The Despairing Romantic

In an urge to deepen my Shakespearean understanding (an understanding which resides mostly on faint and vague-ish memories of reading Hamlet and Julius Caesar), I ventured to a place that despises me for my inability to return a book on time as well as my frequent breaking of the no food or drink rule; the Montana State Library.  Within its literary criticism section, I happened across a book that compiled a variety of critical writings on Shakespeare's work by the playwright Bernard Shaw entitled Shaw on Shakespeare. Expecting another journey along the path of Shakespeare's genius to the final destination of awe and fascination many critics of the Bard lead readers along, I was surprised to find that Shaw was highly critical of Shakespeare, elucidated in the prologue with quotes such as ; "We are idolaters of Shakespeare, born and bred. Our sin is not indifference, but superstition-which is another kind of ignorance," and, "I could write a better play than As You Like It...I actually have written much better ones, and in fact, never wrote anything and never intend to write anything, half so bad in matter". The change in critical tone was refreshing; my fellow lit students and I have been raised upon the bread and butter of Shakespeare. We all gather around his pedestal of literary genius and marvel at its grandiosity and seemingly unparalleled brilliance, so it is rather pleasing to see someone attempt to, if not kick this pedestal over, shake it a bit. 

Of course I'm still deeply enamored of Shakespeare's genius, but Shaw's criticisms resonated, particularly his views of romanticism. Shaw had Shakespeare in mind when he wrote, "the lot of the man who sees life truly and thinks about it romantically is despair." Romance lies at the epicenter of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and despair seems to gravitate around it, hovering at its edges whilst conjoining itself with a large dose of comedy to take the edge off. Helena is the epitome of romantic despair, illustrated in her interactions with Demetrius when she begs to him;

"I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,

The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 

Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,"

She understands this love is not reciprocated, and, without the help of a little misplaced magic, never will be, but this despair does not intercede with her passions. The despairing romantic is born when his love is spurned or cannot be returned, and yet, he is unable to relinquish his love, catalyzing feelings of despondency and anguish. Another example of a despairing lover is the rebuffed Ophelia;

Hamlet: I did love you once.

Ophelia: Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.

Hamlet: You should not have believ'd me, for virtue cannot so

inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I lov'd you not.

Ophelia: I was the more deceived.

Hamlet: Get thee to a nunn'ry, why woulds't thou be a breeder of

Romantic despair, is of course, a romantic notion, and reveals a significant aspect of Shakespeare's influence. He himself seems to be a despairing romantic (if one needs an example of this, one simply has to investigate Shakespeare's sonnets, particularly sonnet 138).  He sees life truly, writes about it romantically, and yet his lot, as Shaw would say, is the lot of despair.

SONNET 138

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,

And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.