Midsummer Night’s Dreaming: An Analysis

So, the following paper has consumed my attention the last week. My grad school application is now due in 72 hours, and I am finally “finished” with my paper. It was harder to write than I thought it would be–literature papers always are, for some reason. Anyway, if any of you literary types (ahem?) are interested in taking a gander, I would appreciate the feedback. At least if it comes in the next 24 hours, that is.

Disclaimer: it’s not properly formatted or footnoted yet. Be warned.

Midsummer Night’s Dream poses innumerable problems to would-be interpreters. By weaving disparate themes and diverse allusions together, Shakespeare creates a rich tapestry that seems more coherent from afar than up close. Or, to switch metaphors, Hippolyta’s description of the hounds seems fitting for a Midsummer Night’s Dream: “So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.” As Allan Lewis points out, the play can be interpreted to support renderings that range from the idyllic and romantic to the bestial and violent.[1] At some point, the reader is forced to wonder whether criticism should take its cue from Bottom and simply proclaim with him that Midsummer Night Dream has no bottom.

Compounding the interpretational problems of Midsummer Night’s Dream is Shakespeare’s use of the play Pyramus andThisbe. This play-within-a-play raises significant questions for our understanding and appreciation of Midsummer Night’s Dream as a whole. It also sustains very divergent interpretations, from R.W. Dent’s argument that Shakespeare is using it to write an ars poetica, to Virgil Hutton’s notion that Shakespeare is warning the lovers of the potentially tragic nature of a godless reality. Besides leaving the purpose of Shakespeare’s use of Pyramus and Thisbe an open question, these diverse interpretations also raise the intractable problem of understanding: how will we know when we have achieved the “right” interpretation, if such a thing exists? While this paper will not provide an answer to this question, by examining Shakespeare’s use of Pyramus and Thisbe with respect to the whole play, it is my hope to open up new avenues of interpretation that are centered not upon the artistic process but upon the interpretative process.

In his immensely helpful essay, Virgil Hutton suggests that Shakespeare uses Pyramus and Thisbe to teach the stage audience—Theseus, Hippolyta, and the four lovers—a lesson. Interestingly, Hutton’s reasons for this conclusion seem to stem from his a priori commitments to instruction as a goal of art. He argues that Shakespeare instructs the lovers—and by consequence the rest of us—that they cannot depend upon “fairy grace” in their new lives togeter. Drawing on the work of T. Walter Herbert, Hutton contends that the “Babylonian” world of Pyramus and Thisbe—a world of tragedy that lacks gods or spirits—more closely resembles our world than the “animist” world of the forest. The instruction for the newlyweds, then, is that “in order to have any chance of preserving your marriage and some degree of happiness you must recognize and be ready to meet and endure all sorts of possible calamities that may occur in a world where one cannot count on the continual guidance and aid of benevolent fairies or gods.” (Hutton 1985, 298)[2]

Allow me to start with what I agree with in Hutton’s paper. He is correct in his position that Shakespeare wishes not only to entertain with Pyramus and Thisbe, but instruct. “All for your delight we are not here,” says the prologue to the play. And while obviously a distortion, it seems plausible that the prologue reveals more truth than either Peter Quince or the audience recognizes. Additionally, Puck’s epilogue echoes Quince’s prologue, suggesting Shakespeare’s intent for Pyramus and Thisbe is parallel his intent for Midsummer Night’s Dream. Just as there is danger for offense in both plays, so there is the potential for both audiences to receive instruction: the stage audience by Pyramus and Thisbe, and the real audience by Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Yet there are problems in Hutton’s position that the content of Shakespeare’s instruction is a warning of the dangers of a godless reality. For one, Hutton presumes that Pyramus and Thisbe is a lesson for all the lovers. But there is good reason to locate its purpose not within the context of the relationships of the four young lovers, but within the context of the relationship between Theseus and Hippolyta. Such a move would, I think, limit the purpose of Pyramus and Thisbe. For instance, the first and last acts are similarly constructed. They both open with Theseus and Hippolyta engaged in private conversation before being interrupted by the young lovers. In the first act, the lovers are in discord, while in the last their relationships have been resolved back into harmony. While Theseus and Hippolyta’s relationship forms the backdrop to the lovers’ tryst in the forest, it is pushed to the forefront in the final act. They are the only couple that has substantial interaction with each other. Hermia and Helena are noticeably silent, and Demetrius and Lysander only engage in mockery of the mechanicals’ play. Shakespeare’s decision to draw our focus to Theseus and Hippolyta just prior to, and during Pyramus and Thisbe suggests that Pyramus and Thisbe is less a comment about the four lovers’ future relationships as it is a comment on either Theseus, Hippolyta, or both.

Just as many commentators see Pyramus and Thisbe as a foil for the lovers’ experience in the woods, so traditional interpretations of Theseus and Hippolyta have sometimes argued that they are a foil to the irrational love of the young lovers. They are the exception to Bottom’s rule: “And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays” (III.1.145-46). So argues Ernest Schanzer: “In the relationship of Theseus and Hippolyta reason and love have been made friends and keep company together…And the Duke’s cool reason and sense throws into relief the lovers’ absurdities.”[3]

And yet, while Schanzer’s insight that Theseus and Hippolyta are a foil to the young lovers is valuable, I would suggest that he misconstrues the nature of the foil. If Theseus and Hippolyta are reason and love united, then it is clearly an uneasy union. In the opening dialogue, Theseus informs us of the illicit conditions under which their relationship began:

Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword

And won thy love doing thee injuries,

But I will wed thee in another key,

With pomp, with triumph, and with reveling. (I.i.17-20)

Shanzer presumes that we can take Theseus at his word—that he has reformed and will wed her in another key. And yet there are subtle hints that not all is as well as Theseus presumes. Shortly after this exchange, Hippolyta apparently registers discomfort at Theseus’ decision in favor of the law of Athens and against Hermia (I.i.124). In act four, Hippolyta brags about the hounds of Hercules and Cadmus, prompting Theseus to give a defense of his own dogs. Hippolyta’s fond reminiscing, and Theseus’s quick apologia, suggests that Hippolyta is not as impressed by Theseus as Theseus might hope. This becomes even more evident in the final act, where Theseus and Hippolyta repeatedly are at odds. Theseus, the alleged model reason, dismisses the lovers’ absurdities. Hippolyta remains open to their story, as it shows a “great constancy.” Theseus decides to watch Pyramus and Thisbe, while Hippolyta objects. Twice during the play Theseus admonishes her to have patience with it(V.ii.222) and (V.ii.269). Most tellingly, they even disagree on Bottom’s performance as Pyramus. While Theseus coarsely jokes that “This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look said,” Hippolyta finds herself moved by his performance: “Beshrew my heart but I pity the man” (V.ii.305). If reason and love have been made friends in Theseus and Hippolyta, it can only be in William Blake’s sense of friendship: “Opposition is true Friendship.”

The nature of the foil that they provide, then, is not as the model couple, but rather as the only couple at the end of the play that is still experiencing discord and disharmony, muted as it is by their adherence to proper court decorum. I would go further to suggest that at the core of their discord is Theseus’s rejection of the lovers’ story in favor of “cool reason.” Theseus stands out as the only major character within the play to deny the plausibility of the “fairy toy” of the lovers. Yet in the context of the dream world Shakespeare has created, his is not the reasonable position. More importantly, it seems Theseus does not consider the story reasonably, but dismisses it from an a priori position against “antique fables..[and] fairy toys.” His philosophy has predetermined his position, enabling him to not actually understand what the lovers went through. In this way, it is Theseus with his famous speech about reason that is at the core of the purpose of Pyramus and Thisbe.

Theseus’ pattern of rejecting ideas from an a priori position continues throughout the performance of Pyramus and Thisbe. Though Theseus chooses the play, and says everything right in its defense, he values it only on his own terms and only in the ways in which it appeals to his own sense of honor and dignity. He lauds the effort of the mechanicals out of his “noble respect,” but then proceeds to gently mock their performance. While accepting their intent to honor, he rejects their intent to instruct. Hippolyta, on the other hand, recognizes that despite the laughable performance of the play, there is something in it to be valued. In response to Pyramus’ death scene—the beginning of the tragedy—she remarks, “Beshrew my heart but I pity the man” (V.ii.305). She does not give herself over entirely to the performance, as Titania gives herself over to Bottom. Instead, she maintains her disdain: “Methinks [Thisbe] should not use a long [passion] for such a Pyramus.” (V.i.334). Like Bottom in his translated state, the play does not merit uncritical adoration. But despite her better judgment, she sees something in the passion of Pyramus that moves her heart. She experiences, if only a little, the pathos of the tragedy before her. Unlike Hippolyta, Theseus uses mockery and a charity that limits the merits of the play to a kind intent, thus inhibiting his own ability to experience what pathos exists in the play, and consequently learn from it.

Theseus’ problem, then, is that he is unable to open himself to ideas or narratives outside his own frames of reference. He does not challenge Philostrate’s assessment that there is “Not one word apt, not one player fitted” in Pyramus and Thisbe, preparing only to be amused, instead of instructed. His emphasis on largesse places him above the mechanicals, and consequently makes him unable to learn from them. But from Shakespeare’s perspective, every word is apt and every player fitted in Pyramus and Thisbe. It is designed specifically to meet its purpose, which is to both entertain and instruct. Theseus is unable—or unwilling—to see how the players and words fit the purpose, and experience both entertainment and instruction.

What, then, is the instruction of the play? In what fashion does the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe instruct our understanding of Midsummer Night’s Dream and Theseus’ error? And what counsel, if any, does this provide the interpreter? In order to address these questions, it will be helpful to see in what way the content of Pyramus and Thisbe mirrors Midsummer Night’s Dream. As R.W. Dent points out in his excellent essay, one of the chief problems that Midsummer Night’s Dream poses—but does not solve—is the irrationality of love. He writes, “Love’s choices remain inexplicable, and the eventual pairings are determined only by the constancy of Helena and Hermia in their initial inexplicable choices.”[4] One thinks of Helena’s lament in this context:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.

Therefore is winged cupid painted blind.

Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgement taste.

Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste. (I.i.240-243).

Yet despite love’s irrational basis, there is a system that grounds “true” love and “false” love. While Shakespeare is not explicit, he points toward a “natural order” that true loves fit within. When Demetrius is reconciled with Helena by “fairy grace,” he claims that he is returning to his “natural taste” that he left while sick (IV.1.181). When Puck mistakenly places “love-in-idleness” on Lysander’s eye, Oberon chastises him: “Of thy misprision must perforce ensue, some true-love turned, and not a false turned true.” (III.2.92-93). Contra Dent, the constancy of the woman determines more than simply the pairings; their vows create a reality that makes their subsequent professions of love either true or false. The eventual pairings are decided not because of the constancy of the women, but because they are “true loves.”

Fundamentally, the disorder of Midsummer Night’s Dream ensues when the lovers’ irrational attachments lead them outside this “natural order.” Demetrius inexplicably leaves his “natural taste” Helena in favor of Hermia. Lysander is prompted to irrationally attach himself to Helena. Yet it is not, as Dent hints at, simply a problem with “masculine inconstancy.” Irrational “female constancy” poses just as much of a problem. Helena recognizes her devotion to Demetrius is not in keeping with his qualities:

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,

Love can transpose to grace and dignity (I.i.238-239).

This irrational devotion results in her reversing the natural order, wooing Demetrius in the forest when she is “made to woo.” Hermia, on the other hand, allows her devotion to Lysander blind her, prompting her to repeatedly misinterpret her dream in the forest. She first blames Demetrius for killing Lysander, and then accuses Helena of stealing Lysander’s love. In neither case is her interpretation correct. Despite her dream of Lysander smiling nearby while a snake eats her heart out, she is unable—or unwilling—to acknowledge the reality of Lysander’s willing and eager betrayal.

The problems, then, in Midsummer Night’s Dream are prompted by irrational attachments in the face of, and at the expense of reality. They are problems of interpretation. The lovers in the forest see not what is real—that comes only after “fairy grace” restores them—but what they want to see. Helena is the most forthright about her own error, acknowledging that she admires Demetrius’ qualities, despite the fact that they are “things base and vile, holding no quantity.” And while she points out that she is widely regarded to be as beautiful as Hermia, Demetrius does not think so. Why? “He will not know what all but he do know.” Alternatively phrased, he knows only what he wants to know. It is the same problem Hermia encounters in interpreting her dream. She, like Helena and the others, is saved from her resistance to reality only by the intervention of the fairies.

As has been pointed out by both T. Walker Herbert and Virgil Hutton, the world of the forest and the world of Pyramus and Thisbe differ primarily with respect to fairy grace. But Shakespeare is not, I would argue, primarily concerned with the existence or non-existence of such creatures. Rather, his concern is to warn Theseus of making a decision based upon a hasty or faulty understanding of reality. Here, the significant difference is that unlike the lovers who wake to “dreams” of their errors and the reality of their new life together, Pyramus remains ignorant of his mistaken interpretation of Thisbe’s mantle. He does not, as in Ovid’s story, get to see Thisbe one last time. The bitter irony of Pyramus’ situation—and the situation of any mistaken individual—is that he does not know that he is mistaken, and consequently takes his own life. His problem, like the lovers in the forest, is that he sees what he wants to see in the bloody mantle, rather than stopping to consider alternative explanations.

It is not surprising, then, that the prologue to Pyramus and Thisbe makes the problem of interpretation explicit:

The actors are at hand, and by their show

You shall know all that you are like to know.

It is a pointed remark that strikes at the heart of Theseus’s rejection of the lovers’ interpretations of their dream. His a priori refusal to acknowledge their accounts is the sort of irrational attachment to his own opinion that the lovers in the forest suffer from. Only like Pyramus, he is fundamentally unaware of his problem, instead trumpeting the virtues of “cool reason” and the noble largesse of the court. From the perspective of the audience, his rejection of the “fairy toys” is wrongheaded, and yet he persists. He misses the instruction of Pyramus and Thisbe, of course, because he is not looking for it. His prima facie commitment to the idea that neither word nor actors are fitted to the play prevents him from seeing just how fitting the character and plot are. Theseus is still, if I dare, stuck in the forest waiting for fairy grace.

Shakespeare’s tale, then, contains a warning to the interpreter. The danger of interepretation is that we will see what we want to see, rather than what is. Just as the irrationality of the lovers causes them to miss the interpretation most fitting to the facts, so our irrationality condemns us to see forms in text that are of our own making, rather than the author’s. It would be naïve to not think that the moral applies to the thesis of this paper as well. Indeed, it is not clear that it is a problem that we can escape. While sometimes “fairy grace” occurs and we are set free from the dangers of mistaken assumptions, the rest of the time the dangers remain.

Theseus, then, enables Shakespeare to get his warning across despite the context of a wedding celebration. The discord with his wife centers upon their different interpretations of the events around them, and while his wife ably articulates her positions, they are repeatedly dismissed by Theseus’ philosophizing. Such a relationship casts doubt on Theseus’ proclamation that he will “wed [Hippolyta] in a different key.” And in the context of the play, it provides Shakespeare an excellent context to warn future interpreters of the dangers of irrationally dismissing competing opinions.




[1] See “A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Fairy Fantasy or Erotic Nightmare,” Educational Theatre Journal, Vol. 21, No. 3, October 1969, pp. 251-258.

[2]

[3] (Schanzer 1965, 29)

[4] (Dent n.d., 116)

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  • http://bourgeoisburglars.blogspot.com Burglar

    I think I missed the connection between lovers and interpreters of texts/plays. Other than the fact that they are both prone (or condemned) to misunderstanding the reality of a situation, I don’t see why a tale about the irrationality of lovers has implications for Shakespeare’s interpreters. Do you think that the interpreter is (too much) in love with his own interpretation? If that’s true, then two things: (1) Is the problem really that individuals primarily love the image they have of themselves? (I’m in the dark about whether the text of MSND puts forward this problem as a central one.) (2) How similar is the love of another person to the “love” of an interpretation? This seems to lead to the questions What is love? and Is there a natural interpretation of a text just as their is a lover’s natural taste for his beloved?

  • caroline

    I was wondering if you usually blog at 5:30 in the morning?

    I enjoy your writing by the way…

    Love,
    your little sister.

    and ps: I work with Michael Unruh’s sister. isn’t that crazy?

  • http://decorabilia.blogspot.com Jim Anderson

    Sorry that I didn’t have time earlier… is it too late to comment? (You also have a broken link up there.)

  • MatthewLee

    Jim,

    It is too late, and sorry about the broken link (but not sorry enough to fix it! HAH!) I sent in the paper this morning (24 hour mailed it–it is due tomorrow). But for dialectic’s sake, I’d love to hear any thoughts you have.

    Burglar,

    I think the fundamental problem with the lovers is that they see what they want to see, not what is. I made that more explicit in the revised version. In that way, it’s more about “irrationality” versus “rationality” than love and the parallel to interpretation becomes more clear. Does that help at all?

    Your final question (“Is there a natural interpretation of a text just as their[sic] is a natural taste for his beloved?”) is awesome. And I think the answer is “yes,” if by “natural” we mean something like “fitting.” While “natural taste” in MND is ambiguous, I think fittingness is an appropriate parallel notion for what Shakespeare is talking about. The “fittingness” of the lovers to each other depends upon the reality that they create with their profession of vows. In some ways, they make themselves fit for each other, and when they leave their “natural taste” behind, they leave the person that is most fitting for them. In the same way, interpreters have a text before them (a reality) that guides the “fittingness” of their interpretations. I actually am really excited about the concept of “fittingness” as a criterion (albeit a loose one) for determining “right” and “wrong” interpretations.

    Your turn!

  • http://bourgeoisburglars.blogspot.com Burglar

    Yes, that helps. But I wonder if making it more about rationality/irrationality erodes some of the particularities of the situations of lovers. (See last paragraph below for more on this.) Lovers are irrational, yes, but they seem to be interesting more for their in-loveness than for their irrationality.

    Can we tell if the lovers’ situation in MND is a case of mutual attraction (for lack of a better term)? Or is it more of a lover-beloved relation in which the beloved is disinterested? If the former, then we have two loci of change. If the latter, only one.

    I don’t know your hermeneutical philosophy, but I suspect you think the text is a rather fixed entity, in which case the more fitting metaphor is the lover-beloved one. That is, the text is the disinterested beloved; the interpreter the pursuing lover.

    But if the situation in MND is more of a mutual attraction thing, then there seems to be a disanalogy. If lovers are to “make themselves fit for each other,” how could the text make itself fit for the interpreter? Would emphasizing authors instead of texts help?

    (By the way, if we are taking the lovers-as-guides-to-interpreters approach, your talk of the reality created by the lovers’ vows, where said reality is a formative part of fittingness, seems to produce a sticky hermeneutical situation. Interpreters “make a vow” that creates a “reality” that guides the fittingness of interpretation? E. D. Hirsch would not be pleased.)

    On the fittingness-for-nature substitution, I’m not sure I agree. Shakespeare has a fairly robust account of what nature is; I’m not sure he’d know what to do with fittingness. Of course, this all depends on how much we want to rely on the guidance of Shakespeare. Perhaps his notion of nature is too bloated? But then (conjecture alert), his notion of nature is really just the Timaeus updated with medieval science and music.

    One last thing: I’ve a hunch that trying to understand Shakespeare’s play by elucidating the rationality or irrationality of certain characters might subtly divert us from the heart of the play. I don’t know how to say why this is except to say that “rational” and “irrational” do not seem English enough. I suspect that those words do not appear in the text, and that trying to subsume Shakespeare’s ideas under the canopy of rational/irrational might efface his peculiarly English thought. (I could be wrong about this because Hobbes (roughly contemporary with Shakespeare) uses the term readily enough, though Hobbes’s Latin was probably better than Shakespeare’s. Locke also has no trouble using the terms in the Essay, though that’s one hundred years later.)

  • MatthewLee

    Burglar,

    Great thoughts. Too bad mine are so late, eh?

    Yes, that helps. But I wonder if making it more about rationality/irrationality erodes some of the particularities of the situations of lovers. (See last paragraph below for more on this.) Lovers are irrational, yes, but they seem to be interesting more for their in-loveness than for their irrationality.

    Can we tell if the lovers’ situation in MND is a case of mutual attraction (for lack of a better term)? Or is it more of a lover-beloved relation in which the beloved is disinterested? If the former, then we have two loci of change. If the latter, only one.

    I don’t know your hermeneutical philosophy, but I suspect you think the text is a rather fixed entity, in which case the more fitting metaphor is the lover-beloved one. That is, the text is the disinterested beloved; the interpreter the pursuing lover.

    But if the situation in MND is more of a mutual attraction thing, then there seems to be a disanalogy. If lovers are to “make themselves fit for each other,” how could the text make itself fit for the interpreter? Would emphasizing authors instead of texts help?

    (By the way, if we are taking the lovers-as-guides-to-interpreters approach, your talk of the reality created by the lovers’ vows, where said reality is a formative part of fittingness, seems to produce a sticky hermeneutical situation. Interpreters “make a vow” that creates a “reality” that guides the fittingness of interpretation? E. D. Hirsch would not be pleased.)

    These are tough questions. I don’t know that I want to create a strict one-to-one correspondence between the lovers and the texts. The lovers are both interpreters, and both texts. Hence, they are both stable and both changing. I focused on their interpretative practices, which may have been a purely arbitrary decision. What it allows me to respond, though, is that when I suggested that the lovers “create a reality,” I didn’t mean to suggest a reader-response hermeneutic. Rather, as authors (in this case) they write a text that then norms their perceptions. They make mistakes when they don’t stay within the boundaries of the text they have created.

    I’m not sure I’ve clarified the relationship at all, or if I’m just throwing more confusion on top of confusion.

    On the fittingness-for-nature substitution, I’m not sure I agree. Shakespeare has a fairly robust account of what nature is; I’m not sure he’d know what to do with fittingness. Of course, this all depends on how much we want to rely on the guidance of Shakespeare. Perhaps his notion of nature is too bloated? But then (conjecture alert), his notion of nature is really just the Timaeus updated with medieval science and music.

    Indeed. I’m not sure I agree either. : ) It came to mind because of the “unfittingness” of the mechanicals and the contrast between their world and the fairy world. But I’m not sure the interpretation can be sustained (I think I took it out of the final draft, or moved it to a footnote).

    One last thing: I’ve a hunch that trying to understand Shakespeare’s play by elucidating the rationality or irrationality of certain characters might subtly divert us from the heart of the play. I don’t know how to say why this is except to say that “rational” and “irrational” do not seem English enough. I suspect that those words do not appear in the text, and that trying to subsume Shakespeare’s ideas under the canopy of rational/irrational might efface his peculiarly English thought. (I could be wrong about this because Hobbes (roughly contemporary with Shakespeare) uses the term readily enough, though Hobbes’s Latin was probably better than Shakespeare’s. Locke also has no trouble using the terms in the Essay, though that’s one hundred years later.)

    What, none of Theseus’ “cool reason?” “Reason and love keep little company nowdays.” Reason, at least, is a major theme. What would be the difference between “reason” and “rational” such that one would be English and the other not?

    I’ll look forward to your reply in two months!

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