Tamburlaine as Antichrist: Overview

I originally started to look at Tamburlaine as an Antichrist figure while sitting in class the first or second day we discussed the text. Looking back at my notes, I have a bubbled section where I pondered all the possibilities of just who Tamburlaine is. His character initially perplexed me: early on the reader learns he comes from simple means, yet his speech is anything but. Tamburlaine is eloquent and persuasive, and contrasting him against Mycetes and Cosroe only serves to highlight this fact further. My first line of thought was to compare Tamburlaine with other powerful orators: Adolf Hitler, Barack Obama, Ronald Reagan, Jesus Christ.

I didn’t immediately jump from here to Antichrist, though. My first thought was that Tamburlaine might be a sort of proto-Byronic hero. If the Early Modern period is now viewed as an earlier part of a continuum that flows into the Romantic period, it would make sense that Byron might have modeled his idealized heroes. I haven’t discredited this theory, but it isn’t what I chose to pursue in my research. I also looked for connections where Tamburlaine would be a continuation of the Old English hero ideal. This stemmed more from my own desire to read Tamburlaine in this way, but it too is an interesting filter through which to view Tamburlaine. All through class, I struggled with the character of Tamburlaine – he was far too rich and complex a character to ignore, and the sublime ease he diffused any situation and won over his enemies with words wouldn’t let this question fade – and eventually I wrote, “Who is Tamburlaine supposed to be? Christ? Antichrist? Good? Evil? Byronic? Human? Superhuman?,” and from there narrowed in on the Antichrist role.

Almost immediately details of this reading clicked into place for me. Tamburlaine was raised a simple shepherd and becomes a powerful leader through his words – the parallels to the life of Jesus here are uncanny. Equally so are the diametric oppositions: Tamburlaine is violent and ruthless, he promises his followers earthly riches, and ostentatiously turns Zenocrate not from whore to saint, as Christ turns Mary Magdalene, but rather conquers the princess constructed as pure, frozen, and white.

My notes from the cultural presentation on Islam have two sentences circled with particular emphasis. The first is about how Islam was a collected, sophisticated, and powerful front England faced, a peer in Imperialism England both feared and revered. And the second simply says “Muslim=Antichrist.” Indeed, in my research I’ve discovered this is often how Muslims are portrayed. While the Jews were considered the “Christ killers,” the Muslims were perhaps less conniving but more dangerous, they were the “Christian killers,” constructed as either without religion or of a religion opposite that of Christianity. The Islamic/Ottoman Empire as a whole had the largest army and navy of the day, and the riches of their trade was seemingly limitless. This was the reality England faced, but its perception of Turk was even more intense: a Turk was anything “other,” be it African, Middle Eastern, Asian, Ottoman, Muslim, Indian, or any of the other terms that were used interchangeably. England had much to fear, but feared more still.

Yet the necessity of at least a working relationship with the Ottoman Empire was undeniable to an England obsessed with expansion, both in geographic boundaries as well as cultural. Queen Elizabeth I forged the first bonds with the Islamic world in the form of trade, and since that moment Early Modern England developed a strange view of the Muslim, fear and respect confounding the nation’s psyche. Because they were partners in trade, and because each Empire expanded into neutral territory, there was never a direct military conflict. England couldn’t stand against the enormous power of the Ottoman army, but the true structure ruling the Ottomans was so complex and prone to fluctuation that it was largely concerned with military affairs within its own borders. Much like the United States and the former Soviet Union, these two superpowers continued uneasy relations with the constant, subtle fear of an imminent, all-out war.

And in this tradition Marlowe seems to construct Tamburlaine. He does some terrible, inhuman things at times, but they are never fully denounced for what they are. Nor does Tamburlaine ever meet true opposition at the end of the first play. If Marlowe had written the second part as a response to the popularity of the first, thus defining the first part as an independent play in and of itself, then Tamburlaine’s story very well might end with Tamburlaine on top. Muslim equates with Antichrist. Tamburlaine equates with Turk (even though he is Scythian). Turk equates with Muslim. And so Tamburlaine, in a chain of convoluted association one might come to expect from an Early Modern worldview, equates with Antichrist. In the big picture, Tamburlaine is representative for the entire Ottoman empire as it is viewed by Early Modern England, yet it is this more immediate view – a hero/antihero who is at the core entirely evil but on the surface commandingly, persuasively good – that represents English attempts to reconcile its fear and respect for the Islamic Empire starting with a single literary individual.

Below you'll find a collection of research and resources pertinent to Tamburlaine as Antichrist. My research paper in full is posted, along with my full bibliography. Additionally, there is a list of sources I consulted or otherwise came across in my research, but did not use. And finally, I've included a collection of primary documents that explore the historical figure Timur, on whom Marlowe based Tamburlaine, Early Modern English views of the Muslim, and depictions of Tamburlaine and/or Timur as Turkish ruler, ruthless conqueror, and complex Anglicization attempts.

Research...

Bibliography

Bartels, Emily. “The Double Vision of the East: Imperialist Self-Construction in Marlowe’s Tamburlaine, Part One.” Renaissance Drama in an Age of Colonization. Evanston, Ill: Northwestern University Press, 1992.

Burton, Jonathan. “Anglo-Ottoman Relations and the Image of the Turk in Tamburlaine.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies. 30:1 (2000): 125-156.

Hookham, Hilda. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962.

The Holy Bible: King James Version. Iowa Falls, IA: World Bible Publishers, 2001.

Martin, Richard. “Marlowe’s Tamburlaine and the Language of Romance.” PMLA. 93:2 (1978): 248-264.

Moore, Roger. “The Spirit and the Letter: Marlowe’s Tamburlaine and Elizabethan Religious Radicalism.” Studies in Philology. 99:2 (2002): 123-151.

Further Reading

Burton, Jonathan. Traffic and turning: Islam and English drama, 1579-1624. Newark: University of Delaware press, 2005.

Chew, Samuel. The Crescent and the Rose. New York: Octagon Books, Inc., 1965.

D’Amico, Jack. The Moor in English Renaissance Drama. Tampa: University of Florida Press, 1991.

Grantley, Darryll and Peter Roberts, eds. Christopher Marlowe and English renaissance culture. Aldershot, Hants, England: Scolar Press, c1996

McJannet, Linda. The sultan speaks: dialogue in English plays and histories about the Ottoman Turks. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

Primary Documents

I have adjusted my post times and dates such that my primary sources all appear as individual links below this entry; however, I'm also including direct links here to all the primary source blog posts. Rather than give each of my twelve sources (eight of them being from the Early Modern period) its own post, I have divided them up accordingly into five different posts; the first four have sources grouped according to a theme, and the final is a primary document I've examined individually.

Who was Timur?
Anglo-Tamburlaine
Tamburlaine as Turkish leader
Tamburlaine at war
"Nevves from the Great Turke"

Primary Text: Who was Timur?

Timur, a popular Asian name meaning "Iron," or Timur-i-Lenk, which translates to "Timur the Lame," is the historical figure upon which Marlowe based his construction of Tamburlaine. Below are illustrations from Hilda Hookham's Tamburlaine the Conqueror. These maps are not primary texts from the Early Modern period, but rather one author's research on the empire of Timur. They are included here to illustrate whom Marlowe portrays in his play. They are important in that they give a accurate historical view of Timur and the scale of his conquests, and as such serve too as illustrations of the character Tamburlaine. Hookham has undertaken the difficult and tedious task of sorting through the multitude of primary documents concerning the history of Timur, publishing Tamburlaine the Conqueror as a concise summation of his history. Thus, while not a primary document perse, I've used her text heavily in my understanding of who Timur was. Additionally, Hookham includes many primary documents in her book, and I have reproduced some of the more helpful and illustrative.Timur's reign was clearly immense, occupying much of today's Middle East as well as significant parts of modern Asia, Europe, Russia, and even Africa. Even more impressive is the relational location of his rule: Timur controlled the middle of the EurAsian continent. All trade between East and West must have gone through Timur controlled territory at some point. And anyone who has ever played the board game Risk can tell you that this region is vital to the health and mobility of a large and powerful army. Even today, this is a controversial region where struggles for power and control are fierce.
A more detailed map of Timur's specific campaigns only further emphasizes his strength and military activity. As power-hungry as Tamburlaine is, Timur was more so. While the literary figure is certainly insatiable for control and expands his grip throughout the play, this is still a fictional, abstract world, and so the real context of Timur's conquest is even more impressive: while we marvel over the idealized Tamburlaine's expansionism, the truth is that he is at best merely equal to Timur, but most certainly a watered-down version. Yet this is not because Marlowe wanted to dumb down Tamburlaine's character - in fact, Marlowe probably thought he was exaggerating his portrayal of Timur - but likely an underestimation of just how influential and imperialisically-affluent Timur really was. As this detailed map shows, most of Timur's campaigns stayed within the boundaries of today's Middle East. England wouldn't have had much direct contact with Timur's army, and any stories they would have heard would have been exaggerated in one direction or another, as stories are want to do. How, though, does one exaggerate a story that in reality appears to be a gross exaggeration already? Perhaps it was for the best that England didn't realize just how immense the Ottoman Empire as a whole was, as this might have trigged panic at either the lowest or highest societal levels.

Bibliography (in order of appearance)

Hookham, Hilda. "Regions subjugated by Timur." Map. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. xiv.

Hookham, Hilda. "Timur's main campaigns." Map. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. viii-ix.

Primary Text: Anglo-Tamburlaine

Perhaps one of the more interesting ways in which Early Modern authors dealt with Tamburlaine (and thus the Islamic threat he represents) is a distinct Anglicization. The above image is a woodcut found between parts in a collection of both halves of Marlowe's play. The facial features are prominently European: a high forehead; a thin, long nose; waving hair and a bushy beard that, if this were in color, would certainly be a shade of blonde or light brown. And the armor is not that of an Eastern warlord, but also English: polished sheets of metal without adornment, no festoons or pompy bells on the shoulders, as one might expect in the depiction of an Ottoman Emperor, but rather a high metal collar around the neck that reminds one of the ruffled shirt-necks popular of the period.

Here we have something even more odd in its depiction of Tamburlaine. The details of the artwork at the front of this history meld English and Ottoman well. Tamburlaine's features are again distinctly European, if only less groomed, with longer hair and a more pronounced beard. The armor is more betraying, though. The shield and the helmet appear typically European, as does the general shape of the armor. Around his shoulders Tamburlaine wears a mail chain, but as one looks lower down, the details of the armor become more elaborate, more ornate, more foreign. By the time one's eyes reach the bushy frill on the bottom of his skirt, Tamburlaine begins to look more and more the Ottoman warlord, with puffy bells hanging down and elongated lines decorating his legs. This convolusion of styles mirrors a textual depiction of Tamburlaine that, in content is accurate, but in context constructs not an overreaching Ottoman leader, but a noble Christian knight defending England from an outside threat.

In this history, the logic where "the enemy of my enemy is my friend prevails." Tamburlaine is portrayed as having "piety, prudence, magnanimity, mercy, liberality, humility, justice, temperance, and valour," despite his "heathenish" nature. These adjectives certainly do not describe Marlowe's Tamburlaine, nor do they describe the Early Modern view of Timur and the Ottoman Empire. Yet Tamburlaine isn't constructed here as a Turkish ruler, but as the enemy of Turk, of Ottoman, warring against China, Egypt, and Persia. Far different from the construction of Tamburlaine as Antichrist, the author here constructs Tamburlaine equally complex into the role of European savior against Eastern threats.

This portrayal serves to strengthen the idea of Tamburlaine as Antichrist even more, though: at the outset of Marlowe's Tamburlaine, the title hero is opposed to the Turk Bajazeth, and so there is the appearance of Bajazeth as Islamic Antichrist and Tamburlaine as eloquent English savior. In fact, Tamburlaine is even able to seduce Zenocrate, the princess described over and over as "white." In conquering Bajazeth, though, Tamburlaine instead consumes his role. As the Antichrist, the king of lies, Tamburlaine is willing both to turn against his "countryman" and to effectively lie while playing the part of English savior, only to turn around and reveal himself as Turkish Antichrist once he has gained sufficient power.

Bibliography (in order of appearance)

"Tamburlaine,the great." Woodcut. Author unknown. From:
Marlowe, Christopher. Tamburlaine the Great. London: Printed by Richard Ihones: at the signe of the Rose and Crowne neere Holborne Bridge, 1590. Early English Books Online. Appalachian State University. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88-2003&res_id=xri:eebo&res_dat=xri:pqil:res_ver=0.2&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99857253

Clarke, Samuel. The life of Tamerlane the Great. London: printed by J.H. for Simon Miller, at the Star and Bible at the west end of St. Pauls Church, 1664. Early English Books Online. Appalachian State University. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88-2003&res_id=xri:eebo&res_dat=xri:pqil:res_ver=0.2&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99895418

Primary Text: Tamburlaine as Turkish leader

For centuries, we've marveled at the manpower needed for the old world's wonders of construction. The pyramids of Egypt and Middle/South American Native cultures are the most immediate examples. But even more amazing than the physical engineering behind these superstructures is the social engineering. Tens of thousands of workers - slaves, volunteers, prisoners - labored to construct the ultimate display of a dissemblance of power: a tomb for an individual. Some of the largest man made structures even today serve a function for one dead person.

The first illustration depicts the intricacies hand formed in Tamburlaine's own mausoleum. Such labor intensive design could only have come about either as a result of a massive compulsory working force, in a fashion similar to the construction of the Egyptian pyramids, or else by the motivation that saw the construction of Native American pyramids: the workers viewed their leader (in this case Tamburlaine) as a deity. Ironic, then, that Early Modern England would view the same man as an anti deity.
Workers exhibit such compulsory labor as described above in the depictions of the construction of the mosque in Samarqand, the same location as Tamburlaine's mausoleum. The scene immediately above here depicts what Tamburlaine's work for must have looked like. The laborers all have different color faces, and many are white and are wearing beards, resembling the Anglicized Tamburlaine renderings. These were quite possibly English Christian slaves, perhaps those Tamburlaine inherited during his conquest of Bajazeth. Notice the two men in the middle, second row from the top. They are looking back over at the slave master, who is raising a spear, with looks of worry. This is not a friendly, or even voluntary, environment; indeed, Tamburlaine and the Ottomans conscripted slaves for their workforce.

Perhaps most interesting and painful is the method by which those in this painting are working. There is no evidence of elaborate scaffolding. There are no rollers by which large blocks are moved. Yes, there are beasts of burden working as well, but the two men at the bottom pass along blocks with buckled backs, obviously bearing the stress of this job. And, given the intricacies and detail highlighted in the upper-most photograph of the cupola, this wasn't a quick and easy job. Each of those tiles was hand laid, but the attention to detail is uncanny as every tile is aligned and symmetrical. Yet these tiles were also cut by hand, and while they likely employed highly advanced methods of masonry, the entire project would have still been exponentially more difficult then than it would have been with modern technology; nevertheless the mausoleum was built sparing no excessive frivolity at the hands of Tamburlaine's slaves. Such qualifies both the ego and the influence of the man.
There was also a mosque constructed alongside the mausoleum. Christian slaves being forced to build a cathedral to the Islamic God would have been adding insult in injury (and perhaps the greatest insult lies in their construction of a cathedral to the Islamic Antichrist: Tamburlaine's burial grounds). This photograph is included to give a sense of scale; the buildings in the distance dwarf the man sitting in the foreground. These aren't small temples as they might appear unquantified, but massive buildings rivaling the greatest castles and churches of England - literally and figuratively.

But further, this mosque is an undeniable link between Tamburlaine and Islam. Theories of Tamburlaine as a Christian (based on his out of place compassion fo Bajazeth's Christian slaves) must be rejected, and likewise Tamburlaine can't be viewed as the savior of England from Turkish aggression, as one might conclude from Tamburlaine's conquest of Bajazeth. This is just another illustration of the inversion of power, of Tamburlaine's tipping point, of his revelation of deception. The Antichrist came as a false Christ, posing as the savior of England, but as soon as he finds himself powerful enough to shed this false identity, he does.
Tamburlaine as the fully realized Islamic leader is portrayed in this final painting. Everything about it embodies the idea of Eastern "other," of the exotic Turk. The most accessible feature of this are the colors, rich but earthy, combinations unlike any in England. Tamburlaine's burnt organe jumper is adorned with golden designs, set against a dark blue shaw dressed similarly, but with a brass crown and celeste shoes. While we might find these combinations odd, clashing, everyone in the scence is dressed in similar fashion. This is not the style of Early Modern England, but a full depiction of other. Tamburlaine is in no way linked to England here in this depiction of his dealing with Bayazid, the historical figure opon whom Bajazeth is based. Subtle details like the cherry blossom trees in the background, a distinctive Chinese detail, the ornate designs on the carpet underfoot, and the Arabic script along the top and bottom solidify this picture as a cumulative representation of the amalgamation the term Turk endears to Early Modern England.

Indeed, the characters in this scene are of all variety of skin tones and possessing of different facial features. But pay careful attention to Bajazeth, wearing yellow, in the middle-bottom. Like the slaves in the upper paintings, he has highly Anglicized features, starkly constrasted against everyone else who is most definitely Eastern. As I highlighted in my paper, Tamburlaine's conquering of Bajazeth is an essential action in his establishment as Antichrist. It is the rubicon he passes over as roles are inverted and false identities are shed for true. Prior to this point, Bajazeth is constructed as the Islamic Antichrist and Tamburlaine as the savior to Christian England, and his capture of Bajazeth is a victory. But as power changes hands, so do their roles. Tamburlaine is now revealed as the true Antichrist, and the broken Bajazeth is now representative of England.

In this lies the duality of the nature of English-Turkish relationships. The two empires must remain civil in order that they might trade and grow economically. This is the respect England has for Islam. Yet there is always the fear of militaristic threat Islamic poses and the ever-present danger of an end to the civil relationship in exhange for that of war. Fitting then that this is a mentality that we have yet to change, as even today the Western world has the same double-sided dealings with the empire of Islam.

Bibliography (in order of appearance)

Society for Cultural Relations. Gur-Emir Mausoleum, Samarqand. U.S.S.R. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. 225.

Bihzad. Construction of the Cathedral Mosque in Samarqand. 1467. From a manuscript of the Zafar-nama of Sharaf al-din Yazdi, B. Quaritch. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. 192.

Society for Cultural Relations. Ruins of Timur's great Cathedral Mosque in Samarqand built after the Indian campaign (Bibi-khanum Mosque). U.S.S.R. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. 193.

Ottoman Sultan Bayazid brought captive before Timur after the Battled of Angora. 1552. From a manuscript of the Zafar-nama of Sharaf al-din Yazdi, British Museum, London. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. Frontispiece.

Primary Text: Tamburlaine at war

There is no controversy over at least one issue: Tamburlaine was a brutal, intense warlord. The first painting here displays this in its depiction of a grotesque tower of skulls. It is the end of the Battle of Herat, and defeated bodies lie strewn across the field, each missing its head. Tamburlaine has constructed these heads - full, fresh heads, not sterilized skulls, with skin and hair, dripping blood, reeking of death - partly as a tribute to his ruthless military prowess, partly as a warning against challenging him in battle, and perhaps even partly as a celebration of death, of the undoing of life, at the hands of Tamburlaine, the Antichrist. The banners and the trumpeter near the tower give an aire of pomp and celebration, and the soldiers in the scene don't look like the shells of men after war to which we have become accustomed to see, but more like soldiers standing at parade rest, waiting to view their leader. Such is Tamburlaine, allegory of ruthless Islamic military.
This second painting is somewhat bizarre. It seems to depict a battle that never happened; in fact, it has no caption nor an attribute at the bottom. On the right side, the east side, there is an army of distinct Ottoman qualities: they ride highly decorated horses, or even camels. Their faces are round, dark, and have thin mustaches or beards. On the left, western side is a much smaller, more non-descript force. They have bland, white faces. They are clearly losing. They are nearly all in retreat, and many are already slain. This is a worst case scenario, the unspoken fear of England. A battle between the thinly-stretched, imperialized military of England against the massive Islamic front would be catastrophic. In fact, the only two English soldiers that dare attack are already overwhelmed. The bottom is surrounded by enemy soldiers, clearly outnumbered, while the top charges against multiple lines of the enemy; he doesn't stand a chance. Neither did the army of England against the army of Islam. This was their greatest fear as a sovereign nation: defeat at the hands of the heathen, or worse, Antichrist armies, as embodied by Tamburlaine.
Thus this attack on a mountain stronghold is representative of the sort of obstacle England would face. The Islamic army was a massive stronghold atop a mountain. There are very few soldiers below in the offense, but above wait scores of reserves. There are even enough soldiers such that the leader (let's assume it's Tamburlaine), sitting atop his horse, has a servant to do nothing but hold an umbrella over his head. Below pace lions, waiting to dine upon fallen bodies - a subtle link perhaps to the days of Christians persecution as the hands of the Romans. Against Christianity finds itself posed against an overwhelming militaristic force, one that it cannot beat in a battle of might. Instead, England can only hope for a sort of spiritual warfare, where they will be aided by the divine intervention of their one true God against the Islamic Antichrist Tamburlaine.

Bibliography (in order of appearance):

The Tower of Skulls raised after the Battle of Herat. 1552. From a manuscript of the Zafar-nama of Sharaf al-din Yazdi, British Museum, London. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962.64.

Bihzad. Battle scene. 1442. From a manuscript illustrating poems of Nizami, British Museum, London. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. 33.

Bihzad. Attack on mountain strongholds. 1467. From a manuscript of the Zafar-nama of Sharaf al-din Yazdi, B. Quaritch. Tamburlaine The Conqueror. By Hilda Hookham. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1962. 224.

Primary Text: "Nevves from the Great Turke"

Reading like a preview to the PayPerView boxing match of the year, "Nevves from the Great Tuke" describes the power of Sultan Brian for whom the pamphlet is named. He is immediately constructed as a "blasphemous manifestation," as "against the Christians" on the cover, but within is immediately doted with praise. He is "Son and Nephew of God, the invincible King of the Turks," and "King of all the Kings in this World, cheife Saint of Paradise." These terms are absolute blasphemes against the Christan God, yet he is again described as "King of all Kings, Prince of all Princes," but then immediately after "Terrour and scourge of all Christians" but interestingly enough, also "of the Ottomans, and of the Circumcised Hope."

Thoughout, this Great Turk is constructed with such seeming contradictions that I can only believe the author is describing the Antichrist. He is at one moment labeled with the same allegorical terms reserved only for God, and the next damned as the enemy of all Christians. While this fits with my reading of Tamburlaine as Antichrist conveniently, the fact that this Sultan is also the enemy of Ottoman is interesting: Tamburlaine was the enemy of the Ottoman Bajazeth, but at the same time also enemy of Christian England.

The pamphlet goes on the describe the size of the Sultan's army, and the size of the Christian armies that band together to oppose him. In concludes this count thusly: "It is much to be wished, that all Christian Princes were reconciled together, and endeavoured to joyne their Forces together, to oppose that cruell enemy that seeks to make himselfe Monarch of the World, and to bring the Christians under his usurping power." There is no deny at this point that the Sultan is none other than an Antichrist figure. Further, this supports my thesis of Tamburlaine as Antichrist in that in shows a description of the Antichrist from the period that could just as easily be applied to the character of Tamburlaine.

The pamphlet ends strangely. After having described the respective armies of the Antichrist Sultan and the cumulative Christian forces, it ends. It is like a preview for a fight after all. Historically, this seems accurate with that I discovered in my paper. While Elizabeth forged official bonds of peace with the Turks, the Church and the people of England were left to balance this by demonizing the Islamic powers. "Nevves from the Great Turke" reinforces the conflicting views of Early Modern England. The Sultan is clearly evil and the enemy of both England and all that is Christian, yet the way the armies are described, both in scope and size, is clearly with great adoration. There is a respect for the power of the military of the Antichrist, despite his religious damnation. And so it was, too, with Tamburlaine and the rest of the Turkish/Islamic Empire.
This pamphlet isn't alone in its demonization of Islam. While the first example seems to be most accurate in capturing the mindset of the Early Modern English in regards to Muslims, this second is the front page from a pamphlet far more typical of the period. It is a sort of treatise designed to prove the superiority of Christianity over other religions, "Mahometans" included. There was quite a bit of this media and it reflected the spoken attitude amongst common people with regards to all other religions, but Islam in particular. While the reverance and respect for the power of the Turks was certainly real, it was rarely expressed, especially given that it was recognized well enough in Elizabeth's approval of trade. Rather, the immediately accesible response of the people was that of condemnation of the blasphemies of Islam. This is an attitude encouraged by the Church but adopted wholly by the citizens of Early Modern England.

Bibliography (in order of appearance)

Anonymous. Nevves from the Great Turke. London: Printed for Jo. Handcock in Popes-head-Alley., 1645. Early English Books Online. Appalachian State University. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88-2003&res_id=xri:eebo&res_dat=xri:pqil:res_ver=0.2&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99861000

Anonymous. The truth and excellency of Christian religion demonstrated against Jews, Mahometans, and heathens. London: printed for William Crooke, at the Three Bibles on Fleet-Bridge, 1665. Early English Books Online. Appalachian State University. http://gateway.proquest.com/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88-2003&res_id=xri:eebo&res_dat=xri:pqil:res_ver=0.2&rft_id=xri:eebo:citation:99833442

Research Paper

Marlowe’s reconciliation of Tamburlaine with the Islamic Empire as the Antichrist

The Early Modern period brought about a thirst for an expansion of culture that can only be described as appropriate of the Renaissance. Included in the wide label of culture is religion as well as a fascination with anything that can be described as “Other.” However, this culture-rich environment is also conducive to misunderstanding and muddling of fact. Such is the case with the Early Modern view on the Islamic Empire, a blanket amalgamation of every religion from the East, serving the same function as “Turk” in reference to race and ethnicity. In reality, the Islamic Empire was perhaps at its height during this period, especially in regard to militaristic power and financial wealth. Such an awesome empire would have certainly inspired fear and reverence that, when mixed with its fully other nature, would have been viewed with an unspoken awe; this is in direct contrast to the popular Early Modern demonization of religious other such as the Jew and the Catholic monsters. To this end, Marlowe creates in Tamburlaine the most feared and most respected enemy imaginable to an Early Modern Christian audience: Tamburlaine as Antichrist. Marlowe’s play serves to reconcile the fear and respect the Islamic Empire demands by embodying such traits in a different religious monster. As such, Tamburlaine, in the first part of his namesake play, serves as an allegory of English and Islamic relationships during the Early Modern period.

In Jonathan Burton’s article “Anglo-Ottoman Relations and the Image of the Turk in Tamburlaine,” he thoroughly explores the complexities that exist for Marlowe’s original audience in regards to Islamic nations and their relations with England. It is important to note, as Burton does, that the term Turk is used interchangeably with Muslim throughout Early Modern England (126), and so any time the work Turk is used, it might refer to someone from Northern Africa, from the Ottoman Empire, or as a general term of “other” that might resemble a Muslim in any way – and this definition is as broad as the English and Islamic Empires combined. Although “a people who no longer exist…” Burton explains, “[t]here was a time […] when the Ottoman Turks constituted the greatest threat to European Christendom” (126).

Although an amalgamation of people – and Burton is careful to point out that the Ottomans were strictly a people and the term is not related to a place – from all over Asia and the modern Middle East, the Ottomans were considered to be entirely Islamic, conquering much of Eurasia under the flag of the crescent moon (Burton 126). From the perspective of the citizen of Early Modern England, Ottomans were a huge militaristic people and a distant, but nonetheless real, threat. Marlowe is criticized for portraying Europe as relatively weak when compared to the Islamic Empire, but Burton “argue[s] that Marlowe’s representation of Turkish strength is representative of actual Turkish strength,” and so the conquering, insatiable Tamburlaine would not be a caricature as one might expect, but rather a true measure of the potential threat England might (but did not directly) face in the enemy of the Islamic Empire (127). This is important to establish because the Turks were not an immediate threat to England: there was no pending invasion, no posturing towards war, no threats nor demands. Rather, Early Modern England was aware of the strength the Turks possessed, and because there was no direct threat, a dual respect formed for this powerful empire. In fact, Burton proposes “Marlowe’s plays […] arise from a culture in which there was a more reciprocal relation between East and West” (125). This Islamic Empire was in many ways analogous to the English Empire at the height of its imperialism, to the end that the Ottomans were peers in England in terms of “expansionist power and controlling influence over East-West trafficking” (127). It is then likely that England would hold equal parts fear and respect for the Islamic Empire, not unlike currently existing sentiments held in the United States.

In fact, England had an entirely two-sided relationship with the Turkish Empire that changes how English-written and English-publish representations of Muslims should be viewed (Bartels, 4). Emily Bartels summarizes this duality best: “For while the demonization of Oriental rulers provided a highly charged impetus for England’s own attempts to dominate the East, their valorization provided a model for admiration and imitation” (5). Burton takes this a step farther, suggesting that England felt a need to “legitimate the arming of the Ottomans” through trade, citing subjectivity in Elizabethan letters that try to both recognize and denounce the Islamic Empire (129-131). As ideas about capitalism arose and political and commercial ambition increased trade and fascination with the exotic East, Elizabeth felt a need to balance this with religious prejudice, especially with the irrational fear of forced conversion, known as ‘turning Turk’ (Burton 138). These Westernized representations of Islam still exist today. Burton makes no attempt to hide his disapproval of these practices, as he ends his summary of Early Modern English demonization of Islam by associating it with “America quietly selling arms to Islamic countries and, at the same time, lustily denounc[ing] Islamic violence” and blaming such attitudes on the “war” against Iraq and current tense relationships between the U.S. and the Islamic Middle East (151).

So, while the government of Early Modern England would recognize the Turkish Empire as a sound trade partner and a tool to expand English imperialism, Christian leaders filled the role of counterbalance. Burton quotes an anonymous liturgical service from the reign of Queen Elizabeth which he says is characteristic of religious language used to describe Muslims: “‘Infidels, who by all tyranny and cruelty labour[sic] utterly to root out not only true religion, but also the very name and memory of Christ, our only Saviour[sic], and all Christianity’” (137). This language mirrors some of the most popular descriptions of the Antichrist found in the Bible: “And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven” (KJV Revelation 13:6) and “Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist, that denieth the Father and the Son” (KJV 1 John 2:22). The denouncement of Muslims as deniers of Christ, and more specifically as those that would come in the place of Christ – “For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect” (KJV Matthew 24:24) – explicitly links the Muslim and the Antichrist.

And then there is Tamburlaine. Based on the historical figure Tamerlane, whom historians all agree was a Muslim (Burton 142), Marlowe’s character Tamburlaine is both culturally and literarily significant as a representation of Turkish conqueror as well as of a conventional Antichrist character. Tamburlaine’s origins are distinctively Christ-like: he is born a Scythian shepherd, but is an eloquent orator and uses this as his primary means to further his ends. And, like Christ, Tamburlaine is successful is his verbal persuasion. However, this is where the intrinsic similarities between Christ and Antichrist end and the deception prophesied in Matthew 24:24 begins. Rather than give up all earthly possessions (Matthew 19:21), Tamburlaine promises “The sweet fruition of an earthly crown” (Tamburlaine 2.7.29). It is this gloried aspiration that many scholars call a “total repudiation of the Christian notion of the universe” (Martin 249). This is classically the most obvious opposition between Christ and Antichrist, and is even attributed to be the reason why Lucifer fell from heaven: Christ is all powerful, but on earth sought to denounce worldly power and possession. Antichrist, on the other hand, cannot seek anything other than worldly excess, and yet he will also never be satisfied. Such is the character of Tamburlaine.

In Act 3, Scene 3, Line 44, Tamburlaine claims to be “the scourge and wrath of God,” confirming him as Antichrist in that he “arise[s]” as a “false Christ,” and so similarly his great conquering and apparent unstoppable reign would be an apt perversion of “great signs and wonders” (KJV Matthew 24:24). Tamburlaine goes so far in his role of Antichrist to claim that not even God can stop him, and that heaven itself will be destroyed before he: “The chiefest God… / Will sooner burn the glorious frame of heaven / Then it should so conspire my overthrow” (Tamburlaine 4.2.8-11). Moore observes an ironic use of language when Tamburlaine alludes to the classical story of Phaethon (who destroyed part of the earth while piloting his father Apollo’s chariot) in line 50 of the aforementioned scene: as Antichrist, or Lucifer – Light-Bearer – “[t]he divine light scorching the earth is a particularly appropriate symbol for Tamburlaine because, as the bearer or an inner divine light, he sees himself as engaged in just such an apocalyptic endeavor” (Moore 135).

In “Marlowe’s Tamburlaine and Elizabethan Religious Radicalism,” Roger Moore explains an allegorical transfer present in Tamburlaine: “In Renaissance works, the Koran frequently substituted for the Christian Scriptures; here Marlowe addresses Christian theology […] but safely transfers the defiant gesture to the distant world of Islam” (126). In this light, such substitution is most appropriate. Tamburlaine’s only act of humanity comes when he frees Christian slaves from Bajazeth; this stands in stark contrast to Tamburlaine’s treatment of his own Islamic captives, whom he treats just as Bajazeth did his own Christian captives (Burton 143). This is central to Tamburlaine’s conflict with Bajazeth. Marlowe constructs Bajazeth as entirely Islamic and then positions Tamburlaine opposite him. And Tamburlaine treats Bajazeth with characteristic ruthlessness, rejecting peace offerings and instead totally conquering Bajazeth and everything for which he represents. Burton explains this as “projections of Christian Europe’s […] anxieties,” (142) when Tamburlaine seeks to “rouse [the Turk] out of Europe” (Tamburlaine 3.3.38), an act serving to both save Christianity from the threat of “turning Turk” and to save imperialist England from the financial and militaristically stronger Ottoman Empire. From a moral perspective, the way Tamburlaine revels in his domination of Bajazeth subverts Tamburlaine’s claim as “scourge of God.” Richard Martin explains that “Tamburlaine enjoys his domination of Bajazeth in a way no Christian ought to, and his enjoyment stands as defiance against the very order of retributive justice whose instrument he claims to be” (255). Tamburlaine’s lust for violence is one of the most obvious dividing forces from the Christian God, and thus one of his strongest characteristics as Christian Antichrist.

The irony is not lost, as this sets up Tamburlaine as the protector of Christian England, expelling the Turkish Antichrist Bajazeth. Indeed, Burton suggests that Marlowe’s audience likely would have sided with Tamburlaine at the end of the Part One, and yet Marlowe goes to great length to humanize Bajazeth’s last words, to contrast his wife Zabina’s desperate pleas with Tamburlaine’s inhumane execution of Bajazeth, and to subvert Zenocrate against Tamburlaine by praying for his pardon (144). And Zenocrate’s prayer, offered up to “might Jove and holy Mahomet” (Tamburlaine 5.2.299), as well as Tamburlaine’s uncharacteristic non-reply when his victory is attributed to “God and Mahomet” (Tamburlaine 5.2.415) subtly connect Tamburlaine back not to the Christian God, but to Mahomet, the God of Islam (Burton 145). As the Antichrist, the king of lies, a Muslim Tamburlaine even conquers his compatriot Muslim sovereign Bajazeth, and with no remorse, completely refuting any link to savior of Christian England.

And, even more subversively, Moore’s suggestion that Marlowe’s use of Islam Antichrist as allegory for Christian Antichrist is another layer of deception as Tamburlaine and Bajazeth represent not Turkish rulers, but Christian. This deception isn’t allegorical, but as Burton suggests, “Tamburlaine’s brutality and Islamism emerge together as if congenially linked” (145). This reading adds yet another layer of deception that convolutes the truth all the more, where Marlowe constructs the suggestion of an allegory where Muslim Antichrist plays the part of Christian Antichrist. Instead, Tamburlaine is the Christian Antichrist, realized as Turkish conqueror, and the allegory lies in Tamburlaine as representation of the Islamic Empire as a whole. And as Burton concludes, “[w]hat emerges from his construction of the Tamburlaine legend is less an articulation of an individual author’s feelings concerning Islam than a perspective on early modern England’s need to produce a rhetoric that could justify its controversial dealings with the Turks” (129). Subsequently revered for his prowess and ambition and demonized as Antichrist, Tamburlaine represents the very real prospect for exponential English imperialism that lie with the Islamic Empire just as much as he represents the overwhelming threat it might pose in a hostile situation. Marlowe portrays Early Modern England’s struggle with this great opportunity, tempering with religious fear. Current complications with these same issues may suggest they be irreconcilable; relations between the (predominantly perceived) Christian West and the Islamic Middle East are just as fragile and treacherous, if not more so, and just as lucrative, if not less so, than in the Early Modern period. And so it is appropriate how Marlowe concludes Tamburlaine, Part One: uneasily at the height of action, the end yet to be determined.

Bibliography

Bartels, Emily. “The Double Vision of the East: Imperialist Self-Construction in Marlowe’s Tamburlaine, Part One.” Renaissance Drama in an Age of Colonization. Evanston, Ill: Northwestern University Press, 1992.

Burton, Jonathan. “Anglo-Ottoman Relations and the Image of the Turk in Tamburlaine.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies. 30:1 (2000): 125-156.

The Holy Bible: King James Version. Iowa Falls, IA: World Bible Publishers, 2001.

Martin, Richard. “Marlowe’s Tamburlaine and the Language of Romance.” PMLA. 93:2 (1978): 248-264.

Moore, Roger. “The Spirit and the Letter: Marlowe’s Tamburlaine and Elizabethan Religious Radicalism.” Studies in Philology. 99:2 (2002): 123-151.

Witches summation

I think I'm going to condense my commentary on “The Examination and Confession of Certaine Wytches,” “The Wonderful Discovery of the Witchcrafts of Margaret and Philip Flower,” “The Wonderfull discoverie of Elizabeth Sawyer, a Witch,” and The Witch of Edmonton to one post, especially since my comments are in regards more to general themes of evil; hopefully my concluding sociological/philosophical thoughts don't sound too much like a high freshman who has just discovered Logic. Moreover, this evil is almost entirely defined by the traditional religious views of Early Modern England. In fact, everything deemed monstrous we’ve studied so far seems to connect back to some concept of religious monstrous – babies, bizarre births, the Jew, the Turk/Muslim/(blanket term for anyone from the East), the African, monstrous women in their baby killing or in their sexuality or in any other terms of domestic violence, same-sex relationships, transvestites and cross-dressing, witches – it all stems back to offending the status quo as set by religion. Sometimes these offenses are on a social level, especially in regards to class (as is the case with cross-dressing [in an attempt to appear of a higher class, especially a woman aiming to act like a man] or in same-sex relations [again, where the concern is that a man of a higher class is having relations most often with his servants, obviously of lower class]), but the class system in question is one established predominantly by the religion of the time, and so an offense of class is ultimately still an offense of religion. However, nowhere are these transgressions more clear than in the persecution of witches, as they represent a direct association with the devil, the ultimate religious monster.

Elizabeth Sawyer is clearly constructed as a witch, but her reactions, especially in The Witch of Edmonton are most interesting. Having been label "witch," she almost seems to revel in the role. History has shown us now that, as a witch, a woman had no recourse. She could confess and blame others, but this did not assure her any sort of real salvation, especially since it would typically end with the condemnation of many other women. And, if a woman were to fight such accusations, she would certainly perish, one way or another. Thus, Sawyer lives up her damnation, much like Katherine lives up her role as "shrew" in The Taming of the Shrew, or as Caliban in The Tempest revels in his role as the bane of humanity and society, talking up large threats of rape, pillaging, and murder. These words are just that, though, fallible, only accurate within context, and just as likely to be prideful posturing on behalf of the speaker as they are truth.

My roommate is sick right now. He came in contact with a friend who went to Mexico. Does he have swine flu? Almost definitely not. However, such a fear is nearly tangible right now in the wake of mass hysteria over what is more or less an imagined threat (at least for us citizens of the developed United States). This doesn't change the fact that we look for causation of problems in ways where we can either easily deal with it, or if not blame it on a larger ideal that we know we can't directly defeat, and to which we must resign ourselves. The Crucible is an incredible example of such mass hysteria, where everything that goes wrong, no matter how trivial, is blamed on witchcraft. Crops die - witchcraft. A horse runs off - witchcraft. A girl is deathly sick - witchcraft. A bundle of wood comes undone off the back of a wagon - witchcraft. Yes, the inconvenience of having to pick up a few logs is blamed on witchcraft, and as a result an innocent girl is hanged. I don't think hysteria has a more appropriate example. Or, in order to either deal with or ignore our real problems, we invent fantastic problems. Abigail Williams is scorned by her former lover, John Proctor. However, Williams won't let this die quietly, and so she ignites an enormous witch hunt to revenge her unrequited love as well as to cover up her attempts to conjure spirits and cast spells, create potions to regain her former lover. Someone in class brought up the interesting allegory of swine flu as witchcraft, created to cover up our very real economic crisis and possibly deflect tension in regards to further firings and business failings.

And, when we're faced with such adversity, we often try to pin logic and reason on the most illogical events. For example, the dog in The Witch of Edmonton is inferred to be perhaps the familiar of witch, as he appears throughout disaster. But what if he is just a dog, wandering along, and the excited tones of human voice attract him? When the World Tradedemonic, Center towers collapsed, people swore to see the face of the devil in the clouds of smoke and ash. Is this reasonable, is this logical, or is this a case of hysteria and of people seeing what they want to see? It is easier to resign oneself to the idea of a spiritual evil opposed to the morally superior United States (or Early Modern England, as it were) than to accept the fact that we were attacked by a terrorist organization, by people that hate us and want to kill us and who may attack again. We are willing to turn a blind eye to the real threat because we have to deal with it if we acknowledge it, and further we have to deal with it on a more immediate level, on the social and emotional level, both individually and as a nation. But, if the enemy is a supernatural evil, we needn't worry, because God is on our side and we are infallible.

As an interesting tangent, I was reminded in the discussion of Tom the dog of a quote from The Usual Suspects: "Who is Keyser Soze? He is supposed to be Turkish. [Ironic, this is a monster in the context of our class] Some say his father was German. [Also somewhat ironic, as I'll discuss Nazi Germany below] Nobody believed he was real. Nobody ever saw him or knew anybody that ever worked directly for him, but to hear Kobayashi tell it, anybody could have worked for Soze. You never knew. That was his power. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone." Perhaps my rationalizing, such as that of Tom as just a dog, and my explanations, like that of mass hysteria, are simply ingenious conventions this great and global evil has created to fully dupe our civilized, apathetic/atheistic, modern society. Perhaps the Early Modern English Church had it right, but the Romantic period and the quest of knowledge and learning and science and industry and growth have blinded us, perhaps the Devil is real and his old tactics of witchcraft and monstrous births, of attacking us through "false" religions (oh, wait, don't many of us still hold this belief in regards to Islam?) and instead has gone into hibernation. Because if we're so quick and sure to assign evil against God to the Devil, and the Devil disappears, so does evil to God. And if there isn't conflict against God, if there aren't these evils for the Church to warn us against, all of a sudden its role is greatly diminished, it has less power and authority, we don't "need" it anymore. But I digress...

All this gives me some interesting insight into the psychology behind evil. Cuddy, the simpleton, isn't swayed by the "evil" of Tom the dog. Rather, he attributes his ability to talk to that of the dogs of Aesop's fables. To put it simply, Cuddy doesn't give the dog power (albeit perhaps because he is too stupid to fear the dog), and so the dog has no power over him. How true this is of nearly all fear and evil, especially that which we tend to perceive as immediate. Zombies, ghosts, that which go bump in the night - whether you believe in such matter or not, its power over you is only that which you give it in the form of fear. And because the rest of the town fears Tom, Tom has power over them as a devil-dog. To misquote a cliche, Evil is in the eye of the beholder.

To that end, what is evil? What is right and wrong? Does truly, inherently evil exist? If so, what dictates it as such? Certainly there are individual evils - these are highly subjective and open to anyone's interpretation. At a higher level there are societal evils. In Early Modern England these are nearly all dictated by religion, and so often they are classified as monstrous or explained away through monstrous phenomenon. This tactic is interesting. In the case of the Turkish monster, for example, "evil" is defined as Islamic, but the Turk likely had a reversed definition, viewing Early Modern England Christians as "evil." While evil to an entire society, this is still a very subjective evil. Or monstrous babies, representative of God's wrath. What we now know to be genetic anomalies of nature, a function of the probability in gene mutation, was viewed as God's response to sinning parents, sinning individuals, sinning England. There isn't anything truly monstrous about these babies and they are not the product of evil, but they are constructed as such by their society. Tied to these subjective definitions of evil is always some sort of personification. Tom the dog, the Devil coming to seduce women into sexual and spiritual debauchery, the looming, unspoken threat of a more powerful Ottoman empire, or the seedy underworld where the Jew inhabits, biding his time and striking as a guerrilla against "good" Christians. And, as I've mentioned, these socially dictated evils of Early Modern England are defined by the reigning religion, and so any sort of monster is ultimately a religious one.

But what about universal evils? What about things that would always be considered wrong? Even here there is a loophole. Genocide is wrong - always. This is a statement that I believe finds universal appeal. But even here, this evil is justified within the context of a very specific society: Hitler and the Nazi party felt as if they were making a better world through genetic cleansing. And in the dog eat dog world of West Africa today, one can easily justify robbery and murder because it is necessary, because "if I don't do it, someone else will," and even more convincingly "if I don't do it, someone else will...to me." To take a sort of Buddhist approach, the extermination of insects from our homes is something we would generally find acceptable, but it is, in a literal sense, genocide. Do lesser developed central nervous systems negate the value of life? Do these same rules apply to a developed CNS made less so, as in brain damage, in individuals born with Down Syndrome, in comas? Or are we again speaking of a subjective, societally based evil, where the society is humanity as a whole?

So I'll end my blog (except for my research blogging) with this: Early Modern England is a prime example of a society that defines its evils in universal terms, assuming that said society's values are universal. Again, this is the power religion played during the period in defining right and wrong for the society as a whole, and indeed because these values are based in spiritual world of religion, versus the geographical/political/society world of England as part of Europe as part of the world, it was entirely feasible - and in fact could not have made sense any other way - that this moral system was inherently, infallibly true. But, barring the chance that this is the Devil's greatest trick, our modern society tells us that as liberally-minded, anthropologically-correct individuals of a global society, right and wrong are subjective. But perhaps this is another example of social definitions of right and wrong, and our society just so happens to define it as subjective. Perhaps right and wrong can't exist, not out of principle nor the lack of a unified definition, but because society will always interpret right and wrong in whatever way it sees fit; or perhaps, ultimately, universal right and wrong is merely too vague, too abstract. Here I am reminded of quantum mechanics' "many-worlds interpretation": In a nutshell, there are infinite universes, and so anything that could possibly happen will, statistically speaking, play out in one, or any, of these universes. That's a whole other can of worms, though, and I'll spare you from my attempts to explain and expound on something I don't understand. Maybe we simply aren't enlightened enough to fully comprehend such a divergent subject as the nature of evil.

Or maybe this is all silly rambling, maybe I'm wrong on all accounts. Maybe they're all right. All that's left here is the illustrative power of literature to encompass any subject, simultaneously answering as many questions as it raises. And such are the Monsters and Curiosities of Renaissance Literature. Thanks for reading.

Same sex relations

The Trial of Lord Audley and Edward II both present the Renaissance view of homosexuality, and I found it very interesting how progressive it is, in a sense. Rather than a binary decision (a view that seemed popular until the 80s/90s when gay rights activism really became mainstream), the early modern period seemed to view it as a spectrum, much as is the popular theory today. Granted, the act of sodomy is still demonized, and the fervor with which it was prosecuted leaves no doubt the intolerance for homosexuality, but it was fascinating nonetheless how there was a sort of "don't ask, don't tell," closeted (pun intended) acceptance of homosexuality. In the Trial documents specifically, I thought that the rape was downplayed not in order to make it seem like less of a crime, but only to heighten the atroscity of sodomy. Also highlighted was the fact that Lord Audley had relations with men of a lower social order and how his actions were "against the peace." The heirarchy of religion so permeates Renaissance soceity that sodomy, a private affair, causes harm to the public, because it was believed to disrupt the laws of nature, and more importantly, of God. However, Lord Audley's actions also disrupted the social heirarchy of the time, and so his actions were offensive on so many fronts.

On the other hand, it seems as if Edward III's time spent with the mother and other significant women is somehow suggestive, as if Edward II's preference for male favorites was something genetic that would be passed down to his son; or, as if a boy that spends too much time in the company of women has a greater risk of having homosexual relationships.

The justification for male relations through Classical literature is also interesting. It seems common knowledge that the Greeks in particular viewed women as deformed men and that the only true realization of human relationship came about between two men, and these beliefs still exist, at least in part, in the Renaissance.

Perhaps my favorite part of Edward II is how Marlowe using hunting as an allegory for gay sex, and how the hunter becomes the hunted. This inversion of roles exists in both scenarios, as one male must necessarily take on the gender role of female during sex. In this sense, the hunter (read: male sexual agressor) must become submissive. Gaveston likening his relationship with Edward II to a hunt is thus very appropriate.

Gaveston, Edward II, and Monty Python

Gaveston's initial soliloquies remind me a little of this Monty Python scene...

It all comes back to religion

It was really interesting to see how the story of the hog faced woman was treated and how it was framed. It did indeed have a sort of fairy tale quality about it (despite the less than happy ending) and it seemed to be treated as a curiosity for the sake of a curiosity. I found it in stark contrast to the monstrous baby pamphlets. In those, the monstrous birth is of course the subject of the pamphlet, but I found the focus was always on monstrous religion. Ultimately, the monstrous birth was just a means to single out and make a point of religious monstrosities of the time, particularly Catholicism and anti-Independents. And, more generally speaking, monstrous babies served as a curiosity of their own very rarely; they were almost always viewed as a sign of God's wrath towards the parents, England as a whole, humanity in general, etc., and never as just a strange happening.

Don't tease God...

... or else you'll be forced to wander the earth with a cross burnt into your forehead, telling of your fate. Or, more appropriately for our reading, you'll have a deformed twin growing out of your abdomen. Such seems to be the author's implications in "The two inseparable brothers." This ballad is set to "The wandering Jewes Chronicle," the story of the man who shouted at Christ while he was on the cross. The tale goes that this man is the "Wandering Jew" and is forced to wander the earth telling his story, and it is found in many forms throughout literature, such as Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner," and there are even connections to the famed ghost ship "The Flying Dutchman." Given the Renaissance view on monstrous births, it is almost certain that a conjoined twin, especially one so deformed, was viewed as a sign from God, mostly likely his wrath towards either the fully formed twin, the parents of the twins, or England as a whole. In this way, the fully formed twin would have been the Wandering Jew, the deformed twin the burning cross on his forehead, his burden to bear and story to tell. Both stories involve a man bearing the burden of sin in a physical manifestation, traveling and sharing his tale, his life serving as a warning against tempting the wrath of God. I found it very interesting the author created this subtle link simply by setting this ballad to the Wandering Jew tune, but perhaps it would have been a link more easily recognized by the original audience.

The Ranters Monster

I'm amazed at how well crafted The Ranters Monster is as a work of anti-catholic propaganda. It opens with an account of Mary Adams and the terrible things she's done, and her blasphemy would surely have offended many of the original readers. Likewise, the following tales all relate individuals engaged in fornication, blasphemy, or otherwise offending God in general. However, the author, in the very end, includes almost as if it were an oversight "One thing I had almost omited[sic]..." the story of how Mary Adams was a Papist! It is as if the entire pamphlet were to set up a feeling of unrest and proper indignation toward heathen individuals, and then in the very end we find out that, gasp, Mary Adams' worst sin was that she doesn't support Independents! The way the author includes this as if it were an almost forgettable afterthought reinforces its strength - surely the author didn't "almost omit[sic]" this story, and even if (s)he had, the author wouldn't have so casually mentioned his or her near folly. Instead the author does a great job of utilizing language to develop a feeling of unrest, and then at the very end redirect the readers' outrage to a specific group, all while cleverly concealing his or her true intentions: from the start, this work was designed to smear Catholics, not to relate stories of monsters and strange happenings. In fact, it's interesting to see the progression the author creates in Mary Adams. She starts out devout, honest, and little by little falls away from "normal" Christianity as seen by the Renaissance. Eventually she joins varies sects, becomes very sexually promiscuous, and is eventually characterized as completely insane. Given modern knowledge of psychology, it is almost certain Mary Adams had some mental imbalance, but I doubt this would have been known in her own time - in the end, all of her strange and monstrous behavior is credited to her words against the Independents, and it seems pretty clear the author wants the reader to believe that her political/religious views were the sole cause for her insanity and blasphemy.

Alice

Maybe it's because I'm looking for it, but I've found a lot of stuff Marlowe and Shakespeare wrote to be pretty cunningly subversive to Renaissance norms, supporting pretty liberal and open minded philosophies that didn't seem to really exist, at least in any strength, until much later - mostly in the form of ironic or sarcastic caricature of minority groups such as Jews, Muslims, Turks, and women. And, even though Arden of Feversham doesn't have have an author attributed, I feel the same way about this work - especially since many attribute the play to Shakespeare. Alice is an interesting and engaging character much in the same way Matilda is in The Monk; even though she is "bad" and "evil," her character is cunning, complex, and very smart, able to think for herself and work independently for her own means. In this way she also reminds me a little of Tamburlaine.

I find myself not really caring that she has her husband killed so much as I find it interesting she believes that love transcends social class and that she is willingly to actively take steps to determine her love life, instead of letting it be passively dictated. The first point is interesting, as Arden condemns Mosby because he aspires to rise higher than he was born, but does so in a way reminiscent of how racial and religious other are lumped, insulting and degrading him in a way that reminds me of how Barbaras and Shylock are treated in the first acts of Jew of Malta and Merchant of Venice, respectively. Interestingly, while this play seems to intially be about an affair and lust and love, Arden and Mosby's conflict revolves around class - that's why Arden hates Mosby, moreso than because of the affair, and in the end when Arden is killed Mosby seeks revenge on insult rather than to woo Alice.

I think it's a contradiction in that women were viewed as the "oversexed" gender in the Renaissance period and yet the view is also that women were relatively passive in relationships during this period. And again, maybe it's because I'm looking for it, but there seems to be a lot of sexual references that vary between clever and blunt, and they all made me laugh a little (my favorite being "Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn...").

As usual, I'll end with my favorite use of language in the play. When Mosby defends himself to Arden, he says "Measure me what I am, not what I was." But he was a tailor, and he uses the term "measure," a pun I don't think I got the first time around but I think is hilarious.

What kind of hero is Tamburlaine?

Tamburlaine himself is a very round and complex character. My immediate reactions were that he was a proto-Byronic hero. Tamburlaine is the hero of the play, is suave and well worded, but there seemed to be something fatally flawed in his character, sort of a Manfred, but bent on the destruction of others rather than himself. After the first few scenes Tamburlaine appears in, he seemed to resemble an Old English hero – strong, conquering, well-worded and invincible, without any true opposition, loss, or weakness. Ultimately, though, I’ve decided Tamburlaine is an Antichrist figure. Tamburlaine resembles both the invincible Old English hero and the tragically, secretly flawed Byronic hero. Despite the fact that Tamburlaine is continually constructed as hero, he is evil, power hungry. In 2.7, Tamburlaine explains his power-lust with great eloquence, “Still climbing after knowledge infinite, … Until we reach the ripest fruit of all.” He is a true Renaissance overreaching hero, and his ambitions seem to go against God’s design – but he’s so damn persuasive that he seduces Zenocrate, his enemies, and even the Renaissance audience by using “white,” pure, frozen imagery to describe the beautiful (ex. Zenocrate), and thusly appealing to Marlowe’s audience. Tamburlaine calls himself the “scourge of God,” and lives a life that parallels but opposes that of Christ. They are both born of rural parents, Christ a carpenter and Tamburlaine a shepherd. I think the most compelling evidence for Tamburlaine as Antichrist involves his followers: Christ drew in disciples with promises of persecution, explaining that they would have to give up their worldly possessions; Tamburlaine, on the other hand, promises crowns, riches, and glory to those that would follow him. Even Zenocrate opposes Mary Magdalene, the former a princess Tamburlaine defiles, the latter a whore Christ figuratively turned into a princess. Tamburlaine even mimics the most contemporary example of an Antichrist. Hitler used the power of words to compel his followers and induce an entire nation into an anti-Semitic fervor, backing up strong words with a strong military presence – but his greatest power lied unmistakably in his charismatic ability to orate. Nevertheless, this all makes Tamburlaine an incredibly round, dynamic character that charms even a modern audience on at least some level.

Tamburlaine

Marlowe’s treatment – and, I suppose, Renaissance views – of race are curious. While the Jew is demonized, the Muslim is revered. I think the connections betweens Jews and money and between Muslims and military force are largely responsible here. The fear of Jews manifests itself in lore of poisoned wells and kidnapped children, whereas the Islamic nations posed a significant and real threat. And, along those lines, the Jewish threat was perceived as very real, but didn’t really exist, while the Islamic threat seemed to be less realized but in actuality was very great. These fears even seemed to be echoed today, with a strong perception of an Islamic military (or terrorist) threat and the sort of conspiracy theory idea that the U.S. government and the nation of Israel have a political, and more influential financial relationship.

My favorite lines come not from Tamburlaine, but from Techelles in 1.2.52-54: "As princely lions when the rouse themselves, / Stretching their paws, and threat'ning herds of beasts, / So in his armor looketh Tamburlaine."

Marlowe's use of language

Tamburlaine so far reinforces Marlowe's wonderful command of the English language. Even though he wrote in the Early Modern period and the use of language in that period is different, often times radically so, than our current style, his clever word choice and subtle character development through spoken words leaves me chuckling to myself or otherwise impressed with Marlowe's writing. I like how Marlowe develops Tamburlaine as an opposite to Mycetes and Cosroe, and the witty (on Marlowe's behalf) banter between the brothers, who are both very full of themselves and, for the most part, completely stupid. Tamburlaine's posturing by laying out his gold and how he so swiftly talks his opponents into supporting him are all beautiful examples of both Marlowe's command of the language in form and in content.

a renaissance... mostly

The past few weeks I've been doing a good bit of research on Africans and race in Early Modern England. As this is the Renaissance, I associate it with an explosion of culture, art, music, literature, trade, and general expansion. It seems so contrary, then, that race seems to be lumped into the single definition "moor," where if it isn't English White Christian normal, it is "other," and all "other" is lumped together as if it is all the same. Given the emphasis on diversity of, say, art forms, or as a result of trade, I would expect there to be more focus on different cultures and races - even if the Early Modern English didn't appreciate the diversity, I'd at least expect them to acknowledge its existence, even to generate different sets of stereotypes for different elasticities, rather than combining African, Muslim, Turk, Indian, and all other forms of other. I think this came about largely due to pure ignorance - most in Early Modern England had no exposure to racial other, and in fact there's evidence that Africans weren't even in England, at least with any significant presence, until 1660, well after the start of the Early Modern period. Nevertheless, there is exposure enough to generate stereotypes about the "moor," especially as sexually licentious, and therefore evil (unless, of course, cause and effect are reversed, and they are evil, and therefore sexually licentious).

random observations from Jew of Malta

Barabus is kind of like the serial killer in the Saw movies: he doesn't necessarily commit the crimes (at first), but only constructs situations where death is impossible to avoid under the guise of a game. When Barabus "springs up" from the dead at the end of the play, it is similar to the first Saw movie where the serial killer, posing as a dead man on the floor throughout the movie, comes back to life, having orchestrated a twisted game.

If I were the director for a postmodern acting troupe, Playmakers or something similar, I think I'd stage this play in a very nihilistic tone. I'd play up all the comic elements and all the absurdity, but paint it all within a very grime world with the imminent threat of destruction: In 3.5 Ferneze is discussing with the Callapine a possible pending war, ending by saying "And naught is to be looked for now but wars, / And naught to us more welcome is than wars." Earlier, in 1.2.105, Barabus says "of naught is nothing made." Despite all the absurdity over religion, money, race, Other, hypocrisy, etc. the characters of this play have constructed a world where there is a true outside threat, but concern of money and social status are more important to its characters, and they are all ultimately destroyed.

I found it really interested how Ithamore develops as Barabus's "imp." As the play progresses, Ithamore picks up more of Barabus's manerisms, language, etc. Barabus is constantly using pig and hog imagery in terms of disgust, a habit that Ithamore develops by the end of the play. While they seem to connect in their first shared scene, Ithamore's claims of debauchery all mirror Barabus's - indeed, it would appear Ithamore engineers a background that would appeal to Barabus. The best evidence of this involves Ithamore's word choice based on his audience - when alone, he speaks in elongated blank verse, when around Bellamira and Pilia-Borza he speaks as they do, and is always sycophantic towards Barabus; he mocks Pilia-Borza by reversing his own words against him, much like Barabus does by inverting scripture when insulting Christians.

Marlowe's language is really brilliant. When he satirizes his own poem ("be my love..."), he is at the height of black comedy, where truly nothing is off limits. When appealing to the two holy men, Barabus's language mimics that of the Psalms, which would surly have moved the men's hearts. Barabus's bad imitation of a bad French attempt at English shows a great understanding of language, and even small word choices, like when Barabus exclaims "Corpe di dio!" show deep levels of meaning - how insulting it would have been for a Jew, and especially a Jew named Barabus, the name of the man exchanged for Christ, to cry out "the corpse of [and note he uses a lower case 'd' in 'dio'] god!"

Jewish Persecution

Why is it that, throughout most of modern history, the Jew has been object of criticism, of persecution, and of hate? Both The Merchant of Venice and The Jew of Malta give satirical examples of the Renaissance view of Jews - but in this satire seems to be a hint of truth. Blamed for the death of Christ, it seems Jews have been more hated in the last two thousand years than any other socio/religious/ethnic group. The Holocaust and the current situation between Israel and Pakistan (and the history leading up to said conflict) are very obvious examples of the persecution of Jews, but the stereotype of Jew as money hungry, greedy, etc. have existed at least since the Renaissance, if not before, as is evident from our class texts. Even today most people can think of a handful of jokes about Jews, and these are still associations between Jews and money, especially jobs involving money, as is displayed by our current pop culture: shows like The Simpsons and Family Guy poke jokes, Jerry Seinfeld has based a large part of his comedic success, etc. While these representations aren't necessarily malicious, they do hearken back to a time when such accusations were meant to do harm. Why are Jews such a popular target?

Demonizing the Jew

I found it interesting how Marlowe decides to demonize Barabus - quite literally even. Barabus often references the fact that he is "framed of finer mould than common men...For evils are apt to happen every day." At the start of the play, Machevill says that Barabus' "money was not got without my means." Their tie is more closely exposed a few lines later: "And let him not be entertained the worse / Because he favours me." Given the Machiavellian stereotype - willing to do anything to succeed, even the ruthless and immoral - one could argue the evilness of the Machevill in this play. In fact, one might view Machevill as the devil, and Barabus as having sold his soul - he does in fact have much more wealth than anyone else, enough even to buy the entire island of Malta, but doesn't wish to do anything with it but hoard it. And if Barabus is a minor demon of the satan Machevill, I guess that makes Ithamore a sort of imp, willing to do his master's bidding, his dirty work, if you will (like poisoning a nunnery...). In fact, I think Marlowe uses the dialouge between Barabus and the other jews to set Barabus apart from jews in general as a particularly evil figure; he is evil for evil's sake, not because he is jewish, as is supported by the stark contrast between Barabus and the other jews in the play.