November 18: Things I DIdn't Know About William Tell

Old-school parenting.

• He apparently did not exist.

• But if he had existed, the reason he shot the apple off his son's head, according to Schiller, was because he was made to do so by an evil colonial official.

• This led to Swiss independence because people finally saw how evil colonial officials are:

Rud. My people I forsook—renounced my kindred—
Broke all the ties of nature, that I might
Attach myself to you. I madly thought
That I should best advance the general weal
By adding sinews to the Emperor’s power.
The scales have fallen from mine eyes—I see
The fearful precipice on which I stand.
You’ve led my youthful judgment far astray,—
Deceived my honest heart. With best intent,
I had well-nigh achiev’d my country’s ruin.

• This example has not deterred colonial adventures in the centuries since. (Actually I did know that, but not in reference to William Tell, so it counts.)

• Tell's son went willingly to his post of being shot at, which only shows that the younger generation hasn't gotten any more reckless since the 14th century.

• Apparently in Switzerland the country people all talk in unison, in a manner reminiscent of The Plain People of Ireland:

Country People (surrounding TELL). Our last remaining comfort goes with you!

• I'm aware that this is a crappy moldy translation, but nevertheless I am of the opinion that William Tell would be small potatoes and not in the Harvard Classics if it weren't for Rossini's overture, which should give all the budding lyricists out there a reminder of which is more important, the words or the music.

November 4: Greetings from the Golden Age

Golden Age Beer -- For refreshment that complies with the dramatic unities.

The Golden Age is now.

At least it is for us upper-middlebrows with Internet connections. Classical music pours out of Pandora like nothing on earth. The WFMU blog brings us footage of Jack Benny interviewing Issac Hayes. A college professor who talks to journalists about Niebuhr and who's willing to be photographed wearing a bike helmet could be President of the United States. And the Harvard Classics are all on line -- and, what's more, there's Wikipedia and Google (see also: "Google, The") to ameliorate the frequent incomprehensibilities of the Harvard Classics.

Take today, Corneille's Polyeucte. At first glance, it just seems like a boring nonsensical old 17th century drama translated into sub-Richard Wilbur doggerel. But, thanks to Wikipedia, you can take the "nonsensical" right out of it. Then it becomes intriguing -- not to read, god knows, but to think about, for this appears to be a drama where everyone is so damn noble.

In our scene we meet Severus (this is set in Roman times), who's in love with Pauline (it's not set too strongly in Roman times), who has been promised to another:

Duty—her father—Fate—these willed, she but obeyed;
Not hers the woe, the strife that envious Ate made!
Untimely, Fortune’s shower must drown me, not revive;
Too lavish and too late her fatal gifts arrive.
...Peace! Peace! She comes!

FABIAN. To thine own self be true!

SEV. Nay! True to her! Shall I her life undo?
She loves the Armenian!

"She loves the Armenian" doesn't quite make it in the lists of the All-Time Tragic Lines of Love, I'm afraid. Then Pauline comes and says, more or less, it cannot be -- Duty has promised her to another, Polyeucte. So then we're expecting Polyecute to whisk her away, right? But no, he wishes her well: "May Heaven shower bliss and peace on Polyeucte and thee!" Then Polyeucte arrives and Pauline tells him about what just happened, completely torpedoing the possibility of skulking around. And Polyeucte says it's OK! For -- and this is the part I needed Wikipedia's help with -- he's about to become a Christian martyr and saint, after which, apparently, he will match up Pauline and Severus.

I was fascinated, thinking about whether we could actually bear to see a drama in which everyone's the good guy. But then I realized that it's sort of like Casablanca from Ingrid Bergman's husband's point of view, but with less Epstein brothers wisecracks and more declamations. And it would probably be a lot more boring, because who can even remember Ingrid Bergman's husband's character's name? I can't even remember who played him -- Bill Pullman, probably. And yet I could look it up on IMDB -- because, as I said, this truly is a golden age for a pedant.

July 17: July must be incest month, I guess.

According to Wikipedia, Dame Edna says she wants to play Phèdre. But more to the point: a stamp?

When the weather gets hot'n'sticky, even the Puritans up in old Boston start to get steamy. We just had Shelly's incest drama "The Cenci," and forbidden-passion fans who look down on telenovelas can indulge in Acadèmie Française-certified love crimes in Jean Racine's "Phèdre". (And if this project has taught me nothing, it has at least taught me how do type diacriticals online.)

I had, vaguely, heard of this work, but didn't know anything about it. Well! We got Phèdre, who's married to Theseus (it's no fun typing diacriticals, though), but it really married to her guilty secret -- she' s in love with Hippolytus, Theseus's unfortunately-named son from a previous marriage. Or as she puts it (apparently in French these are graceful alexandrines, whatever they are):

I look’d, alternately turn’d pale and blush’d
To see him, and my soul grew all distraught;
A mist obscured my vision, and my voice
Falter’d, my blood ran cold, then burn’d like fire;
Venus I felt in all my fever’d frame,
Whose fury had so many of my race
Pursued.

Tormented, Phèdre wants to kill herself, she hates the Sun (who she's related to) -- she's like a parody of a Goth teen. But then good news! -- her husband is dead! And that's the end of the reading. It's not going to turn out well, though.

Of course, this isn't quite incest -- she's not related to Hippolytus (who, inevitably, loves another), so they wouldn't have a goat-headed baby or anything. But then this is the Greek myths, so maybe they would.

But it made me realize that, nowadays, we like our love stories to have happy endings, and for Racine and the Greeks love spoils everything: "O fatal animosity of Venus!/Into what wild distractions did she cast/ My mother!" exclaims Phèdre. Love is disorderly and, like other natural forces, leaves destruction in its wake. It's worth noting that Theseus stole Phèdre away while killing the Minotaur -- in that sense, a tragedy is the play that starts after the storybook ending of the previous play.

May 5: Did you know...

...that La Vida Es Sueno (Life Is A Dream) is a seventeenth-century classic of Spanish drama?

...that the translation used in the Harvard Classics is by Edward Fitzgerald, the same dude who did the Rubiyat?

...that Fitzgerald totally rewrote this drama?

...that, despite these liberties, and despite the fact that, in the play, Polish noblemen have names like "Astolfo" and "Estrella," it's almost impossible to read?

I bet you didn't know any of these things! Although I imagine you guessed at the last one. Here's some evidence:

Down to the poor, mute, scale-imprison’d things,
That yet are free to wander, glide, and pass
About that under-sapphire, whereinto
Yourselves transfusing you yourselves englass!

"Englass"?

The only other thing I want to say about it is, how come we don't have women-pretending-to-be-men in our dramas anymore? Because, here in act I scene 1 (more Theatre of Exposition), it kind of works. Rosaura, who's fleeing from Russia (the name's a dead giveaway, I know), meets Segismund, who's chained, or "enfettered," and you kind of find yourself rooting for them, as Rosaura says with characteristic Russian fire:

Alas; alas!
No angel! And the face you think so fair,
’Tis but the dismal frame-work of these rocks
That makes it seem so...

Come on, you two! Anyway, I wonder why this surefire dramatic device has fallen into disuse, and my guess is because it works better when you had boys as the "actresses," like they did back in the day. Or maybe we're just sick of it because we all had to read Shakespeare.

Of course, in our time, the great works of drama are transgressive in a different way:

Feb 17: Why Satire Isn't Funny

Act I of "Tartuffe" today (from Vol. 26, "Continental Drama" -- Continental, eh? Sounds foreign!)
I've actual seen "Tartuffe," in college, although I remember nothing about it except Austin Pendelton naked. Am I remembering that right? I must be -- there are some things you can't unsee, etc.

Okay, so we know from the get-go that this is not going to be Richard Wilbur's translation, instead it's by Curtis Hidden Page, or, as he ought to have been known, Curtis "Hidden" Page. Or Komedy Killer Kurtis, because this isn't funny. Of course C.H.P. is laboring against a number of difficulties, including but not limited to:

1. This is an old work. The humor of the past is often unfunny in the present. If you don't believe me, go read Petroleum V. Nasby, one of Lincoln's favorite humorists. Readers of Joey Adams in the New York Post may have had the same experience.

2. It's in another language. The French, Jerry Lewis, etc. -- nuff said.

3. Finally, it's satire. My own feeling about satire is that you must never show your cards; and, in fact, the more fervent you are in your desire to satirize, the more you must hide that desire. Moliere disagrees:

And as I find no kind of hero more
To be admired than men of true religion,
Nothing more noble or more beautiful
Than is the holy zeal of true devoutness;
Just so I think there’s naught more odious
Than whited sepulchres of outward unction,

I guess the justification is that there was no Western Union in those days, so they actually did have to send the message in the middle of the play.

Maybe Moliere is more like the Aaron Sorkin of his day.

The other noteworthy thing is this:

While with delight our master sees him eat
As much as six men could; we must give up
The choicest tidbits to him; if he belches, (’tis a servant speaking)
Master exclaims: “God bless you!”

And the footnote tells us about the stage direction:

Molière’s note, inserted in the text of all the old editions. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity and dignity of style in dramatic verse of the seventeenth century, that Molière feels called on to apologize for a touch of realism like this. Indeed, these lines were even omitted when the play was given.

One often wearies of living among Americans with their frequently crappy manners and young people with the pants hanging off their butts and such. But at least our characters can belch unapologetically. Something to remember on Presidents' Day weekend.

Jan 22: Never Ask About My Business

[Note that I'm going to start writing my own headlines instead of just copying them out of the book.]

This hasn’t felt very choreful, but today it does. Could it be the French verse plays? Why shouldn’t I be excited when “The classic plays of French literature are produced to-day precisely as when they were given for the resplendent kings they were written to please.” OMG, it is impossible for me to get tired of the promotional writing. It’s nonstop fancified optimism is balm to my soul. “The resplendent kings [great band name -- ed.] they were written to please.” Why, the syntax alone is reminiscent of the upper classes!

Also: the plays are produced in precisely the same way as when they were etc. etc.? I say that’s a bug, not a feature.

Okay, it’s “Polyeucte” (what?) by Corneille (who?) Written in the 1600s. I have no idea what’s what. This’ll be exciting!

And it’s in rhymed verse. I’m actually charmed.

-- Hey, guess what, they’re talking about women. Until they start talking about baptism. (“For this I yearn,
For that exhaustless fount I thirst, I burn.”)

Okay, I’m completely lost. I will use something they didn’t have in great-grandfather’s day and Wikipedia it.

[Pause for Wikipediaing...]

Oh, now I see: Polyecute’s going to become a Christian on the down-low, this being Roman times. I guess this will make up for some of the rampant skepticism they’ve been working on this month. Now back to the text.

-- now I get it. Polyeucte must keep his Christianity from his wife or she’ll be executed too. Hence the secrecy.

-- Plus:

“He is Armenian, thou of Roman line.
We, of Armenia, mock thy dreams to scorn,
For they are born of night, as truth of morn;
While Romans hold that dreams are heaven-sent,
And spring from Jove for man’s admonishment."

You know, I never know of an Armenian-Roman marriage that worked out, at that.

-- She also hates Christians:

Their sect is impious, mad, absurd and vain,
Their rites repulsive, as their cult profane.
Deride their altar, their weak frenzy ban,
Yet do they war with gods and not with man!
Relentless wills our law that they must die:
Their joy—endurance; death—their ecstasy;
Judged—by decree, the foes of human race,
Meekly their heads they bow—to court disgrace!