Developing Female Desire and Gender Balance in Early Modern Italian, English, And

Silence, Expression, Manifestation:

Developing Female Desire and Gender Balance in Early Modern Italian, English, and

Spanish Drama

Mitchel Baccinelli

A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of

The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Arts

Florida Atlantic University

Boca Raton, FL

August 2016

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank his committee members for their tremendous help and guidance throughout the writing of this manuscript. I would also like to express a special thanks to my advisor who encouraged me to begin this work. Lastly, I would like to thank Addys Guerra for ceaseless personal support during this writing process.

ABSTRACT

Author: Mitchel Baccinelli

Title: Silence, Expression, Manifestation: Developing Female Desire and Gender Balance in Early Modern Italian, English, and Spanish Drama

Institution: Florida Atlantic University

Thesis Advisor: Dr. Frédéric Conrod

Degree: Master of Arts

Year: 2016

Renaissance and Baroque drama offers a view into gender dynamics of the time. What is seen is a development in the allowed expression and manifestation of desire by females, beginning from a point of near silence, and arriving at points of verbal statement and even physical violence. Specifically, in La Mandragola by

Niccolò Machiavelli, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, and Fuenteovejuna by Lope de Vega, there appears a chronological progression, whereby using desire and its expression as a metric in conjunction with modern concepts of gender and sexuality to measure a shift in relation to what is and is not allowed to be expressed by women.

DEDICATION

This manuscript is dedicated to my family who have always encouraged my academic endeavors. I would also like to dedicate this work to my girlfriend, Addys, for giving me motivation when I myself could not.

Silence, Expression, Manifestation: Developing Female Desire and Gender Balance in

Early Modern Italian, English, and Spanish Drama

I. Gender Balance: A New Structure for Studying Gender Dynamics ...... 1

II. La Mandragola: Unexpressed Desire ...... 15

1. Virtù and Fortuna in La Mandragola ...... 18

2. Machiavelli’s Two Audiences ...... 24

3. Lucrezia and Her Virtù ...... 27

4. Conclusion ...... 31

III. Romeo and Juliet: Expression of Rebellious Desires ...... 33

1. Rebelling Against the Old ...... 34

2. Juliet’s Rebellion ...... 38

3. Conclusion ...... 44

IV. Fuenteovejuna: The Armed Woman and Her Righteous Violence ...... 46

1. The Justifiability of the Rebellion ...... 48

2. Laurencia in Drag ...... 54

3. Going Forward ...... 60

V. Conclusion ...... 62

Notes ...... 67

Works Cited ...... 69

vii

I. Gender Balance: A New Structure for Studying Gender Dynamics

In the Renaissance, power and agency, which so often were allocated differently according to gender, begin to change. The rise of powerful female monarchs such as

Isabel I of Castile and Elizabeth I of England, who served as more than mere figureheads, and brought on periods of marked prosperity to their nations helped alter perspectives in regards to the abilities of females. Isabel I was part of the ruling couple which sponsored

Columbus’s journey to the New World, which would bring unimaginable success and riches to Spain, so much so that the later collapse of the national economy would leave space for nostalgia for the bygone age of the female ruler. Elizabeth I was later the woman who would destroy the Armada which helped establish that Spanish dominance.

More importantly, she represented an important development from Isabel I in the spectrum of female agency, as Elizabeth I, Gloriana, the Virgin Queen, would succeed in all of her endeavors, including the aforementioned destruction of the Spanish Armada, without the assistance of a King, a male counterpart.

This changing concept, seen politically, also is reflected in the literature of the time, which demonstrates developments in self-agency in respect to the what can or cannot be done by each gender. What we can see in some of these works more is a development of agency in expression, the ability to express desire, specifically, the changes in ways that a female could express desire. Desire in itself becomes an effective metric for the development of gender agency as it creates a smooth gradient from mental to verbal to physical actions. Desire can be identified from its genesis in the character’s

mind until the physical manifestation of that desire. Expressing desires was also heavily controlled, with clear distinctions being made as to what was allowed and what was not allowed to be desired by people according to their respective genders, offering clear points from which to analyze desire. Michel Foucault speaks of such divisions in his

History of Sexuality saying “Up to the end of the eighteenth century, three major explicit codes…governed sexual practices…They determined, each in its own way, the division between licit and illicit” (37). He furthers this discussion of the division between licit and illicit action through “the cycle of prohibition,” stating “Renounce yourself or suffer the penalty of being suppressed; do not appear if you do not want to disappear. Your existence will be maintained only at the cost of your nullification” (84). These same concepts about sex and sexual desire appear to hold some relevance in the general expression of desire, specifically in the ways these desires are expressed. What we end up seeing is a division in how desires can be thought of and then expressed verbally, or performed physically throughout the Renaissance and Baroque in Spain, across genders.

Just as various acts were allowed or prohibited in sexual contexts, expression of desire by females was allowed or prohibited to different extents, and those limit begin to change.

To explore this point, I will examine three works of three literary traditions: La

Mandragola by Niccolò Machiavelli, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, and

Fuenteovejuna by Lope de Vega. These works are organized geographically and chronologically in order to best trace the development of gender thought within European

Renaissance theatre. Beginning in Italy, the birthplace of the European Renaissance, in the early 1500s, I then move to England in the late 1500s, where the Italian forms were being reexamined with new information, and ending in Spain in the early 1600s, with the

transition into the Baroque, and its inversion and decadence of the Renaissance forms.

This will in turn cover the Late Renaissance in Italy, the Late Renaissance in England, and the transition into the Baroque, establishing a time period towards the end of the

Early Modern Age in order to look at some of the developments in allowed expression of desire nearing the turn to Modernity. The works selected are also significant because each of these works is a canonical work which captures the mood and frame of thought of its respective era. This will allow for the examination of desire in this time period to be carried out through examples central to the general ideas of the socio-historical contexts.

Beginning with La Mandragola, we find Lucrezia, who has the desire to be a mother, which her impotent husband cannot make her, but also a desire to select a sexual partner other than her husband. She still was not allowed to express this desire, but the audience acknowledges that Lucrezia has such a desire, and accepts it. Throughout the play, this almost silent character, if we compare the amount of lines she is given with her importance to the work, is able to work through a male character, utilizing opportunities which arise in order to change circumstances in her favor. Still, Lucrezia is not able to verbally express her desires.

However, in Romeo and Juliet, we do see this change. Juliet, a young female with almost no personal agency is allowed to express her desires verbally. That ability to speak is the second step in the gender advancements in the Renaissance, and not simply the ability to speak, but the ability to speak for herself. The dynamics of the play are such that rather than Romeo being the man who speaks for the woman, Juliet tells Romeo her desires and expectations, and Romeo respects them. The young lovers demonstrate for

the audience both the new verbal agency for women as well as the appropriate response from men, acceptance.

With Fuenteovejuna, the final categorical shift in agency, that of physical agency, occurs. In the play, not only does Laurencia demonstrate physical agency, committing the deeds which will allow her to achieve her desires, but the specific ways in which those desires are achieved, as well as the circumstances around them alter the overall reading of the gendered backdrop of the characters. Laurencia reaches past the expectation of her gender by taking personal control over her life and desires, uses a masculine violence to do it, and is justified in her actions. She not only overreaches, but even blurs the genders and does so in a way that both the characters and the audience accept her actions as appropriate.

The Renaissance advancements in arts and sciences were founded on a larger questioning of establishment. This establishment was questioned through its foundational, central realities, which, while seemingly dogmatic, became less so during this period. Ideas of gender shifted from established binaries, to blurred shades of varying levels of agency and desires. Characters, much like the people they represented, became more complex, with a larger sense of equality and more similarities between the genders.

While by no means did gender inequality cease to be an issue, it was brought seriously into question for the first time, with ultimately important changes made.

In Renaissance Italy, through works such as La Mandragola, we see that the allowed and expected desires of women had begun to expand from this simple maternal desires to more complex human desires, including sexual desires. Woman who had for so long been seen as the inferior version of man, was now taking on more depth with deeper

desires than simple maternity. I have mentioned female or feminine desire, but it is important to understand what exactly that means. At the most basic level, it is desire from a woman. However, it is necessary to understand that it is not merely the female source of the desire which matters in this context, but how the source alters the reception and understanding of that desire by the audience, while recognizing that this desire was mediated and controlled by powers including religious and political institutions.

Feminine desire was often limited in its scope, being restricted on what could or should be desired. Feminine desire in the context of La Mandragola, for example, represented a shift from the traditionally accepted desire to be a mother towards a more complete desire as a sexual being wanting agency in selecting her sexual partner.

Because the restrictions on desire are placed predominantly on female desire, desire is still caught within the male-female gender binary in this work. This binary contrasts masculine with feminine, in which the two are constructed as opposite the other.

The opposites render down to an equation where masculine desire is desire capable of initiating itself in a social exchange, and feminine desire is one which can be acted upon only if the desire was already initiated by another capable of initiating. This desire can still be realized, and still yields results, but not on its own. These distinctions in desire are not in and of themselves negative, but the terminology is problematic because it makes it seem that female or feminine desire is inherent to females, which causes issues with the expression of desire. It is not women who are unable to initiate the desires they possess, but rather those in power who dictate that they should not. Knowing that the restriction comes externally, from the institutions in control, rather than internally from gender, the terminology of female or male desire becomes problematic.

The issue with the terminology is two-fold. First, the labeling of characteristics along gender lines creates a certain exclusivity of that characteristic. A misconception arises that assumes that an individual must possess certain qualities by virtue of his or her respective gender. For example, if a female character were to assert herself and initiate her own desire, hence attempting to emulate masculine desire, she would be causing a disconnect and acting inappropriately in accordance with her gender. This is obviously ridiculous, although it is very much the reality seen in La Mandragola. Second, the male- female gender binary is too deeply imbued with an inherent hierarchy as constructed by both Renaissance and modern societies. Both in the world of the works and in our world of interpretation, the terms male and female have become much too connotative of entirely too many hierarchically polarized ideas to be accurate terms.

However, all characters in the works undergo genderization, which is to say that all characters are defined as male or female, and this genderization plays an important role in the social interactions within the works. However, the characteristics involved in the interactions are not necessarily indicative of the gender of the character. For example, if a male character approaches another male character in order to begin a conversation, that initial male character would initiate the interaction, and the other male would decide whether to continue said interaction. This dependent continuation is the characteristic attached to feminine desire, in that it is not initiating, but responding. The complementary nature of the genders in these relations requires that characters be capable of adopting the two genders, accepting a flexible view on how each character is, in turn, gendered if the interaction is to proceed peacefully. Hélène Cixous, in her book The Newly Born Woman, mentions the idea of “bisexuality,” speaking of “beings who are more

complex…accepting the other sex as a component” (Cixous 351). She examines the dichotomy of male versus female, opting out of the idea of keeping them constantly separate, looking instead for a “complete being”; she looks for a bisexuality which she defines as “the location within oneself of the presence of both sexes,” with the individual expressing the different sexes in his or her way (Cixous 351-52).

This universally accessible characteristics render the sex-gender terms of “male” and “female” near meaningless in this context. These two genders are too closely linked to limited, hierarchical characterizations society has built around them. Equally, the terms fail in the overly broad spectrum of qualities and personality traits they encompass, and the hierarchical structures they reinforce. Cixous states that “woman is always associated with passivity in philosophy,” and that “philosophy is constructed on the premise of a woman’s abasement,” (Cixous 350). To use the terms “male” and “female” is to drag in a series of other dichotomies which distract from the specificity of the interactions between the characters. As mentioned before, these dichotomies also operate within and constitute a hierarchical structure in which the female counterpart is viewed as the lesser component, regardless of the fact that those hierarchies should not exist, and have no basis in the natural sexual difference which they seek to expand upon. The term bisexual becomes problematic as well, with bigendered being a perhaps more appropriate term which continues the necessary separation of sex and gender.

Using these broad, connotative sex-gender terms is a tremendous flaw in the understanding of the gender relations between characters in drama, where interaction between characters constitute the content of the work. More specificity is needed. Instead of the terms “male” and “female,” the more appropriate terms of initiative and resultant

can be used as new, specific gender terms. This stems from the idea that one characteristic initiates its desire, while the other accepts the initiative desire in a productive way which yields a positive result. These terms are removed from the sex of the character and pertain to the ways that the characters in the work interact with one another. The initiative character is the one who provides the statements or questions that initiate conversation. This character seeks out a response. The resultant character, in contrast, is the one who responds. His or her verbal actions do not introduce the topic or goal of the interaction, but rather continue it. At this point it might seem that an inherent hierarchy exists. The resultant would naturally be dependent on the initiative, thus leaving the resultant in a position of no power, simply aiming to respond to the initiative.

However, this is an overly simplified and limited view on the resultant gender. Indeed the initiative character is the one who introduces the desired topic or goal. This does not mean the resultant character has to agree to the topic or goal, and that character may elect to not respond in the desired way.

The genders in themselves require expression to be realized. This is in keeping with the idea of gender performance. Judith Butler introduces this idea of performance to the gender discourse by describing gender as “an identity tenuously constituted in time – an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts” (Butler 901). Gender is constructed from the practices which define it, and as such it is a practiced identity, not an inherent one. It gives the appearance, however, of inherent location, as something natural which already resides in the individual. Butler argues against this, refuting that

“gender is not a fact” but rather “a construction that regularly conceals its genesis,”

(Butler 903). She later states that “the performance is effected with the strategic aim of

maintaining gender within its binary frame,” solidifying an idea of permanency to the idea of gender. If gender is maintained within the “social action [which] requires a performance which is repeated,” then gender is constructed but ultimately cemented. If repeated practice is what makes gender, then seemingly deviant or random, anomalistic behaviors which counter the gender, are moments of exception, rather than the practice of a new gender. The actions of the gender which are repeated are the gender.

This idea of gender seems a bit too fixed. Under this idea of gender performance, the characters can only pertain to one gender, or at least only one gender will dominate.

However, the bisexual or bigendered nature of the characters is paramount to understanding the dynamics of the relations and interactions within the play. The idea of role, as spoken about by R.W. Connell, is perhaps a better vehicle for the performative aspects of gender. Rather than gender being defined by its repeated performance, it is the role which is composed of repeated actions. Connell describes role as the “enacting [of] a general set of expectations which are attached to one’s sex,” and these expectations are defined by concepts of ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’. Connell specifically mentions the existence of masculinity as an idea only “in contrast to ‘femininity’,” (Connell 68). These two concepts are the gender ideas, and the gender only exists, in this context, because of the existence of its counterpoint, much like the initiative and resultant only make sense in the context of interactions when both are present. The discussion continues with masculinity being described as “the internalized male sex role,” (Connell 23). This same idea can be applied to the de-sexed initiative and resultant genders, with the internalized genders being present first, defined by certain practices, which are then expressed as part

of the expressive roles. Gender, in this case, is not yet a performance. Rather, the roles are expressed, with the gender being the desire which leads to the expressed role.

The characters in these dramatic works, then, should be at all times bigendered.

The performance of the acts within these genders constitutes the role being carried out.

At this point, a simple paradigm begins to take shape (see fig. 1).

Gender Initiative Neutral Resultant

Expression Initiative Role Neutral Role Resultant Role

Fig. 1 Gender and Expression

Gender balance is reached when two characters interact in such a way that one is performing the initiative role and the other the appropriate resultant role. During these moments of gender balance, the dialogues find harmony. The initiative character realizes his or her intentions, and the resultant character continues this interaction. It is again important to note that these roles are relatively fixed in their executions and are only performed expressions of both of the simultaneously present de-sexed initiative and resultant genders, and that there is a neutral zone in which a character can elect to not be a part of the dynamic.

However, we quickly begin to see that while this bigendered system is inherent to all characters, the ability to express both genders is not universal. In La Mandragola,

Lucrezia is not consulted as to her own initiative desires, merely presented with the initiative desires of others such as Callimaco. As such, the only expression she is allowed

is to accept the appropriate resultant role. While she is consulted, she is not truly given a choice in the matter. She is presented the plan, with the intent of being persuaded regardless. Since she accepts, though, the interaction is harmonious. Sostrata has an initiative desire, for her to agree to the mandrake plot. She then expresses an initiative role by presenting her desire to Lucrezia. Lucrezia then adopts the appropriate resultant role, which would be expressing acceptance of involvement in the plot. Ultimately, there is a successful exchange.

Lucrezia’s inability to express an initiative role does not mean no women are allowed to express the initiative role, however. Juliet’s verbal agency which I already spoke about is actually her ability to express an initiative role. The balcony scene, where

Juliet speaks of marriage, is the ideal moment to demonstrate this use of initiative role.

Juliet expresses her desire to marry Romeo. As previously mentioned, she essentially commands Romeo, and Romeo accepts, expressing the appropriate resultant role, letting

Juliet know he wishes to exchange vows and that he will let her know as soon as all is arranged. Again, a harmonious, peaceful end is reached through assuming of complementary genders, initiative and resultant. This harmonious end will be referred to as resolution.

When resolution cannot be reached, though, escalation is the only remaining option. During escalation, the expression of the genders leaves the verbal level of performance and escalates to the physical level of action. Once the interaction escalates to the level of action, roles no longer matter because there is no more willing acceptance of a gender expression at this point. Both characters want to assume initiative roles, and the resultant role is established through force. The action expression of the initiative

gender is violence, and the accompanying expression of the resultant gender is succumbing. This adds a new layer to the paradigm from Figure 1 (see fig. 2).

Gender Initiative Neutral Resultant

Expression Initiative Role Neutral Role Resultant Role

Performance Manifestation Neutral Action Surrender

Fig.2 Gender, Expression, and Performance

In Romeo and Juliet, escalations result in death. This is the manifestation, in this work, of the resultant action of surrender. This point is pivotal to the actual storyline, particularly in the three way fight between Mercutio, Tybalt, and Romeo. In this fight there are three conflicting ideologies. Mercutio feels insulted by Tybalt’s use of the word “consortest,” to which he ultimately angrily replies “Zounds, consort!” (Shakespeare 117). Tybalt has no interest in Mercutio’s initiative desire. Tybalt’s initiative desire is to punish Romeo for what he, Tybalt, considers the insult of Romeo’s presence at the previous night’s banquet.

He also directly states this, declaring to Romeo “Boy, this [Romeo’s previous speech] shall not excuse the injuries / That thou hast done me. Therefore turn and draw,” (119).

This lack of interest in Mercutio’s initiative desire means that he refuses to play the appropriate resultant role. His attention paid to Romeo only emphasizes this disinterest, until Mercutio decides to escalate when he draws and asks Tybalt “will you walk?” as a

challenge to fight (Shakespeare 119). At this point they fight, with Mercutio ultimately dying, and becoming the succumbing character.

Mercutio’s death is the catalyst for Romeo’s escalation. Romeo had previously stated his initiative desire for peace. Tybalt’s attempts to provoke Romeo merely result in

Romeo stating,

Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee

Doth much excuse the appertaining rage

To such a greeting. Villain am I none.

Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not. (119)

Similar to Tybalt, Romeo is refusing to pay any attention to an individual who is seeking revenge for an insult. He simply wants peace. When Tybalt kills Mercutio, however,

Romeo realizes that peace, his initiative desire, will not be found, and in anger, escalates to violence. Killing Tybalt turns Tybalt into the succumbing character, thus establishing the gender balance at the level of action. This key moment of escalation is what directly leads to exile for Romeo, and more indirectly, to the final tragedy of the death of the two lovers.

It is important to note that the example given does not involve Juliet, and that is because Juliet is not yet given any physical agency. She is not allowed to perform the initiative gender. In this, we can see the particularly oppression of women found in the work. Women are not allowed to act on their desires. There has been an advancement from La Mandragola to Romeo and Juliet in respect with the expression of initiative desire, but still the women are not allowed to realize their desires themselves. Still Juliet finds ways to realize her desires through parties that have that agency.

At this point the idea of taming Romeo should be recalled, because it is in that structure the answer to this dilemma of agency is found. Juliet has Romeo realize her desires for her mimetically. The use of mimetic structure here is purposefully done with reference to René Girard who described the process of desiring something through the gaze and mediation of another party. The mimetic structure is utilized by the mediating individual, the one who is unable directly and solely achieve his or her respective desire, in order to achieve what can then justly be called a mimetic realization of desire. Girard’s structure examines how Subject A arrives at a desire, through Subject B, for the Object.

In the mimetic realization, the focus is on Subject B also desiring the Object, but incapable of attaining it, who instills the desire in Subject A, who is able to attain the

Object. In La Mandragola, for example, Subject A would be Callimaco. Subject B is

Lucrezia who wants the Object, in this case being the displacement of Nicea, her husband, something she does not have the power to do as a woman in Renaissance Italy.

Callimaco falls in love with Lucrezia, however, and does have the ability to displace

Nicea through a larger plot enacted with the help of a group. In the end, Lucrezia gets her desire, to have a lover that is not her husband, through the efforts of Callimaco, a male- figure with male power-privilege.

A similar structure appears at the level of expression, whereby Juliet is able to express her desire, but not realize it, and as such must have Romeo realize it for her. This mimetic realization, as I will call it, allows for a disempowered individual to still realize that which might be denied to him or her. For Juliet, she wants to marry Romeo, but she cannot make the arrangements. As such, she can ask Romeo, as she does, to make the

arrangements for her. He is convinced of the desire, and is able to perform the appropriate manifestation of initiative desire, to which she happily surrenders.

It is not until Fuenteovejuna when the full structure is opened to women as well as men. At the onset of the work, the women are not allowed to realize their initiative desires. They must hope for mimetic realization by the men. In this case, the desire is for justice and freedom from el Comendador. However, mimetic realization depends on the ability of the empowered class, which in this case is the men, to possess the ability to realize the desire. The men in the play, however, fail. The women take the failure as an opportunity to seize their own moment of physical agency. They escalate, taking up arms and personally realizing the initiative desire for justice and freedom, and they do it in a particularly masculine form, with phallic weapons and penetrative violence. Most importantly, though, they achieve the final completion of the supposed masculine desire, the ability to personally physically realize a desire, without compromising their femininity.

Through the new system of de-sexed gender, the development of feminine desire as being as complex as masculine desire can be better understood. However, the hierarchy begins to fall away. The use of such strongly connotative terminology does not allow for a proper analysis of the dynamics at work under the societal constructs of sex- gender. Once removed, the true nature of the characteristics and flexibility of gender can be understood, and the development of that type of thought in Renaissance European theatre can be traced. What I will do in this thesis is explore the nature of the desires held by women in the three previously mentioned works, to demonstrate how they are not

inherently different from the male desires, but rather are not allowed to be expressed to the same extent as those held by the men.

II. La Mandragola: Unexpressed Desire

Niccolò Machiavelli, so infamous for his work of political theory, Il Principe, demonstrated his ability for understanding the deeper undercurrents of real situations.

Rather than accepting the dynamics of life at a shallow level of cause and effect, he looks further into the realities surrounding him to understand underlying reasons which drive those causes and effects. Machiavelli was also a successful playwright of comedies. One in particular, La Mandragola, a story recounting a scheme involving various conspirators who concoct a ruse involving a supposedly deadly potion of Mandrake root, infidelity, and murder, all to allow for one man’s sexual conquest of another man’s wife, garners particular attention. It was, by all accounts, his most famous and successful play. In fact, this play brought him more fame during his time than his political writings. In this play, we find Callimaco, a young man returning to Florence from France in order to find a woman of whom he has heard so much about, Lucrezia, wife of Nicea. His desire for this woman about whose beauty he has heard much drives him to enlist the help of a friend,

Ligurio, in order to trick Nicea into allowing Callimaco to bed his wife Lucrezia. The play becomes increasingly more complicated and increasingly more funny, but one thing remains prevalent, and that is the idea of desire. Throughout, the common theme is desire: Callimaco’s desire for Lucrezia, Nicea’s desire for a son, Ligurio’s desire to laugh at the expense of Nicea, etc. All characters have desires which are explicitly stated, except for Lucrezia. My purpose then is to find what this desire is, and how this desire drives the action of the play. More importantly, I will aim to expand on the dynamics at

play which shape Lucrezia’s role, the importance of her desire, and the real situations which dictate that everything must be as it is.

One of the most surprising details about the play is the relative silence of

Lucrezia. Despite the centrality of the character to the plot of the work, she is rarely present, and when she is present, she rarely speaks unless spoken to first. She first appears in Act III Scene 10, over half-way through the play, and in this scene, she appears with her mother who is attempting to convince her to participate in the mandrake plot. Sostrata has the first line, to which Lucrezia responds with doubts, before being somewhat dismissed by Sostrata who tells her, “Io non ti so dire tante cose, figliuola mia.

Tu parlerai al frate, vedrai quello che ti dirà, e farai quello che tu dipoi sarai consigliata da lui, da noi, da chi ti vuole bene” [I can’t explain all this to you, my dear. Speak to the friar, you will see what he tells you, and then you will do as you have been advised by him, by us, and by everyone who loves you] (Mandragola 220-23). We should here consider the relative silence Lucrezia, but also the subtle dismissal of her words which serves as a mechanism of silencing as well. Michel Foucault calls us to examine silence, to ask who can and cannot speak and “how those who can and those who cannot speak…are distributed” (27). We see characters be silent for the scheme, keeping secrets.

However, Lucrezia, the wife who is spoken for, is silenced differently, silenced by the fact that others have the voices to speak for her. This correlates to Sostrata’s response to

Lucrezia’s concerns, which is to do what she is advised by others, silencing her from even saying her opinions to herself, or at the very least being told not to follow her advice. In the context of Initiative and Resultant genderization, Lucrezia is being told to

assume a Resultant role, which, when combined with the lack of stage time and dialogue given to the character, it seems that her Initiative desires are not necessarily respected.

This is not to say, however, that she does not have her own initiative desires. In this first speaking scene, she does state her doubts rather than simply submitting to the will of

Sostrata. While these concerns are not respected, it must be noted that we do see that she has her own independent thoughts. Looking earlier in the work, we hear from Nicea a moment when Lucrezia demonstrated that sense of independence. When talking to Siro in

Act II Scene Five, after attempting to have his wife produce a urine specimen, he describes her reluctance to do so, stating, “Quanta fatica ho io durata a fare che questa mia mona sciocca dia questo segno!...come io le vo’ far fare nulla, egli è una storia”

[what a job it was to get that silly woman to give me this urine!...whenever I try to do something about it, she gives me a hard time] (Mandragola 193, Pocket Machiavelli

447). This initially can be played off as simply a husband complaining about his wife, in a typical fashion for a comedy. After all, by this point Nicea has already been established as a bit of a fool, and the plot hinges largely on the supposed gullibility and foolishness of

Nicea. Essentially, he is viewed as being so impotent, he cannot even get respect from his wife. The emphasis seems to be on Nicea’s lack, rather than on Lucrezia’s boldness.

In another moment recounted by Nicea, we are told of a time when Lucrezia would go to Santa Annunziata. She had been told that if she were to go to the first Mass there for forty mornings, she would get pregnant. However, a friar began to approach her in such a way as to make Lucrezia decide to not return to the church anymore. It is insinuated that this friar was approaching her sexually, which in turn would most likely yield the result of getting her pregnant. This did not appeal to her, though, and she left.

Here we again have a moment of Lucrezia asserting herself, but again it is painted in a way which avoids emphasizing the boldness of Lucrezia. In the first instance, with Nicea and the urine, the emphasis is on Nicea’s weakness as a man and husband, and Lucrezia’s boldness is ignored. In the situation with the friar, Lucrezia’s boldness in rebuking a man, a clergy member nonetheless, is ignored because it is done as part of a morally correct action. She was bold in order to protect her fidelity to her husband. Still, it should not be ignored that the audience is being given subtle hints about Lucrezia’s desires.

What is seen is a demonstration of the bind between desire and expression. There is a recognition of the presence of desire in relation to Lucrezia, but a severe restriction in her expression or manifestation of her desire. Lucrezia has initiative desires, but is only allowed to verbalize those in certain situations, when they can be justified. Her predominant initiative desire by the end of the play relates to having sexual partners aside from her husband Nicea. Callimaco directly states his desire to have an affair with a married woman to characters like Ligurio, but Lucrezia cannot simply say it. She must wait for the proper opportunity to arise which would allow her to express her desire without compromising her character or overstepping her restrictions.

1. Virtù and Fortuna in La Mandragola

Studies of La Mandragola have traditionally attempted to understand the play through the political theories of its writer. This approach proceeds logically from two key factors. Firstly, Machiavelli’s political works are the works for which, today, he is best known. As such, applying his philosophical, political ideas found in the Discorsi sopra la prima deca di Tito Livio and Il Principe add weight and depth to his comedy, elevating it from a simple work of entertainment to a more profound meditation and demonstration of

his theories. These theories are always based on the real, forming solid foundations based on history and repeated occurrence rather than hypothesis and abstract postulation. These real situations are at all times political and social, with ideas springing from the interrelation between the two spheres, equally focusing on how both are deeply entrenched within each other and how both deeply influence each other. A play, with its plot and dialogue carried out through its physical interpretation for an audience, becomes an ideal vehicle for allegorizing such theories.

The other important factor to consider is the temporal vicinity of the three works.

All three works were written around a five-year period between 1513 and 1518 at a time when Machiavelli was particularly motivated by political ideas following his disgraceful exile from Florence. With the works sharing in a moment of apparently intense political meditation on the part of Machiavelli, similarities found between the works will undoubtedly and rightfully hold more relevance than a more casual discovered connection. Three aspects in particular stand out as direct correlations to Machiavelli’s political works in La Mandragola: the name of Lucrezia as an allusion to Livy’s Lucretia, and the presence and importance of virtù and Fortuna as explained and understood in Il

Principe.1 Of particular importance are these concepts from Il Principe, as they seem to occupy a much larger part of the scholarship surrounding the play.

While both virtù and Fortuna are integral to the understanding of Machiavellian thought, Fortuna in particular as defined by Machiavelli becomes highly controversial in its critical analysis and application to La Mandragola. This arises from a peculiar genderization of the two terms which seems to imbue the terms with specific, inherent, sex-gender attributes. Virtù is considered a concept of masculinity while Fortuna is

described as a goddess and as a woman. This in itself would not be problematic if it were not for the polarizing positive and negative characteristics which are attributed to the two concepts and the way the two concept interact with each other.

Virtù, the masculine concept, is never explicitly defined, but is often understood as a range of qualities.2 Maurizio Viroli summarizes the essence of the concept, calling virtù “primarily a masculine quality found in very rare individuals” and continues to say that these rare individuals are “heroic figures who managed to found states or civic institutions” (Introduction to Discourses on Livy xvi). This heroic figure definition can be seen when Machiavelli describes virtù in Chapter VI of Il Principe by giving examples of certain historical figures who were presented with opportunities, but only became great leaders once they themselves had the conviction to act and seize upon these opportunities.

It is added that “senza quella occasione la virtù dell’animo loro si saria spenta, e senza quellla virtù l’occasione sarebbe venuta invano” [“without that opportunity the strength of their spirit would have been extinguished, and without that strength the opportunity would have come in vain”] (Il Principe 38, Portable Machiavelli 93). In this case we also see a sense of timeliness in virtù, a sense of seizing opportunity when the time is right, with the introduction of a somewhat dependent relationship. This relationship alters the concept of virtù because there is a concept of meaningfulness and wastefulness, augmenting it from simply the ability to seize an opportunity, a situation in which both virtù and opportunity hold meaning independently, to a situation where opportunity allows virtù the ability to imbue, indeed almost impregnate,3 opportunity with a productive result.

Unlike virtù, the feminine concept Fortuna is explicitly explained and directly characterized by Machiavelli. Fortuna is a powerful force which might even be understood as a goddess. He mentions that “le cose del mondo siano in modo governate dalla fortuna, e da Dio,” [“the things of this world are, in a manner, controlled by Fortune and by God”] expanding further that Fortuna “sia arbitra della metà delle azioni nostre,”

[“is the arbiter of one half of our actions”] (Il Principe 144, Pocket Machiavelli 159).

Machiavelli continues, describing her as a force of nature, which individuals are powerless to stop, but may build dikes and blocks in order to prepare themselves to better deal with her (144). None of this is particularly controversial, and even grants Fortuna large amounts of power as well as somewhat equal standing with God. The controversial passage in relation to Fortuna is:

Io guidico ben questo, che sia meglio essere impetuoso, che rispettivo,

perchè la Fortuna è donna; ed è necessario, volendola tener sotto, batterla,

ed urtarla e si vede che la si lascia più vincere da questi che da quelli che

freddamente procedono. E però sempre, come donna, è amica de’ giovani,

perchè sono meno rispettivi, più feroci, e con più audacia la comandano.

(148-50)

[I am certainly convinced of this: that it is better to be impetuous than

cautious, because Fortune is a woman, and it is necessary, in order to keep

her down, to beat her and to struggle with her. And it is seen that she more

often allows herself to be taken over by men who are impetuous than by

those who make cold advances; and then, being a woman, she is always

the friend of young men, for they are less cautious, more aggressive, and

they command her wtih more audacity.] (Pocket Machiavelli 162)

The image of the male Prince dominating the female goddess Fortuna is seen as a strong demonstration of Machiavelli’s misogynistic views, particularly among feminist scholars.

The violence communicated through the phrase “è necesario, volendola tener sotto, batterla, ed urtarla” is especially controversial, because not only is it a dominance through position, but a conquering through forced submission.

Hanna Fenichel Pitkin and Mary O’Brien are two of the strongest voices admonishing Machiavelli for his supposed misogyny. Pitkin, in her article “Meditations on Machiavelli” describes Machiavelli’s prescribed violence against Fortuna as “less violent than rape but more forceful than seduction” (Pitkin 57). She also places

Machiavelli’s comments in a firm, sociological context, specifically a time in Florence when “invoking woman means invoking mother and tends to return men to childhood fears and fantasies, trapping them in their own past” (Pitkin 58). This seems to insinuate a

Freudian overlay to the actions of the Prince, deepening this argument of violence against females. However, Pitkin still applauds Machiavelli for some other aspects of his political theory, including mention of Machiavelli as a sort of “activist, urging us to hopefulness and effort” (Pitkin 57). She also acknowledges the audience Machiavelli is writing for, notably males, and while she does not sponsor the misogyny, she does accept some logic behind Machiavelli’s use of such misogynistic tones as a rhetorical strategy “appealing to the pride in masculinity of men” (Pitkin 58).

Mary O’Brien is less forgiving, and she takes Machiavelli’s violence as much more problematic. In her article “The Root of the Mandrake: Machiavelli and

Manliness,” she criticizes Machiavelli’s misogyny in Il Principe and La Mandragola.

Perhaps her most bold and powerful claim is in reference to The Prince and its treatment of Fortuna. She views the interaction as “the encounter of manliness and femininity” and describes it as “explicitly and aggressively sexual” (O’Brien 180). O’Brien follows this view with the declaration, “This is not merely the roughest of wooing nor the conventional prelude to holy matrimony: it is, quite simply, rape” (180). This judgment on Machiavelli extends further into La Mandragola, which O’Brien describes as

“conventional, demonstrating that the staples of the dirty joke are depressingly enduring”

(183). Her attacks center mostly around the function of Lucrezia within the play, more specifically, her as representation of Fortuna. O’Brien overlays the Princely structure over La Mandragola, as many do, explaining the dynamics between some of the principal characters through the political relation between the Prince and Fortuna.

The understanding in O’Brien’s work is that Lucrezia, by cuckolding the older

Nicea in favor of the younger Callimaco, keeping in mind Fortuna’s preference for young, virile males, simulates Fortuna submitting to a new, more qualified Prince. This relation to Prince and Fortuna also insinuates the aforementioned rape, a term which is already tied to Lucrezia because of the parallels to Livy’s Lucretia, a figure well-known throughout Renaissance Europe at the time who is also mentioned in the Discorsi who is raped by a Roman emperor, which leads her to commit suicide, an action which ultimately leads to the beginning of the Roman Republic. This “rape” sparks a change in

Lucrezia as well, since it begins as “the tricky seduction of the chaste woman” but is then altered by the “rapturous discovery that she likes it” (O’Brien 183). O’Brien understands this as putting “manliness” [her contextualization of virtù] in command while Fortuna is

transformed to her proper state of purely sensual being” (185). For O’Brien, the final development of Lucrezia/Fortuna is the reduction of inherent virtue, which is seen as the change from chaste housewife to whore (187).3

Susan Behuniak-Long also examines this change in Lucrezia in her work “The

Significance of Lucrezia in Machiavelli’s La Mandragola,” and questions the validity of the concept which she refers to as Lucrezia’s “fall” (264). The change in virtue for

Lucrezia is extreme, because Lucrezia “not only agrees to commit adultery, but murder as well” thanks to the deadly side effect of the mandrake root potion (Behuniak-Long 264).

This change is so extreme, however, that the critic does not consider it a change at all, merely a deception, one which involves Lucrezia hiding her true character at the beginning of the play, only to reveal by the end that she never really was the virtuous housewife presented at the beginning (Behuniak-Long 264). Behuniak-Long also supports the parallels of virtù and Fortuna found in Callimaco and Lucrezia respectively.

The argument presented looks to divert attention from such specific judgment on the character of Lucrezia, towards a new analysis of the controversial concept of Fortuna.

Where O’BrieFn transfers the violence of the Prince as a symbolic undercurrent to deepen the conflict of La Mandragola, Behuniak-Long seeks to understand the concepts of virtù and Fortuna in new ways, by utilizing the play.

The two concepts interact differently in the play than the political work, and as such, the argument presented in the play, according to Behuniak-Long, is one of union of

Fortune and virtù, as we see from Lucrezia and Callimaco, rather than domination.

Throughout the play, her resistance to domination was shown through a reference to her rejection of Nicea’s desires prior to the play. Showing her resistance to domination and

submission brings doubts to the virtuous character to which she is related, and this doubt becomes the source of the idea of Lucrezia’s revelation rather than corruption since her character was always lacking in virtue (Behuniak-Long 270). When this is used in the analysis of her accepting of the mandrake plot, a willingness appears, which supports the idea of union rather than domination. Il Principe may have had the Prince dominate

Fortuna with his virtù, but in La Mandragola, it seems a different dynamic is at work.

2. Machiavelli’s Two Audiences

The overlay of the political theory over the theatrical work is complicated by the different audiences of the two works due to the different genres of the two works. The difference between political work and comedy is already vast, but the method and circulation of the two works is also important and only brings the two works farther apart.

At its most basic level, Il Principe was intended for an exclusively male, ruling elite, whereas La Mandragola was intended for a mixed audience. Machiavelli himself actually identifies these audiences. In the dedication of Il Principe, he dedicates the work “al

Magnifico Lorenzo di Piero de’ Medici” (12). In La Mandragola, he instead addresses an audience, mentioning that the stage is “Firenze vostra,” letting us know that it is a

Florentine audience (La Mandragola 156). He addresses the audience with subtle specificity later, telling them of the later deception of Lucrezia, while warning them “ed io vorrei / che voi fussi ingannate come lei” (La Mandragola 158). The subtle specificity here is the use of “ingannate” the feminine plural form of the adjective. While it could safely be assumed that men are present in the audience, it is noteworthy that the prologue addresses women, identifying their presence directly.

While this already creates a vastly different atmosphere for the two works, the presentation of the texts grows the gap between them even more. The history of La

Mandragola is simple; the earliest recorded performance of the play is in Venice, during the Carnival season of February of 1522, and it was an immediate and resounding success

(La Mandragola 14). Il Principe, as would be fitting for the Prince within the work, is shrouded in more mystery, with the only concrete date for the piece being its posthumous publication in 1532 (Il Principe 5). Prior to that, the work had only circulated in manuscript form, to personal acquaintances of Machiavelli. Without veering too far into the realm of conjecture, much can be deduced from the fact that such a piece, describing a tyrannical leader, would be addressed to the leading Medici, especially considering that the work was first drafted less than a year after the writer’s forceful ousting from office and subsequent imprisonment, torture, and, for all intents and purposes, expulsion from

Florence by those same Medici upon their return to power.4 When all of this is compounded with the fact that Machiavelli was a staunch Republican, the idea that Il

Principe represents Machiavelli’s ideal ruler seems far-fetched.

Instead, another key subject should be examined: the matter of deception. Mary

G. Dietz in her piece “Trapping The Prince: Machiavelli and the Politics of Deception” challenges the established ideas concerning Il Principe, and posits a novel concept, namely that this work which so often advises deception is in fact a deception itself. She presents the key questions and answers relating to the paradox between the Republican writer and his totalitarian subject. Dietz states:

If we are committed to a reading of Machiavelli as a strong republican and

of The Prince as praxis—as I propose we should—then in what sense is

this little book a bold attempt to alter circumstances? How is the author of

The Prince to be reconciled with the author of The Discourses?

These questions can be answered only if we remember

Machiavelli’s awareness of the advantages of crafty assault, and consider

another, arguably more plausible, interpretive possibility: that The Prince

is not simply about deception, but is itself an act of deception, and that this

theorist of deceit [Machiavelli] is at the same time a practitioner of the

very art. In other words, The Prince is a tract that in fact aims to restore a

republic, though in appearance it dedicates itself to maintaining a prince-

dom. (Dietz 781)

The book, addressed Lorenzo de Medici, is aimed at deceiving Lorenzo de Medici, offering the rulebook for the ideal Prince, but really meaning to plant the tools for the undoing of the tyrant in language that will be understood by the said Prince, the language of hypermasculine dominance.5 Machiavelli’s words represent less what he himself believes, and more what he knows will be effective in communicating to his audience.

Pitkin remarks on this as well, bringing attention to the way in which Machiavelli

“anthropomorphizes and sexualizes the givens and the outcomes,” such as Fortuna, and

“invests them with those specific desires, fears, and attitudes his male readers already bear toward women” (57). There is a recognition that the images used by Machiavelli seem to tap into a more stereotypical idea of women, but in a deep way which would resonate with some male contemporaries, perhaps even Lorenzo de Medici. So is it a case of Machiavelli being a misogynist or Machiavelli speaking to misogynists?

This relationship with the audience continues with La Mandragola. Machiavelli, as we have already seen, directly challenges his audience to not be deceived by him.

However, the play is not simply a random work of entertainment. As William P.

Baumgarth words it, “Machiavelli does not want his audience only to laugh: he wants to instruct and improve it as well” (55). Machiavelli is aiming to instruct through deception, as bizarre and counterintuitive as that may sound. Still, it is a strategy duly employed by

Machiavelli in the case of his play, in which he creates a situation which, if executed correctly, creates a change without seeming to have changed anything, empowers an individual or group without upsetting the image of power for the already powerful, and once realized, creates a precedent which leads to questions about the status quo. More directly and more specifically, Machiavelli deceives his audience again, in order to have them question and undo their own world.

3. Lucrezia and Her Virtù

The importance of the audience is something which critics seem to ignore all too often, pushing instead for a unity of thought from Machiavelli. It seems that the fame of

Il Principe blocks readings of Machiavelli in any other context other than a political,

“Machiavellian” one. This is limiting, however, and quite possibly and incorrect way of reading Machiavelli. It is not simply a piece of trivia that Il Principe was published posthumously; it is important if we are to consider the message Machiavelli is attempting to convey. Many critics jump all too readily to overlay Il Principe over La Mandragola as a given, rather than considering whether that is the correct way to proceed. I say that it is not.

This is not to say that we cannot glean important themes from the political writing that we cannot then find useful, however. The Princely persona was intended for another audience, but some of the concepts, namely those of Fortuna and virtù, can and should be applied to this comedy. While this may seem arbitrary, it is actually with good reason that those two concepts can and should be transferred between the works. The Prince is

Machiavelli’s invention, used for reasons we can only guess at. Fortuna and virtù, however, existed before Machiavelli and were well known ideas before his writings.

Virtù was adapted from the Roman concept of virtus, a Roman “notion of honor and obligation” associated with “‘manly’ vigor and power,” and indeed even the goddess

Fortuna was actually a Roman goddess as well (Falco 7). Many of the arguments against

Machiavelli and his genderization of Fortuna begin to lose ground when it is brought to attention that it was the Romans, not the writer, who gendered the goddess. These two

Roman concepts, being used by Machiavelli in Il Principe because they were well known, are much more logically applicable to La Mandragola than the Prince persona who would not be publicly known about until after Machiavelli’s death.

This leads to the other assumption about the two concepts: if Fortuna is a goddess, a female, then surely Lucrezia must be Fortuna in the play. This again is short-sighted.

Firstly, Lucrezia is not the only female character in the play, as Sostrata also appears in the play and figures prominently. Secondly, Fortuna is supposed to be a goddess representing a concept. She is not supposed to be present physically; she is supposed to represent the appearance of opportunities. Virtù can be applied to characters, insofar as we can seek characters who demonstrate it by exhibiting, as Donald McIntosh defines it,

“boldness, courage, initiative, perseverance, foresight, adaptability, ruthlessness, and

‘greatness of spirit’” (40). It is then within this structure that the concepts become something which can and should be analyzed. What is the opportunity granted by

Fortuna, and who is exhibiting the qualities of virtù to seize that opportunity?

While the questions seem rhetorical in nature, they are actually answered quite straightforwardly. The opportunity is the possibility of impregnating Lucrezia, and the person exhibiting virtù is Lucrezia herself. This immediately seems controversial and problematic because of the male overtones of virtù, but it is Lucrezia who demonstrates the qualities required. She is bold and courageous because, in the context of her soul, she has the most to lose from the immoral plan presented. She shows initiative as much as she can, which in her restrictive social context meant saying yes to the plan. As far as perseverance and foresight, she sticks to the plan for the promise of a child, and most importantly, demonstrates ruthlessness in her willingness to become, essentially, an accomplice to murder. This requires adaptability of morals and a powerful strength of mind and spirit. What must be avoided in this scheme, however, is to assume that

Lucrezia is ignorant to the opportunity, and is merely giving in to pressure. After all, while this particular act is seen as submission, we have already been told of her rebelliousness towards her husband, and after the plan, we see her commanding her husband directly. Rather, what we see is a bending of the expected order.

For some, the draw of overlaying Machiavelli’s political discourse is still strong, and in that case, the Discorsi are much more appropriate for bringing in politics. After all,

Lucrezia essentially shares a name with Lucretia, a character held in high regard who also is discussed in the Discorsi. In the Discorsi, in fact, various women in positions of power are discussed, although Lucretia’s situation is a different one. The section dealing with

Lucretia is small and is shared with another figure, Virginia, but does not actually tell story of Lucretia other than the line “lo eccesso fatto contro a Lucrezia tolse lo stato ai

Tarquinii” which Peter Bondanella summarizes as “the offense against Lucrezia by the

Tarquins brought about the event that ended their rule” (Discorsi 341, Pocket Machiavelli

402). The chapter is titled “Come per cagione di femine si rovina uno stato” [“How a

State Is Ruined Because of Women], but it does not seem so much as if the women, like

Lucretia, did anything, rather, how the excesses of an emperor in relation to a woman led to the ruin of the state, in which case Lucretia takes on a much more symbolic importance

(Discorsi 340, Pocket Machiavelli 402). Not unlike Lucrezia in the play, Lucretia is a character generally more renowned for her inspiration of others. Lucretia, through her received abuses and later suicide inspires others to oppose the emperor, and Lucrezia through her beauty and subtle rebellions against Nicea inspires others to grant her some sexual freedom. Both women become passively but centrally involved in a change to the institutions of which they are part. For Lucretia, that institution is the rule by emperor, and for Lucrezia, it is the institution of monogamous marriage. Arlene W. Saxonhouse describes the stories in the Discorsi as presenting a world where “even a woman can become a man” which is to say, Machiavelli understands that the abilities men are typically granted are not exclusive to men, such as the ability to change an institution.

This sentiment is echoed by various other critics of Machiavelli’s work. Melissa M.

Matthes declares “For Machiavelli, the ability to make a spectacle of oneself is the mark of a successful prince…Lucrezia, like the prince, is a political actor, orchestrating her appearance, controlling how she is looked at,” (261). While I disagree with the insistence on the princely imagery, I do agree with the attributing of certain princely qualities to

Lucrezia. After all, controlling appearance represents the realm of adaptability which is part of virtù.

The exhibition of virtù by Lucrezia demonstrates an awareness of the real situation around her and that she is aware of what she desires. She is conscious of the opportunity presented through Callimaco as well as her very limited abilities to act upon it. Salvatore Di Maria highlights that “the actual focus of the play is not so much on love, but on the personal motives that cause each character to take part in the scheme” (137).

Lucrezia’s motives lie in her desire to be impregnated because she understands that children will ultimately be her path to “domestic security” (Lord 819). Far from being a helpless individual at the mercy of her lord husband, Lucrezia is secretly finding some agency for herself in a world which looks to limit such control over the female self.

4. Conclusion

Lucrezia, as a character, is not given much space or ability to express herself. She never appears on stage alone, and her lines are extremely limited. We never truly hear any of her own thoughts directly. What we do hear from Lucrezia is composed of answers to solicited questions. Even more is heard about her, it seems, than from her.

This is alarming considering that Lucrezia is ultimately the crux of the entire scheme that is being advanced. It also is a deeply important contextualization. Lucrezia is a married woman. She is spoken for, figuratively but also often literally.

There is, however, an interesting matter to note about women at this time in

Renaissance Italy. Jane S. Jaquette, in discussing Machiavelli’s personal writings, mentions:

His dramas were intended to educate the public…But his letters, poems,

and his own life show that chastity for women was not the moral issue for

Machiavelli that we assume it to be. Neither Machiavelli nor his audience

finds it strange that Lucrezia would have sexual desires of her own. (347)

A small detail, but important nonetheless, is that to his contemporaries, the idea of a woman having desires would be accepted. Lucrezia’s actions of seizing opportunity, have an extra weight to them with this admission. By acknowledging her desire, we have more reason to view Lucrezia as a shrewd woman. Indeed, as much as Lucrezia is compliant to the will of her husband, if that will aligns with the desires which are not denied to her, rather than a woman being forced into the service of her husband, we are presented with a

Lucrezia who understands how to utilize her position and what few tools are offered to her in order to make her desires real. Andrea Nicki describes how Lucrezia “by using the female virtue of subservience, by being complicit in subverting her husband’s authority and playing the obedient and innocent wife, ultimately determines the outcome of events”

(380). Rather than seeing a powerless individual submitting to the forced desires of her husband, we see a disempowered individual finding her own path to empowerment. If the audience is deceived of anything, it is this, that the realizing of female desire can be done and should be allowed, and that personal empowerment is not a travesty. This path will continue through the Renaissance, but it begins with desire.

III. Romeo and Juliet: Expression of Rebellious Desires

With, the established idea that women can and do have complex desires, we can continue onward to Romeo and Juliet, a work which almost takes for granted the idea that a female, even a young virgin with no experience in love, can understand something of her own desire and sexuality. Juliet advances a step more in this play because she, unlike

Lucrezia, is not silent. She is allowed verbal expression, and utilizes it to an expert degree. Lucrezia, despite her restrictions, was shown to not only possess desires, but also humanity. She was not just an object with shallow wants, but a human with deeper wants and needs. Juliet similarly is not only capable of speaking, a simple shallow act of verbalization of ideas, but she is capable of rhetoric, logic, and meaningful argumentation. Juliet, although still largely restricted in her search for agency, with almost no acceptable physical agency, still masterfully rebels against her world by using her verbal abilities to realize her desires, seeking a more privileged member of society,

Romeo, to do what she cannot.

In the context of the de-sexed genders discussed in the first chapter, what we see is Juliet have initiative desires, like Lucrezia, but unlike Lucrezia, she is allowed to express these and adopts the initative role. This represents subtle but important shift.

Lucrezia in Mandragola was largely silent. She was not seen until the third act, after which point she is always accompanied, and when she speaks, she is largely only responds to other, usually male, characters. Juliet, instead, is a much more complete character, able to converse, not simply respond. She begins conversations, with the Nurse

for example, and even has soliloquys. There is also a certain complexity to Juliet which is not allowed for Lucrezia. Even though it is a comedy, there is still drama and tension in

Mandragola and it is carried through the male characters through the looming threat of the plot unraveling. In Romeo and Juliet, however, Juliet carries much of the emotional weight of the play. Lucrezia expresses doubt but is simply ignored or dismissed as in the scene with Sostrata. Juliet instead is granted a certain amount of respect for her doubts, at least on the part of the playwright and the audience. Her soliloquy in Act IV Scene 3, where she ponders the consequences of taking the sleeping potion begins and ends in an empty room with no one to contradict her. The gravity of her concerns is undisturbed and not deflected. Repeatedly in the play, the audience is trained to view Juliet as a woman who can and should be listened to, whose words hold value, and who, despite being young and female, possesses a mental and emotional depth which demands respect.

Ultimately, there are still restrictions on her actions, and because of this, the shift between Lucrezia’s self-agency, of which there is little, and Juliet’s self-agency, which is merely verbal, seems subtle, but it cannot be taken for granted.

1. Rebelling Against the Old

Romeo and Juliet is best known for its idea of forbidden love between the two children of the feuding families. Even this simple fact, however, can be viewed differently depending on how the opposing parties are grouped. What this leads to is that the most common way of viewing the drama of the play, Capulet versus Montague, is actually not the most useful one. The issue with this interpretation is that it focuses on a sort of horizontal unity. The continuation of the two lines converge in order to end the conflict. While this of course represents a change, it represents a final change, an

endpoint. There is no future, at least not a strong meaningful future, if viewed like this.

Instead, by shifting the focus towards a generational problem, what we can term a vertical issue, rather than an inter-family problem, which would correspond to a horizontal problem, we see a much more drastic shift, one which creates a point of departure rather than an end point.

Glenn Clark speaks about this conflict, and this generational issue, through civil mutinies within the play. Clark examines the rejection of the aristocratic families by the citizens of Verona, specifically that the citizens “reject aristocratic violence and the aristocrats along with it” (288). This shift was representative of a larger shift which

“challenged and at least rhetorically diminished magnate reputation and authority” (Clark

288). The city becomes a space which will not yield to the old world aristocrats. These aristocrats had founded their wealth and position on an older, agricultural, feudal power, and now in the city “aristocrats are not distinct and can claim no special privileges”

(Clark 292). This leads to Clark’s view of civility, which is “the play’s word for an emotion and behavior that participates in both angry disaffection with superiors and friendly counsel and mutuality” (294). Essentially, the civility of the citizens which opposes the Veronese aristocracy becomes a political shift as well, one which “is briefly imagined as behavior which blends egalitarianism and aspiration” (Clark 294).

It is important to note the specific aspect of the aristocrats which the citizens reject: violence. This matters because it is the same concept which the two lovers reject.

The two families seemingly define themselves as contrast to the other. For this reason, the violence figures so prominently within the economy of the play. The definition by contrast, that to be Montague is to be not-Capulet for example, requires a sense of

violence. The feud, which establishes the not-Capulet or not-Montague dialogue, is materialized through death. The argument could be reduced to a simple existential equation. From the point of view of a Montague for example, to be Montague is to not be

Capulet. To be Capulet means to die at the hands of a Montague, thereby to be not-

Capulet is to be not-dead, to be alive. The families exist in their non-existence of the other.

The two lovers, however, reject this equation. They exist within each other. The balcony scene with its meditation on names expresses the rejection of the name equation.

A Montague is not-Capulet, but Romeo would doff his name to be with Juliet because he does not define himself by his name. He defines himself by his attachment to Juliet, and is willing then to find a name which describes that.6 Subtly, we see Romeo be shed of his name previously, when Mercutio and Benvolio search for him after the feast. After not responding to Romeo, Mercutio attempts “Humors! Madman! Passions! Lover!”

(Shakespeare 67). This subtle moment occurs in the scene directly before the balcony scene, preparing the audience for the changes in names.

The fact of disassociation with the name is in itself significant as well, because it equates with another form of distancing from the previous generation, more specifically, with the patriarchy of that aristocratic generation.7 Coppelia Kahn mentions as much, describing the feud as constituting “socialization into patriarchal roles,” specifically through its call to self-definition “in terms of their families” and its method of masculine gendering through “phallic violence on behalf of their fathers, instead of by the courtship and sexual experimentation that would lead toward marriage and separation from the paternal house” (172-73). The division from the previous generations is not simply a

distancing from the old social structure, but from some of the larger patriarchal structures therein. The aristocratic world of the parents is defined by the conflict between the families, and that conflict in itself is a male-dominated issue. Locating the problem among the family names, which are patrilineal, insinuates this, but even more blatant is the identity of those who actively take part in the violence. All the characters who take an active part in the violence of the family conflict are male. Whether it be Sampson and

Gregory against Abram in the opening brawl or Tybalt and Romeo in Act III, the violence occurs between the males as part of the male legacy attached to the family names. This is the patriarchal system which Romeo and Juliet are attempting to leave, because it is a shallow system of names and assumed identity. Love matters more to these characters than the system which denies them their love, which Juliet makes clear with her declaration of, “be but sworn my love, / And I’ll no longer be a Capulet”

(Shakespeare 71).

Peter C. Herman describes the motive for the lovers’ rebellion, explaining that the tragedy itself “is a tragedy about the failure of authority, as virtually everyone in this play charged with ensuring the well-being of the young betray their trust and end up contributing to Romeo and Juliet’s destruction” (Herman 95). Where I mentioned the parents and families of the lovers, this explanation expands to include the Friar and the

Nurse. While at first it may seem that they are not involved in the patriarchal system belonging to the old aristocracy, they actually perpetuate the same world. The Friar attends to the earlier mentioned horizontal relation between the families and their children, insofar as he seeks only to end the fighting, not to change the system. For this he abandons Juliet in the tomb, out of fear of being found out in his meddling which he

never intended as a means of interrupting the larger patriarchal system in play. The Nurse as well, during her betrayal of Juliet after Romeo’s exile, demonstrates her willingness to perpetuate the economy of marriage, caring less for Juliet’s self-agent choice of love than

Juliet’s attachment to a husband.

The previous generation does not do what it must to help the young lovers thrive.

Romeo and Juliet look to escape the previous system of oppression and violence. They seek to free themselves of the system which forces Romeo to fight when he has no desire to and which forces Juliet to marry a man she does not love. Even Shakespeare’s contemporaries might have seen the lovers’ pleas as just. Phyllis Rackin draws attention to some historical evidence which “undermines the current scholarly consensus that respectable women were expected to stay at home, that they were economically dependent on fathers and husbands” (51). While various interpretations can be drawn from historical evidence, it still stands to reason that contemporary interpretations would sympathize with the lovers, and more importantly, with Juliet. After all, the play was written and published during the reign of Elizabeth I, a time when female agency was becoming more accepted, and clues within the play itself tell us how outdated the ideas of the parents seem. After all, both fathers are referred to as Old Montague and Old Capulet, and the conflict is introduced as an “ancient grudge” from which springs a “new mutiny”

(Shakespeare 7). The context of old, ancient, of past its time is attached to the restricting patriarchy. The sympathy instead lies with the “story of more woe…of Juliet and her

Romeo” (Shakespeare 243).

2. Juliet’s Rebellion

The motives and nature of the rebellion by the lovers is clear. There is a rejection of the old system of norms based on violent patriarchy which proliferate in their Verona which does not serve Romeo and Juliet, and with which they are not in agreement.

Coppélia Kahn states that the play is “about a pair of adolescents trying to grow up” and continues to say that “Growing up requires that they separate themselves from their parents by forming with a member of the opposite sex an intimate bond which supersedes filial bonds” (171). It is important to note the youth of the central characters, such as

“young Romeo” and Juliet who is not yet fourteen, and their relation to the family ideologies of the older generation (Shakespeare 35, 55). These two characters obviously are opposed to the old ways, but Kahn points out Mercutio as a young character who is particularly adherent to that old mentality, specifically centering on his speech. She declares “his speech is as aggressive as fighting” and in its masculinity “marks his distance from women” (Kahn 177).

What is intriguing is equating the aggressiveness of his speech with the physical violence of fighting. Matthew Spellberg refers to the “substance-less power of Naming and tradition” and brings attention to inversion of verbal and physical, where “language is synchronized with felt experience; the enunciated and the tactile are in accord” (Spellberg

67). This echoes the words of J.L. Austin in his discussion of locution and illocution, mentioning that “to perform a locutionary act is in general…to perform an illocutionary

[sic] act” (686). For example, in Mercutio’s Queen Mab, his shift from “This is that very

Mab” to “This is the hag” conveys the locution, through its word choice, of anger towards Mab, but equally, the declaration serves as illocution for the expression of anger

(Shakespeare 47-49). This example of locution and illocution is relatively direct, but it

prepares us for a much more important illocutionary act later: Juliet’s request on the balcony.

Before Romeo even begins to speak, however, there is already important information provided to hint towards the gender situation at hand. In one of the sparse stage directions Shakespeare provides, he puts “[Enter Juliet above],” (Shakespeare 69).

This may initially seem like a hierarchical positioning of Juliet in a position of power over Romeo by placing her literally above him on the balcony from which this scene famously gets its colloquial name. This is incorrect, however, since no hierarchy has yet been established. The characters have yet to acknowledge each other, and even when they do eventually interact, the exchanges between the two do not yield any hierarchically structured situations. The two genders which arise, initiative and resultant, are not hierarchical in structure, but rather equal and complimentary. The blocking really just serves to hide Romeo from Juliet’s view. By being hidden from her gaze, he is given time to see what Juliet says, and is then allowed to choose the gender he wants to embrace during the interaction with Juliet.

Upon seeing her, he begins his famous soliloquy, the expression of his internalized conversation. Since it is not an interaction with another character, it is, at this point, an act of an as of yet undetermined gender. Romeo is of a neutral gender at this point, making the soliloquy a neutral role performance. This is the point at which Romeo must decide which gender he will embrace and perform if he interacts with Juliet. He provides his answer in line 13, when he states “Her eye discourses; I will answer it,”

(Shakespeare 69). By choosing to answer a discourse that is already present, albeit imaginarily, Romeo accepts a resultant role to Juliet’s hypothetical initiative role. Once

Juliet speaks her first line of the scene with a simple “Ay me,” Romeo begins to blend his soliloquy with an interaction, performing a resultant role to the initiative role that Juliet has been given, unbeknownst to her (Shakespeare 71). She eventually makes an initiative statement to what she believes is an imaginary, non-present Romeo, first directly referencing him by name, before making him an offer, in which she tells him, “Romeo, doff thy name, / And, for thy name, which no part of thee, / Take all myself,”

(Shakespeare 72). His response of “I take thee at thy word. / Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized. / Henceforth I never will be Romeo,” directly answers her unintentionally presented offer, accepting it (Shakespeare 72). It is also at this point that he makes public his previously decided upon resultant role which establishes Juliet in her initiative role.

At this response, a startled and newly initiative Juliet begins a series of initiative questions. Again, it is these type of direct questions which constitute the most initiative statements. More important than these questions, though, is Romeo’s willingness to answer them. The harmony of the interactions does not hinge on the initiative character’s choice of topic or conversational goal. Rather, it depends, first, on someone accepting the resultant gender, and secondly, appropriately performing this role according to the conditions or questions posed by the initiative character. So here, Romeo’s willingness, like Juliet’s willingness during the banquet, allows the two to begin a properly gender balanced interaction.

Juliet’s request is a strange one, because it starts as Romeo’s request. Romeo asks for

“Th’exchange of thy love’s [Juliet’s] faithful vow for mine [Romeo’s],” initiating the exchange, but Juliet actually adopts the initiative role with “I gave thee mine before thou didst request it” (Shakespeare 77-79). Although Romeo began the talk of vows and

marriage, Juliet controls and continues to control the discussion, requesting, even commanding truly, “If that thy bent of love be honorable, / Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow” (Shakespeare 79). The locution “send me word tomorrow” constitutes the illocutionary act of commanding Romeo, verbally assuming a dominant posture.8 While Juliet cannot be said to have much agency in the patriarchal system she was born into because of her age and gender, in this moment, she becomes self-agent and assumes agency over an older male. Rather than simply being objectified on the balcony by Romeo, and engaging in an interchange of romantic speech, real intentions and desired results are stated by Juliet, turning her into the subject with distinct desires and demands. She becomes someone Romeo must listen to, not simply someone who should be admired with words. This tone of power of her verbal revolution is impressive, but also the timing should be noted. After all, this verbal revolution occurs in the most famous scene from the play, one which is considered amongst the most beautiful and charming scenes in the play, but also the scene which would normally constitute the typical wooing process where the male convinces the female with his flattery and establishes his desires. Juliet instead seizes control, states her desires, Romeo accepts and does not fight the exchange of power, and the audience cannot help but be wooed by the lovers rather than shocked by the shift in initiative role. In that, the scene itself takes on a certain illocutionary context of calming the audience and showing them how normal and beautiful the inversion can be.

Carolyn E. Brown also mentions how this view of control has changed the critical view of Juliet: “Critical estimation of Juliet has moved from regarding her as passive victim…to lauding her as a self-willed, courageous, intelligent young woman who

initiates and controls action in her struggle to preserve her integrity and autonomy in a world that is hostile to women” (Brown). She explores another interesting illocutionary perspective on her control of Romeo, which she refers to as taming, arising from the use of falconry terms on the part of Juliet. These terms “reverse gender roles,” making it so

“Juliet becomes the falconer and Romeo, the falcon” (Brown). This taming occurs early, in the same balcony scene which I have already mentioned as the moment in which Juliet takes control. She summons Romeo back to her by calling “Hist, Romeo, hist! O, for a falc’ner’s voice / To lure this tassel-gentle back again,” directly referring to him as a tassel-gentle, a male falcon (81). Importantly, this works, as Romeo does indeed return to her. As much as Romeo is trained by Juliet, we are also trained, alerted to the fact that

Romeo is Juliet’s falcon. All in the same scene, Juliet seizes control and tames Romeo, without making the audience resent her.

Taming in this context is important, particularly the taming of a falcon, because it represents an activity in which something is trained in order to accomplish that which the tamer cannot accomplish him or herself. Juliet, by having Romeo listen to her and do the things she cannot do is able to “vicariously achieve flight or freedom through training her bird to fly for her” (Brown). Brown makes very clear both the conditions of her entrapment and the reason for it. She states “As a woman, she is presented as having less liberty than a man” because of a patriarchal society which keeps her from “expressing her thoughts and controlling her own life” (Brown). Her only escape from this situation is her speech. Personally, she cannot do much, and I mean that in the active sense of the word.

She cannot complete physical actions to free herself, but her words constitute a different sort of action which, as we have seen, may not be physical, but is equally concrete.

Watson and Dickey read the balcony very differently, however. This scene, for them, is filled with more sinister motives, with the two critics declaring that though “Romeo’s cover activities beneath Juliet’s window may not seem especially sinister on their own, there is…a cumulative culture of sexual extortion [with him]” (Watson and Dickey 127).

For them, Romeo’s silence during Juliet’s soliloquy constitutes a sort of voyeurism. They make the connection between Romeo and Actaeon who “gazes on the virgin moon- goddess Diana as she bathes unclothed,” strengthening the link between the two characters by invoking Romeo’s initial swearing by the moon (128). Romeo is perpetuating a legacy of rape which colors his intentions as impure, aiming to violate the private sanctity of Juliet. Romeo is changed from lover to romantic predator.

This interpretation, however, does not give enough credit to Juliet and her own shrewd nature. The critics point out Juliet’s initial caution when she tells Romeo “if thou meanest not well” before continuing with her request, but leaves the point there, instead using it merely to show that Juliet identifies the possibility that Romeo might be dangerous (Watson and Dickey 132). Juliet clearly is more intelligent than that, and demonstrates throughout the scene and the work her awareness of the risks of her love affair. They take Juliet to be a more typical naïve female in love which does not reflect the reality of Juliet at all. Juliet’s handling of the marriage deal on the balcony, a role normally reserved for the father of the prospective bride, not the prospective bride herself, shows her canniness. That is in itself one of the most pleasantly surprising and powerful messages of this piece, that the character who is perhaps most conscious of the dynamics of her own society is in fact the character with the least power or expected knowledge within that system: the young, virgin. Referring back to Coppélia Kahn, she

concisely declares the unconventional genderization at work which casts doubt on the point made by Watson and Dickey:

Against this conception of femininity, in which women are married too

young to understand their sexuality as anything but passive participation

through childbearing in a vast biological cycle, Shakespeare places Juliet’s

unconventional, fully conscious and willed giving of herself to Romeo.

(183)

It is understandable to hypothesize that, initially, Romeo may have been indulging in some voyeuristic pleasure, but to ignore Juliet’s awareness and cleverness is to miss on such a valuable message of this play.9 The legacy of rape cannot survive in an atmosphere where Juliet seizes control, consents, and, in the case of awaiting Romeo’s response to her desire to marry, even asks for consent from Romeo.

3. Conclusion

Juliet represents yet another resourceful female character, and in the context of her play, we can truly call her a heroine. Despite not having full agency, like Romeo has,

Juliet finds ways to realize her desires, and to take decisions in relation to her desires.10

Juliet’s access to speech, and her eloquence therein, allows her to communicate her desires. Equally important is her ability to convince others of her desires. Romeo is the most obvious, as the lover is wooed by Juliet during their frequent romantic verbal sparring matches. It should not be forgotten or discounted, however, that the audience too is convinced. Juliet is a heroine not because she rebels in her seeking verbal agency, surpassing the assumption of the Resultant role and instead establishing her initiative role, but because she does so in a way that the audience can do nothing but cheer her on.

The audience is always with Juliet, something which cannot be said about any other character, including Romeo.

Despite Juliet’s rebellion, and her successful demonstration of limited agency, there remains that caveat of her limited agency. She is not fully self-agent, yet, because she cannot physical control a situation. In this simple fact we can perhaps find the deepest tragedy of this play, because there is one situation where Juliet becomes completely self- agent. The death of Juliet is a scene filled with parallels and symbolism which reduce down to an undoing of Juliet’s self. In her suicide, Juliet finally finds a moment of physical agency because she elects on her own to kill herself, and commits the deed without assistance. The marriage, which Kottman says is used as “a further expression of their own self-determination,” involves the help of Romeo, and as such cannot be viewed as a completely self-agent moment for Juliet (25). Even in the taking of the sleeping potion she was not completely agent since she was merely following the instructions of the friar. In the suicide, however, she takes a dagger which was not given to her and stabs herself as a final moment of rebellion, her last chance to seize control of her own life. In doing so, she is forced to remove herself from society, both figuratively and literally.

Society dictated her lack of physical agency, and as such, her act of agency removes her from the societal discourse. It is merely fitting that she would die as a result, a more concrete way of demonstrating her figurative exile. Once she is free of the societal constraints, she is free to become the powerful woman that she had demonstrated at all times she was. It is this final inversion, the seizing of agency and transcendence of her contemporary societal strictures, which I believe prompts Shakespeare to invert his own

title, and rather than end with Romeo and Juliet, to end with the words “For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo” (Shakespeare 243).

IV. Fuenteovejuna: The Armed Woman and Her Righteous Violence

Lope de Vega’s Fuenteovejuna brings to fruition the final necessary step in the gender balance progression, which is the ability of the woman to express her desires physically. The play takes the concept further still by not only allowing its main female character, Laurencia, to express desire in a physical way, but to even utilize violence to realize largely masculine desires. The play is founded on a familiar Spanish concept of honor or honra, the gain and loss of which drives the plot of many works of the time.

Lope de Vega himself, in his Arte nuevo de hacer comedias en estos tiempos states that

“Los casos de la honra son mejores, / porque mueven con fuerza a toda gente;” [“The best subjects are questions of honor because everybody is powerfully moved by them”]

(Arte Nuevo, New Art 190). In this specific case, the despotic actions of the ruler, el

Comendador Fernán Gómez, of the village of Fuenteovejuna lead to a mass loss of honor of the populace of the town which then conspires to seek justice from their tormentor.

It is also important to note that this is work is unique amongst the three discussed in this thesis in that it is a work which falls within the temporal and aesthetic constraints of the Baroque. This gains particular importance in its disregard or rejection of certain

Renaissance ideals which ultimately liberates the work to handle the inversion and subversion of topics of control it explores. Anthony J. Cascardi, in Ideologies of History in the Spanish Golden Age, highlights the relationship between control and subject- formation at this time in Spain, looking to understand “culture in terms of the ‘control mechanisms’ that govern human behavior” (“Control” 109). The critic posits that “those

who may have been most marginalized within [Counter-Reformation Spain] might also have been the most strongly motivated to find ways of resisting its mechanisms of control” which is especially pertinent to a work which deals with rebelling against oppressive control (“Control” 111). Within the resistance against the mechanisms of power, a new “crisis of subjectivity” arises in which a clash between two prevailing ideologies occurs (“Control” 114). The first is a belief in a “hierarchical society, in which actions are legitimized according to a series of naturalistic principles, and in which social functions and roles were sedimented into near-static patters” (“Control” 114). The second is more individualistic, and is founded on “‘rationalized’ structures, and in which the dominant cultural ethos was that of auto-regulation or self-control” (“Control” 114). This individualism is at odds because it resists the control exerted by the other system.

Foucault mentions the mechanism of censorship at this time with sex, at how the in the seventeenth century, censorship was used to “extinguish the words that rendered [sex] too visibly present” (17). It is important to note the ability for verbal action to yield reality, not unlike the performatives of J.L. Austin. Words can be subversion, and the clash between the two systems, a clash caused by subversion, is actually presented within the work on a verbal level when Jacinta declares to the powerful antagonist:

This clash is actually presented within the work when Jacinta declares to the powerful antagonist:

…tengo un padre honrado,

que si en alto nacimiento

no te iguala, en las costumbres

te vence. (Fuenteovejuna 78)

…I have a respectable father,

who, if he isn’t your equal

in high birth, surpasses you

in his way of life. (Fuenteovejuna 79)

The work takes seriously the idea that actions can surpass birth, and it extends that idea not only to social hierarchies of political control, but also to gender relations. Within the relative macrocosm of the people of Fuenteovejuna, we see a microcosm of the women of

Fuenteovejuna, and just as all the people fight against the oppressive ruler of their town, the women fight against the oppressive, hyper-masculine patriarchy which that same ruler embodies. Then, just as the townspeople rise up against the oppressive ruler through means that might not normally be allowed, specifically violent revolt, so do the women rise up, expressing themselves physically in ways which previously were not allowed. In this work, Laurencia achieves the final level of initiative gender expression which was previously denied to other female characters: manifestation. The play is largely shaped by this gender development whereby Laurencia, mimicking the revolution by the people, has an initiative desire relating to el Comendador, expresses it, and later acts on it.

Ultimately, this work embraces this Counter-Reformation, Baroque aesthetic, and eschews the clean harmony and more typical characterization of the Renaissance, electing instead characters which push and support the agenda of its playwright. In its subject matter and theme, the work introduces new concepts of gender, of fluidity, and of universality, while simultaneously justifying the scandalous actions of the final gender level of manifestation with both logic and emotion

1. The Justifiability of the Rebellion

Fuenteovejuna functions on a protagonist-antagonist dynamic in which the solitary antagonist is clearly and multi-laterally identified as such. The play functions much like a legal case by providing substantial amounts of irrefutable evidence in order to incriminate a wrongdoer. In this case, the wrongdoer is el Comendador Fernán Gómez, the man placed in charge of governing the town of Fuenteovejuna. The man commits various acts of excess and abuse against the townspeople, with his most mentioned crime being his sexual abuses against the women of the town. Among the first things we hear Laurencia say is actually in reference to El Comendador as she states ¡Cuántas mozas en la villa, / del comendador fiadas, / andan ya descalabradas!” [Look at all the girls in town / who trusted the Commander’s words / and have now been hurt!] (Fuenteovejuna 14-15). He does not respect individuals, especially not women, to whom he looks only for his sexual gratification. This includes deception of women and rape, even involving married women. He brags to Laurencia about his relations with two married women, Sebastiana and the wife of Martín del Pozo whose name is not given, and later attempts to engage in relations with Jacinta, before her refusal leads him to declare “del bagaje / del ejército has de ser” [you’ll be / part of the army’s supplies], giving her over to be raped by his soldiers (Fuenteovejuna 78-79). His abuses are carried out to such an extent that the individuals of Fuenteovejuna are ultimately left with no other response than to rebel. The genius in the work lies within that inevitability, that the people are left with no other options; inhabitants are pushed to rebel by the fear of their own physical and political safety. Their actions, while illegal or immoral in the general scheme, since they involve rebellion and ultimately murder of el Comendador, are ultimately justified, and do not hold their transgressive nature by the end of the play.

This idea of justifiability becomes particularly important because of the actions the people ultimately take. The final push within the play involves gender inversion, subversion of social authority, and violent overthrow of government which includes murder bordering on regicide. These are heavy, incendiary topics and events, which conflict too much with the accepted moral standard. Essentially, any one of those various actions would be viewed as immoral, possibly evil, yet they are being attributed to the protagonists who are presented as good and moral. However, these actions become justified, even merited, and appropriate to the particular circumstances being faced, because the immoral actions are being carried out to right the immoral actions of another.

As Antonio Carreño-Rodriguez makes clear, “Las protestas se centran en el abuso moral: en la deshonra de las villanas” [“The protests are based on the moral abuses: in the dishonor of the villagers”] (56). The responses are driven by deshonra, considered a moral abuse, and so, regardless of the nature of the actions, the actions are capable of being enacted by supposedly moral people without compromising their moral character.

This is not unlike a self-defense argument, and in the end, the people are pardoned for such an argument. Killing el Comendador becomes the only way to protect the men and women from being tortured, dishonored, or raped.

It is important, however, to note that all of the rebellion and violence is directed not at power and authority in general, but at el Comendador specifically. Susan L. Fischer describes this when she says “Fuenteovejuna’s rebellion is intended as a repudiation not of the established order but of the despotism of one man” (105). This is important for the justifiability of the actions because it demonstrates a measured, restricted response. By maintaining this sense of moderation, the view that the people of Fuenteovejuna are

logical actors who are opposing their own, specific oppression becomes clearer. This is seen much more clearly when, at the end of the play, they fully and willingly submit to the power of los Reyes Católicos. They demonstrate a willingness to be loyal subjects, as long as they are not threatened by those in power. Fischer highlights this caveat of being threatened by specifying that the rebellion “is a consequence of the need to save

Frondoso’s life” (106). The actions undertaken by the villagers come about as a consequence of a specific injustice enacted by one man, and they in turn go after that one man. Fischer emphasizes that the “uprising is undertaken in the name of the Catholic

Monarchs” (106). With the target of the uprising, el Comendador, identified, the particular reason for the uprising can be identified.

While the various evils of el Comendador are abundantly clear, it should still be noted that these crimes are specific and presented with a particular goal in mind. El

Comendador is being presented as a tyrant, and the specificity of that word is important.

It is not simply a word being attached for a despotic leader, but a very specific word with specific connotations. The words tirano and tiranía, tyrant and tyranny respectively, are repeatedly used “with such insistence that not even the most insensitive reader or spectator can fail to be aware that a point is being made,” but applied to el Comendador

(Larson 104). There is a meticulous attachment of those two words with only that one character and his actions in relation to the villagers. The title being of tirano being attached to el Comendador also serves as justification for rebellion; as Flores tells the king:

Con título de tirano

que le acumula la plebe,

a la fuerza de esta voz

el hecho fiero acometen; (Fuenteovejuna 122)

[He was labeled a tyrant

by the common people,

and, on the strength of that appellation,

they committed the fierce deed;] (Fuenteovejuna 123)

The establishing of el Comendador as antagonist is founded not only on his malicious actions, but on the specificity of his tyranny, and the demonstrated justifications of that label for him. Tyrant itself is a word with negative political connotations, but is also seen in philosophical contexts, including the works of St. Thomas Aquinas (Fischer 106).

Labelling Fernán Goméz a tyrant becomes a multi-lateral attack by connotation. More importantly, tyranny “constitutes justifiable cause for a rebellion against properly established authority” (Fischer 106).

While the retaliation by the townspeople is simple and satisfying to support, it is important to consider whether the actions are measured enough and merited enough to be considered proper and fitting. Matthew D. Stroud points out that el Comendador plays out a “dual role as legitimate lord and immoral abuser” (250). Inasmuch as he is a ruler, he retains a certain level of protection which grants him a sense of simultaneous right and wrong (Stroud 250). This comes about from an important ambiguity as to the reaches and power granted to such a position, “acting both legally and outrageously depending on whether or not one is willing to grant him the rights and privileges accorded to medieval lords” (Stroud 250). Essentially, a question could be posed asking whether el

Comendador was truly going beyond his powers or simply to the limits of them.

There is also the fact that there is a certain immunity granted to the Comendador by virtue of being a ruler. In the first act, el Comendador accosts Laurencia, and threatens her with violence, saying “a la prática de manos / reduzgo melindres” [“with the force of my hands / I’ll make you get over your fussiness!] (Fuenteovejuna 48-49). Frondoso picks up el Comendador’s crossbow and and aims it at him in order to allow Laurencia to escape, and ofter, Frondoso escapes as well. It is simple to be caught up in the romance of the actions against Fernán Gómez but Stroud casts doubt on the situation, claiming “it is not at all certain that he [Frondoso] has the right to threaten the life of the Comendador”

(250). He sums up the conflict in two succinct and deeply true concepts. The first is that

Frondoso acts before anything has been done to Laurencia. After all, Frondoso’s aim is not to avenge all the women and men who have been wronged by el Comendador, but simply to avenge Laurencia. Nothing, however, has yet occurred between el Comendador and Laurencia to warrant such violent retaliation. The second matter is that Frondoso essentially acts as a vigilante. As Stroud makes clear, “no system of justice allows for an individual to take matters into his own hands rather than submitting the case for adjudication to an impartial third party such as a court or the monarch” (250). The judge and monarchs are eventually consulted, but only after el Comendador has been murdered, and in that case, it is only to judge whether or not the townspeople should be punished for their actions, not whether or not the ruler should have been deposed.

This question of the justifiability of the revolt is addressed by Donald R. Larson who diagnoses the specific issue with the tyranny of el Comendador. Although as ruler he does have tremendous license to act as he wishes, he is still “a man who continually goes beyond what is proper and legal, who continually exceeds the established limits of the

authority that has been granted to him” (Larson 92). Larson continues later by defining tyrant along scholastic lines as “a man who recognizes no limits to his power and who acts as if his authority had been granted him for his own benefit instead of that of the people” (104). By exceeding the limits imposed on his rule, he is inviting justice which equally goes beyond the limits. If he does not respect the laws which he is supposed to enforce, a certain amount of freedom or justification is granted to the rebels who go beyond the laws which are not being respected by the governing power. El Comendador is repeatedly characterized as an enemy to the people. He repeatedly refers to the people as villanos, villains, thereby marking the village people, the protagonists, as his enemies by virtue of social standing. This importance of social standing, however, is even rejected when, during a short interchange beween Fernán Gómez and a regidor involving the mixing of bloodlines, el Comendador asks “¿Y ensúciola yo, juntando / la mía [sangre] a la vuestra?” to which the regidor responds “Cuando / que el mal más tiñe que alimpia”

[“And am I sullying it, when I associate / my blood with yours?”] (Fuenteovejuna 62-63).

Stroud mentions the powers granted to Medieval lords as a basis for the justification” of el Comendador’s abuses of power, but the play and the events upon which the play is based do not pertain to Medieval Spain, but to Renaissance Spain.

Aside from the historical facts of the Fuenteovejuna uprising, the involvement at the end of the Reyes Católicos establishes the Renaissance frame for the work. With el

Comendador not being a Medieval lord, the villagers are not “bound to him like chattel”

(Larson 92). As such, they are not legally required to bear the abuses of el Comendador.

The rebellion and the extreme manifestation of said rebellion are entirely in keeping with appropriate action against the tyrant.

2. Laurencia in Drag

The manifestation of a rebellion and the violence of that rebellion are problematic in and of themselves, however, the most controversial act of the rebellion is the personal gender liberation of Laurencia. In turn, that is the action which most needs justification.

The tyranny of Fernán Gómez is clear within a political context. It can even be extended some into the social sphere with his trespasses on marriage vows. Regardless, the context of the larger rebellion is that of the citizens against the tyrant. Laurencia, though, has a specific rebellion which occurs in a much more restricted sphere, which she is able to attach to the larger rebellion in order to justify it. She is able to channel the chaos and disturbance of order in the town in order to create her own inversion of gender.

Laurencia enacts a sort of drag in the play, one which assumes the most blatantly masculine aspects on her society, but without obscuring her identity. Rather than utilizing drag as a disguise in order to secretly appropriate privileges normally denied to her, she presents herself as both female and male by assuming the male dress in the form of weapons and armor, but as herself, rather than disguised as a male. She is not Laurencia pretending to be a male of another name, but rather Laurencia dressed as a male and still

Laurencia. Her femaleness is never doubted, but she rejects her femininity momentarily in order to adopt a masculine character. She does this, specifically, by declaring and realizing violence on el Comendador. Baltasar Fra-Molinero describes this gender inversion, declaring that “Without specifically dressing like a man, Laurencia and her companions do something in a way more radical by ‘comedia’ standards: they take the symbols of masculinity—weapons—and use them against the ‘Comendador’ (325). Her drag is established through a costume of weapons, not clothing, and she brings other

women into the drag as well. While a small detail, it is important to notice that the costume change, taking up the weapons, occurs in front of the men, directly, and with voiced intent. This intent serves to also give reason for her drag, and to justify her actions as appropriate and warranted despite the radical nature of it.

Just as the rebellion in general was justified by the deficiencies and excesses of a tyrant, Laurencia’s gender rebellion is justified by the deficiencies and excesses of males in the play. Again, the playwright mentions something about this, stating “si [las mujeres] mudaran de traje, sea de modo / que pueda perdonarse, porque suele / el disfraz varonil agradar mucho” (Arte Nuevo). She makes very clear that they are lacking in their masculine qualities, calling them “hilanderas, maricones, / amujerados, cobardes” [“you spinning-girls, you unmanly, / efferminate cowards”] (Fuenteovejuna 108-09). She also questions their humanity, asking “¿Vosotros sois hombres nobles…que no se os rompen / las entrañas de dolor, / de verme en tantos dolores?” [“You call yourselves upright men…whose hearts / aren’t breaking with sorrow / to see me in so many sorrows?”] before calling them ovejas, or sheep, which cements that idea of them lacking in humanity (Fuenteovejuna 108-09). These deficiencies are seen in the context of how the men have failed in defending the women. The gender relation between male and female in this particular social context serves as a parallel to the political rebellion, which occurs within that rebellion. Townspeople versus tyrant corresponds to females versus patriarchy. When the tyrant went beyond his limits, and rather than provide for the people, began to simply abuse them, the people rebelled. The people, who were at all times oppressed, endured the oppression while they received protection. When the protection disappeared, the oppression became intolerable. Similarly, the women in the

town at all times were oppressed by the patriarchal system they inhabit, but are willing to endure it as long as they receive protection. It represents a very skewed but nonetheless clear social contract. Laurencia, however, lets us know that this contract has broken down. In one of the most powerful and shocking scenes, Laurencia voices her grievances and unleashes a verbal tirade against the men who have failed her, declaring:

porque dejas que me roben

tiranos sin que me vengues,

traidores sin que me cobres.

Aún no era yo de Frondoso,

para que digas que tome,

como marido, venganza,

que aquí por tu cuenta corre. (Fuenteovejuna 106)

[because you allow me to be abducted

by tyrants without avenging me,

by traitors without reclaiming me.

I did not yet belong to Frondoso,

so you can’t say that, as my husband,

he should have taken revenge;

the revenge was owed by you;] (Fuenteovejuna 107)

She continues with the tirade before declaring “por que quede sin mujeres / esta villa honrada, y torne / aquel siglo de amazonas” [“that way, this honorable town will be left / without women like you, and the age / of Amazons will return”] (Fuenteovejuna 110-11).

She embodies an inversion which is controversial in various aspects because here

amazons are “peasant women who verbally unman an assembly of masculine power before fighting and killing” (Fra-Molinero 327). It should be noted that previously,

Laurencia showed compassion for the men and their efforts when she tells Mengo:

Los hombres aborrecía,

Mengo, mas desde aquel día

los miro con otra cara.

¡Gran valor tuvo Frondoso!

Pienso que le ha de costar

La vida. (Fuenteovejuna 70)

[I used to hate men,

Mengo, bute ver since that day

I’ve been viewing them with other eyes.

Frondoso was really brave!

I’m afraid it will cost him

his life.] (Fuenteovejuna 71)

She does not enter into her rebellion out of hatred for men, with a desire for active vengeance of retribution, but rather out of disappointment and necessity. Fra-Molinero, however, is careful to remove the fault for the necessity for rebellion from Laurencia, claiming that “Laurencia is a consequence and a symptom of the tyranny of the

‘Comendador’” (333). This causal relationship is correct in structure, but incorrect in location. Laurencia’s laudable actions are problematic because they upset the status quo in that the women are taking up arms and taking on the duties of the men insofar as they must protect themselves, as she tells the men during her tirade. However, they are a

consequence of the intolerability of the status quo, since there is seemingly no protection from the abuses of those in power. However, while el Comendador is the cause of the town rebellion, it is the inefficacy and deficiency of the males and the patriarchal system which causes and justifies the gender inversion.

Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano understands a further masculine characteristic being seen in

Laurencia’s actions. Laurencia’s violence is already sufficiently masculine to establish the gender inversion, but Yarbro-Bejarano focuses on a deeper question of honor which she declares “the most essential masculine gender attribute” (28). The violence and display of weaponry, while clearly constitutive of a gender assumption and inversion, are not as powerful as the social ritual initiated by Laurencia of defending honor. She is pushed to defend her and others’ honors after the men are incapable. Honor, however, is the duty and quality of men. Yarbro-Bejarano explains the relationship of honor and gender, calling honor masculine and expanding to declare “Shame in women corresponds to honor in men, not complementarily but in a relationship of subordination” (29).

Laurencia does not show shame, though, instead placing the shame on the men, calling them, among other things, “amujerados,” effeminate men (Lope de Vega 108). She simultaneously shames them and emasculates them all in the same act. Yarbro-Bejarano states that shame “functions to protect and augment man’s honor” and a similar relationship is being seen with Laurencia (29). She is using the men’s shame to establish and then launch her quest for honor.

These scenes where Laurencia berates the men and later leads the women to kill el

Comendador represent the most succinct demonstrations of the gender development within the play. In these scenes, Laurencia instead takes on an initiative gender, and

expresses the initiative role, expressing her anger towards the men, and stating her desire

“de trazar / que solas mujeres / cobren la honra de estos tiranos” [“to arrange / for only women to regain / their honor from these tyrants”] (Fuenteovejuna 108-09). She then reaches the level of performance, donning arms, and performing her initiative desire, manifesting the act which will regain honor for the women of Fuenteovejuna by killing el

Comendador. Juliet previously was shown to commit violence, but that violence only was allowed against herself, thereby removing her from society through her manifestation.

Laurencia, however, not only survives, but actually stabilizes herself and improves her situation within her society by removing the man that threatened her honor and her physically. Her manifestation constitutes her physical self-agency, taking on a type of gender inversion by taking on the responsibility that she herself declares as the job of the men: the protection of women.

This gender inversion constitutes what Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano calls “the wife’s masculinization” which she defines as “the assumption of the active role and other attributes monopolized by the male gender” (101). This masculinization is different from the gender inversion seen from a “sexual outlaw’s appropriation of the active role”

(Yarbro-Bejarano 101). Essentially, Laurencia’s inversion is defined and advanced through justification of her actions, constant affirmation of the acceptability of her actions, rather than being seen as a form of transgression. The second situation is defined by its unwarranted transgression, whereas Laurencia’s predicament is marked by its constant focus on cause and effect, an understanding of circumstance, and on social and political real conditions which are already in place which argue in favor of her actions.

3. Going Forward

Perhaps the greatest triumph of Laurencia is that her change seems to last. The play serves a vital purpose akin to a social catharsis for women. She plays into the tradition of the “mujer varonil,” with Lagresa discussing the role, stating: “Desde finales del siglo

XVI, el personaje posteriormente conocido como la mujer varonil se convirtió en uno de los más populares del teatro español, cuestionando el estereotipo popular de la heroína pasiva y desamparada” [“Since the end of the XVI century, the role alter known as the boyish woman became one of the most popular roles of Spanish theater, questioning the popular stereotype of the passive and helpless heroine”] (Lagresa 99). Yarbro-Bejarano mentions how the “cross-dressed woman provides female spectators the opportunity to surrender to a fantasy of active female desire which goes unpunished” (256).

However, this is not a momentary plot device for comic effect which ceases at the end of the play. Often in Renaissance and Baroque theater, all returns to its normal order.

Even in this play, certain things do return to order. The town falls back under the control of a ruler, albeit a desired and fair ruler. The married couples go back to their original, undisturbed pairs. But Laurencia does not return back to her unarmed state. She enters in the final act under the stage direction “Vanse, y salen las mujeres armadas” [“All exit.

Enter the women, with weapons”] (Fuenteovejuna 116-17). After this, there is no indication that the women are disarmed, particularly Laurencia. This leaves a bit to conjecture and to choice of direction, but regardless, the ambiguity remains. Yarbro-

Bejarano actually discusses this ambiguity as a certainty, claiming “While the action ultimately returns women to the feminine position, this message is at odds with the visual persistence of the woman dressed as a man. In all the texts that feature cross-dressing, the female character retains her masculine attire in the final scene” (256). This is echoed by

Anthony J. Cascardi, who mentions in one of his articles that the Spanish were not simply trying to copy other comedic traditions, but rather were “seeking to deal with [their] own literary innovations in light of formulated precepts” (“Spanish Poetics” 155). Lope de

Vega might utilize a trope such as cross-dressing, but rather than make use of it as a method of disguise, he keeps the identity boldly clear, but still achieving the same gender inverting effect. This is why, while Laurencia’s cross-dress never obscures her identity, it nonetheless serves as a donning of a masculine exterior, which creates a gender inversion which is held until the end of the play. Laurencia completes her inversion, but never is forced to return. Along with the inversion comes the new ability to physically express initiative desires which allows for a new type of physical agency which also lasts through the end of the play. Where other traditions restore order, this play at least rejects the established order and looks towards, possibly, a new future.

V. Conclusion

Desire in the European Renaissance is a complicated topic which requires the acceptance and understanding of the complexities of the human subject. Desire was often split into feminine and masculine desire, each with different connotations and allowed expression. Masculine desire was simple in that the restrictions were fewer and clear cut.

As long as a male’s desire was heterosexual in nature, and limited to a prescribed moral decency, there was little limit to what could be desired, how this desire could be expressed, and how it could be realized. It was even considered a positive quality to be ambitious for those desires.

Feminine desire, instead, was at all times mitigated by socially constructed factors. Where masculine desire was lauded and glorified, feminine desire was dangerous, requiring subjugation. Feminine desire led to the fall, to original sin. Feminine desire had to be contained. When man aimed at being ambitious, reaching for his desires, great things were accomplished. When woman aimed for her desires, mankind was expelled from Eden. The religious basis for these thoughts slowly began to erode in the face of humanism, where humans began to see their existence as independent and powerful. The Renaissance comes about as a time of questioning the previously accepted order of things, and social thought begins to shift from one of blind acceptance to one of curiosity.

This curiosity leads to questioning much, even long-held gender concepts. In the theater, where the works spoke directly to the masses, works were being presented which

presented the popular thought of the day. It is important to understand this distinction, because drama reserved this special place among the people at the time. Books and poems were for the elite. They required literacy, and if they were disseminated to the people, they were disseminated in parts, casually, like rumors more than stories. Plays, however, were made for mass consumption, that is consumption by the masses.

Drama also held an interactive element, because plays were at all times a dialogue with the people with a performative, visual element. Reading was typically more passive.

Watching a play, instead, meant going to a specific building, becoming part of a larger group mentality, reacting to not only the words but the actions of the actors. Reacting in real time, in a way which at all times maintained the dialogue. A play’s text could change from one day to the next without needing a new publishing. Drama was adaptable, made for an ever changing, ever demanding populace. As such, drama took on a different role.

One which communicated the ideas of the then and now in a way which was current and living. The changes and developments we begin to see in drama are immediate and current changes for the audience, not messages which would need to be passed along over the years until they became deeply ingrained in the collective mind. Drama presented what was actively occurring in the collective mind.

From this point, we can truly look deeply and carefully at what messages are being portrayed through the works. In La Mandragola, for example, masculine and feminine desire are still treated very differently. Callimaco’s masculine desire supersedes all, with his lust for Lucrezia predominantly driving the action of the play. He wants the sexual conquest, at the expense of Nicea. Nicea also has a strong masculine desire which is used to push Lucrezia into the plot. His desire is the desire of legacy. Lucrezia on the

other hand is first presented as simply having a desire for motherhood. This is different from Nicea’s desire for legacy. Nicea wants a child as an act of success and glory.

Lucrezia wants to be a mother because that is what is allowed to her. However, by the end of the play, we see Lucrezia’s desire as being more than simply for motherhood. The active dialogue of the play with its audience portrays Lucrezia’s desire for a new sexual lover, and to be able to choose a sexual partner other than her husband. And the audience laughs at this, not because of its ridiculousness, but because it is believable and comes at the expense of the buffoon, the old man. The audience is allowed to laugh at the old world, and embrace a new thought, one of more freedom. While Lucrezia is still not given outlets to express her desire, she is at least allowed to have desires more than simply motherhood, and the audience accepts that.

The rejection of the old ways resonates with Romeo and Juliet as well. Rather than laugh at the old world, though, the audience feels sympathy for the two lovers who rebel against the old world. This rebellion also plays on the concepts of desire and expression. Romeo desires freedom from the masculine pressure of his name. Juliet desires some form of agency. She does not simply want to marry the man her father tells her to marry. She wants to marry someone she loves. Juliet craves some level of self- agency which is not given to her. However, she is able to express her desire, a step forward from Lucrezia who could only have a new desire, but could not express it. Juliet wants more and verbalizes that. She has her words as her tools, and wins over not just

Romeo but the audience with them. The rebellion against the old world, which should have been borderline scandalous, is lost within the beauty of the love between the two young lovers. Still that dialogue between actors and audience persists, and the audience,

through sympathy, becomes convinced of the rightness of the lovers’ desires. The tragedy from the play does not come from the fact that the two lovers die in the end, but from the fact that they should not have died for their desires, because ultimately those desires were tame, appropriate, and well-meaning, even though they were rebellious.

With Fuenteovejuna, the final step in desire and expression of desire is undertaken. Laurencia has desires, strong desires that for some might even be considered masculine. She desires justice for her dishonor, and freedom from the oppressive tyranny of el Comendador. Laurencia expresses this desire, and not demurely or in a subtle way, but rather loudly and boldly. She knows she is justified in her desires and it is impossible for the audience to feel otherwise. Fernán Gómez is a tyrant, both politically and sexually. His actions oppress the people of the town of both genders. He tortures and imprisons men, steals wives, and rapes women. There is no defense for el Comendador.

Laurencia’s desires then are completely founded. The final step is that she personally acts upon those desires, becoming self-agent and realizing her own desires in physically violent ways, which is to say in masculine ways for the time, and she only does this because the men have failed her. Again, the audience cannot but support Laurencia in her endeavor to seek justice, and ultimately kill el Comendador.

Through these works and the understanding of desire, we can see a clear development in allowed desire and personal agency to express and act on these desires.

However, there is also a need to understand the dynamics outside of a socially constructed gender hierarchy. The agency which women want in these works and that men have needs to understood as neutrally gendered. Even the desires, which are categorized as masculine and feminine, are shown to be neutral. The desires that men

have can be had by women like Laurencia, and the desires against masculine norms can be held by men like Romeo.

During this thesis, I came to understand the depth of gender thought which existed previous to our modern conception of feminism. The European Renaissance which is so often lauded for its beauty in art and advancements in science is too often overlooked in its influence in other important factors in our modern lives. Key sociological changes which now define modern and post-modern minds can find roots in the Renaissance, a time where the great thinkers were not looking to prove what they already knew, but to cast doubt on what had been known. Gender is one such concept which began to be put to the test, and while that testing was subtle, there were nonetheless questions being posed about it. In this thesis, I discussed the characteristics of desire and mechanisms therein which constitute the interactions between individuals. This was done so that the dynamics could be studied in a way removed from sex-gender social constructs, in a way which looks at characteristics outside of a hierarchy, in a more neutral way. However, there remain more topics to be discussed, more dynamics to be examined within a similar system. My hope is that my work helps to begin a discussion about studying gender removed from sex, not because sex is not important to the understanding of gender dynamics, but because there is much which can be garnered from a sex-neutral level which uncovers the deeper functions within the sexual discourse. I began with the

Renaissance due to its Early Modern nature, which forms key foundations to our modern time. However, the analysis should not stop there. The analysis of these kinds of gender dynamics should be continued in other traditions from other times.

Notes

1. Emphasis my own. The two terms will be kept in their untranslated forms

throughout inorder to maintain the original definition and grammatical gender of

the original language. Fortuna will be capitalized in order to emphasize it as an

entity.

2. Julia Conaway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella summarize a few of the

translations of virtù as “The key concept in The Prince is that of virtù—usually

translated as ‘ability’, ‘talent’, ‘strength’, ‘power’, ‘skill’, ‘ingenuity’, and only

rarely as ‘virtue’” (Introduction to Discourses on Livy xvi).

3. Joseph Francese, in his article “La meritocrazia di Machiavelli. Dagli scritti politici

alla Mandragola,” points out this Madonna-Whore element as necessary to

Lucrezia’s relationship to Fortuna, mentioning the necessity to set aside her

chastity: “Lucrezia, a prescindere dalla sua ostinato ritrosia, costituisce soltanto un

element della Fortuna” (Francese 164).

4. The Medici return to power in Florence 1512, which begins a chain of events

including Machiavelli’s ousting from the Chancery in November, his subsequent

imprisonment and torture, his flight from Florence, and ending in July of 1513, less

than a year later, with the first draft of Il Principe (Introduction to The Prince l-li).

5. Maurizio Viroli interprets the rhetorical strategy of Il Principe as such: Instead of

repeating the well-established principles that had allowed the Medici to gain

control over the city, Machiavelli gave them advice that they were not in the least

able to appreciate, and which must surely have irritated them if they had decided to

read Machiavelli’s work. The Prince is a critique of the prevailing Mediciean

understanding of the art of the state, a policy founded upon a system of favours and

patronage designed to ensure substantial control over the republic’s institutions”

(Introduction to The Prince xiv).

6. Ariane M. Balizet notices the parallel to this idea of interchange in space,

mentioning the balcony scene as occurring “both inside and outside the Capulet

home, the balcony represents the porousness of one domestic body and the

palpable absence of another” (Balizet).

7. Philippa Berry sees a pleasant liberation in the lovers’ rebellion, as “their recurrent

images of fire, as well as of birds, suggest…a peculiar lightness and blessing,”

(32).

8. This is especially shocking as it relates to Juliet’s sexuality and her desire for

Romeo, something which William C. Carroll refers to as “linguistic transgression –

that is, a verbal replication of female obliquity,” (284). While this would have been

shocking to Shakespeare’s audience, I am inclined to disagree with Carroll on his

opinion that Shakespeare himself held this same attitude.

9. Thomas Moisan mentions the “efforts within the play by Juliet’s family to bring

her behavior into line with the going norms of femininity” ending with the

description of “the special complexity of Juliet’s character, which defines itself in

its very resistance to, or evasion of, characterization” (119).

10. “Her choices may be limited but she asserts, with repeated vigour, that she has a

choice,” (MacKenzie 33).

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