CHAPTER 1
THE WOMANâS VOICE
Key Text: Much Ado About Nothing with The Winterâs Tale
J.K. Rowling, the most commercially successful female author of our times, identifies the double bind of women speaking in the public sphere: âevery woman I know who has dared express an opinion publically has endured ⌠abuse at least once, rooted in an apparent determination to humiliate or intimidate her on the basis that she is femaleâ.1 As public and private speech is increasingly blurred by online communication, female voices have both greater access to the public ear and greater exposure to censure. It is timely, then, to explore what Shakespeareâs women tell us about how the female voice functioned in their early modern context and in production today. This chapter holds a lens over one character, Much Ado About Nothingâs Beatrice, to explore both contextual and theatrical expectations of women and the power wielded by speech and voice on the early modern stage.
From her first appearance in the opening scene of the play Beatrice demonstrates a female voice resounding outside of archetypal expectations, both disrupting and flouting them. Fatherless, brotherless and unmarried, Beatrice is freer of patriarchal control than her peers and deeply reluctant to be forced into constraint via marriage. It is her verbal proficiency and unchecked loquacity that allows her to transgress hierarchical structures within Much Ado About Nothingâs play world. As Gina Bloom writes, âfemale characters who embrace, instead of attempting to overcome, their unpredictable vocal flows are able to elude patriarchal regulationâ (2007: 11). Beatriceâs only patriarch, her uncle, Leonato, gives mere lip service to controlling his niece, yet exhibits an unyielding attitude towards his own daughter, Hero, later in the play, wishing her rather dead than dishonoured (4.1.116â17). Beatriceâs apparently unchecked freedom of speech, often in public, provides us with a fascinating model of female verbosity from an age when many texts have it that the unequivocal ideal of womanhood was located in silent acquiescence.
We meet Beatrice very early in Much Ado, when she speaks, both publicly and critically, of a man of power and influence, Benedick. The playâs opening conversation is between men, Leonato and a messenger, discussing the victorious outcome of a military campaign. This constitutes a conventional inaugural scene, functioning to establish the context and characters for the play. However, Beatrice interrupts â and disrupts â this patriarchal convention. Shakespeare inserts a female voice into his standard opening and, specifically, one that questions the masculine narrative. Beatrice interjects with ridicule, not only of Benedick himself (whom we are yet to meet) but, more broadly, of the male spheres of public discourse and military knowledge. Specifically, she exposes to mockery the masculine language of prowess in battle and male camaraderie, the effect of her humour heightened by the deadpan messenger:
LEONATO
What is he that you ask for, niece?
HERO
My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.
MESSENGER
O, heâs returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.
BEATRICE
He set up his bills here in Messina and
challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncleâs fool,
reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged
him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many
hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many
hath he killed? For indeed I promised to eat all of his
killing.
LEONATO
Faith, niece, you tax Signor Benedick too
much; but heâll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
MESSENGER
He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.
BEATRICE
You had musty victual, and he hath holp to
eat it: he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an
excellent stomach.
MESSENGER
And a good soldier too, lady.
BEATRICE
And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he
to a lord?
MESSENGER
A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with
all honourable virtues.
BEATRICE
It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:
but for the stuffing, â well, we are all mortal.
(1.1.30â56)
Beatriceâs raillery attacks Benedickâs masculinity in line with archetypal standards. First, she challenges his martial ability (39â42), undermining his reputation as a âgood soldierâ, re-asserting, instead, her own confident challenge to his status. The messengerâs apparent confusion and obliviousness to Beatriceâs wordplay places her at the advantage at every point in this conversation with a man. She becomes more daring in her assassination of Benedickâs masculinity when she hints at a lack of sexual prowess, in the double entendre of âbut for the stuffing, â well, we are all mortalâ (55â6). On the surface this serves as a basic truism of mortality but the comment also heavily implies the âstuffingâ (a common sexual euphemism) is under par, via the elliptic aphorism âwell, we are all mortalâ replacing a more brazen attack.
So how can we read Beatriceâs bold voice in the play in the context of the silent female archetype of the early modern period? The ideal of a chaste, silent, obedient woman permeates many writings of the early modern period and is widely explored in scholarship of womenâs representation in the drama and literature of the time. Poetic expressions of female perfection idealize chastity of body and of speech: in effect, the less speech the better. Sidneyâs blazon, âWhat Tongue Can Her Perfections Tell?â (1590), for instance, effects an exhaustive geographical exploration of the female body as object of male gaze and desire. The âperfectionsâ do not, however, include movement or sound and the effect is the presentation of a feminine perfection predicated in stillness and silence. Indeed, the subjectâs silence, or at least a sort of chaste taciturnity, is clearly a great virtue â or rather, a positive attraction:
But who those ruddy lips can miss,
Which blessed still themselves do kiss?
Rubies, cherries, and roses new,
In worth, in taste, in perfect hue,
Which never part but that they show
Of precious pearl the double row,
The second sweetly-fenced ward
Her heavânly-dewed tongue to guard,
Whence never word in vain did flow.
Sidney eulogizes silence, or at least the bare minimum of speech among the âperfectionsâ. The visceral eroticism of Sidneyâs description of the subjectâs âruddy lipsâ contrasts immediately with the chastity to be found within her mouth, both figuratively and literally. Her âprecious pearlâ teeth act as pure white jailers to her tongue, which never moves âin vainâ. While we may read here a simple praise of the discernment of the womanâs speech, the language of restraint and imprisonment (âwardâ, âguardâ) cannot be ignored. Such literary presentations of the desirability of self-enforced female silence and the more forthright instruction that women must stay quiet and avoid public speech (see Resource 1.a) contextualize Beatriceâs verbosity and Shakespeareâs response to these ideals.
Shakespeareâs mockery of the blazon tradition itself and the standards of female perfection it peddles, can be found scattered across several texts. In Twelfth Night, for instance, Olivia expresses her exasperation at the constant pestering praise sent by Count Orsino by providing âdivers schedules of my beauty: it shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will: as, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forthâ (1.5.236â40). Oliviaâs âinventoryâ though, will not be set out by a manâs pen: it will be âlabelled to my willâ, reclaiming ownership of her own body and voice. Most famously and openly, however, the blazon convention is mocked in Sonnet 130, âMy mistressâ eyes are nothing like the sun âŚâ, in which Shakespeare takes a clear swipe not only at the absurdity and literary limitations of the convention, but in the very standards of beauty and attraction it expounds, notably female silence (âI love to hear her speak âŚâ; see Introduction). In Much Ado About Nothing, it is Beatrice who, in a festive moment of reversal, is identified as the female creator, not the female subject of a blazon, when she employs comic conceit and witty punning to describe sulky young Claudio as âcivil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexionâ. âIâfaith Lady,â replies the prince, âI think your blazon to be trueâ (2.1.270â2). In Beatrice, the witty, speaking woman, not the âguard[ed]â tongue of chaste silence, is presented as desirable.
When Beatrice first encounters her adversary, Benedick, it is to pick up what has already been framed as an ongoing battle of words and wits that has begun long before the action of the play:
BEATRICE
I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
Benedick: nobody marks you.
BENEDICK
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet
living?
BEATRICE
Is it possible disdain should die, while she
hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in
her presence.
BENEDICK
Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain
I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would
I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for,
truly, I love none.
BEATRICE
A dear happiness to women: they would else
have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank
God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that:
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man
swear he loves me.
BENEDICK
God keep your ladyship still in that mind!
so some gentleman or other shall âscape a predestinate
scratched face.
BEATRICE
Scratching could not make it worse, an âtwere
such a face as yours were.
BENEDICK
Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
BEATRICE
A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of
yours.
BENEDICK
I would my horse had the speed of your
tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way,
oâ Godâs name; I have done.
BEATRICE
You always end with a jadeâs trick: I know you
of old.
(1.1.110â39)
Beatriceâs first remark to Benedick is to suggest he talks without audience, that his speech is inconsequential to his male companions: ânobody marks youâ. Her first attack, therefore, is both on his speech and his status among men. Rhetorical skills, as well as physical vocal control, were important tools in establishing menâs authority and position, as Gina Bloom writes:
Whereas early modern women and children were discouraged and even barred from certain forms of vocal expression, men were often coached from an early age in the skill of oratory in an effort to prepare them to speak effectively.
(Bloom, 2007: 9)
The evenness of the verbal and vocal battle between Beatrice and Benedick, then, and her suggestion that his fellow men do not attend to his speech, undermines his accomplishment and power as a man among me...