This article examines ancient depictions of the death of Troilus in art and literature and challenges the widespread belief that the Iliad implies an alternative version of the myth in which Troilus dies in battle. In particular, it argues that the death-in-battle interpretation is both insufficiently supported by the internal evidence and incompatible with the external evidence. Given the evident popularity of the story of Achilles’ ambush of Troilus in the Archaic period, it is hard to avoid (...) the conclusion that the poet of the Iliad knew the story of Troilus’ death by ambush. That the poem's only reference to Troilus does not contradict this story, and possibly even alludes to it, should persuade critics of the strong likelihood that the popular story of Troilus’ ambush at the fountain was also the one in the poet's mind. (shrink)

Hegel’s “Absolute Knowing” and Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida are tragi-comic consternations. They are theatres of ethical panentheism: they present dramatic “absolute” ethical interpretations and actions, each of which is at once ungrounded and completely seeded. I start with the etymology of “consternation.” Then I discuss the comic vs. tragic interpretations of Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, arguing it is a consternating tragi-comedy. I analyze the predicate “absolute” in terms of consternations, in a few passages of the book. I elaborate especially (...) upon phenomenological reasoning’s Sache selbst. In the Phenomenology, reason develops by thinking the absolute thing through culture, politics, morality, and religion, reaching completion in “Absolute Knowing.” That absolute is reason’s comprehensive insight into its phenomenological absolutes, and its own absolute sublating. Northrop Frye’s cited claim about myth can be understood in this phenomenological way. With all this in hand, Hegel’s science of experience is formally complete. But the experience of Absolute Knowing is still consternation. To capture the consternating essence of sublation – a consternation by which experience becomes something it was not before – I season this formal science with Shakespeare’s “comedy” Troilus and Cressida, revealing its structural roots to be consternations. (shrink)

Proposing to reconcile the opposing camps of interpretation of Chaucer’s poem, with love’s irrationality condemned on one side and love’s mutuality celebrated on the other, this essay offers a balanced reading of Troilus and Criseyde. The poem’s exemplarity lies not in a systematic application of principles: “we must experience Troilus and Criseyde’s love on its human terms.” Love’s moral complexity is experienced in the passages surrounding the characters’ swooning. Such episodes prove rationality to be as much of a (...) problem as irrationality when it comes to love. Reason is particularly suspect in Criseyde’s response to the couple’s parting. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Shakespeare’s Troilus and CressidaW. R. EltonIn Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida there occurs a particular pattern of parallels with Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics regarding ethical-legal questions surrounding an action: issues of the role of the voluntary or the involuntary, of volition and choice, of choice and virtue, and of virtue and habitual action. 1Aristotle’s EN was familiar to Elizabethan higher education and was reprinted in (...) translation in numerous editions, with commentaries, in the sixteenth century. 2 Twice Shakespeare alludes to Aristotle by name: first, recalling his ethics, in Taming of the Shrew (I.i.32)—cf. I.i.18–20 on [End Page 331]Virtue and that part of philosophy... that treats of happiness By virtue specially to be achiev’d,and second, in Troilus (II.ii.166–67) on Aristotle and “moral philosophy.” 3Opening EN, III, Aristotle distinguishes those actions that are “voluntary” from those that are “involuntary,” remarking the necessity to determine their limits. Such a course, he adds, is “useful also for legislators with a view to the assigning both of honours and of punishments” (1109 b 32–34). What Aristotle examines, in effect, is the procedure of determining culpability for an act. 4Under what circumstances and to what extent is one responsible for his action? In addition to the voluntary and the involuntary, there are such act-related dualisms as volition and choice, choice and virtue, and virtue and habitual practice. Such ethical-legal issues are appropriate to a play whose war-plot turns on an abductor’s culpability for an action and the subsequent issue of prescriptive possession—the Grecian claim to Helen against her Trojan possessors. 5The VoluntaryIn Troilus Aristotle’s voluntary-involuntary distinctions seem exemplified. 6 A passage (I.iii.354–56), previously glossed by the present writer, suggests a [End Page 332] parallel EN instance of the voluntary. 7 Aristotle defines the voluntary as “that of which the moving principle is in the agent himself “ (1111 a 23–24). In Troilus Nestor, recalling the agent’s responsibility for acts, explains:Limbes are in his instruments, In no lesse working, then are Swords and Bowes Directiue by the Limbes(I.iii.368–70).These lines occur in Troilus, Folio (1623), and are omitted, along with other relatively specialized lines, from Quarto (1609): 8 according to Aristotle, “the movement of the limbs instrumental to the action originates in the agent himself, and when this is so it is in a man’s own power to act or not to act.” 9 Where EN has “limbs... are the instruments,” F Troilus has “Limbes are in his instruments” (cf. Walker ed., I.iii.354).Limbs are instruments of the agent’s responsibility, as are the swords and bows employed by those limbs. Such a passage in Troilus on the responsibility and voluntariness of acts could have been recognizable to an academic (especially legal) audience and, as rehearsed by the ancient Nestor, might have drawn reminiscent response.The InvoluntaryIf Nestor (I.iii.354–56) had been voice of the voluntary, the combat-withdrawn Achilles is arbitrator of the involuntary. Responding to Thersites’ “I serve here voluntary,” Achilles adjudicates, “Your last service was sufferance, ‘twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress” (II.i.94–97). Mocking Thersites’s “service,” including being beaten, Achilles argues this could not be “voluntary.” His “no man is beaten voluntary” echoes Aristotle’s own familiar terms, denying that a man can be wronged or injured voluntarily. In his commentary on EN John Case [End Page 333] gives the assurance that “No one voluntarily suffers injury..., no one voluntarily and maliciously harms himself: therefore no one willingly suffers injury.” 10In such instances as those above, Troilus (II.i.94–97) recalls basic legal procedure, including determination of the degree of responsibility for an action. What is the minimum requirement of the law before a man can be held accountable? “Those things... are thought involuntary,” says Aristotle, “which take place under compulsion... and that is compulsory of which the moving principle is outside, being a principle... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Worst Case of Knowing the Other?Stanley Cavell and Troilus and CressidaDavid HillmanStanley Cavell's luminous and influential writings about Shakespeare's works include extended essays on seven of the plays, and, scattered throughout his writings, more casual passages on many of the others. He takes these works to be significantly engaged in the conditions of skepticism as he apprehends it. These plays, according to Cavell, wrestle profoundly with questions (...) about the origins of, and the possibilities of living with, skeptical ways of thinking.Troilus and Cressida is Shakespeare's most self-consciously philosophical play, and the place in the Shakespearean corpus where the relations between philosophy and literature are most openly and directly addressed. It is often referred to as a "skeptical satire," and considered to be a kind of prelude to the great tragedies of the first decade of the seventeenth century. As I intend to show, in practically all of its salient features the play exhibits precise and—to my mind—unmistakable versions of many of the most significant features of skepticism as illuminated by the work of Cavell.Heinrich Heine, rather astonishingly, declared that Troilus and Cressida was "Shakespeare's most characteristic creation"; "for a detailed judgement," he added, "we should need the help of that new aesthetics which has not yet been written."1 I suggest that Cavell's aesthetics might go some way to remedying the absence Heine identifies. To my knowledge, though, there is not a single reference to the play—and certainly no extended discussion—throughout the writings of Cavell, and this strikes me as something of a mystery; for Troilus and Cressida appears to present opportunities to exemplify with particular clarity the lineaments of skepticism Cavell finds elsewhere writ large in the [End Page 74] Shakespearean corpus. And I think the play also offers possibilities for extending these investigations in unexplored directions, perhaps towards the origins of Shakespeare's engrossment with skeptical problems, perhaps towards the delicate question of the borderline between skepticism and cynicism, or the relation between, say, Montaignean skepticism (which Cavell describes as asking "how to conduct oneself best in an uncertain world") and Cartesian skepticism ("how to live at all in a groundless world")2—questions I intend to open rather than trying to answer here. In a word, if one is going to write about the claims of reason in Shakespeare, overlooking the play where the word "reason" appears significantly more often than in any other play (21 times according to the Harvard Shakespeare Concordance) seems like a peculiar thing to do. It is of course possible that the play has simply, as it were, not found an opportunity to impress itself upon the attention of Cavell, more or less by happenstance; if so, one aim of this paper is, quite simply, to remedy that oversight. More impertinently, but also more interestingly—and, perhaps, in a more Cavellian manner—I will be prompted to contemplate towards the end of this paper the possibility that there may perhaps be some knowledge being disowned in the occlusion of this play from Cavell's writing.I begin, by way of prologue, with a short rumination about my title, which has had a tendency to oscillate in my mind between "the worst case of the other" and "the worst case of knowing the other"; this uncertainty has something to do with, precisely, the question of the relation between cynicism and the attempt to deny skepticism—that is, between assuming the worst about another, and assuming one knows anything at all about the other—as if to say, if that's (epistemologically) the worst I can do, well, at least I know something, however unsavory or reductive it may be; perhaps the play's best-known phrase, "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin" (3.3.175), reveals just how disturbing its vision is.3 For the phrase has often been taken out of context and made to mean something rather idealizing, as if it refers to the natural affinity or humanity of us all; its actual meaning, made clear by the following line ("That all with one consent praise new-born gauds"), is far... (shrink)

This essay grows out of my curiosity regarding the architectural details Chaucer provides for the consummation scene in book 3 of Troilus and Criseyde, in which Pandarus first brings Troilus to Criseyde through a trap door from an adjacent stewe and then, to reassure her that her reputation is not being compromised, offers the false explanation that Troilus secretly entered the house by means of a goter and a pryve wente . Among the obscure details are such (...) matters as the implied spatial relationships among the rooms and the exact nature of features like the goter and pryve wente. In trying to puzzle these things out, I have been able to supplement H. M. Smyser's influential presentation of the architecture of Pandarus's house with new information and interpretations—and with some speculations on the literary function of several of the architectural details that Chaucer gives us: the stewe, the trap door, the goter, and the pryve wente. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Shakespeare’s Troilus and CressidaW. R. EltonIn Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida there occurs a particular pattern of parallels with Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics regarding ethical-legal questions surrounding an action: issues of the role of the voluntary or the involuntary, of volition and choice, of choice and virtue, and of virtue and habitual action. 1Aristotle’s EN was familiar to Elizabethan higher education and was reprinted in (...) translation in numerous editions, with commentaries, in the sixteenth century. 2 Twice Shakespeare alludes to Aristotle by name: first, recalling his ethics, in Taming of the Shrew (I.i.32)—cf. I.i.18–20 on [End Page 331]Virtue and that part of philosophy... that treats of happiness By virtue specially to be achiev’d,and second, in Troilus (II.ii.166–67) on Aristotle and “moral philosophy.” 3Opening EN, III, Aristotle distinguishes those actions that are “voluntary” from those that are “involuntary,” remarking the necessity to determine their limits. Such a course, he adds, is “useful also for legislators with a view to the assigning both of honours and of punishments” (1109 b 32–34). What Aristotle examines, in effect, is the procedure of determining culpability for an act. 4Under what circumstances and to what extent is one responsible for his action? In addition to the voluntary and the involuntary, there are such act-related dualisms as volition and choice, choice and virtue, and virtue and habitual practice. Such ethical-legal issues are appropriate to a play whose war-plot turns on an abductor’s culpability for an action and the subsequent issue of prescriptive possession—the Grecian claim to Helen against her Trojan possessors. 5The VoluntaryIn Troilus Aristotle’s voluntary-involuntary distinctions seem exemplified. 6 A passage (I.iii.354–56), previously glossed by the present writer, suggests a [End Page 332] parallel EN instance of the voluntary. 7 Aristotle defines the voluntary as “that of which the moving principle is in the agent himself “ (1111 a 23–24). In Troilus Nestor, recalling the agent’s responsibility for acts, explains:Limbes are in his instruments, In no lesse working, then are Swords and Bowes Directiue by the Limbes(I.iii.368–70).These lines occur in Troilus, Folio (1623), and are omitted, along with other relatively specialized lines, from Quarto (1609): 8 according to Aristotle, “the movement of the limbs instrumental to the action originates in the agent himself, and when this is so it is in a man’s own power to act or not to act.” 9 Where EN has “limbs... are the instruments,” F Troilus has “Limbes are in his instruments” (cf. Walker ed., I.iii.354).Limbs are instruments of the agent’s responsibility, as are the swords and bows employed by those limbs. Such a passage in Troilus on the responsibility and voluntariness of acts could have been recognizable to an academic (especially legal) audience and, as rehearsed by the ancient Nestor, might have drawn reminiscent response.The InvoluntaryIf Nestor (I.iii.354–56) had been voice of the voluntary, the combat-withdrawn Achilles is arbitrator of the involuntary. Responding to Thersites’ “I serve here voluntary,” Achilles adjudicates, “Your last service was sufferance, ‘twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress” (II.i.94–97). Mocking Thersites’s “service,” including being beaten, Achilles argues this could not be “voluntary.” His “no man is beaten voluntary” echoes Aristotle’s own familiar terms, denying that a man can be wronged or injured voluntarily. In his commentary on EN John Case [End Page 333] gives the assurance that “No one voluntarily suffers injury..., no one voluntarily and maliciously harms himself: therefore no one willingly suffers injury.” 10In such instances as those above, Troilus (II.i.94–97) recalls basic legal procedure, including determination of the degree of responsibility for an action. What is the minimum requirement of the law before a man can be held accountable? “Those things... are thought involuntary,” says Aristotle, “which take place under compulsion... and that is compulsory of which the moving principle is outside, being a principle... (shrink)

In the paper, we address the question of the relation between language and culture from a Cognitive Linguistic perspective. While accounting for the role of language as an aid to cultural transmission in maintaining the community’s conceptual order, we address the question of whether the concept of a linguistic worldview aptly captures the interplay between language and culture. We suggest that, due to cumulative cultural evolution spurred by the incessant development of human knowledge, layers of conceptualisations accumulate over time. It (...) is proposed that this palimpsest of conceptualisations results from human interaction that transcends the constraints of the present moment, encompassing the past and present, as well as delineating possible developments of the community’s future conceptual order. (shrink)

The dialectic of private desire and public imperative — their conflict and interpenetration and mutual causation — has been the theme of the Troy story through three millennia. When W. B. Yeats wrote a poem about the irruption of sexual passion in the pattern of human events, and its incalculable aftermath in history, he restated powerfully for the twentieth century a perception which nevertheless goes back to Homer.

Introduction: De disciplina scolarium and the Boethian corpus -- Reproduction and philosophical life in the Consolatio philosophiae -- De disciplina and Translatio studii -- Boethian humor -- "Bitwixen game and ernest": contrary Boethianism in Troilus and Criseyde -- Boethius and the humanists: Valla, Badius, and persistence of De disciplina in print.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Myrmidon vs. the AbbessHow Contrasting Mechanisms to Resolve Mimetic Contagion in Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida and Comedy of Errors Stand as a Warning Against the Rejection of Christianity in Favor of Resurgent Homeric EthosBrian P. Quaranta (bio)This investigation started with a question: Why does Shakespeare hate the Iliad?The question arose after first reading Troilus and Cressida (T&C), Shakespeare's play set during the Trojan War. In his (...) retelling, all claims to glory for Homer's heroes are undermined; a world that is presented by Homer as brutal but honorable is replaced, by Shakespeare, with one that is rife with social and physical disease. As I continued to consider why Shakespeare displayed such hostility toward the Iliad, I found myself recognizing multiple, much more subtle, allusions to the Trojan War in another of his plays set in ancient Greece, The Comedy of Errors (COE). In time, it became apparent that the connection of these two plays with each other, and with the Iliad, was deliberate; through this comparison, Shakespeare rejects the Homeric ethos in favor of a Christian one. A consideration of René Girard's work on Shakespeare helps to bring home the connection between the plays and the concern that they illuminate.In his Theatre of Envy, Girard famously claimed that Shakespeare was consciously familiar with the concepts of mimetic desire and its relationship [End Page 183] to collective violence.1 He drew upon T&C and COE for examples: T&C for its explication of the importance of degree, its employment of collective murder, and the association of mimetic contagion with disease,2 and COE primarily for its emphasis on the special role of twins in mimetic theory as exemplars of identical rivals.3 Girard, I believe, is correct that Shakespeare understood the mechanisms and implications of mimetic theory, and he demonstrates how in these plays its consequences play out in a purely pagan world, and then in another in which there is a saving Christian intervention.The intellectual current of Shakespeare's time has been characterized by two primary themes: Reformation and Renaissance. The use of the word reformation, when taken on its own terms, suggests a benign and necessary process. But for an Englishman in the late 16th century, reformation also would have meant violence, displacement, fracture, war, and the disintegration of a once-unified Christendom. This crumbling of the ancient universal catholic church was accompanied by the Renaissance, a term used to refer to the rebirth of interest in, and progressive obsession with, the culture and literature of the ancient Greeks and Romans.4 My argument is that the two plays discussed here can be read as Shakespeare's response to these developments, demonstrating an anxiety over the threat of resurgent pagan values to a troubled Christianity, with T&C's ending standing as a warning of the danger of a return to the scapegoat mechanism, and COE reminding the reader of the power of the Christian alternative.The essay begins with a brief reminder of the depth of the enthusiasm for the classical era that emerged in Europe in the century leading up to, and including, the life of Shakespeare. I then detail the surprising ways in which Shakespeare thoroughly upends expectations in his retelling of the Trojan War story, discrediting the original tale. Next, the similarities of the Comedy of Errors to Troilus and Cressida, and to the Iliad, are documented. Because this area has received little previous scholarly attention, and because it is crucial to the argument, the inversions of the Trojan War in COE are meticulously detailed. Once it has been established that the two plays both respond to the Iliad, Girard's mimetic theory is brought to bear to explain the very different endings of the plays and to reveal Shakespeare's underlying concern about the Homeric ethos.THE RENAISSANCE AND SHAKESPEARE'S RESPONSE TO THE CLASSICSThe emerging triumph of the Greco-Roman pagan world over the renaissance mind, and its intrusion into the Christian realm, are evident in the development [End Page 184] of visual art in the decades preceding Shakespeare's work. Works by Michelangelo, Raphael, and Giulio Romano, depicting... (shrink)

I wish to begin by recalling the treatment of mourning, melancholy, and suicide in the last two books of Troilus and Criseyde. The subject of that catastrophe was a chivalric hero whose identity, as I have argued elsewhere, involved a particular discourse of love. This discourse assumed models of gender, individual identity, and community which were intrinsic to ruling elites. It hinged on producing a sense of lack which was to be met by distinctive forms of erotic desire bound (...) up with a complex web of courtly language and behavior. To this process a minutely organized construction of gender roles is essential, a topic whose analysis has been enabled and encouraged by wide-ranging developments in feminist scholarship over the last twenty years. (shrink)

It seems that a Greek romance named Chaereas and Callirhoe—if it was in fact written about A.D. 50—might be the oldest extant romantic novel.1 Chaucer's Troilus, Chretien's Erec, Apuleius' Metamorphoses, and for all l know Homer's Odyssey have already blushed under this dubious accolade; and I do not mean to celebrate an old Greek book by thrusting an English genre-label upon it. But nothing quite like Callirhoe survives from an earlier period of western literature; and following our inclination to (...) comprehend such a phenomenon by fitting it into familiar categories we would call it a Greek romance because it is written in Greek, a novel because it is an extensive prose fiction of ordinary moral life that conforms to a recognizable canon of realism, and a romance because its admirable protagonists suffer the most serious threats to their lives and values but survive them all. Its author, a certain Chariton of Aphrodisia, a small city in the province of Caria in Asia Minor, places his book about Callirhoe in the Hellenistic genre of the erotikon pathematon—a story of erotic suffering. This is an accurate label and perhaps a bold one, as erotic pathemata were thought to be more suitable for epic or elegiac verse than for prose. In any case, I am not here concerned to argue that Callirhoe is the precursor of such entities as the novel, nor to speculate about its cultural origins, nor to point out its obvious likenesses to later narratives. I do want to discuss the habits of narrative art Chariton exploits in his book, and to explore a few of the ways he makes erotic suffering pleasurable for his readers—us, and the leisured, literate members of the bourgeois households that had for centuries flourished in the great Hellenic cities of the eastern Mediterranean basin. · 1. I accept the date accepted by Ben E. Perry, The Ancient Romances , p. 350. The standard edition is W.E. Blake's , whose translation I use throughout. Chariton's work did not see print until 1750, so it did not enjoy the vogue enjoyed by other Greek romances in the Renaissance. Arthur Heiserman is the author of several articles, short stories, and Skelton and Satire. 'Aphrodisian Chastity" will appear as a chapter in his forthcoming book, Romance in Antiquity: Essays and Discussions about the Beginnings of Prose Fiction in the West. (shrink)

At the intersection of literature and history, three “antique romances” initiated a new genre in the mid-twelfth century by transposing into French the great stories of Greek and Latin epic: the fratricidal war of Oedipus's sons in the Roman de Thèbes, the founding of Rome in the Eneas, and the Roman de Troie's Trojan War based on Dares and Dictys. Rejecting Homer's version for these “eyewitness” accounts, Benoît de Sainte-Maure translated the full history of the Trojan War from its beginning (...) in the tale of Jason and the Argonauts to the annihilation of Troy and the victors’ unhappy homecomings. The myth of Trojan descent claimed by many European rulers, including the British and Normans, gives Benoît's translation more than entertainment value for his first public, the Plantagenêt court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Indeed, while repeatedly assuring his readers that this great estoire, story and history, will provide pleasurable enjoyment, Benoît also signals a more serious intent by invoking Solomon and the seven liberal arts: we would be like beasts if not for learning from the past that allows us to distinguish between wisdom and folly. The author/narrator's school training is on full display as he highlights the importance of remembering and the dangers of forgetting. Obliged to share his knowledge, Benoît will put into romanz matter that is at once old and new, lost and refound, so that lay readers without access to his Latin sources can “remember” their past as he shapes it in romance. The success of his enterprise can be gauged by the number of extant manuscripts as well as the romance's subsequent influence on multiple versions of Trojan history, from the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César to Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde. But can we pinpoint more specifically what and how Benoît's public might remember? (shrink)

The paper deals with the reception of Aristotle’s definition of rhetoric in several Byzantine commentators of Hermogenes’and Aphthonius’ treatises. A justification of critical interpretationof this definition is to be found in the commentaries of Troilus and Athanasius as well as Sopatros and Doxapatres, Maximus Planudes and several anonymouscommentators. The Byzantine tradition has found Aristotle’s definitionof rhetoric to be all too theoretical and insufficiently connected topractical activity, which Byzantium identified with political life.

Introduction: Laughter as an expression of human nature in the Middle Ages and the early modern period: literary, historical, theological, philosophical, and psychological reflections -- Judith Hagen. Laughter in Procopius's wars -- Livnat Holtzman. "Does God really laugh?": appropriate and inappropriate descriptions of God in Islamic traditionalist theology -- Daniel F. Pigg. Laughter in Beowulf: ambiguity, ambivalence, and group identity formation -- Mark Burde. The parodia sacra problem and medieval comic studies -- Olga V. Trokhimenko. Women's laughter and gender politics (...) in medieval conduct discourse -- Madelon Köhler-Busch. Pushing decorum: uneasy laughter in Heinrich von Dem Türlîn's Diu crône -- Connie L. Scarborough. Laughter and the comic in a religious text -- John Sewell. The son rebelled and so the father made man alone: ridicule and boundary maintenance in The Nizzahon vetus -- Birgit Wiedl. Laughing at the beast: the judensau: anti-Jewish propaganda and humor from the Middle Ages to the early modern period -- Fabian Alfie. Yes . . . but was it funny? Cecco Angiolieri, Rustico Filippi and Giovanni Boccaccio -- Nicolino Applauso. Curses and laughter in medieval Italian comic poetry -- Feargal Béarra. Tromdhámh guaire: a context for laughter and audience in early modern Ireland -- Jean E. Jost. Humorous transgression in the non-conformist fabliaux: a Bakhtinian analysis of three comic tales -- Gretchen Mieszkowski. Chaucerian comedy: Troilus and Criseyde -- Sarah Gordon. Laughing and eating in the fabliaux -- Christine Bousquet-Labouérie. Laughter and medieval stalls -- Scott L. Taylor. Esoteric humor and the incommensurability of laughter -- Jean N. Goodrich. The function of laughter in The second shepherds' play -- Albrecht Classen. Laughing in late-medieval verse and prose narratives -- Rosa Alvarez perez. The workings of desire: Panurge and the dogs -- Elizabeth Chesney Zegura. Laughing out loud in the Heptaméron: a reassessment of Marguerite de Navarre's ambivalent humor -- Lia B. Ross. You had to be there: the elusive humor of the Sottie -- Kyle Diroberto. Sacred parody in Robert Greene's Groatsworth of wit -- Martha Moffitt Peacock. The comedy of the shrew: theorizing humor in early modern Netherlandish art -- Jessica Tvordi. The comic personas of Milton's Prolusion VI: negotiating masculine identity through self-directed humor -- John Alexander. Ridentum dicere verum (using laughter to speak the truth): laughter and the language of the early modern clown "pickelhering" in German literature of the late seventeenth century (1675-1700) -- Thomas Willard. Andreae's ludibrium: Menippean satire in The chymische hochzeit -- Diane Rudall. The comic power of illusion-allusion -- Allison P. Coudert. Laughing at credulity and superstition in the long eighteenth century. (shrink)

Frames of Deceit is a philosophical investigation of the nature of trust in public and private life. It examines how trust originates, how it is challenged, and how it is recovered when moral and political imperfections collide. In politics, rulers may be called upon to act badly for the sake of a political good, and in private life intimate attachments are formed in which the costs of betrayal are high. This book asks how trust is tested by human goods, moral (...) character and power relations. It explores whether an individual's experience of betrayal differs totally from that of a community when it loses and then seeks to recover a vital public trust. Although this is a work of political philosophy it is distinctive in examining three literary texts - Sophocles' Philoctetes, Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida, and Zola's Thérése Raquin - in order to deepen our understanding of the place of trust in morality and politics. (shrink)

This chapter contains sections titled: Platonic Influences on Shakespeare's Pre‐1604 Work Othello's “Temptation Scene” as a Parody of the Elenchus.

Many avenues lead to human consciousness: introspection, phenomenology, cognitive science, philosophy, neurobiology. To these can be added aesthetics; both the production of artful objects and the appreciation of artful objects are characteristic of human minds. By looking at artful objects we can hypothesize why the human mind both produces them and responds to them, and derive from such hypotheses ideas about the nature of human consciousness, including its power to make present in the mind that which is absent from view. (...) In particular, the art of Shakespeare, being both verbal and formal, both articulates the peculiar burdens of human consciousness and demonstrates art's response to these burdens. His play Troilus and Cressida serves as an example, exhibiting and exploring the discordancies human consciousness is liable to, and at the same time incorporating those discordancies into a greater harmony through the formal structures of art. (shrink)

Frames of Deceit is a philosophical investigation of the nature of trust in public and private life. It examines how trust originates, how it is challenged, and how it is recovered when moral and political imperfections collide. In politics, rulers may be called upon to act badly for the sake of a political good, and in private life intimate attachments are formed in which the costs of betrayal are high. This book asks how trust is tested by human goods, moral (...) character, and power relations. It explores whether an individual's experience of betrayal differs totally from that of a community when it loses and then seeks to recover a vital public trust. Although this is a work of political philosophy it is distinctive in examining three literary texts--Sophocles' Philoctetes, Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida, and Zola's The;rèse Raquin--in order to deepen our understanding of the place of trust in morality and politics. (shrink)

Senshu University has hosted many international conferences on medieval English literature - primarily on Geoffrey Chaucer and William Langland - as well as in the related fields of Old Germanic, medieval French and Renaissance Italian literature. These international collaborations inform and contribute to the present volume, which addresses the heritage bequeathed to medieval English language and literature by the classical world.<BR> This volume explores the development of medieval English literature in light of contact with Germanic and Old Norse cultures, on (...) the one hand, and Romance languages, on the other. The book includes a comparative study of <I>Beowulf in the Germanic context, discusses aspects of <I>Piers Plowman and its tradition, and offers philological approaches to Chaucer (especially his <I>Troilus and Criseyde). The articles assembled here collectively suggest how the torches of classical learning were carried from continental Europe to illuminate the pages of medieval English literature. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Sighs and Tears:Biological Signals and John Donne's "Whining Poetry"Michael A. WinkelmanPhebe: Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Silvius: It is to be all made of sighs and tears...—Shakespeare, As You Like It (5.2.83–84)ISighs and tears permeate John Donne's poetry, as well they should. Crying in particular functions as a costly signal in biological terms: a blatant, physiologically-demanding, involuntary indicator of hurt feelings. "Tears dim mine eyes," (...) laments Donne's Sappho ("Sappho to Philaenis," l. 56); they are "Fruits of much grief" in "A Valediction of Weeping" (l. 7).1 The theory of costly signaling, related to the handicap principle, was developed fairly recently by Israeli zoologists Amotz and Avishag Zahavi. As the Zahavis explain: "in order to be effective, signals have to be reliable; in order to be reliable, signals have to be costly."2 Initially their idea was resisted, but it has since become widely accepted and it has proven very helpful in making sense of both animal and human behavior. Wasteful conspicuous consumption among upper-class Americans, as noted a century ago by sociologist Thorstein Veblen, exemplifies this handicap principle in action. Like gazelles jumping in place or stotting rather than running away when wolves appear, it indicates fitness by flaunting excess resources.Shedding tears when feeling sad is an evolved human adaptation that broadcasts unhappiness. The wailing of infants demands attention, and crying does something similar for grown-ups: among other things, it tests the commitment of hearers to appease the distressed. For instance, in Chaucer's tragic medieval romance Troilus and Criseyde, Pandarus advises [End Page 329] Troilus to provoke a suitable reaction from Criseyde by embellishing his billet-doux: "Towchyng thi lettre... Biblotte it with thi teris ek a lite" (touching thy letter... Be-blot it with thy tears a little).3 Early modern authors also knew their importance. In the words of Robert Herrick, "tears are tongues," while Claudius suspects that "There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves" (Hamlet, 4.1.1).4As a case in point, Donne was overwhelmed by the death of his dear wife Anne in 1617. As his contemporaneous biographer Izaak Walton reported: "his very soul was elemented of nothing but sadness; now, grief took so full a possession of his heart, as to leave no place for joy."5 Donne even hoped to be literally entombed with her soon: "as the grave is become her house, so I would hasten to make it mine also; that we two might there make our beds together in the dark" (Walton, p. 51). His miserable mood was revealed in his initial sermon after her demise:His first motion from his house was to preach, where his beloved wife lay buried (in St. Clement's Church, near Temple-Bar, London) and his text was a part of the Prophet Jeremiah's Lamentation: "Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction."And indeed, his very words and looks testified him to be truly such a man; and they, with the addition of his sighs and tears expressed in his Sermon, did so work upon the affections of his hearers as melted and molded them into a companionable sadness; and so they left the Congregation.(Walton, p. 52)Listeners responded in kind to his honest confessions, a textbook illustration of the empathy generated by crying. (A related issue—how and why literature affects audiences so strongly—is currently generating some very interesting work from New Humanists investigating the question from an evolutionary perspective.)These qualities make sighs and tears fundamental to love poetry. In other words, writers deploy them because they reflect universal states of mind, rather than originating as some arbitrary, socially-constructed literary device. The copious opening sonnet of Petrarch's magnificent Rime sparse codifies the theme:6You who can hear in scattered rhymes the soundof all that sighing which once fed my heartin my first youthful error, when in partI was a person of a different kind—my changing manner as I weep and reason, [End Page 330] between vain aspirations and vain grief,leads everyone who has known... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Chaucer’s Ovidian Arts of LoveWarren GinsbergChaucer’s Ovidian Arts of Love, by Michael A. Calabrese; x & 162 pp. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1994, $29.95.Michael Calabrese’s Chaucer’s Ovidian Arts of Love is a welcome re-examination of Chaucer’s interest in Ovid. Calabrese contends that Ovid’s entire “oeuvre,” including the poems of exile, determined Chaucer’s attitude toward him. The thesis is significant, both in itself and for the questions it (...) raises about medieval intertextuality.By the fourteenth century, accounts of Ovid’s life usually prefaced his poetic texts; in academic commentaries, an “accessus” also considered the ethical utility of the poem. Calabrese combines these two aspects of the textual tradition: he argues the trajectory of Ovid’s biography established a moral framework which determined his reception. There were, in effect, two Ovids, the poet of love and the poet of exile, the latter apologizing in old age for the indiscretions of his youth.Even as Ovid became a cornerstone of the school curriculum, however, many continued to censure him. While these anti-Ovidian comments and the academic commentaries share the same moral universe, they seem to be at odds. Calabrese explains the tension on theoretical grounds: in exile the Ovid of the commentators recanted his faith in rhetoric’s ability to create the world; his poetry now seeks to provide refuge amid the flux of a darker universe. For Christian moralists, this insight pointed to its own limitations: stability resides not in poetry but with the Word.For Calabrese, Chaucer read Ovid within this matrix of concerns. The rest of Chaucer’s Ovidian Arts of Love consists of extended readings of the Troilus, the “Wife of Bath’s Prologue and Tale,” and the “Retraction” that ends the Canterbury Tales. In the Troilus, Chaucer’s characters attempt to regulate an unpredictable Ovidian universe by means of an Ovidian rhetoric of love, in which art triumphs over every circumstance. When this rhetoric proves empty, Troilus abandons it entirely, aligning himself with the unvarying verities of Christian salvation. Pandarus and Criseyde, however, merely switch Ovids: the “praeceptor amoris” becomes the instructor who teaches how to survive the vacillations of Fortune. In making the Wife of Bath, Chaucer again set different Ovids against one another. Misogynists looked to the Ars Amatoria to support their contention that women were lecherous and deceitful. But Alice empowers herself by redeploying the stratagems of the third book of the Ars to gain control of men; she counters male mastery of her body by authoring a new art of love. The Wife combats the antifeminist tradition not only by using the same texts that constituted it, but by appropriating the commentators’ prerogative of rewriting authors to suit their purposes. Finally, Calabrese argues that Chaucer, reflecting on his own life as a fiction maker, turned again to Ovid’s biography; the Tristia and Ex Ponto, Ovid’s “apologiae pro poetria sua,” provided Chaucer an admonitory model when he composed his “Retraction.” [End Page 180]Throughout his book, Calabrese maintains a dialogue with John Fyler, who argued in Chaucer and Ovid that the English poet “took Ovid straight.” Calabrese is right to say that during the Middle Ages, “Ovid” meant both his poems and the accompanying commentary. But the fact that these materials are part of the manuscript record should not exempt them from critical scrutiny, nor does it constitute a sufficient account of their historicity. Academic strategies to rehabilitate Ovid need themselves to be interpreted, not least because Ovid anticipates their attempts to read his amatory poems as if they were some kind of “Eudam(on)ian” ethics. Granting the importance of the “vitae ovidii,” one nevertheless suspects Ovid’s fate meant something different to Chaucer in the 1380s from what it did in the 1390s.Moreover, by itself appealing to contemporary interpretation is neither more nor less helpful than Fyler’s approach in assessing how Chaucer responded to Ovid. To my mind, Calabrese under-reads Ovid in the same way the commentaries under-read him: both compartmentalize Ovid’s irony; neither allows that the poet might subvert every premise even as he urges its adoption. Chaucer, however, strikes... (shrink)