Of Melancholy Matters: Dialectics of Liberty and Loss in As You Like It
1. Introduction
Critics
responding to the role of Jaques in Shakespeare’s As You Like It have
often made a contention which may at first bewilder the casual reader,
acquainted with his well-known and poetically robust speeches, most notably the
“All the world’s a stage” monologue of II.vii. Commentators from Campbell
(93-102) to Evans (368) have argued that Jaques is, in fact, better understood
as a minor character, a sideshow propped up next to the main action of the play.
His beautifully crafted speeches, so the argument goes, distract from the
reality that Jaques plays no perceivable role in advancing the plot, and could
easily be cut from the action entirely. Indeed, no analogous character is to be
found in Shakespeare’s source material, Thomas Lodge’s late 16th-century
comedy Rosalynde (Campbell 85). Explanations for his inclusion in the
first place range from Evans’ claim that Jaques functions as a foil for “those
[…] closer than he to the centre of the play” (368) to Wilcox’s conjecture that
the role was a last-minute addition written for the well-known actor Robert
Armin (389), but the crux of the argument remains the same: Jaques just doesn’t
play a central role in As You Like It.
Viewed through this lens, though,
Jaques’ departure in the play’s final scene poses a particularly thorny
problem. He interrupts the overwhelmingly joyous comic mood with his refusal to
stay; as Marshall notes, “for many viewers a sense of loss pervades the closing
moments of the play,” with Jaques’ departure sounding a curious blue note in
the midst of an otherwise classical comedic resolution (389). For some
commentators, this dissonance serves as yet more evidence that Jaques was a
later addition, his departure shoehorned in to “give [him] a final emphasis”
(Wilcox 392). Yet if we take the Bard at his word, reading the final scene’s
dissonance not as a sign of flawed dramaturgy but as reason to pay closer
attention to Jaques throughout the play, we can unearth thematic through lines
that expose his centrality to the world of As You Like It. Starting with
his departure and moving backwards, we expose a dialectic between his
melancholic submission to suffering and Duke Senior’s attempts to overcome it,
demonstrating the incompatibility of the two positions but suggesting, finally,
the possibility of a third posture which would transcend the failings of a purely
pessimistic and purely optimistic viewpoints. Far from being disjointed or even
superfluous, then, Jaques’ role is seen to be central to the thematic
development of the play as a whole.
Critical attempts have been made in
the past to reckon with Jaques’ role as one of thematic importance, but none afford
Jaques quite the centrality with which I read his part. Quiller-Couch, for
example, identifies Jaques, alongside Touchstone, as just one further agent of
mockery amidst the layered play (that is to say, amusement and frivolity) of As
You Like It. In so doing, he denies the play any deeper meaning than that
of a trivial romp, an enjoyable pastime akin to a Sunday stroll through
Stoneleigh Deer Park (907-909). I see deeper meaning in the plays’ dualities,
which are constantly kept in flux. Wolk, for another, follows in Wilcox’s
footsteps, searching for meaning in the curious link between the melancholy Jaques
and Jaques de Boys. However, his suggestion that this double-naming is the
residue of a transfer of meaning, with the melancholy Jaques standing in for
the largely absent middle brother’s “spiritual pride” as seen in Lodge’s Rosalynde,
is shaky at best; I contend that it’s far more revealing to read Jaques in
conversation with Duke Senior, who is, after all, his most obvious foil in the
play itself (102). Rather than gloss over the pair’s arguments concerning melancholy
and contentment, dismissing them as play or as idle talk, I read them as a
microcosm of the play as a whole, its attempts to unify utopian visions with
the harsh realities of the natural world encapsulated by their rhetorical
sparring.
In this paper, I’ll first briefly defend my approach, examining possible
alternative readings: Jaques as a later addition, Jaques as Touchstone’s foil,
etc. I follow with analyses of Duke Senior and Jaques’ worldviews in turn
before moving to a close reading of their conversations with and about each
other. Finally, I will examine the possibility of Rosalind’s position as
mediator between and, ultimately, unifier of the pair’s opposing positions. In
all this, I contend that, far from standing at the margins of the play’s
action, Jaques’ melancholy—or, more precisely, his recognition of suffering and
injustice wherever it presents itself—in fact represents the key that unlocks
the play’s deepest insights. Duke Senior’s erasure of pain, by which he claims
not to notice “the penalty of Adam, the season’s difference,” is alluring, but
ultimately hollow; and while Jaques’ exaggerated melancholy proves paralyzing,
the integration of the two positions provides a raison d’être for life
in the forest, with the imminent danger of loss providing the strongest
possible motivation to pursue liberty and justice. With Martin Hägglund, I
argue that the recognition of suffering and loss is the condition of
possibility for true freedom, an insight revealed in the interplay between the
Duke and his melancholy fool, and ultimately embodied by his daughter, and by the
magic she works at the close of the play (350).
1.1. Why Jaques?
As mentioned, various commentators
have, in one way or another, dismissed or at least diminished Jaques’ role in As
You Like It; for these critics, the melancholy fool serves at best a
peripheral textual function. The most stringent of their denials comes from
Wilcox, who argues that Jaques was a later addition to the text, with the
primary justification that he simply isn’t important to the plot. This is, in
my eyes, a relatively obvious miscue: as multiple commentators have noted (see,
for example, Quiller-Couch 905 or Marshall 381), As You Like It is a
play not overly concerned with plot. We’re better served following Campbell in
recognizing Jaques’ insignificance to the plot not as evidence for his irrelevance
to the play as a whole, but rather as a chance to examine other ways in which
his importance may be interpreted (86). As for Wilcox’s more complex claim that
Jaques’ text can easily be removed from the text without loss of meaning (390),
my later analysis of his dialogue with Duke Senior will demonstrate that
Jaques’ speeches are inseparable from the play’s thematic development as a
whole.
Other commentators have accepted
Jaques’ relevance but interpret his role as purely satirical. Either, as Thron
argues, the character is a satirical portrait of melancholic
pseudo-intellectuals (85), or he’s a vessel that delivers the playwright’s
criticism of his other characters. The first argument can be refuted by an
examination of his role in Duke Senior’s court. Beginning at the end, his
departure from the court is clearly felt, with his curious refusal to return to
the duchy palpably dampening the mood in the play’s final scene. Upon
announcing his intentions, he’s briefly interrupted by Duke Senior’s pleading
admonition to “stay, […] stay,” (V.iv.204) and his exit is followed by a shaken
couplet from the duke, entreating the court (and again repeating his words, as
if attempting to comfort even himself) to “proceed, proceed,” and to begin
celebrating “in true delights” (V.iv.208). Duke Senior’s need to reassure his
court that all can end well, even in Jaques’ absence, testifies to the crucial
role that Jaques has played in the forest of Arden: far from just providing the
mockery of a more classical fool like Touchstone, he often provides a
legitimate contrast to the prevailing viewpoint as manifested (and thus subtly
enforced) by the Duke.
This is further evidenced in other
characters’ responses to Jaques throughout the play. When his exploits are
first reported, the picture drawn is one of exaggerated melancholy, with Jaques
drawing thin lines to connect the image of a dying deer to various apparently
unrelated social critiques; yet the other characters don’t seem to ridicule him
at all. Indeed, the unnamed first lord entrusted with this story finishes with
the acknowledgement, “thus most invectively he pierceth through / the body of
country, city, court / yea, and of this our life” (II.i.61-63)—hardly words of
mockery. Even when Jaques espouses viewpoints contrary to those of the Duke
(and thus the court in general), he’s taken seriously by those around him.
Rather than dismissing him as a fool or engaging on the level of witty banter
(with a few exceptions: see, for example, III.ii.258-298), the Duke and his
courtiers seek to hold intellectual debates with Jaques, reinforcing the
relative legitimacy of the melancholy fool’s arguments. The same holds even
during his encounter with Rosalind, whose role as the moral center of the play
I’ll explore later. Although it’s bookended by pointed comments comparing
Jaques to a wooden post and mocking his status as a former traveler, Rosalind
genuinely engages with Jaques’ melancholy, providing a hypothesis as to what
“great reason” he has “to be sad” (IV.i.24). She reminds Jaques that experience
is worth little if it only makes one sad, a piercing critique which
nevertheless does not descend to the level of mere mockery.
Given all this, it may be tempting
to view Jaques instead as purely an agent of satire, delivering critiques
of Duke Senior’s forest court. In another interaction with the Duke (yet again
on the level of intellectual debate), he argues that those offended by his
criticism would only be condemning themselves (II.vii.70-87), a defense which,
as Marshall notes, was common to English satirists of the late 16th
century (94-96). In this light, Campbell even argues that Jaques serves a
“double satiric purpose”: his barbs often pierce genuine weaknesses of Duke
Senior and of society in Arden, and yet when abstracted out to an entire way of
living, his melancholy proves worthy of mockery (91).
However, where Campbell identifies a doubling of Jaques’ satiric
purpose, I argue that in an important sense, his way of thinking can best be
understood beyond satire. Jaques can be read both as a satirical
caricature and as a satirist, but he also offers a legitimate alternative to
the Duke’s pastoral contentment. His description of the seven ages of life,
whether one accepts it or not, remains one of Shakespeare’s most well-known
speeches, with its impressive composition lending particular weight to Jaques’
contrasting worldview (II.vii.146-173). More broadly, I hope to show that by
taking Jaques seriously not only in his critique but also in the alternative
vision he suggests, we reveal a dialectic (i.e. thesis-antithesis) relationship
to Duke Senior’s philosophy, opening up the possibility of a final synthesis of
their respective insights.
1.2. Excursus: Other possible foils
Having established the importance
and legitimacy of Jaques’ position in As You Like It, we’re faced with
the question of how best to interpret it. Given the clear contrast between his
character and the other members of Duke Senior’s forest court, I suggest that a
comparative approach will yield the best insight into his textual function. This
approach is relatively widespread in analyses of Jaques, but many critics
choose to read him in comparison not with Duke Senior but with other foils,
most predominantly “the man totally without illusions,” Touchstone, or in a few
fringe cases, the largely-absent other Jaques, Jaques de Boys (Evans 367). Nevertheless,
an approach which contrasts Jaques with Duke Senior provides insights not
revealed by either of these alternatives.
The parallels between Jaques and
Touchstone are undeniable. Both characters are, as Barber notes, critics created
“out of whole cloth,” added to the cast of Lodge’s Rosalynde to call the
play’s overwhelming pastoralism into question (227). The two mirror each other
in important ways; Jaques, Duke Senior’s melancholy fool, is the closest
parallel in his court to Duke Frederick’s fool, Touchstone. Even within the
play, the affinity between the two is obvious. Jaques is overjoyed upon first
meeting Touchstone, and immediately expresses a newly discovered ambition: “O,
that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat” (II.vii.43-44).
Touchstone, for his part, mocks every character he encounters, Jaques included,
but there’s some suggestion in the text that Jaques is aware of this mocking
and appreciates it (see, for example, Thron 85). Of course, important differences
exist between the two fools, with Touchstone’s critiques always taking the form
of patent mockery—classical foolery, as it were—as opposed to Jaques’ more
earnest melancholy. As Quiller-Couch puts it: “Jaques moralizes; Touchstone
comments and plays the fool”—but the characters share a broader dramatic
function (909). Analyses which compare and contrast them can yield important
insights, as in Morris’s exploration of the “somber counterpoint” which both
characters carry throughout the play (269).
Nevertheless, the relation between
Jaques and Touchstone is precisely one of parallel figures, whereas
Jaques and Duke Senior stand in many ways perpendicular to one another. Of
course, it can be useful to examine points of contrast between two similar
characters, but the development of a dialectical understanding depends on
identifying a position diametrically opposed to Jaques’ melancholy. I find this
position in Duke Senior’s pastoral contentment. In his very first appearance,
II.i, he expresses the ideals which Touchstone later mocks (see, for example,
III.ii.11-85) and Jaques thoroughly criticizes (as elaborated in section III).
As such, a rigorous comparison of Jaques and the Duke can provide insights beyond
those derived from comparing the two fools.
The other potential foil is a
somewhat stranger case: critics like Marshall and Wolk, noting the curious
doubling of names in As You Like It, have suggested that Jaques stands
in for or reflects the role of Jaques de Boys, the missing third brother of
Oliver and Orlando. In this case, the reason not to compare the two is far more
obvious: there’s simply nothing to compare. The second Jaques appears only in
indirect reference right up to the final scene, in which he appears as the “Second
Brother” to announce the news of Duke Frederick’s abdication (V.iv.156-171).
The only possible comparison here is one which reads Jaques as a representation
of loss, of that which is missing. This reading falls short of identifying any
dialectical function. Of course, such interpretations can certainly yield
important insights; Marshall’s psychoanalytical portrait of Jaques as a
“double, standing in for the absent second son,” (377) more closely elaborates
the character’s symbolic link to loss and death as explored by Morris (269-275),
and, Wolk’s analysis of Jaques’ “spiritual pride,” as connected to the second
brother of Lodge’s Rosalynde, widens our understanding of the former’s
faults. Taken together with analyses focusing on Touchstone and Jaques, we’re
presented with a relatively clear picture of a satirically-drawn satirist, a
character who represents loss and death in all their forms—in short, everything
which doesn’t quite belong in Arden. Nevertheless, this fuller picture of
Jaques’ character falls short of explaining his function in relation to the
world around him. To that end, I turn to a comparison with Duke Senior,
beginning with individual analyses of his and Jaques’ respective worldviews.
2. Duke Senior’s contentment
At Duke Senior’s first appearance in
the play, he delivers what amounts to a manifesto of contentment, an ideology
to which he remains faithful throughout As You Like It. In many ways, he
is the mouthpiece, even the embodiment of the pastoral ideal, wholly dedicated
to his new position in the forest of Arden (at least until his return to
court). His opening monologue in the second act is slightly problematic, with
editors divided in their interpretations of one of its most critical lines: where
some read “here feel we not the penalty of Adam, the season’s
difference,” others suggest “here feel we but the penalty of Adam”
(II.i.5, emphasis mine)[1]. Nevertheless, whether
Duke Senior merely diminishes the “icy fang / and churlish chiding of the
winter’s wind” or claims not to feel it at all, the core of his argument is
clear: when confronted with unpleasant realities, he smiles, noting the “sweet
[…] uses of adversity” and the “good in everything” (II.i.6-17). In stark contrast
to the “peril” of the “envious court,” the Duke’s relative safety in Arden
allows him to relax his guard, accepting the mild inconveniences of his new
life and re-defining apparently bad fortune as ultimately beneficial.
This introductory scene also
provides the first indication of how exactly the Duke’s contentment functions. He
reinterprets the unpleasant realities encountered in Arden through the lens of
idyllic erasure, choosing to ignore suffering in his unconditional acceptance
of things as they are. In so doing, he adopts a position of Elizabethan
contentment, as elaborated by Zajac (311-313), and this contentment echoes
throughout his court. The first line following his opening monologue comes from
Lord Amiens: “I would not change it” (II.i.18). However, there’s more going on
here than blind acceptance of given circumstances. As Hennessy writes, Duke
Senior “transforms [Arden] into a reflection of his own personality”—a practice
which doesn’t seem in line with unconditional contentment. This odd coexistence
of contentment and self-assertion is exposed in the forest court’s most
precarious situation, as Orlando enters to demand food for himself and Adam. The
Duke is able to defuse the tension precisely because he engages a sort of
double consciousness: he recognizes the need produced by the forest’s
unfavorable conditions, later remarking, “thou seest we are not all alone
unhappy,” and yet precisely in this recognition refuses to give up his courtly
compassion, providing Orlando with all he needs (II.vii.142). By overlooking
whatever scarcity and suffering one may otherwise fear in the forest, Duke
Senior is able to keep hold of his gentleness and, as Amiens puts it,
“translate the stubbornness of fortune” into a quiet, sweet style (II.i.19-20).
This pastoral life is clearly
enticing. In the face of unpleasantness both social and natural, the Duke’s
practice of contentment allows him to always extract the best out of a bad
situation. The allure of this practice convinces even some critics of its value.
Zajac praises its personal benefits as well as its political significance,
arguing that “As You Like It effectively engages the prominent period
discourse of contentment to think the prevailing political order differently”
(310); even for commentators like Cirillo, who remain skeptical of
contentment’s practicality, “the ideal of the pastoral is […] the world of the
possible which should inform the actual” (19).
Despite Arden’s allure, though, one
cannot overlook the fact that Duke Senior’s contentment ultimately depends on
an erasure, a silencing of the pain often inherent to the human condition. As
Evans concedes: “[Jaques] is right to remind us that the comic dance, for all
its generosity, its vigor and grace, cannot hope to contain all aspects of
human experience” (368). This fundamental weakness is nowhere clearer than at
Jaques’ departure in the final scene. In the midst of what ought to be the
play’s happiest celebration, the sudden reminder of loss exposes the fragility
of Duke Senior’s contentment. In his final moments on stage, Jaques’ actions
become living proof of the reality that he’s stood for throughout the play: every
relationship is, on some level, haunted by its own finitude, with the specter
of loss preventing us from ever fully committing to static contentment. More
broadly, Jaques’ recognition of this fact is precisely what leads to his
exclusion and eventual departure. As Zajac writes, “his discontent is both a
cause and a consequence of his isolation from the community” (331). Yet while
Zajac identifies this isolation as a monster of Jaques’ own creation, the blame
can just as easily (and perhaps even more convincingly) be laid at Duke
Senior’s feet: he’s created a community which excludes those that recognize the
painful realities of existence. Jaques presents an alternative.
3. Jaques’ melancholy
Like Duke Senior, Jaques appears
throughout the play as the embodiment of an ideology; he isn’t introduced with
a statement of principles, but his philosophical positioning remains consistent
from his first appearance through his departure. In fact, later in the play,
Jaques does deliver a kind of manifesto, mirroring the Duke’s:
I am [a
melancholy fellow]. I do love it better than laughing. […] [I]t is a melancholy
of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and
indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination
wraps me in a most humorous sadness. (IV.i.5; 18-22)
The
picture presented here is surprisingly contradictory. On the one hand, Jaques describes
a genuine melancholy, developed from various influences over the course of
years of travelling; before even laying claim to this legitimacy, though, he
admits a certain amount of self-indulgence in his philosophy. Quite possibly,
there’s an element of irony in his declaration that he loves melancholy “better
than laughing” (IV.i.5)—a bit of self-mockery would certainly be in line with
his previous willingness to accept Touchstone’s jests (see Thron 85)—yet even
an ironic admission of self-indulgence is revealing. Jaques, it seems, has been
so consumed by his humors that his once-legitimate melancholy has morphed into
something more grotesque, a pathological negativity rivalled only by Duke
Senior’s pathological positivity.
Jaques’ constant attempts to “suck
melancholy out of” the most benign situations border on the absurd, leading some
critics to dismiss him as a purely satirical portrait (II.v.12-13).[2] He seems to enter every
situation intent on finding new ways to reinforce his melancholy.
Paradoxically, this blind indulgence allows him to defend his humors’
legitimacy, constantly adding new entries to his catalogue of reasons to be sad.
Jaques is open about this process: he “[does] not desire [others] to please
[him],” repeatedly describing instead his active attempts to find melancholy
(II.v.16). In this, he proves largely successful, identifying critiques of the
Duke’s court (II.i.27-44), his comrades’ idealism (II.vii.47-58), and the
futility of human life (II.vii.146-173)—ample reason to be sad. Curiously,
though, Jaques seems to perform, even to preach his philosophy: rather than “be
sad and say nothing,” he always seems to say something about his melancholy
(IV.i.10). Here, again, his self-indulgence extends past and even contradicts
his philosophy.
Nevertheless, Jaques’ position has a
serious advantage: although his melancholy is rarely productive, it’s almost
always justified. Even Zajac, strident supporter of Duke Senior’s
contentment and its political significance, must admit: “By making Jaques such
a show-stealing character, Shakespeare communicates the seductiveness of
discontent” (329). Beyond seductiveness or rhetorical beauty, though, Jaques is
often right: in his reminders that the realities of loss and death are
inescapable, in his recognition of satire’s social function. Arden is not the
paradise Duke Senior would make it out to be, as evidenced by his daughter’s wish
that she “were at home,” as well as his own readiness to return to court as
soon as the option presents itself (IV.iii.170). In the forest as at court, the
passage of time and its accompanying decay are unavoidable, as Morris notes
(271-272). Even some members of Duke Senior’s court seem to find Jaques’
arguments convincing. As mentioned in §1.1., the First Lord appears convinced
by the melancholy fool’s critique. Even further, Jaques’ mockery, combined with
his impressive speech on the seven ages of man, seems to shake Amiens’
confidence in his contentment: having once sung of men “pleased with what [they
get],” with no enemies “but winter and rough weather,” (II.v.39-43), the
musician changes his tune, singing suddenly of feigning friendship and love
which is “mere folly” (II.vii.189). Clearly, Jaques’ melancholy isn’t the
unfounded caricature some critics take it for.
However, as already indicated, the
fact of Jaques’ defensibility does not preclude his philosophy from practical
disadvantage. As with Duke Senior’s contentment, Jaques’ pessimistic position
begins to show cracks as the play’s action proceeds, eventually breaking down
entirely in the final scene. There is no need here to rehearse the tragedy of
Jaques’ departure as already analyzed in §2, but the manner of his exit is
worthy of closer consideration. Specifically, when he chooses not to return to
Duke Senior’s court, Jaques opts instead to join (former) Duke Frederick in
retreating to a religious life. It’s tempting to dismiss this as an irrelevant
detail, informed by dramaturgical convenience or invocating vague notions of isolated
contemplation, yet Jaques explicitly refers to the religious aspect of his
decision, asserting: “Out of these convertites / There is much matter to be
heard and learned” (V.iv.190-191).
If we take Jaques at his word here, a much different picture emerges:
rather than a melancholic submitting to the pull towards isolation, Jaques
appears as a man abandoning his melancholy (and thus his role in Duke
Senior’s court) in favor of the pursuit of meaning. Particularly interesting
here is the use of the word “matter”: where Jaques was once wholly uninterested
in the substance of the Duke’s arguments, claiming, “I think of as many matters
as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them,” (II.v.34-35) he’s
now ready to engage with religious arguments, accepting that convertites, like
he, are “full of matter” (II.i.72). This new and earnest reconsideration of his
position is further indicated by his parting words: with the exception of his
warning to Touchstone, Jaques sincerely wishes his compatriots “honor, […]
love, and great allies,” even as he recognizes that he cannot remain with them
(V.iv.192-197). The extremity of his pessimism, just like that of Duke Senior’s
optimism, has proven simply unsustainable.
4. Jaques and Duke Senior: thesis and antithesis
The positions of Jaques and Duke
Senior are thus portrayed as legitimate alternatives to each other which are
nonetheless ultimately contradictory. Shakespeare portrays two worldviews
diametrically opposed to each other, and as Evans notes, “refuses to legislate
or even take sides” in the resulting rivalry (366). Considering the
incompatibility of the Duke’s contentment with Jaques’ melancholy, I turn to an
analysis of conversations between the two to investigate how this mutual
exclusivity functions and why it exists. Given the centrality of their disagreements
to the play’s thematic development, it’s remarkable that the two only appear
together in two scenes, II.vii and V.iv (a fact which has not escaped those who
dismiss Jaques’ importance); nevertheless, these two scenes provide ample
material for critical analysis.
In the first of the two
conversations, Jaques expresses his desire to become a fool like Touchstone, a
wish which alternately amuses and irritates the Duke. The picture which emerges
is one of an intimate but nonetheless adversarial relationship: with echoes of
Jaques’ earlier remark that he has “been all day to avoid [Duke Senior],” the
Duke expresses his frustration with the melancholy fool’s absence, and leaps at
the first opportunity to criticize Jaques’ aspirations (II.v.32). The Duke’s
interjection prompts Jaques to defend himself, but the content of their argument
is relatively unimportant. (Indeed, the Duke’s ad hominem attack is a
poor counter to Jaques’ pointed satire, whereas the latter’s defense does
little more than rehearse arguments common to satirists of the period.) Rather,
what’s important here is the adversarial structure: although each position is
in some sense contingent on the other’s opposition (a point which will be
explored more in following sections), it ultimately entails the negation of its
alternative. The Duke can’t tolerate (or, more precisely, can tolerate
but not accept) Jaques’ criticism because doing so would endanger his pastoral
contentment; Jaques can’t accept the Duke’s contentment because doing so would
entail ignorance of certain truths (about the reality of death, loss, etc.)
which are, for him, foundational.
All this comes to a head in the
play’s final scene, as the resolution of the central conflict simultaneously
entails a final rejection of Jaques’ place in the court. Jaques realizes this
and gracefully accepts it, even in the face of the Duke’s entreaty that he
stay. As elaborated in §3, he abandons his one-dimensional pessimism, retreating
to join Duke Frederick in religious contemplation. However, his apparent
motives are in fact twofold. On the one hand, his pessimism has proved
personally unsustainable, and he’s prepared to reconsider it; but just as
importantly, the resolution of the play’s central conflicts is cause for a
celebration so full-hearted that it leaves no room for melancholy. Tellingly,
Jaques’ interruption immediately follows the Duke’s call for “rustic revelry,”
full of joyful song and dance (V.iv.183). The melancholy fool, whose pessimism
has become both personally and socially unsustainable, must leave the others
“to [their] pleasures”—Jaques is “for other than dancing measures” (V.iv.201-202).
Despite Jaques’ ultimate departure,
though, the oppositional relationship between his melancholy and the Duke’s
contentment contains shades of possible resolutions throughout As You Like
It. Jaques’ pessimism, after all, is often expressed as a critique of the
existing order—a form which necessarily implies the possibility of
rectification—and the Duke does his best to make room for Jaques in his court,
whether by turning Orlando’s misfortune into an optimistic reminder that his
lords “are not all alone unhappy” or by entreating Jaques not to depart at the
play’s close (II.vii.142). Barton, like Morris, writes of Jaques as an image of
death in Arcadia, but nevertheless identifies “a curious stillness at the heart
of the play,” a tranquility which doesn’t seem to align with the fundamental
opposition between melancholy and contentment (162). Even given the eventual
collapse of this truce at Jaques’ departure, the reader is left with the
impression that thesis and antithesis may be able to coexist after all, if only
under the right conditions. One wonders if the two could even be synthesized
into a coherent whole.
5. Rosalind and the possibility of synthesis
As already indicated, the fullest
expression of a possible synthesis can be found in the character of Rosalind,
who in ways later elaborated manages to incorporate Jaques’ pessimistic
insights and Duke Senior’s “blind” optimism into a coherent whole. However, this
position emerges over the course of As You Like It, only achieving
fullness at the play’s resolution; Shakespeare’s clearest and most concise
image of humanistic synthesis, in contrast, comes from Amiens. His second song
pivots away from the idealism of the earlier “Under the greenwood tree”
(II.v.1-9, 36-43), but rather than embracing its opposite, the chorus juxtaposes
thesis and antithesis:
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
<Then> heigh-ho the holly.
This life is most jolly.
(II.vii.188-191)[3]
If
the recourse to song indicates particular rhetorical emphasis, Amiens’ first
song in II.v offers an enlightening point of comparison.[4] As mentioned in §3, “Under
the greenwood tree” appears as a faithful elaboration of Duke Senior’s pastoral
idealism, with Jaques’ third verse immediately sounding a sarcastic
counterpoint—the lords of the forest court are nothing more than “fools
[called] into a circle” (II.v.57). “Blow, blow, thou winter wind,” in
comparison, contains Amiens’ earlier idealism immediately alongside a darker
counterpoint, delivered by the same singer. Reflected in its brief chorus are
the positions of both Jaques and Duke Senior, respectively: social relations
(and, as we see in the song’s verses, natural relations) are often hollow and
worthy of criticism, and yet in the end, life is a joyous romp.
A more detailed elaboration of this
synthesis can be found in the arc of the play’s heroine, Rosalind.[5] On this point, I’m
indebted to Margaret Boerner Beckman, whose analysis of Rosalind’s person as “a
seemingly impossible reconciliation of opposites” is key to making sense of her
role in the play’s dialectics (44). Rosalind is able to entertain and even alternately
embody both realism and idealism, representing a concordia discors—the
synthesis of two apparently opposing gestures. As Beckman points out, she
carries this synthesis throughout the action of the play—both madly in love and
skeptical of Orlando’s affection; with both a “martial outside” and “hidden
woman’s fear” (I.iii.126-127); simultaneously man, woman, and boy. In this
context, her brief exchange with Jaques in the fourth act is particularly
enlightening: Rosalind (as Ganymede) demonstrates the ability to entertain the
legitimacy of Jaques’ melancholy, even admitting that he has “great reason to
be sad,” while nonetheless maintaining a certain ironic distance from it (IV.i.24).
She understands Jaques’ melancholy, even recognizes its legitimacy, but questions
its practical desirability. Her joking suggestion that his tendency to
pessimism has turned him wooden is indicative: even if Jaques’ melancholy is
justified, Rosalind “had rather have a fool to make [her] merry” than succumb
to similar depression (IV.i.30).
Rosalind’s strategy seems rather to
be one of acceptance, as she refuses to shy away from the uncomfortable truths
that Jaques recognizes (and that her father denies) but does not allow them to
dominate her life. Indeed, it’s this very acceptance that allows her to embody
both the posture of the idealist and that of the realist. Just before her mock
wedding with Orlando, a romantic turning point despite her/Ganymede’s initial
bickering, she delivers a treatise on death, ending with one of the play’s
darkest evocations: “Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten
them, but not for love” (IV.i.112-113). This morbid image is, of course, part
of the mask that Rosalind wears to protect herself, but even her eventual
admission that she is “many [fathoms] deep in love” doesn’t detract from its
initial impact (IV.i.219). Even earlier, Rosalind draws a connection between
the absence of her father and her longing for her “child’s father,” Orlando,
once again locating loss and love in almost uncomfortable proximity
(II.iii.11). The recognition of loss and death thus seems closely linked to
Rosalind’s ability to tread the thin line between realism and idealism. She
depends on Jaques’ melancholy insights in order to produce a more sustainable
form of her father’s contentment.
In this way, Rosalind’s posture resembles
that which is expressed in Martin Hägglund’s treatise This Life: Secular
Faith and Spiritual Freedom. In his work to construct a secular position
opposed to religious depictions of eternal life (and other forms of escaping
finitude), Hägglund suggests an acknowledgement of finitude (death, loss, etc.)
which is paradoxically revealed to be the “condition of possibility for
commitment and engagement” (49)—in other words, love. For Hägglund, the
melancholy fact of finitude ought not to send us into a pessimistic spiral;
after all, the practical result of such a spiral is only to bring us even
closer to pain and death. Instead, the proper response is one of deepened care,
as the painful realities of life make our time together that much more
precious. Here, we see the double movement also made by Rosalind. She works
magic, bringing together four couples and perhaps even restoring her father to
his throne, not despite her acknowledgement of Jaques’ insights, but
precisely because of it. As Hägglund puts it: she moves forward “into
the risk of irrevocable death […] and yet [she is] resolved to make the most of
the time that is given” (168).
6. Conclusion
In light of all this, what is the purpose of the conflict
between Duke Senior’s contentment and Jaques’ skepticism? As Cirillo notes, the
presence of darker undertones in As You Like It allows Shakespeare “to
make the pastoral a necessarily ephemeral but educative experience for the
characters of the comedy” (19). However, the fact that the pastoral is
necessarily ephemeral is not a trait unique to the form; at the risk of stating
a truism, all forms of human life are necessarily ephemeral. The true
insight of As You Like It is not that one can “rescue” pastoral idealism
by adding a layer of melancholy humor on top of it, but rather that the
pastoral’s necessary ephemerality is crucial to its very existence. Extrapolating
outwards to other forms of social organization, it is precisely the finitude of
human life—the fact that, as the pages sing, a life is “but a flower”
(V.iii.30)—that motivates our search for joy and justice in the first place.
Shakespeare’s portrait of melancholy and contentment, given
the oppositional nature of the two positions, is one of adversarial complements.
However, it’s also a portrait which reflects the necessary interconnectedness
of thesis and antithesis. Although Jaques’ worldview and Duke Senior’s ultimately
exclude each other, they’re also defined by their contrast, a dependency which
persists until they finally negate one another. What remains, though, is far
from emptiness. Rather, the two opposites are synthesized into Rosalind’s concordia
discors, a double movement which expands to accommodate both thesis and
antithesis. In Arden’s Arcadia, death appears, but rather than disrupt the
precarious balance of the pastoral fantasy, it lends its subjects a new
strength, as they meet its challenge with a renewed commitment to love,
justice, and rustic revelry.
As Barton recognizes, “the play releases its audience
cheered and consoled,” armed with the knowledge that although the harsh
realities of winter can’t be avoided, they need not prevent us from pursuing
what we care about (169). Rosalind demonstrates that it is possible to come
face to face with loss, meeting pain and death not with fear or melancholy but with
a courage derived from practical considerations. She conjures the audience into
a new way of living, charging us not only “to like as much of [her] play as
please” us, but also to allow ourselves to be changed by our experience of it
(Epilogue 13-14). In the face of a finite and fragile life, As You Like It
motivates its audience to live harmoniously, care deeply, and love dangerously.
Then heigh-ho the holly…
Works Cited
Barton, Anne. "As You Like It and Twelfth Night: Shakespeare's
Sense of an Ending." Shakespearean Comedy, edited by Malcolm Bradbury and
David Palmer, Holmes & Meier, 1979, pp. 160-180.
Barber, Cesar. "The Alliance of Seriousness and Levity in As You
Like It. Shakespeare's Festive Comedy, Princeton University Press, 1959, pp. 222-239.
Beckman, Margaret Boerner. "The Figure of Rosalind in As You Like
It." Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 29, no. 1, Winter 1978, pp. 44-51.
Campbell, Oscar James. "Jaques." The Huntington Library
Bulletin, no. 8, Oct. 1935, pp. 71-102. JSTOR,
https://www.jstor.org/stable/3818104.
Cirillo, Albert R. "As You Like It: Pastoralism Gone Awry."
English Literary History, vol. 38, no. 1, March 1971, pp. 19-39.
Evans, G. Blakemore. "As You Like It." The Riverside
Shakespeare, Houghton Mifflin, 1974, pp. 366-368.
Hägglund, Martin. This Life: Secular Faith and Spiritual Freeedom.
Pantheon Books, 2019.
Hennessy, Michael. "'Had I Kingdoms to Give': Place in As You Like
It." Shakespearean Criticism, vol. 118, 2009. Literature Resource Center,
https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/H1420088302/LitRC?u=freiburg&sid=LitRC&xid=7af2034f.
Originally published in Essays in Literature, vol. 4, no. 2, Fall 1977, pp.
143-151.
Marshall, Cynthia. "The Doubled Jaques and Constructions of
Negation in As You Like It." Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 49, no. 4, Winter
1998, pp. 375-392.
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Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 26, no. 3, Summer 1975, pp. 269-275. JSTOR,
https://www.jstor.org/stable/2869607.
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https://www.jstor.org/stable/25108847.
Wilcox, John. "Putting Jaques into 'As You Like It.''' The Modern
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Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 23, no. 1, Winter 1972, pp. 101-105. JSTOR,
https://www.jstor.org/stable/2868660.
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[1] See Mowat & Werstine, endnote to II.i.5-6.
[2] On the latter point, see my review of the literature
in §1.1.
[3] Superior half-brackets are used in Mowat and
Werstine’s edition to indicate changes made from the First Folio text of As
You Like It.
[4] My interpretation admittedly neglects the play’s two
other songs, “What shall he have that killed the deer?” (IV.i.11-19) and “It
was a lover and his lass” (V.iii.16-39). Considering they’re each sung by other
minor characters (rather than Amiens), further direct comparison seems uncalled
for; nevertheless, work remains to be done in their interpretation.
[5] In light of this argument, Kimberley Sykes’ treatment
of Jaques and the Duke in the RSC’s 2019 production of As You Like It is
particularly interesting, with shades of a romantic relationship between the
two suggesting a literal parental connection to Rosalind.
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