#bardingthequad

Kyle Stockdall as Proteus and Stuart Ashenbrenner as Valentine. Their goofy faces make me giggle every time I look at this.

Introduction In Part I of this “World of the Play” series, I provided a little bit of background information on the show, the selection process, and some context for our conceptual approached. In this post, I would like to go into a little more depth about the text, its history, its “problems,” and some of the editing choices I made for this production. Hopefully this will adequately answer some of the questions/comments I’ve encountered since this show was announced: I haven’t heard of that one. I don’t like that show. Is that the one with the dog? What’s that one about again? I can see why people don’t stage that show very often. What are you going to do about the rape? (Yes, you read that correctly

While I don’t see a real need to defend this play or its author, I would like to explore some of the challenges of the text I face in staging it. The source material is interesting and provides some insight into Shakespeare’s process and development as a writer. Granted, this script is by no means “perfect,” but that’s no reason why it cannot be staged in an entertaining way in line with the work we do with Bard in the Quad.

Valentine rescues Sylvia from Proteus in a 1792 depiction by Francis Wheatley.

Background and Source Material As with many of Shakespeare’s plays, there is debate as to the precise date of the authorship of Two Gentlemen of Verona. While there is evidence that the play was written no later than 1598, generally historians and critics hypothesize the date to fall somewhere between 1590-1595 based on the writing style. Viewing the characters and plot devices that are used to greater effect in later works (spunky heroines disguised as boys, lovers separated by disapproving parents, rustic clowns, an untamed “green space” where chaotic events occur, etc.) I agree with the proposal that this play was very early in Shakespeare’s career and very likely his first play.

As with most of Shakespeare’s works, his source material came from a combination of literary sources and his own imagination. The three main sources for the plot and characters come from a “friendship tale” that includes a love triangle found in Boccaccio’s Decameron which results in one friend “giving” his lover to the other friend, a prose romance of betrayed love written by Jorge de Monemayor in 1542, and a long poem by Arthur Brooke titled The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet. The most original part of Shakespeare’s work, and probably the best, is the invention of Launce who displays a dizzying level of clever word-play and almost postmodern self-awareness in his two long monologues about his relationship with Crab, his dog.

There is no record of Two Gentlemen of Verona being performed prior to 1762, although we can assume Shakespeare’s troupe, The Lord Chamberlain’s Men, staged it in repertory in the late 16th century. It is, after all, included in the First Folio publication in 1623. While is not a rich history of productions of Two Gentlemen of Verona, it is staged more often than even more “problematic” plays such as Timon of Athens or Cymbeline. Much of the writing about the production history has to do with how directors “deal” with the two major challenges with the ending. (Also note, this does not take into account the other inconsistencies that proliferate this script.)

The Plot In a not-so-brief plot summary, Two Gents tells the story of Proteus and Valentine, lifelong friends who part so Valentine can seek his fortunes by serving in the Emperor’s court (or later, the Duke, an inconsistency that is never addressed). Proteus has decided to stay in Verona to be with his beloved Julia. Valentine chides Proteus for being “over the boots” in love and heads off to Milan (or Mantua, or Padua, another inconsistency). The relationship between Proteus and Julia develops through a series of letters delivered by pages and servants. Meanwhile, Proteus’ father Antonio discusses with his servant Panthio Proteus’ future. He is concerned that his son will not be “a perfect man” if he does not leave home and experience the world.

Shortly after Proteus has received a love letter from Julia, Antonio commands his son to Valentine in the Emperor’s court. Proteus begs his father to delay his departure, but Antonio stands firm. Proteus and his servant, Launce, must bid friends and family farewell. Proteus and Julia exchange rings in a tearful good-bye and Launce performs his first monologue about how his dog, Crab, refuses to shed “one single tear” about the departure.

After an unspecified amount of time has passed, Valentine has settled into courtly life and finds himself in love with Sylvia, the Duke’s witty and sophisticated daughter. He denies his feelings, but his own clownish servant, Speed points out that Valentine has adopted the lovesick behaviors Proteus had exhibited back in Verona. Valentine indeed loves Sylvia and she reciprocates the feelings, however, the Duke wishes to match his daughter with Thurio, a wealthy and foppish suitor. It is at this time that Proteus arrives in Milan with Launce, welcomed heartily to the court by the Duke.

Valentine is thrilled about this reunion and eagerly introduces Proteus to Sylvia, begging him to espouse her virtues. He then reveals to Proteus his and Sylvia’s plan to elope. Proteus pretends to be a supportive and devoted confidant, but grapples whether or not to cross Valentine and abandon Julia in order to pursue Sylvia. He decides that it would be a betrayal to himself not to pursue Sylvia with whom he is now deeply in love and hatches a complicated plan to ruin Valentine, thwart Thurio, and have Sylvia for himself. By revealing Valentine’s plot to the Duke, Valentine is banished from Verona. With Valentine out of the way, Proteus sets to court Sylvia for his own. He convinces Thurio to write a beautiful song that will be performed for Sylvia and then promises Thurio he will woo Sylvia on his behalf.

While all this scheming has gone on, Julia has been waiting in Verona for her beloved to return. Growing impatient, she implores her maid to disguise her as a young page so that she may track down Proteus. Lucetta is, at first, reluctant and concerned about her lady’s plan, but eventually helps her. Julia leaves Verona and arrives in Milan disguised as “Sebastian” just as the musicians prepare to perform for Sylvia. Julia watches the scene play out and is heartbroken over Proteus’ overtures towards another woman. Proteus’ advances toward Sylvia, however, are thoroughly rebuffed and she pledges her devotion to Valentine and Valentine alone.

Proteus, desperate for some token from Sylvia begs for her portrait. She agrees and he employs “Sebastian” to deliver a letter to Sylvia and a ring, which happens to be the ring that Julia gave to Proteus upon his departure from Verona. In one of the best-written scenes in the play, Julia goes to Sylvia with letter and ring in hand. Sylvia, is kind and sensitive to the image of Proteus’ “former lover” and refuses to accept his tokens. Julia is, of course, relieved that Sylvia shows no interest in Proteus. Realizing that her father will force her to marry Thurio, Sylvia decides to enlist the help of noble Sir Eglamour to guide her through the wilderness and find Valentine.

Valentine and Speed are on the road to Mantua when they are accosted by a group of bandits. In a comic exchange the bandits attempt to rob the travelers until Valentine proclaims that he has been banished for attempting to kill a man. The bandits, perhaps impressed or intimidated, decide to make Valentine their leader. Back in Milan, Sylvia’s absence has been noted and the Duke, Thurio, “Sebastian,” and Proteus set out into the wilderness to track them down.

While on the road, the bandits capture Sylvia and chase of Sir Eglamour, but are intercepted by Proteus and “Sebastian.” The bandits scare off Sir Egalmour and Proteus “frees” Sylvia from her captors. There in the woods Proteus again confesses his love and devotion to Sylvia, which she again refuses. Proteus, growing increasingly frustrated threatens: “I’ll woo you like a soldier at arm’s end, and love you ‘gainst the nature of love: force ye.” He attempts to assault Sylvia when Valentine intervenes. Valentine confronts Proteus for his treachery, not against Sylvia, but against their friendship. Proteus, overcome with guilt, apologizes to Valentine (not Sylvia) for his breach of trust to Valentine and not for the attempted rape. Valentine immediately accepts the apology and in a gesture of goodwill “gives” Sylvia to Proteus.

Proteus’ happiness over this turn of events is short-lived when Sebastian grows faint. The two gentlemen attend to the page Proteus recognizes the ring he gave to Julia on “Sebastian’s” person. Julia reveals herself and Proteus’ feelings for her are suddenly reignited. Valentine joins the hands of Proteus and Julia. At that moment, the bandits return, having captured the Duke and Thurio. Valentine commands the bandits to free the Duke and he confronts Thurio, who immediately gives up all claim on Sylvia. The Duke, suddenly satisfied with Valentine’s honor, approves of the match. In one last request, Valentine asks the Duke to pardon the outlaws and he agrees. Happily, the group sets off to return to Verona with the assumption that Valentine will wed Sylvia and Proteus will wed Julia.

Got all that?

The “Problems” and the Editing Process There are, quite simply, more than a few issues a good dramaturg could have ironed out for Shakespeare, had such a thing been common practice in the 16th century, such as the inconsistencies in location or status . . . or the fact that several characters inexplicably disappear and are never heard from again. My work in editing this script took into account several issues: time/writing errors, story/theme challenges, and the overall director’s concept.

If you read closely the convoluted summary, you can get a sense of how it might be challenging for an audience to untangle the various plot lines and characters. In an effort to simplify matters, I first made some serious cuts to the text and changes to location references so that it was clear where and when characters were coming and going. I omitted long sections of dialogue between Launce and Speed that wasn’t directly connected to the plot, I cut out the characters of Panthio and Sir Eglamour entirely, and I made some internal cuts to several of Proteus’ longer soliloquies. Most of this was in the service of having a play that would run two hours or less. Why did there need to be a long scene where Panthio and Antonio discuss the merits of Proteus leaving home? There doesn’t, so instead Antonia tells the audience she’s kicking her ne’er-do-well son out of the house and then sends Proteus packing. It’s a quicker and funnier solution for our purposes and moves the plot along for efficiently. Sir Eglamour’s presence is also inconsequential when, with a few cuts, it makes just as much sense for a stubborn Sylvia to set out on her own, just as Julia does earlier in the play.

The story/theme challenges come mostly at the troublesome ending of the play with the attempted rape followed by Valentine’s “giving” Sylvia to Proteus. There are so many quick and complete reversals in this short scene that, besides egregiously offending contemporary mores, they defy logical reason. While some of these issues are explained away that this is the work of inexperienced author attempting to construct a “happy ending” to his romantic comedy, but others are best understood within Shakespeare’s own cultural context. The most problematic excerpt is from Act V, scene 2:

PROTEUS: I’ll force thee yield to my desire.

VALENTINE: Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, Thou fiend of an ill fashion.

PROTEUS: Valentine!

VALENTINE: Thou common friend, that’s without faith or love, For such is a friend now. Treacherous man, Thou hast beguiled my hopes. Naught but mine eye Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say I have one friend alive. Thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted, when one’s right hand Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest. O time most accursed, ‘Mongst foes that a friend should be the worst!

PROTEUS: My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me Valentine. If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offense, I tender’t here. I do as truly suffer As e’er I did commit. VALENTINE: Then I am paid. And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth. For these are pleased; By penitence th’ Eternal’s wrath appeased. And that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. JULIA: O me unhappy!

Unhappy indeed! In this bizarre passage, it is clear that Valentine is far more concerned at Proteus’ treachery toward the bonds of friendship and not the attempted act of violence upon Sylvia. While at first, Valentine admonishes Proteus to cease the “rude uncivil touch,” it is the betrayal of their friendship that wounds him “deepest.” His reaction towards Proteus’ violent and despicable behavior towards Sylvia seems disproportionate. It’s one thing to forgive a friend who wrongs you, it’s an entirely different matter to completely dismiss a violent assault whether or not the victim is your romantic partner. While this is difficult for modern audiences to grasp, it is well in line with perceptions of gender and courtship in the 16th century.

One of Shakespeare’s sources here was, as mentioned earlier, a “friendship tale” from the 14th century proto-novel The Decameron. These types of Medieval tales emphasize the bonds of male friendship and are reminiscent of Arthurian legends of honor among men. Consider other male friendships in Shakespeare’s canon between Prince Hal and Falstaff, Antonio and Bassanio, or Leontes and Polixenes - these are men willing to fight and suffer for each other and feel the wound of betrayal even more deeply than one would from a lover. Although women in Elizabethan society did not lead completely cloistered lives, their gender was assumed to be weaker physically and morally and they were certainly not considered to be equals to their male counterparts. In terms of courtship and marriage between men and women, men were assumed to be the wooers and once wedded and bedded, husbands were responsible for their wives’ behavior in public as parents are responsible for their children’s behavior.

Culturally speaking, the only truly equal relationship was between people of the same gender. Shakespeare plays with this frequently by allowing his cross-dressing heroines to speak in honest friendship with the male objects of their affection. In this context it would have made sense for Valentine to be so offended by Proteus’ breach of trust. That is not to say that sexual violence was wholly acceptable, but such a crime would be viewed by Valentine akin to vandalizing his property rather than harming another fully autonomous human being. This also explains why Valentine can so easily give away his “rights” to Sylvia without consulting her. Sylvia (or any woman) must always been in the care of a man passed from her father’s care to her husband’s. It makes sense, in this view of gender and male friendship, that Valentine would demonstrate his devotion and love of Proteus and acceptance of his penance by giving Sylvia away.

Understanding the context, however, does not make for a palatable ending to a modern audience, particularly within the cheery atmosphere of Bard in the Quad. While I can imagine an intimate production of this play that delves into the complexities of female agency and male aggression, this is neither the time nor place.

My choice to cut the “All that was mine in Sylvia, I give thee” is not unheard of in the production history of Two Gents. It was common practice to omit the troublesome lines until actor/director William Charles Macready reintroduced them in 1841. I initially bristled at the notion of “fixing” the ugly parts of Shakespeare when my usual approach is to let the ugly be ugly, but concluded that while this ludicrous offer, as offensive as it is, could have made sense with a little more development, it does not in its current state. It happens so quickly and then requires the fickle Proteus to “metamorphose” once again when he discovers that Sebastian is, in fact, Julia. I left the attempted assault in the play, but have Proteus direct his apology toward Sylvia rather than to Valentine. At this point in rehearsal, the solution is a little shaky and needs some fine-tuning, but it’s much more in line with the spirit we are attempting in our sunny, summer melodrama.

The last set of changes I made to the script can be viewed as adaptations to suit the concept. For example, I changed Antonio’s gender to “Antonia” because I found the idea of a tough-as-nails, disapproving “Mama” character chasing her son out of town with a giant ladle funny. I have also named the “host” character “Miss Kitty” who will serve as emcee to the production and sing with her band, The Barn Bangerz, during pre-show and transitions. She’ll work the crowd during the pre-show, introduce our dog performer and the Human Society volunteers, and set the tone for the evening.

I knew I wanted to fold live music into this production and inadvertently came across John Denver’s AM Gold classic, “Take Me Home, Country Roads” while listening to a podcast over Spring Break. A little alteration of the lyric “Almost Heaven, West Virginia” to “Almost Heaven, West Verona,” and I was onto something. I scoured the John Denver song book to find other sunny ballads to work into the show and came across “Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” Leaving on a Jet Plane” (altered to “Leaving on a Railway” for our purposes), and “For You,” among others. In a serendipitous bit of casting I was able to cobble together a band including guitars, banjo, fiddle, upright bass, spoons, and washboard. The music adds so much to the production as The Barn Bangerz underscore the action and involve the audience while layering a homespun anachronistic whimsy into the world of the play.