed, the tragicomedy that Corneille i t originally labeled it; for the same structural and thematic reasons Cinna, too, merits reevaluation (PFSCL 1984). j i David Hirst and Walter Benjamin suggest that one of I the main features of baroque drama is the emphasis on j the emotional dilemma of characters, represented as "a i constantly shifting emotional storm" in which they i vacillate between the dictates of reason and will (Hirst 180, Benjamin 71). The reason/will binary may seem like a repetition of outdated approaches to the period, but it is important because it is central to the representation of moral heroism as the force which averts tragedy. It is also important because the baroque topos of the deceptive nature of physical appearances is related to the unreliability of human perception. Both the drama and the theology of the period emphasize that it is precisely because of the battle between reason and passion that perception is unreliable (Cinna IV.iv, Arnauld 126). In heroic tragicomedy, it is the representation of the monarch’s vacillation between reason and passion, i and the triumph of reason, that is significant both for converting tragedy to comedy and for the affirmation of ideologically conservative notions about absolutism. 'In Cinna. Auguste faces two dilemmas. In the first half \ — — of the play, he must decide whether or not to abdicate the throne, because Romans hate monarchs and clamour for the return of the Republic. In comparing two of his predecessors, Sylla, who abdicated, and Cesar, who was assassinated, Auguste observes that there was no apparent justice in their fates, for ...l’un, cruel, barbare, est mort aime, tranquille Comme un bon citoyen dans le sein de sa ville; i L ’autre, tout debonaire, au milieu du senat A vu trancher ses jours par un assassinat. (II.i) [Auguste does not feel secure in basing his decision on past examples, because "l'exemple est souvent un miroir trompeur/ et l'order du destin qui gene nos pensees/ n'est pas toujours ecrit dans les choses pasees" (II. i). Here, i the Emperor displays an attitude that is typical of the epistemological change Foucault identifies with the beginning of the seventeenth century, an abandoning of ;the Renaissance notion that the universe has an order J that can be rendered visible through the interpretation of symbols— such as historical precedents (44, 63). The knowledge that Cinna is planning an insurrection only adds to the Emperor’s confusion. Auguste’s soliloquoy in Act IV, scene ii is an expansion of his earlier inner combat; in addition to weighing the merits of his "Remains" against the appeal of "pouvoir absolu," he must also decide how to deal with his rebellious courtier. The subtitle of the play, "La clemence d'Auguste," eliminates any possible element of suspense concerning Cinna's future, just as awareness of Auguste’s long and successful reign jprecludes the possibility of abdication; thus the focus of the play is the representation of how Auguste achieves the self-mastery necessary for his historic and heroic destiny. The Empress Livie makes this aspect of her Ihusband’s decisions quite explicit; she encourages forgiveness of Cinna because such generosity "c’est regner 45 I isur vous-meme," and answers Auguste's declaration that i such an action is a sign of weakness with the admonition, "donnez moins de croyance a votre passion" (IV.iii). In the final scene, the Emperor shows that he has followed i (Livie's advice and extends pardons to all the conspirators,, i i | explaining that he does not seeek vengeance because j Je suis maitre de moi comme de l'Univers. Je le suis, je veux I'etre. 0 Siecles, o Memoire Conservez a jamais ma derniere victoire, Je triomphe aujourd'hui du plus juste courroux ' De qui le souvenir puisse aller jusqu'a vous. i 1 I !As Auguste points out, only a divinity could show more ! restraint than this. Livie confirms the efficacy of this heroic act of i self-discipline in the prophecy which closes the play. , i She tells Auguste that the gods speak through her, and promises: I Apres cette action vous n'avez rien a craindre: j On portera le joug desormais sans plaindre... j Et la posterite, dans toutes les provinces, i 1 Donnera votre exemple aux plus genereux princes. However, Georges Andre argues that the ending is not an apology for monarchy in general, but rather an affirmation) ! of the Augustinian belief that "les regimes politiques | changent selon les temps comme selon les lieux, en fonction d 'un plan providential preetabli" (280). Andre points I to Maxime's advocacy of this ideology in Act II, scene ! I ; i, where he urges Auguste not to abdicate because, although i "la liberte publique" is appropriate for Greek cities, 1 46 i "le seul consulat est bon pour les Romains." This scene’s examination of the relative merits of republics and monarchies contributes significantly to the undermining of the conservative denouement. In order to accept the possibility of transgression in Cinna and the other plays in this chapter, it is necessary to recognize that even the most unambiguously conservative ending does not erase what has come before, does not nullify the questioning of orthodox ideology. j In Jonathan Dollimore's words, to see the final argument as a cancellation of earlier transgressions requires "inappropriate notions of authorial intention, character utterance, and textual unity (all three notions privileging what is finally said as more truthful than what went before)" (1986, 70). Thus, the radical advocacy of rebellion and republic is meaningful to the work as a whole, and Cinna’s final reconciliation with the Emperor ' is not more significant than his description in Act I, scene III of the benefits of assassinating Auguste: Lui mort, nous n ’avons point de vengeur ni de maitre; Avec la liberte Rome s ’en va renaitre; Et nous meriterons le nom de vrais Romains, Si le joug qui accable est brise par nos mains. Emilie also voices support for tyrannicide, arguing that ; s "la perfidie est noble envers la tyrannie," and that "un ! j | vrai coeur romain ose tout pour ravir/ une odieuse vie I j_ a qui le fait servir;/ il fuit plus que la mort la honte 47 d'etre esclave" (Ill.iv). The third major figure in the plot to kill Auguste is Maxime, who affirms that "jamais la liberte ne cesse d'etre aimable;/ et c'est toujours t pour Rome un bien inestimable" (Il.ii). Even though all I three characters are reconciled with the Emperor in the j final scene, even though they accept Auguste's continued j i reign, this evocation of the desirability of i self-government nevertheless constitutes an important challenge to the viability of absolutism. j It would be a-historical to try to see Cinna as a j radical political tract which advocates the overthrow of monarchies. The complexity of this issue is unwittingly revealed in statements by Cinna and Livie. One of Cinna's arguments against Auguste's abdication is a justification of Auguste's own violent ascent to the throne: "tous les i conquerants,/ pour etre usurpateurs, ne sont pas des j tyrans" (II.i). Livie takes this idea even further, | asserting that "tous ces crimes d'Etat qu'on fait pur la couronne,/ le ciel nous en absolut alors qu’il nous ( la donne" (V.i'i). These statements are ambiguous, at I the least, for the same arguments could be later be applied to Cinna and Maxime and their followers if the attempt to restore the Republic were successful. This same j ambiguity can be found in the writings of Bossuet, which , Georges Andre incorrectly cites as evidence of the period's^ I ! I adamant rejection of the validity of removing a bad ruler instead of waiting for God to punish the offending monarch j I (278). Bossuet writes that "tout gouvernement, quelle ! que soit son origine, juste ou injuste, pacifique ou violente, est legitime, tout depositaire de 1'authorite, I i quel qu'il soit, est sacre, se revolter contre lui, c'est i commetre un sacrilege" (Andre 278). In both the play and this statement, there is evidence of an attitude that is almost Machiavellian in its affirmation of the rights ; i r of whomever possesses the crown, although pragmatism is replaced here by the invocation of God as the force that |determines which revolutions are successful. There are many different views about popular rebellion: and the merit of "le peuple" expressed in the play. I Although Cinna and Maxime are playing "devil's advocate" j \ » 1 'when they discourage Auguste s abdication, the views they 1 i express are part of the period's complex view about government, voiced by thinkers including Montaigne (Andre I I 275). Thus, Maxime's denigration of the validity of Roman's desire for freedom because of the instability of popular opinion, and Cinna's charge that "quand le |peuple est maitre, on n'agit qu'en tumulte:/ la voix de la raison jamais ne se consulte" (II.i) are also meaningful. The multiplicity of differing views concerning government expressed in the play is consistent with the lconfusion that accompanies rapid societal changes such i I as those experienced in the baroque period. (Goldmann's observations about the uncertainty caused by the i unprecedented increase in social mobility, cited in the i ;Introduction, are relevant in this context.) In Cinna, 1 i the wish-fulfillment element often asssociated with ! ;tragicomedy is rendered questionable by the presence of dissenting ideologies. m j i , Rotrou's Venceslas also addresses the issues of divine' i j right and popular rebellion in a way that undermines the ! orthodoxy of its final reconciliations and demonstrations of self-mastery. In this play, the struggles for j i self-knowledge and control involve both the reigning King, Venceslas, and his oldest son and heir, Ladislas. Both i jcharacters* struggles are represented not only as a battle between reason and passion, but also as a conflict of ; the differing roles they play in public and private life. ; i Georges Andre notes that the gulf between the public and private lives of rulers is a prominent feature of j i the period’s drama (277). For Ladislas, this conflict involves his roles as aspiring lover and monarch. Despite ; i !his desire to prove himself fit to rule, his unrequited I I love for Cassandre moves him to irrational acts against the man he believes to be his rival. Thus, immediately !after a long speech in which the heir demonstrates his ; 50 1 I I knowledge of how to govern, which includes the ability 'to assure that "par des choix judicieux et sains,/ tomber i le ministere en de fideles mains," he undermines himself J ! by voicing "ardente colere" against a valuable advisor, i because of his mistaken belief that this Duke is his rival i ! j(I.i). His "juste fureur" is extended to his younger ! \ [ brother Alexandre, because this sibling supports the Duke I (I.i). Ladislas attempts to control these passions when his father offers to share the crown, but is unable to jsuppress his rage towards the Duke, which leads his father J j to observe that "vous emportant a ce caprice extreme,/ vous menagez fort mal l'espoir du diademe" (I.v). Like Auguste's Livie, Ladislas has a confidant who advises J I |him that he must control "l'ardeur qui vous transporte" ! in order to gain sole possession of the crown (I.vi). Ladislas is also represented as a slave to his j I physical passions. Cassandre rejects his marriage ; - proposals because his first approaches were of an immoral nature: "n'ayant pour but que ses sales plaisirs,/ en | mon seul deshonneur bornait tous ses desirs" (II. i). I j She sees herself as "l'indigne et vil objet d'un impudique , | I flamme" (II.ii). Her suitor admits that he was guilty of "insolence et d 'indiscretion," which he attributes !to the excesses of youth, and promises that "ma flamme | ■ i fa consomme ce qu’elle avait d ’impur" (II.ii). The validity! I ! ^ of this transformation is rendered questionable by his 51 subsequent vacillation between assertions that, because of Cassandre's rejection, his heart "renonce au joug" of loving her, and that he will arrange to place "de ma main mon rival en ma place" (Il.iii) and despair because J ’ai sans fruit vaincu ma passion... Ma raison de mes sens ne peut rien obtenir; Je suis ma passion, suivez votre colere: Pour un fils sans respect perdez l'amour d'un pere. (III.vi ) In this instance, the inability to control his emotions I I forces Ladislas to forfeit his father's favor— and the shared crown. The final consequences of this uncontolled passion is tragedy, when Ladislas unknowingly kills his brother, believing that it is the Duke who approaches Cassandre's chambers. He describes his reaction to the news of Casandre’s secret wedding as "succombant tout entier a ce coup qui m'accable,/ de tout raisonnement de je deviens incapable" (IV.ii). This representation i of the total loss of reason as a tragic force sets the scene for the later glorification of self-control as a comic and restorative force. Ladislas1 conversion occurs as he prepares to be killed as punishment for his crime. He tells his father, ; "je sais que mes crimes/ vous ont cause souvent des courroux legitimes," and acknowledges that his death is a necessity, "vous la devez au peuple, a mon frere, a 1vous-meme" (V.iv). The Duke emphasizes the heroic 52 dimension of Ladislas' anagnorisis as he reports C'est en ce moment, Sire Qu'il est prince en effet et qu'il peut se le j dire! I i II semble, aux yeux de tous, d'un heroique effort | Se preparer plutot a l'hymen qu'a la mort. (V.vii) 1 The final proof of Ladislas1 control of his earlier : I obsession with the crown is his rejection of the crown j I his father offers, "je renonce a ce degre supreme;/ abandonnez un fils plutot qu'un diademe" (V.ix). He also reconciles with the Duke, emphasizing his transformed state, "Roi, je n'herite point des differends du prince," ! i and offers marriage to his sister as "le noeud de notre ' l affection" (V.ix). However, as I will point out later, there are also problematic elements in this apparently j comic ending. The comic ending of Venceslas requires the ; j transformation of two characters, for although there are doubts about Ladislas' fitness to rule, the King is also represented as a less-than ideal ruler. Ladislas tells I , his father that, i n a conversation with a group of I courtiers, although "presque aucun avis ne se truevant j t conforme" regarding the King's policies, "generalement I i chacun plaint vos vieux ans" (I.i). The King finds himself in conflict between his roles as King and father; between ! ! i \the desire to please his son and the need to guarantee the safety of the kingdom: "je lui veux bien ceder, et j ! malgre ma colere/ me confesser vaincu, parce que je suis i pere” (I.i). Venceslas also appears unreconciled to the ; fact that he is too old to rule; he insists that "un fruit I de ma vieille saison/ est d 1en posseder mieux la parfaite j I raison" (I.i). However, Venceslas’ conversion centers ! j on his transformation from King to father. i j As he grapples with his son's destiny, Venceslas tells him, "a ma justice en vain ta tendresse est i ! contraire,/ et dans le coeur d'un roi cherche celui d 'un pere" (V.iii). He later laments that, "pour conserver j i mon sceptre il faut perdre mon fils" (V.v). When Venceslas' pardons his son and crowns him, he emphasizes the transition from public to private person: i Je ne veux plus d'un rang ou je vous suis contraire. 1 Soyez roi, Ladislas, et moi, je serai pere. < Roi, je n'ai pu des lois souffrir les ennemis; 1 Pere, je ne pourrai faire perir mon fils. (V.ix) With this abdication, Venceslas resolves his personal i emotional crisis and also a public crisis, for the people \ of Poland threaten to rebel if Ladislas is killed. l 1 Venceslas* concern regarding the populace is evident from the very first scene of the play; he cannot punish his son’s "caprice" because "quoiqu'on vous mesestime on vous cherit encore." The result of the King’s indecision regarding his son is a "juste mepris de mon autorite" and a state where "l’imounite reigne" (I.i). 54 Throughout the play, it is emphasized that the people want Ladislas to become King. Theodore uses the argument that "deja d'une voix tout le peuple lui donne" the crown to try to convince Cassandre to marry her brother {II.i). Even after the murder of Alexandre, the people still want Ladislas to rule them. Venceslas believes that he can have his son killed, describing him as the prince "autrefois si cher a la province" (V.i). However, he soon learns that his son is still loved when the Duke argues for his pardon, because "le seul sang de 1'Infant par son crime est verse,/ mais par son chatiment tout l ’Etat est blesse;/ sa cause, quoique injuste, est la cause publique" (V.vii). The potential subversiveness of this estimation of public opinion is undermined by the way it is presented: the people want Ladislas as King even though they are aware of his flaws; they champion his cause even though it is unjust. Thus, the validity r of popular rebellion is being contained even as it is presented, for in the following scene the Duke’s argument is interrupted by a messenger who announces: ! Seigneur, d'un cri commun toute la populace Parle en faveur du Prince et demande sa grace, Et surtout un grand nombre, en la place amasse, A d ’un zele indiscret l ’echaufad renverse... D ’un meme mouvement et d ’une meme voix, ' Tous le disent exempt du rigeur des lois... This passage can easily be categorized as affirmation of the primogenitor convention which is part of orthodox 55 ; I divine right ideology, and thus as a "containment" of j I the transgressive staging of popular revolution. However, i Jonathan Dollimore points out that containment is best seen as always already ' in play, even before we can identify a 1 dominant-subversive opposition, or indeed , anything like a subversive event... rather j than seeing containment as that which ; preempts and defeats transgression we need ! to see both as potentially productive processes. ! (1986, 71) I In Venceslas, as in Cinna. both orthodox ideology and \ { subversive popular rebellion are represented. The audience: \ in these plays participates in a situation similar to the one Ladislas described to his father, where he and j i his hunting companions, Tombes sur le discours des interets des princes, Nous en vinmes sur l ’art de regir les provinces, \ Ou ehacun a son gre forgeant des potentats, | Chacun selon son sens gouvernant vos Etats... L ’un prise votre regen, un autre le reforme; ; II treuve ses censeurs comme ses partisans.,..(I,i)^ The characters in these two plays articulate'the full ! range of political ideologies available to the baroque audience, and even though the conservative nature of the j reconciliations is often seen as nullifications of the 1 I earlier questioning, this conclusion requires questionable reading or viewing practices, as I have shown. In t Venceslas, the reconciliation scene itself provides j i ammunition to launch an attack against the orthodoxy it seems to advocate. j After Ladislas appears to have demonstrated the 56 self-mastery required of an idealized absolute monarch j I i in his treatment of his father and the Duke, he shows i i that he is still unable to master his inappropriate desire jfor Cassandre; he places personal over public concerns j ! i in saying that without her love, his life and throne "n’ont| rien de doux" (V.ix). Venceslas repeats Livie's argument ! i that, once in power, a King is absolved of whatever crimes | committed to gain power in saying that Ladislas' hands , i Jare no longer stained because "le sceptre que j'y mets I a son crime efface" (V.ix). Cassandre vehemently rejects j this white-wash, asking, "puis-je, sans un trop lache | et sensible effort,/ epouser le meurtrier, etant veuve ' i . i du mort?" (V.ix) She also invalidates the argument which : enables Le Cid to end on an optimistic note; where Chimene was silent in response to the King’s declaration that a year would be sufficient time to complete her mourning and forgive Rodrigue, Cassandre rejects that possibility ; in asking, "quel temps peut le faire?" (V.ix) In this 1 tragicomedy, only one comic marriage is arranged; the other triangle of Alexandre-Cassandre-Ladislas results | i i in the tragic death of one member, and permanent frustration for the other two. Venceslas’ final words | t can also be interpreted as casting doubts on Ladislas' 1 I fitness to rule. Instead of a confident pronouncement of future glory, the father urges his son, "fait-moi vivant j louer mon successeur/ et voir de ma couronne un digne ' 57 possesseur" (V.ix). Wish-fulfillment plays a relatively small role in the denouement of this heroic tragicomedy. IV Beaumont and Fletcher’s Philaster revises the tragic j patterns of both Hamlet and Othello in its exploration i of the obstacles to political and social stability (Bliss 155). The Claudius figure, who is simply named King, ! | demonstrates the same vacillation between a desire to keep his power and the pangs of conscience as his Shakespearean predecessor. The courtiers who favor Philaster, the son of the deposed Sicilian king, observe I I Ithat the King’s attempt to marry his daughter to a Spanish 1 I prince is an effort to reduce the threat of Philaster and his supporters by bringing in ’’the power of a foreign I i nation, to awe his own with" (I.i). When Philaster arrives; 1 to protest the marriage of Arethusa and the Spanish prince, this courtier remarks: "mark but the king, how pale he ' looks. He fears./ Oh, but this same whoreson Conscience, » how it jades us!" (I.i). The King validates these I ! assumptions concerning his mental state in an aside: [ You gods, I see that who unrighteously Holds wealth or state from others shall be curst j In that which meaner men are blessed withal. i Ages shall come to know no male of him Left to inherit, and his name shall be ! Blotted from earth. If he have any child, 1 : It shall be crossly matched. The gods themselves Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her. Yet if it be your wills, forgive the sin , I have committed. Let it not fall I Upon this understanding child of mine; | She has not broke your laws. But how can I Look to be heard of gods that must be just, ! Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong? (II.iv) ! I I This King does not need to voice his inner struggle as ! explicitly as did Claudius, for this play works as a palimpsest on Hamlet; Claudius1 "my crown, my own ambition j : i and my queen" soliloquy is present as a trace. ! This King links his inner conflict to a perceived : l .battle with the gods whom he blames for his excessive { I ambition because they "place us above the rest/ to be I serv’d, flatter’d, and ador'd till we/ believe we hold within our hands your thunder" (IV.iv) Yet the King shows that he continues to view himself as equal to the gods, despite all evidence to the contrary, in his demand for a different punishment from the loss of his daughter, "let me choose/ my way, and lay it on" (IV.iv). In keepingj I jwith this representation of the usurper as one who rebels I against the will of the gods, it is fitting that when ; ithe King finally returns Philaster to his rightful throne, 1 he explains his actions in theological terms, "let princes learn/ by this to rule the passions of their blood,/ for j I what heaven wills can never be withstood" (V.v) The link between passion and rebellion against the divine is very 'clear in this admonition. This anagnorisis, which allows ; I the King to escape tragic punishment, is viewed as an ' unquestioning affirmation of the orthodox ideology of divine right by those who view tragicomedy as conservative.: Although he is specifically referring to The Faithful Shepherdess, James Yoch adresses the genre as a whole ; I I in his assertion that in Fletcher's revisions of familiar | dramatic formulas, he delivers an "invocation to temperance! which religion and philosophy prepared Renaissance readers ! to recognize in tragicomedies" (Maguire 133). However, ; ias in the other plays addressed in this chapter, there ' are elements that subvert this glorification of heroie j reformation. i ! One way that the affirmation of a Utopia based on I selfknowledge and submission to the gods is undermined I ! is through the character of Philaster, who plays both Hamlet and Othello. The emphasis is on Othello, for unlike j the Dane, Philaster knows that he has the support of both , i aristocrats and the common people if he chooses to rebel. , Like Othello, Philaster is led to believe that his love, ;Arethusa, is deceiving him because of the self-serving lies of another. The too-ready belief in these lies is j due to a problem of "the age," when no one has "a soul ]of crystal for all men to read their actions through. Men's hearts and faces are do far asunder that they hold no intelligence" (I.i). Lee Bliss describes the stage <world of Beaumont and Fletcher as one where "appearance and reality remain indistinguishable, even as the gap between them threatens to assume tragie proportions” (160).j i Thus, the baroque topos moves beyond the world of metaphorl I to exercise direct influence on events. Although Philaster's rejection of Arethusa and condemnation of all women as "a mere confusion and so dead a chaos/ that j love cannot distinguish" (Ill.ii) is a stock scene out J I of romantic comedy, his subsequent attempt to murder her moves the action into the realm of tragedy. 1 | Philaster stabs a willing Arethusa, who prefers "peace I I in death" to a life corrupted by the "slanders," and | "jealousy" that have destroyed her relationship with Philaster (IV.v). Here, the unreliability of perception i i I is represented as a force that makes life itself i impossible. Thus, although Philaster soon repents, declaring of Arethusa "I have done ill; my conscience I calls me false,/ to strike at her that would not strike 1 at me," (IV.v) and of the page Bellario, her reputed paramour, "I am a man/ false to a pair of the most trusty j I ones/ that ever earth bore," (V.ii) the near-deaths ; I contribute to a world which can never be "the fully 1 I remediable world of romantic comedy" because "a certain | satiric rigor... qualifies the wish-fulfillment ending" (Bliss 157). Thus, despite the increased self-knowledge ■ of the King and Philaster, there remains the problem of j l deceptive appearances which may at any time endanger the i utopian kingdom represented in the conclusion. I 61 I i The undermining of heroic self-mastery as the source < of a utopian monarchy is further weakened by the | represenatation of a popular uprising which plays a key role in the restoration of Philaster to his throne. { ! Throughout the play, the power of the common people has ! been a significant force; in the first scene a courtier i explains that the usurper King allows the legitimate heir "to walk abroad with such free liberty" because a previous ; attempt to imprison him had led the city to take up arms, j j | "not to be charmed down by any state order or proclamation I till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleas'd and without a guard." Like the two French plays, Philasten also gives voice to a variety of ideologies regarding government, both conservative and subversive, for the ■ 1 threatened revolution is in support of the "pattern of succession" (I.i). As in the other plays, the description of the common people who revolt is ambiguous, they are i I "myrmidons" and "brave countrymen," but the courtiers ■ doubt their dependability, asking, "what if a toy take I 'em i'th' heels now, and they all run away...?" (V.iii). I The strong belief that they will likely "all prove cowards" leads one courtier to invoke a volley of curses | that impugn the morals and intelligence of the rebels. The actual loyalty of the people, and the success of the 1 revolt do not, of course, nullify the expressions of j . I I i contempt. Still, as Lee Bliss points out, it is important ■ that the noble characters "could not achieve the final jsaving reconciliations on their own" (161). In Philaster. jas in the other plays, the representation of a potentially subversive revolt against one monarch calls into question the comic vision of redemption and reconciliation, but does not resolve the questions raised about kings or commoners. V For Segismundo in La vida es sueno. the conflict is at the most basic level.. He has no divided loyalties or rivals; instead, his very nature is in conflict with itself, due to his deprived upbringing. He describes 'himself as "un hombre de las fieras/ y una fiera de los jhombres" (I.ii). When his father decides to give Segismundo a chance to disprove the Oedipal-like predictions which had led him to imprison the son at birth, i he brings the young man to court, where Segismundo appears ,to confirm the predictions with his bestial behavior. | The attempt to kill the man who has been his tutor is the final proof that Segismundo should be returned to the tower where he has been imprisoned all his life. i Because Segismundo was drugged during the trips to and trom the palace, he regards the entire experience as a i dream. But this does not lead him to dismiss its importance; instead the experience teaches him "que el ; hombre que vive, suena/ lo que es, hasta despertar", Even the the adulation of kings is ephemeral; "en el vientoj escribe, y en cenizas le convierte la muerte" (Il.xix). Thus, Segismundo*s anagnorisis occurs much earlier than those of the characters in the other plays, and unlike the other characters, his transformation is tested repeatedly. This new perception is first tested when the people i I I rise up against King Basilio in order to place Segismundo, j their "senor natural" on the throne, rather than accept ' the King's foreign-born niece and nephew. This time, j ! Segismundo does not embrace the power he is offered, j | ' I stating, "no quiero/ majestades fingidas, pompas no quiero/ fantasticas, ilusiones/ que al soplo menos ligero/ del aura han de deshacerse " (Ill.iii). When the Prince | i ' j » ! finally accepts the army that places itself at his command, he reminds himself to dream correctly, "con atencion y I consejo/ de que hemos de despertar" (Ill.iii). ; Segismundo1s constant doubt about what is real extends I ' I even to his own existence. The refrain, "no se si estoy despierto" is a force that enables him to control his bestial impulses when confronted with his old tutor's I desire to fight for the King, and with an opportunity I ' to take sexual advantage of Rosaura, who seeks his aid in regaining her lost honor. Segismundo's final test ; is his encounter with the neglectful father whom he has defeated militarily. King Basilio offers to fulfill the (prophecy, placing at Segismundo's feet "esta nieve de mis canas," the symbol of the father's wisdom and experience (Ill.xiv). The son proclaims that his most important victory is not the one on the battlefield, but !"vencerme a mi". Segismundo's final speech reiterates I j once again the precarious nature of human existence and perception, i Fue mi maestro un suefio, 1 j Y estoy temiendo en mis ansias Que he de despertar y hallarme Otra vez en mi cerrada Prision. (Ill.xiv) I | For Segismundo, it is no single person's will nor even ; i , the corruption of society in general that is at the root ! of deceptive appearances. His viewpoint is that of the \ Counter Reformation Christian, which lies at the heart ; of the baroque aesthetic. In this vision, life itself , and all human pleasures are a deception which distracts I mankind from perceiving the importance of the spiritual dimension of human existence. This orthodox representation! ! of the value of self-mastery is perhaps the most blatant ! 1 affirmation of conservative ideology of any baroque play. However, even in this work, the role of the "vulgo" in Segismundo's coronation is potentially subversive. 65 As in the other plays, in La vida es suefio the heroism I of the popular uprising is represented in an ambiguous 1 I manner. The uprising is prepared with scenes in which j the people demand that their "senor natural" be given j the throne (I.vi; Ill.ii). When Segismundo agrees to lead J !the revolt, he appears to confirm radical notions about < i the rights of the common people to choose their own ruler, ! j promising them that "en mi llevais/ quien os libre osado i 'y diestro/ de extranjera esclavitud" (Ill.iii). However, j I the final scene of the play casts doubts on the validity f of the uprising. After Segismundo has pardoned his former j I ( tutor, who fought with the King against the victorious | prince, the soldier who set Segismundo free steps forward to claim his reward, i Si asi a quien no te ha servido Honras, a mi que fui causa ; ; Del alboroto del reino, ; Y de la torre en que estabas, t Te saque, tque me daras? The soldier did not realize that if Segismundo's treatment , • I of his enemy was unexpected, so too the response to his ally. Like Ladislas, Segismundo the King acts in the j best interest of the state, ignoring personal ! considerations. Therefore, he condemns his supporter to the tower from which he was freed, "que el traidor no es menester/ siendo la traicion pasada" (Ill.xiv). ' ! Dian Fox, explains the dualistic treatment of the rebellion l by theorizing that "Calderon recognizes the common people's; 66 ; intrinsic right to citizenship, while his rhetoric— and perhaps the imprisonment of the rebel soldier— betrays 'patrician reservations about their ability to fulfill j I ! unaided their civic obligations" (1989, 150). This dualityj can also be seen in the philosophical treatises of the period; Fox cites Juan de Mariana and Francisco Suarez as examples of anti-Machiavellians who believe that royal j power comes from the people, and therefore they have the f right to remove tyrants, after attempts to reform them j through petitions and negotiations have failed (1989, i 147). In La vida es sueno, the conflicting rights of i 1 ' i I monarchs and citizens are explored, without a definitive | resolution in favor of either group. Walter Cohen sees I , the ending as intrinsically conservative, reinstating "the ideologeme of ethics with a literal vengeance, apparently displacing evil from the aristocracy to : { astrology, but primarily relocating it in the lower classes, who may then be justly punished, or, more 1 I accurately, excised completely from the polity" (Maguire ' 172). Dian Fox sees the ending in a very different light; for her, the imprisonment of the rebel soldier constitutes "enfranchisement" because "a pardon or an execution would , have added up to further exclusion of the masses from i the political life of Poland, perpetuating Basilio's J original mistake," which was the failure to establish j "a nation of laws" (1989, 147). Fox correctly identifies ! 67 the recognition of popular rights as a meaningful event, which has the potential to undermine the affirmation of ! the dominant discourse of absolutism. I In these four plays, the presence of popular rebellion! j as a force that is necessary to the restoration of an : orderly and just monarchy, combined with an ambiguous j representation of the merits and values of that group, i reproduces and contributes to the period's increasingly | complex vision of monarchy and divine right. 1 i * I I The sub-title of this work refers to aesthetic as ' I well as ideological subversion. The most obvious form 1 of subversion is, of course, the mixture of genres, as I the Introduction indicates^ These four plays approach I generic mixing in a variety of ways, ranging from Cinna's ; "tragedy with a happy ending" to the ambiguity of the j happy endings in La vida es suefio. to the intricate plot I twists of Venceslas. where the tragic announcement of i I the Duke's death is quickly followed by comedy — his arrival on the stage— and then the tragedy of Alexandre's . I actual death. The character's reactions to these events also emphasize the generic mixture; for Theodore, delight i that her lover, the Duke, lives is mixed with sorrow for ! I I the death of her brother. In these four plays, the ! VI 68 presence of tragedy and comedy goes beyond the level of plot patterns, it also forms the basis for "self-conscious I or "metatheatrical" imagery, which is one of the most common features of baroque dramaturgy, as well as one of the most potentially subversive (see chapter 5 for 1 an in-depth examination of metatheatrical and self- conscious dramaturgy). When Ladislas arrives at his sister's room trembling and blood-stained, Theodore exclaims that he must have * I had an "aventure tragique" (IV.ii). In the monologue that explains the background of La vida es suefio, King Basilio calls his life "mi tragedia" (I.vi). And, during jthe drug-induced dream that Segismundo has upon returning to the tower, he speaks aloud of the "mil desdichas y tragedias" he will have to endure in the future (II,i). t In addition to these direct references, the "temor y piedad" that Rosaura experiences while listening to Segismundo's lament is an indirect evocation of the well-known Aristotelian catharsis. Although tragicomedy never appears as an image in the way tragedy does, characters often describe events in a manner that shows them to be both tragic and comic. Estrella says that if she marries Astolfo, "con una dicha sola/ tantas desdichas discuente" (Il.vii). One of the j jmost common mixtures is a reference to the co-presence l jof marriage and death, which James Parr cites as one of 69 : i the primary indicators of tragicomedy (1991, 93). This j ' . ' ; juxtaposition may take the form of the well-worn lover s i conceit, such as Ladislas' contention that it is in Cassandre's hands to decide if his future contains "un j i hymen" or "un cerceuil" (II.i). However, tragicomic | j ] (implications are often far more serious, with "real" j consequences for the dramatic characters. In Venceslas. Cassandra mourns that Alexandre was killed on her doorstep \ I i jas he arrived for their wedding, making her a "veuve avant j I I l ’hymen" (IV.vi). Later, as Ladislas gets ready to be ^ put to death for this crime, he is so composed that the . I Duke says he appears to be heading "plutot a l'hymen qu’a j la mort" (V.vii). One of the most elaborate examples of this imagery can be found in the speech where Arethusa's' I father rejects her proposed marriage to Philaster: Your dear husband! Call in The captain of the citadel. There you shall keep i Your wedding. I'll provide a masque shall make Your Hymen turn his saffron into a sullen coat And sing sad requiems to your departing souls. I Blood shall put out your torches, and instead i Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, An axe shall hang like a prodigious meteor Ready to crop your love's sweets. (V.iii) i This self-conscious imagery contributes to aesthetic j i subversion by "laying bare the devices" of dramatic j convention so that the audience focus shifts from ! identification with the character's situation to the stock devices that cause them to react in certain ways, leading | to an increased consciousness of the gap between "real life” and staged imitations of reality. This device is I particularly appropriate in the baroque period, because i I 'of the Counter-Reformation preoccupation with the nature j of reality and illusion. j Parody is another prominent form of self-consciousness in baroque literature of all genres. In Philaster, the i conventions of chivalric literature and courtly love poetry! I are the target of Beaumont and Fletcher’s demystification (see chapter 5 for an examination of the socio-political j implications of attacks on chivalric literary conventions).| In his encounters with women who represent both the "madonna” and the "whore” stereotypes so common to the | I period (Rose 4), the Spanish prince is shown attempting l to use the language of courtly love to obtain sexual I satisfaction. Therefore, it is not surprising that , i Galatea, the madonna figure, mocks Pharamond's "courtly” ! advances, answering his "by this sweet hand" with "'tis , but an old glove" and "dear lady, can you love?" with | i I "how dear? I never cost you a coach yet nor put you to i the dear repentance of a banquet" (II,ii). Galatea's ( deliberate misunderstanding is shown to be prescient when j Pharamond decides to abandon verbal persuasion, "She's ! a Danae and must be courted in a shower of gold." After I failing to persuade Galatea, who rejects Pharamond's > i reference to his social position or "full being" by interpreting the phrase as "fatness" and prescribing a 71 regime of diet and exercise, the prince turns his attention: to Megra, the whore figure, whom the courtiers describe j as having "destroyed the worth of her own body by making experiment upon it for the good of the commonwealth" (I.i). ! ! The initial conversation is full of Renaissance poetic j commonplaces, such as Pharamond's observation that in Megra's eyes and lips, "there's theme enough for one man j : | for an age" (II.ii). The tone soon degenerates, as Megra observes that just ten lines of such poetry would be enough ! to melt the snowy heart of a nun, and that for her, just \ five lines is enough to win a kiss. Megra says it is "impossible" for her to "lie with" the prince, but only j i because it would be dangerous for her to be caught with Arethusa's fiance. When Pharamond pleads, "keep this, ; i and with it me" he refers not to a romantic token, no ' ring or lock of hair, but to the bag of gold Galatea had refused. Courtly love is revealed to be nothing but a ■ commercial transaction in this parodic scene. Like the self-conscious references to dramatic conventions, the I parodying of other genres also serves to highlight the gap between literary idealizations and "real" life. ! VII In order to understand the baroque as a separate ! period, Jose Antonio Maravall writes that it is necessary 72 to see it in relation to its predecessor, the Renaissance (1986, 3). Michel Foucault does not utilise these two i i i j terms, but he does acknowledge that an epistemological [ i change occurs at the beginning of the seventeenth century, ; I I which is characterized by the change in perception I i describe earlier in this chapter. Thus, an examination of baroque stylistics reveals the way these plays represent^ I the new awareness as "a conviction, no less operative ! for being possibly below the level of consciousness, that ultimate reality, never to be determined by the appearance j i i of things, has the shape of the conflict of opposites" (Warnke 45). In this context, antithetical and violent ! imagery can be seen as an integral part of the baroque vision, rather than as a "decadent" or "mannerist" , aesthetic detached from any larger me a n i n g. j In La vida es sueno, antithetical imagery is used I to describe the borderline existence of Segismundo. We I have already examined the human/beast imagery that the I protagonist uses to describe himself. To be locked in i I a tower with only one human visitor can scarcely be called l living, and Segismundo describes his home as a "cuna y sepultura" for "un vivo cadaver" (I,ii). He continues I ; this antithesis by calling himself "esqueleto vivo" and i "animado muerto", and tells himself, "antes de nacer, moriste"(I,iii). j One of the hallmarks of Calderon's baroque style is the frequent use of elaborate and extended metaphors based on antitheses. Segismundo's famous soliloquoy is ! a comparison of his imprisonment to the freedom enjoyed ’ I , by other creatures: bird, beast, and fish. Each stanza highlights one of the qualities, "alma", "instinto", or i "albedrlo" that marks human superiority, compared to the i creature in question. For the final comparison, even j I a stream has more freedom than the protagonist. In this i ! instance, the extended conceit is not just a virtuouso 4 performance of poetic ability. The concluding lines place j this antithesis in a moral and metaphysical context: | £Que ley,justicia o razon Negar a los hombres sabe ; Privilegio tan suave, i Excepcion tan principal, j Que Dios le ha dado a un cristal, ' j A un pez, a un bruto, y a un ave? (I.ii) For the baroque writer, life itself is antithetical. I The perception of reality as a battlefield can also | be seen in the proliferation of horrifyingly graphic images of violence. Benjamin attributes this aspect of baroque ! style to the influence of both "the Senecan obsession j with loud agony" and "the medieval Christological insistence on the mortification of the flesh" (17). In Cinna, the depiction of the Roman civil war of the j ; preceding generation casts the Emperor as "ce Tigre altere { de tout le sang Romain," while the battle between fellow 74 citizens is the suicidal act "ou Rome par ses mains i dechirait ses entrailles," and the result is a pathetic I city, "noyee au sang de ses enfants" (I.iii). The horror I of that ancient civil war must have struck a chord in the audience of 1641, whose own civil wars of religion were a not-too-distant memory, and who had only to look across the Channel to see the stirrings of yet another fratricidal confrontation. Violent murders also abound in these heroic dramas. Segismundo's birth is paradoxically the means by which he murders his mother, an event his mother had dreamed of : Entre ideas y delirios Del sueno, vio que rompxa Sus entranas atrevido i Un monstruo en forma de hombre, Y entre su sangre tenido, Le daba muerte, naciendo. (I.vi) There are also a few references to the violent overthrow i of Philaster’s father, an event in which the remorseful courtier Dion says he "drew some blood... which I would ! give my hand to be washed from" (I,i). The dramatic convention of achieving a comic resolution through recognition also takes on added significance because of its link with baroque themes. It does not function solely as a theatrical device, but also as a demonstration that the senses can be mistaken at the most basic level of human perception: the recognition of family members. Although recognition is not as prominent a form of conflict resolution in heroic tragicomedy as it is in other variations, it does play j j a part in La vida es sueno and Philaster. In the Spanish < play, Rosaura’s remark to Clotaldo in Act I, "La vida I sehor, me has dado" refers to his intervention with the I I ' ■ i ;King on her behalf, but it is also an ironic reference ! I to the fact that he is her father, although she does not ! yet know this. In Act III, "de ti recibx la vida" is | both an acknowledgment that the courtier has intervened ; i 1 on her behalf so that she was not punished for speaking ' to the imprisioned Segismundo, and also of their recently discovered family connection, as well as a spur to action j ! because she has no true "vida" until he avenges her lost j honor (Ill.viii). Astolfo, the prince responsible for this deed, confirms her lack of existence when he refuses j I to marry Rosaura because "ella no sabe quien es" - because ' she has no publicly recognized father. (Ill.xiv). When Clotaldo reveals that he is her father, he gives Rosaura \ an identity and a life, and Astolfo is then willing to \ marry her. I Rosaura’s lack of identity had forced her previously | to adopt a variety of roles: she dresses as a man in order 1 ! ! to travel from her birthplace in Moscow to the Polish | court for which Astolfo had abandoned her, and then adapts I : | the name Astrea and the status of lady in waiting while ! waiting for Clotaldo to act against Astolfo. Segismundo forms an emotional bond with each of these manifestations without realizing that they are the same person, and is further confused when Rosaura appears before him as a ! j "monstruo de una especie y otra,/ entre galas de mujer; I i ;arias de varon me adornan", offering to help him fight for the crown if he will help avenge her honor (III.x). j I Rosaura's declaration "es este exterior vestido/ enigma, > |pues no es de quien/ parece" is both a reference to her ; concealed gender and to the general state of the baroque world. | The other heroic tragicomedy in which recognition I plays an important role is Philaster. Here, the major j I subplot concerns the beautiful young page Bellario, who ! is totally devoted to Philaster, and is therefore sent by him to serve and protect Arethusa. The beauty of this [ servant lends credibility to the assertion by the Spanish prince's bed partner Megra that Arethusa is sexually involved with Bellario. Dion, Philaster's favorite supporter, confirms the lie because the prince's devotion 1 to Arethusa is the only impediment to his support for an attempt to overthrow the usurping King. Bellario’s i I continued devotion eventually convinces Philaster of the i | page's innocence, so that the Prince is willing to endanger his newly-gained throne in his defense. It is at this i i i t \ point that a most unusual anagnorisis occurs. 77 Bellario moves off to the side with Philaster's i favorite supporter, the one who claimed to have seen ' Bellario and Arethusa in "a compromising position,” and reveals that she is his daughter, who we have been told | at the beginning of the play is undertaking a holy ! i pilgrimage. The token of proof that Bellario/Euphrasia j I offers is not a ring or a scar, but simply her face! j iAfter the inquiry as to whether the courtier knows "this I I face” is met with a blunt "No,” (s)he begins to reveal the truth by commenting that many courtiers have observed ; a resemblance between the page and the absent daughter, ; "that we two/ could not be known asunder, dress'd alike" i (V.v). In ordinary human relations, encounters take place j I at a level of such superficial perceptions that a change from feminine to masculine garb is sufficient to disguise j 'one's identity even from the closest family members. j I In both La vida es sueno and Philaster, the problem of disguised identity is an integral part of the theme, an extended metaphor in itself, not merely a conventional ; device in the dramaturgical repetoire. i These four plays combine an ambiguous representation ;of the conflict between royal and plebian rights with ' innovative stylistic devices to produce drama that has 1 the potential to be subversive, both ideologically and ! !aesthetically. The versions of tragicomedy that emerge j^in the baroque period, which utilize an inclusionary jgeneric practice as the basis of their aesthetic vision, I are uniquely suited to the dual function of drama to reflect and to influence material reality in an epoch of rapid transformation. 79 List of works cited— Chapter 2 I. Primary Texts Beaumont, Francis and John Fletcher. A King and No King, ed. Robert K. Turner. Lincoln: Nebraska UP, 1963. i . Philaster, ed. Dora Jean Ashe. Lincoln: Nebraska UP, 1974. Calderon de la Barca, Pedro, Obras Completas, ed. Angel Valbuena Briones. Madrid: Aguilar, 1969. jCorneille, Pierre. Theatre complet, ed. Georges Couton. j Paris: Garnier, 1971. Rotrou, Jean. Venceslas. In Sherer , ed . Sherer, Jacques, ed. Theatre du XVII siecle. Paris: Gallimard, 1975. II. Secondary Texts ! I Andre, Georges. "Importance et signification du role I de Livie dans Cinna." Romanic Review 79 (1988): 269-82. 1 Benjamin, Walter. The Origin of German Tragic Drama. ' London: NLB, 1977. i | Bliss, Lee. "Three Plays in One: Shakespeare and i Philaster. "Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England 2 (1985): 153-70. . j Dollimore, Jonathan. "Subjectivity, Sexuality and Transgression: The Jacobean Connection." Renaissance Drama 17 (1986): 53-82. i Fox, Dian. "In defense of Segismundo." Bulletin of the ' Comediantes 41 (1989): 141-54. [ Goldmann, Lucien. Le dieu cache. Paris: Gallimard, 1959. I I Hirst, David L. Tragicomedy. New York: Methuen Inc., : 1984. | Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed.. Renaissance Tragicomedy. ' I New York: AMS Press, 1987. Papers on Seventeenth Century French Literature. 1984. (issue on Corneille) ; Parr, James A. After Its Kind: Approaches to the Comedia. | 80 ~ j Kassel: Reichenberger, 1991. j Rose, Mary Beth. The Expense of the Spirit: Love and Sexuality in English Renaissance Drama. Ithaca, Cornell UP, 1988. I ] 1 jWarnke, Frank. Versons of Baroque: European Literature j in the Seventeenth Century. New Haven: Yale UP, 1972. ■ Chapter 3 Satiric Tragicomedy ! I ! 1 As a modal presence, satire plays a major role in undermining the potential optimism of comic reconciliations | i in baroque tragicomedy. Its presence as a modal alteration of tragicomedy is one of many indications that tragicomedy is not the uncritically naive genre many critics have ! f J 1 postulated (Introduction). Leon Guilhamet rightly observes, that it can be difficult to distinguish between comic j and satiric modes (7). For him, the distinctions are both structural and affective, and eventually, ethical j 1 i as well. The underlying foundation of these differences is the nature of the blocking characters who attempt to | I prevent a desired marriage, whom Guilhamet terms the comic ! or satiric "fools" (8). I t I Guilhamet writes that the comic fool is harmless j to himself and others, while the satiric fool or knave i poses a significant threat to himself, to other characters, and perhaps, even, to the audience (8). The harmless j nature of the comic fool produces laughter and releases tension. Guilhamet concedes that the satiric fool may also-.produce laughter, "but our laughter presently yields > to serious concern," so that tension is raised but not ! i released (8). This difference in character has ethical implications, as well as affective ones. Unlike comedy, | 82 i satire sees "harm and even evil in the ridiculous. The | i evil that is proper to satire cannot be reconciled to | the good at the conclusion of the comic plot" (8). ! | Guilhamet shows here that the moral aspect of satire ! is directly linked to plot resolution. His reference to reconciliation echoes the distinction Northrop Frye ^ makes between various modes of comedy. The integration J of the focal character into society is central to Frye's ' | definition of comedy, for whom the edge where comedy meets ! i • satire is "ironic" comedy in which that focal character must, instead, be driven out (45). The focus on an ! I ultimately excluded character is, to me, a transgression j \ of the boundaries of comedy; it implies the ethical I concerns that Guilhamet correctly links to satire. j Although it is common critical practice to link irony 1 I ; with comedy, I feel that it can be more productively linked: i to satire, with the differentiation between comedy and satire posited by Guilhamet. This shift of emphasis makes < ' it possible to take into account features of both comic j f and tragicomic drama which tend to be "explained away" i in an effort to produce the Optimistic readings typical ! of comic criticism and of some tragicomic theorists as | I well (Introduction). I John Dryden's definition in Origin and Progress of Satire indicates that seventeenth century critics 1 I considered ethical concerns to be central to satire, for I ' 83 it is a form in which "human vices, ignorance, and errors, and all things besides, which are produced from them in every man, are severely reprehended...by which hatred, or laughter, or indignation is moved" (2:143). A century earlier, Francesco Robortello also emphasized morality ! in writing that the satirist "engages in carping at and reprehending the vices of man" (Baumlin, Renaissance Genres |449). Of course, these critics were referring to verse I I jsatire, but their observations are relevant to the function isatire has as a modal influence on dramatic genres. The implications for drama are signaled by Moliere in the preface to Tartuffe. affirming that "Les plus beaux traits ! d’une serieuse morale sont raoins puissants, le plus souvent - i que ceux de la satire. Therefore, people should support "les pieces de theatre oti I'on verra regner 1 ’instruction," understanding that representation of immoral behavior leads to its correction, rather than to its encouragement, I as his critics suggested. 1 It is difficult to specify the generic attributes of satire, for as Alastair Fowler writes, it has no specific historical kind; instead, diversity is its form (110). Fowler and Dryden both trace the word’s etymology | to satura, a cooking term that indicated a varied mixture of elements (2:145). Thus, satire, more than the other fixed genres which operated as modal influences on baroque : tragicomedy, is essentially suitable for its modal role. 84 Fowler even sees it as the dominant mode for early i seventeenth century tragicomedy, although he overlooks its continuing importance in the assertion that satiric j tragicomedy's "exploration of evil seems to have proved too painful, too unresolving" (187). (Fowler cites the j "lighter" tragicomedies of Fletcher and Beaumont as proof j jof the transformation tragicomedy undergoes, although, as Chapter 2 demonstrates, their Philaster does not present the univocally positive view Fowler suggests.) Guilhamet • is referring to the mixed nature of satire, rather than : I of genre mixture, when he comments that "satire... depends ! I jon the reader's ability to take a comic and serious view i I of an object at the same time"; nevertheless, this i I observation is also relevant for tragicomedy - especially satiric tragicomedy. ! In keeping with the title of this chapter, the group j of plays that it will address includes not only I tragicomedies whose dominant mode is the satiric, but j also other tragicomedies in which satire is an important ! presence. Unlike the heroic mode, which focuses on the I presence of epic values as the force that circumvents ' • \ tragedy, satire, by its very nature, cannot contribute to any positive outcome. Instead, the satiric vision i I subverts the comic ending by showing that the forces , opposing the comic resolution are at least as powerful I j^as those that support it, and that any happy ending is, 85 in John Shawcross' terms, "provisional” - because human nature has not changed (Maguire 26). The two plays that best illustrate the way satire modifies tragicomedy are Measure for Measure and Ruiz de Alarcon's Ganar amigos. Both plays are normally considered comedies, although the amount of critical attention paid to the genre of the Shakespearean work is an indication that it is, at the least, a "problem comedy." In David Bevington's introduction to Measure i I ifor Measure. he begins by terming the play s comedy "unfestive," and admits that the "improbability of the ending" could be seen as tragicomic, but concludes that, because "the play celebrates the felix culpa of human nature, the fall from grace that is an integral part of | man’s rise to happiness and self knowledge," it is "essentially comic... despite its harrowing scenes of j conflict and its awareness of vice everywhere in man." Bevington's willingness to stretch the boundaries of comedy produces a spectacle of critical contortionism, as he j 1 denies the satiric implications of rampant vice, and the tragicomic implications of the intense suffering the characters experience. Northrop Frye takes a similiar | I approach to the play, pointing out that, while avoiding t j j death, the male characters come as close to "catastrophe" ! as possible, and that the escape is correspondingly narrow | (Corrigan, 94). Still, Frye persists in considering the I 86 play an "ironic" comedy, in which ironic indicates a mood rather than a mode, so that there is no hint of generic mixture. Barbara Mowat writes that Shakespearean scholars who accept the idea that the Bard did write tragicomedy are more likely to use this term for the "problem" plays I than for the late "romances" (Maguire, 80). In her own analysis of these works, Mowat sees likenesses between Measure for Measure and Guarinian tragicomedy, in that they blend comedy in a tempered way, without excesses j of emotion (85). Even though Shakespeare "darkens" the j tone of his endings, in contrast to the prescribed happy i ending of his Italian predecessor, Mowat feels that plays j like Measure for Measure do follow the most important guideline, that serious and comic scenes should be juxtaposed so that the audience is always aware that the play is tragicomic (88). In terming the play a j "homilectic" tragicomedy, Richard Ide focuses on the j playwright's "revisionary critique of dramatic tradition" l (106). He points out that the play rewrites both the I homilectic tragedy, in which transgressions are punished on earth, and the Renaissance "tragicall comedie" which j [ has a double ending, with the dispension of appropriate I rewards and punishments (108-9). In these earlier plays, judgment on earth is represented as infallible, like divine I justice. Measure for Measure and Ganar amigos share a I 87 jvision which questions ideals of earthly justice. Satire derives, in part, from the representation of justice as biased, corrupted by the fact that judges are human, so that judgment is rendered "personal and partial" (Ide I , 122) . Genre critics find no difficulty in identifying 'Measure for Measure as a tragicomedy. David Hirst j jdescribes the play as one in which the genres are [juxtaposed, "serving to disturb his audience by j highlighting the sordid pragmatic realities consequent on the operation of justice" (29). In addition to identifying the "tragicomic strain" in the play, Nicolas Grene also identifies the presence of satire: because sexuality is depicted in such negative terms, as "rat bane" associated with venereal disease, the usual comic i connotations of fertility and rebirth are negated. Instead, debased sexuality becomes "part of a general satiric pattern in the play that runs counter to the comic rhythm" (206). The debasement of justice and sexuality 'are prominent themes in both Measure for Measure and Ganar amigos, and will be shown to form the foundation of their satiric vision. There is less difficulty involved in associating j Ganar amigos with generic mixture. We have already seen in the introduction that Hispanists are far less resistant i j^to the concept, and that the marginalization of Spanish literature by many comparatists may actually be advantageous in this situation, because there are fewer I ibarriers to eradicate. In his essay for the Renaissance Tragicomedy anthology, Walter Cohen briefly mentions the Alarcon play. However, as in his analysis of "romantic" 'tragicomedies, Cohen misreads this play by asserting that jthe dominance of the honor code provides for "the idealogically conservative integration of the oppressed majority into a neofeudal hierarchy" (166). In fact, the flawed nature of the pronouncements of King Pedro I "the Just" are similiar in nature to those of the Viennese Duke, causing what Ide terms an "interpretive crux" (106). As I indicated in the Introduction, effective historical Icriticism examines these cruxes in an effort to avoid J < ' both explaining away subversive elements, such as Cohen does with Ganar amigos, and also the opposite extreme ■of finding subversion behind every bush. j i Corrupted sexuality is at the thematic and linguistic hearts of both the Spanish and English plays. When Duke t i iVicentio leaves Angelo in charge of justice in Vienna, i i j | his intent is for this substitute to reverse his city’s descent into decadence, by enforcing the "strict statutes land most biting laws...which for these fourteen years we have let slip" (I.iii). Angelo's first act is to arrest Claudio for "lechery." Claudio acknowledges the justice I |of this act, blaming his acts on "too much liberty," and 89 confirming the need for official restraints, because "Our natures do pursue/ Like rats that raven down their bane,/ A thirsty evil, and when we drink we die" (I,ii). In the comic subplot, Pompey, servant to a prostitute, (confirms the human inability to control sexuality when | he asks if Angelo’s helper Escalus intends "to geld and 1 jsplay all the youth of the city," implying that it is I |the only way to keep them from frequenting bawds (II.i). j The Provost at the jail where Claudio is imprisoned attempts to dissuade Angelo from condemning the young man, because it is unfair that only he be punished for jhis lust, though "All sects, all ages smack of this vice" (II.ii). Just before abandoning the monk's habit which I has allowed him to observe how his deputies behave in his "absence," the disguised Duke observes that during his stay in Vienna, he "seen corruption boil and bubble/ Till it o ’er-run the stew" (V.i). The overwhelming presence of social ills as described here appears too I strong, too well-established to be eradicated by the Duke’ small scale scheme. Any happy ending that results will have to be considered "provisional" because the malady is so widespread, thereby producing a satiric rather than a comic vision of humanity and society, j The ultimate proof of sexual depravity is the fall ' of Angelo. He correctly identifies the danger of the cloak of official respectability which hides the same lust that he punishes in others, 0 place, 0 form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming. (II.iv) Isabella rejects Angelo's depraved bargain - her body for her brother's life - with the accusation, "Seeming, seeming!" (II.iv) Her threat to reveal Angelo's true nature is not perceived as a danger because, as he tells her, both his past reputation for austerity and his "place i' th' state/ will so your accusation overweigh/ that you shall stifle in your own report/ and smell of calumny" (II.iv). Isabella emphasizes the combination of sexual depravity and misuse of power when she describes her plight to Claudio, This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' th’ head, and follies doth enew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. (Ill.i) A final scene of repentance and forgiveness does not erase the satiric pictures of corrupted power that Isabella draws here, nor is it sufficient to remove the tragic trace of threatened death and defilement. In attempting to convince the newly returned Duke of Angelo's corruption, Isabella implores that Vicentio not be deceived by "his dressings, cataracts, titles, forms," and that he "make not impossible/ that which but 91 seems unlike” because of Angelo's rank (V.i). To unravel ! |this knot requires several stock comic devices: the bed jtrick which saves Isabella's chastity, the fortunate death of a prisoner whose resemblance to Claudio allows for j jthe substitution of his head, and the timely recognition jof the Duke, so that Angelo's ''crimes'' are tragicomically undone. Yet the very excess of conventional theatrical escapes undermines any hopeful note in the ending, and emphasizes instead a satiric vision of human society. i I The context in which Isabella's marriage is presented I also undermines any attempt to s for the Duke uses coercion— the death— to win Isabella, who voic or negative, to her betrothal, j The revelation of sexual de begins quite ironically. After Don Fernando seeks out his love, j that her love has been constant asides to the audience in which love, a Marquis, might find out peaks after one of these asides, I the suitor's exclamation, '*6 Qui no son firmes? Penas son” (I.ii [ Don Diego, is infuriated that he apparently produced another scan I : public discovery of her liaison ee the ending as festive, threat of Claudio's es no response, positive pravity in Ganar amigos a two year separation, Flor. Her vows to him are interspersed with she worries that her new about Fernando. The irony which is followed by en dice que las mujeres/ i). Flor's brother, r "liviandad” has dal (the first was the with Fernando, which led 92 to their subsequent separation). In this instance, Diego believes that Flor has had an illicit affair with Don Sancho, the Marquis’ brother, because he has just been killed while attacking the "stranger" (Fernando) at Flor's window. Flor tells the truth in admitting that she is jinvolved with the Marquis, but describes the courtship in ambivalent language that makes her appear to be the victim of his attentions, then explains in an aside, "Esta falsa culpa/ le imputo por disculparme” (I.xi). Despite all these explanations, Diego’s final words in the scene reveal his total contempt towards Flor, "piensa que no rompe/ mi espada tu pecho infame/ porque no digan que empiezo/ por la mujer a vengarme" (I.xi). Both tragedy and satire are present in this scene; the former in the death of Sancho and the latter in Diego’s assertion that j Flor’s immoral behavior is so disruptive that death is a reasonable punishment; comic integration appears to be an impossibility. Flor's two suitors soon come to realize that they have made an error in judgment. The Marquis decides to end his pursuit, calling his previous feelings an ’’amor bastardo” for a ’ ’liviana infiel" (II.iv). His subsequent j reaction to the news of Flor's previous scandal with Fernando is an unsurprised, "IQue tan antiguo es el mal!” The Marquis does not inform Flor of his decision, so j that Fernando’s next visit interrupts her in the midst 93 f c * of worrying that she has been forgotten. Still, Flor continues to pretend to love Fernando, and tries to turn his accusations of infidelity against him, until he exclaims in rage, "Para disculpar las tuyas,/ finges falsa, culpas mias?...iQue clara/ se conoce tu malicia!" (Il.viii) Flor's further attempts to defend herself are useless, as Fernando declares her "liviana, aleve, falsa/ mudable, tirana, fiera,/ tigre hircana y sierpe libia" (Il.viii). Because of Flor's deceptions, it is impossible for either the Marquis or Fernando to marry her. Flor has become her own blocking character; it is her flawed actions that i jare the obstacle to her marriage. Even if this obstacle ! is transcended, satire will remain as a blot on the comic I j tabula. The words of the two suitors are too harsh to be forgotten, even in the rosy glow of a final scene of tragicomic reconciliation. Sexual corruption is not limited to the female } characters; the King asks the Marquis to have a courtier, I Don Pedro de Luna, killed because he dishonored a woman from the palace. The Marquis is reluctant to carry out this order, and worries, "£Que justicia...consiente/ i castigar tan duramente/ yerros causados de amor?" (Il.iii)J : The Marquis attempts to soften the punishment by having I Pedro sent to lead a battle, but his gesture of friendship | is misinterpreted. In an aside, Pedro comments that the Marquis is not sending him away out of jealousy over Ines, 94 because the Marquis is not aware that his new love interest is Pedro’s lover. Still, Pedro cannot recognize the positive intentions behind the Marquis’ actions, and decides, ’ ’Mi poder y su mudanza/ teme sin duda; alejarme/ quiere del Rey, por cortarme/ al hilo de mi privanza” (II.xv). Like Flor, who could not believe that Fernando had kept his promise to keep their former affair a secret because she herself was incapable of loyalty, Don Pedro can only see evil in the intentions of others. His final words to the Marquis are of vengeance, ”Pues vos me quer&is/ quitar del dichoso puesto/ en que con el Rey estoy,/ yo del vuestro os quitar&.” Improper sexual behavior is not an isolated character flaw, but an indication of other, potentially dangerous anti-social behaviors. Flor's actions have already caused the death of Sancho, a valued soldier for the King, and Pedro's words indicate an equal threat to the life of the Marquis. The final example of sexual misconduct is the most extreme. Although Don Diego is quick to condemn his sister's lascivity, he makes no attempt to control his own appetites. His frustration over the inability to win the attention of Dona Ana is heightened unbearably when he overhears a conversation that leads him to believe Ana loves the Marquis. Love is immediately overshadowed by jealous rage and a desire for revenge. To achieve his goal, he constructs an elaborate plan whereby he gains 95 entrance to Ana's bedroom, with her servants having been led to believe he is the Marquis. In a Don Juan-like scheme, he also presents himself to Ana as the Marquis, jbelieving that this will gain him sexual favors. But, jbecause the exchange between the Marquis and Ana concerned jthe Marquis' love for Ines, it is natural that these I advances are not welcome. As Diego later explains to the servant who helped him pose as the Marquis, despite Ana's strong resistance, he did not stop because, "creci6 el apetito, el fuego,/ el furor..." (Ill.vii). 'Clearly, { the inability to control one's sexual desires poses a danger to other members of society. When even the characters most vigilant of the morals of others, such as Diego or Shakespeare’s Angelo, fall prey to their own Idesires and then prey on unwilling women, irregular behavior can no longer be seen as a temporary annnoyance, I part of a comic pattern of error and restitution. i I Just as Angelo’s sexual transgressions force the Duke to abandon his disguise, it is Ana's accusations against the Marquis that compel King Pedro to take an I active role in transforming potential tragedy into I j tragicomedy. Here, the satiric vision is sharply focused on how and why the two ruling figures dispense justice. Richard Ide writes that, before subverting the ideal justice of homilectic tragedy in the final act, Shakespeare ! i ! raises expectations for a conventional ending by staging 96 the Duke's "return" to Vienna as a spectacle similiar |to the Judgment Day scenes in medieval drama, complete with heralding trumpets (112). The audience is thus lead to expect that the Duke has changed, that he will begin to enforce the laws of Vienna, so that when the Duke pardons Angelo, it appears that Shakespeare dismantles the homilectic tragedy by "highlighting the ironic contrast !between Vicentio and his heavenly model" (Ide, 112). ! ! ! 'Ide points out that both the Duke and Angelo deviate from j I • the ideals of the "Parliament of Heaven" in which the ’Virgin Mary (Isabella) intercedes on behalf of humanity, because it is Isabella's human quality - her feminine sexual appeal- that moves the two men. The Duke's decision to pardon both Bernardine, a muderer, and Claudio is also < problematic; their "crimes" are quite different, and the I I suggested linkage of Claudio's freedom to Isabella's i acceptance of the Duke's marriage proposal is certainly an example of judicial abuse! (Ide, 120-21) The final j I example of abuse is the Duke's sentence that Lucio marry |a whore, as punishment for "slandering" the Duke - speaking I jill of him in the presence of the monk who was really ;a disguised Vicentio. Lucio's vehement protests are as significant as Isabella's silence; both reactions undermine I the idea of marriage as a happy ending. Ide correctly | observes that all of the Duke's decisions are personal j ' i ^nd partial, and thereby raise questions about earthly | 97 judicial institutions (123). It is this emphasis on the corrupt nature of human justice, along with the focus on corrupt human sexuality, both of which pose serious danger for innocent people, that transforms the "happy" ending and offers a satiric vision of life. The actions of King Pedro "the Just" are also questionable. The Marquis rejects the King’s demand that Don Pedro de Luna be killed for one sexual transgression as the decision of an "ejecutor cruel" (Il.iii). The decision to have Don Pedro sent to the battlefield shows that the Marquis has the correct perspective; his choice of an action which is "ni piedad inobediente,/ ni ejecutiva crueldad" is an example of the balanced median point "entrambos fines" which the King should have sought (Il.iii). Although the King does pardon Fernando for the muder of Sancho, at the Marquis’ request, Fernando’s servant Encinas reports the good news to his master with an ironic description of the King’s decision, "con severidad esquiva/ dijo solo: 'Bien est&’./ Ya conoces su justicia" (Il.viii). As both the Marquis and Encinas observe, the King is much too severe in his judgments - the opposite of Duke Vicentio- and both extremes are dangerous, as the plays show. In fact, some of the characters who praise the King as "el justiciero," such as Flor and Diego, are themselves of suspect morality, 98 so that their admiration is not truly a validation of the King. The King himself is aware of his frailty, as he jdemonstrates when telling the Marquis that he needs his help to maintain the nickname "Justiciero," and asks the Marquis to stay close to him always so that "en todo acompane/ vuestra piedad mi rigor” (Ill.iii). Despite i jthis declaration of confidence, the King arrests the Marquis two scenes later, after hearing from Dona Ana 1 ! that she was raped by the Marquis, The King's secretary criticizes the fact that he has condemned the Marquis to death, "por indicios solamente” (Ill.xi). When the i King finds himself compelled to pardon Don Pedro, and i I to grant him permission to wed Ines, because of Pedro's I spectacular victory over the Moors, he voices great reluctance to judge reasonably. He had never confronted Pedro with his knowledge of the affair with Ines, and 1 i even now he sends Pedro to the Marquis to find out why j ! he had wanted him dead. It is clear that the King does j | not trust himself to control his temper and carry out the pardon he knows to be just, "tanto a castigar me incito,/ que se, si nombro el delito,/ que no podre perdonallo"((III.xii). This weakness is an ironic contrast jto the King's reputed skill at dispensing justice. j ; In the end, the King finds himself reduced to the j i { ;same situation as the Duke, "spying" on his courtiers J 99 in order to find out the truth. Instead of a disguise, the King uses his "mirador," a hiding place from which he can observe the actions of the other characters. After • learning the truth about the Marquis’ innocence and the i j sexual misconduct of Flor and Diego from this vantage point, the King steps forward to dispense justice. His verdicts, like those of the Duke, are hard to justify. Although he had wanted to kill Pedro for his affair with |Ines, which did not involve rape, Diego is "punished" I by being allowed to marry Ana. And Flor, who lied to i and about both of her suitors, is allowed to choose which of them she would like to marry, because "la perdida opinion/ es justicia restauraros" (Ill.xxi). Flor claims |to choose the Marquis simply because the public has linked their names, and this is the only way to regain her honor. Thus, she is rewarded for the chicanery which caused Sancho's death. The Marquis accedes to her wishes only because her brother, Don Diego, came forward with the |truth of who raped Ana, thereby saving him from execution. Like Flor, Diego is rewarded for a questionable action; he told the truth only because Fernando had threatened to have Encinas reveal the whole story. With these decisions, the King has moved from one judicial excess to the other, from ordering death for ]small crimes to granting pardons and favorable marriages i I for people guilty of much more serious acts. For King 100 Pedro the problem is not the interference of personal considerations, but rather a basic inability to judge individual cases on their own merits. This is displayed i ! in the illogical transformation from severity to leniency, I and in the consistency with which he applies the chosen standards to every case, regardless of differing situations. It is a satiric vision indeed that represents I I teven a King who is renowned for his justice as incapable ■of proper judgments, and that punishes the most noble characters in the play with marriages to the most immoral. The safety of loyal courtiers is also still in doubt, I for justice remains in the hands of a King who has not I iyet diplayed the ability to judge fairly, who is prone to excesses which endanger the lives of those seeking redress at his royal hands. It is significant that this | i is the same King Pedro who plays a key and controversial ;judicial role in El medico de su honra. Dian Fox writes I that an ambiguous representation of this King is common in the comedia, due to the conflicting historical i representations of his reign, which ended when he was | killed by his half-brother in a civil war. His brother 'Enrique's victory ensured that the official chronicles J portray Pedro in a negative light, in order to legitimate [Enrique's rule; however, the ballads composed during the years of civil unrest prior to Pedro's death tend to favor j i ■ the King over his "usurping" brother (Fox, 28-29). Thus, 101 the ambiguous represenation of Pedro contributes to the vision of human frailty that signals the presence of satire. Both of these plays focus on sexual activity as the space where judgment is faulty. Perhaps we should then look beyond the value of the judgments, and examine the nature of the condemned sexuality. In both plays, one aspect of the flaw in justice is that sexual transgressions are punished or forgiven in accordance with the temperament of the judge, rather than the severity of the action. Thus, Claudio and Pedro are condemned to death for relations of mutual consent with women they want to marry, because Angelo and King Pedro are strict judges. The Maruis, whom King Pedro orders to carry out the punishment, emphasizes the injustice of this sentence: £Que justicia, que rigor, Si bien se mira, consciente Castigar tan duramente Yerros causados de amor? Later, Angelo and Diego are forgiven for coerced sex acts, because the Duke has been moved by Isabella's beauty, and King Pedro has become lenient. There is no distinction made about the type of sexual activity. It is likely that these plays are undermining the entire code of aristocratic conduct, which exaggerates the importance of appearances in a variety of realms, including "limpieza de sangre" as well as sexual behavior, because of the 102 loss of other practical functions under the increasingly absolutist monarchies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Dollimore xxxiv). The representation of a world in which not only one's reputation, but also one's jlife, is dependent upon appearances rather than actions I is an indication that social ills cannot be resolved J I through comic integration, because they pose the dangers Guilhamet associates with satire. The position that exaggerated codes of sexual honor are linked to the loss of other aristocratic functions is held by many of the critics who interpret the Spanish "honor plays" as a criticism of those codes. In all of i » these plays, it is the social conventions linked to j I i appearances of chastity that are problematic, as much as any concrete actions. El medico de su honra is perhaps the best example, for the idea that the vengeful husband is represented in a negative light is reinforced by several different factors, which I describe in Chapter 5. The threatened deaths of the "sexual criminals" in the two plays studied here are equally troubling. For example, Flor's original "crime" was to be caught "hablando de noche" with Fernando (II.iv). Unless "hablando" is a euphemism for the sexual act (which seems unlikely, given that other sexual activitiies, such as Diego's rape I of Ana, are described in more explicit terms) then both Diego's and the Marquis' condemnations of Flor's j"liviandad" are as problematic as Flor's behavior. Another I example of punishment exceeding the crime is the already cited order that Don Pedro be killed for his affair with In6s. This incident recalls Angelo’s condemnation of |Claudio. Although the two judges are shown to have different types of character flaws, there is a link in the representation of the varying "shades of gray" of unacceptable sexual activity, which the judges fail to j take into account, perhaps because social conventions I do not make those distinctions, either. In both plays, i the flawed nature of the justice dispensed may very well be a reflection of a basic injustice in the codes of aristocratic behavior upon which law bases itself in these ! instances. If this is indeed the case, then the satiric I | vision of social disorder points to a problem more serious than how justice is distributed; it calls into question j i the justice of law itself. The presence of satire may also mitigate comedy in that it often undermines the idea that the final marriages are part of a "happily ever after,” In a typical comedy, j two young people who are in love must confront adverse circumstances or a blocking character in order to marry. Because the adversity so often originates in members of the older generation, who are part of and support the staus quo, social criticism, explicit or not, is a feature ! of many comedies (Levin 62). However, the conclusion 104 of a comedy, in which the young couple overcomes the obstacles and gains permission to wed, implies a certain optimism. The marriages in the two plays addressed in this chapter appear to subvert this comic vision, because of the unwillingness and coercion involved; only the marriages of Pedro and Ines and Claudio and Juliet appear to be based on mutual desire, and those couples are not even shown on stage together. Whether the source of disharmony is actually sexual depravity, or the unjust nature of laws and customs regarding sexual behaviour, the result is a series of marriages that appear to be "made in hell." Angelo has to be tricked into keeping his former promise to Mariana, Isabella is subtly threatened with the death of her brother if she does not marry the Duke, Ana must accept the man who has raped her in order to salvage her reputation, and the Marquis accepts Flor only because of the obligation he feels to her brother. Some critics feel that marriage to the desired partner is not necessary in comedy, that any marriage will do, as long as the play "does end in typical ! i fashion with the obligatory obeisance to Hymen and Priapus" j (Parr 1990, 9). It is my contention that a play in which | the final marriages are represented as inherently flawed has transgressed the boundaries of comedy, offering a portrait of disordered society which is the realm of satire. It is not necessary to project beyond the text 105 in order to conclude that these marriages are likely to I [be unhappy; Isabella’s silence, the reluctance of the |Marquis— and the reason for his aquiesence, as well as the coercion involved in the marriages of Ana and Diego, Angelo and Mariana, all point to a less-than-happy ending. The idea that corrupt sexuality is the basis for < !social disorder results in drama in which any attempt to restore order, however tenuous or ’’provisional,” must include the taming of the destructive forces. Because it is the increase in women's sexual freedom that is a focus of anxiety in the period, it follows that ”efemination” is a popular strategy. Webster’s dictionary I defines emasculation as the deprivation of the virile or procreative forces; in these two plays it is the "virility" of women that is neutralized.^ (Even the word i " "* ! J virility, which implies the power to stimulate and to satisfy sexual desire, is gender-biased, having its root in the Latin vir. or male.) Mary Beth Rose points out that anxieties about women's sexual identies can be seen ' in the dialectical representation of women as either j "idealized beyond the realm of the physical" or "degraded and sinful, and accompanying these assumptions, as ; frivolous, dangerous, and wasteful as well" (4). One ; result of this "madonna/ whore" dialectic is a dualistic i | j view of marriage: "the logic of this dualistic sensibility ; i : j often construes marriage as at best a necessary evil, 106 the means by which a fallen humanity reproduces itself and ensures the orderly succession of property” (Rose, ;4). The orderly succession of property lies at the heart of Eve Sedgwick Kosofsky's examination of male-female relations during the period. In Between Men, she studies I •heterosexuality as it is represented in Shakespeare's sonnets, providing a valuable guide to the process of neutralization of heterosexual desire. She writes that, in the poems, heterosexuality is portrayed as "the desire to consolidate partnerships with authoritative males in and through the bodies of females"; thus, the poet seeks to solidify the bond with his fair young male patron by encouraging him to marry and produce children in order to preserve "the continuity of an existing dominant culture" (38, 34). This harmonious world, in which heterosexual desire is unimportant, is threatened in the later poems where woman is present as "a pair of eyes and a vagina rather than as a breeder of children" (Sedgwick 36). Thus, the foundation of patriarchal authority, based on continuity among males, is threatened when the female becomes the primary object of desire. The narrative in Ganar amigos is a reversal of the one developed in the sonnets. The desire of the male protagonists for female characters produces a situation i of instability from the very first scene of the play. i The death of Sancho and the immediate rupture of the 107 newly formed bond between the Marquis and Fernando are due to Flor's sexual attractiveness. Later, it is the "virility” of Ana and Ines that "causes" Diego and Pedro to marginalize their relationships with other primary males, endangering the very lives of Pedro and the Marquis, What little optimism can be found in the concluding scenes can be attributed primarily to a compensatory marginalization of the importance of heterosexual desire. The King allows Pedro to marry Ines because his military victory "me ha obligado,/ y asi con igual cuidado/ a premiaros me apercibo"; the heterosexual attraction which caused the rupture between monarch and subject is ignored as the woman is transformed into a battle trophy (Ill.xii), The other two marriages are even less "erotic." Even though Ana and the Marquis had committed themselves to each other before Diego raped her, Ana accepts Diego as her husband because the only way she can win the status of "con honra y casada" is to marry the man who violated her. As her brother's spokesperson, Flor emphasizes, not Diego's desire for Ana, but the death sentence that he will receive if Ana does not pardon him. Once again, the female body is used to repair the damaged bond between King and courtier. The marriage of Flor and the Marquis is also based on the desire to confirm male bonds; the Marquis agrees to marry a woman he no longer desires "por pagar asi a Don Diego,/ vuestro 108 hermano, que ofrecio/ su vida por darme vida.. . In this play, the only form of comic reintegration is that which takes place "between men," an indication of the I j deeply held suspicions about heterosexual relations and i their fragile position in the comic cosmic order. Stephen Greenblatt writes that because of the equation of desire I I with sin in Christianity, drama often represents a "longing i ■for a final release from desire, from the dangerous violence, he sense of extremes, the laborious climbing i and falling out of control that is experienced in the J t tempest" (243). The marginalization of women in Ganar ' amigos investigates one possible way to achieve that \ release, in that their role in the comic reintegration I is limited to that of the mortar cementing the j relationships among male aristocrats. In the case of Fernando, no woman is necessary; the King plays the role t of intermediary between him and the Marquis. II i I The satiric tragicomedies that I have described share ! features with other variations of the genre besides the ! mixture of genre and mode that we have been examining. i | Measure for Measure and Ganar amigos we also find the antithetical imagery, the theme of deceptive appearances, i and the self-conscious references to dramatic genres that J |are typical of the baroque dr j itragicomedy is like a "negati I tragicomedy, in that while bo tragicomic view of the world, optimistic of the modes under I satiric mode is the most pess j is reflected not only in the ; examined, but also in the use i In accordance with the pr much of the imagery centers on comparison of sexuality to rat ! metaphor of ’’gelding1’ as the o which cannot control its desir as central to the thematic dev Measure. In Ganar amigos. Flo ' an antithetical combination of " I "promesas suaves" (I.xi). When I with the oxymoronic "adorada en conventional Petrarchan compla virtuous woman; j announces his i j her infidelity, the betrayal is this couple does part i i Antithetical imagery representation of the 109 ama. However, satiric ve" to the "print" of heroic < th modes represent a the heroic mode is the most consideration, while the imistic. This difference plot elements already of language. imary focus of the two plays, sexuality and law. The bane, and the animal nly alternative for a society e have already been noted i i f Measure for ] i courtship as | crueles" and refers to Flor not the cold but speech which because of I In which i temporary, infidelity. of the the sexes, elopment o r describes amenazas Fernando emiga," it is int against a he utters these words in the intention to stop courting her Unlike traditional comedies illusionary, the separation as a result of actual forms an important part strained relations between 110 an indication of flawed morality, or of the problematic I nature of the code governing sexual behavior. The questionable nature of King Pedro’s justice is depicted in straightforward language, but in Measure for Measure there are a number of elaborate conceits to describe flaws in the Viennese legal system. The Duke describes his failure to enforce laws as similiar to the 1 !actions of an overly indulgent parent, Now, as fond fathers, Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, Only to stick it in their children’s sight, For terror, not to use, in time the rod Becomes more mock’d than fear'd; so our decrees... The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum. (I.iii) The entire social fabric can unravel as a result of permissiveness, shown here in the link of the family to the city. Angelo uses a similiar idea to criticize the laxity of justice which he is about to reform, We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror. (II.i) Both the Duke and Angelo stress the importance of instilling fear in the populace as a deterrent to crime. Escalus, who like the Marquis advocates a more balanced approach to justice, urges that Angelo not rush to condemn Claudio, but rather "be keen and rather cut a little,/ than fall and bruise to death" (II.i). The antithetical [imagery reflects the two extreme poles of justice which i lead to social chaos. Isabella describes the choice she must make, which links sexuality and justice in antithetical terms: her [only options are to condemn her brother to death, or save him through a "foul redemption" (II.iv). She describes Angelo’s ultimatum as "devilish mercy," and "such remedy as, to save a head,/ To cleave a heart in twain" (Ill.i). Faced with this decision, life itself takes on a dual I I nature; for Claudio, "a paradise,/ To what we fear of I death," for Isabella, "perpetual durance, a restraint,/ I Though all the world’s vastidity you had,/ To a determined j scope" (Ill.i). Claudio focuses on the sensory aspects ; of life and death, contrasting "cold obstruction" to "warm imotion," and quailing at thoughts of "viewless winds" I and "howling," while Isabella is more concerned with "perpetual honor," the moral and metaphysical aspects of the situation (Ill.i). The timely intervention of j i the disguised Duke eliminates the need to make a final j choice, but this is a theatrical escape hatch not available' to audience members who wonder what they would do in a i like situation. The antithetical nature of much of human ! ! [ existence is at center stage, under a glaring spotlight, ; in this moment of decision. The topos of the deceptive nature of physical I ^appearances is also linked strongly to law and gender 1 j irelations. Appearance is linked to both sex and justice when Isabella calls Angelo an "outward-sainted deputy," and when she reminds the Duke, "'Tis not impossible/ but | one the wickedest caitiff on the ground/ may seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute/ as Angelo" (V.i). In the Spanish play, it is the female sex which is singled out for this type of condemnation, as in the observation jmade by Fernando’s servant, "no hay quien finja/ artificiosos remedios/ en desgracias repentinas/ como la mujer" (Il.vii). There is an overwhelming repetition on both the thematic and linguistic levels of the idea that ideal justice is nearly impossible to attain; the | i baroque belief in the unreliability of physical perception is just one of the many factors that impedes balanced j I . J I judgments. j Self-conscious language is an important element of these plays. Barbara Mowat’s observation that Measure for Measure presents itself as a tragicomedy through its t juxtaposition of comic and tragic scenes is valid, but this is just one aspect of its self-consciousness. The Duke describes plot situations using tragicomic imagery, in a manner reminiscent of Jupiter in Plautus’ Amphitryon. i i t In Act IV, the Duke/monk withholds from Isabella the | I truth about his identity and his intent to save Claudio, J 113 yet informs the audience that he plans to convert tragedy to comedy, "I will keep her ignorant of her good,/ to make her heavenly comforts of despair/ when it is least expected.” Angelo describes Isabella's projected surrender i |as a tragicomedy, "a physic/ That's bitter to sweet end” j j(IV,vi). Mowat writes that this juxtaposition of the two ! genres leads to a tempering of audience emotions, with I .the implication that the over-all effect is pleasurable. 1 I believe that critics like Fowler and Hirst are correct in highlighting the painful, or at the least, disturbing effects of this type of generic mixture, especially in the satiric tragicomedies, which offer the least amount !of optimism of any of the tragicomic modes. The seeming optimism of the self-conscious references to tragicomedy in Ganar amigos is also questionable. When King Pedro declares that the tragedy of the death of his best knight, Don Sancho, is alleviated because Sancho's conqueror Fernando will now serve him, it seems unlikely that this type of heartless, mathematical substitution is a true comfort (II,i). The implausibility is also seen when the Marquis and Don Diego lament the j I loss of a brother's life and a sister’s honor, but then w i I [console themselves that "Ceda... a vuestra amistad mi 1 I amor” (II.v). This tragicomic substitution of one valued Jobject for another is central to Ganar amigos; the title i •itself is a reference to the many occasions when 114 characters* losses are immediately followed by the idiscovery of a new friend. As I have shown, this pattern i I is part of the period's vision of the non-comic, disruptive nature of heterosexual desire and the subsequent substitution of male friendship as the unifying force. There is an undeniable satiric component in this revision I of the comic conventions inherited from Plautus and Terence jand the commedia dell'arte, where heterosexual desire is validated through the marriage of mutually consenting partners. i III Measure for Measure and Ganar amigos clearly 1 demonstrate that mixed genre drama need not be the univocally "escapist" phenomenon many critics have described, particularly when satire is combined with tragedy and comedy. El burlador de Sevilla and Tartuffe I are other plays in which satiric representations of social institutions contribute to the darkening of the tragicomic mood. Even though the primary focus is on divine justice, ( !(see chapter 4) issues of corruption, often linked to I ! justice or sexuality, contribute significantly to the production of meaning in these tragicomedies. In El burlador. Don Juan is able to carry out the series of seductions in part because of the complicity 1 115 of the monarch and his favored noblemen. Don Juan is in Naples, the location of the first seduction represented, jas a "punishment” for previous sexual misdeeds in Seville. He is able to escape the consequences for the deception I of Isabela because his uncle, the ambassador to Naples, allows him to escape and then conceals Juan's identity, because, "perdido soy si el Rey sabe/ este caso" (1.74-75). ; The ambassador, Don Pedro, is more concerned with the family name than with justice. Once back in Spain, Don Juan is under the protection of his father, whose position las the King's "hechura" enables him to influence the King on his son's behalf. In this play justice is corrupted because official power is abused, much like Angelo abuses his power in Shakespeare's play. This is again evident jwhen the facts about the seduction of Isabela are revealed: i i the King refrains from punishing Don Juan any more severely than by forcing him to marry Isabela and to be exiled I to Lebrija, telling Don Diego that he is being lenient i because "os estimo" and that his son's good fortune is due "solo al merecimiento de su padre" (11.1066). When the King must face Octavio, after the truth about Isabela's I ]seduction becomes known, he insists that Don Diego be present, because both of them are implicated in the "delito" of covering up for Don Juan (III.2530). In t Octavio's presence, the King defends his courtier as "hechura mia,/ y de aqueste tronco rama," to silence the 116 demands for vengeance against Don Juan (III.257576). In the end, even after the deceptions involving Aminta, jlisbea, and Ana are all revealed, the King tempers his initial command to capture and kill Don Juan. He grants Don Diego’s request, "en premio de mis servicios/ haz que le prendan," reducing the sentence from death to !imprisonment (III.2825- 26). This decision is shown to ibe ridiculous; immediately following the King’s words, Catalin6n arrives to describe the appropriate punishment which Don Juan has received, at the hands of the statue of the Commander he had murdered. Divine justice seems I i i I to be the only hope for true justice, for the Commander acts on behalf of a higher power. He tells Don Juan, "esta es la justicia de Dios” (III.2757). However, the I overwhelming theatricality of the scenes with the Commander; ■ focuses attention on the spectacle of a statue coming j to life, rather than on any moral message, and does not offer divine intervention as a valid resolution to earthly problems (see chapter 4). Instead, this ending highlights i the fallibility of human judicial institutions, much like j Ganar amigos and Measure for Measure. As in the other two satiric works, the main cause of disorder in El burlador is sexual behavior. As James i Parr points out, traditional criticism often seeks to show Don Juan and/or his female partners as corrupt j individuals nose racK or virtue endangers social 117 well-being (El burlador 12-14). I believe that Jonathan Dollimore offers a more useful approach, advocating that |criticism examine the way that "social anxieties are displaced on to sexuality" in order to reveal the way a particular ideology of sexual behavior functions within the texts (xxxv). Dollimore goes to extremes in asserting that critical focus on vice is the work of "up-market moral hacks, giving academic respectability to conventional j ’wisdom1 indistinguishable from bigotry"; still, he is |correct to call for an increase in the attention given to the relation between representations of sexuality and the material situation of social change and challenges to patriarchal values at many levels during the period (xxxiii). The code of behavior or "honor code" to which baroque protagonists are expected to adhere is shown in El burlador ; to be contradictory. Immediately after condemning Isabela for "profaning" his palace, the King of Naples acknowledges that love is an unstoppable force, "no importan fuerzas,/ I guardas, criados, murallas,/ fortalecidas almenas,/ para amor, que la de un nino/ hasta los rauros penetra" (1.173-77). Octavio describes the power of the "nino," i i Cupid, in similiar terms as he speaks of his love for ! I j Isabela. But his confidant, Ripio, declares this love i j "impertinente" because, although it is reciprocated, the two have not wed. Octavio’s explanation reveals the ! 118 1 {patriarchal value system which is in opposition to Ripio’s i equation of love with marriage, ,!Eso fuera, necio, a ser/ de lacayo, o lavandera,/ la boda" (1,231-33). Here, Octavio demonstrates that class is an important component of the patriarchal hierarchy; the code which governs 5 aristocratic marriage does not apply to "lacayos" because i I j of their lack of importance within that hierarchy. The i King of Castille demonstrates the preferred path to aristocratic marriage when he rewards the Commander’s diplomatic successes in Lisbon by promising to arrange his daughter’s marriage ”de mi mano" (1.867), Despite his proclaimed love for Isabela, Octavio is satisfied 1 when this same King offers to make amends for the false injury to his name by arranging a marriage to Ana, telling his monarch, ’’quien espera/ en vos, sefior, saldra de premios lleno," and proclaiming to his servant, ”ya me | consuela/ en mi mal" (1.1123—25, 1150—51). There exists, i as a result of the separation of love or desire and marriage, and of the code which limits sexual relations to married couples, an undeniable paradox. The social and religious structures which attempt to resolve this 1 problem are revealed by the action in the play to be inadequate. One result of the honor code's contradictions is | an atmosphere of hostility surrounding male-female relations; both men and women respond to the gap between 119 public expectations and actual behavior by condemning the entirety of the opposite sex. When he hears of 'Isabela's infidelity, Octavio at first refuses to believe, Jrelying on his faith in the woman he loves, but is soon convinced, and declares, "la mujer mas constante/ es, en efecto, mujer" (1.357-58). Batricio has a similiar reaction to Don Juan’s lie about his prior encounter with lAminta, his fiancee, "al fin, al fin es mujer" (III.1865). I The Marquis de Mota denounces the prostitutes of the "Lisbon" district of Seville as "mil Evas," in a reference to the traditional notion of female desire as the root |of all evil (11.1513). The counterpart to this myth of ^he female is the concept of the male as inherently [ i unfaithful. Tisbea tells Don Juan, "sois los hombres traidores," (1.935) and as Isabela and Tisbea discover that they were both deceived by the same man, they interject into their stories the exclamation, "Imal haya ! la mujer que en hombres fia!" (III.2191, -99, 2205). The codes governing marriage and sexual behavior create a society in which harmonious relations between the sexes .appear nearly impossible. The reactions of the four women Don Juan pursues highlight differing aspects of the difficulties posed by this paradoxical code. Isabela is shown to care more for her reputation than for any man; she names Octavio [as her seducer, knowing that he will be punished, because 120 "no ser4 el yerro tanto/ si el Duque Octavio lo enmienda" (1.189-90). Even after the King arranges a compensatory marriage to Don Juan, who is of higher rank, Don Diego describes her as "disgustada" because "siente... el nombre ‘ I |de infamada" (III.2485-87). The King doubts Don Diego, 1 'but Isabela's own words confirm his theory. She tells her confidant, "No nace mi tristeza/ de ser esposa de Don Juan, que el mundo/ conoce su nobleza" (III.2130-33), Even though she has had first hand experience with the limits of Juan's nobility, Isabela is satisfied with the marriage because public opinion of the groom is positive. The source of her unhappiness is, indeed, "esta opinion perdida" which "es de llorar mientras tuviere vida" (111,2128-33). Isabela has internalized the patriarchal value system to a point where she measures happiness by Jthe state of her reputation. | Tisbea, the first peasant woman that Don Juan seduces, | focuses on her actual chastity, rejecting all suitors in order to maintain her maidenhead. She rejoices in her freedom from love and desire, "dichosa yo mil veces,/ I I amor, pues me perdonas" beause it makes her invulnerable i to the men who want her, "de todos rlo" (1.414-17). Even though she acknowledges the many virtues of Anfriso, who 'wants to marry her, Tisbea is not moved emotionally, she remains, "a sus suspiros sorda,/ a sus ruegos terrible, !a sus promesas roca" (1.432-34). This strength preserves 121 her virginity, which she likens to "fruta sabrosa,/ vidrio guardado en (pajas)/ para que no se rompa" (1.424-26). There is an element of sadism in the joy Tisbea manifests towards the suffering of both Anfriso and the other women who love him in vain, finding gusto en sus penas, y en sus infiernos gloria. Todas por el se mueran, y yo todas horas 1 le mato con desdenes. (1.457-61) Tisbea's response to the difficulties inherent in male-female relations is a total rejection of emotion and sexuality. Her reaction to Don Juan appears to be I based on his social position; she refers to him as j "caballero", "mancebo", and "noble y gal&n" (1.579—81). She confirms to Don Juan that it is his aristocratic appearance which attracts her, saying "mucho hablais cuando , no hablais" (1.609). There was earlier evidence of her i perception that love belongs to the aristocratic class, in telling Cupid she believes that he has never touched her because, "por ser humilde,...desprecias mi choza" j | (1.417-18). She seems to believe that Don Juan's superior status may make him a more reliable lover, a sentiment voiced in her oft-repeated, "iplega a Dios que no mint&is!" Tisbea's subsequent "desengano" changes her refrain to J : the misandrist one cited above. 122 Dona Ana appears to be the only female to escape unscathed from the exigencies of the patriarchal value system. Her happiness is endangered when her father t accepts the husband the King wishes to bestow upon her, j because she and the Marquis of Mota have already pledged I their love. She is further endangered when Don Juan decides to repeat the trick he has already used successfully on Isabela; however, her own powers of :perception foil the burla. Ana is also successful in persuading the King that she be allowed to marry the man of her choice, as tragicomic restitution for the loss of her father, ”ya que el padre murio, quiere marido,/ iporque si le perdio, con el le gana!" (III.2511-12). In this instance, Ana is able to use patriarchal conventions to fulfill her desires, so that her success is obtained within the boundaries of the honor code. As in the other two satiric tragicomedies, only one couple out of the several pairs represented in each drama has a conventional happy ending. Aminta is the most powerless of Don Juan’s four I ob jets. Although she likens herself to the powerful Roman j heroines Emilia and Lucretia, and threatens vengeance if Don Juan violates the bond of hospitality he owes to her new husband, Batricio, she quickly resigns herself when Juan tells her that Batricio has forgotten her, and I that their not-yet-consummated marriage is invalid. Aminta 123 displays total passivity before this nobleman, once she is assured that Juan will fulfill his "juraraento" of marriage (III.2080). There is no hint of the passion i ! that overtook Tisbea; instead, her declaration "a tu i voluntad, esposo,/ la mia desde hoy se inclina" indicates submission to the man and to the value system he represents (III.2094-95). After Don Juan abandons her, i Aminta is slow to realize the deception, much to ' Catalin6n’s delight, "estas dos semanas/ no ha de caer t en el chiste./ ITan bien enganada esta/ que se llama Dona Aminta!'1 (Ill. 2234-37) Once at court, Aminta is again passive in accepting that Octavio take control of her situation, further evidence of her unthinking compliance with the process of female subordination. I In light of the hostility expressed by both male and female characters toward the opposite sex, it is difficult to see the final marriages as a festive comic ending. Tisbea’s rejected suitor Anfriso vows, "me he j de vengar de esta ingrata” (1.1036) and Octavio refers to Isabela’s false accusation against him as an "agravio” he must avenge (III.2634). It is therefore not a matter of reading beyond the text to conclude that those two I marriages will not be happy, or to place the ending in the the realm of satire. 124 In Tartuffe, the inefficacy of judicial systems is only hinted at. The focus of the satirical element is the success of the falsely pious, who use religious 1 hypocrisy as a weapon to gain social and material I I advantage. The character Tartuffe represents one pole of a binary opposition; here the opposition is between religious hypocrites and the "vrai devot." This "fool,” to use Guilhamet’s term, is definitely a satiric one; i jhis crimes go far beyond the blocking of a marriage. I Moliere shows that hypocrites are a danger in that it is difficult to distinguish them from the truly pious, I | because they are "pleins d 1 artifices./ Et, pour perdre i I quelqu’un, couvrent insolemraent/ De l'interet du ciel leur fier ressentiment" (I.v). This capacity for deception i i ; recalls Guilhamet's assertion that the satiric fool can ; I • be perceived as a danger to the audience as well as to the characters on stage. Despite the fact that Tartuffe1s plots are ultimately undone, with no damage to the marriage | of the innocent young couple, the threat he poses to the society of Orgon and his audience is clearly beyond the boundaries of the most ironic comic vision. i Tartuffe provides one of the best dramatic examples i ' of the baroque preoccupation with the danger posed by deceptive physical appearances; it is both the thematic j and linguistic focus of this play. Cleante uses a mixture ; of metaphors to condemn his brother Orgon1s inability ; 125 to perceive the difference between true religious piety and hypocrisy, Vous les voulez traiter d’un semblable language, et rendre meme honneur au masque qu'au visage Egaler l'artifice avec la sincerity, Confondre l'apparence avec la verit&, Estimer le fantome autant que la personne Et la fausse monnaie £ l l'egal de la bonne? (I.v) Dorine, the servant, expresses amazement that Orgon's appearance is deceiving, "se peut-il monsieur, qu'avec l'air d'homme sage,/ Et cette large barbe au milieu du I visage,/ Vous soyez assez fou..."; the appearance of wisdom is belied by Orgon's inability to perceive Tartuffe's true nature (II.ii). Tartuffe displays considerable ingenuity when he admits to his hypocrisy Vous fiez-vous mon frere a mon exterieur? Et, pour tout ce qu'on voit, me croyez-vous meilleur? i ; Non, non: vous vous laissez tromper & l'apparence; Et je ne suis rien moins, helas! que ce qu'on i pense. (III.v) Tartuffe's words echo those of his detractors, but Orgon’s gullibility is such that he believes Tartuffe's lies, and not the only truth he ever speaks. This ironic passage emphasizes the baroque theme of deceptive appearances. I j This is also apparent when Orgon finally realizes the ! i truth of the accusations against his protege, "Quoi! sous un beau semblant de ferveur si touchante/ Cacher un coeur si double, une ame si mechante!" (IV.viii) Orgon's mother 126 further develops the idea when she rejects even her son’s i jassertion that he has seen evidence of Tartuffe s crimes with his own eyes, telling him, "le plus souvent l ’apparence desoit:/ II ne faut pas toujours juger sur ce qu'on voit" (V.iv). Madame Pernelle has stated a 'general truth, one which Orgon should have heeded earlier, but she applies the idea incorrectly in this situation, where, for once, the appearance is. the reality. Moliere does not show the situation as completely r j hopeless; when Orgon over-reacts to his discoverey of i Tartuffe’s hypocisy by declaring that he will never again 1 believe in any show of religious devotion, Cl&ante offers some guidelines for more reliable perception: D&melez la vertu d ’avec ses apparences, Ne hasardez jamais votre estime trop tot Et soyez pour cela dans le milieu qu'il faut. ' (V.i) Still, Cl&ante's conclusion, that it is better to err on the side of believing hypocrites, rather than falsely impugning the "vrai zele" demonstrates that the problem of deceptive appearances has not been resolved. i Although the issue of corrupt sexuality receives far less attention in Moliere's play than in the other three satirical dramas, it is still a source of conflict. Dorine attributes the strict standards of "prudes" to : a form of hypocrisy caused by the onset of old age in ‘ women who were formerly "coquettes": 127 II leur est dur de voir deserter les galants, Dans un tel abandon, leur sombre inquietude Ne voit d 1autre recours que le metier de prude... Non point par charit&, mais par un trait d'envie Qui ne saurait souffrir qu’une autre ait les plaisirs Dont le penchant de l'age a sevre leurs desirs. (I.ii) In this explanation, Moliere presents two variations of !the myth which locates social turmoil in desire-driven I female behaviors there remains the implication that young women are promiscuous, in addition to the convention that competition among women to attract male attention destroys social harmony. However, as in the other plays, male sexuality is also censured. One of the many proofs of Tartuffe's insincere piety is his attempt to seduce Orgon's wife Elmire. In fact, it is Orgon's discovery of this action which leads him to accept the truth about all of Tartuffe's hypocrisies, demonstrating once again the |convention of linking improper sexual behavior with other forms of "crime". There is also an element of debased sexuality in the imagery used to describe Orgon's relationship with Tartuffe. When Orgon returns home after an extended absence, his interest concerning the "nouvelles d'ici" is quickly revealed to be centered on his resident spiritual advisor; in response to the details of his wife's illness, Orgon interrupts repeatedly to ask, "Et Tartuffe?" (I.iv). Just prior to his arrrival Dorine had told Cleante 128 that Orgon treats Tartuffe so much better than the other members of the household that, "pour une maitresse/ On ne sauralt, je pense, avoir plus de tendresse" (I.ii). Orgon confirms Dorine’s use of sexual imagery in his eagerness to describe his initial encounters with his new beloved, whose ’’air doux. . . att irait les yeux de l’assemblee entiere” (I.v). Orgon’s son Damis describes his father’s treatment of Tartuffe with the lover-like terms "caresses" and "tendresses" (III.v). Faced with ! his family’s disapproval of Tartuffe, Orgon speaks like a young person whose parents want to prevent an undesirable marriage, ”Mais plus on fait d ’efforts afin de l’en bannir,/ Plus j'en veux employer a le mieux retenir" J I 1 (Ill.vi). Later, Orgon is even more melodramatic, insisting that Tartuffe stay because ”il y va de ma vie” (Ill.vii). Orgon’s reaction to his discovery of Tartuffe’s hypocrisy is much like that of a lover who has been deceived; he is amazed that the ’’beau semblant” cited above hides such duplicity. Thus, one result of Tartuffe's hypocrisy is to endanger the patriarchal hierarchy by changing Orgon’s role within the household. I The true menace to Orgon’s position has been becoming clear throughout the course of the play. The first threat is Tartuffe's proposed marriage to Orgon's daughter, which is treated far more seriously than is usual in Moliere's comedies of obsessed fathers. The situation is depicted 1 129 as a potential tragedy, when Marianne vows to kill herself if she is forced to marry Tartuffe rather than Valere. The previous success of Tartuffe’s plot to control i tOrgon through the show of false piety has endangered one I : of the most basic elements of patriarchal hierarchy, the transfer of wealth from father to son. The trust Orgon jplaces in this hypocrite also leads him to reveal a {treasonous secret, which Tartuffe now uses to try to gain I control of Orgon's entire estate and to have his benefactor imprisoned. The timely intervention of the King’s ! emissary-ex-machina transforms potential tragedy into comedy, but the dangerous position from which Orgon so narrowly escapes in the last fifty lines of the play cannot {be easily forgotten, nor does the hymn to "un prince ennemi de la fraude" alleviate the pathos of Orgon's vain plea, Ithat Tartuffe remember whose hand "t'a retire d 'un etat miserable” (V.vii). Like Ganar amigos and Measure for Measure, the complexity of Tartuffe and El burlador de Sevilla cannot be adequately explained by the generic designation of comedy. It is only through an examination of the juxtaposition of tragedy, comedy, and satire that 'the full generic implications of these plays can be I explored. And, in the case of the latter two, it is helpful to consider yet another modal presence, that of i the medieval miracle play, in order to examine the representation of divine, or providential justice. 130 List of works cited— Chapter 3 I jl. Primary Texts Moliere. Oeuvres completes, ed. Pierre-Aim& Touchard. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1962. Molina, Tirso de. El burlador de Sevilla, ed. James A. Parr. Valencia: Albatros/ Hispanofila, 1991. Ruiz de Alarc6n, Juan. Ganar amigos, ed. Agustin Millares Carlo. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1960. Shakespeare, William, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. ed. David Bevington. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1980. II. Secondary Texts Bevington, David ed. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1980. Corrigan, Robert W., ed. Comedy: Meaning and Form. New York: Harper and Row, 1981. I Dollimore, Jonathan. Radical Tragedy: Religion. Ideology, and Power in the Drama of Shakespeare and His Contemporaries. 2nd ed. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989. i Dryden, John. Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays. Ed. George Watson. New York: Everyman’s Library, 1962. Fowler, Alastair. Kinds of Literature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1982. i I Fox, Dian. "El medico de su honra: Political I Considerations.*1 Hispania 65 (1982): 28-38. I ! Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays, j Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957. Greenblatt, Stephen. Shakespearean Negotiations. Berkeley:! U of California P, 1988. Grene, Nicolas. The Comic Contract. Totowa, NJ: Barnes > and Noble, 1980. , Guilhamet, Leon. Satire and the Transformation of Genre. Philadelphia: Pennsylvania UP, 1987. i 131 Hirst, David L. Tragicomedy. New York: Methuen Inc., 1984. Ide, Richard S. "Shakespeare’s Revisionism: Homilectic Tragedy and the ending of Measure for Measure." j Shakespeare Studies (1988): 105-28. I Levin, Harry. Playboys and Killjoys. Oxford: Oxford ; UP, 1987. i Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed.. Renaissance Tragicomedy. New York: AMS Press, 1987. Parr, James A. After Its Kind: Approaches to the Comedia. Kassel: Reichenberger, 1991. iRenaissance Genres. Barbara Kiefer Lewalski, ed. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1986. Rose, Mary Beth. The Expense of the Spirit: Love and Sexuality in English Renaissance Drama. Ithaca, Cornell UP, 1988. Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Between Men. NY: Columbia UP, ! 1985. Chapter IV Tragicomedy and the Miracle Play: A Baroque Examination of Providential Ideology i i j The satiric vision of baroque dramatists is not limited to representations of social and judicial practices. Another, equally compelling target is the I | belief in providential intervention - dispensations of justice at a higher level. In addition to El burlador an<* Tartuffe. Shakespeare’s Cymbeline offers an ironic depiction of the intervention of supernatural powers as a force for transforming tragedy into comedy. In these ! works, we find yet another modal presence: the medieval miracle play. There is an inherently tragicomic dimension to the pattern of miracle plays, for, as Naomi Pasachoff points out, these dramas selected only those stories from I 1 the Old Testament which could be seen as ’’illustrations or prefigurations of Christ's passion and resurrection”- the basis of Christian tragicomic vision (4). This modal presence does not dissipate the satiric representation i of providential intervention, for the view of the redemptive value of suffering as a necessary preparation for eternal salvation offered in the medieval plays was ; already being modified by Tudor dramatists. Pasachoff I writes that, in contrast to the medieval version of Jacob ( # 1 L_________ _____________________________________________ 133 and Esau, which focuses on humankind's "spiritual welfare in the life to come," the Tudor revision "represents one man's interpretation of the story with a view to educating his contemporaries about the sociopolitical exigencies of this life" (5-6). It should not be surprising, then, that the baroque aesthetic is able to make use of both the tragicomic and political aspects of this genre in I I its examination of the belief in divine intervention in human affairs. Although Pasachoff asserts that the miracle play disappeared after the middle of the sixteenth century, Mimi Still Dixon has shown that it remains an important i I influence on later drama. For Dixon, the primary I correspondence between medieval drama such as the Fleury Playbook and Shakespeare's romances is the use of delayed i recognition as "the informing dramatic idea" rather than i > as a convenient plot device; in these works it is not the intervention, but the recognition of it that is significant. Thus, in the Fleury Mary Magdalene it is i not the angel's words or the empty tomb that signify, ! it is the moment when she sees the resurrected Christ that recognition occurs, so that it is her "reinterpretation of events that transforms them; it is | what she sees that turns tragedy to comedy" (Dixon in I Maguire 57-58). We can see the baroque revision of recognition in the seemingly flawed and undramatic 134 conclusion of Cymbeline, in which characters experience an interminable series of recognitions concerning events jthe audience has already seen enacted. Recognition thus jbecomes meaningful to the audience through the "laying bare of the device" (in Russian formalist terms)and this jin turn reveals the underlying bankruptcy of providential jideology. Dixon confirms the disintegration of the I .metaphysical base which had formerly permitted improbabilities to be viewed as miracles, but, by the end of the sixteenth-century, "disappears as a principle of structure as well as belief" (59). I i Dixon, Pasachoff and other critics argue convincingly that the miracle plays are neither as optimistic nor as apolitical as is commonly supposed, so their modal presence' ! i : in satiric baroque drama is not an anomaly. Dixon describes the lack of optimism in the Fleury Slaughter | i jof the Innocents, at whose ending the main character | i is finally led offstage unconsoled, despite speeches full of traditional Christian wisdom offered by her female companions, whose pious but abstract justifications nonetheless remain tragically inadequate to the vivid reality of the dead children. Thus, Christian consola tion in this play serves simply and delib erately to dramatize its own inadequacy. (60) The miracle play can be seen as a site where the fundamental tenets of Christianity are rigorously i j scrutunized. Even when doubts about Christian dogma are resolved more favorably, as in the Croxton Play of the 135 Sacrament in which a group of Jews comes to believe in Christ’s transsubstantiation through the host, (for, as Jennifer Goodman notes, how could the Christian audience fail to believe what even the Jewish characters come to accept?) there remains the potentially troubling spectacleof doubt represented. Gail McMurray Gibson agrees that the assumption of doubt is meaningful, particularly in light of the interpolated farcical episode, in which a doctor parodies Christ's powers of healing (36-38). Gibson also emphasizes the political dimension of the Croxton drama, in which the Jews are a substitute for ' the Lollard heretics of the fifteenth century, so that the text reflects "local church politics, immediate parish needs, and particular social expectations" (40). However, this reflection is not intended to imply the simplistic j view of the relations between literature and social forces posited by primitive Marxism. Gibson describes the mutually dependent conditions in which medieval drama was transformed by the local likeness at the same time that it helped make that local community identity recognizable and coher- ; ent. Medieval community theater in this sense both defined the social structure and j celebrated it. (41) 1 Baroque drama’s interrogation of providential ideology j can therefore be seen within the context of several i | centuries of historically conditioned representations | of Christian ideology. j I 136 Baroque examinations of providential belief reflect the changing ideology of the period, when the increasing I "valorization of historical and empirical truth served to make the idea of Providence itself problematic’1 (Dixon in Maguire 75). Jonathan Dollimore emphasizes the "radical” aspects of what he terms Elizabethan or Jacobean drama which depicts divine intervention. He writes that to contain a threat by rehearsing it one must first give it a voice, a part, a presence— ! in the theater, as in the culture. Through this process the very condition of some thing’s containment may constitute the terms of its challenge: opportunities for resis- i tance become apparent, especially on the stage and even as the threat is being disempowered. (xxi) Dollimore1s analysis points out the flaw in the argument of critics like Walter Cohen, whose use of the term romance | to describe the late Shakespearean works as well as a i large body of comedias requires that he find a final containment of the subversive elements in these plays, so that although he concedes there is no "univocal significance" in tragicomedy as a genre, he concludes that it lends itself more readily to hegemonic affirmation (Maguire 177 and see below for a more detailed examination i i of romance). Dollimore is correct in his observation j that the radical questioning of providentialism does not ' j imply that the doctrine had been totally discredited. 137 As in the medieval representations of doubt which confirmed the existence of those doubts, the I representations of subversions of providentialism i J"presupposed providentialism as a dominant discourse" 1 i (83). Dollimore is also correct to acknowledge that, "even when successfully challenged, ideologies rarely dissolve quietly away; rather, they go through various stages of reaction, displacement, and transformation" (83). Alan Sinfield recalls Guillen’s definition of a period as a grouping of a set of binary oppositions in describing these plays not as "either conservative or jsubversive, but as sites of struggle" (263). Dollimore 1 terms this struggle a "discoherence" and warns against the dangers of de-historicizing such conflicts into an essentialist view of the universe as random and incoherent, t ibecause, "from a social, political, and historical point of view, the discoherent is always meaning-full, always readable" (xxii). The representations of supernatural | 'intervention in human affairs in the plays of Tirso, Moli&re and Shakespeare combine satiric and parodic elements within the framework of "miraculous" tragicomedy (miraculous being the modal designation of the medieval I miracle play) in order to examine, and, I will argue, jto challenge, the doctrine of providentialism. j One of the main philosophical currents which is in Opposition to the medieval belief in providence is the 138 emergence of rationalism, and the accompanying idea of a hidden, or absent God. This concept is most clearly explained in Lucien Goldmann's Le dieu cache, where the God of philosophers such as Descartes and Pascal whose I i ^function is described as "de ’donner une chiquenade pour mettre le monde en mouvement', apr£s quoi il n'a plus f rien a faire" (39). Goldmann also cites Malbranche’s idea that miracles are an anachronism, "un vague coup de chapeau aux textes de l'Ecriture d'ou l'on ne peut I ■les supprimer" (40). The result of this philosophical evolution is that "il n'y a pas de place pour un Dieu i | ayant une fonction propre et reelle" (40). Goldmann links j this philosophical development to the Jansenist movement i :in France; however, it is also present in Spanish and English works of the period. Otis Green identifies the i passage from Isaiah, "verily thou art a God that hidest thyself" as a foundation of the thought of San Juan de i I !la Cruz and other Spanish mystics (IIj22). Dorothea Kehler cites Shakespeare's history plays, in which the providentialism of the "Tudor myth" is scrutinized, as an example of the presence of the concept of the absent | god in England during the period (Curren-Aquino, 99). Although each of these three countries experienced its own unique pattern of development during the period, there ! existed a general pattern such as I describe in the | ^ Introduction, with a movement towards the modern concepts 139 of relativism and individualism, and a gradual marginalization of medieval concepts such as divine intervention in human affairs. The satiric demystification I of the dramtic deux-exmachina is an indication of the power of these waning ideas, for satire is rarely invoked against a ’’defeated” ideology, as well as a representation of one of the many dialectics of the period. j i II In contrast to my emphasis on satire and on the miracle play as the dominant modal aspects of these plays, the designation most frequently attached to Shakespeare’s late works, and also used to describe many Golden Age f f Spanish dramas is romance, or variants such as romantic ! I I tragicomedy. Arnold Reichenberger goes so far as to assert that the movement of all comedia as a genre is "from order I disturbed to order restored,” a pattern which he links I i with romance as a genre (307). The application of the term romance, as mode or genre, implies a vision of mixed genre baroque drama that is totally at odds with the I radical questioning of dominant ideology and aesthetics j i that is present in Cymbeline and El Burlador. Frederic Jameson is one of the most respected critics who views Shakespeare's late works as romances. Jameson i i I j bases his designation on a vision of the historical periodj 140 as a transitional moment in economic development, where 1 two different moments co-exist, without having yet arrived at the point of inter-class antagonism. Because of this, he feels that it is possible for dramatists to project jUtopian, resolutions of conflict, which locate evil in !"the world," rather than in human beings (148). Franco i IMoretti paints quite a different picture of this historical moment, in which the dominant class appears suddenly incapable of understanding the course and sense of history. It has nothing to teach those who are watching... precisely when the events they watch make such guidance absolutely necessary. The j spectators are constrained to think for | themselves: for the first time, nothing and j nobody shows them the way. (56) I Moretti decribes the court of the Stuart monarchs as an "arena for unrestrained conflict of private interests," J j emphasizing the imporatnce of inner-class relations, which I Jameson fails to take into account (72). This does not j mean that there is universal critical agreement concerning Jameson's evaluation of inter-class relations; Paul Siegel attributes Elizabeth’s relative success as a monarch to her skill in pitting the old aristocracy, the newly titled i ! gentry and the bourgeoisie against one another (3). He i I also emphasizes the turmoil of a period marked by unprecedented social mobility due to the change in 1 ownership of one-fifth of all British land as Henry VIII ■ redistributed the possessions of the Catholic church, 141 and to the new commercial opportunities available through colonial trade (8, 14). Dollimore points out the i j philosophical shifts which contribute to social instability: the demystification of law and religion in jthe writings of Hobbes, Montaigne and Machiavelli (11). I ! Clearly, Jameson's vision of the period is flawed; even if antagonism has not yet produced class warfare, it nonetheless is a destabilizing force, and only one of j many destabilizing factors in the period, j Jameson's perception of the inner world of the dramas themselves is also faulty; he uses Heidegger's definition of romance to describe the late plays as "discontinuous pockets of homogenous time and of heightened closure" (112). A close examination of Cymbeline reveals a very j I different world, grounded in its specific historical moment, and sceptical of idealized transformation. Although Jameson takes care to show that his concept ! I I ; of romance is quite different from Northrop Frye's, which he finds ahistorical and positivist (109), both critics describe an idyllic world which is only marginally related to baroque tragicomedy. It is true that there are romantic1 i j elements in Cymbeline and El burlador; there are moments where "the ordinary laws of nature are slightly suspended" and there are also retreats into the forest or countryside ; (Frye 33, 43). However, these plot details are not used i ; in the way Frye prescribes as romantic, in which displays j i I 142 of "miraculous power violate no rule of probability" and which "preserves the theme of escape from society to the extent of idealizing a simplified life in the country" (33, 43). Instead, the baroque plays expose the problematic aspects of these romantic conventions, through their use of satire and self-conscious or metatheaterical techniques. Ill i The grouping together of Tartuffe, El burlador and Cymbeline as joint objects of study may appear unlikely; certainly, Moliere’s dark drama has never been called a romance, and El burlador has come under this label only : in the sense that some critics have termed all comedias I " 1 to be romances. However, these three plays are secular revisions of the miracle play, and share a preoccupation with the theme of providential intervention in human i affairs. All three of these plays can be seen as revisions of earlier dramatic topoi. Moliere’s drama contains many of the elements of his other comedies: an obsessed father whose irrational preoccupation leads him to propose an unsuitable match, a sharptongued servant, one or more i pairs of thwarted lovers. However, in Tartuffe, as I have indicated, the threats to comic reconciliation are much more dangerous, and the escape far narrower. El 'burlador may also be considered, at least in part, a i revision of Lope's peasant plays. Tirso's innovation of combining the popular myth about the young man who mocks the statue of a dead hero with the drama of a t I inobleman who (ab)uses his social staus in order to have I jsex with lower class females can be seen as a way to offer ja more theatrical punishment than that offered by the [peasant rebellions of Fuente Oveluna or El melor alcalde, el rev. In Cymbeline. Shakespeare combines many of the |themes of his earlier tragedies, all converted to jtragicomedy: Posthumous, Iachimo, and Imogen's story i t [rewrites the love tragedy of Othello, the turmoil of King Cymbeline's familial relations recall those of Lear and Hamlet, while the quickly resolved war between Britain and Rome, which affirms Rome's positive attributes, can be seen as a continuation of the theme of the parallels between the two empires that Shakespeare drew in Coriolanus and the other Roman tragedies. In Cymbeline, these , intertextual references draw attention to the tragic possibilities of the various conflicts, while also increasing the audience's awareness of the artistry involved through the multiplicity of references. As in all of the plays examined in this study, there j are frequent references in Cymbeline to the potential for tragedy inherent in the unreliability of human 144 perception. In this play, deception is often represented as a necessary evil in the lives of good courtiers; of itheir apparent anger over Imogen's decision to marry Posthumous instead of her step-mother's son, one courtier jComments, "But not a courtier,/ although they wear their faces to the bent/ of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not/ glad at the thing they scowl at" (I.i). In a similiar vein, Cornelius, the court physician, is wary ’ . I of the Queen s interest in studying poisons; he provides i iher with one that induces slumber rather than death, then muses, "She is fool'd/ with a most false effect; and I Ithe truer,/ so to be false with her" (I.v). Pisanio, | ! I Posthumus' loyal servant, practices the most elaborate deception of all, pretending to serve his master's enemies * I in order to foil their plots. He, too, contemplates the uneasy relationship between truth as an ideal and the necessary deception of Cloten, his master's rival, "true to thee/ were to prove false, which I will never be,/ to him that is most true" (III.v). Pisanio's discomfort [with this seemingly treasonous situation is again apparent i j when he reassures himself that deceiving King Cymbeline is ethical, "Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true./ the present wars shall find I love my i ! country..." (IV.iii). Pisanio places his faith in the ! I ! belief that Posthumus will be a better ruler for Britain i than Cloten, and measures all his acts accordingly. There 145 is certainly an element of subversion in the representation ! of a group of noblemen who are forced to deceive the royal I |family— King, Queen, and heir to the throne— in order |to do what they believe to be in the best interests of I I jtheir country. The fact that the final recognitions confirm their perspective is also subversive; the intervention of Jupiter does not cancel out the fact that [the deceptive actions of these courtiers are vital to | jthe comic denouement. Deception has many faces in this drama. In addition to the benevolent pretenses of the courtiers, there are the potentially tragic consequences of Posthumus' inability to see through Iachimo's lies about his wife. Like his more sinister counterpart Iago, this Italian courtier I I t ialso succeeds in inducing his rival to see deception in i his wife, rather than in the actual liar, the rival. Thus, Posthumus believes he is undeceived at the moment iof his greatest gullibility, when he tells Iachimo, "If iyou will swear you have not done't, you lie,/ and I will i (kill thee if thou dost deny/ thou'st made me cuckhold" j j(II.iv). Posthumus also utters the typical misogynist i jlitany, "The vows of women/ of no more bondage be to where {they are made/ than they are to their virtues, which is j nothing" whose implications we have already examined ' (II.iv). 146 In Cymbeline. the emphasis is often on deceptive language, rather than on appearances or actions. Pisanio describes the potentially anti-social consequences of slander, i Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue i Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath Rides on the posting winds and doth belie All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave j This viperous slander enters. (Ill.iv) I jThe consequences are especially grave when someone "of all good seeming" like Posthumus appears to be lying; jlmogen laments that "Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd" by her husband's "great fall" (Ill.iv). The layers of lies which lead to Imogen's loss of faith illustrate the baroque emphasis on the unreliability of jail human perception, and at the same time produce the jcomplications of plot which are part of Shakespeare's playing bare" of the conventions of tragic and comic resolutions. One of the most criticized aspects of Cymbeline is i the "undramatic" quality of the final act, with its I innumerable recognitions. The act opens with Posthumus carrying the "bloody cloth" he believes is proof of {Imogen's death. His grief leads him to renounce his former jself, symbolized in the decision to "disrobe me/ of these Jtalian weeds and suit myself/ as does a British peasant" i ! |in order to fight for his native country against the ' adopted one he now rejects. He concludes this soliloquy of recognition and remorse with the declaration, "To shame 'the guise o' th' world, I will begin/ the fashion, less jwithout and more within." Thus, an important part of jPosthumus* new perception is the awareness that outward jappearances count for very little. This leads directly Jto Iachirao's moment of awareness, when he blames his defeat at the hands of a "peasant" (Posthumus in his new guise) on the guilt feelings which "enfeebled" and "subdued" ,him and "takes off his manhood" (V.ii). King Cymbeline’s tragic recognition comes in the midst of a scene of comic celebration of the British victory, when the true nature of the now-dead queen is revealed through her physician's recounting of a death bed "confesssion." However, the queen's description of | ;her machinations against both Imogen and Cymbeline, which is given to a physician and some female attendants, is not a true confession, because she repented only that "the evils she hatch'd were not effected" (V.v). Because she is excluded from reconciliation through her death and her failure to repent, the queen's destiny reveals the presence of a satiric vision which negates the possibility of the type of all-encompassing integration posited by those who would call this play a romance. The King's reaction to the truth about his wife and daughter is strangely serene; unlike Lear he does not 148 rant and rave and heap insults on himself. Instead, Cymbeline defends his mistakes by citing the strenghth i of the queen’s outward appearances, and concludes, merely, I j'it was folly in me" (V.v). Guiderus and Belarius, the two lost sons of Cymbeline, who are present at the scene in their role as country lads who fought bravely for their ! King, are equally reticent when they recognize 'Imogen/Fidele, whom they believed dead. Instead of speaking out, they decide, ’’let’s see further" (V.v). i These calm, prudent reactions draw attention to themselves by their departure from the conventional outbursts of passionate emotion - and also provide a much-needed lull, i i for the most amazing of the revelations are yet to come. I Iachimo's revelations about his plot against Imogen provide the spark for an increase in the emotional temperature, for Posthumus reacts with all the passion I pymbeline lacked, Aye me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That’s due to all the villains past, in being, To come! 0, give me cord, or knife, or poisn, Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out 1 For torturers ingenious! (V.v) When the disguised Imogen/Fidele tries to comfort Posthumus, he knocks her to the floor in his rage, leading Pisanio to signal the juxtaposition of tragedy and comedy: "You ne’er killed Imogen till now" (V.v). Although Imogen soon revives, and forgives both husband and father, tragedy 149 again threatens when Cymbeline orders the death of Polydore/Guiderius. This time, it is undone when Belarius tells of how he stole the King's two sons in revenge for L wrong the King had done him, so that the man who killed Cloten need not be punished, being "better than the man he slew" in terms of blood (V.v). Any fear of tragic jconsequences for Belarius' deed is immediately assuaged with the King's declaration that he has been amply compensated by "the service that you three have done" in defense of the British crown (V.v). There is no need i to doubt Belarius' words, because the elder son had, of course, a birthmark by which to be identified. The unnatural quality of this proliferation of reunions is (emphasized by Cymbeline's apparent change of gender, as i he asks, "0, what, am 1/ a mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother/ rejoiced deliverance more" (V.v). The jconflation of two completely different types of delivery 'underscores the subversion of providential deliverance. When Posthumus displays the tablet given him by Jupiter, with its cryptic message, the soothsayer is able I !to interpret the symbols so that the prophecy is shown I ’to foretell the return of the King's sons. Unlike most ambiguous prophecies, which are harbingers of doom for tragic heroes, this one adds to the implausible parade iof tragedies rendered harmlessly comic. The final I jreconciliation, of the Roman and British empires, is 150 jachieved when Cymbeline decides that he will continue jto pay the tribute to Rome agreed upon by his ancestors, i even though, as victor, he does not have to do so. This enables the soothsayer to declare that his vision concerning the Roman eagle has come true, for now the I Roman emperor may "again unite his favor with the radiant Cymbeline” (V.v). In conclusion, Cymbeline orders that "a Roman and a British ensign wave/ friendly together.” ((V.v). I can think of no other play that contains such a profusion of tragedies averted, nor one that combines so many types of reconciliation: between family members, I married couples, courtiers and Kings, and heads of state. i 1 It seems impossible that audiences would respond naively to the succession of reversals, that they would fail to recognize the parody inherent in such exaggeration. The ] awareness of stylistic subversion draws upon, and in turn supports, the subversion of providence at the thematic level. In all three of the plays under consideration, the timely intervention of a superhuman power helps the protagonists to escape the potentially tragic consequences I | i of their prior actions, many of which involve errors | i I committed because of the inability to make correct judgments due to the fallibility of human perception. Posthumus returns to his Roman garb after the British victory, still seeking death to atone for Imogen's supposed death. While asleep in the British prison, Posthumus is visited by the ghosts of his dead parents and brothers (V.iv). The stage directions specify that their entrance be accompanied by music (as are the supernatural events of all the late plays) and that the wounds by which the two brothers died in battle be visible. The family members ["circle Posthumus round" as in a dance or ritual, chanting I the reasons Jupiter should come to the aid of this member of an illustrious family, and criticizing the god for having allowed so many mishaps to befall him. The family members take turns speaking, their verses rhyme more consistently than is usual in this work, so that the invocation seems like a song. The final lines of the song are a threat: "Help,/ Or we poor ghosts will cry / To the shining synod of the rest/ Against thy deity." Surely, the appearance of Jupiter at this moment cannot be seen as benevolent grace extended by a deity of love ; and forgiveness. Within this context of mutinous subjects ] i demanding justice, Jupiter has a reduced status; he has been forced into the position of explaining himself to his subjects. Even though his initial words assert his ! i I unlimited power over men and spirits, "How dare you ghosts/ i Accuse the Thunderer, whose bolt, you know,/ Sky-planted, j batters all rebelling coasts," Jupiter accedes to the demands of the Leonati, giving them the tablet which I j promises the desired happy ending for Posthumus. He then 1 152 disappears in a spectacular fashion, bidding his aviary steed, "Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline." The ^theatricality of this scene is emphasized in the awe-filled i jdescriptions of the ghost of Posthumus1 father, "He came in thunder; his celestial breath/ was sulphurous to smell. The holy eagle / stoop’d, as to foot us," There is nothing in this scene that can be easily translated as I ;the representation of the providential intervention of I the Christian God. David Bevington reminds us that this scene, so "blatantly unrealistic," has been the focus of critics who want to "exonerate" Shakespeare of having Icommitted the crime of writing it (introduction). However,! ; ' i Bevington claims that the very unreality of the scene serves to strenghten the message of Christian tragicomic consolation, that "suffering is merely a manifestation of a design to test and strengthen us." Bevington seeks j ;to contain the subversion implicit in the rebellion of Posthumus* family, as well as to negate the effect of emotional distancing produced by blatantly self-referential theater (Reiss 35,56). This self-referentiality can be j seen in the laying bare of the recognition device, in the deliberate artifice of scenes such as this one, in the use of theatrical metaphors to describe events, and in the intertextual references to epic and Petrarchan I poetic conventions (see below). I | Divine intervention is equally spectacular in El iburlador. It does not come as a total surprise, for {throughout the play Don Juan has been warned by his ilover-victims, his relatives, and even his servant that God will punish him for his sins. Don Juan's trademark refrain, "tan largo me lo fiaxs," can be seen as a novel [application of the idea of an absent God— rational man need no longer fear that God will intervene in terrestrial | matters. Although the warnings of the pre-rationalist characters appear to be validated by the actions of the istatue, I will show that the context of the intervention 'undermines its apparently orthodox "message." The context of Don Juan's repetition of "tan largo" is also meaningful. As the play progresses, Don Juan's violations of the [patriarchal value system are increasingly threatening; i beginning with disrespect of the rights of ownership of his lover's fiances or husbands, escalating to disobedience [towards his father and his monarch, and culminating in I fearlessness in the face of divine wrath and punishment, so that Don Juan responds to all admonitions with "tan largo...". He repeats this phrase in front of the statue i of the Commander he has slain, mocking the placard which | urges that someone avenge his death at the hands of a "traidor" (III.2250). Don Juan replies jeeringly, "larga 154 jesta venganza ha sido" and invites the statue to dine with him, in order to address the challenge on the placard (III.2255-65). With the arrival of the statue at Don Juan's house, ■ * the theatricality of the play immediately increases. Even before the audience sees the statue, it witnesses the hysterical reaction of the servant who has answered his knock at the door, and who flees in such a manner I that Don Juan asks, "tQuien es? I De qu6 estas temblando?... iAsombr6te algun demonio?" (Ill.2294-98). Catalinon’s fear of what he sees at the door renders him incoherent, I !so Don Juan is forced to go to the door himself. This I t isuccession of three approaches heightens the suspense for the audience, as in any successful horror film which i i (delays as long as possible the on-screen appearance of whatever monster is causing chaos. Although the stage directions indicate that Don Juan appears "turbado" at what he sees, his words are those of common hospitality, inviting the statue to sit down, i assuring him that there is enogh food for him, calling for the meal to be served. This desperate attempt to treat the supernatural as an ordinary occurrence heightens its effect on the audience. Catalinon serves as the perfect foil to Don Juan’s icy calm; he trembles visibly, and asks of the statue the types of questions concerning ;the afterlife that emphasize the gulf between the two modes of "existence" at the same time that they invite the audience to feel superior to his naivete. The difference in the two men’s reactions is emphasized by the statue’s responses; he speaks only to Don Juan, while answering Catalinon’s questions by inclining his head. Another element of theatricality is added when Don Juan orders music to accompany the meal. Like Shakespeare, Tirso uses a variety of media to heighten the emotional effect of the supernatural interludes. The statue uses I (gestures to indicate his desire that the meal be removed, and that he and Don Juan be left alone, forcing the audience to wait for the spectacle of seeing the statue speak again. After the two agree to meet for dinner the following evening at the Commander’s tomb, a favored location for representations of supernatural occurrences, the Commander reminds the audience of his metaphysical i qualities in rejecting the offer of a servant to light his way; he needs no earthly light because "en gracia estoy" (III.2460). | Once Don Juan is alone, the audience witnesses the crumbling of this seemingly impervious renegade: IValgame Dios! Todo el cuerpo se ha bafiado de un sudor, y dentro de las entranas se me yela el corazon, Cuando me tomo la mano, : de suerte me la apreto I que un infierno parecia: iJamas vide tal calor! Un aliento respiraba, 156 organizando la voz, tan frio, que parecia infernal respiracion. (Ill.2460-72) Thus, the spectator's sense of pleasurable fear is •heightened through the descriptions of this formerly fearless sinner, even though he regains his poise following this confession, and denounces his "villano temor," 'reaffirming his vow to meet with the statue, "porque se admire y espante/ Sevilla de mi valor" (III.2476, 83-84), Of course, it is not only Seville but also the audience who is won over by this display of courage. When Don Juan arrives at the tomb, with Catalinon as his comic side-kick, Tirso indulges the audience's j taste for the macabre with a delightfully grotesque description of the banquet the statue offers, served up by servants dressed in mourning garb: ice and vinegar jinstead of wine, scorpions, snakes, and a stew of claws or fingernails (unas) (III.2718-42). Then the statue challenges Don Juan to take his hand, unless he is afraid, j Don Juan can't hide his reaction to the statue's touch, jhe cries out,"iQue me abraso! No me abrases con tu fuego!" 1(111.274849). The statue replies that this heat is I minimal, compared to the hellfire his actions have earned jhim. It is not the seductions that the statue complains of, but rather Juan's lack of faith; "las maravillas de Dios/ son, don Juan, investigables,/ y asi quiere que i tus culpas/ a manos de un muerto pagues" (III.2749-55). 157 This explanation, and the statue’s refrain, "esta es 'justicia de Dios” would appear to support assertions that this play is ideologically conservative. However, that view is difficult to sustain in the context of this highly 'theatrical scene, in which Tirso takes care to represent many of the cliches about ghosts and the afterlife. These include the reference to hell's scorching heat, and Don Juan’s attempt to ’’kill” the statue with his dagger; he gives up quickly, because "me canso en vano/ de tirar golpes al aire" (III.2761-62). One indication of the enduring popularity of these dramatic conventions concerning death is that both of them appear in Sartre's Huis clos. In this context Don Juan’s moment of recognition is almost comical in its inadequacy; he first tries to i Jappeal to the statue as a father, reassuring him that his daughter saw through Juan's deception in time and was not "offended.” The statue replies as the instrument : of God, who cares only that Juan’s intentions were sinful, so that it does not matter that he could not carry them out. Finally, Don Juan is willing to submit himself to God's authority, begging, "deja que llame/ quien me confiese y absuelva” (III.2766-67). Here, Tirso appears I ' to parody the convention of recognition as a plot device. It is, of course, insufficient, and as the statue ; declares, "iquien tal hace, que tal pague!" the two actors 158 and the tomb they stand next to sink into the stage. t lAlthough the stage directions do not specify it, presumably isome type of pyrotechnical effect was used as well. As the audience delights in the spectacle of smoke, fire, jand stage machinery, it is doubtful that the statue's moral message could have much of an impact, or that the audience would see this as plausible proof of providential i (intervention. This is a drastic revision of the miracle play, in which Tirso focuses on the titillating aspects of supernatural occurrences. This representation aims at thrilling the audience as much as instructing it, i or, to use the terminology of the period, the focus is on deleitar as well as aprovechar. In Tartuffe, the intervention is not divine in the i conventional sense, for Orgon is saved from the consequences of his folly by an emissary of the King. However, as he reassures Orgon that the King has seen through Tartuffe's hypocrisy, the emissary's description of the monarch's omniscience and omnipotence makes him appear to have supernatural qualities: Nous vivons sous un prince ennemi de la fraude, Un prince dont les yeux se font jour dans les coeurs, Et que ne peut tromper tout l'art des imposteurs. | D'un fin discernement sa grande ame pourvue i Sur les choses toujours jette une droite yue; Chez elle jamais rien ne surprend trop d ’acces, Et sa ferme raison ne tombe en nul exces. II donne aux gens de bien une gloire immortelle, Mais sans aveuglement il fait briller ce zele... ! Celui-ci n'etait pas pour le pouvoir surprendre, 159 Et des pieges plus fins on le voit se defendre. D'abord il a perce, par ses vives clartes, Des replis de son coeur toutes les lachetes.,, I Pour montrer que son coeur sait, quand moins on y pense, D'une bonne action verser la recompense; Que jamais le merite avec lui ne perd rien; ' Et que, mieux que du mal, il se souvient du bien. | (V.vii) In this speech, the King is not only an all-knowing Idivinity, he is also the ideal judge who rewards virtue more enthusiastically than he punishes vice. The clearly religious language is continued in the character's reactions to this news; the ever-irreverent Dorine is moved to declare, "que le ciel soit lou&," while Cleante advises Orgon to go and thank the King "I. genoux" (V.vii). Orgon also phrases his gratitude using the vocabulary of a disciple rather than a subject, "Allons A ses pieds I avec joie/ nous louer des bont&s que son coeur nous deploie" (V.vii). Unlike the hints scattered throughout I 'El burlador. or the representation of the Duke's scheme in Measure for Measure, there has been no indication of any awareness of Tartuffe's crimes on the King's part until the final fifty lines of the play— once again, the divintity is absent. The emissary asserts that the King has long known of Tartuffe, "c'est un long detail d'actions toutes noires/ dont on pourrait former des volumes d 'histoires." This information comes in the center of jthe long speech extolling the King's might, adding an (ironic note: that Tartuffe has been able to get away with 160 so many despicable actions immediately calls into question the King's capabilities. He is shown to have human failings which cast into doubt the title of dispenser of "l'6quite supreme." The assertion that the King allowed I Tartuffe to terrorize Orgon as punishment for his "offense secrete" is thus rendered suspect, as are all claims of 'the King's quasi-divinity. The transformation of tragedy iinto comedy through any sort of miraculous intervention I jis here subjected to a rigorous scrutiny which debunks i [this belief both through the emissary's unwitting revelation of monarchical impotence and through the sheer implausibility of this unprepared, last minute intervention. Even for the devoutly Christian audience i ■ J - member, this suddenly "present" God is unlikely to be seen as support for the concept of providential theology. Moli&re also appears to parody the comic convention of including a frustrated couple in every comedy, ;regardless of the (ir)relevance of young love to the main jstory line, in the final two lines of the play. After jOrgon has agreed with Cleante's suggestion that he ask the King to be merciful with Tartuffe, his perfunctory conclusion to the play is the pronouncement, "par un doux hymen couronner en Valere/ la flamme d'un amant g£nereux et sincere." Orgon's sudden conversion to a man of reason jis also unconvincing. His instinctive response to the emissary’s news was to gloat over the fate of the ’’traltre,11 and is Cleante who speaks the appropriate lines j about remorse and forgiveness. Only in the last six lines does Orgon appear to be a man of moderation. In addition to his examination of belief in divine providence, Moliere’s representation of the potential for human jtransformation also lends itself to skepticism. ; An important component of the subversive element ! in all modes of tragicomedy is the self-conscious use of references to theatrical and literary conventions. As indicated earlier, one of the effects of | I ;self-conscious, metatheatrical language and imagery is an increased awareness of the play as artistic i construction, and a decrease in the spectator’s emotional i jidentification with the characters and situations, which j |results in a far more disengaged reflection on the staged ! events (see also chapter 5). In these three plays, I metatheatrical language and imagery contributes to the t demystification of providential ideology. In Cymbeline. j : the very first scene mocks the romance convention of lost children. After hearing about the disappearance of the King’s two sons which occurred twenty years ago, a courtier !points out the absurdity of the situation, ’’That a King’s children should be...so slackly guarded, and the search i so slow,/ that could not trace them!" The recounter of i ! the tale replies in a similar fashion, "Howso’er 'tis j strange,/ or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,/ j 162 yet is it true, sir." Those who wish to see this play as a sympathetic revival of the romance dramas of the [prior generation must willfully ignore the irony in these i lines. The lost boys are again the subject of discussion when Posthumus describes the valiant combat skills of the two rough peasant boys who saved the day for the iBritish army. In response to the listener’s amazement, ! Posthumus replies, "Nay, do not wonder at it. You are made/ rather to wonder at the things you hear/ than to work any" (V.iii). This comment can not fail to make i the audience aware of the similiarity between their perceptions and those of the incredulous courtier. Shakespeare also parodies the convention of the natural nobility of lost aristocratic children. In the first i on-stage appearance of Cymbeline*s sons, their abductor/father interprets the two boys' expressed desire to experience more of the world, despite his warnings about the corrupt nature of palaces and cities, as proof of inherent royal characteristics: How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little they are sons to th'King... t and though train'd up thus meanly I'th'cave wherein they bow their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces... (Ill.iii). The boys again "prove" their innate aristocracy when they ;immediately love the disguised Imogen as if she were their |"brother" (Ill.vi). Belarius is overcome with pride for his two "princely boys" after a scene in which the elder I 163 jbrags of having decapitated Cloten, while the younger ! | jlaments the fate that has prevented him from having tasted : combat, too. Despite fear of the consequences of killing the Queen’s son, Belarius marvels at this demonstration i ;of "royal blood enchaf'd ," interpreting the blood thirst i as "royalty unlearn’d, honor untaught,/ civility not seen from other" (IV.ii). Here, the equation of royalty with j (savagery undermines the very image of greatness it seeks 'to establish. The conventional language of lyric poetry is also j I mocked in this play. During Fidele/ Imogen’s funeral, i the younger son laments "his" death, and describes "him" i with the standard images of love sonnets: a primrose ! complexion, veins as blue as the "azur'd harebell," breath as sweet as "the leaf of eglantine" (IV.ii). The older ! I son interrupts these effusions to chasten his sibling's "wench-like words," in a gentle derision of one of Shakespeare's own modes of artistic expression. This scene also emphasizes the multiple layers of gender in the Imogen/Fidele character: a boy actor is playing a female character dressed as a boy, and the metaphors I normally used to describe an ideal woman are being applied to a person that Cymbeline’s sons perceive as a boy, and |that the audience sees as both a female character and I a "real life" boy. 164 The language and imagery of tragicomedy are central ! to this play. The first example occurs when Imogein/Fidelis iis preparing to bury the decapitated body she believes ito be her husband's; the Roman captain Lucius attempts jto comfort the grieving "boy" with the observation, "Some falls are the means the happier to arise" (IV.ii). The audience is, of course, aware that this tragicomic platitude is correct here, because it has seen that the body is Cloten1s, not Posthumus', Shakespeare's Jupiter iis much like that of Plautus' Amphitryon when he promises j a comic end for Posthumus: Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted. Be content. Your laid-low son our godhead will uplift. ' His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent... He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, And happier much by his affliction made. (V.iv) Unlike other manifestations-ex-machina, Jupiter plays no real role in the transformation of comedy to tragedy. All of the events in the prophecy have already been set j I in motion by this point in the play, without any apparent I iaction on the part of the god. Cymbeline's reaction to Imogen's return is phrased in a mix of tragedy and comedy, las he exclaims, "the gods do mean to strike me/ to death I with mortal joy" (V.v). The language of tragicomic substitution is also used. Cymbeline is overjoyed at the reunion with his lost sons, but interrupts his irejoicing to lament, "0 Imogen,/ thou hast lost by this i 165 a kingdom11 (V.v). Imogen’s words show that the loss of the throne is no tragedy to her, for she has gained "two worlds": a family complete with two brothers, and the removal of any obstacle to her union with the non-royal Posthumus (V.v). Tragicomedy is also present in the political realm. Cymbeline closes the play with commands 'of how to celebrate, not the British victory, but renewed peace, and observes, "Never was a war did cease,/ ere bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace" (V.v). Unlike the indelible, and therefore tragic, blood stains of i Macbeth, these will wash away and be "forgotten" in the celebration about to commence. The repeated use of self-conscious references to I theater and tragicomic imagery provide the "aesthetic I distance" that prevents any type of emotional identification or catharsis. It contributes, instead, to the "validation" effect I describe in the introduction i and develop further in chapter 5. Although Moliere does not use self-conscious language in Tartuffe to the extent that Shakespeare did in j Cymbeline. the final fifty lines of the play describe some of the King’s actions as turning potential tragedy to comedy. For example, Tartuffe1s attempt to dispossess j Orgon have the opposite result, so that, "Venant vous ! I i accuser, il s ’est trahi lui-meme." In addition, Cleante expresses the hope that Tartuffe "Au sein de la vertu 166 fasse un heureux retour,/ qu'll corrige sa yie en detestant son vice," although we are given no indication that Tartuffe is capable of the type of reform that will permit an eventual comic reintegration. In fact, it seems isurprising that such a naively optimistic statement is I spoken by Cl6ante, who has been the voice of sensible judgment up to this point. The everpresent descriptions lof the social ills caused by the hypocritical pious i throughout this play simply have not prepared in any way for this final expression of potential reformation. Dorothea Kehler writes that "piety creates a dramatic ! ambiance supporting providentialism, whereas hypocrisy ' supports secularism" (Curran-Aquino 100). The rational, secularist language of Cleante, the voice of reason in i the play, is in direct contrast to the hypocritical or confused piety of the other characters. As a consequence, there exists a glaring discrepancy between the ending, I which could be seen as an attempt to affirm the iconservative ideology of beneficial suffering, and the rest of the play, which does not sustain this vision, but instead, contradicts it constantly. The undermining of the belief in beneficial suffering is another example of the emergence of the idea of the absent god, for the suffering of the innocent can be seen in a positive light only if the victim or the audience can feel confident i j |that God is actively engaged in a tragicomic action. 167 In El burlador, there are many references to the lvalues and heroes of chlvalric and classical epic which I 'serve to emphasize the degraded state of the characters in the play, at the same time that they serve to distance the audience through allusions to other literary artifacts. I j James Parr points out that Don Juan is the antithesis j of the courtly lover and the epic hero (El burlador 8). His greatest pleasure is "burlar una mujer," instead of serving her, and takes pride in announcing that "Sevilla a voces me llama/ el Burlador"; as Parr states, "no distingue entre fama e infamia." Don Juan's father unwittingly describes his son as the inversion of the I epic hero when he tells the King, "Le llaman los mozos de su tiempo/ el Hector de Sevilla, porque ha hecho/ tantas y tan extraiias mocedades" (II, 1087-89). The King is ( already well aware of Don Juan's past adventures, which are quite different from the martial triumphs of the epic hero. In the passage referred to earlier, Aminta's identification with the heroines of Roman epic, Emilia and Lucrecia, was shown to be futile, for she is never able to avenge herself, | The city Lisbon is also adorned with, then stripped j i of, heroic accolades. The Commander returns from the Portuguese capital to give the King a glowing report of 1 this "octava maravilla" which is "la mayor ciudad de I Espana" (1.716,20). On the surface, this would appear 168 to be a validation of the union of the Castillian and Portuguese crowns, for the play is set in the year 1340, about 50 years before the Battle of Aljubarrota which assured Portuguese independence from Castille. The play itself was printed in 1630, only ten years before the i jjoint revolts of Catalonia and Portugal, when tension [between the center of the empire and its margins was already a problem. In this context, it cannot be accidental that the name of the city over which the Commander rhapsodized is also the name for the red light district of Seville, The Marquis de Mota describes this as the site where "vive con igual gusto/ lo peor de Portugal/ en lo mejor de Castilla" (11.1505-07). James Parr also points out two other examples of I "desmystification" of literary conventions. He refers to Tisbea’s attitude toward men as a parody of the ideals t of neoplatonic love and of the literary idealization of the pastoral world. Similiarly, the encounter with Aminta ■demystifies the tppos referred to in Spanish as "la i alabanza de aldea y menosprecio de corte," after the title of an essay by Guevara (El burlador 9). The laying bare ( of the devices of many other literary conventions sets the stage for Tirso’s examination of the conventions of tragicomedy, j James Parr writes that when siglo de oro dramatists [combine comic and tragic elements, "there is usually 169 evident a generic awareness on the part of the playwright ;and this sensibility finds expression through a paradoxical coupling or juxtaposition of essential elements of the two" (1991, 95). This is particularly true in the case *of El burlador; Parr notes that when Don Juan must choose between attending the wedding the King has arranged for him and Dona Ana or keeping his promise to dine at the i ^Commander's tomb, "the playwright is teasing us, and the discretos of his audience, by toying with the two traditional endings; integration through marriage and isolation through exile, suffering, or death" (95). In addition to the use of plotting as a way to lay bare the I (devices of tragicomedy, there are also occasions where i the characters describe their experiences as tragicomic. When the King arranges for Octavio to marry the i Commander's daughter in reparation for the loss of Isabela I and the damage done to his reputation, Octavio is satisfied with the substitution, "es tal que ya me consuela/ en mi mal" (11.1150). Tragicomic substitutions also take j place when Isabela loses a Duke, Octavio, but gains a count, Don Juan. However, as I have shown, Isabela is not totally satisfied; this new marriage does not compensate adequately for her lost reputation. Dona Ana ! arranges her own tragicomic substitution, convincing the King that, "ya que el padre muri6, quiere marido,/ iporque si le perdio, con el le gana!" (III.2511-12). The very jbluntness of this exclamation may be seen as a parody of the unthinking acceptance of this type of substitution. This is a more subtle form of the questioning of ;tragicomic providence that we saw earlier in Fleury's i Slaughter of the Innocents. Here, both the workings of divine providence and the conventions of tragicomedy are shown to be inadequate as forces which mitigate suffering and loss. In these three plays, the combination of a self-conscious laying bare of literary and theatrical .conventions and the sensationally theatrical— but implausible--representations of divine intervention in human affairs produces an atmosphere in which emotional lidentification is blocked, and uncritical affirmation of providentiality is problematized, at the least. These plays can be seen as taking part in the period's attempt ;to come to terms with the conflict between the dominant but increasingly vulnerable Christian ideology and the emerging individualist and rationalist philosophies. [Baroque tragicomedy's unconventional mixture of potential tragedy and subsequent comedy with satire creates a jarring juxtaposition, not a harmonious blend, much like the tension inherent in the period's conflict of ideologies. I The result is a group of plays which subvert orthodox providential ideology, despite the formal structures of !comic closure. List of works cited— Chapter 4 |I. Primary Texts JMoliere. Oeuvres completes, ed. Pierre-Aim4 Touchard, I Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1962. Molina, Tirso de. El burlador de Sevilla, ed. James A. Parr. Valencia: Albatros/ Hispanofila, 1991. Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. David Bevington, Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1980. ;II. Secondary Texts I Bevington, David ed. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1980. iCurran-Aquino, Deborah T., ed. King John: New j Perspectives. Newark; London: U of Delaware P; Associated UPs: 1989. Dollimore, Jonathan. Radical Tragedy: Religion. Ideology, and Power in the Drama of Shakespeare and His Contemporaries. 2nd ed. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957. ; Gibson, Gail McMurray. The Theater of Devotion. Chicago: 1 Chicago UP, 1989. Goldmann, Lucien. Le dieu cache. Paris: Gallimard, 1959. Goodman, Jennifer, British Drama before 1660: A Critical I History. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991. Green, Otis. Spain and the Western Tradition. Volume II. Madison; Milwaukee: U of Wisconsin P, 1964. Jameson, Frederic. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1981. Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed.. Renaissance Tragicomedy. New York: AMS Press, 1987, | 172 Moretti, Franco. Signs Taken For Wonders: Essays in the Sociology of Literary Forms. London: Verso Editions, 1983. Parr, James A, After Its Kind: Approaches to the Comedia. Kassel: Reichenberger, 1991. jPasachoff, Naomi. Playwrights. Preachers, and Politicians: A Study of 4 Tudor Old Testamant Dramas. Salzburg: j Institut fur Englische Sprache und Literatur, 1975. J jReichenberger, Arnold. "The Uniqueness of the ’Comedia.’" I Hispanic Review 27 (1959): 303-16. 'Reiss, Timothy J, Toward Dramatic Illusion: Theatrical ! Technique and Meaning from Hardy to Horace. New Haven: j Yale UP, 1971. Siegel, Paul. Shakespearean Tragedy and the Elizabethan Compromise. New York: New York UP, 1957. Sinfield, Alan. "Power and Ideology: An Outline Theory I and Sydney’s Arcadia." ELH, Summer 1985, 259-77. 173 i Chapter 5 i Metatheater as a Dramatic Mode jOne of the defining features of baroque literature of all genres is its emphasis on the work of art as a set of arbitrary conventions, rather than as a direct or ^'natural" imitation of reality. This practice is rooted |in the baroque preoccupation with the indeterminacy of I I |reality itself— how can art hope to imitate a perceived i reality when the artist has doubts about the reliability of perception? (Warnke 84-7, Buffum 7). With its alternative poetics, baroque art seeks to explore this idea thematically and aesthetically. In this chapter, I will examine a group of tragicomic plays in which self- consciousness is so prominent throughout that it becomes the modal dominant of the plays, so fully is it integrated into the thematic and aesthetic structures of the works. I The importance of self-referentiality as a dramatic device was highlighted by Lionel Abel, who coined the ' term "metatheater" in order to redefine the "failed i j tragedies11 of the early seventeenth-century. Abel focuses < on the metadramatic function of characters, such as Hamlet, j Prospero, and Basilio, whose roles he likens to those I I of an actor or director, in his examination of the way the period revised classical dramatic conventions. Since j I ' Abel, metatheater has come to have a more generalized I 174 (meaning, synonymous with theatrical self-referentiality, jeven though many critics that use the term, or a variant, jsuch as Richard Hornby's "metadrama," offer their own {specific modifications. My own particular use of the term is described below. Richard Hornby attributes the popularity of self- referential dramaturgy, which he calls "metadrama," in i the baroque period to the Christian doctrine of contemptus mundi, which envisioned life as "an illusion, a secondary world in contrast to the real world of heaven" (46). However, this is only a partial explanation; it is the dialectic between the Counter Reformation vision and the surviving Renaissance fascination with the physical world I that forms the basis for the conflicts that self-conscious drama explores. As Hornby indicates, when the prevalent view is that the world is ' in some way illusory or false, then the play within the play becomes the metaphor for life itself. The fact that the inner play is an obvious illusion (since we see other characters watching it), reminds us that the play we are watching is also an illusion, de spite its vividness and excitement; by exten sion, the world in which we live, which also seems to be so vivid, is in the end a sham. (45) It is important not to underestimate the attraction of I life's "vividness" when analyzing the impact of the contemptus mundi ideology. Hornby's analysis of the link between Counter (Reformation theology and dramatic techniques seems to 175 contradict his earlier* troublingly New Critical assertion that "it reflects no external reality (at least directly), I ! but instead reflects inward, mirroring itself” and other j plays (20). Hornby rejects the narrowly Marxist view of any type of literature as a direct reflection of jeconomic and social conditions. In the process, Hornby ignores the important contributions to historically-grounded criticism that have been made in !the cultural materialist revision of Marxist literary theory by Jonathan Dollimore, Valerie Wayne and Judith Newton, to name just a few in this growing field I (Introduction). In this chapter, as in the entire study, I wish to emphasize that the fullest understanding of baroque dramatic conventions is achieved through an examination of the interpenetration of aesthetic and j ideological concerns. In Partial Magic. Robert Alter defines an aesthetic i approach which he calls "self-conscious writing. Although his definition is used to describe developments in the ! history of the novel as a genre, it is also applicable I to dramatic art. Alter describes the self-conscious work of art as one which "flaunts” its status as artifact in ! order to examine the relationship between "real-seeming I artifice and reality" (x). In these works, the fictional i world is "set up as an authorial construct against a i background of literary tradition and convention" (xi). 176 Self-conscious writing is often belittled as merely i ,mannerist, inferior to "realistic" art which offers a serious, verisimilar representation of "moral situations in their social contexts" (ix). Alter astutely points ;out the limitations of this view of art, which blocks I the appreciation of self-conscious writing, but also warns against excessive enthusiasm for works which fail to i integrate this technique into an exploration of the interplay between fiction and reality (xiv). Walter Reed’s study of the development of the novel also places great importance on this narrative technique, which he describes as mimesis of literature rather than of nature (77). I i Although both Reed and Alter indicate that self-conscious writing is more appropriate for the novel than other genres, I hope to show that it is also extremely I i effective and affecting as a dramatic device, particularly during the baroque period (Alter xi). In drama, self- consciousness is achieved through a wide variety of devices 1 which include: using theatrical imagery to describe plot situations, the staging of a play within the play so that characters can discuss controversial issues concerning theatrical representation, and parodies of dramatic i ! conventions. The drama of the baroque period utilizes all of these techniques in its examination of theater j j as an important illustration of the larger issue of the 1 i ( I problematic relationship between reality and illusion. I In his examination of French theater from 1625-35, [Timothy Reiss identifies an increasing self-awareness ! 'as a dominant feature. He writes that, while "at first i this new direction was apparent only in occasional references by playwrights, they soon undertook a complete !re-examination of the nature of the theater" (55). The initial references that Reiss points out in Rotrou, Baro and Mareschal consist of characters using theatrical terminology to describe the unconvincing actions of other ! I characters as role-playing more appropriate to a "comedie" (56). This dissertation has already shown that in baroque drama, it is quite common for characters to describe the ;"real" situations in the plot as tragedies or comedies. Through this type of imagery, the theatrical experience is fragmented into differing "levels of action": the * |audience is made aware of the production of the play as separate from both reality and the story that is enacted (Reiss 133). ! The representation of a play within the play provides dramatists with an excellent opportunity to examine the relationship between the theater and the "real world." ' One of the ways that the boundary is blurred is when the I actors of the company appear as themselves— that is, when the script calls for the actors to be called by their j real names as they rehearse a play or talk about a play 178 they are involved with, and also to talk of their "real” lives. Of course, this still takes place on a stage, it has been scripted in advance, the names are likely to be stage names; thus, it is a representation which jimmediately undermines its own premise of showing the "reality" of theatrical life. An important factor to consider in evaluating the audience reaction to such scenes is the typical composition of acting troupes of the time, in which stock characters such as the jealous husband, the ingenue or the braggart captain are always played by the same actor, so that, "for the audiences of the time, the real personalities of these actors are confused with their stage personalities" (Reiss 129). Gougenot's Comedie des comediens is one play in which the interactions of actors and stage director in metatheatrical scenes go beyond providing a forum for theatrical apologies; they also reveal the complex nature of human identity through the layers that are peeled to reveal: character, actor as character, actor as "celebrity"— the public perception of the actor, and a "real person." Reiss writes that this type of confusion produces a "sense of psychical distance" for the spectator (130). He attributes this distance to the "deliberately precarious" nature of the j "illusion" created in the drama of the period, and asserts that it is this fluctuating distance which forces the spectator to confront the problem of illusion and reality, in part by blocking identification with any of the characters (108, 137). For Reiss the major difference between baroque and classical theater is the shift to a set of theatrical conventions which attempt to produce "dramatic illusion": plays which demonstrate no doubt concerning the nature of reality and which contain "convincing characters whose problems— essentially moral and social— may become the spectator's own" (137). The shift from baroque to classical drama thus involves a change in the object of the audience's identification, moving from actor to character. Reiss' delineation of two different types of spectator identification is helpful in explaining one possible appeal of self-conscious art for modern audiences as well as for the audiences of the period. Richard Hornby also uses the concept of identification in his examination of how audiences react to self-conscious theater. He uses psychoanalytic theory to describe identification as the expansion of the ego boundary to encompass the I character and plot, so that the disruption of identification caused by metatheatrical devices results in an abrupt re-establishment of the individual ego j boundary, a process that duplicates, on a smaller scale, the childhood trauma of the discovery of the boundary between self and other (115), Hornby emphasizes the potentially negative effects of "self-reference"; he 180 describes the audience reaction as one of "unease, a dislocation of perceptions," and "a splash of cold water ithrown into the face of a dreaming, imagining audience" (32, 104). He also warns that a play with a strong self- referential content "runs the risk of estranging or I |offending the audience to such a degree that they become bored and irritated and may simply walk out of the theater" (117). Hornby also uses psychoanalysis to define the context in which such innovation is acceptable. He agrees with Brecht's belief that "the audience must be entertained if they are to be moved at all, that we will not do the work of secondary process thinking unless we are offered J !the play of primary process thinking" (117). Hornby defines this process as "teaching through pleasure," (a concept quite similar to the Golden Age dictum "aprovechar deleitando") and he identifies metadrama as a primary vehicle of "great playwrights" (117, 32). Combined with i the assertion that these playwrights are "moralists," j i ;Hornby appears to value this particular dramatic device I because of its potentially didactic qualities (137). I i | Materialist criticism would reject such a direct linkage ! of theatrical experience and social change. Hornby himself describes drama as "a means of exploring conflicts of I ideas or principles, not necessarily to provide solutions 1 i but instead to reveal that the conflicts exist," i I j demonstrating that, theoretically, he is aware of the 181 limitations in the type of thought his practice, perhaps |unwittingly, implies” (180). One result of self-conscious drama's rupture of identification is the denial of the gratification of an I emotional catharsis produced by identification with a "convincing” (realistic) character. The spectator of a work of art whose generic dominant is its self-conscious examination of the relationship between life and art finds validation in its stead. Validation is a response that is more of the intellect than of the emotions, an acknowledgment that the actor or artist shares the spectator's perceptions about the uncertain nature of reality. Validation rejoices in art's ability to confront ambiguity, and is willing to forego the comfort of i t cathartic closure in order to maintain the confrontation. j My concept of validation may be seen as a modification of Brecht's theater of alienation: it posits a similar | refusal to comfort the audience, but makes no claims that this will result in revolutionary action on the part of j i the audience. In his examination of metatheater, Judd I Hubert criticizes the idea that "willing suspension of disbelief," (a concept similar to Reiss' "dramatic illusion") is necessary for audience pleasure (138). I i For Hubert, "the manipulative power of the medium" is | as effective as the most "persuasive imitation of j 'reality'" (138). However, Hubert, like Reiss, feels j 182 that self-conscious theater does provide catharsis. He I also errs in his contention that Shakespeare's plays are I superior to post-modern drama because they do not "flaunt" jtheir self-conscious nature. As Hans Robert Jauss has shown, the innovative aspects of many classical works disappear as those qualities become commonplace through repetition (Cohen 19). In baroque drama, self-conscious references to the theater are an important component of the aesthetic subversions of the period, particularly in conjunction with the equally subversive mixture of ( tragedy and comedy which is the focus of this study. In the first portion of this chapter, I will examine j I ' three tragicomic plays in which a play within the play I provides a basis for the examination of the blurred division between reality and illusion: Corneille's j ' L'illusion comique. Rotou's Saint Genest. and the lesser- I i known play of Lope de Vega which Rotrou adapted, Lo fingido verdadero (For this play, I will be quoting from Michael I McGaha's excellent translation, Acting is Believing). I have not included Gougenot's Comedie des comediens. I although it is a fascinating play which merits further 1 I I ’ I : critical attention, because it does not integrate tragicomedy and self-consciousness: the first two acts are a metatheatrical comedy, followed by a more > conventionally mimetic three act tragicomedy. The j I ■ following sections will study two individual plays, El. 183 medico de su honra and Troilus and Cressida. in which i self-conscious referentiality is dominant, even though I ithe plays do not utilize the play within the play or even the teatrum mundi metaphor. I The inclusion of Saint Genest in a study of jtragicomedy raises the issue of Christian tragedy— whether or not drama in which a Christian dies for his religion can be considered tragedy. In his introduction to El principe constante. Angel Valbuena Briones cites two happy endings in Euripidean tragedies, the apotheosis of Hippolytus and Iphigenia’s escape from Aulis, as evidence .that tragedy can end on a positive note. However, jclassical critics have begun to assert that there is an important comic element in Euripidean drama, citing precisely those texts as evidence, which undermines Valbuena Briones’ idea (Knox, Taplin). Far more convincing is the argument of S. H. Butcher which Valbuena Briones is attempting to refute, la muerte del martir no nos presents la derrota, sino la victoria del individuo; se trata de un conflicto en el que el perso- naje esta colocado en el mismo lugar que los padres sobrenaturales y, consecuentemente, el sentido de sufrimiento se pierde en el triunfo moral. (Valbuena Briones 245) This observation raises the issue of the martyred protagonist, for an assumption of apotheosis is necessary in order to assert that martyr drama is tragicomic. James jParr cautions against this assumption, arguing that "one cannot necessarily judge by appearances; besides, it is not for men to judge such matters" (89). Parr also cites | jRoger Cox’s observation that ’’losing one’s life out of |loyalty requires total submission to the tragic— no one j |can surrender his life in this way and remain |serenely confident that all is well’’ (89). In the case t I f of Lope s play, this issue appears to be resolved by the confident speech with which the impaled and dying Genesius closes the play. He calls his fate a "divine comedy" and voices certainty that he will be accepted in heaven, I It is only the pagan actors, like Octavio, who describe Genesius' death as a "tragedy." This is also true in Rotrou’s adaptation. The "triunfo moral" of the martyr's death is only one element in the plot pattern of these plays which points to a mixture of tragedy and comedy. In both plays, the final lines self-consciously emphasize that the protagonist is an actor, re-introducing the aesthetic distance which blocks the identification of spectator and character I that is crucial to tragic catharsis. Comedy is also I ’present in the form of marriage. Lope's play combines i the death of Genesius and two emperors with the marriage of the new emperor and the elopement of two members of ! 185 Genesius1 theater troupe. Rotrou actually frames the martyr's story within the story of a marriage: the first ;three scenes of Act I portray the betrothal of the Emperor I Diocletian's daughter to his co-emperor Maximin, so that Genest's performance is part of the engagement festivities. In addition, Genest's final speech does not close Saint Genest; his calm proclamation that "un favorable juge assiste a mon proces...je m'assure sur lui du succes de I 1ma cause" (V.iv) is followed by a scene in which Diocletian; and Maximin refer to the forthcoming wedding. In both plays, tragedy and comedy are self-consciously juxtaposed j in the jarring way that caused critics of the period to question the orthodoxy of generic mixtures. In the three plays under consideration in this section, self-conscious mixtures of genre are overshadowed by the particular type of referentiality that I will refer I ! to as metatheater, which focuses on the theater and acting 1 as a metaphor for doubts about perceptions of reality ! and the self, in addition to providing a forum for the theatrical quarrels of the period, and also serving to legitimate theater as an art form. In Saint Genest, the Emperor Diocletian voices his support of theater through his description of the beneficial effects of Genest's acting ability, which he deems "l&gitime" (I.v). The defensive function of metatheater is most evident i | in Alcandre's interpretation for Pridamant of his son I 186 | [Clindor’s career as an actor. Pridamant questions Alcandre's earlier promises concerning his son's destiny, "est-ce 1& cette gloire et cet haut rang d'honneur/ ou II * on devoit montrer l'exces de son bon heur?" (V.vi). Alcandre’s answer can be seen as a poetic defense, in the tradition of Sydney: Cessez de vous plaindre; k present le Theatre ^ Est en un point si haut qu'un chacun l ’idolastre [ Et ce que votre temps voyoit avec mepris i Est aujourd'huy 1 ’amour de tous les bons esprits, L ’entretien de Paris, le souhait des Provinces Le divertissement le plus doux de nos Princes, Les delices du peuple, et le plaisir des grands; Parmy leurs passe-temps il tient les premiers rangs... Mesne notre grand Roy, ce foudre de la guerre | Dont le nom se fait craindre aux deux bouts de la terre Le front ceint de lauriers daigne bien quelquefois Prester 1'oiel et l ’oreille au Theatre Fransois i (V.vi) ; i ;In addition to demonstrating the positive but intangible benefits of being an actor, Alcandre also notes, "Le 1 I Theater est un fief dont les rentes sont bonnes." Pridamant’s answer is a model for conversion of the doubting spectator: i J ’ay creu la Comedie au point ou je l ’ay veue; j J ’en ignorois 1'esclat, l'utilite, l'appas, i Et la blasmois ainsi, ne la recoignoissant pas. ( (V.vi) | |Here, the spectators are offered a defense for their own j enjoyment of the spectacle which is drawing to its close, I as well as a comic closure to Clindor's story. However, j there remain certain ambiguities concerning this optimistic' i ! 187 closure: the need for a defense of the theater serves to remind the audience of the unrelenting criticism toward this art form on the part of certain powerful religious factions. Alcandre’s metatheatrical defense is not the jfirst to have been staged; Scudery and Gougenot's defenses in their versions of Comedie des comfediens had appeared three years earlier, and had not resolved the debate which was to continue into the 1660’s where it is taken up in | Moliere’s metatheatrical dramas, such as L*impromptu de Versailles . Jonathan Dollimore points out that the acting! i profession was seen as particularly dangerous because it "subverted metaphysical fixity...the players were seen to undermine the idea that one's identity and place were a function of what one essentially was— what God had made one," with the corollary that "nothing so essentially [ predetermined could or should ever change" (63). In j ] accordance with this common belief, the designation of Clindor’s profession as noble is potentially subversive. ! i On the other hand, there remains the possibility that Clindor's fate, as well as that of the theater in its effort to be seen as the equal of other forms of poetry, may not be ultimately and univocally comic. Lope, Corneille, and Rotrou are writing at a moment ' of transition in the history of theatrical representation. The pressures encountered by playwrights who seek to change the standards by which plays are judged can be seen in______ 188 the dramatic treatises of Corneille and Lope, as well as in the discussions of dramatic innovation which appear in all these plays. In the dedication to the first publication of L ’illusion comique. Corneille points out that the play has been a theatrical success, despite its "invention bizarre et extravagante," because "souvent la grace de la nouveaute parmy nos Francois n ’est pas un petit degre de bonte." Thus, for Corneille, the proof I of the value of innovation is its acceptance by the public. The dedication emphasizes that the innovations are generic in nature; Corneille calls his play "un Estrange monstre" in which "le premier Acte n'est qu’un Prologue, les trois j suivants font une Com&die imparfaicte, le dernier est une Trag&die, & tout cela cousu ensemble faict une Comedie." The fact that Clindor appears to die on three separate occasions, so that the audience witnesses the father’s heart-felt grief, appears to me to endanger the play’s alleged comic status, as does the fore-mentioned problems concerning social acceptance of the theater and the acting profession. However, the play itself focuses on the value of acting and playwrighting as professions, rather than on the "quarrel of the ancients and moderns" which is central to the two plays about the martyred actori i J In Rotrou’s play, Diocletian introduces this topic ! by asking which authors Genest prefers. The actor begins by stating a preference for Terence and Plautus, but when pressed by the Emperor to admit that Ce que l'on a vu n Ta plus la douce amorce Ni le vif aiguillon dont la nouveaut& force Et ce qui surprendra nos esprits et nos yeux Quoique moins achevee, nous divertira mieux. (I.v) i 'Genest concedes that at least one innovative author, the creator of Pompee and Cinna, is equal to "les plus dignes de Rome" (I.v.). Lope introduces this subject when IGenesius warns the Emperor that if he requests a play |by Aristeles, "he’ll observe the rules" (I.iii). Obedience |to the rules is, of course, the mark of the "ancients." j I IGenesius points out that "the intellectuals will be annoyed" by a more innovative play, to which Garinus replies, "Well, let them be. Delight the ears, and that's !enough, as long as there’s no absurdity that can be seen" (I.iii). Like Corneille, Lope cites public pleasure as the determining factor, with the caveat that verisimilitude1 must be maintained. The Emperor Diocletian, who succeeds Carinus, shares his artistic views. Diocletian rejects | Genesius’ offer to put on Miles Gloriosus because he prefers , I a new story that s more original, even if less artistic. As you can see, I share the Spanish taste in plays. As long as its be lievable, I'm not too picky about whether it follows the rules. In fact I find the pre cepts limiting, and it's been my experience that those who are too careful to observe j artistic dictates never succeed in making a natural plot. (II.i) Unlike Rotrou, whose characters voice appreciation for 190 both ancient and modern writing, Lope clearly favors the i modern rejection of the rules concerning unity. He uses i metatheater to defend his own subversions of established aesthetic precepts. The dramatists’ examinations of theater are not limited to social considerations. They also explore the relationship between theater and life, which, according ;to Warnke, in baroque drama goes beyond simple resemblance, I i !"not a similarity but an identity" (69). Another pervasive theme, and one which is directly connected to the baroque world view, concerns the relationship between reality and illusion which underlies any examination of the I I I theatrical institution or the role of actors within this ' j institution. One of the most obvious issues is the I multiple layers of the actor’s role, already pointed out in the earlier examination of Gougenot’s play. In the two dramas about Saint Genest, the confusion of roles occurs at a deeper level, involving the actors as well j I ! as the spectators. j I As Rufinus, Genesius enacts a suffering lover, who j is rejected by Fabia. This character is played by I i Marcella, the actress Genesius loves, who loves one of the other actors. The resemblance between real and enacted situations causes Genesius to abandon his role and to ! call his leading lady by her real name. When Marcela jasks, "are you acting?" Genesius replies as himself, "Yes, I'm acting out the pain I suffer from your ill treatment" (II.iv). Here, Genesius conflates two different meanings j of the word "act," eliminating the distinction between the theatrical and the everyday uses of the word. Where it is the similiarity of suffering that causes :Genesius to confuse his role and his life, it is on-stage I |wish fulfillment that causes Marcella to break out of I I character. As in real life, Octavius is Rufinus' rival, I i and as in real life, the father prefers Rufinus. When j i Octavio asks Fabia to run away with him, Marcella exclaims, "Oh, heavens, if only the play were for real...I wish j j we could play this trick on Genesius" (II.iv). When j ! Marcella does not appear on cue for her next scene, even | after Genesius repeats the line, the actor who is Marcella's father appears on stage in order to apologize : to the Emperor for whom the play is being performed, ! I because his daughter "has done the very thing they were pretending to do. In very fact they've left the palace..." J (II.iv). After the audience has dispersed, Genesius again' I ] conflates stage and life, repeating the lines his character had said when Fabia ran off, "but stop her, heavens, for i my thoughts will hardly reach her while she is on water and I am on fire!" (II.v). Genesius is quite conscious of this conflation, for he points out, "now I can say ; it again, since my suffering is real” (II.v). It is in the role that Genesius is said to play best, I I that of a Christian martyr, that the conflation of actor I land role becomes irreversible. As Genesius muses about i J how to enact this role for the Emperor, he asks himself, "What shall I do to convince them that I am very Christian j !when they lead me off to be tortured? How shall I move, what kind of facial expression, what gestures shall I use to win their praise?" (Ill.ii). At this point, his only concern is to choose the most convincing ways to express emotions that are totally foreign to him. As he continues, describing various scenarios in which the j < martyr shows his courage, the stage directions call for i :a painting of a Christian scene to be revealed and spotlighted, and an "offstage voice" to address the actor ! in the following manner,"You will not play this role in I vain, Genesius, for you will be saved" (Ill.iii). Genesius ! begins to believe that the Christian God has spoken to him, and to speculate about Christian beliefs, when he ; notices that another actor is present and has been trying i to get his attention. Thus, Genesius decides that it 1 I is Fabius’ voice he heard, and apologizes,"Forgive me. ' I 1 I got carried away playing the Christian and lost my j ; senses, thinking that an angel was speaking in my ear" j I ' 1-93— \ I i(III.iii). However, this explanation will not satisfy I the audience, who has seen the painting that Genesius did not see, and the "miracle” of its appearance and disappearance. For the audience, Christian and stage imiracle is conflated, for even the devout spectator who j believes that God did indeed intervene in Genesius1 life is still aware that the apparently miraculous revelation iof the picture is actually a result of stage machinery. This may very well be one of the most subversive moments of the play, for it demonstrates the ease with which I miracles may be contrived. Although the play does appear ' i I to support belief in Christian ideology, through the representation of Genesius1 heroic acceptance of martyrdom i and his firm belief in a glorious afterlife, it j | simultaneously draws attention to the possibilities for j deception. Not only everyday life, but also extraordinary I | occurrences, are shown to be opaque rather than obvious, and subject to interpretation. I | In the play within the play, the audience becomes ! aware that the encounter between Genesius and the "angel" is not a part of the script only because the other actors break character to comment that Genesius is improvising once again. Because there have been previous indications I that Genesius' brilliance consists, in part, of this very ability, neither the audience represented on stage nor ! ; the real audience suspects that the encounter is "real" 194 (III.v). This becomes apparent when the other actors attempt to prompt Genesius, so that he will return to the script. Genesius rejects their cues, explaining, Can’t you see that heaven is already promp ting me... once the angel from the heavenly dressing room prompted me and taught me what I needed to know, I spoke my lines for God...the audience on high knew that I had played the role with all my heart, and I won them over so much that now they're taking me to heaven... heaven has decreed that henceforth I shall be known as the supreme actor, (III.v) Even in this moment of religious ecstasy, Genesius sees his conversion as yet another role to play— but this does not mean that his conversion lacks sincerity; rather, it is a restatement of the Emperor Carinas’ dying words in Act I, of the baroque topos that all of life and human identity is as illusory as an actor’s costume. The revelation to the two different audiences that the encounter with the angel was a "true" miracle occurs when Fabius, the boy actor who plays the role of the angel, j comes out on stage to begin that scene. Informed that the scene is over, the boy protests, "I haven't even been on stage yet!" The onstage audience is angered at this | indication that the actors "don't know the play," while the seventeenth century Christian audience would smile at these lines, spoken by pagans unaware of the power ; of their God. The question of who actually "played" the I angel is never resolved, for Genesius diverts attention j from the matter when he addresses the Emperors directly jconcerning his conversion: ; Caesars, I am a Christian. I’ve already re- ! ceived holy baptism. This is the role I'm I playing, for the playwright is Jesus Christ, i Your wrath is written in the second act, and when the third act comes, I ’ll play my martyrdom. (III.v) Genesius highlights the theme of the the shadowy line jbetween acting and essence, which McGaha also emphasizes with his translation of Lope’s title, Acting is Believing, in a soliloquy addressed to his new God: My God, I only meant to play the role of Christian, but You took me at my word. I thought ’twas all a game, but now I ’ve heard the stakes were high; I risked my very soul. How could I know that heav'n’s exalted throng, Assembled in the theater on high, Attentively beheld the play as I My moment of applause sought to prolong? But You took pity on my heartfelt zeal and saw how I outstripped the other players. I played my part so well it seemed real. I ! "Bravo I" You cried, "since this Genesius dares to play a saint, we’ll hark to his appeal; he'll have the part, we’ll answer all his prayers." (III.vii) Thus, it is not only Genesius and the two levels of the audience that are affected by this dramatic tour de force; I I heaven itself was so moved by the performance that it I I ' decided to make the act a reality. Apparently, there I are no limits to what can be accomplished by a truly I i skillfull actor, no audience that cannot be influenced. ! j In this case the outcome is positive, from the Christian J point of view, at least. However, there exists the 196 potential for abuse, a potential which we have already seen realized in Angelo's dangerous "seeming" and in i jTartuffe's hypocrisy, to name just the most salient examples. In baroque drama, the ability to play a role convincingly is seldom viewed as the unequivocally j ibeneficial talent that is represented here. Jonathan i I iDollimore explains that in this period, role-playing has | i |specific social and political consequences: he cites ! |Greenblatt's observation that the recommendations of court jmanuals offered a way to deliberately produce a false I identity, and the need for dissimulation in the practice of realpolitik (64). Thus, concludes Dollimore, the role I of the theater was to provide a role model, indeed a sustained exploration, of the role playing which was so important for social mobility, the appropriation and successful deployment of power. It follows j that the recurring emphasis within Elizabe- > than and Jacobean plays on life itself as a process of playing was not merely theatrical projection; the world as stage, life as arti fice: these were ideas which the theater derived from as well as conveyed to its l culture. (64) I The prevalence of theatrical metaphors in all of baroque literature is both a cause and a result of the anxiety i !over rapid social changes, and the corresponding I instabitlity of identity. The line between the role and the self is less blurred iin Rotrou’s adaptation. Prior to the scene in which, according to the stage directions, "le ciel s'ouvre avec 197 des flammes, et une voix s ’entend," none of the actors have confused their lines and their lives. Genest has little doubt that he has witnessed a "merveille"; his (response is a fervent prayer that his new God "guide mes pas douteux," interrupted briefly by the rationalization, "quelqu’un s'apercevant du caprice ou j ’etois,/ s'est voulu divertir par cette feinte voix," before concluding with the plea, "rendez-moi le repos dont ce trouble me prive" (II.iv). The revelation of Genest’s real-life conversion is also more clear-cut than in Lope’s version. There, Genesius' initial rejection of the validity of the off-stage voice, as well as the questions about the 'scene with the angel, allowed the real and the stage audiences to wonder for a few minutes, until Genesius completely breaks character to address the Emperors i directly. In the French play, two full acts are taken I 'up with the story of Adrian, the converting pagan, before Genest announces, "il faut lever le masque et t'ouvrir ma pensee/,..ce n ’est plus Adrian, mais Genest qui respire/ la grace du bapteme et l'honneur du martyr" (IV.v). Thus, even though the other actors and the on-stage audience believe that Genest is improvising, the "real" audience is never in any doubt, Rotrou has also eliminated the troubling angel; although Genest refers to an "Ange" who I has baptized him, the action is supposed to have taken place backstage, where the actor retreated for a few 198 moments after his initial declaration. Here, it is the doubts of the Emperor concerning the reality of this jconversion that provide Genest with the opportunity to jsay in dialogue form what Genesius expressed in a !soliloquy. Like his Spanish counterpart, Genest explains his conversion using theatrical metaphors: "ce raonde perissable et sa gloire frivole/ est une comedie ou j ’ignorais mon role...ce jeu n'est plus un jeu, mais une v£rit£/ ou par mon action je suis repr&sente" (IV.vii). However, this actor does not conflate theater and heaven like the Spaniard, he focuses more on the possibility of misrepresentation. His acting was "un art peu glorieux" I when it consisted of portraying Christians "pour mieux ! les diffamer et les rendre odieux." He concludes, "il ■ est temps de passer du theatre aux autels," In his final i i 1 } soliloquy, and his farewell to his fellow actor Marcelle, 1 Genest continues to focus on the glories of God and I | martyrdom, without recourse to theatrical imagery except i I | for voicing regret for his past sin, "j'ai fait un Dieu j j le jouet d'un theatre" (V.ii). In Rotrou's adaptation, | the representation of role-playing focuses on the ^ I ( possibilities for misuse that Lope only hints at. Howeverj J j the two plays are alike in their emphasis of the power , I of theater, which has its source in skillful acting, and which has important parallels to existence outside the theater. ( The confusion of reality and theatrical illusion i is not limited to the actors getting caught up in their roles. The other members of the acting company, as well as the on-stage audience, have difficulty determining | I the difference between when an actor is acting, and when he is being "himself." As indicated earlier, the other cast members assume that the new speech regarding I |Christianity is merely another example of Genest’s famed i ability to improvise. When Genest continues to reject the efforts of the other cast members to return to the script, because "un Ange tient la piece," Diocletian becomes angry at what he perceives as unruly improvisation, due perhaps to Genest having forgotten the lines. The ^mperor finally interrupts the play, exclaiming, "votre desordre enfin force ma patience;/ songez-vous que ce jeu se passe en ma presence?" (IV.vii). Genest responds i to this with another long speech about his conversion, which moves Diocletian to denounce the actor, because ;"ta feinte passe enfin pour importunite" (IV.vii). It I is only when his co-Emperor and daughter begin to entertain the possibility that Genest may be sincere, asking, 200 i |"croirai-je mes oreilles?" that Diocletian finally realizes the actor is not pretending, and condemns him to death for his new role. In Lope’s version, Diocletian focuses at first on the role he is supposed to play within the improvisations. When Marcella’s father announces that she has run off with Octavius, the Emperor wonders, ”Is this an act and ipart of the play or do you want to show us, Genesius, that with this sort of trick you can make us actors, too?” (Il.iv). When he is informed that the elopement is real, Diocletian is still uncertain, declaring, "By Jupiter, I suspect that you want me to perform, and I don’t know whether to refuse. Are you acting or not?" At this point, jthe actor Pinabellus enters to inform everyone that I Marcella and Octavius have returned. Diocletian’s rage I subsides, as he decides, "I'm happy with the trick, and since I've played my part so well in your play, there’s (no need for the treasurer to pay you" (IV.vii). After the on-stage audience leaves, Pinabellus reveals that the Emperor is still confused about the truth, although 'he doesn't know it, because Pinabellus lied about the ! . jactors return. i Throughout the scenes where Genesius appears to the 'other actors to be improvising his conversion to Christianity, Diocletian comments favorably on the actor’s technique. It is not until the actor who plays the angel 201 appears onstage, and the ensuing argument about that particular scene, that Diocletian begins to express \ 'annoyance, complaining, "If you don't know the play, why |are you putting it on? And why are you arguing in front Jof me?" (III.v). The actors then involve the Emperor jin their dispute over whether or not the scene with the angel has already taken place. Here, Diocletian finally |realizes Genesius is sincere when the actor involves the I jEmperor in his drama, saying, "Your wrath is written in I ithe second act, and when the third act comes, I'll play imy martyrdom" (III.v). Diocletian continues to see his own actions as a role, prefacing the death sentence with I "I am ready to say my speech" and concluding it with "my ipart is done" (III.v). In both versions of this play, i the on-stage audience plays a crucial role in the exploration of the theatrum mundi topos, | In L'illusion comique. the on-stage audience actually * plays the central role in developing this theme, in part because the actors do not break character as they do in the martyr plays. In fact, Pridamant does not see himself as a theater audience. He has sought out Alcandre, who I has the reputation of being a powerful magician, in order j to discover the fate of the son he disowned ten years I I ,ago. Thus, Alcandre calls the play within the play a "charme," and the actors are "fantosmes vains" (I.iii, i II.i). The reactions of Pridamant to what he sees are ' I 202 I thus the opposite of Genesius* audience, for he believes he is watching an exact representation of reality, rather ; than a play, while the Imperial audience thought it was I !seeing dramatic representation, even when Genesius stopped jacting. In both instances, the on-stage audiences prevent the real audience from participating fully in "suspension of disbelief." The scenes between Alcandre and Pridamant serve to ! ■ break the audience's "illusion" in that the reminders that Pridamant is watching a representation of his son's i life also remind the spectators that they are watching ; I a theatrical performance. The timing of the interruptions in Acts II and III is important, because they appear at the moments of most extreme danger for the son, Clindor, I | thereby shattering the illusion at precisely its most j powerful apex, much like the "cliff-hanger" in a serial representation. At the end of Act IV, the interruption i i comes after Clindor has been saved from danger and is j i united with his love, at the conclusion of what Corneille J had termed "une comedie imparfaicte" in his Dedication. I ! Here, it serves as a bridge to what appears, both to | Pridamant and the theatrical audience, to be the next adventure of Clindor and his bride. At the conclusion of this episode, in which Clindor dies (again), Alcandre appears to contradict his earlier promise that Pridamant I I would be happy after watching his son's life. Alcandre's 203 I {philosophical musing, "ainsi de notre espoir la fortune i se joue" appears to confirm that Clindot is, indeed, dead. Pridamant rejects Alcandrefs attempt to console him by Surging submission to the "ordre inegal qui regit 11 ’univers", declaring that his only recourse is suicide, I |because "cette reflection mal propre pour un pere/ |consoleroit peut-estre une douleur legerej” but it is 'entirely inadequate for the strength of his grief (V.vi). This may also be seen as Corneille’s rejection of the hackneyed conventions of tragical dramaturgy, which offer 1 precisely this type of comfort to innocent victims of i I ■capricious fate. After the representation of the full range of tragic action and reaction, Corneille’s stage directions call i 1 j for the lifting of the curtain, as Alcandre tells Pridamant I to prepare for the sight of his son’s funeral. At this point, Pridamant receives his first indication that his ! i experience has been theatrical rather than magical. • j Shocked to see that his son and his son's assassin are counting money together, he demands, "quel charme en un moment estouffe leurs discords/ pour assembler ainsi les ; vivants et les morts?" (V.vi). Alcandre links magic and theater with his reply that only "une troupe comique" can perform the alchemy necessary to transform "le traistre et le trahy, le mort et le vivant" (V.vi). In order to | | assess the effect on the spectators of this revelation 204 that the tragedy was only a play that Clindor, now an ! actor, is rehearsing, rather than the final chapter of Alcandre’s evocations of scenes from Clindor's life, it is necessary to evaluate the different levels of jrepresentation within the play. Timothy Reiss argues that, because the second play, i the tragedy, ’’duplicates the tone of the first...if one jaccepts the truth of the first, he will also accept that |of the second” (133). Reiss supposes that the audience I must feel "chastened” to discover that there are actually three levels of action: Alcandre and Pridamant, Clindor’s jlife, and the play Clindor rehearses (133). It seems j to me that Reiss is correct, but he does not develop this 1 I I | I idea and its consequences fully. The most significant aspect of the chastisement is the loss of the privileged ' i i viewpoint the spectators have been able to hold throughout | the first play within the play, where they are able to I identify with Alcandre, whom Nelson describes as both 1 playwright and director, as they observe both Clindor’s < 1 story and his father’s reaction (52). This identification * enables the audience to feel superior to Pridamant, who is captivated by the "illusion” in much the same way as j the audience of a realistic drama. When the tragedy is shown to have been a play within the play within the play, the audience suddenly realizes that it has fallen into I j • the "illusion" trap along with Pridamant. Chastisement i is likely to be accompanied, here by admiratio. Reiss ! jastutely rejects Nelson’s assertion that because ’’Corneillej has dramatized his dramaturgy,” the theme of the play ”is not the theatricality of life, but the theatricality J jof theater” (56). Instead, as Reiss explains it, for the self-conscious baroque dramatist, the "primary purpose is the creation of ’an abrege du monde” ' (132). Thus, |the spectator’s delight at a successful dramatic innovation is likely to be accompanied by awareness of the prevalence of misleading appearances outside of the theatrical realm, where perceptions have consequences. At the end of his chapter on what I call baroque drama, Reiss appears to contradict his earlier remarks by declaring that, although L* illusion does deal with j "the problem of illusion and reality," it is primarily a play "on the theater" (137). Reiss argues that because the father and the magician form a stable "frame" for i 1 I the action, there is no longer the fluctuation of psychical distance which produces doubt concerning the nature of < j reality. For Reiss, these metatheatrical plays form the I i bridge between earlier plays in which doubts about the nature of reality are not linked to the theater, and the i 1 "illusionist" plays of the second half of the seventeenth century, because they focus on theatrical illusions. ! i There are two flaws in this argument. First, although i j ! the presence of Pridamant and Alcandre does provide a I y I I 206 t stable outer frame, the confusion of what Reiss calls the second and third levels produces an inner frame which |"tends to waver and become confused on occasion with the I i Ipicture it contains11 (137). This is precisely the tendency i which Reiss finds in the earlier plays but which he somehow overlooks in L * illusion. Second, Reiss' teleological explanation of seventeenth century drama causes him to !seek a linear progression from one type of drama to i •another, ignoring the more likely situation described by Guillen, in which several styles or "currents" are likely to co-exist, at differing stages of development. j ! Thus, although Reiss is correct to see a decline of the baroque tendency to represent doubts about the nature of reality and a rise in more realistic or "illusionist" I drama, in order to preserve his timeline he must ignore Rotrou's Saint Genest. which came ten years after L'illusion, and which Reiss himself calls "without doubt 1 1 ■ ■ " — ■ I the most interesting example of this self-conscious ! theater" (132). In addition, Reiss must also ignore the ! quarrel over Moliere's L'ecole des femmes, which gave rise to a plethora of non-illusionist, metatheatrical j ! plays in the 1660s. j j In these three plays, subversion is primarily aesthetic rather than thematic, although, as I have shown, : self-conscious dramaturgy can also provide opportunities i to examine ideological issues including the doctrine of j 207 idivine right and the difficulty in ascertaining what is jtruly miraculous. In addition, as I have shown, Dollimore jis correct to insist that the theatrum mundi concept and Jthe idea of role-playing have specific social and political |implications. The plays examined here utilize a I combination of theatrical imagery, startling juxtapositions of tragedy and comedy, and the destruction of the "fourth :wall" as the primary tools for examining the problem of 1 iillusion and reality. The prevalence of metatheater at 1 the linguistic, structural and thematic levels is such an integral part of these plays that it supersedes the ; i | status of theatrical technique. In these plays, metatheater takes on a modal function, because it plays a central role in the formation of a tragicomic vision. In El medico de su honra, metatheater is also a presence, i j although it is only one of several forms of self-conscious narrative. Calderon’s aesthetic subversions in this play also include innovative uses of genre, such as the creatior * j of anti-genres, as well as the most startling generic juxtapositions of any drama considered in this study. And, as in many of the other works examined in this study, ! I ! ideological ambiguitites accompany the subversive aesthetic t I practices. — 20 8— James Parr astutely goes against the tide of critics who consider this play a tragedy, pointing out that Don 'Gutierre’s marriage to Leonor, immediately after the death of Mencla, constitutes a "disconcerting intrusion of the comic muse of marriage into the territory tentatively !staked out by tragedy,” so that the focus is not on the morality of the characters, but rather on "this curious I juxtaposition of conventional generic endings, death for tragedy and marriage for comedy." (96) This valuable jobservation can be applied to the work as a whole, for it is not only in the final scene that we find "generic 1 artifice laid amusingly bare." (Parr 96). The first act can be seen as an anti-comedy, and there are hints throughout the last act that the hasty marriage will not ( 1 lead to the "happy ever after" of comic convention. Parr discredits the procedure of "reading beyond the immediate plot," negating the importance of "the potential for | recurrence; the defeat awaiting sovereign and subject j at Montiel" (96). In most instances, I agree with Parr's strictures. However, I will attempt to show that in this particular case, the work actually invites the ; i audience to project future tragic events. Such a plot j pattern can be seen as a reversal of Frye's idea that in the Christian view, tragedy is "an episode in the divine comedy, the larger scheme of redemption and resurrection" 209 (215). In El medico de su honra. the final marriage can be seen as a comic episode in a larger scheme of retribution and death. ! Fowler names the anti-genre as an important source of generic transformation, citing Claudio Guillen’s observations concerning the sixteenth century modification ;of romance through its anti-genre, the picaresque novel, jas a primary example (174). In El medico de su honra, t Calderon experiments with comic generic conventions through | his representations of two love triangles: I I i 1 t |Gutierre-Mencia-Enrique and Gutierre-Leonor-Arias. The first triangle can be described as an anti-comedy in that the worst nightmare of every pair of frustrated lovers has come true: ignoring his daughter's feelings for the Infante Enrique, Mencla’s father ’’atropella/ la libertad I que hubo en ml/ la mano a Gutierre di” (Act I). The verb j "atropella" emphasizes the violent and violating nature of the father's act, as does Mencla's evocation of her plight: "tuve amor, tengo honor" (Act I). This is also > one of the many examples of patriarchally-motivated abuses I of power that I will examine later in the chapter. The result of this uncoraic marriage is the bloody death upon / iwhich most criticism focuses when labelling the play a | | i tragedy. The second triangle is also a skewing of comic 'conventions. Here, Gutierre's mistaken belief that Arias |is in Leonor's house to visit Leonor results in the rupture 210 typical of the second act of a comedy. However, Gutierre does not behave like the typical wounded lover. Instead, I he institutes judicial proceedings in order to be able to break off his engagement without loss of honor, then I |immediately marries another woman. The revelation that his suspicions are misplaced does not come until after his marriage to another woman, so that it becomes a tragic, I jrather than a comic, anagnorisis. In Act II, Calder6n i ;also raises the comic possibility of a compensatory marriage between Leonor and Arias, but here this solution ! I is eliminated, not by the removal of the obstacles to ! their desired marriages, but by Leonorfs angry refusal and her ardent defense of the lover who, although he jilted her is still a "caballero" in her eyes. Thus, both I |relationsips are inversions of comic convention: the imarriage unites a couple that does not love each other, i while the broken engagement separates a couple that is I in love. ! ! Although the bloody murder of Mencla tends to be the focus of criticism, the subsequent marriage of Leonor I and Gutierre is equally spectacular. In the same speech, King Pedro describes the bloody corpse and then orders ithat a wedding take place. Gutierre warns Leonor that jthe hand he offers, the symbol of their union, "va banada i jen sangre," and that "no e s t k olvidada la ciencia" which lallowed him to murder his first wife. Leonor is amazingly 1 211 willing to take this husband, seemingly unfazed by the jbloody hand which she says "no me admira ni espanta" (Act I jlll). Leonor appears to embrace marriage and death at I I the same time, for she gives Gutierre permission to use | his science on her in the same manner as he did on Mencia, "cura con ella mi vida,/ en estando mala" (Act III). Considering that Gutierre has already been mistaken once about Leonor*s infidelity, there is a definite conflation here of marriage and murder. It is not necessary to read beyond the lines of the play to anticipate further misplaced suspicions, or to see this final scene as a compelling combination of past tragedy, present comedy, and future tragedy. With the creation of anti-comedies, and the daring mixture of genres, Calderon provides an opportunity for the audience to reflect on generic conventions, and on their responses to the two genres. This can be seen as a continuation of the examination of one aspect of comedy, I the ability to provoke laughter, which Calderon develops in the first two acts. Calderon uses the gracioso Coquin in order to examine this aspect of comedy without the directly metatheatrical experience of a play within the play. The king in whose court Coquin is reluctant to 1 j serve, because he is "tan severo" and never laughs, can i be seen as representing the sophisticated viewer who takes i , pleasure in being difficult to amuse. In Act II, Coquin 212 appears to speak for frustrated playwrights when he I declares, j No te pido, Pedro el Grande, I casas ni vinas, que solo i risa pido: en este guante dad vuestra bendita risa a un gracioso vergonzante. Coquin equates laughter with basic human nature, much ilike the lion’s roar or the dog's bark. He cites Aristotles’ definition of the human as "risible animal" 'as further proof that the King, and the spectator he symbolizes, violate "el orden y arte" in refusing to laugh (Act II). Another audience reaction that Calder6n scrutinizes is admiratio. When Gutierre explains Mencla’s death I to the King , he tells the Monarch - and the spectator - how to react: "de la tragedia mas rara,/ escucha la admiracion,/ que eleva, admira, y espanta" (Act III). i 1 The king also guides the audience's reaction in his response to the sight of the bloody corpse, telling Gutierre, "cubrid ese horror que asombra,/ ese prodigio que espanta, / espectaculo que admira" (Act III). Both characters use the same verbs to describe the desired reaction. Leonor also uses these verbs in her acceptance of Gutierre as a husband, but she denies that the horror | represented has produced those effects. Like the king, Leonor does not respond in a conventional manner to the | stimulus the dramatist provides. These two episodes 213 encourage the spectator to examine his or her reactions to dramatic cliches, providing an atmosphere of emotional distance during two of the most potentially moving scenes in the play: Gutierre's discovery that the dagger he found in Mencla's room matches Enrique's sword, and, of course, the display of Mencla's corpse. The identification that Reiss associates with catharsis is thus blocked by the self-conscious language of Coquin, Gutierre, and the king. In a sense, Calderon is deconstructing for the audience the very elements that normally provoke admlratio. and offers in their place the pleasure of being an "insider," of seeing the actions through the eyes of their creator. As intriguing as these aesthetic innovations are, no study of El medico is complete unless it deals with the ideological issues. Even Angel Valbuena Briones, whose 1966 edition of Calderon’s collected works offers a rhetorical and New Critical approach, typified by the remark, lo que interesa al critico no es la bondad o maldad moral del personaje, sino el apreciar si puede conmover al publico, si el dialogo en el que interviene posee belleza o es sublime, (nota preliminar, El medico) admits that the play "no significa la implicita aprobacion del codigo, a pesar de la conducta del personaje don j I I Gutierre y de la actitud del rey don Pedro a este respecto" (nota preliminar). My intent here is not to criticize j or defend the moral stature of either character (see the ; iforthcoming proceedings of the 1992 Golden Age Spanish i Drama Symposium, Texto y espectaculo. for Isaac Benabu's controversial defense of Gutierre), but to point out certain elements that seem to provide a subversive, or at best ambiguous, vision of the honor code and the patriarchal structure which it supports. The play opens with a scene where the King abandons his injured and unconscious brother to the care of his l followers, which incites one of the Infante’s followers to condemn the King's lack of humanity, his "fiera jcondicion." Coquin’s reference to Pedro's "severo" I personality may be an indication of a more serious flaw than the inability to laugh. The strongest indication that the king is a flawed monarch is the reference to "las montaiias de Montiel," where Pedro and his followers will soon be killed in the battle that places Enrique jOn the Castillian throne (Act III). I do not feel that 'it is a violation of the integrity of the text to include Jas evidence events that take place after the close of the play when those events are specifically mentioned i in the text. Dian Fox writes that most modern critics i are in agreement that Pedro’s fate at Montiel is significant (29), The foreshadowing of Pedro’s death has often been interpreted by critics as Calderon's (criticism of the King's decision not to punish Gutierre, and by extension, of the behaviors associated with strict 215 administration of the honor code. Here, the evaluation I of Pedro’s character is not due to a desire to moralize, but to validate or disqualify his support of the honor i jcode as part of the process of examining Calder6n's I representation of social institutions and the administration of justice. Dian Fox points out that Pedro is not like the "typically hard-hearted tyrants" of other jCalderonian plays, "who seem so indisputably to merit !the fate of regicide" (30). Fox attributes the ambiguity concerning Pedro and his decision to the fact that "Spain's Golden Age drama inherits the conflicting views of King i Peter from oral and written history" (29). The oral history she refers to is the corpus of "romances noticieros," ballads composed as propoganda during the twenty years of civil war between Pedro and his ;illegitimate half-brother Enrique, which tended to favor J Pedro as the lawful ruler (28). The written history, the chronicles, were of course controlled by the victorious i Enrique, so they depicted his brother as an ineffective monarch in order to justify regicide. Fox signals the importance of the theme of regicide in seventeenth century Spain, which was much more radical than the rest of Europe I in that theorists including Father Mariana, Domingo de Soto and Luis de Molina approved the act in certain circumstances (36). Calderon's questioning of the divine I right of kings, which is the cornerstone of terrestrial 216 patriarchy, is connected to the exploration of other forms I |of patriarchy through the complex plot which links wife murder and regicide. Calderon does not limit his scrutiny of the honor !code to the spectacular issue of murdering unfaithful wives. When Leonor appeals to the King to allow her to retire to a convent, she describes this as her last chance J to regain her honor. In her earlier effort to force Gutierre to comply with the promise of marriage, Leonor's efforts failed, but not because of her character, she claims: pedi justicia, pero soy muy pobre; quejeme de 61, pero es muy poderoso, (Act I) The implication that the application of the code is not universal, and that social status is more important than the validity of a case, is similiar to the representation of abuses of justice that form the basis for the satirical ; and subversive tragicomedies examined in chapter 3. This indication of aristocratic abuses of privilege is also 1 present in the complaints made by the doctor whom Gutierre I forces to "cure" Mencia: de mi casa me sacasteis esta noche, pero apenas me tuvisteis en la cale, cuando un punal me pusisteis al pecho, sin que cobarde vuestro intento resistiese, que fue cubrirrae y taparme 1 el rostro, y darme mil vueltas luego a mis propios umbrales. Dijisteis mas, que mi vida 217 estaba en no destaparme.... (Act III) jThe threats of death continue when Ludovico tries to refuse to bleed the mysteriously shrouded figure Gutierre presents to him; with the result that the doctor does as he has j been ordered because "fuerza es que mi vida guarde" (Act III). Ludovico reinforces the importance of social class distinctions, and the potential for abuse, when he describes himself to the King as "un pobre oficial" |rendered almost speechless by "la humilidad que trae/ consigo" as much as by the horror of the events he is about to recount (Act III). Although both Leonor and Ludovico are apparently rewarded by the King, and compensated for their suffering, the actual value of what ! | j they receive is questionable; the jewel and the guarantee ( of royal protection will not last any longer than the I ill-fated marriage, Ludovico's fate is actually in the hands of the soon-to-be King whose fiancee he killed— a grim prospect. Thus, Calderon uses both gender and social class distinctions to interrogate the aristocratic and . patriarchal biases of the honor code. El medico de su honra combines tragic and comic | i : conventions in such a way that both genres affect the outcome of the play, and the spectaotor's reactions, so j that it fulfills the minimum definition of tragicomedy 218 that I outlined in the first chapter. The meaningful juxtaposition of genres, and the metatheatrical examination ;of how audiences react to dramatic spectacle contribute to both the thematic and stylistic development of the play, blocking the identification or catharsis that is present in "illusionist" drama, and providing the focus that I associate with the dominance of the self-conscious I imode. The impassioned debate concerning Professor Benabu's j paper at the El Paso symposium, which also linked genre land ideology, is an indication that the ambiguities in j this play will continue to stimulate controversy for the ! forseeable future. I offer this analysis as a contribution, rather than as a closure. Ill Troilus and Cressida does not use metatheatrical techniques in its self-conscious examination of the ; relationship between literature and life. Instead, through i the parody of idealizing literary genres, this play reveals the discepancies between literary mimesis and "real life." The degradation of literary ideals is a persuasive form of ideological subversion, or "transgression," as Jonathan Dollimore calls it. Dollimore points out that the idea ! 219 of transgression underwent a significant modification during the Enlightenment, when it became associated with the total rejection of cultural experience in order to i rediscover a "presocial, individual essence" (57). Prior to the Enlightenment, however, drama offers a vision of transgression { which finds expression through the inversion and perversion of just those pre-existing categories and structures which humanist transgression seeks to transcend, to be liberated from, a mode of transgression which seeeks not to escape from existing structures, but rather a subversive inscription within them— and in the process a dislocation of them. Parody is a form of self-conscious writing which utilizes j • precisely this form of transgression in order to examine the link between literary idealizations and "real" life illusions, and to subvert both. In Troilus and Gressida, , i 1 parody is so pervasive that it does achieve the status of a modal presence. i The generic status of this play has always been : 1 debatable. In his introduction, David Bevington points out that in the First Folio, the play was placed, "with fitting ambiguity between the histories and the tragedies,” For his own edition, Troilus and Gressida appears among I .. l l _ ”“ i I the comedies, even though he concedes that the play "is I nominally tragic in that it presents the fall of great ! Hector," and that it "is comic only as what we might call l ’black comedy’ or the comedy of the absurd." Bevington focuses on the satirical qualities of the work in I i concluding that it "represents a culmination of I Shakespeare’s ironic exploration of history.,.." As we have seen in Chapters 3 and 4, tragicomedy often compounds I ■its subversive breakdown of the comic/tragic binary by ^including elements of satire and other popular genres. | Considering the popularity that the history play enjoyed I in the decade preceding this work, its appearance in this "inverted" form within a tragicomic work is not surprising. Mary Beth Rose acknowledges the significance of the generic mixture in terming the play a "hybrid," (208) and although Nicolas Grene demonstrates a lack of sensitivity in declaring that "in the Elizabethan theater jconcepts of genre were too vague and too fluid for self-conscious formal experiment to have much meaning," he is correct to label the play an "experimental drama" j(163). Barbara Mowat writes that, in order to create tragicomedy in a play whose "central events are the betrayal of love and the betrayal of honor... Shakespeare wrenches the tone toward the comic, toward the scurrilous, the bawdy, the rhetorically empty, the parodic" (in Maguire 86-87). Mowat also identifies the Guarinian pattern of I "careful and immediate juxtaposition of scenes of gravity i with scenes of laughter," which is central to her concept 'Shakespearean tragicomedy, in this play (88), Kenneth ! j Palmer calls the play "an excercise in dramatic paradigms; | it takes any man, or any situation, and looks at either in a variety of ways, each one valid for a specific kind of play...comedy, tragedy, satire, tragic farce and the !rest have been propounded and justified, and all are right” (83, italics his). Troilus and Cressida is a tragicomedy in which both tragedy and comedy are presented in truncated forms and are further undermined by pervasive parody, resulting in a type of tragicomedy which consistently i and self-consciously mocks its component parts. Mary Beth Rose initially deflects attention away from the question of genre in identifying chivalry, a f social institution, rather than epic or romantic j literature, as the phenomenon which Troilus and Cressida I inverts. She writes that the Elizabethan court used | i ; chivalric values to legitimate her rule and to try to j contain social change, "to facilitate violent processes of change by idealizing and— potentially— denying them, thus mediating between the shifting cultural formations j i I ; of the present and the past" (195-96). In this instance, { the use of chivalry was an attempt to build a bridge i between past and present, to produce the appearance of | I continuity. Rose reintroduces genre in concluding that | the constant denial of "the possibilities of metamorphosis! j or transformation" expressed through the mocking I observations of Pandarus and Thersites constitutes a i i j "direct refutation of the Utopian ideals of romance" (211)!. I 222 This, then is the focus of my examination of Troilus and Cressida; to illuminate the ways that Shakespeare's |parodies of the entire field of idealizing literary forms i j constitute both a self-conscious representation of the i J interaction between what people read or watch and their !subsequent perception of their own existence and also j a subversion of the conservative social values that cloak themselves in the rhetoric of idealizing literature. j i j I | The first example of self-conscious speech is the i 1 only directly metatheatrical instance in Troilus and Cressida. The Prologue summarizes the causes of the Trojan War, then informs the audience, "our play/ leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, beginning in the middle, starting thence away/ to what may be digested I in a play." This lays bare the device of in medias res, and reminds the spectator that imitations of reality in , all art rely on conventions of representation, and are ! never direct "mirrors" of lived experience. In this way, the Prologue establishes a pattern in which the high-flown I rhetoric of epic or chivalric literature is introducd only to be undermined thematically and aesthetically, here through metatheatrical musings, but more often through parodic strategies of debasement and vulgarization. | The convention of courtly love established in the j 1 chivalric romance and the Petrarchan sonnet is a primary 223 target of demystification in this play. Mary Beth Rose j ;writes that the negative representation of Helen and Cressida I serves to underscore the delusions of chi- i valry by emphasizing the evasive emptiness of its pre-dominant sexual ideology, in which women, idealized as themes of honor and reknown, in fact play at best a peri pheral and at worst an agonistic role in the chivalric conception of glorious male action. (205) 'However, Rose feels that Shakespeare was not sufficiently | i distanced from a nostalgic mourning for the lost chivalric values to produce a "burlesque” or parodic representation of those values, such as Cervantes accomplished in the j i Qui iote (211). I hope to show that Troilus and Cressida is actually quite similiar to the Spanish novel in its rather brutal confrontation of literary ideal and debased reality, particularly in the sphere of male-female relationships. Cressida’s uncle Pandarus first introduces the subject; of Troilus’ pursuit of his niece, a process which he compares metaphorically to bread-making, a rather prosaic activity (I.i). Troilus raises the tone to the conventional exalted level in declaring that in comparison to his lady’s hand "all whites are ink" (I.i). Pandarus I immediately debases this comparison, pointing out that, even if her hands are not so white, "she has the mends," ! or cosmetics, to produce the desired effects. Pandarus 224 I demystifies the ideal of natural beauty with his reference to cosmetic artifice. This may also be seen as a reminder ‘of the way literature uses stylistic artifice to produce jan exalted representation of reality. I Troilus’ description of the relations between himself and Cressida as mediated by Pandarus uses unconventional j commercial metaphors. He calls Cressida ”a pearl," whose j I "bed is India," then refers to himself as a "merchant," and Pandarus as the ship who will convey the trader to ;his desired destination (I.i). The introduction of these "secular" comparisons in the "sacred" realm of courtly love is another form of debasement of chivalric ideals. i i Cressida similarly debases this ideal through the use j of fencing terminology in her description of the various j I "lies" or defensive postures that she uses in dealing I J with men: I upon my back, to defend my belly, upon my I wit, to defend my wiles, upon my secrecy, to i defend mine honesty, my mask, to defend my j ■ beauty, and you, to defend all these, and at all these wards, I lie at a thousand watches. (I.ii) i The vulgarization of the terms of courtship sets the tone for the bawdy and calculated nature of the relationship that will develop. ' Cressida shatters the myth of maidenly modesty when I she reveals the reason why she is not immediately receptive to Troilus' advances; even though she admires him, 225 Yet I hold off. Women are angels, wooing; things won are done, joy’s soul lies in the doing.., therefore this maxim out of love I teach; achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech. Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear, I nothing of that from mine eyes shall appear. (I.ii) I Cressida repeats these ideas when she finally admits to Troilus that she does love him, saying that she was not truly ’’hard to win," but rather, "hard to seem won” (Ill.ii), Cressida instantly regrets her words, i exclaiming, "why have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to 'us,/ when we are so unsecret to ourselves?” (Ill.ii). When Troilus has to leave Cressida early the next morning,) I Cressida interprets his departure as the confirmation {of her worst fears, "You men will never tarry,/ 0 foolish < Cressid! I might have still held off,/ and then you would have tarried" (IV,ii). The conventions of courtly love I 9 j are shown here to create an atmosphere in which women s I happiness— defined as male attention— can be attained j i only through a strategy of constant deferral of gratification. The debasement of Troilus and Cressida’s love is , achieved through other devices, as well. In the scene where the lovers pledge themselves, Pandarus is present I through out to provide an ironic commentary to a i ; potentially idealized interlude. After leaving the couple alone briefly, he returns to inquire, "Have you not done 226 talking yet?" (Ill.ii). He then promises Troilus that the women in his family are loyal in the basest of analogies, "they are burrs, I can tell you;/ they'll stick where they are thrown." Pandarus interrupts again after Troilus has kissed Cressida, denying the audience the opportunity to indulge in sentimental pleasure, with his sardonic, "pretty, i'faith." At the conclusion of the scene, after the young people vow eternal constancy, j i Pandarus does not speak of marriage, the conventional i romantic closure. Instead, he offers to lead them to a bed, and urges them to "press it to death." Pandarus' mocking commentary serves to remind the audience of the I I gap between literary conventions of love and its real-life counterpart, contributing to the ultimate demystification ; I of chivalric idealization, j Cressida forced departure to the Greek camp, where her father has taken refuge, sets the stage for this final ! revelation. Once again, the exalted language of love | I | is immediately followed by scenes of bawdy humor. For | [ once, Cressida sounds like an authentic romantic heroine \ | i ; as she vows, | I know no touch of consanguinity; no kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me as the sweet Troilus! Time, force, and death, do to this body what you can; j but the strong base and building of my love is as the very center of the earth, ' drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep— I (IV.ii) |Cressida then repeats these vows of fidelity to Troilus, 'and predicts that she will be "a woeful Cressid among the merry Greeks" (IV.iv). However, she appears quite untroubled upon arrival at the other camp, where she kisses the leading generals, and follows Patroclus’ lead in mocking Menelaus for being a cuckhold. Ulysses is moved by this encounter to decide, "her wanton spirits look out/ at every joint and motive of her body" (IV.v). Ulysses reiterates this impression as he leads Troilus to where he can spy on Cressida and her new love, "she will sing any man at first sight" (V.ii). Cressida’s actions confirm Ulysses’ words, but, as Mary Beth Rose points out, her defection must be seen within the terms of the social code governing women's behavior in a chivalric/patriarchal society: Cressida and her love exist only in terms generated by male desire. Given those con ditions, Cressida’s surrender to another man’s needs when she is separated from Troilus is inevitable, a necessary preservation of her identification... in its origins in male i subjectivity and its divorce from circum- j stantial reality, the abstract idealization ! of women coexists inevitably with the possi bility of their degradation. (207) However, it is not only female characters who suffer as I I a result of this impossible ideal. Literary I ; representations of idealized human behavior create « I I unrealizable expectations for both genders. The chivalric I I • code can thus be seen as the source of both idealized love and its ultimate degradation, for the very terms i by which it defines love also endangers love's survival, ' In Troilus and Cressida. Shakespeare examines this code \ I I in order to reveal the discrepancies between literary I jand lived experiences of love. This demystification has |subversive social implications because of the use of !chivalric literary idealizations as a source of I i |legitimization of the absolutist court structure. I I Another similarity between Troilus and Cressida and I i the QuiIote is the debasement of chivalric ideals of war I and heroism. Although the Prologue describes the battle between Greece and Troy in appropriately epic terminology, ITroilus asserts that the soldiers are "fools on both sides" I (I.i). He lays bare the ideal of a noble war in declaring, "Helen must needs be fair,/ when with your blood you daily j paint her thus" (I.i). Diomedes goes even further in his I I rejection of Helen as the noble ideal for whom the two sides fight, lamenting that "for every false drop in her j bawdy veins,/ a Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple/ of her contaminated carrion weight,/ a Troyan I hath been slain" (IV.i). Ulysses' strategy for defeating | the Trojans belies the ideal of high-minded and glorious { military planning; he pragmatically advocates, "let us, I J | like merchants, first show foul wares,/ and think, , t > ' perchance, they'll sell; if not,/ the luster of the better ; i , shall exceed/ by showing the worst first" (II.i). Ulysses'i ! 229 use of trade imagery debases idealized war in the same 1 jmanner that Troilus’ use of it debased love. Thersites j |links the debasement of the two ideals in proclaiming, j"all the argument is a whore and a cuckhold... war and lechery confound all!" (Il.iii), j Achilles also reveals a lack of respect for the ideal ■ of fair and equal combat and dignified stratagems; before i j the banquet at which he and Hector will dine together j on the eve of their great battle in order to demonstrate j I | their chivalry, he tells Patroclus that he plans to gain ] an advantage by giving Hector too much "Greekish wine" (V.i). Achilles’ motives for meeting Hector have already i : been shown to be suspect. Ulysses torments him with descriptions of the popularity Ajax is winning by agreeing j to fight Hector, moving Achilles to wonder, "are my deeds I 1 forgot?" (Ill.iii), He agrees to the confrontation out i of vanity and the desire to repair a wounded ego, "I see my reputation is at stake;/ my fame is shrewdly gor'd" (Ill.iii). These two scenes establish the tone of debased ! warfare which culminates in Achilles’ ignoble slaughter of Hector. The unfair ambush is premeditated; Achilles I tells his men, the Myrmidons, "when I have the bloody I j Hector found,/ empale him with your weapons round about" | (V.vii). Despite Hector's plea for mercy, "I am unarm'd. j ■ Forego this vantage, Greek," Achilles orders his men I to strike, and then takes credit for their deed, 230 instructing, "cry you all amain,/ 'Achilles hath the mighty iHector slain'" (V.viii). In these scenes, Shakespeare I I ;questions the idealized representation of warfare, of its motivations, strategies, and modes of operation. He also questions the representation of historical figures j in an idealized fashion; Achilles is not the only "hero" who is degraded. | In terms of political ideology, the representation of the heroic figures of Greek mythology is the most subversive aspect of this play, calling into question I ! the role models for the neo-chivalric aristocracy. The J already mentioned teasing by Cressida and Patroclus I concerning Menelaus' status as cuckhold is just one of many instances where characters mock this esteemed figure ! i j concerning the loss of his wife. The most extreme example j is Thersites’ declaration, I to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a her- j ring without a roe, I would not care; but j to be Menelaust I would conspire against j destiny. (V.i) i Menelaus actually has no role in the play apart from being the butt of these insults. The characters on both sides show themselves ready j i to criticize their allies and opponents at every I ! opportunity, which is in itself a debasement of these j idealized warriors, for gossip is generally associated j with female characters, and therefore considered 231 unmasculine— warring with words, rather than with deeds. When Ulysses criticizes Achilles and Patroclus, he jdescribes Achilles as having grown "dainty" as a result Jof lying with Patroclus "upon a lazy bed the livelong |day" and telling "scurrilous jests" (I.iii). The ihomoerotic implications of this accusation are borne out when Thersites tells Patroclus, "thou art said to be Achilles’ male varlet" (V.i). Ulysses links Achilles’ and Patroclus' practice of disrespectful imitations of Agamemnon and Nestor with the "sickness" that has imperiled the Greek martial efforts: this "slander" is part of a pattern in which the failure to "observe degree, priority, and place" is responsible for "this fever that keeps Troy on foot,/ not her own sinews...Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength" (I.iii). The association of disrespectful speech with civil disorder is an indication of the subversive power of theatrical parody, as well. The final scene of the play brings together the many disparate elements we have been examining: the news of Hector's death, which will "turn Priam to stone,/ make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives" is juxtaposed with Troilus' rejection of Pandarus, who then urges the audience "your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall." Tragic pathos is introduced only to be self-consciously undermined by Pandarus' farcical encouragement, "if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,/ though not for me 232 yet for your aching bones." The debasement of idealized t love is also given one final representation, as Pandarus wonders for all go-betweens, "why should our endeavor be so lov'd and the performance so loath'd?" In Troilus and Cressida. all of the literary values that form the basis for the idealization of the Elizabethan court structure are evoked for the purpose of "laying bare" the chasm between the real and the ideal. Here, aesthetic subversions contribute directly to a more wide-reaching subversion of the ideological underpinnings of a social group which was already under pressure as j a result of unprecedented social mobility. If, as Franco Moretti theorizes, the dramatic representation of regicide in Elizabethan and Jacobean tragedy prepared the English population for Cromwell, if "the historical 'task' ! accomplished by this form was precisely the destruction of the fundamental paradigm of the dominant culture," then it is surely not an exaggeration to insist on the importance of self-conscious dramaturgy's contribution to this change of paradigm (42). [ ~ 233 j List of works cited— chapter 5 i I. Primary Texts Calderon de la Barca, Pedro. Obras Completas, ed. Angel Valbuena Briones. Madrid: Aguilar, 1969. Corneille, Pierre. L'lllusion Comique. ed. Robert Garapon. Paris: Librairie Marcel Didier, 1970. McGaha, Michael, trans. Lo fingido verdadero: Acting is Believing. San Antonio, Texas: Trinity UP, 1986. Rotrou, Jean, Le veritable saint Genest, ed. Jacques Sherer. Theatre du XVII siecle. Paris: Gallimard, 1975. Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. David Bevington. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1980. i Vega y Carpio, Lope de. Obras de Lope de Vega, ed. Marcelino Menendez Pelayo. Madrid: Ediciones Atlas, 1969. II. Secondary Texts i Alter, Robert. Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre. Berkeley: California UP, 1975. j Bevington, David ed. The Complete Works of William ! Shakespeare. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1980. i Buffum, Imbrie. Studies in the Baroque from Montaigne to Rotrou. New Haven: Yale UP, 1957. Cohen, Ralph, ed. New Directions in Literary History. Baltimore, Maryland: Johns Hopkins UP, 1974. j Dollimore, Jonathan. "Subjectivity, Sexuality and Transgression: The Jacobean Connection." Renaissance Drama 17 (1986): 53-82. Fowler, Alastair. Kinds of Literature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1982. Fox, Dian. "El medico de su honra: Political Considerations." Hispania 65 (1982): 28-38. 234 Fry e , Northrop, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957. jGrene, Nicolas. The Comic Contract. Totowa, NJ: Barnes i and Noble, 1980. 1 JHornby, Richard. Drama, Metadrama, and Perception. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1986. Hubert, Judd D. Metatheater; The Example of Shakespeare. Lincoln, Nebraska; Nebraska UP, 1991. 1 Jameson, Frederic. The Political Unconscious; Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. Ithaca, NY; Cornell UP, 1 1981. Knox, Bernard, "Euripidean Comedy." The Rarer Action; Essays in Honor of Francis Ferguson. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1970. Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed.. Renaissance Tragicomedy, i New York: AMS Press, 1987. I Moretti, Franco. Signs Taken For Wonders; Essays in the Sociology of Literary Forms. London: Verso Editions, 1983. Nelson, Robert. Play Within a Play. Yale Romanic Studies, | Second Series V. New Haven; Yale UP, 1958, > I Palmer, Kenneth, ed. and intro. Troilus and Cressida. London: Methuen, 1982. Parr, James A, After Its Kind; Approaches to the Comedia, Kassel: Reichenberger, 1991. j 1 Reed, Walter, An Exemplary History of the Novel. Chicago: ; Chicago UP, 1981. Reiss, Timothy J. Toward Dramatic Illusion; Theatrical Technique and Meaning from Hardy to Horace, New Haven: Yale UP, 1971. Rose, Mary Beth. The Expense of the Spirit; Love and I Sexuality in English Renaissance Drama. Ithaca, Cornel'. | UP, 1988. j Talpin, Oliver. "Fifth century tragedy and comedy: a synkresis." Journal of Hellenic Studies 106 (1986): 163-74. 235 Warnke, Frank. Versons of Baroque: European Literature in the Seventeenth Century. New Haven: Yale UP, 1972. 236 ! BIBLIOGRAPHY 1 I. Texts Beaumont, Francis and John Fletcher. A King and No King, ed. Robert K. Turner. Lincoln: Nebraska UP, 1963 ! !---. Philaster. ed. Dora Jean Ashe. Lincoln: Nebraska ; UP, 1974. Calderon de la Barca, Pedro. Obras Completas, ed. Angel Valbuena Briones. Madrid: Aguilar, 1969. !Corneille, Pierre. L'lllusion Comique. ed. Robert Garapon. Paris: Librairie Marcel Didier, 1970, i . Theatre complet, ed. Georges Couton, Paris: Garnier, 1971, Fournier, Edouard ed. Le theatre francais au XVI et XVII siecle. Paris: Laplace, Sanchez et Compagnie, n.d, j ! I McGaha, Michael, trans. Lo fingido verdadero: Acting | is Believing. San Antonio, Texas: Trinity UP, 1986. Moliere. Oeuvres completes, ed. Pierre-Aime Touchard. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1962. j I Molina, Tirso de. El burlador de Sevilla, ed. James A. Parr. Valencia: Albatros/ Hispan6fila, 1991. Rotrou, Jean. Le veritable saint Genest, Venceslas. In Sherer, ed. j Ruiz de Alarcon, Juan. Ganar amigos, ed. Augustin Millares ' Carlo. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1960, Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. ed. David Bevington, Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1980. Sherer, Jacques, ed. Theatre du XVII siecle. Paris: ! j Gallimard, 1975. I I Vega y Carpio, Lope de. Obras de Lope de Vega, ed. Marcelino Menendez Pelayo. Madrid: Ediciones Atlas, 1969. !II. Secondary Texts t Abel, Lionel. Metatheater: A New View of Dramatic Form. New York: Hill and Wang, 1963. Alter, Robert. Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self- ' Conscious Genre. Berkeley: California UP, 1975. I Andre, Georges, "Importance et signification du rSle de Livie dans Cinna," Romanic Review 79 (1988): 269-82. Arnauld, Antoine and Pierre Nicole. La logique ou l'art | de penser. ed. Louis Marin. Paris: Flammarion, 1970. IBenichou, Paul. Morales du grand siecle. Paris:Gallimard, I 1948. Benjamin, Walter. The Origin of German Tragic Drama. London: NLB, 1977. ! Bentley, Eric. The Life of the Drama. New York: Atheneum, 1970. Berlin, Norman. "The Duchess of Malfi: Act V and Genre." j Genre 3 (1970): 351-63. 1 I IBevington, David ed. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1980. Bliss, Lee. "Three Plays in One: Shakespeare and i Philaster." Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England 2 (1985): 153-70. Buffum, Imbrie. Studies in the Baroque from Montaigne to Rotrou. New Haven: Yale UP, 1957, i i Cohen, Ralph, ed. New Directions in Literary History. Baltimore, Maryland: Johns Hopkins UP, 1974. Cohen, Walter. Drama of a Nation: Public Theater in Renaissance England and Spain. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1985. Colie, Rosalie. The Resources of Kind: Genre Theory in | the Renaissance. Berkeley: California UP, 1973. [ Corrigan, Robert W., ed. Comedy: Meaning and Form. New ! ! York: Harper and Row, 1981. , ! 238 ,Curran-Aquino, Deborah T.f ed. King John; New 'Perspectives. Newark; London: U of Delaware P; jAssociated UPs: 1989. Curtius, Ernst. European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages. New York: Pantheon, 1953. i Derrida, Jacques. "The Law of Genre". Glyph 7 (1980): j 202-32. | ---. "Signature Event Context". Glyph 1 (1970): 172-97. I 'Dollimore, Jonathan. Radical Tragedy: Religion, Ideology, I and Power in the Drama of Shakespeare and His j Contemporaries. 2nd ed. Kernel Hempstead: Harvester j Wheatsheaf, 1989. < ( 1 ---. "Subjectivity, Sexuality and Transgression: The Jacobean Connection." Renaissance Drama 17 (1986): 53-82. Dryden, John. Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, i Ed. George Watson. New York: Everyman's Library, 1962. Elliot, J. H. Imperial Spain: 1469-1716. NY: Penguin Books, 1970. Fischer, Susan L., ed. Comedias del Siglo de Oro and Shakespeare. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell UP, 1989. Foucault, Michel. Les mots et les choses: Une archeologie des sciences humaines. Paris: Gallimard, 1966. Fowler, Alastair. Kinds of Literature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1982. Fox, Dian. "El medico de su honra: Political Considerations.** Hispania 65 (1982): 28-38. . "In defense of Segismundo." Bulletin of the Comediantes 41 (1989): 141-54. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957. | Gellrich, Michelle. Tragedy and Theory. Princeton, NJ: ! | Princeton UP, 1988. Gibson, Gail McMurray. The Theater of Devotion. Chicago: i Chicago UP, 1989. 239 Gilbert, Allen H. Literary Criticism: Plato to Dryden. New York: American Book Company, 1940. Goldhill, Simon. Reading Greek Tragedy. London: Cambridge j UP, 1986. Goldmann, Lucien. Le dieu cache. Paris: Gallimard, 1959. i i jGoodman, Jennifer. British Drama before 1660: A Critical History. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991. Green, Otis. Spain and the Western Tradition. Volume II. Madison; Milwaukee: U of Wisconsin P, 1964. Greenblatt, Stephen. Renaissance Self-Fashioning. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980. . Shakespearean Negotiations. Berkeley: California UP, 1988. Grene, Nicolas. The Comic Contract. Totowa, NJ: Barnes and Noble, 1980. Guilhamet, Leon. Satire and the Transformation of Genre. Philadelphia: Pennsylvania UP, 1987. Guillen, Claudio. Literature as System: Essays toward the Theory of Literary History. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1971. Hernadi, Paul. Beyond Genre: New Directions in Literary Criticism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1972. Herrick, Marvin. Tragicomedy. Urbana: Illinois UP, 1962. Hirst, David L. Tragicomedy. New York: Methuen Inc., 1984. Hornby, Richard. Drama. Metadrama, and Perception. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1986. Hubert, Judd D. Metatheater: The Example of Shakespeare. Lincoln, Nebraska: Nebraska UP, 1991. Ide, Richard S. "Shakespeare’s Revisionism: Homilectic Tragedy and the Ending of Measure for Measure." Shakespeare Studies (1988): 105-28. Jameson, Frederic. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1981. |King, Willard F. "El Caballero de Olmedo: Poetic Justice or Destiny?" Homenaje a William L. Fichter. ed. A. D. Kossoff and J. Amor y Vazquez. Madrid: Castalia, 1971. 367-79. iKerr, Walter. Tragedy and Comedy. New York: Simon and ! Schuster, 1967. \ Knox, Bernard. "Euripidean Comedy." The Rarer Action: Essays in Honor of Francis Ferguson. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1970. 1 ;Krook, Dororthea. Elements of Tragedy. New Haven: Yale UP, 1969. Lancaster, Henry Carrington. The French Tragicomedy. Baltimore, MD: J. H. Furst, 1907. i iLarson, Catherine. Language and the Comedia: Theory and Practice. Cranbury, NJ: Associasted UP, 1991. Levin, Harry. Playboys and Killjoys. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1987. I Lewalski, Barabara Kiefer, ed. Renaissance Genres. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1986. MacCurdy, Raymond R, "Tragic Hamartia in La prospera y adversa fortuna de Don Alvaro de Luna." Hispania I 47 (1964): 82-90. I Maguire, Nancy Klein, ed. Renaissance Tragicomedy. | New York: AMS Press, 1987. i Mandel, Oscar. A Definition of Tragedy. New York: j NYU Press, 1961. Maravall, Jose Antonio. "From the Renaissance to the | Baroque: The Diphasic Schema of a Social Crisis." Literature Among Discourses: The Spanish Golden Age, ed. Wlad Godzich and Nicholas Spadaccini. Minneapolis MN: U of Minnesota P, 1986. • Teatro y literatura en la sociedad barroca. Madrid Seminarios y Ediciones, 1972. Moretti, Franco. Signs Taken For Wonders: Essays in I the Sociology of Literary Forms. London: Verso | Editions, 1983. 241 Nelson, Robert. Play Within a Play. Yale Romanic Studies, Second Series V. New Haven: Yale UP, 1958. I Neohelicon 1988: 15 (1). (issue devoted to periodization) Newton, Judith and Deborah Rosenfelt, ed. Feminist t Criticism and Social Change. New York: Methuen, 1985. Palmer, Kenneth, ed. and intro. Troilus and Cressida. | London: Methuen, 1982. Papers on French Seventeenth Century Literature. 1984. (issue on Corneille) -Parr, James A. Confontaciones calladas: El critico frente ! al clasico. Madrid: Editorial Origenes, 1990. i . After Its Kind: Approaches to the Comedia. Kassel: Reichenberger, 1991. i 'Parker, Alexander A. "The Approach to the Spanish Drama i of the Golden Age." 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Creator Simerka, Barbara Anne (author)

Core Title Beyond clowns and kings: Aesthetic and ideological subversion in baroque tragicomedy

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

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Advisor [illegible] (committee chair), [illegible] (committee member), Lazar, Moshe (committee member)

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