Performances On and Off Stage in “Fulgens and Lucres”

Vasilios Pavlounis
998307158
ENG331 H1S
Professor Matthew Sergi
February 17, 2014

Performances On and Off Stage in “Fulgens and Lucres”

The characters A and B are not typically found in plays like “Fulgens and Lucres.” The comedic duo disrupts the play’s relatively formulaic love story by acting unpredictably. They occasionally change their own behavior and actions based on the audience and they are unusually self-aware. This essay will focus specifically on their first appearances and the dialogue they share about performance. It will build off Bowers’ argument that that A and B “freely create themselves from the audience through the play in their moment-to-moment comic action and performance” (Bowers 45) by looking at their odd balance of artificiality and sincerity, and how their reliance on the audience is based on a sense of flattery. A and B’s existence speaks about what it means to have an identity. They are made for and from the audience, yet somehow they hold more free will and personality than any other character in the play. I will argue that A and B’s identity-through-performance is a satirical critique on a society that values flattering constructs over authenticity, and in the end encourages audiences to accept these constructs.

A and B’s meeting is the first indicator that performance happens both intentionally and unintentionally. A assumes that B is an actor and B takes offense. When apologizing A insists his error was caused because “nowadays / a man shall not lightly / know a player from another man” (Medwall 55-57), offering a pleasant joke to cover up his mistake. The meta-joke does not just rely on the lackluster flattery and irony. It is also humourous because A’s excuse works and sharply criticizes society. Bowers claims that the misunderstood “Tudor self-fashioning” is an example that allows A and B to “convey new forms of Tudor competition and performance” (Bowers 5); this Tudor competition revolves around maintaining one’s appearance and the performance is how a person manages it. A’s comment suggests that there are many men dressing extravagantly to seem more distinguished, thus participating in the competition. Dressing like a dandy does not necessarily make a person cultured but it does help create the illusion. However, without the proper knowledge and social graces the clothes are just clothes. A person can be exposed as a fraud, an actor, and in this light it clear why B takes such offense.

The conversation displays a strange dichotomy: to be addressed as an actor is insulting, but looking like an actor (or at least dressing well enough to belong on stage) is desired. Not only that, but being mistook for an actor is aggressively insulting, as seen when B declares that A “speakest in derision / to like [him] thereto” (Medwall 47-48). B is a common man so the insult is not an attack on his class. Rather, he is offended by what an actor does. An actor plays, puts on different clothes, and acts like someone else; this frightens B. He fears that he is being accused of insincerity in his apparel and so he becomes defensive, reinforcing that he has “never a dell” (52) been a player. Of course B’s uptightness is also a joke because he is clearly an actor to the audience. However, his position stays the same and the greater commentary still stands. B is uncomfortable admitting that he has elements of artificiality and is playing a role in society, and the irony and fact that he is a parody of himself is lost on him.

The most direct commentary of societal performance comes during the conversation about the morality of the play itself:
          A.  Yea, but truth may not be said always,
           For sometime it causeth grudge and despite.
          B.  Yea, goeth the world so nowaday
           That a man must say the crow is white?      
          A.  Yea, that he must, by God all-might.
           He must both lie and flatter now and then
           That casteth him to dwell among worldly men.
           In some courts such men shall most win!
          B.  Yea, but as for the parish where I abide
           Such flattery is abhorred as deadly sin. (Medwall162-171)
Secretly A has already won a small battle to support his point; this is because, as noted earlier, B falls victim to A’s flattery. Even though he is against using dishonest compliments for gain, B still succumbs to them—as most do—because of his ego and A’s acting ability. A admits that he sees value in false flattery and it is because of this acceptance he is able to act undetected for the most part. Lying and flattering both in conversation and in the play is mandatory to A, but Bowers asserts that A and B’s characters are “in opposition to the histrionics of the truly powerful” (Bowers 48) who flatter and were flattered. In bringing up the question the duo satirize the ideal Roman past that the play sometimes romanticises. But A and B are not to be worshipped in its place by the audience, and instead come off as clowns for the better portion of the play.

The above passage openly questions false flattery’s morality and whether it should be encouraged. B’s main problem is the sinful nature of the exercise. Calling a crow white is not only a lie but also a bastardising of Christian beliefs. It is a misinterpretation the truth. While in theory it makes the bird appear more dove-like or Christ-like, the truth is still lost and the symbol of a white dove is weakened. And yet, a flattering lie is what brought A and B together and prevented a possible conflict. There is a moral grey area that becomes less defined depending on how well a person acts. Furthermore, the consequences seem to only be spiritual. It is a sin in theory but not in practice, and the play pokes fun at anyone who does not admit to committing these small sins regularly. And if not the flatterer, accepting flattering lies can only inflates one’s ego and encourage others to use the technique more. Perhaps A and B’s conversation is used to keep the play humble, as they are able to bring new life and cracks to the statically beautiful Rome. While pompous occasionally, the love plot can never be taken completely seriously with two clowns always interrupting on the sidelines.

One may argue that because “Fulgens and Lucres” ends in a marriage based on sincerity that the world does not encourage lying, but the story of A and B is really the play’s main plot. They are the real play, the real attraction, and the real depth. The marriage plot, on the other hand, is simply the flattering lie that steers the play away from being witty slapstick. A and B are characters created for the audience and in essence are mirrors and therefore critiques of the audience. Bowers puts it best when he states: “the message [of the play] is the medium of humanist performance itself” (Bowers 57). It is an experiment in audience interaction and arguably much more of a satire than a sermon. It is even B who when confronted about the play’s morality asks “why should [the audience] care” (Medwall 178). No one has a relation to Rome and everyone performs now and then. In truth the closest connection between the audience and the story, the present and the past, are the timeless A and B. With those two in charge nothing can be certain, leaving the moral meaning of the play truly up to the audience.

A and B embody and satirize flattery in complex ways that reflect social norms. Their first encounter reflects the difficulties of sincerity and the morally ambiguous performances people uphold through life. What they are created for is to unknowingly entertain the audience, and it is their earnestness in their confused identity that makes them loveable; this disconnect also makes the absurd characters relatable. Their identity is familiar to audiences who also struggle with false flattery and constant performance. But not only that, the audience also becomes more like actors in the play because they are engaging with the performers. Bowers writes: “look around yourselves, the play seems to say, you are the show and together as actors we provide the action” (Bowers 50). It is a joyous notion, and one that encourages people to drop their guards and to embrace their competence as performers. Perhaps it is in these moments when the sense of artificiality is heightened, charades are exposed, and people relate to clowns, that sincerity is real.

Works Cited

Bowers, Rick. "How to Get from A to B: Fulgens and Lucres, Histrionic Power, and the     ……… Invention of the English Comic Duo." Early Theatre 14.1 (2011): 45-……… 59. DigitalCommons. Web. 30 Jan. 2014.
Medwall, Henry. "Fulgens and Lucres." The Broadview Anthology of Medieval Drama. Ed. ……….Christina Marie. Fitzgerald and John T. Sebastian. Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview, 2013. ……….195-435. Print.

Rejecting the Monolith of History; Shakespeare’s Richard III

Harry Lawson

Professor Matthew Sergi

ENG331 Drama to 1603

17 February 2014

Rejecting the Monolith of History; Shakespeare’s Richard III

‘Though the impact of Richard III was instantaneous and ubiquitous, we should not think of it as monolithic. Later memories were not simply stamped with the image of Shakespeare's play, but rather refracted through it.’

Philip Schwyzer, Lees and Moonshine: Remembering Richard III, 1485–1635

The monument of history is not cast in stone. A more appropriate metaphor for the nature of historical memory, illuminated by Clarence’s dream scene in Shakespeare’s Richard III, lies in “the association of the past with watery burial” (Schwyzer 1). This association is at the centre of Philip Schwyzer’s argument. He posits that “the play’s deep engagement with memory and its transmission is key to its own immediate and enduring dominion over all subsequent efforts to remember Richard III” (Schwyzer 20). Although I agree, my concern exists not with Shakespeare’s postremembrance[1] of Richard III, or with the impossible task of measuring the rupture between actual historical events and Shakespeare’s theatrical realisation of those events almost a century later. Moreover, I want to study Clarence’s dream scene as an insight into not only his conscience, but as an embodiment of memory, and history at large. Indeed, through unpacking his ‘miserable night, / So full of fearful dreams and ugly sights’ (I.IV.2), I seek to reproach the notion of any given historical truth and expose history’s dynamism and malleability, characteristics often not considered applicable to history but which were central to both Shakespeare’s witty negotiation of the past in writing Richard III and to my understanding of the play.

Delving into the subconscious of Clarence is on one level just a dream, a vehicle for Shakespeare’s discussion regarding prophecy and a scene that serves to foretell Richard’s villainy. This passage has many faces, and its ostensible meaning is but one of many. My reading relies on the precursor that we allow dream to serve as a microcosm to memory’s macrocosm. By this, Clarence’s dream embodies not only the vast recesses of his mind but also the vast recesses of collective memory. Clarence’s drowning embodies death, and is petrifying because of his consciousness: ‘O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, / What dreadful noise of water in mine ears, / What sights of ugly death within mine eyes’ (I.IV.21-3). Imagine drowning into the archival mass of history. There is evidence to suggest Shakespeare’s oceanic metaphor extends to such a network of memories.

Indeed, Clarence is confronted with the deceased, ‘A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon’ (I.IV.25); some forgotten ‘unvalued jewels’ (I.IV.27) juxtaposed against ‘Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, / Inestimable stones’ (I.IV.26-7), the fondly remembered, the celebrated dead. In light of Philip Schwyzer’s insistence upon the erroneous nature of “monolithic” reading, we may read Shakespeare’s poetry without shackles of interpretation. Not only is Shakespeare illuminating the terrifying prospect of submergence into the past, of swimming amongst the dead, but he is also asking questions of our approach to history. Appropriately placed in a play whose protagonist suffered a “posthumous character assassination” (Schwyzer 4), Shakespeare illuminates the fragility of memory. We are invited to question the validity of historical memories, to question the truth assigned to certain collective memories and the ambivalence, disdain and disgust assigned to others. Why is it that some historical figures are remembered as ‘great anchors, heaps of pearl’ whilst others, namely Richard III, are remembered for their shortcomings – as an ‘elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog’ (I.III.228), as a ‘lump of foul deformity’ (I.II.57);‘rudely stamped’ (I.I.16) upon history?

It is not only in Clarence’s dream sequence that “the capacity of the past to become the present” (Schwyzer 19) is laid bare. Shakespeare was seemingly hooked on the aforementioned “association of the past with watery burial”, and the theme of memory continues to surface during Richard III. Whilst Clarence sees jewels ‘All scattered in the bottom of the sea’ (I.IV.28), Buckingham’s fears ‘…the swallowing gulf / Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion’ (III.VII.127) and Hastings ruminates;

O momentary grace of mortal men,

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God.

Who builds his hope in air of your good looks

Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,

Ready with every nod to tumble down

Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

                        (Richard III, Act III, Scene V, l. 96-101)

There is a widespread fear of death, more acutely of sinking into ‘the fatal bowels of the deep’ with a whimper, and although Philip Schwyzer is right in citing “Richard's apparent war against memory, his determination to cut the ties between the present and the past so that the future may be his” (Schwyzer 15), this determination to secure one’s future on earth and one’s legacy in the ‘swallowing gulf’ of history is collectively desired.

Trying to distinguish what is actually going on in Clarence’s dream is pointless; here we have Richard’s brother, Clarence, in Shakespeare’s fictional refraction of historical events (a play), dreaming that, in the play’s internally coherent future, Richard pushes him (accidentally) into the depths of the sea. Only briefly touching on the quest for pinpointing what is going on here illuminates its futility. No valid historical criticism can emanate from such a layered textual field. Indeed, the affect of collective memory on Shakespeare’s perception of Richard III looms large in the text, not to mention the undeniably propagandist tone he seeks to engender in criticising a previous, nationally disliked (and, therefore, easily targeted) monarch. Instead, let us read the ‘reflective gems’ (I.IV.31) of Clarence’s dreams as a metaphor for history projecting images onto us, letting us understand traits or just speculate further. It denotes no ultimate signifier, no absolute truth.

The Richard III Society is founded on ‘the belief that the truth is more powerful than lies: a faith that even after all these centuries the truth is important.’ I want to conclude by suggesting their aims are at fault, that a study of history seeking to locate the truth is as erroneous as it is futile. History is written by victors, and is constantly manipulated to propagandist intentions. Shakespeare’s Richard III is a product of the Jacobean court, and just as any other historical document, must be read with caution. If we respect history’s incessant imbrication of fact and fiction, as illustrated by Schwyzer in his mapping out of the transformation of collective memories surrounding one figure from the fifteenth century to the seventeenth, the monument of history is too transformed from an immovable mass to a dynamic, nonlinear and sometimes devious form. Schwyzer and Shakespeare alike “force the question of how, if at all, we can know the past we did not ourselves experience.” (Schwyzer 12). The authoritative, and reductive, monolith of history is useless. Perhaps it will provide ontological stability, the closure and neatness of exact beginning and end, for its seekers. But analysis, discussion and expansion emerge from an altered and refractive approach to reading. Poetry, like history, can be read as a set of oscillating and mutually exclusive truths. There is nothing monolithic about it.

Works Cited

Hirsch, Marianne. Family Frames: Photography, Narrative, and Postmemory. (Harvard University Press: Harvard, 1997)

Holland, Peter (ed.) Richard III (The Pelican Shakespeare, 2nd edition; London: Penguin, 2000)

Richard III Society (http://www.richardiii.net), 29 January 2014

Schwyzer, Philip. ‘Lees and Moonshine: Remembering Richard III, 1485–1635’ in

Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 63, No. 3 (Fall 2010)

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[1] Hirsch's term postmemory — “distinguished from memory by generational distance and from history by deep personal connection”, cited in Schwyzer

Deformity and Behavior in Richard III

Deformity and Behavior in Richard III

Daniel Paek

ENG331H1
Professor: Matthew Sergi
Sunday February 23, 2014
999058433

            In Richard III, Richard's disfigurement gives him agency through manipulation and meanings of his form. However, in "Enabling Richard: The Rhetoric of Disability in Richard III", Katherine Schaap Williams claims that Richard's "manipulations of its negative associations does not finally dismiss them, even though he uses them to his advantage." (9) In essence, he argues that Richard, no matter how well he is able to act and deceive, cannot get rid of the fact that he is deformed and thus, is indeed a villain by nature. However, this paper will argue that the play does not imply the relationship between deformity and behaviour to be static. As Richard's clever deceptions and use of rhetoric endlessly redefine the meaning of his deformity, he is able to freely control the associations to his body. By looking at ways and degrees in which Richard demonstrates control over interpretations of his body, this paper will assert that since his body has no concrete form, it thereby has no concrete meaning. To the audience, the characters of the play, and even Richard himself, the way his body is construed is determined not by appearance, but by his words alone.

            As  Richard is shown to be capable of accomplishing tasks that any able-bodied men are able to do--which includes being able to woo females--it brings to question whether Richard was truly "determined to prove a villain" (1.1.30) since he cannot "prove a lover" (1.1.28). When he seduces Anne to be his lover, he is able to do so despite her grudge for her slain loved ones and her disdain for his obvious deformity. At first, Anne depicts him in ways that align similarly with how Richard had described himself in the opening soliloquy of the play, calling him a "foul lump of deformity" (1.2.55) and a "diffused infection of a man." (1.2.76) However, by the end of the scene, she is left unsure of what to think of Richard as he smothers her with affectionate words.  Anne calls Richard a "dissembler" (1.2.170-180) shortly afterwards, which shows how she is no longer able to rely on her perception of his character through his appearance alone. While she realizes that Richard is hiding something, she is unable to determine if Richard's proposal is fake. As she allows Richard to make contact by letting him put a ring onto her finger, she is evidently no longer disgusted by his body. The atmosphere becomes rather intimate and flirtatious, which Anne could not have imagined possible to share with the monstrous Richard. For a moment at least, Richard is successfully able to fulfill the role of a lover under the most strenuous circumstances. With words alone, Richard is able to transform the perceptions of his body, demonstrating that he can freely choose to wear and remove the monster's skin whenever he pleases.  

            While Anne and Margaret continuously refer to Richard with monstrous images, Hastings initially depicts Richard's appearance in a positive light, associating his body with qualities that you would find in good able-bodied men. He claims to the lords and cousins during the Council:

            "His grace looks cheerfully and smooth today;

            There's some conceit or other likes him well

            When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.

            I think there is never a man in Christendom

            Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;

            For by his face straight shall you know his heart." (3.4.53-58)

These qualities that Hastings points out heavily contrasts with the way Richard has been described both by himself and the women throughout the play. Hastings assumes Richard to possess a trustworthy demeanor and becomes confident in his ability to interpret Richard's thoughts by his appearance alone. By doing so, Hastings falsifies the supposed relationship between appearance and behavior, as his interpretations were utterly betrayed by Richard. Only when Richard chooses to redefine his body does Hastings see him as a deformed, monstrous man. As Williams points out, Richard "draws attention to his body, telling his audience what to see and, crucially, what the sight should mean." (7) So, as Richard claims, "Then be your eyes the witness of their evil / Look how I am bewitched! Behold mine arm / Is like a blasted sapling withered up" (3.4.67-69)", he once again plays the role of a dissembler like he did with Anne. However, what he hides from the others this time is not the monster, but his human appearance.

            As Williams points out, Richard  is aware of the fact that he can "employ his body to distract from the logic of his actions; in fact, he imagines his capacity to adorn himself and fit the social image of the "proper man" that he previously denied."(6)  However, the play suggests a growing sense of self-division, where Richard ultimately does not perform, but actually lives and assimilates the roles that he plays as a part of himself. This is first evident in Richard's soliloquy that follows after wooing Anne. He claims, "Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, / Myself to be a marvellous proper man." (1.2.238-239), which may seem, as Williams points out, merehis way of enacting merely "the possibilities of clothing to accent his fitness for public view."(6) He glees on about the fact that he is able to act the marvellous gentleman through rhetoric. However, as Richard proclaims, "Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, / That I may see my shadow as I pass" (1.2.246-247), the idea that he may be expanding his identity beyond a 'deformed villain' is brought to light. He refers back to his first soliloquy in Act 1 Scene 1 where he claims, "Unless to see my shadow in the sun / And descant on mine own deformity." (1.1.26-27) However, the difference is what Richard sees in his shadow. During that moment of glee, what Richard sees is not a deformed and ugly man, but rather, the marvellous proper man that Anne has made him out to be. This self-division is most shown in his final soliloquy in Act 5 Scene 3, where Richard starts out of his dream:

            "O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! [...]

            What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.

            Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.

            Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.

            Then fly. What, from myself?"  (5.3.178-184)

In this soliloquy, the shadow which Richard marvelled at clearly assumes the role of the second "I". According to Queen Margaret, what Richard lacks, which is the "worm of conscience" (1.3.219) in his soul, is what makes him the deformed monster that he is. Conscience, then, is something that good,  able-bodied men possess. Richard, who was so sure of being an unfeeling villain due to his deformed body being without conscience by nature, is shown to be subject to his rhetoric as much as anyone else. Richard's shrewd demonstrations of rhetorical power have changed even his own perceptions about himself.

            Thus, while Williams' belief that Richard  employs rhetorical power and performative ability to compensate for a bodily form marked with negative associations is true, the notion that Richard is ultimately stuck with his deformity is questionable. Through rhetoric, Richard is able to appear to possess the qualities of both the able-bodied and deformed. Through words, Richard is able to construct images of his body for the characters, audience, and even himself, reality.

Works Cited

 Williams, Katherine S. “Enabling Richard: The Rhetoric of Disability in Richard

            III.” Disability Studies Quarterly 29, 2009. Web. 14 Feb. 2014. <http://dsq-

sds.org/article/view/997/1181>.

Shakespeare, William, Peter Holland, and Stephen Orgel. The Tragedy of King Richard the Third.            New York, NY: Penguin, 2000. Print.

The Effect of Trauma on Richard: Comparing Speech Patterns and Punctuation to Unveil the Conscience Persona

Andreea Marin

ENG331H1S

The Effect of Trauma on Richard: Comparing Speech Patterns and Punctuation to Unveil the Conscience Persona

            In his essay “Toward an Early Modern Theory on Trauma: Conscience in Richard III,” Zackariah C. Long compares the early Christian personification of the conscience and the modern psychology understanding of trauma (Long, 50). When comparing the two, Long makes the case that both conscience and trauma differ from ordinary memory in that they contain “comprehensive, permanent and unerringly accurate” records and they are “endowed with a degree of independent agency...to ‘follow’ man” (Long, 51). Some people, Long argues, have a dormant conscience which eventually “will awaken and its delay [will] only make its accusations more terrible” (Long, 53). When applying the ‘conscience-trauma theory’ on the character Richard in William Shakespeare’s Richard III, Long focuses on the nightmare preceding the Battle of Bosworth when Richard is visited by the ghosts whose Earthly bodies Richard was a primary participant in killing. This nightmare, according to Long, is the unleashing of the dormant conscience or the effect of trauma. Long writes that “Richard hears for the first time the voice of his conscience speaking from within. It consolidates the many voices of the ghosts into a single persona that addresses Richard as an autonomous presence—as  though it were ‘another person within’—even as Richard simultaneously experiences as part of himself” (Long, 66). To deepen Long’s theory and to explore Shakespeare craft, I will argue that the conscience is in fact a different persona, or “another person within” by examining Richard’s first soliloquy and the one immediately following his nightmare. At both moments Richard is alone, yet the first he is presented at his ‘purest’ within the play and the latter is immediately after his conscience is awakened. By looking at the punctuation within the text, sentence length and speech patterns it will become evident that Richard is not the same person when he awakens from his nightmare, but rather, the one speaking is the conscience-persona.

In Richard’s first soliloquy[1] seven sentences are evenly spread out over the course of 41 lines. Each sentence contains on average 34 words (or five-six lines) the shortest containing nine words (two lines). The commas are evenly spread as a means of a calming pause and there are 15 lines containing enjambment, carrying one thought fluidly over to the next line. The Richard we are introduced to in this first scene is an architect and a strategist. He is very aware of the time, putting emphasis on “now” several times and his sentences contain plans and concrete definition of the self such as “I am determined,” or “plots I have laid” (I.i. 30-32).  Without even noting at the vocabulary[2] he uses, however, looking at the pace of his speech and the equal division of his sentences, Richard comes across as a coherent, composed, and systematic character. By separating the seven sentences according to content one can see Richard’s systematic speech structure (even when he is alone): beginning with the present political state, the Yorkist response to it, what led up to present events, Richard’s opinion of (him)self, the plans given this definition of self and what plans he has already set in motion. This soliloquy presents a person aware of who he is, why he is there, what must be done, and when: ‘now’. It is also noteworthy that this first soliloquy contains absolutely no question marks expressing self doubt (especially in a soliloquy). In addition, the only exclamation[3] point is inserted at the very end coinciding with Clarence’s entrance suggesting the urgency to become alert.

            In the second soliloquy (V.III.178-207) Richard’s speech patterns no longer align with the person we were introduced to in Act I Scene I. The changes between the two are not slight which exposes what Zackariah Long refers to as “the single persona...another person within” (Long, 66). Within 30 lines (11 lines less than the last soliloquy) there are 33 sentences[4]. The shortest sentence is one word and almost each line contains two sentences. Most importantly, there are four exclamation points and eight question marks. Considering Richard is alone, the question marks suggest that he no longer possesses self-assurance and questions himself. Long mentions that the “result [of trauma/conscience] is an internalized stichomythia in which Richard wrestles with the implications of his newfound discovery that he is not, in fact ‘myself alone’” (Long, 66). Within this soliloquy Richard mentions “now” only to point the present time “now is the dead of midnight” (line 181) rather than pointing to a space-time when action can be carried through.  Keeping in mind the punctuation was intended in Shakespeare’s time as a means to indicate pauses when read aloud, one can imagine the character speaking this soliloquy (with 27 commas and 33 short sentences), as anxious and disturbed. Comparing this neurotic speech pattern of rapid, short sentences with the systematic, evenly spread out sentences in the first soliloquy, one can see that the two do not align nor do they contain even the slightest similarity. Should one have been presented solely with the punctuation of the two soliloquies[5] one would hardly conclude that the two are the same person. Thus, the one speaking in Scene V is the conscience-persona not the plan-driven Gloucester.

            One could argue against the conscience-persona theory as a result of trauma by pointing out that Richard knew what he was doing the whole time and the ghosts should not have stirred emotion within him as there was no repression or element of surprise. Long explains in his essay that a “dead conscience...indicates that an individual may sin in ignorance” and as we have seen Richard is certainly not ignorant. What is certain is that conscience/trauma will affect even the most vile indirectly “in intense and overwhelming emotions such as terror or helplessness ...[when] even sleep can provide no respite” (Long, 54-6). The Battle of Bosworth can be seen as that moment of intensity in which Richard’s conscience-persona is awakened simply because Richard is aware that he could be killed. Evidently, the speech patterns and punctuation in the second soliloquy point that the one speaking is clearly not Richard but an awakened conscience and it is only because Richard knew what he had done and was not ignorant of his actions that the conscience could have been awakened.
Appendix A

Works Cited
Millward, C.M., and Mary Hayes. A Biography of the English Language. 3rd ed. . Boston:
        Wadsworth Cengage Learning, 2012. 258. Print.
Long, Zackariah C. "Toward an Early Modern Theory of Trauma: Conscience in Richard III."
       Journal of Literature and Trauma Studies. 1.1 (Spring 2012): 49-72. Print.
Shakespeare, William. Richard III. New York: Penguin Books, 2000. Print.

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[1] The text I will be referring to is the Pelican Shakespeare (edited by Peter Holland, 2000) for two reasons. The first being that the introduction to the text states that “the plays which appeared in Shakespeare’s life time show no signs of any editorial concern on the part of the author” and the “editors of this particular copy have revisited the 1^st Quarto, 2^nd Quarto and the Folio” (xxviii). The editor assures his readers that “Shakespeare always had a performance, not a book, in mind” (xxvii). The second reason for the selection of this particular text when assessing punctuation is that “EMnE punctuation was primarily rhetorical in purpose; that is, it was used to point out balance and parallelism or to indicate pauses for breath when the lines were read aloud (as in dramatic works)” (Millward and Hayes, 258). Having examined the 1^st Quarto, Folio and the Norton edition myself, I can attest that punctuation does not differ greatly between these texts and the Pelican has taken greater editorial emphasising the theatrical qualities of the text.

[2] Pointed out in this case to expose the ways in which the content and defining qualities of the vocabulary does in fact match the grammar.

[3] Not present in the Norton nor in the 1^st Quarto.

[4] In the Norton there are 38 sentences. Though it is only a 5 sentence difference between two editions it is still a grandiose difference between Richard’s first and last soliloquy.

[5] see Appendix A on page 5

Gaius as an Aggressive Character in Fulgens and Lucres

Chris Reidak

Professor Matthew Sergi

ENG331

13 February 2014

Gaius as an Aggressive Character in Fulgens and Lucres

            Fulgens and Lucres is the first known piece of English drama to circulate in print. The interlude was likely performed at festive occasions as a source of live entertainment (Medwall 392). This should not be overlooked, because as the first form of secular drama printed in England, versions are likely to vary across transcriptions from live performances. For example, Britt Mize implies in his version that lines are missing from a modern interpretation of the text (Medwall 417). This is indicated by patterns of rhyme and sense in the language that suggest that there are words missing from the transcription (Medwall 417). Mize also wrote Lexical and Textual Studies on Fulgens and Lucres, an article in which he analyzes the use of language and possible meanings that vary across different versions of the interlude. Mize evaluates the use of language across these interpretations, citing the source print to suggest a reading of the text that is more linguistically appropriate than others. Mize’s article acknowledges a disparity between the meaning of the term “checkmate” that can arguably restrict the interpretation of the drama to one particular reading. He suggests that the term should be read in a way that is based on Gaius being a virtuous character. However, Gaius’s virtue is capable of being challenged in a way that allows for a different reading of the term “checkmate.” I will argue in this essay that through a close reading of the language in the play, Gaius Flaminius’s nobility of character can be challenged in a way that makes him appear dishonest and aggressive.

            Gaius Flaminius is considered a virtuous man in Fulgens and Lucres. By Character B, Gaius is called honourable through his “great wisdom and virtuous behaviour” (Medwall 397). Reinforcing his nobility, Lucres describes him as “the more noble man, sith he this wise, by mean of his virtue, to honor doth arise” (Medwall 432). In defending his nobility, Gaius even explains that the title of nobleness “growth of long-continued virtue” (Medwall 431). In the case of an interlude, which in this case holds a strong moral element between the dichotomy of virtue and vice, Gaius is explicitly presented as a character who is more noble and virtuous than his counterpart, Cornelius. Conversely, Cornelius is described as being a great dishonour (Medwall 431). It is important to make note of these superficial characterizations of nobility and licentiousness, in order to deconstruct the language and draw interpretations of the text that may draw contrary understandings of the characters. Gaius’s language can be indicative of qualities that are not at all virtuous, and allows for a reading of his character that could have him appear aggressive and dishonest.

            In his article, Mize analyzes various interpretations of the term “checkmate.” Cornelius says that Gaius “among noble gentlemen, playest checkmate” (Medwall 429). Mize suggests that there are definitions of the term that differ from each other. One possibility is that the term can imply “defeat utterly” or “frustrate” (checkmate). An alternative suggestion is that a Tudor use of the word can mean “to bring to ruin” (Mize, 785). Mize offers a point that these destructive definitions are not apt, because they do not follow the less aggressive character of Gaius. He states, “none of these explanations, with their implications of aggression and disorder, especially fits Gaius’s character or comportment, even in Cornelius’s negative portrayal of him” (Mize, 785). This quote seems to suggest that Gaius is simply incapable of being offensive, because of his apparent passivity. It appears that Mize is attempting to make an assumption of what Medwall intended in his writing. He assumes an interpretation of the term that is based on one particular reading of Gaius; however, if one analyzed Gaius’s language in such a way that challenged his character and nobility, it could negate the one particular reading in favor of contrary definitions. This is to enforce the idea that one should avoid making conclusions of lexical meanings based on an assumption of what is supposedly true in a text, namely that Gaius is a virtuous character who lacks aggression.

            In the final argument between Gaius and Cornelius for Lucres’s love, Gaius opens his defence by saying:

“For loath would I be as any creature

To boast of mine own deeds: it was never my guise.

On that other side, loath I am to make any reporture

Of this man’s folly or him to despise” (Medwall 430).

Gaius then proceeds to verbally attack Cornelius, in an attempt to reveal him as a vain, hedonistic brute, who is not at all noble. This is done by describing the latter’s life as being “voluptuous and so bestial in following of every lust sensual” (Medwall 430). This quote is just as insolent as Cornelius berating Gaius for not being of noble birth. He also points out Corenlius’s “sloth, his cowardy, and other excess, his mind disposed to all uncleanness” (Medwall 430). Gaius appears to contradict his own virtuous character here, and his loutish lambasting shows it. He transitions from being a passive person, who is clearly regretful that he has to be rude to Cornelius, to barraging the latter character with insults. The contradictions create similarities between Gaius and Cornelius, the latter being criticized by Gaius as being so dishonourable that he shouldn’t be allowed to live in the country (Medwall 431). Drawing the similarities between the characters’ mutual insolence appears contrary to the moral conflict attributed to interlude drama. The didactic message of nobility of character prevailing over nobility of birth is challenged by the scornful wording attributed to both of their speeches, as neither appears any more virtuous than the other through their choices of language. There are similarities made explicit by Gaius pointing out “that both he and I came of Adam and Eve” (Medwall 431). The similarity to Cornelius affords a possibility that Gaius could have a more aggressive nature. This could warrant a definition of “checkmate” that is contrary to what Mize considers appropriate. The contrary reading of Gaius as an aggressive character allows the interpretation of “checkmate” to be construed as being more offensive.

Gaius also appears less generous than Cornelius in attempting to win Lucres’s affection. Cornelius offers Lucres a life spent in “ease and pleasant idleness” (Medwall 429). Conversely, Gaius refuses to offer Lucres any gifts, simply stating that “it is the thing that I never used” (Medwall 404). It may appear that Gaius is simply offering his honesty in place of material goods, but Gaius may simply be too cheap to offer Lucres any gifts, a quality that is not at all virtuous. It isn’t the case that he simply cannot afford them, because he has the money to pay for character A’s services in helping with an assertive courting of Lucres (Medwall 406). Mize makes assumptions of Gaius’s character in a way that ignores his potential to be unethical and aggressive. Gaius demonstrates qualities that cause him to appear insolent and cheap, as opposed to virtuous. These qualities allow the word “checkmate” to be read in a way that follows these negative qualities, challenging Mize’s reading of Gaius’s passivity.

            The language used by Gaius in Fulgens and Lucres allows an interpretation of “checkmate” that suggests that he is an aggressive character. This runs contrary to the ideas of nobility and passivity expressed by Mize in his article (Mize, 785). It is easy to read his character in a way that appears contrary to his supposed virtue. His insolence manifests a similarity between himself and Cornelius that calls his own virtue into question. Perhaps he is not the gentle, honest person that is praised by the characters in the interlude; rather, he can be seen as an aggressive, stingy trickster, who is capable of manipulating the other characters into assuming his nobility by means of his apparent good deeds. Making assumptions as to which interpretation is correct limits the versatility of the language in drawing diverse readings of the material that conflict with others. Needless to say, these contrary readings cannot simply be ignored because the text material is still capable of suggesting their aptness. I argue that Gaius’s language is capable of weakening Mize’s claim that he is not an aggressive character. The reading of Cornelius’s “checkmate” that suggests this aggression is nevertheless relevant and entirely possible.

Works Cited

Medwall, Henry. “Fulgens and Lucres.” The Broadview Anthology of Medieval Drama. Ed. Britt

Mize, Christina M. Fitzgerald, John T. Sebastian. Peterbrough: Broadview Press, 2012. 392-435. Print.

Mize, Britt. "Lexical and Textual Studies on Fulgens and Lucres." English Studies 93.7 (2012):

            775-808. Web. 9 Feb. 2014

"Checkmate, v.". OED Online. December 2013. Oxford University Press. 9 February 2014