“I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.” — Love’s Labor’s Lost, Act I, Scene 1, Lines 285-286.
Cheeky, right?
There’s a lot of cheek and wit and verbal sparring in Love’s Labor’s1 Lost. Perhaps that’s the labor? This play was written in 1594 or 1595, making it one of Shakespeare’s early plays. It also, possibly, had a twin.2 There are references to a “Love’s Labor’s Won” in the historical record. Some people suggest this is an alternate title for a play of which we know (Taming of the Shrew, Much Ado About Nothing, and As You Like It are highest on the list), and some suggest it is lost to history. Many of Shakespeare’s plays only survived the ravages of time because of the publication of the First Folio, which collected 36 plays. Perhaps the publishers couldn’t get the rights. Perhaps the copies were lost in the fire at the Globe. Or perhaps, it was a cursed play that brought forth Carrionites from an alternate dimension. Ok, that last one is an episode of the Doctor Who and is less likely.
As for this play, it’s a pretty standard (for Shakespeare) Shakespearean RomCom like the others we normally see in summer Shakespeare plays. But, before diving into it, I must warn you, occasionally, Shakespeare’s works can be a bit … esoteric. He uses words to craft beautiful pictures and evolves words to more completely describe his concepts. A good wit is like a chev’ril glove after all. And these things age well, even if (or especially because) they take additional contemplation to show the fullness of their meaning.
Puns, however, take footnotes. Now, I love a footnote.3 They’re a fun way for an aside or additional information that only the dedicated care to know. But even I grow tired of excessive footnotes required to explain the politics of Elizabethan England and how the clown’s pun is referring to … yada yada yada. Upside, these puns and current references often help scholars date the plays. Downside, the enumerable footnotes often prevent students from seeing the magic of Shakespeare’s language. So, while I adore the love stories and dramatic irony of Love’s Labor’s Lost. I did not lose my labor in deciphering every pun from the clowns. If that’s the content you want, the Arden is a far superior resource.
With that in mind, to the play!
The Shake-Scene
The play begins with an old Shakespeare favorite – a sweeping declaration that the speaker will not fall in love. Sure thing, bud. If it isn’t working for Meg Ryan’s characters, it ain’t working for you. The King of Navarre, Ferdinand if you’re nasty, convinces his compatriots to swear to spend the next three years in constant study, to fast once a week, to sleep no more than 3 hours a night, and to abjure the company of Women (i.e. No Girls Allowed). This sounds a bit extreme, but we all have that one friend, right? The one that makes sweeping resolutions and corrals her friends into being accountability buddies. (FN: It’s me; I’m the friend… sorry/not sorry).
Lord Longaville proudly signs his name. Lord Dumaine follows without hesitation. And Berowne, who many consider to be the proto-Benedick, is honest. He’s all for studying, but all this other stuff? Really? He spends a number of lines verbally sparring with the King in hopes of lessening the restrictions, but ultimately, he relents and signs. However, through this exchange, Berowne reminds the King (i.e. tells the audience) that the Princess of France is coming (Cue childish OoooOOOoooohs).
We are also introduced to Armado (in abstentia) and Costard (the clown). Costard has already broken the proclamation that no man may speak to a woman in those three year’s time. He was found with Jaquenetta and is sentenced to a week of fasting with bread and water. Clearly the King is very serious about this vow and would never break it. Right?
We then have an interlude with Armado where we learn that, though he has tattled on Costard, he himself is also in love with Jaquenetta. He also does a lot of punning with “Boy” which even I find tedious…
But back to the plot! The Princess of France and her three attending ladies (Rosaline, Maria, and Katherine) arrive. They chat about the King and his Lord’s and clearly are already each smitten with a different member of the court. Ah Shakespearean comedy, so predictable… right? Well, a wrench is thrown into things when the King of Navarre insists the ladies camp in the field outside his gates rather than in the castle. He has his proclamation to consider, after all. Rosaline and Berowne trade barbs (stealing the show). The lords then approach the ladies’ escort one by one to seek the name of each lady his fancies. The cheese is in the trap.
Aaaannnddd back to Armado and Boy trading puns… FFW. Armado pardons Costard on the condition that he will bring Jaquenetta a letter on his behalf. Costard agrees. On the way, Costard runs into Berowne who demands he deliver a letter to Rosaline. Costard leaves and the predictable event occurs.
Costard brings Armado’s letter to Rosaline and Berowne’s letter to Jaquenetta. Thankfully the letters are addressed and signed, so there’s no mixing up of affections, only mocking of the men who sent the letters.
And now, a constable, a clergyman, and a teacher walk into a bar… (checks notes) Maybe not a bar. Notably, the teacher is referred to as a “pedant” which meant schoolmaster but around this time also referred to a “dogmatic and narrow-minded teacher.” Perhaps Shakespeare had some unresolved trauma around his schooling? (irony, right?) Jaquenetta comes to them to ask them to read the letter she has been brought. They read the love letter Berowne has writ for Rosaline and send Jaquenetta to bring it to the King. Uh oh.
We find Berowne pacing the halls of court. He reads aloud as he writes a letter to Rosaline until the King arrives. Berowne ducks behind a post to listen as the King recites the love letter he is writing for the Princess. But the King soon ducks behind a post to listen as Longaville enters reciting the sonnet he is composing for Maria. Until, unsurprisingly, he ducks behind a post to listen as Dumaine enters reciting the sonnet he has written for Kate. Longaville jumps out to accuse Dumaine of breaking his oath. The King jumps out to accuse Longaville of breaking his oath. And Berowne jumps out to accuse the King of breaking his oath. And so, Berowne has the moral high ground… until Jaquenetta arrives to show off the letter Berowne has written to Rosaline. The men are all exposed as oath-breaking lovers. This really is the best part of the play IMO. In a turn that rivals Henry V’s speech before the Battle of Agincourt, the King commands his lords to follow him to the fields where the ladies are encamped (much like a foreign force laying siege on the castle would be) where they will assail them with wooing. It’s real cute.
Out in the field (campground?) the Princess and her Ladies have all received letters from the King and Lords along with presents. The Princess is given diamonds and poems from the King but is torn. Her sister died of melancholy because the King rejected her. We see snippets of the Princess’s grief4 and Rosaline (probs my fave, btw) cheers her up with punning and wit (everyone needs a bestie like that). Rosaline has also been given a gift and poetry by Berowne (who also sketched her like one of his French models). Katherine was given gloves and poetry by Dumaine, and Maria is given pearls and poetry by Longaville.
Boyet, the Princess’s escort, comes to tell them that he has overheard the King and his Lords planning to come visit the Princess and her ladies dressed as Russians where they will dance in disguise until they determine which is their lady (from the gifts they sent) and then declare their love. The Princess, hearing this, decides she and her ladies will all wear masks and swap gifts so the men court the wrong ladies. The Princess explains, they’ll do this so that they can mock the mocking men in their jests. To the fans of the show Friends, it kind of gives Phoebe-wooing-Chandler-so-he-and-Monica-will-confess-their-affair vibes.
The Men enter and the jest begins. The men attempt to woo and the women verbally spar. To anyone who may need some help in the flirting arts, I direct you to Act 5, scene 2. Also, as an earlier play, there are mentions of themes that arise in the sonnets or later plays (i.e. comparing a lady to the moon but noting that the moon is changeable). The men are all rebuffed and leave in shame and confusion. The women take glee in this.
The women then, knowing that the men will return as themselves (rather than disguised as Russian dancers), decide to tell the men about the ridiculous dancers who have left in order to tease them. The men come and the King invites them back to the palace, but the Princess declines, citing the King’s earlier vow of not allowing women into the palace (“This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow. Nor God nor I delights in perjured men.”). The ladies then talk scornfully about the “Russians”, causing more shame and uncertainty in the prideful men until finally the women admit they knew the men were the Russian dancers. The men are soundly mocked. And then the ladies reveal each man has sworn his love for the wrong woman, and again must break his vows if he wants to wed the woman he truly loves.
Enter the players! In proto-Midsummer-Night’s-Dream fashion, a play is brought to be put on for the members of the court. As with the aforementioned Midsummer and Hamlet, the protagonists of Love’s Labor interrupt and tease the players as they attempt to perform. As Armado attempts to play Hector, Costard (the clown) enters and tells him that Jaquenetta is two-months pregnant with his child! Armado challenges Costard to a duel, and the lords and ladies cheer the sport (much like the crowds on Maury Povich).
But the merriment turns dark.
A messenger arrives and tells the Princess that her father has died. The Princess tells her man to get things ready to leave that night and return home. The King doesn’t want her to leave. She thanks him for his hospitality but insists her heart is too heavy to stay. The Princess tells the men that the ladies considered their wooing to be in jest. The King and his Lords insist that their suit of love was sincere. But the Princess says it is too late. She must go mourn her father for the year, but, if the King still loves her at the end of that year, she will wed him. The ladies make similar promises to the Lords.
And, even in this early play, we see Shakespeare winking at form and convention. Comedies end in marriage. That’s what makes a comedy. The Berowne even jokes that “Our wooing doth not end like an old play. Jack hath not Jill. These ladies’ courtesy might well have made our sport a comedy.” An Elizabethan audience would’ve expected a quadruple (or quintuple marriage), instead, the resolution is forestalled a year for grief.
And, perhaps, they all did live happily ever after in a sequel play. Or, perhaps, this play left it’s audience unmoored, wondering whether it was a comedy or tragedy after all.
Speak the Speech, I Pray You
Bring Shakespeare’s words into your own life by:
Explaining your feelings on speed limits to a police officer;
Flouting the “no outside food” rule at your local movie theater;
And . . . a sketch to be drafted later. Alas, I must pull a Shakespeare and keep you waiting on this week’s sketch because I am studying Shakespeare in the cool and beautiful Berkshires. Instead, here’s a photo of a double rainbow:
Additional Resources
Find a copy of the entire play here.
Watch the Branagh film.
Read what the Royal Shakespeare Company has to say about the play here.
I’m Americanizing the spelling to avoid the squiggles. Deal with it.
Shakespeare also had twin children — Hamnet and Judith. Possibly more on that another day.
See.
This undercurrent of grief is one of the nuggets Shakespeare slides into text that can completely change the context of the play. Does the Princess spar with the King because of undeniable sexual tension, or, is she punishing him for breaking her sister’s heart? This information can transform the play from superficial RomCom to a love story between complex people.