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So yes, as both of you say, Pete and Nora, Act 5 seems very much a case of ‘lock/shut away or kill all the unruly women, maintain patrilinealism at all costs, and establish a quasi-androgenetic origin myth for “Britain”‘, because, of course, no one does remember Joan’s name. There is dissidence in Artesia’s laughter however as you also note. Witches have been known to do this onstage- the Late Lancashire witches simply laugh when they are interrogated by a kangaroo court in that play and I’m fascinated by female resistance encoded through non-verbal forms such as laughter in early modern drama. Interesting that this act played quite well, Pete, because it does read as somewhat perfunctory on the page. I’d want to accompany some of its longer speeches with masques or dumb shows if directing.
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More beard reflections. I’m sorry – but Merlin’s beard is mentioned 4 or 5 times in 4.1., it’s clearly important! It becomes evident in this scene that his beard is too manly for his stature I think – the Gentlemen call him a “small gentleman” for instance, so there appears to be a mismatch between his height and his hair. It strikes me that there are all kinds of masculinity and lineage issues going on in the play, and especially in this act, with its usurpations, insurrections, and rebel alliances, and its overarching concern with how to reinstall a “lawful king”. At the same time, the questions over Merlin’s paternity continue and it seems to me that his beard – which should be a natural inheritance from father to son, like property, or money – becomes emblematic of the topsy-turvy manliness in the play. Without a lawful father, Merlin displays an unlawful beard, symptomatic of a wisdom which belies his years, and gesturing towards the disordered manliness of the Devil himself.
Also, it all got a bit GoT in this act didn’t it? The thought of staging this play is actually a bit terrifying – I don’t see how it can be anything other than comic. I wonder if Phil Butterworth’s article “Late Medieval Performing Dragons” contains anything helpful for staging these ones? I’ve not got round to reading it yet. Incidentally, comets are often described as having ‘beards’ in early modern texts. Just saying.
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Those familiar with my research background won’t be surprised if I confine my discussion to Act 3’s presentation of Merlin as newborn with a beard because it is AMAZING.
But what in holy hell is going on? Early modern masculine ideology is clear that, in order to be considered a man, one must have a beard. Lucina assured us that Merlin will be “Manlike in judgement, person, state, and years” – all categories of manhood which are sustained through a adult bearded masculinity – and the Clown is disturbed that a child should be “born with a beard on his face” or be in “need of a barber before he was born”. Merlin’s own reference to his “growth” might include his hair as well as stature. And yet the Clown describes him upon first sight as a “moon-calf” and Joan suggests that her son should leave off his study until he is a man, with Merlin retorting that he will only ever be half a man because the rest of him is immortal “spirit”. So it’s equivocal at a textual level exactly how bearded Merlin is – he’s certainly hirsute for a child, but is he only “man-like” and “more like” Joan’s husband than her son, or is he completely manly? In terms of Pete’s question about whether this is a patchy-bearded young man or full wizard, I’d say that it’s unclear- and I’ll be interested to continue to trace his masculinity through the remaining acts for more clues.
I was reminded of Nestor in Troilus and Cressida and the idea of him being hatched from an egg as a grey-bearded elderly man rather than of woman born. Particular masculine archetypes seem to be obstructed from normative births/childhoods, and Merlin is clearly imagined in this mould, although, as Pete says, other sources grant Merlin a childhood.
I love that the Clown is able to finally recognise that Merlin’s father is the Devil by his feet and not his horrid, frying-pan face. Also agree with David about the poetry in 3.2: the world-as-masque speech is wonderful. Interested to hear Andrew potentially speak about the witchcraft language/imagery in this scene, and the ‘strange transformation’ of Constancia. We also have an ‘antick dance’ in 3.3 which might have related to the demonic movement in the Masque Of Queens possibly?
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I’m fascinated with the shape of Act 2: how we move from the liminal, perilous and (as Pete says) identity-morphing space of the woods, ever closer to the court and ultimately the king’s bed-chamber – the place where legitimate heirs are begotten and patriarchy perpetuated. But something about that woodsy disorder continues to permeate all of the scenes throughout the act. As others have noted, the misogyny of the first scene is breath-taking and continues to infect gender dynamics throughout the act: another theme running through it is how women act to unravel masculinity – whether through impugning their sexual integrity (Uter), their martial conquests (Edol/Aurelius), or their homosocial and fraternal bonds (all three).
I have been doing research recently on gendered contexts of movement and was talking to Nora the other day about how the woods are always sexually dangerous contexts for women, a site which anticipates their sexual undoing or violation – with Hermia at one end of the scale and Lavinia at the other. Sadly it is the context that says ‘asking for it’ in early modern thought, legitimating their sexual availability and assault. When it came to the devil’s seduction (if we can ever call sex with the devil consensual…) I was reminded of Peg’s account of devil sex in Act 5 of The Late Lancashire Witches. She is similarly blindsided by his outsides and particularly his ‘black points’, analogous to BOM’s Devil’s ‘hangers’:
Doughty: Peace, and did he weare good clothes?
Peg: Gentleman like, but blacke blacke points and all.
Doughty: I, very like his points were blacke enough.
So the image of the Devil as a dazzling gallant appears in at least two plays, and marries up with Sally’s point that he mimics a certain ostentatious nobility. I wonder if this is a literary trope or if it finds itself into any ‘factual’ texts? And finally, THE MAGIC BATTLE! What a tantalising staging proposition! I was reminded of the figures’ starting positions in Tekken for some reason, ready to fight and raring to go but waiting for the player-magician to push the button. Fabulous stuff. Bring on Act 3.
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Hi everyone. Wanted to open by saying that I’m already enjoying reading this play one act at a time and really considering what is presented in each one. Not sure I’ve ever done that.
First thing I wanted to say is how much I got out of reading the dramatis personae, particularly the intriguing role of the ‘little antic spirit’ and also the character name of Joan Goe-Too’t (if I remember correctly)!
The scene that most interested me from a performance point of view, similarly to Anna, was Artesia’s entrance (‘a female orator’ – shock horror! How might *that* line be delivered?). I was wondering particularly about the performance tone and character reactions to the o’er-hasty wooing. It seems hilarious as a modern reader but would it actually be quite shocking for the original audience? There’s a very similar scene in The Maid of Honour (albeit gender-reversed) so I wonder if these plays are talking to each other or whether there are more examples? Look forward to seeing the development of what is sure to be a happy marriage!
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Hi everyone. Wanted to open by saying that I’m already enjoying reading this play one act at a time and really considering what is presented in each one. Not sure I’ve ever done that.
First thing I wanted to say is how much I got out of reading the dramatis personae, particularly the intriguing role of the ‘little antic spirit’ and also the character babe of Joan Goe-Too’t (if I remember correctly)!
The scene that most interested me from a performance point of view, similarly to Anna, was Artermesia’s entrance (‘a female orator’ – shock horror! How might *that* line be delivered?). I was wondering particularly about the performance tone and character reactions to the o’er-hasty wooing. It seems hilarious as a modern reader but would it actually be quite shocking for the original audience? There’s a very similar scene in The Maid of Honour (albeit gender-reversed) so I wonder if these plays are talking to each other or whether there are more examples?
Look forward to seeing the development of what is sure to be a happy marriage!
Ellie
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Hi everyone, I’m Ellie and an early modernist with a special interest in gender, politics, and the practice-based/staging side of things. I’m also Nora’s colleague right now which is a) how I know she’s awesome and b) how I know about The Birth of Merlin! I’m very grateful to her for setting up a structured way for me to finally read this play. Really excited to do so alongside you all.
I’m currently working on walking in e.m. drama so will probably find a way to bang on about that repeatedly in the coming weeks. My pronouns are she/her/hers. Outside of work I watch a lot of television – especially at the trashier end of the scale – wrangle a toddler, and listen to true crime podcasts and music.
Ellie
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