When I read it I thought it was hilarious - what could be more hilarious than mistaken identity? But it did think having two sets of twins who somehow mysterious end up with each other was stretching it a little bit. We did this play for our "Theory and Practice of Comedy" unit. And this was the essay I wrote on it, about the representation of women. (Btw, I think Mae West was one of the most empowered female protagonists in movie history - she claimed her sexuality wholeheartedly, was all sorts of indecent and always came up on top. Especially when dealing with younger, handsomer leading men - is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?)
In Elizabethan times, Puritan ideas were transforming society, calling into question conventions that had existed for centuries in relation to the treatment of women and their status in a marriage. They recognised the spiritual equality of women and called for new ideals in the middle class context. The double standard in adultery became less acceptable. In The Comedy of Errors, Shakespeare addresses the questions about the nature and status of a woman in a marriage. Although he appears to be pushing conventional wisdom about the subjection of a wife to her husband, I think that, in this play at least, he has represented the characters in such a way as to call that wisdom into question.
Adriana, the main female character in The Comedy of Errors represents the Puritan position on marriage. She questions her relative position and rails at the inequalities she has to put up with. Although she is characterised as a shrew and a scold by her husband Antipholus, her rather colourless sister, Luciana, and finally the Abbess, I think she has a value point of view and not just in a revisionist 21st century context.
Her main fault seems to be that she loves her husband too much and is unable to turn a blind eye, or bear with equanimity, his philandering ways. Knowing that she is no longer young and beautiful, she is, naturally, insecure about his affections. "Hath homely age, th'alluring beauty took from my poor cheek?" However, even as she exclaims against him for his poor treatment of her, she is never unaffectionate or undutiful. I wonder if they noted this, they who seek to condemn her?
When she learns to her horror that he has attempted to seduce her own sister, she calls him names but is moved to say at the end of her tirade that she thinks him better than she says. So it seems that even after the ultimate betrayal, she still loves the bastard. When she later learns that he is arrested, though justifiably angry at this point, she sends the money to redeem him, immediately. When towards the end of the play, she is accused by the Abbess of driving her husband mad by her constant jealousy (an unfair accusation, btw, because she had not driven her husband mad) she was just dealing with his long-lost twin who appeared to be mad in comparison, she does not defend herself but meekly accepts that woman's abuse and feels a pang of undeserved guilt.
At this point it is Luciana who comes to her rescue, telling the Abbess that Adriana's reproofs had been mild and gentle to Antipholus' rough, rude and wild behaviour. "Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?" she demands of her sister.
To which Adriana replies: "She did betray me to my own reproof." Where in any of this can she called a shrew or a scold?
It is telling too, that one of Antipholus' own friends Balthazar speaks of Adriana's wisdom, sober virtue, years and modesty, when he advises Antipholus against breaking down the door and calling his wife's honour into question. This would seem to suggest that the general perception of Adriana in Ephesus is positive rather than negative and that she has never crossed her husband in public.
Adriana is unable to accept Luciana's glib explanations as to the state of marriage that man is master of his liberty while his wife must always be subject to his commands, however unreasonable. Something to the effect of "I wield my cock (over which I have no control) and therefore I rule?" Only in a mad, mad society.
Luciana parrots the party line, based on St Paul's letter to the Ephesians that man is master of his wife, as Christ is head of the church but Adriana questions, this, the most holy of holies, the letter that has been used to oppress women for generations, and the letter that has caused them to bow their heads and accept such oppression even when reason, character and common sense would rebel against it.
When Luciana says that the subjection of women is divinely appointed, Adriana remarks rather wryly that this servitude must be what keeps Luciana unwed. Adriana also points out that if Luciana were to wed she would discover that she would not be entirely powerless in the relation, nor would she bear her husband's perfidy with the equanimity she now adopts while speaking about it hypothetically.
When she meets Antipholus of Syracuse (her husband's twin) and mistakes him for her husband, she begs him to consider his honour, pointing out that if he sleeps around, it contaminates her as well. "For if we be of one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of your flesh, being strumpeted by thy contagion." Which makes sense. If Antipholus contracts a disease through his debauchery, he is liable to pass it to her when they lie upon the marriage bed. She also adds that if she were the one caught in such licentious behaviour, Antipholus would not hesitate to beat or divorce her. She begs him to be true to his marriage vows so she can live "unstained" and he, "undishonoured".
All this seems to demonstrate that Adriana, far from being a shrew or an unreasonable woman, is a good wife. She refuses to accept the status quo because she loves her husband but does not see herself as being inferior to him. If she questions the conventions of the time which others (like Luciana) have accepted blindly, it does not make her a shrew; rather it shows that despite the oppression and brainwashing of society, she is able to think for herself.
Luciana represents the status quo. Pretty, conventional and yes, colourless, she is the perfect virtuous, obedient woman who speaks the way a man would have her speak. In other words, a bloodless, robotic Stepford wife who is not yet wed but soon to be. She advises Adriana to rein in her impatience, forebear with her husband's cruel treatment and be obedient. Her advice is worth little, if anything, as she has shunned marriage, begin afraid of there "troubles of the marriage bed". In other words, she is a frigid little virgin, who remains chaste not out of a sense of virtue, but because she is afraid of sex. Aristotle once advised men to marry frigid women and to deal out sex to them sparingly, maybe three times a month. And to make sure that they hated it. That way, not only would they not object to their husband's philandering, but they would not be driven to seek such solace themselves.
Although Luciana couches her words of advice in a cloak of sweetness and reason, her mask seems to break down when she advises the man she takes to be her brother-in-law, to be a better dissembler, rather than to give up other women altogether. "Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth, muffle your false love with some show of blindness." So she is not appealing to his honour, but rather that he maintain the appearance of it. And there we have it; the perfect woman who is more concerned with appearances than reality. The perfect wife, who would leave your marriage bed cold (but then, how in the world are you going to get that son or heir), but would not stop you from sowing your wild oats, well into the marriage. The man she makes this appeal to, is not her brother-in-law, of course, but his twin, who finds himself irresistibly attracted to Luciana on the strength of her discourse. Evoking the status quo, she appears attractive to him. Adriana, who questions it, leaves him cold. Which tells us a lot more about him than it does about either woman.
While Adriana is warm and passionate, Luciana is cold and detached. But cold and detached seems to be equated with virtue. Love your husband just enough but not too much. That way, nobody gets hurt.
The Abbess represents the traditional point of view, but as we later find, she is a hypocrite, who in her youth, did not heed her own advice. She upbraids Adriana for her jealous fits, accusing her of driving Antipholus mad. Yet we learn later that she is really Aemilia, Aegeon's wife and Antipholus' mother. It was she who was responsible, by her headstrong behaviour, for the separation of the twins early in the story, which brought about these complications. When Aegeon had gone away for business, Aemilia, unable to bear the separation, decides to follow him, despite the fact that she is heavily pregnant and about the give birth. He had not sent for her. She was not being a dutiful wife and staying at home to be safely delivered of their children. Then, when she delivers the twins, she urges him to go home with her, which he accedes to, albeit unwillingly. And on this journey, they are shipwrecked and then separated for over 20 years. If she had been more like the woman she urged her daughter-in-law to be, the family would never have been separated and years of suffering would have been alleviated. Taking all this into account, her castigation of Adriana seems doubly infamous; either she has learned her lesson (but even then, shouldn't she be more compassionate to one who although she perceives her as having transgressed, did not do so, anywhere close to the level she did) or she is simply just another hypocrite, her sons' mother in fact, anxious to urge behaviour that she does not follow herself.
And then, there is the courtesan, a stock figure in comedy, the woman who entertains men for pleasure and profit, the whore with a heart of gold. She seems to represent the silent threat to marriage that runs throughout the text. The moment a husband is discontented with his wife, whose arms does he run to, but hers; even if he has to pay her money (and not a little) for her embraces. Although her actual appearances are few, her presence is tangible. Adriana is anxious when Antipholus is late for dinner because she fears that he may have gone to see the courtesan. When Antipholus (the husband) is chagrined at being locked out of his own house, he does in fact go to see the courtesan, promising to give her the chain that he made for his wife. (the fact that he had a chain made for his wife shows that for all his blustering, he is not completely indifferent to her). She is silently present too, when Adriana speaks of the poison she would digest in her own flesh were Antipholus to betray his marriage bed.
Here, she is a whore with a strong head for business. She gives her diamond rung to Antipholus in exchange for the chain. As the chain is worth 500 ducats and the ring merely 40 ducats, this is a very profitable exchange. Then, when she meets the wrong Antipholus who will neither give her the chain nor return her diamond ring, she decides to appeal to Adriana, the woman she has, in effect, wronged. She amends her story by saying that Antipholus stormed into her house and took her ring by force, and refrains from any mention of the gold chain. Her appeal works and she manages to get Adriana on her side. What is interesting here is that when charged with the story, the wrong Antipholus does not deny the story but merely says, "Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her."
He later thanks her for the "good cheer" she provided him at dinner. Although she does not profit from the bargain, she does not lose anything by it, either. While the other women seem to think and feel their way through the play, the courtesan has no time for the heart; she is a woman of business. And despite her profession, she is not represented as either evil or reprobate, but is treated with courtesy by everyone. Which I find very interesting. It would seem that a courtesan's lot may be better than a wife's after all. Or so the movie "A Dangerous Beauty" about the courtesans in Venice, who were the only educated women in society, the only ones who could read and write, would have us think.
It is telling too, that one of Antipholus' own friends Balthazar speaks of Adriana's wisdom, sober virtue, years and modesty, when he advises Antipholus against breaking down the door and calling his wife's honour into question. This would seem to suggest that the general perception of Adriana in Ephesus is positive rather than negative and that she has never crossed her husband in public.
Adriana is unable to accept Luciana's glib explanations as to the state of marriage that man is master of his liberty while his wife must always be subject to his commands, however unreasonable. Something to the effect of "I wield my cock (over which I have no control) and therefore I rule?" Only in a mad, mad society.
Luciana parrots the party line, based on St Paul's letter to the Ephesians that man is master of his wife, as Christ is head of the church but Adriana questions, this, the most holy of holies, the letter that has been used to oppress women for generations, and the letter that has caused them to bow their heads and accept such oppression even when reason, character and common sense would rebel against it.
When Luciana says that the subjection of women is divinely appointed, Adriana remarks rather wryly that this servitude must be what keeps Luciana unwed. Adriana also points out that if Luciana were to wed she would discover that she would not be entirely powerless in the relation, nor would she bear her husband's perfidy with the equanimity she now adopts while speaking about it hypothetically.
When she meets Antipholus of Syracuse (her husband's twin) and mistakes him for her husband, she begs him to consider his honour, pointing out that if he sleeps around, it contaminates her as well. "For if we be of one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of your flesh, being strumpeted by thy contagion." Which makes sense. If Antipholus contracts a disease through his debauchery, he is liable to pass it to her when they lie upon the marriage bed. She also adds that if she were the one caught in such licentious behaviour, Antipholus would not hesitate to beat or divorce her. She begs him to be true to his marriage vows so she can live "unstained" and he, "undishonoured".
All this seems to demonstrate that Adriana, far from being a shrew or an unreasonable woman, is a good wife. She refuses to accept the status quo because she loves her husband but does not see herself as being inferior to him. If she questions the conventions of the time which others (like Luciana) have accepted blindly, it does not make her a shrew; rather it shows that despite the oppression and brainwashing of society, she is able to think for herself.
Luciana represents the status quo. Pretty, conventional and yes, colourless, she is the perfect virtuous, obedient woman who speaks the way a man would have her speak. In other words, a bloodless, robotic Stepford wife who is not yet wed but soon to be. She advises Adriana to rein in her impatience, forebear with her husband's cruel treatment and be obedient. Her advice is worth little, if anything, as she has shunned marriage, begin afraid of there "troubles of the marriage bed". In other words, she is a frigid little virgin, who remains chaste not out of a sense of virtue, but because she is afraid of sex. Aristotle once advised men to marry frigid women and to deal out sex to them sparingly, maybe three times a month. And to make sure that they hated it. That way, not only would they not object to their husband's philandering, but they would not be driven to seek such solace themselves.
Although Luciana couches her words of advice in a cloak of sweetness and reason, her mask seems to break down when she advises the man she takes to be her brother-in-law, to be a better dissembler, rather than to give up other women altogether. "Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth, muffle your false love with some show of blindness." So she is not appealing to his honour, but rather that he maintain the appearance of it. And there we have it; the perfect woman who is more concerned with appearances than reality. The perfect wife, who would leave your marriage bed cold (but then, how in the world are you going to get that son or heir), but would not stop you from sowing your wild oats, well into the marriage. The man she makes this appeal to, is not her brother-in-law, of course, but his twin, who finds himself irresistibly attracted to Luciana on the strength of her discourse. Evoking the status quo, she appears attractive to him. Adriana, who questions it, leaves him cold. Which tells us a lot more about him than it does about either woman.
While Adriana is warm and passionate, Luciana is cold and detached. But cold and detached seems to be equated with virtue. Love your husband just enough but not too much. That way, nobody gets hurt.
The Abbess represents the traditional point of view, but as we later find, she is a hypocrite, who in her youth, did not heed her own advice. She upbraids Adriana for her jealous fits, accusing her of driving Antipholus mad. Yet we learn later that she is really Aemilia, Aegeon's wife and Antipholus' mother. It was she who was responsible, by her headstrong behaviour, for the separation of the twins early in the story, which brought about these complications. When Aegeon had gone away for business, Aemilia, unable to bear the separation, decides to follow him, despite the fact that she is heavily pregnant and about the give birth. He had not sent for her. She was not being a dutiful wife and staying at home to be safely delivered of their children. Then, when she delivers the twins, she urges him to go home with her, which he accedes to, albeit unwillingly. And on this journey, they are shipwrecked and then separated for over 20 years. If she had been more like the woman she urged her daughter-in-law to be, the family would never have been separated and years of suffering would have been alleviated. Taking all this into account, her castigation of Adriana seems doubly infamous; either she has learned her lesson (but even then, shouldn't she be more compassionate to one who although she perceives her as having transgressed, did not do so, anywhere close to the level she did) or she is simply just another hypocrite, her sons' mother in fact, anxious to urge behaviour that she does not follow herself.
And then, there is the courtesan, a stock figure in comedy, the woman who entertains men for pleasure and profit, the whore with a heart of gold. She seems to represent the silent threat to marriage that runs throughout the text. The moment a husband is discontented with his wife, whose arms does he run to, but hers; even if he has to pay her money (and not a little) for her embraces. Although her actual appearances are few, her presence is tangible. Adriana is anxious when Antipholus is late for dinner because she fears that he may have gone to see the courtesan. When Antipholus (the husband) is chagrined at being locked out of his own house, he does in fact go to see the courtesan, promising to give her the chain that he made for his wife. (the fact that he had a chain made for his wife shows that for all his blustering, he is not completely indifferent to her). She is silently present too, when Adriana speaks of the poison she would digest in her own flesh were Antipholus to betray his marriage bed.
Here, she is a whore with a strong head for business. She gives her diamond rung to Antipholus in exchange for the chain. As the chain is worth 500 ducats and the ring merely 40 ducats, this is a very profitable exchange. Then, when she meets the wrong Antipholus who will neither give her the chain nor return her diamond ring, she decides to appeal to Adriana, the woman she has, in effect, wronged. She amends her story by saying that Antipholus stormed into her house and took her ring by force, and refrains from any mention of the gold chain. Her appeal works and she manages to get Adriana on her side. What is interesting here is that when charged with the story, the wrong Antipholus does not deny the story but merely says, "Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her."
He later thanks her for the "good cheer" she provided him at dinner. Although she does not profit from the bargain, she does not lose anything by it, either. While the other women seem to think and feel their way through the play, the courtesan has no time for the heart; she is a woman of business. And despite her profession, she is not represented as either evil or reprobate, but is treated with courtesy by everyone. Which I find very interesting. It would seem that a courtesan's lot may be better than a wife's after all. Or so the movie "A Dangerous Beauty" about the courtesans in Venice, who were the only educated women in society, the only ones who could read and write, would have us think.
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