Speech, Social Status And Humour In Shakespeare's Comedies

For a student brought up alongside the comparative liberalism of contemporary western culture, it can be a challenge to fully appreciate the intricate relationship between Shakespeare's comedies and the rigidly stratified society of Sixteenth-Century England. As is the case with any historical piece of literature, the modern reception and interpretation of Shakespeare's work inevitably differs from that of its originally intended audience. Shakespeare was not writing with us in mind, and he could not possibly have anticipated how drastically our perceptions have altered. For example, as the critic Stanley Wells remarks, The Merchant of Venice has an entirely different emotional impact post-Holocaust, than it would have done in the apparent anti-Semitism of Shakespeare's era. Moreover, in reading any piece of Elizabethan drama, and even with the aid of footnotes, we cannot truly recognise the full significance of even the most basic reference to 'current affairs' (evident, for example, in John Fletcher's allusions to political intrigue in The Woman's Prize: "his infliction that killed the Prince of Orange will be sport / to what we purpose" [2.2.46-47] ). Furthermore, and perhaps most crucially, the modern audience member does not possess the same awareness or preoccupation with 'decorum', that is, "[the] fit of speech and conduct to character" - and would certainly have some incompatible views on what constitutes appropriate behaviour. The idea that a person's conduct should be kept within the confines that befit their station is one deeply linked to the ideology of a culture that believed in a strict, divinely ordained hierarchy. It is a concept that would have notably influenced both the critical and public reaction to Shakespeare's comedies. The fifteenth century commentator and theologian Erasmus puts particular emphasis upon the adherence to correct decorum in drama:

Decorum especially [should be observed], not only in its universal aspect [.] but also in the particular delineation of individual characters as developed by the poet.

Nowadays, we may lack the same sensitivity to decorum. Although we might recognise the more obvious examples of characters breaking social conventions and conducting themselves in inappropriate ways, the gravity of such faux pas may be less immediately evident to us. For example, Malvolio's painfully misguided courtship of Olivia in Twelfth Night is quite clearly incongruous with his role as a solemn steward, yet one could overlook the fact that what he aspires to do (i.e. use marriage as a means to upward mobility) is not only a social impossibility, but might be interpreted as a threat to the Elizabethan status quo. As a result, modern readers are more prone to consider Malvolio's retribution to be unnecessarily severe , where the original audience would likely have perceived it as warranted punishment. If this archaic concept of decorum can provide us with such insight into the original reception of Shakespeare's comedies, its application may be invaluable in explaining why the Elizabethan audience would have found certain things amusing. It is this relationship between decorum and humour, particularly with regards to verbal wit, that I wish to explore and expand upon during this essay.

Before I focus upon how social convention can be manipulated and exploited to humorous effect, I wish to briefly outline why I have chosen to examine its connection with verbal discourse in particular. Speech is an integral status indicator in Shakespeare's comedies. It is one of the means through which he is able to depict a clear hierarchy between a troupe of actors who, out of the context of the play, would largely be equals. Costume can, of course, provide a rough indication of a character's status. Certain items of clothing - a crown for example - will immediately act as symbols for specific social positions, and, even in the case of less explicit uniforms, will offer some indication of a character's financial status. However, as Shakespeare reminds us with a Latin proverb featured in both Twelfth Night and Measure for Measure , we should be careful in how far we trust external appearance:

Cucullus non facit monachum ["The cowl does not make the monk"]

In the world represented on stage, a duke can plummet to the status of a friar through the simple donning of a robe , and a rich heiress may become an accomplished male lawyer through the liberal application of false facial hair . Theoretically, by wearing a crown, one actor could look as credible a king as another, so how, besides from overt narration, could a Shakespearean audience have been certain of a character's rightful position in God's ordered universe? The answer, I would argue, lies in speech. Although no-one could deny that words possess a similar capacity for deception, it is far harder to convincingly disguise one's innate manner of speaking than it is to change one's clothes. One could suggest that the disguises of Duke Vincentio and Portia succeed purely because they embrace this critical verbal element - that is, the spiritual and legal register respectively:

DUKE: Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry. (2.3.19)

PORTIA: [.] the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty [.] (4.1.244-245)

When language falters, costume alone cannot sustain the illusion. This is demonstrated well in a BBC adaptation of The Taming of the Shrew, in which the actor portraying Tranio, disguised as Lucentio, periodically lapses into a regional accent that betrays to the audience his genuine social status as servant, rather than aristocrat . This device is not limited to the interpretation and discretion of the production company, but often incorporated into the scri pt as well. For instance, in the framing narrative of the same play, the drunkard Christopher Sly, swathed in the accoutrements of wealth and power, discloses his own meagre rank through his colloquial, idiomatic manner of speaking and inability to correctly emulate the demeanour befitting a lord:

I am a lord indeed [.] bring [.] a pot o'th' smallest ale [.] I am your goodman [.] what must I call [my wife]? (Induction 2, 70-104)

Thus, it is frequently through speech that Shakespeare communicates a divergence from the audience's notion of decorum, and through speech that he conveys the humour inherent in such farcical situations.

Unlike today, where even the standing commoners or "groundlings" at the Globe theatre are typically rather middle class, the social composition of Elizabethan audiences could be considerably more varied. The sixteenth century poet Sir John Davies remarked upon this diversity:

[.] at all the playhouse doors / When ended is the play, the dance, and song / A thousand townsmen, gentlemen, and whores / Porters and servingmen together throng [.]

As a result, with such a potentially broad spectrum of backgrounds, ideals and, indeed, senses of humour to cater to, Shakespeare's comedies employ a wide array of rhetorical features ranging from eloquent wordplay, to crude sexual innuendo. This concept of decorum, however, is something that would have been pertinent to every theatregoer; the oppressed and the oppressors alike. Besides lewd scatological jests (and there is certainly no shortage of these) Shakespeare draws upon this notion of social convention to engage the humour of the groundlings. Consider this extract of dialogue between the disguised Duke Vincentio and truculent prisoner, Barnardine, in Measure for Measure:

DUKE: Oh, sir, you must [consent to die]; and therefore I beseech you Look forward on the journey you shall go.

BARNARDINE: I swear I will not die today for any man's persuasion.

DUKE: But hear you -

BARNARDINE: Not a word. If you have anything to say to me, come to my ward, for thence will not I today. [Exit] (4.3.49-54)

In this passage we witness a character of very low status impudently, albeit unknowingly, exerting authority over the most powerful man in the play. Obviously the dramatic irony is essential here. Barnardine employs Vincentio's own succinct, commanding register against him with the imperative, "not a word", which closely parallels an earlier scene where the Duke interrupts his subordinate, Angelo; "No more evasion." (1.1.50). The ability to interrupt and set the agenda in this manner is unquestionably indicative of a dominant position. Decorum would demand that the convict be deferential before the Duke, but he is instead shown to invert the correct order of things and actually begin declaring conditions for the Duke to meet ("come to my ward" is reminiscent of someone saying "come to my office" or "book an appointment"). Though this scene is predominantly a humorous misunderstanding facilitated by the disguise, it nevertheless depicts a figure of authority being talked down to. The groundlings, closer in social position to Barnardine, would likely enjoy his impertinence and laugh at the novelty of giving the aristocrats a 'taste of their own medicine'. A similar example can be found in Midsummer Night's Dream when Bottom contradicts Duke Theseus for heckling:

THESEUS: The wall methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

BOTTOM: [to THESEUS] No, in truth, sir, he should not. (5.1.180-182)

Equally, Bottom's cold retort conflicts with what is expected of "speaker, situation and addressee" . The term of address, "sir", is a disrespectfully informal title to use in reference to royalty (particularly when even Theseus' noble friends, Lysander and Demetrius, are required to call him "my lord" ). In a similar way to the prison scene in Measure for Measure, there is irony and humour in the hierarchy's literal "Bottom" having the gall to defy the top. Yet, how would the gentleman theatregoers observed by Sir John Davies interpret this? Though perhaps unsettling to a few, these incidents could hardly be considered rationally as subversive. In the case of Midsummer Night's Dream, Bottom is so thoroughly characterised as a dimwit, that this episode seems little more than a continuation of his predictable blundering. This is reinforced by the fact that his aside to Theseus forces him to break role and further butcher his performance of Pyramus and Thisbe. George Puttenham suggests that such deviations from social norms would generally be received as innocuously surreal:

[.] in every uncomeliness there [is] a certain absurdity and disproportion to nature [.]

Furthermore, Shakespeare provides a cautionary example in Measure for Measure's Lucio, whose fate illustrates that straying too far from decorum has its consequences. Like Barnardine, Lucio is unwittingly rude to the disguised Duke Vincentio, but the aspersions he casts upon the Duke's honour take him into far more dangerous territory:

LUCIO: [The Duke is] A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow [.] [He] would eat mutton on Fridays [And] mouth with a beggar. (3.2.121,154-156)

The dramatic irony and absurdity of the slurs may still be amusing, but it would be clear to an Elizabethan audience that Lucio's conduct has become too seditious to be comfortably dismissed. As the critic John Cox remarks, "Lucio [.] prepares his own comeuppance in these lines [by making] a severe authority look helpless in the face of very funny insults" . He inadvertently makes a temporary "scarecrow of the law" (2.1.1) by challenging it and going unpunished. However, his retribution is only delayed by the Duke's need to maintain his disguise, and the issue is dealt with memorably at the very close of the play:

LUCIO: Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging!

DUKE: Slandering a prince deserves it. (5.1.514-516)

This adjacency pair has the punchy momentum and format of a joke with a punch line. Its precise message leaves no room for debate and is suggestive of didactic intent. Though Lucio is shown to finally embrace convention in his conduct towards the legitimate Duke, offering a submissive "my lord" as befits his station, it has clearly come too late. This concluding demonstration of a sovereign's omnipotence also acts to discretely flatter Shakespeare's patron, King James I, who shared many characteristics with the Duke (King James also publicly denounced slanderers, for example) . As the play finishes, having explored the comic potential in disobeying social regulations and lawful authority, this parting exchange provides a brief reminder that in the real world it is less of laughing matter. In the autocratic context of the sixteenth century we might look at this more as realism, than conservatism.

Though Lucio is clear illustration that a misjudged jest could result in loss of status (in his case signified by compulsory marriage to a prostitute), Shakespeare also offers several examples where dexterous verbal wit acts to endow characters with a temporary liberty and status they would otherwise be untitled to. For example, in Twelfth Night the fool Feste's shrewd, adept handling of humour offers him the license to criticise Olivia, his social better:

FESTE: The more fool Madonna, to mourn for your brother's Soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. (1.5.61-62)

Feste, in this case, has essentially reversed their roles and made a "fool" of Olivia, elevating himself to a higher position from which he light-heartedly passes judgement. Malvolio, a humourless "kind of puritan" (2.3.125), is equally audacious with Olivia, but, lacking Feste's verbal wit, is unable to escape the shackles of his subordinate rank. In As You Like It , Jaques, a nobleman, is so impressed by the liberated banter and wordplay of the jester, Touchstone, that he openly expresses envy of his status, particular his freedom to "blow on who [he may] please" (2.7.49):

JAQUES: O noble fool [.] I am ambitious for a motley coat. (2.7.33)

This peculiar epithet, "noble fool", is oxymoronic, and illustrates the dichotomy of anomalous characters like Feste and Touchstone, whose place is perpetually unclear. 'Jokers' do not possess a fixed position in the numerically ordered hierarchy of playing cards, and those in Shakespeare's comedies can be correspondingly 'wild'.

The reason why wit empowers the jester is perhaps due to its association with intellect and, consequently, the educated elite. 'High' wit, in the form of complex wordplay and puns, is one of several devices Shakespeare characteristically employs to distinguish the discourse of aristocrats from that of the lower orders. Iambic pentameter - a flowing, eloquent sounding metre - is often used in conjunction with phonological and rhetorical features such as assonance and parallelism to compliment the speeches of the nobility, acting to imbue their words with an elaborate, imposing quality. Latin quotes and references to classical mythology serve to establish a connection with respectably educated audience members, and impress or alienate the remainder. However, as absurd as it sounds, a sophisticated 'sense of humour' may be as much an essential indicator of status, as these other features. One might even be justified in calling it a prerequisite. The case of Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night supports this assertion. Sir Andrew possesses many impressive attributes; his title, his wealth, ("three-thousand ducats a year"[1.3.18]) and his education ("He plays o'th' viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word"[1.3.21-22]). Nevertheless, he is deficient in this one critical aspect:

SIR ANDREW: I have no more wit than [.] an ordinary man has. (1.3.71-72)

Ultimately, it is this failing that makes him victim of Sir Toby's prank, and facilitates his undignified departure from decorum. Because Sir Andrew is naïve and slow-witted in matters of humour, he fails to perceive Sir Toby's mockery and is reduced to a "manikin" (3.3.45) (evocative of literally 'dangling' below Sir Toby in society) and even a horse:

SIR TOBY: I'll ride [his] horse as well as I ride [him] (3.4.257)

The equine imagery here unequivocally indicates that Sir Andrew's lack of wit makes him far less of a knight than Sir Toby (he is merely the 'mount'). As a result of this single shortcoming, Sir Andrew is manipulated into betraying the chivalric code, showing himself as a coward in a duel, and generally conducting himself in a way ill befitting his dignified rank. From this we might deduce that, far from being the implement of clowns alone, verbal wit may well have a wider role to play in the power struggles of 'high' society. In the opinion of the Elizabethan rhetorician Thomas Wilson, humour is indisputably connected with domination:

"Now when we would [humiliate] a man [.] we confute [entirely] his sayings with some [clever joke], or els we extenuate and diminish his doings by some [cunning], or els we [.] dash hym out of countenance: or last of all, we laugh him to scorne out right"

Thus, Wilson implies that a sharp wit is a means of disempowering others, reducing them to objects of 'scorne', and accordingly elevating oneself socially.

This leads into my final area of focus; the characters in Shakespeare's comedies who make themselves the objects of scorn. This particular scenario arises most frequently in instances where characters of a lower class background attempt to access the complicated vocabulary of their social superiors (circumventing the formality of education). Their inevitable failure frequently results in humorous displays of verbal ineptitude:

BOTTOM: Thisbe, the flowers of odious savour sweet. (3.1.70)

DOGBERRY: To talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. (3.3.33)

LANCELOT: The suit is impertinent to myself. (2.2.122)

ELBOW: The [brothel] is a respected house! (2.1.141)

If puns mark the presence of wit, malapropisms like these are indicative of a complete lack thereof. Such mistakes are humorous because they mark a failure in the speaker's intent to command a lexis above their station, and thus contravene the limits of decorum. The target demographic for this joke would obviously be those with enough wit to detect the mistake, and consequently feel a sense of superiority over the speaker. Were Bottom to successfully command the vocabulary of nobility it would be disconcerting for such an audience. Conversely, in Shakespeare's era it would have been unthinkable to portray a member of the ruling elite making this kind of gaffe. I am struck by how times have changed:

"[.] it will take time to restore chaos and order [.]"

(George Bush, 2003) [2, 952 Words]