Before clinical depression was first diagnosed, a person afflicted with the condition was referred to as melancholy. It was believed that our physical and emotional states were determined by the distribution of the four humours, or bodily fluids, each of which had a different effect if it fell out of balance. If you had an excess of black bile, for example, you were melancholic, and would seem moody and sad. Today, we understand this to be depression, but in Shakespeare’s time, the humours were the best science of the day, and the affliction was called melancholy.

Melancholy can be found throughout Shakespeare. Don John begins Much Ado About Nothing in a sadness. Hamlet is definitely depressed, and is often given the nickname The Melancholy Dane. You might argue that they both have reason to be. But Antonio’s first line of The Merchant of Venice, in fact the first line of the play, “In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,” leaves little doubt that Shakespeare was familiar with the concept of clinical depression by another name.

After Hamlet, perhaps the most famous melancholic in Shakespeare is Jaques from As You Like It. He is referred to in the play as “the melancholy Jaques” and even seems to take some pleasure in the description himself. From this, we might gather that he is depressed as well. But I would actually argue that he’s bipolar.

Bipolar disorder (which also used to be misdiagnosed as melancholy) is characterized by extreme mood swings between depression and bursts of manic energy. People with bipolar disorder used to be called manic depressive. And even though it wasn’t known about in Shakespeare’s time, Shakespeare must have been aware of different ways that “melancholy” affected certain people, and wrote Jaques as bipolar. How else can we explain the outburst by “the melancholy Jaques” in the beginning of Act 2, Scene 7:

A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun,
And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
“Good morrow, fool,” quoth I. “No, sir,” quoth he,
“Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.”
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, “It is ten o’clock;
Thus may we see,” quoth he, “how the world wags:
“Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more ’twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

Does that sound depressed to you? Does it sound neutral? Or does it sound manic? In addition to the numerous exclamation points, the exaggerated repetition (used as an emphatic) and run-on sentences (notice how many lines begin with “And”) seem to indicate manic speech patterns. Hamlet doesn’t have any speeches like that, or if he does, they are soliloquies, and can be more closely equated to the thoughts racing through his own mind than to his behavior in public.

Depression is marked by listlessness and inaction. Hamlet is almost defined by his inaction. He is withdrawn and other characters must come to him. But throughout As You Like It, Jaques actively seeks out relationships and interactions with the other characters, first with Amiens and the other lords, then with Touchstone (off-stage), then with the Duke Senior and his assembly, then with Orlando (!), then with Touchstone again, then with Ganymede/Rosalind (!!), and finally with Duke Frederick (!!!). He may be bitter and dismissive, but he can hardly be called aloof or withdrawn. When we first hear of Jaques, he is being mocked by his friends for his melancholy, but their story is of an extremely compassionate and sensitive soul who weeps for a wounded deer.

Jaques: Melancholic, Misunderstood, Bipolar.

Oh yeah, and Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s Dream clearly has adult ADHD with delusions of grandeur. A topic, perhaps, for another time.

The Bard-a-thon rages on. Last night, I joined them by phone for their readings of As You Like It and The Merry Wives of Windsor. Right now, we’re doing Richard III. I’m having a grand time.

The Bard-a-thon runs their readings a little differently than I run mine. They assign roles as they go, scene-by-scene. They don’t necessarily keep the same reader on the same character from scene to scene.

I divide up all of the characters into parts before the reading, and then those parts are chosen randomly by the readers. The readers can trade parts before the reading, but once the reading starts, the readers read the same characters for the length of the play.

Of course, my readings are planned in advance and people come expressively to read a particular play. It sounds like the Bard-a-thon is an open house, with people coming in and out, and even people like me calling in. I guess it makes more sense for them to do it the way they are, since it keeps them flexible.

Anyway, I love what they’re doing and I love them for doing it. Maybe this will start a national trend. There are 50 states, and 52 weeks in the year. You do the math.

I woke up this morning and put on the Internet feed from the Bard-a-Thon in Alaska. They were doing Macbeth so I called in. They let me read the first murderer in the death of Banquo scene, and Macbeth in the banquet scene!

Again, you can find their schedule and phone number here. Keep in mind that Alaska Standard Time is 4 hours behind New York City.

That was really fun. I’m giving a workshop today, but when I get home they should just be starting As You Like It.

Excellent.

Now, the gloves come off.

I’ve blogged about gay muppets, the Iraq War, and the sexual proclivities of a certain 13th century Mongolian conqueror who shall remain nameless, but now I’m ready to tackle some real controversy. Read on, but please use discretion.

I have a group that meets once a month to do readings of Shakespeare’s plays. This past weekend, we read The Winter’s Tale.

Now, I’ve never been a big fan of The Winter’s Tale. But a lot of serious Shakespeare fans list it among their favorites, which leads me to believe there’s more there than I’m seeing, and perhaps I will like it more when I’ve given it more attention. I don’t know. Events seem to happen haphazardly and without cause. The characters give me no reason to want to wish them well. And I feel kind of cheated that the reunion of the king with his daughter is presented second-hand in an exposition scene, rather than the brilliant dialogue Shakespeare could have chosen to write.

The play is usually classified as a “Romance” which is a lesser-known Shakespearean genre (compared to Comedy, Tragedy, and History) that Shakespeare experimented with late in his career. It is believed that he started with Pericles and Cymbeline (not usually considered among his best works), gradually improved the form in The Winter’s Tale, and finally created The Tempest, which is usually considered to be the finest of his works in the genre. Romances (as they are found in Shakespeare) are generally characterized by fairy tale elements such as long-lost relatives; gods, spirits, and other supernatural elements; and exploring a relationship with nature. Intrestingly enough, the Comedy As You Like It, written much earlier, contains all of these elements, but is never classified as a Romance (though it is sometimes classified, by itself, as a Pastoral). But the Romances Cymbeline and The Winter’s Tale in particular are very closely connected by their treatment of these elements.

Which leads me to my point. I think that Cymbeline is a much better play than The Winter’s Tale, but doesn’t get nearly the respect. Cymbeline has a beautiful fairy-tale quality, better poetic language, more human characters, a logical (albeit far-fetched) structured motivated plot, a clear moral code of values, and a satisfying ending. Imogen is one of the great female roles in Shakespeare, and — I know this is heresy — Hermione is not.

Oh, yeah. I went there.

Most memorable moment of Cymbeline? The funeral dirge:

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Most memorable moment of The Winter’s Tale? A stage direction:

Exit, pursued by a bear.

Look, I don’t hate The Winter’s Tale. I just don’t understand why it holds a special place in the hearts of so many, when Cymbeline doesn’t. The plays are closely connected, so I think it’s fair to compare the two. I wouldn’t try to compare, say, Othello with A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but I can say this:

Cymbeline is a much better play than The Winter’s Tale.

Does anybody have a problem with that?

All visitors to the blog who are familiar with both plays are welcome to debate the issue in the comments section of this post. If a lively discussion ensues (and how could it possibly not?), I will jump in and defend my position.