Christopher Marlowe, and Classical Homoeroticism

 culture, Stage  1 Response »
Jun 102012
 

Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) was one of the most interesting writers ever to live: apparently an undercover agent for the Crown, infiltrating potential Catholic conspiracies against Elizabeth’s government, while an undergrad at Cambridge (which may have had something to do with his strange and violent death, as perhaps it was judged that he was a bit of a loose cannon, who maybe knew a little too much about things which were best not-known about, and who had grown more famous than maybe the Elizabethan authorities had anticipated, when they recruited him as an undergrad). The most notable play-writer in London from the late 1580s-early 1590s, Marlowe seems really front-and-center on a wave of Occult-Fascination sweeping England’s capitol at the time. Moreover (and here is what strikes me as particularly interesting): he looks to have personally inclined towards the Homoerotic, and seems to have had- based upon the example of the Classical Greeks, familiar to him through the Latin education that formed the basis of Elizabethan learning- a conception of Gay Identity that was possibly much further ahead of his time than anything that anyone else in the period had going on.

Marlowe never marries, which is a bit unusual for a man in the Elizabethan Age, nor is Marlowe connected with any girlfriends or mistresses (in contrast to, say, Shakespeare, who marries kind of quickly a woman somewhat older than he, when he was all of nineteen; she bears him a child, in Virginia Woolf’s famous words, “rather sooner than was right”; apparently by his own admission, Shakespeare has at least one mistress in London, the tempestuous Dark Lady of the Sonnets; as well, Shakespeare is anecdotally linked to female romantic partners, such as in a delightful theater-story, recorded during his lifetime, regarding him, the lead actor of his company, Burbage, and a 16th century theater-groupie). The total absence of women in Marlowe’s life is notable in contrast, as is the fact that Marlowe apparently has little affinity for his female characters (a wag, responding to the oft-repeated assertion that Marlowe secretly wrote Shakespeare’s plays, pointed out that- unlike Shakespeare- Marlowe can write neither comedy nor women; the most famous female character in Marlowe’s canon, Helen of Troy from Faustus, literally has not a single line). Then of course, there is Marlowe’s famous line (attributed to him by an ex-roommate during the inquest following his death), that “Any of them that like not boys and tobacco are fools.” (I presume that, by “boys,” Marlowe means young men in their early ’20s; as Marlowe never outlives his 20s, presumably he liked younger guys in his own peer-group; presumably also, he smoked.)

Written probably when he was at Cambridge (in which case, it must speak volumes about what must have been the prevailing sense of humor among the student-body), Marlowe’s Dido, Queen of Carthage (derived from the Aeneid) opens with a startling “send-up” of Zeus and His servant-boy Ganymede. Playing up the pederastic quality of the Divine Relationship, this is a portrayal of the King of the Olympian Gods that theater-goers were probably no more used to then, than now. It does suggest, however, that Marlowe already has a grasp on the unique Gay Guy sense-of-humor known as “Camp.”

The interesting thing about Marlowe is that, given the opportunity, he will go for the Homoerotic so readily. This inclination is in great evidence in his play Edward II (c. 1592)- already notable merely for being about Edward II (1284-1327), England’s Homosexual King who was in love with a dashing Gascon knight named Piers Gaveston, and whose royal life was ended when rebellious nobles inserted a red-hot poker up his anus (in a 14th century display of homophobic violence). That Marlowe should be drawn to this material at all is interesting; that he should treat Edward and Gaveston’s relationship respectfully and sympathetically deserves mention (my favorite line occurs when Edward’s wife, Queen Isabella of France, accuses Gaveston, “Villain, ’tis thou that robb’st me of my lord!” He answers, “Madam, ’tis you that rob me of my lord.”) (scene 4, 160-1) As is always the case with Elizabethans, Marlowe’s Classical education comes out strong: later in the same scene, Isabella laments, “Would when I left sweet France that charming Circe, walking on the waves, had changed my shape, or at the marriage day the cup of Hymen had been full of poison- like frantic Juno will I fill the earth with ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries, for never doted Jove on Ganymede so much as he [Edward] on cursed Gaveston.”

What is remarkable is how often the lyrical poetry embraces a Homoerotic mood. At the very beginning, Gaveston is planning how he will stage forest entertainments to amuse Edward. “And in the day, when he shall walk abroad, like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad; my men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, shall with their goat feet dance an antic hay. Sometime a lovely boy in Dian’s shape- in his sportful hands an olive tree to hide those parts which men delight to see [!]- shall bathe him in a spring.” (scene 1, 56-65) What Gaveston is saying is, that he intends to have his “pages” (his boy-servants) dress as “sylvan [female] nymphs”; while his “men” (his adult-servants) will dress as satyrs, dancing an “antic” (rambunctious) dance with their goat-feet. “Sometime” a “lovely boy in Dian’s shape”- an attractive lad, dressed as Forest-Goddess Diana, holding in his “sportful hands” [!] an olive tree, “to hide those parts which men delight to see” [!]- this transvestite boy will bathe Edward [!]. All in all, there is a self-consciously “Gay” quality to Gaveston’s introduction that is unique in Elizabethan times.

Which pales before the speech made by one of Edward’s lords to the other lords, urging them to be tolerant of the King and his boyfriend- using as its persuasive base examples of Classical Homoeroticism. “The mightiest kings have had their minions ["boy toys"]: Great Alexander loved Hephaestion, the conquering Hercules for Hylas wept, and for Patroclus stern Achilles drooped. And not kings only, but the wisest men:  the Roman Tully loved Octavius, grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades. Then let his grace freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl.” (scene 4, 390-400) While a bit dismissive of Hephaestion and Patroclus as “minions,” this speech nonetheless seems to reveal- some centuries before Stonewall- a prototypical sense of Gay Consciousness- Gay Identity- derived from the Homoerotic Passions of the Greeks. It also seems to be making a point for Gay Liberation, for men to be as free in the pursuit of Same-Sex Love as were Alexander and Hercules and Achilles.

Marlowe’s Edward II appears to demonstrate a consciousness very much ahead of its time; Queer-themed drama will not be found again in English language theater until the “revolutionary” Gay plays of the post-Stonewall era.

Christopher Marlowe, and the Occult Sciences

 culture, Stage  2 Responses »
Jun 062012
 

Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) is one of the most fascinating writers ever to live, and I’ll explain why. The first “superstar” play-writer of the Elizabethan Age (and an intriguing character who seems to have worked as an undercover agent and a spy for Elizabeth’s government), Marlowe had an interest in the Occult Sciences (a term used at the time; to the Elizabethan mind, Magickal-Practice constituted a type of “Science”) sufficient to write Doctor Faustus, and appears to have been of an inclination that we would identify as Homosexual today.

It might not be readily apparent, because These Things were not (or are not, still) really written about- but London in the latter 1500s might have been undergoing a considerable interest in The Occult Sciences. Never mind the obvious example of the famous Elizabethan Occultist John Dee (an individual to whom Elizabeth Herself resorts when she wishes advice and counsel in Certain Matters); never mind the astrologer/ occultist/ herbalist/ cunning-man to the smart London Set, Simon Forman. (Never mind that he is just the most famous of the Cunning-Folk Scene operating within London and throughout Elizabethan England.) Never mind another little-known individual, but a deeply intriguing one, in context: a very important noble, Henry Percy, the 9th Earl of Northumberland; known in his lifetime as the “Wizard-Earl.” (I guess maybe sources such Wikipedia will play it safe and say that he was the Wizard-Earl because of his experiments in alchemy- which I daresay he must have performed. But “Wizard-Earl” makes me think that he is much more a “Wizard” along the lines of Dee, or Prospero, for that matter, than an “Alchemist”; although Jonson’s play suggests alchemy existing right alongside astrology and occultism.)

Never mind that Hermeticism plays a significant part in the Philosophy of Certain Sets at the time, influencing, say, Agrippa when he publishes Occult Philosophy in the early 1500s, as well as the “astronomer” (in an age in which “astronomy” was not distinct from “astrology”) Giordano Bruno, who was otherwise such an unconventional and influential thinker as to be burned to death by the Italian Inquisition in 1600, and who spent time in London from 1583-1585, creating a stir among the thoughtful elite. (Among others, he is befriended by the great poet of the period, Philip Sidney. I did not know this, but according to the Wikipedia article noted above- I find this really interesting- there is a theory that, while staying at the French embassy in London, Bruno acted as a spy for Walsingham- famous for his spy-network- under the provocative pseudonym “Fagot.” I find that really intriguing.)

Elizabeth (the Virgin Queen) had some very serious relationships with men at various points in her life (including the pretty-boy, the Earl of Essex, which did not end well). A notable affair was that with the famous adventurer Walter Raleigh (who named “Virginia” after her). Raleigh, otherwise, is known for his sponsorship of “the School of Night” (known at the time as the “School of Atheism,” “atheism” being a far more amorphous term for the Elizabethans than for us). Very, very little is known about this mysterious School: however, the personalities associated with it constitute the elite of the period (as well as Christopher Marlowe, who while undeniably brilliant, must have been treated- while politely- as a bit of a theater ragamuffin by aristocrats such as Raleigh); made up of many of the notables of the era, it is extremely unlikely that these men were up to anything subversive (the School, while it was little known, was nonetheless “known”). The purpose generally given for the School is that the men gathered to study astronomy and mathematics and geography- all intellectual pursuits of the period, but also staid enough so as not to require secrecy. One the other hand- “astronomy” is held to be the key-doorway into “astrology,” and Agrippa has a section called “Of Mathematical Magic,” next to sections on “Enchanting Magic” and “Natural Magic”: is it out of the question that the School of Atheism (the School of Night) met to investigate the Sciences of the Occult?

By whatever means, through whatever sources- Christopher Marlowe was clearly influenced by Hermeticism, in that his first “blockbuster” stage-hit Tamburlaine (c. 1587) features a lead character fashioned upon a Hermetic ideal (please check out James Howe’s excellent Marlowe, Tamburlaine, and Magic). In the not-for-nothing: Marlowe and Shakespeare appear to have known each other (the theater companies probably socialized together; it is conjectured that the character Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet was inspired by Marlowe; some of Shakespeare’s earliest writing “sounds” so much like Marlowe, he is either imitating Marlowe, or collaborating with him). Someone presumably influenced the distinctly Hermetic structure to the Prologue of Shakespeare’s Henry V. And Christopher Marlowe was obviously familiar enough with the Occult Sciences to write the Circle-Casting Scene in Faustus (although both Shakespeare and Barnes also write plays involving Circle-Casting, demonstrating that our Conception of the Magick-Circle is not really different from that of the 16th century). It might not be too much of a stretch, to argue that, like Edgar Allen Poe, credited with creating both the genre of detective fiction, as well as that of gothic-horror: Faustus might be considered the uber-text for all subsequent dramatic Occult story-lines- including 20th and 21st century television and movies.

Not for nothing: there is probably a reason that Ben Jonson wrote The Alchemist in 1610, satirizing a London obsessed with Magickal Practice and Occult Philosophy.

Jupiter on Stage (Part 2)

 culture, Stage  2 Responses »
Sep 012011
 

Jupiter: King of the Gods, Ruler of Olympus, Master of the Thunderbolt- Pederast.

Maybe a better beginning would be: Christopher Marlowe, brilliant and audacious Elizabethan play-writer, religious iconoclast, and enough of a social provocateur to note the occasional Homoerotic tendencies of the Greek Gods (an inclination sometimes indulged with youth whom we would consider underage) and open his play Dido, Queen of Carthage with the beautiful youth Ganymede sitting in the God-King’s lap.

Dido is probably the first play that Marlowe wrote, basically a dramatization of the sections from Virgil’s Aeneid that deal with the love of Queen Dido for the Trojan hero Aeneas (at times Marlowe’s characters simply quote whole passages from the Latin). Marlowe likely wrote Dido in the early 1580s, while a student at Cambridge (possibly in collaboration with Thomas Nashe, also an undergrad), and I suspect that he intended the play to be an entertainment for his fellow-students. He possibly did not even know at the time that he wanted to be a play-writer, and studied for the ministry at university. The play was performed by the Chapel Children’s company (a kind of precious Elizabethan convention being to have companies of boy-actors perform shows as miniature “adults”), which makes the opening of Dido even more startling, as our first impression (upon the curtains being drawn, according to the stage-notes) is of a child-Jupiter “dandling” an even-younger child-Ganymede on His knee. The scene (Act I, scene 1) is not found in Virgil, and (representing Marlowe’s own invention) must say something about his rebellious sense of humor, as he focuses not only on the Homoerotic nature of Jupiter’s relationship with Ganymede, but plays up its pedophile-like aspects as well.

Jupiter: “Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me [insert Elizabethan subtext here], I love thee well.” He calls Ganymede “darling of my thoughts” and vows “by Saturn’s soul and this earth-threatening hair that, shaken thrice, makes nature’s buildings quake,” to punish Juno for tormenting Ganymede (as Ganymede complains strenuously that She does).

Ganymede: “Sweet Jupiter, if e’er I pleased thine eye, grace my immortal beauty with this boon and I will spend my time in thy bright arms.” Jupiter promises that he can deny Ganymede’s “youth” nothing, as Ganymede’s face “reflects such pleasure to mine eyes”; he swears to make all the Gods do whatever delights Ganymede (Vulcan shall dance, Jupiter’s “nine daughters”- the Muses- will sing whenever Ganymede is sad). In a kind of alarming display of feminization, He decorates Ganymede with jewels that He has stolen from Juno (worn upon Her “marriage day,” underscoring how much Ganymede has replaced Juno in Jupiter’s affections).

Venus enters, re-emphasizing Ganymede’s feminized/ sexualized nature by chiding Jupiter for “playing with that female wanton boy” while Her son Aeneas is imperiled on the seas, trying to escape fallen Troy. (The boy-actors of the Chapel Children were sometimes described in the same kind of terms; a writer from 1569 railed against theater in general, and boy-acting companies in particular, furious that “pretty upstart youths profane the Lord’s day by the lascivious writhing of their tender limbs in feigning bawdy fables gathered from the idolatrous heathen poets [Roman poets].” ) Jupiter sends Mercury to order Neptune to safeguard Aeneas’ vessel and, the narrative returned to Virgil, Jupiter re-acquires his dignity. In (Act IV, scene ii), Iarbas makes sacrifice: “Eternal Jove, great Master of the clouds, Father of gladness and all frolic thoughts- Hear, hear, O hear Iarbas’ plaining prayers.” Later it is “Immortal Jove’s” strict command (delivered through Mercury) that Aeneas leave Carthage (and Dido) to come to Italy, that leads to tragedy.

Marlowe would spend his short (and abruptly ended) life tweaking the nose of convention; shortly before his very mysterious and violent death in 1593, serious accusations were made against his “damnable judgement of religion and scorn of God’s word,” including saying (among other scandalous things): “that Christ was a bastard and his mother dishonest”; “that all Protestants are hypocritical asses”; “that Christ knew the women of Samaria dishonestly”; and “that St. John the Evangelist was bedfellow to Christ and that he used him as the sinners of Sodoma.” [Please note the ambiguity in pronouns.] This eyebrow-raising statement is followed by the famous line attributed to Marlowe: “They that love not tobacco and boys were fools.”

Adjectives potentially applicable to Marlowe run from “cheeky” to “subversive”; he clearly presents an irreverent attitude towards the Classical Deities in Dido (Juno and Cupid are brought onstage, to join Jupiter, Ganymede, Mercury, and Venus)- as irreverent an attitude as he apparently directs towards the religion of his own time. As Frank Romany and Robert Lindsey remark in their Complete Plays of Christopher Marlowe (Penguin, 2003, p. xiv), this is the Aeneid- but (because of the boy-actors) the Aeneid “in falsetto voices.” Marlowe doesn’t present the Gods onstage so much as send Them up comically. The tone of the play is set when- following up to its logical conclusion, and dramatization, the myth of Ganymede, Cup-Bearer to the Sky-God (pursue that with a Freudian eye)- we discover the “pederastic” Olympian King fondling a boy in His lap, in the “ambivalent posture [to say the least, of], an erotic game with a child.” (Romany and Lindsey also note deliciously that “the Ganymede to whom the god’s bribes are offered is detectably a tarty, petulant Elizabethan page-boy”). “The cumulative effect is to drive the play away from epic and towards comedy.” In fact, in Dido we see Marlowe come astonishingly close to demonstrating the modern comedic sensibility that we call “camp” today.