310 Textual Analysis Final

Malignant Iago: Bigotry as Contagion in Shakespeare’s Othello

            Shakespeare’s Othello is a story of intense prejudice and violence rooted in both misogyny and xenophobia. Certainly, these prejudices are latent in the society surrounding Othello and his compatriots already. However, when tracing the roots of the actual expression of these misogynist and xenophobic attitudes, all roads appear to lead back to one specific character: Iago. Hatred and suspicion act like contagion in this play, and so it is vital to understand from whence that contagion comes and how it spreads, if we are to understand just how Othello falls. It is Iago who sews the seeds of violence through inflammatory and infectious language, playing on the latent fears of both the villainous and noble, weaponizing bigotry to bring down the hero and those close to him.

            One of the central questions in this play is just why Iago undertakes to destroy Othello. “I hate the Moor,” he says at the end of Act One, but his explanations for that hatred are distinctly lacking (1.3.429). He tells Roderigo in the first scene that he resents being passed over for promotion, lamenting that “preferment goes by letter and affection/And not by old gradation,” (1.1.38-39). This seems a reasonable explanation at first, and yet Iago does not stick to this story. In the same soliloquy at the end of Act One quoted above, he insists, “I hate the Moor,/And it is thought abroad that ‘twixt my sheets/’Has done my office,” (1.3.429-431). This too would seem just cause for hatred, were it not for the fact that we see no indication anywhere in the play that Othello is guilty of the act, nor even that anyone suspects him of it. Other characters repeatedly remark on Othello’s virtue and honor. He is repeatedly called “valiant” or “noble” by other characters, both those close to him like Desdemona and those who know him only professionally, such as the Duke and Montano (1.3.288) (1.3.56) (2.3.144). Even Iago admits in the scene immediately after accusing Othello that he “is of a constant, loving, noble nature,” (2.1.311). Why, then, all the hatred and accusations?

            The answer to that question likely lies in the same place as the explanation for why he chooses these particular excuses for it: prejudice. Iago tells Roderigo he resents being passed over because Roderigo himself has been passed over, not for promotion but for Desdemona’s hand. It is not Iago who resents Othello for denying him what he sees as his due, but Roderigo. Iago plays on this resentment—and particularly the bitterness at being usurped by one he sees as below his station—by casting Cassio as wholly undeserving of promotion. Iago rails against Cassio, saying,

            “And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof

            At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds

            Christened and heathen, must be beleed and calmed

            By debitor and creditor. This countercaster,

            He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

            And I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient,” (1.1.29-35).

Here, he casts the status difference not in terms of race, but experience. Thus, the speech not only aligns Iago with Roderigo, it also subtly casts Roderigo’s case as more legitimate than it is. If Roderigo is Iago in this analogy, then he is the seasoned and blooded warrior to Othello’s inexperienced accountant, rather than simply the man who thinks he deserved to get the girl. It allows Roderigo to pretend that his outrage is based in genuine injustice, rather than what it is really based in: misogyny and xenophobia. In refusing to accept Desdemona’s choice of husband, he demonstrates that he does not respect her, viewing her instead as a prize he has been denied, thus showing his own misogyny. Similarly, when he speaks of Othello, his language is violent and often laden with anti-Black language. He refers to him as “the thick-lips,” a description blatantly aimed at Othello’s Blackness (1.1.72). Importantly, Roderigo is not alone in this rhetoric. Othello is called a Moor sixty times throughout the course of the play, over half of them by Iago. While the term is not typically a pejorative one—for Othello is, in fact, Moorish—it is significant that Iago chooses this term to distinguish Othello from other characters, rather than focusing on his military prowess, rank, or any other signifier. The villain seems fixated on the hero’s race, and this helps to explain why he levels the accusations against Othello that he does. With Roderigo, he plays on the hated image of a Moor—a figure who is at once a foreigner, a Black man, and a Christian convert—risen above his station to usurp his betters. With the audience, and later with Brabantio, he plays on the fear of Black men’s sexuality, a fear emergent at the time as European explorers returned from Africa with narratives of savage men and scantily clad women. In short, Iago hates the Moor because he is a Moor.

            This hyper fixation on Othello’s sexuality is a vital thread in unraveling the tragedy of the play. In the first scene, Iago rouses Brabantio to fury with the jab,

            “Even now, now, very now, an old black ram

            Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise!

            Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,

            Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you,” (1.1.91-100).

The language here is blatantly dehumanizing, to both Othello and Desdemona. Sheep are particularly unintelligent animals, making the comparison already less than flattering, but it is also both gendered and racialized. Ewes are precious largely for their ability to produce more sheep, thus enriching the shepherd. The implication, then, is that Desdemona is property about to lose her value by being improperly bred. Othello fares even worse in this metaphor. Not only is he compared to a ram—known for their voracious sexual appetites—he is compared to a black ram. This is obviously a reference to his skin color, but it also casts him as a particularly undesirable kind of ram. Black sheep’s wool was less valuable, since it was impossible to dye. Thus, this raises objections to the match between Desdemona and Othello not only because of Othello’s status, but because of the undesirability of any potential offspring. The lambs born from a black and a white sheep may themselves be black. In effect, the blackness of the ram may sully the whiteness of the ewe. This is then doubled down upon by calling Othello “the devil” and threatening that he may make Brabantio a grandfather. This is a very real threat to the nobleman, as Desdemona is his only child, and so her son would be his heir. He has a vested interest in ensuring that she produces the right kind of heir, and Iago makes it clear that Othello poses great threat to that. Brabantio later picks up this language of seduction and particularly of Othello’s demonic power. He accuses the general of bewitching his daughter—an accusation that also casts doubt on Othello’s status as a Christian—and of using “practices of cunning hell,” (1.3.120). This is not the language of a loving father, nor of the man who Othello himself says once loved him and kept company with him. This is Iago’s language.

            It is important to note here that Othello himself gives no indication that he falls into the stereotypes ascribed to him. Though as a Moor he is expected to be course, uneducated, and rough-mannered, he is in fact eloquent and honorable. Indeed, his speeches in Act I Scene III are among the longest and most eloquent in the play. They cast him as a humble man and a wise one, though he claims to be the opposite. “Little shall I grace my cause/In speaking for myself,” he says, and yet it is difficult to come out of the scene without admiration for Othello, not only for his articulate, thoughtful nature, but for the obvious devotion and deference he shows his young wife. Indeed, the court scene is peculiar in that nearly all the characters show a remarkable degree of respect for Desdemona’s agency. Not only does the Duke allow her to speak openly—something that smacks of impropriety for a woman in Shakespeare’s day—but he also accepts her account without question, as do his counselors. While he does so at Othello’s request, and seemingly for love of the general rather than the lady, it is still significant that all the men on stage yield so much time and attention to a woman and a Black man. All save Brabantio, of course, who has already been swayed by Iago’s influence. It is he who spits venomous and sexist words about his daughter, whose honor he defended only pages before: “Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see./She has deceived her father, and may thee,” (1.3.333-334). He accuses his daughter of being unscrupulous and dishonest, but Othello will have none of it. His line, “My life upon her faith,” becomes a tragic moment of dramatic irony—for it is not Desdemona’s faithlessness that loses Othello his life—but it is also a clear sign of his trust in her (1.3.335).

            It is, perhaps, that very belief in Desdemona’s ability to make her own choices that lets Iago turn Othello into the man who fulfills Brabantio’s fears of his baseness and sexual aggression. Othello, as Iago points out several times, believes the best of people. He also knows first-hand how persuasive and unwilling to be controlled Desdemona is. After all, few Venetian young ladies would woo and elope with a Moorish general they know their father would not approve of. It is these very virtues that Iago turns against him. Though Othello’s loyalty and trust means it takes a great deal to convince him of Cassio’s betrayal, it also means that he never suspects Iago of lying, making him all the more credulous when presented with supposed evidence. Ironically, Brabantio himself plants the idea in Othello’s head that her willfulness might lead to his misery as well as his happiness in the lines above. Iago plays on this fear, using it as a wedge to drive between Othello and Desdemona. He pretends to believe in her virtue as much as Othello does, all the while dropping metaphorical breadcrumbs for Othello to follow, making it seem as if the Moor arrived at the conclusion on his own. In effect, he turns Othello into his puppet, then makes him act out the very violent urges that are so abhorrent to him. Even the most horrid part of the murder is Iago’s idea: “Strangle her in her bed,/even the bed she hath contaminated,” (4.1.228-229). This scene of a woman murdered by her husband’s bare hands in their bed as punishment for imagined sexual betrayal has undeniable connotations of rape. Though Desdemona’s murder appears at first like the ultimate proof that the evil was in Othello all along, and that he truly is the violent, jealous, and sexually aggressive man Iago cast him as, these descriptors all apply better to Iago himself. It is he who begins the play already sexually jealous and violent. He claims Othello has slept with Emilia and swears to have him “wife for wife,” a decidedly sexist and even violent image, as it disregards any say the wives might have in the matter (2.2.321). He even bears responsibility for the violent nature of the crime, for Othello would have done it with poison, if not for Iago’s urging. He has manipulated a good man into killing a good woman in such a way that it appears to validate Iago’s—and, to a great extent, society’s—prejudice against him.

            This, then, is the play’s ultimate tragedy. Not that Othello falls, but that he does so in such a way that he appears to have been less than honorable all along. Even the hero himself falls victim to this thinking. His final lines beg the onlookers to

            “say besides, that in Aleppo once,

            Where a malignant and a turbaned Turk

            Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,

            I took by the throat the circumciséd dog,

            and smote him, thus,” (5.2.413-417).

Here, he puts himself into the role a Turk, the enemy he came to Cyprus to face. Like Iago has done repeatedly, Othello casts doubt on his Christianity and on his very humanity, reducing himself to a dog. In effect, Othello tells both onlookers and audience that he sees his fall not as the mistake of a good man, but as the victory of some depraved, inner nature inherently linked to his identity as a foreigner and a Black man over the civilized, Venetian general he had tried to become. He makes his last act as Venice’s defender to kill himself and thereby end the threat. Where before the color prejudice leveled against Othello has been bordering on casual—such as the Duke’s remark about Othello being “far more fair than black,” still implicitly linking the general’s skin tone to depravity even while praising the man himself (1.3.331)—this is overt, violent, and explicitly xenophobic. Just a few lines before this, Iago falls silent at last. “From this time forth I never will speak word,” he says, a seemingly lackluster ending for a character with more lines than even the play’s hero (5.2.356). And yet, the irony is that Iago does not need to speak further. If his goal is to incite open bigotry and violence in those around him, to infect others with his prejudicial language, then Othello’s final speech is his greatest victory, for Othello here speaks that hatred for him.

            Iago’s prejudice and hatred destroy not only Othello’s life and reputation, but his own self-image. They make him into the monster Iago wanted him to be, to his own eyes and those of the world around him. Likewise, his misogyny is the virus that sends Othello into a fevered rage, killing her and destroying her marriage. In the end, it does not matter that Iago cedes his voice and is dragged off for torture and death, for his damage has been done, and the hateful ideas and language he espoused now live on in others. There is no one left alive onstage by the end who understands just how deep Iago’s manipulation went, and so there is no one who can parse the truth from the tainted version of it he has planted. The pathogen continues, carried back to Venice in Othello’s final story of a man who could not reconcile the content of his character with the color of his skin, rather than the story of a man skillfully manipulated into things previously unthinkable.

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. Othello. Edited by Alvin B. Kernan, Signet Classics, 1998.

310 Text Analysis Final

Preserving through Translation

The title Translations suggests the plurality of any single translation. A translation is an expression of knowledge into another language, or a conversion of conditions which renders an original into a new form. However, these definitions are not necessarily independent of one another. When standardizing the Gaelic names for landmarks, Owen and Lieutenant Yolland first consider the literal translations of the local names into English. Such that, the river called “Bun na hAbhann” literally translates into “bottom of the river’ (Friel 35). However, when still in Gaelic, the place is understood to be the mouth of the river where a little beach exists, not the riverbed like the English literal translation suggests. With the Ordinance of 1833, the conflict becomes how does a community preserve cultural ideas when translating the culture from Gaelic to English. Each time something doesn’t translate literally across languages, the community loses part of its cultural knowledge. In his work Translations, Brian Friel employs community melodrama to comment that language cannot preserve cultural knowledge. 

To begin, language is not knowledge. Language is the communication of knowledge by assigning a definition to one’s thought in order to transfer this knowledge among individuals (Robins). In Act I, the play opens with Manus— the school master’s compassionate, eldest son— teaching Sarah— a local woman characterized by a speech defect so disabling that even she has accepted that she is “considered locally to be dumb”— to introduce herself (Friel 11). Because she is “considered” suggests the perception of her mental capacity, but does not confirm the accuracy in the local belief. The local characterization of Sarah as “dumb” reflects her inability to communicate her knowledge through language and implies that she simply cannot learn and therefore, does not know. However, to form language is not knowledge, such that Sarah knows how the town perceives her, although she herself cannot assign the language to express how this perception affects her. In response to this perception, when she wants to communicate, “she grunts and makes unintelligible nasal sounds” without any effort to form a coherent string of words (Friel 11). It is inexplicit and therefore ambivalent if her absence of language is a product of incapacity or a manifestation of lifelong frustration toward her environment. 

When Manus attempts to teach Sarah, he is not condescending or belittling. He does not call her dumb, or point out that her abilities should be further by this age. Instead, he repeats the sounds slowly to her: “My name is Sarah” (Friel 12). He shows patience as she formulates the sounds back. Even if Sarah is actually dumb, she still has a compilation of personal knowledge, including presumably her own name. Manus' lesson is in mimicry and confidence to attempt to communicate coherently. It is not an introduction to new information. Manus aids Sarah to gain the means to communicate using the local language which allows her to formulate words to her knowledge— such as her name— and communicate this knowledge to others. As such, in the end of the act, when Owen— Manus’ younger brother— introduces himself to Sarah for the first time, she does not hesitate to reply, telling Owen: “My name is Sarah Johnny Sally” (Friel 28). Her sentence is longer than that practiced with Manus and offers knowledge beyond what Manus has approached in his lesson. With her response, Sarah confirms her knowledge base, despite her the failures in language skills to communicate such knowledge with others. With a coherent and common form of communication, Sarah is able to pass her knowledge— even if it is limited— to her recipient.  

Yet, a common language between individuals offers a means to communicate their knowledge, but does not ensure either individual will transfer knowledge between individuals. In the hedge-school, Hugh— the schoolmaster— teaches his students the classical and local language skills necessary to transfer knowledge within the local community. Students who have acquired the language skills taught are able to converse with others who share these skills. For example, Manus can converse with Hugh because they are both fluent in Gaelic, but Sarah— although she is surrounded by Gaelic and understands the language when spoken to her— cannot freely converse in the same way because of her speech impertinent limits her ability to communicate. However, the character’s competence in assigning the language to ideas is not necessarily equivalent to transferring their knowledge. For example, Doalty— characterized as a “slightly thick young man” who studies under Hugh— freely converses the community’s gossip with his fellow students in order to suggest his intelligence, although he himself is “daft” (Friel 17). Doalty’s characterization as “thick” suggests his capacity for accepting new knowledge is limited, while his willingness to transfer knowledge is not. When Doalty enters the barn, he imparts an illusion of self-proclaimed intelligence through language. He tells his schoolmates that whenever a local couple would set up a pole to mark where the land they needed to work, he would “creep up and shift it twenty or thirty paces to the side” (Friel 16). He demonstrates a wide understanding of his mode of storytelling as he times and animates his delivery for comedic effect. He does not describe the couple’s reaction. In a tone of absoluteness, he suggests his credibility. However, his demand to drive the conversation and his arrogant manner— a consequence of the illusion of his higher intelligence— hints at his masqueraded ignorance. Instead, he pauses, then imitates “two very agitated and confused sappers in rapid conversation” (Friel 18). The decision to gesture the ending, rather than to continue telling the story is much like Sarah’s expression through unintelligible sounds. However, because Doalty begins by expressing his ideas with words, the gestures are comprehensible, but not intelligent. Perhaps he changes his mode of transferring information to increase his audience’s bodily reactions. Regardless, the change from verbal to physical communication loses definition of Doalty’s knowledge while still expressing a gesture of his knowledge. 

However, without any common language to define and communicate knowledge, the knowledge is lost and incapable of being transferred forward. When languages decline in popularity, the knowledge it holds must be translated across languages in order to out-survive its mother language. Anything which is forgotten in the translation process is lost when the mother language disappears from everyday use. In Act II, scene one, Owen questions whether they should protect a name with community significance that happened “a hundred-and-fifty years ago” if even the Gaelic community which named it has forgotten the history (Friel 44). He dares Yolland to “ask Doalty— or Maire— or Bridget— even [his] father— even Manus why its called Tobair Vree” (Friel 44). His tone is frustrated. He implies that all these individuals within the community already lack the historical knowledge of the name, despite knowing the language which holds this knowledge. His polysyndeton structure, further separated by em dashes before the conjunctions, exaggerates the futility in Yolland’s sentimentality. When reflecting that the history has already eroded and cannot be saved, Owen retells the story to Yolland as “[his] grandfather told it to [him]” of the landmark’s name (Friel 44). Regardless, Yolland insists they preserve the knowledge of the community’s history. He observes that Owen’s frustration is ironic. The act of retelling the story demonstrates that even if gradually destroyed, the history remains in some form, even if Owen is correct that only he remembers the history behind the name. When the language is standardized, when future generations no longer learn the Gaelic language, there will be no suggestion of the history the name preserves if the landmark’s name changes. Yolland insists his certainty that he wants the name to remain unchanged, reflecting his fear of losing a history that isn’t his. If the two men are to deny names with community significance from being translated onto the future standardized map, they are then responsible for the lost knowledge.  As such, Yolland’s insistence recognizes that to translate without regard to local historical knowledge is to fail the culture.

Even when the knowledge is transferred through translation, the translations are rarely a literal and exact translation of the original meaning. They are the reinterpretations of their predecessors, and often lose or gain information. However, through translation, these reinterpretations can be shared among a larger audience. In Act III, Hugh— while characterized as “wet and drunk”— attempts to recite lines from the first book of Virgil’s the Aeneid inside the school as it rains outside (Friel 64). By characterizing Hugh as not just drunk, but wet without specifying if he is wet with sweat, rain, or liquor suggests the incapacitating nature of his current state. He is not in control of his mind or body. Even the knowledge and ideas which he claims, “sure I know it backways,” must be defined using language before transferred to another individual (Friel 68). In his classical training and position of the schoolmaster, he undoubtedly knows the entirety of the Virgil in both original Latin and colloquial translation. When he attempts to recite the lines, he begins in Latin.  He recites, “urbs antiqua fuit”— translated literally in English to “there was an ancient city”—  but then continues in a colloquial and loose translation (Friel 68). He appears to be unaware that in his intoxicated state he switches between the original text and translation. Hugh’s translation into colloquial language employs contractions, aposiopesis, and ellipsis. This adaption does not reflect exactly the original text but reinterprets the work to language accessible to his audience, including Maire, Jimmy, and Owen. However, in the middle of the excerpt, Hugh forgets the text both in Latin and in translation, repeating “such was the course” until he decides to start over (Friel 68). Hugh’s response stems from frustration that the idea cannot be defined, despite his certainty that he knows the work. On his second time through, his recitation is exactly as it was previously— the same colloquial contractions and aposiopesis employed— but the play ends in an ellipsis just where his memory began to fail him on his first attempt (Friel 68). The ending is ambiguous for whether Hugh could translate further, or whether, in his drunken state, the knowledge is temporarily lost.

    Unlike Hugh’s intoxicated account, when an entire culture undergoes a language translation, some of the cultural knowledge is irreversibly lost. When a translation fails to assign a new language to ideas, the knowledge these ideas stem from consequently fails to be transferred. Only the ideas which community members dedicate attention to translating are eligible for long-term preservation. Each individual attempts to preserve the knowledge they personally find significant. However, even these ideas are not guaranteed to be transferred forward; they just obtain better odds to be defined. The remaining ideas, which according to individuals, are decidedly less significant, cannot be transferred forward unless redefined first. If the community is not careful, these ideas may be neglected in the cultural translation and, therefore, lost when the mother language dies. To lose these ideas to negligence, especially in favor of personal melodramas like the play focuses on, fails the community. A community must offer attention to configuring the ideas which best represent their cultural knowledge to be transferred, even if these do not align with what individuals find personally significant. Ultimately, it is the communal response which preserves cultural knowledge. Any set of ideas can be translated. However, it is selecting which should be prioritized, redefined, then made certain that it is transferred to several individuals which best preserves this knowledge. Language is ultimately a vehicle of preservation. Without the community prioritizing which ideas should be redefined and transferred forward, a language in any capacity fails to preserve this knowledge indefinitely. 

Works Cited

Friel, Brian. Translations. Faber and Faber, 1981.

Robins, Robert Henry, and David Crystal. “Language.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia 

Britannica, IInc., 5 Jan. 2018, www.britannica.com/topic/language

310 Textual Analysis: The Winter's Tale (Final Draft)

Here is the link to a viewable PDF of my essay. 

310 Textual Analysis FInal

Risky Boundaries Between Homosocial and Homosexual Relationships

During the 16^th century, London went through a religious reformation with the rise of the Protestant community. The Protestant reformations lead the public in a moral crusade against most things promoted by the theatre companies, things that influenced bad and sinful behavior. Shakespeare’s play, As You Like It, imbedded a primary sinful component of homosocial relationships within the storyline. Protestant opinions righteously believed that close homosocial relationships should be closely watched, that male and females had specified gendered clothing, and that marriage was a union specifically between man and woman. As You Like Its main character, Rosalind, embodies both male and female characteristics putting into question the other character’s perceptions of their own sexuality.

The heroine of this play is Rosalind the daughter of an exiled Duke who must make her way through the world by pretending to be a man. This gender pretense creates an interesting dynamic between her and other characters that she interacts with. The most interesting thing about this character and her relationships is the way that her character projects a lesbian appeal with other female counterparts, Celia and Phoebe. The relationship that Rosalind has with Celia is, at the surface, a relationship between two cousins who are extremely close, but beneath that there are specific times when there seems to be a bigger story behind Celia’s affections toward Rosalind. The scene that comes into mind is in act I scene 3. Duke Frederick is throwing Rosalind out of court and Celia comes to Rosalind’s defense and boldly states, “Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege. I cannot live out of her company” (1.3. 89-90). This scene clearly display’s Celia’s feelings toward Rosalind and how open she is about expressing what their relationship means to her. Along with the previous scene, Celia claims Rosalind as her own and is open in how she addresses and reacts to Rosalind’s misfortunes, “O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go” (1.3. 94). Act I scene 3 with Rosalind’s banishment has extensive examples of Celia’s deeper feelings for Rosalind including this line where Celia is openly voicing her feelings towards Rosalind, where Rosalind does not necessarily reciprocate these feelings, “Rosalind lacks then the love which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl” (1.3. 102-4). Despite Celia’s strong feelings for Rosalind she also expresses strong feelings against marriage. “Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal; but love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again” (1.2. 26-9). This scene depicts Celia as a female who openly rejects the idea of marriage in front of another woman she shows extensive affections to, making this notion of rejection dangerous in a society that is weary of the dangers of homosocial bonds. Celia is an interesting character because she wants the best for Rosalind and does not abandon her in any situation, where she encourages Rosalind’s affection toward Orlando, yet there are scenes where Celia is disapproving of Rosalind’s love for Orlando and sets doubt within Rosalind over Orlando’s feelings. In act III scene 4, where Rosalind is pacing and wondering why Orlando has not come to court her, Celia ascribes herself to Rosalind and demonstrates her deeper feelings as she tells Rosalind that Orlando has no feelings of love for her, “Yes, I think he is not a pickpurse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or worm-eaten nut” (3.4. 21-4). At the end of act 3 scene 4, Celia seems especially displeased by how much Rosalind dotes over Orlando:

“O, that’s a brave man. He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quiet traverse, athwart the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter that spurs his horse but on one side breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all’s brave that youth mounts and folly guides” (3.4. 38-43).

Celia tells Rosalind pointblank that she does not think he was honest when telling her he was in love, or rather he is not in love anymore. Creating this sense of doubt for Rosalind shows how much Celia wants Rosalind to hesitate with her feelings for Orlando. Rosalind not fully convinced by this discourse is interrupted, interfering in the misfortune of the couple Phoebe and Silvius in act III scene 5.

This play transitions from an environment of nobility within royal court to shepherds in the forest. With this setting change, Rosalind, the female protagonist also transforms herself to disguise herself within the new environment of the forest; she conceals herself with male clothing, and becomes a man named Ganymede. As a man she meets Phoebe some village girl who is being pursued by Silvius, a shepherd. This moment occurs in act 3 scene 5, Rosalind, now Ganymede is upset to see Silvius’ looking pathetic and Phoebe’s haughty attitude, and approaches the couple. Ganymede interrupts the couple by insulting both parties, but especially attacking Phoebe and scolding her for rejecting Silvius, but as this happens Phoebe realizes an attachment toward Ganymede. “Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together. I had rather hear you chide than this man woo” (3.5. 69-70). During this interaction Rosalind, begins to realize that Phoebe is starting to show interest in Ganymede, “He’s fall’n in love with your foulness. And she’ll fall in love with my anger” (3.5. 71-73). Within this relationship there seems to be a sense that Phoebe has taken to the male persona that Rosalind is embodying as Ganymede. Phoebe abandons the man that is attempting to court her and is attracted to a man who is fact a woman, “Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: ‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight’” (3.5. 86-7). Rosalind has successfully become a man, with the way she has presented herself and this has attracted the attention of another woman, creating another love line displaying a homosexual attraction. The only relationship that Rosalind seems to crave and seek is the relationship with Orlando, even when she is Ganymede.

 The homosexual undertones of the play are roughly established between the female characters, Celia and Rosalind, confusingly Phoebe and Ganymede, but the focus of the play revolves around the relationship between Orlando and Ganymede. The play is centered around a homosocial relationship between Ganymede and Orlando that gets pushed to a limit of homosexual boundaries when they begin their courtship. “I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me” (3.3. 433-5). Interestingly, Orlando reciprocates those feelings of love and courtship to Ganymede, since Ganymede has convinced Orlando to role-play, where Ganymede is Rosalind, to cure Orlando of his love sickness. “Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is” (3.2. 436-40). The fact alone that Orlando has agreed to these terms set by Ganymede indicates an acceptance of an open “love affair” blooming between two men. The homosexual relationship between Orlando and Ganymede reaches a critical moment in act IV scene 1 when Orlando comes to woo Ganymede as Rosalind and they begin to banter back and forth, where Rosalind, uses her male persona to convey her true feelings toward Orlando. “Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight, I had as life be wooed of a snail” (4.1. 54-6). This interaction leads to Ganymede proposing that Celia marry the pair, “Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. —Give me your hand, Orlando. —What do you say, sister” (4.1. 128-131). Then Orlando accepts the proposal of another man, “Pray thee marry us” (4.1.132). This scene is an excellent example to show the convergence of man with man, clearly pointing out that the relationship between two men is put out in the open with a single witness, through Celia’s eyes. Mentioning the union between these men through marriage delivers a clear message of how homosexuality can be perceived within the play as a risk of homosocial relationships. The homosexual relationships are not only interesting regarding Rosalind’s character, but Orlando’s perception of his love situation creates an intriguing insight into the male view regarding these certain relationships. It is fascinating how Orlando is open about his theoretical relationship with Ganymede and he seems to really take Ganymede for Rosalind and publicly recognizes this relationship. He accepts the relationship so much that he even presents Ganymede to his brother, Oliver in act IV scene 3. Orlando relays a message to Ganymede through his brother Oliver and refers to Ganymede still as Rosalind, “Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?” (4.3. 95-7). This idea that Oliver was aware of a male youth who is his brother’s lover emphasizes the public significance his relationship with Ganymede holds. The homosexual relationships that are littered throughout As You Like It present an interesting view into the way homosexual relationships were discussed and viewed, but as expected there is always a cautionary fix at the end.

 Despite the overt display of homosexual relationships within the play, Shakespeare must still conform to the public ideals and morals and reaffirm Ganymede’s sex and conserve the essence of marriage. The end of the play every young couple that was present got married, but none of which were gay. Orlando marries the restored Rosalind, Oliver “saves” Celia from her sexuality and marries her, saving Celia’s from her overt disapproval of married life, and lastly Phoebe realizing that she must marry Silvius, due to Ganymede being a no-show. The idea of marriage seems to be an important part of society and in that case the happiest people got married, even though they had to abandon a certain part of themselves.

The epilogue is where the play is summarized in a nice package and the author can put an endnote for the audience and this is where the idea that the homosexual relationships seen throughout the play are pure fiction and should not be carried on outside of the theatre. Within the epilogue there must be an obvious declaration of women love men and that men love women, “If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not” (Epilogue.17-20). This part defines the way that sexuality was perceived during this time, where a male actor would be playing Rosalind/ Ganymede and would be reciting the Epilogue, reaffirming gender norms through the speech:

“I charge you, O woman for the love you bear to men, to like as much as this play as please you… And I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to woman—as I perceive by your simpering none of you hates them” (Epilogue 12-6).

These lines change the outcome of the plays focus on homosexuality, restating how interactions between men and woman should properly take place.

As You Like It defines sexuality in its own terms by reinterpreting homosocial relationships, despite ending in a traditional manner. Rosalind is a convincing embodiment of a female and male character that threads homosexuality within the play. She obstructs those notions through a heteronormative instinct that arises beyond her male façade and through her love for Orlando. This depiction of confused homosocial relationships demonstrates the radicalness exhibited by 16^th century theatre and their ability to satirize the religious censors of the time. Though the theatre was able to mock the notions proposed by religious efforts, the theatre continued to face the reformation and dealt with religious doctrine putting pressure on societal norms, increasing the censor on homosexual storylines.

 

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. As You Like It. 1599. Ed. Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine. New    

  York. The Folger Shakespeare Library. 1997.