I can't belive I'm posting this.
For my final essay in class, I chose to create a mock correspondance in the style popular during the 18th century. In my letter, Graf Ferdinand Adlige Ziller von Szek (a real relative of mine!) responds to one of Voltaire's letters on England, criticizing Voltaire's dismissal of Shakespeare as an 'aberration'. Voltaire belief stemmed from a deep rooted devotion to theatrical classicism. In all things he was progressive, except this. A great deal of his disapproval of Shakespeare comes from the feeling that the Bard didn't understand 'the rules' of playwriting. That should be enough background for anyone who doesn't understand what's going on. On to the letter!
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My dear Arouet, I am terribly sorry this letter was so long in the making. I was deeply flattered that you chose to write me, of all people. I desperately wished to reply sooner, but life moves on whether I have time to sit and contemplate it or no. In any case, I was much disturbed with your tone of voice and would like to take a moment to persuade you that England's 'inferior Harlequin' is much more than what you seem to perceive. I am surprised at you friend, that you are so forward in all other things, but indeed quite backwards in this.
You will, no doubt, concede the fact that France is not England, nor is England France. Being thus a country separate from your own, and certainly separate from the main continent, one cannot assume that the same rules of culture and taste apply. A man of such great tastes, such as yourself, must certainly not be held responsible for what he feels is slanderous and uncouth, surely. However, take a moment to consider your peers and the men you write to, to both please and provoke. Most assuredly your audience differs from his!
Was this man, William Shakespeare so terribly uneducated? Did he really have such disregard for the rules that you, my friend, tender so dearly? I will, of course, argue the contrary. This writer was as much educated in his day as you are in yours. What you assume to be a lack of knowledge is meerly a difference in training.
The three aforementioned points stand in order thusly:
France and England, by virtue of separation, have differing sensibilities.
Shakespeare's audiences would have differed vastly from your own. (Who must the play write please after all?)
And lastly, Shakespeare's education was no more or less than your own, only one of difference.
Such an observation! The theatre differs from location to location? Gods on high! What a notion! It is terrible of me to mock you, my friend, but I must say that for a man of your exceeding intelligence and progressive thought must by now realize that man is not the same wherever one goes. Having been a great deal of places, you will agree that there are customs in France that would never stand in Italy or Sweden or England? True? Moreover, there are certainly customs in those countries we ought to view as strange or even uncouth! If this is true, the theatre then must be subject to the popular trend of culture. How, you ask? Well, if the theatre as we know it exists because there is a reality that must be emulated, or else some social sickness to be purged, would not those realities and sicknesses be solely dependent upon the cultures in which they found their first footing? Then, would it not also be safe to say that theatre, as a reaction to culture, must be a by-product of that culture. Therefore the idea that there is one form of theatre perfect enough for all men is preposterous. There cannot be one theatre, for there is not, indeed, one type of man. Were there, the world would be a dull place, and I would not care for her theatre any way.
Is it not reasonable, then, to assume that a man of similar standing to your own (assuming there is one!) but also of England might find his brand of theatre amusing, and ours stuffy? Would not someone used to the type of bawdry so typical of Shakespeare perhaps find French playwriting a little stiff, or even boring? Conversely, would not a man of high-born French sensibilities be put off by the gratuitous use of prose? These are simply matters of taste, aesthetic pleasures. There is no great formula at work here, no. There is only what one does and does not like, based solely upon his upbringing, his culture, and his lot in life.
As you, my great friend, are no doubt aware, a play-writes ultimate goal is to perform his works. Yes? Now, assuming that the above is true and that all theatre is subject to the culture and the times, is it now not also reasonable to assume that the play-write himself is also subject to such conditions? Of course! Now, is the play write who is subject to his environment (as indeed all are) more or less of a writer than his peer from the opposing society? You see, there is only personal taste again.
Consider the French audience. Who are you attempting to please? Ultimately please? The nobles who gather at the palace? Your intellectual peers? His Majesty? For whom are your plays written, illustrious friend? In the typical manner of France, who attends a play? The nobility, the bourgeois, and occasionally the King or Queen and their servants. Where does this performance take place? The largest hall in a manor or the palace, where there is available space for the players. Does it not make sense, then, that French writing is limited, because the audience and the space available is limited? This is by no means to say that French playwriting is lacking in some way, the play write is simply bound by the same laws that govern his craft. That is to say, to be a success, he must write for the audience and for the space.
In the time of Shakespeare's writing, his space was vastly different from your own, no? In his own theatre, your Harlequin was capable of reaching a wider audience base. Who attended his plays? A great number of people. Prostitutes, the poor, the merchant class. Even the young house-bound wives of noblemen would seek out his entertainment. His space was a large rounded stage, outside. Away from the constraints of a palace performance, the players of his plays were exceptionally free, don't you think? More than that, the man himself had a wider range of peoples to please and a larger space in which to do it. To keep an audience, you must instill within their hearts a connection to the creatures stalking the stage space. Did the poor groundlings have any reason whatsoever to sympathize and connect to the lives and loves of the extremely rich? Hamlet is a very interesting young man, if you are the son or mother or father or brother of a duke. Intrigue is all well and good, if the audience is in on it too. The world of Shakespeare needs its Rosencratz' and Guildensterns, it needs its nurses and debauched tavern mistresses and its John Falstaffs. You said yourself that the stage must have passion, live dialog, and action. Are these things not well provided by the lowly characters—the clowns and rude mechanicals? Apart from providing these staples of the theatrical diet, they also serve to please the audience not seated upon cushions. Why bother to see a play, if you yourself are not reflected in the eyes of but one character. Every step that Shakespeare takes beyond what you, friend, see as reasonable serves a very excellent and very well thought out purpose. Violence excites the men. Love entices the women. Servant antics delight the groundlings. Proud men fallen coaxes the nobility to tears. He shocks, rattles, rakes and rolls the audience. Is that not the purging, the reflection of life that is so dear to our standards of freedom of expression. If there is not one perfect way a man can express himself, my darling Arouet, then there is not one perfect way a play can be written or performed. Playwriting is in and of itself freedom of expression.
The third and strangest argument you make against this poet you seem to both love and hate is the strangest of all. You speak of Monsieur Shakespeare as though he was an uneducated buffoon, who would have written wonderfully French-styled works had he only been able to read Latin!
My friend, you delude yourself! To begin with, the education of the man Shakespeare was vastly different than your own. Not only did he grow old in a foreign country, but a foreign time as well! As far as we know, the young Shakespeare would have grown up well versed in Latin, with knowledge (extensive knowledge) of the mythology of the Greeks and the Romans. In this, how does he differ from you? You had the same access to the same material and yet you conclude that the Greeks were indeed perfect, and everything in the world must change, except theatre? You accuse dear William of a lack of knowledge, you say he did not know the rules of playwriting and thus his transgressions are forgivable. What a most gracious saint!
You must remember that Shakespeare did follow the rules. The rules of the theatre of his location and his century. The brilliance and dalliance you see side by side come from the works we know as later works of his. The early writings of Shakespeare were to the letter perfect—for the London stage. Will you tell me Moliere never once deviated? Or that you, yourself have never written outside of the laws dictated by your education? I think not, my friend.
Another point has just reached my brain, although it went unmentioned before. The notion is that of language. There is, no doubt, a huge difference between the language of Shakespeare's day, and that utilized now. Furthermore, the differences between English and French cannot easily be ignored. French lends itself, quite naturally, to the perfect Alexandrian verse. The English, not to speak ill of it, is not suited in such a fashion. Shakespeare discovered a pattern in which his language could be spoken by the players with ease, and yet maintain that poetical quality he is famous for. I marveled at, and am almost insulted by your attempt to translate our poor Bill's writing into French! Imagine! Hamlet's beautiful speech falls by the wayside. You, my dear friend, seem to have no desire to translate Shakespeare into the French language, but instead you intend to translate him into your language. It is an injustice! For although the man is long dead, it is conceivable that one would be upset by the gross mistranslation of one's work. Would you not be? You would expect the same respect be accorded you, I imagine. A proper translation, or none at all.
Is genius an aberration? It is a rare occurrence, surely. I say if you must refer to Shakespeare's genius as an aberration, a beautiful flower grown up in the muck of a swamp, you must also call your own genius an aberration. There is nothing terribly normal about heightened intelligence, is there, my friend? Truly? If we are speaking frankly (and indeed I feel we are), then we must acknowledge that genius is certainly not an average occurrence. So then, why does Shakespeare's qualify as something strange and abnormal, while your own does not? What makes a play of his so abnormal? The presence of common characters? Do not fools only make the reasonable look more so? What then? Violence? This is a violent world, my friend. It offends sensibilities and indeed it ought to! We ought to be offended! Not at the violence upon the stage, but the violence that it imitates. This should offend our sensibilities. Bawdry, then. Is this really so offensive? Which among us is not guilty of a dirty joke behind closed doors, or after a few glasses of wine? Is is not better to purge this impulse by laughing at the absurdity upon the stage, rather than create your own that evening? The lack of proper phrasing and rhyme. That must be what is most offensive! And indeed, it is not. I enjoy watching an actor upon the stage who speaks my language. Not just my spoken language, but a language I can truly understand. If theatre imitates life, then the language ought to do just that.
In an effort to make amends, in case I have upset you or grossly misunderstood your criticisms of Shakespeare, let me thank you for introducing him to the continent in the very first place. Indeed, my friend, without your exile we would have no knowledge of this man. And despite yourself, if you deemed him worthy to travel the oceans and join the pantheon of French literature, he is surely worth something. Although you tend to gripe on the negative (and you know this to be true!), you are certainly an intelligent man, and not one I would place my own wit against. I would lose, certain. I do ask, as a man of exceeding intelligence and open-minded though, to consider, however briefly, the idea that perhaps your theories of theatre must fall by the wayside as well. This world, as we know, is in a constant state of shifting, and it does not good, my dear, to cling to the past when the future awaits us with open arms and smiling lips. Perhaps this dancing clown of yours was simply ahead of his time, as you are in all things but this. Your penchant for this nostalgic form of creation is holding you back. And as you withhold your creative light from yourself, you withhold it from all of humanity. You have the power to illuminate the world, my friend. But you need all your torches lit! You cannot pick and choose in times like these. It is either all or nothing. I would rather you choose all. For the good of yourself and the good of the nation!.
You must forgive me, I have gone on at length and I am aware of the value of your time. Please consider all I have said, and do write again. I love our pen wars, don't you? If I have wronged you in any way please do not hesitate to inform me of such. I would be loathe to create a rift between us. There is nothing I desire more than to be close to you, my friend. Please know that I always have held you in the highest regard, and only in this have I ever vastly disagreed with you. I wish you the best of luck in all future endeavors.
All the best regards, your humble servant etc.
Graf Ferdinand Adlige Ziller von Szek
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