Tragedy and Comedy in Timon of Athens

by David P. Gontar (April 2013)

MARCUS

Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.

But the explanation is plain. The soul of Titus has reached the absolute extremity of grief.

TITUS

No, gods, I am no idle votarist:
Roots, you clear heavens. Thus much of this will make
Black white, foul fair, wrong right,
Base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods! Why this, what, this, you gods? Why,
This will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
This yellow slave
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves,
And give them title, knee and approbation
With senators on the bench. This is it
That makes the wappered widow wed again.
She whom the spittle house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
The risk, of course, is that some will not get the joke, in fact, not perceive it at all. When that happens, character and drama are misapprehended and improperly evaluated. Though the humor be embedded in the script and on the very lips of the hero, there is something in the grim puritanical soul which will not allow itself the luxury and insight of amusement. A curiously literal perspective through which tragedy is tragedy and comedy is comedy (and never the twain shall meet) keeps many from appreciating the play (and life itself) in all its depth and tantalizing ambiguity.

Let us take some.
Nay, put out your hands. Not one word more.
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live
But in a dream of friendship,
To have his pomp and all what state compounds
But only painted like his varnished friends?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood
Who then dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
My dearest lord, blessed to be most accursed,
Rich only to be wretched, thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
Nor has he with him to supply his life,
Or that which can command it.
(IV, ii, 23-51)

O you gods!
Is yon despised and ruinous man my lord,
Full of decay and failing? O monument
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestowed!
What viler thing upon the earth than friends,
Who can bring the noblest minds to basest ends!
When man was wished to love his enemies!
Grant I may ever love and woo
Those that would mischief me than those that do!
My honest grief unto him, and as my lord
(IV, iii, 460-473)

Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty to one?
(IV, iii, 507-511)

The answer is loyalty itself.

No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late.
You should have feared false times when you did feast.
Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,
My most honored lord,
For any benefit that points to me,
(IV, iii, 512-523)

So much for the love deemed missing in the play by Bate and Rasmussen.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf.
I pray for no man but myself.
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath and bond,
Or a harlot for her weeping,
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,
Rich men sin, and I eat root.
(I, ii, 61-70)

This is in thee a nature but infected,
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place,
This slave-like habit, and these looks of care?
The flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,
Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee. Hinge thy knee,
That thou turn rascal. Hadst thou thy wealth again,
(IV, iii, 203-219)

If thou didst put this sour cold habit on
Outlives incertain pomp, is crowned before.
The other at high wish. Best state, contentless,
Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.
Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.
(IV, iii, 240-249)

TIMON

All feasts, societies, and throngs of men.
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.
Destruction fang mankind.
(IV, iii, 18-23)

WORKS CITED:

BOOKS

William Shakespeare, The Complete Works, 2d Edition, Stanley Wells, Gary Taylor, eds. Clarendon Press, Oxford, 2005.

ARTICLES

latest book is Hamlet Made Simple and Other Essays.

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