Navigation – Plan du site

Veiling an Indian Beauty: Shakespeare and the hijab (2/2)

Richard Wilson

Texte intégral

1[Beginning of the article: click here]

  • 1  Andrew Gurr, ‘Measure for Measure’s Hoods and Masks: The Duke, Isabella, and Liberty,’ English Lit (...)
  • 2  Jutta Gisela Sperling, Convents and the Body Politic in late Renaissance Venice (Chicago: Chicago (...)
  • 3  John Bowen, Why the French Don’t Like Headscarves: Islam, the State, and Public Sphere (Princeton: (...)

2In All’s Well Paroles’ loosened scarf seems to flag his philosophy that ‘There’s place and means for every man alive’ (iv.iv.316). Likewise, in Measure for Measure, Andrew Gurr writes, the old tag that ‘Cucullus non facit monachum’ — the cowl does not make the monk — and that in adopting Franciscan habit the Duke is ‘honest in nothing but his clothes,’ ironises Angelo’s criticism of ‘these black masks’ that ‘Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder / Than beauty could be displayed’: the visors worn by Isabella and Mariana at the close when Lucio ‘pulls off the friar’s hood and discovers the Duke’ (ii.iv.79-80; v.i.259; SD, 347). Angelo reads such a visor as an incitement, like the mask Cressida carries, she smirks, ‘to defend my beauty’ (Troilus, i.ii.242), or the ‘virtuous visor’ the mother of Richard iii fears hides ‘deep vice’ (Richard iii, ii.ii.28). But according to Gurr the separation of public and private spheres in this comedy depends on the very ambiguity when masked women are, as Posthumous rails, either ‘for preservation cased, or shame’ (Cymbeline, v.v.21). Here the Duke rejects Lucio’s excuse that he spoke, like Williams, ‘according to the trick’ when he defamed him in private. But a play that spares its heroine the religious veil and the convent ‘Isabella Rule’ that ‘if you speak, you must not show your face; / Or if you show your face you must not speak,’ still ends having her wait behind a visor until the Duke offers her a ‘destined livery’ as his bride (i.iv.12; ii.iv.138; v.i.498). Thus half-masks in Measure for Measure solve ‘the problem of finding a middle way between freedom and the law,’ Gurr concludes, by shielding Isabella from male chicanery: ‘Disguise becomes a means to everyone’s uncasing,’ as ‘For the whole finale (we see) her dressed in a gentlewoman’s face mask, with all the freedom it offered.’ Hoods, masks, scarves and veils have received too little attention in Shakespeare studies, Gurr remarks.1 Yet whether or not the dramatist was familiar with the Poor Clares, or had a great-aunt Isabel who became a prioress, his comedy does seem to acknowledge the Greco-Roman, Byzantine, Hindu, and Islamic, as well as Catholic tradition that respects the veil as a sign of privilege and power. Measure for Measure dates from a time when nuns like Mary Ward were adjusting the veil to varying degrees of seclusion; as others, like the Venetian nuns whose transparent lace ‘attracted rather than deflected the male gaze,’ were testing ‘how permeable convent walls, grilles, and doors could become.’2 So in this drama the visor seems, like the modern hijab, a means ‘to negotiate a sphere of social freedom.’3 For once Isabella is fitted out in one of the fashionable silk half-masks of the 1600s her enigmatic silence at the close is keyed to the epoch-marking phenomenon the play explores, the aversion to being studied by ‘millions of false eyes’ (iv.i.59) in the new metropolis where even the king now claimed ‘safe discretion’ for his own private desires and ‘secretest drifts’:

I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes.
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and aves vehement;
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it. (Measure, i.i.67-72)

  • 4  Polydore Vergil, Beginnings and Discoveries: Polydore Vergil’s ‘De inventoribus rerum’, trans. Ben (...)
  • 5  Proclamation of 1418, London: Guildhall Letter Book I, folio 223r, quoted in Twycross, op. cit. (n (...)
  • 6  Roland Barthes, ‘The Face of Garbo,’ in Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (London: Vintage, 1993) (...)
  • 7  Jean-Luc Nancy, ‘The Masked Imagination,’ in The Ground of the Image, trans. Jeff Fort (New York: (...)
  • 8  ‘Visor effect’: Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, an (...)

3‘Among all parts of the world, only England has not seen masked beasts,’ reported Polydore Vergil in the 1490s, ‘nor does it want to, because among the English… there is capital punishment for anyone who wears masks.’4 As an Italian migrant Vergil had reasons for exaggerating a London by-law against ‘any feined beards, painted visors, disformed or coloured visages, in any wise.’5 But the Tudor resistance to street masking, culminating in a 1511 Act outlawing any who ‘disguised and apparelled’ themselves, or ‘covered their faces with Visors in such manner that they should not be known,’ makes it even more striking that Shakespeare’s stage revolves around the kind of ‘mask’d and vizarded’ imbroglio that brings The Merry Wives of Windsor to the boil, with ‘vizors’ for the children and a silk veil for the Queen of the Fairies (iv.vi.40). This is a theatre where, as Arden’s ‘hoodies’ show, when they dress like Robin Hood and ‘with a kind of umber smirch’ their faces, those who ‘outface it with their semblances’ go ‘To liberty, and not to banishment’ (As You, i.iii.106-32). Equally noticeable, however, is that with the exception of Snug’s Athenian lion-mask, from the lady’s vizard in which Flute plays Thisbe (Dream, i.ii.41) to the highwaymen’s visors on visors that ‘inmask’ Hal and Poins (1Henry iv, i.ii.159), and the cagoules that ‘mask’ Caesar’s assassins (Julius, ii.i.73-81), what intrigues Shakespeare is not the ‘absolute mask’ of antiquity – the persona whose ‘face is vizard-like, unchanging’ (3Henry vi, i.iv.117) – but the tantalizing half-mask which, as Barthes writes, always teases us with ‘the theme of the secret’: as if in this game the mask is always inviting Falstaff’s response: ‘By the lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye’ (1Henry iv, ii.v.246).6 As Jean-Luc Nancy comments, it is the very function of such a mask to draw attention to itself, since its paradox is a ‘self-showing that withdraws. Monstration occurs in concealment, and from out of that concealment or disappearance.’7 Thus for Heyl, the dialectical function of the vizard, as both repellent and invitation, is allied to the ‘virtual disguise’ of the literary pseudonym, as the kind of blind eye which was turned towards its open secret is essential to the ‘strip-tease’ of modern authorial anonymity. It may not therefore be chance that in the literary text which, from the instant the Ghost materialises with its ‘beaver up’ (Hamlet, i.iii.228), demonstrates more than any other the ‘visor effect,’ as Derrida terms it, by which ‘we do not see who looks at us,’ the occulted sense of secrecy is associated throughout with what Heyl maintains was a perception unique to early modern London, the revolutionary recognition that ‘dress and outward appearance were no longer an infallible guide to status’:8

’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black…
That can denote me truly…
I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe (Hamlet, i.ii.78-86)

  • 9  Ibid.
  • 10  Richard Wilson, Secret Shakespeare: studies in theatre, religion, and resistance (Manchester: Manc (...)
  • 11  Stephen Orgel, The Jonsonian Masque (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967), p. 87-8.
  • 12  For beards as signifiers of masculinity, see Will Fraser, ‘The Renaissance Beard: Masculinity in E (...)
  • 13  Stephen Orgel, op. cit. (note 13), p. 77.
  • 14  Meer Hassan Ali, Observations on the Mussulmauns of India Descriptive of their Manners, Customs, H (...)

4Hamlet’s ‘antic disposition’ (i.v.72) might be seen as a supreme instance of the inky textual cloak as functional equivalent of the Jacobean black mask: a ruse that only ‘pretends to disguise,’ and ‘instead of making one inconspicuous, makes onlookers more inquisitive.’9 And in Secret Shakespeare I suggested such a ‘masked imagination’ relies on the same closet subjectivity as paintings by Caravaggio, where as Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit observe, the invitation to interpret is its own concealment, for secrecy is here performed by a body ‘at once presenting and withdrawing’ its coy availability. Thus in Caravaggio’s depictions of boys the homoerotic pose promotes unreadability into a ‘wilful reticence, as if we were being solicited by a desire determined to remain hidden.’10 Putting secrecy on display, Caravaggio creates an inscrutability like that of the face-mask, signalling ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’. It may not, then, be chance that Shakespeare’s Carnival comedy opens trailing Antonio’s tease, ‘I know not why I am so sad,’ a mystification critics decode, as they do the pictures, as nudging towards a love that dare not speak its name. For unlike masques, which unveil in the discovery scene that, as Orgel notes, is their most fragile point, by displacing illicit desires onto strangers, in this play the failure to scapegoat Shylock means those ‘fools with varnished faces’ can never unmask.11 So, while Bassanio thinks ‘golden locks, / Which makes such wanton gambols with the wind,’ wigs as false as prosthetic beards on boys, he calls his own gamble a quest for ‘golden fleece,’ and to marry gold fakes a ‘beard of Hercules’ himself (i.ii.170; iii.ii.83-94). Here masculinity is fashioned, we see, like the ‘livery’ Lancelot exchanges for deserting the Jew, in distinction to the ‘little scrubbed boy’ who ‘will ne’er wear hair on’s face’ (ii.ii.139; v.i.157-61).12 While a happy ending to this game of open secrets also depends, as Orgel observes, on the ‘startling pederastic fantasy’ of girls ‘turn(ing) (in)to men’ (iii.v.79), since these females are in reality boys ‘The seeming truth’ therefore disguises an even deeper untruth: that in these ‘cunning times’ of ‘masked balls’ there will be mask on mask and veil upon veil.13 For the last ‘Indian beauty’ to be the object of such passionate desire in both men and women, we remember, was indeed Oberon’s mysterious but ‘lovely… Indian boy’ (Dream, ii.i.22; iii.ii.375). In this story Bassanio pretends to prefer Portia’s ‘golden mesh’ to a ‘beauteous scarf.’ Yet in a reversal of her own entry test his bride will cross-dress and name herself after Balthazar, the black Magus who brings myrrh from the East. So perhaps Shakespeare heard how early modern European travellers to the subcontinent were surprised when the beguiling figure at a Muslim wedding who emerged wearing a golden veil, and with a silk handkerchief covering the mouth, turned out to be the groom.14

  • 15  Patricia Parker, ‘What’s in a Name: More,’ Sederi XI: Revista de la Sociedad Española de Estudios (...)
  • 16  Dympna Callaghan, ‘Looking well to linens: women and cultural production in Othello and Shakespear (...)
  • 17  For Thisbe’s veil as a feature of a Babylonian love story and so the prototype of the hijab, see S (...)
  • 18  John Tolland, The Agreement of the Customs of the East Indians With Those of the Jews and other An (...)

5‘Mislike me not for my complexion, / The shadowed livery of the burnished sun’ (ii.i.1-2): as the only actual Muslim in The Merchant of Venice Morocco’s plea that his skin is yet another mask gains a further coating of pathos if, as Patricia Parker infers, a ‘Moorish’ or ‘Indian’ complexion is ‘shadowed livery’ in Shakespeare for the ‘tribe’ of the martyred fool Thomas More: a rumour heard when he finds a momento mori preserved as if in myrrh inside the golden box.15 ‘The black man,’ as More was called, claimed descent from the negro Doge Moro on whom Shakespeare based Othello, so mounted an impaled blackamoor on his crest. Morocco’s death’s-head looks, then, to clinch a network of crypto-Catholic murmurs running, by way of Latin puns on ‘That black word death’ (Romeo, iii.iii.27), from the mural concealing Thisbe to the sycamour Desdemona laments. What knits them all, Parker proposes, is Ovidian moralizing on the moro: the indelible mulberry darkened by the blood of Pyramus on which the silkworm feeds. Critics have long seen the silk handkerchief in Othello as ‘more than just a symbol of marriage,’ like ‘wedding sheets’ by ‘lust’s blood spotted,’ for a play obsessed by ‘lawn, gowns, petticoats… caps,’ in which the heroine dies because her husband cannot trust the innocence of ‘her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing’ (iv.i.105; iv.ii.10; iv.iii.72; v.i.44).16 But now we are assured the reasons why ‘There’s magic in the web of it’ is that ‘The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk’ after feasting on the ‘More tree’; that it has been ‘dyed in mummy which the skilful / Conserved of maidens’ hearts’ like those of the Tudor martyrs; and that it was preserved by a Romany (iii.iv.54-73), this morbid facecloth morphs into a relic beside veils like Veronica’s, as a maudlin signifier of mourning for a proscribed religion, and so joins Thisbe’s mantle – the original Indian veil, woven presumably by Bottom, the weaver named after a skein of silk – in a true sericulture of veiled effusions of shrouded grief.17 Being Venetians, these ‘Christian fools in varnished faces’ are, of course, themselves all of ‘the tribe of More,’ Morocco hints, when he begs them to acknowledge ‘This thing of darkness’ theirs (Tempest, 5,1,278). Shakespeare thus seems to predict the ‘qualified intolerance’ that allowed the English to ‘judge without prejudice’ the ‘Agreement of the Customs of the Indians with those of the Jews,’ in a nascent universalism that relativised Catholics under cover of a sense of ‘analogy, shared history, and sameness.’18 As this overdetermined veil of topicality unfolds modern readers might find such a ‘Moorish’ subtext rebarbative, just as Morocco assumes we ‘mislike’ a coloured skin. The violent charisma of the veil means that it always presents itself in the form of such a challenge. But as Derrida reflects, as he ponders the warp and woof of his frayed Jewish tallith in his essay ‘A Silkworm of One’s Own,’ however much a softer age might deplore it, we will never get to ‘the bottomless bottom’ of the history of violence which colours such ‘a twist of rotten silk’ (Coriolanus, v.vi.95):

  • 19  Derrida, op. cit. (note 15), p. 61, 84 & 90-1.

I would like to sing the very solitary softness of my tallith, softness softer than softness, entirely singular… calm, acquiescent, a stranger to anything maudlin, to effusion or to pathos, in a word to all “Passion.” And yet… before ever having worn a tallith or even dreamed of having my own, I cultivated… silkworms… In truth, they needed lots of mulberry, too much, always too much, these voracious little creatures… This philosophy of nature was for him, for the child I was but that I remain still, naiveté itself, doubtless, but also the time of infinite apprenticeship, the culture of the rag trade… (so) the word mulberry was never far from ripening and dying in him, the mulberry whose colour he warded off like everyone in the family, a whole history and war of religions.19

  • 20  Jones and Stallybrass, op. cit. (note 20), p. 32; ‘shared history’: Ballaster, op. cit. (note 2), (...)
  • 21  See Wilson, op. cit. (note 55), p. 96-7.
  • 22  Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 20), p. 119 & 126.
  • 23  ‘Worn world’: Stallybrass, op. cit. (note 22).

6‘If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. / You all do know this mantle’ (Julius, iii.ii.164): Jones and Stallybrass consider all items of early modern clothing to be materials of memory: a ‘second skin’ which ‘inscribed conflict’ and had violence written into it, like the napkin embroidered with ‘conceited characters’ which the forlorn maid wrings in ‘A Lover’s Complaint’: ‘Laund’ring the silken figures in the brine.’20 Thus, when Hero’s wedding-dress is compared to the infamous gown of ‘cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round underborne with a bluish tinsel,’ worn by Mary Tudor in her role as ‘Duchess of Milan’ for her wedding to Philip of Spain (Much Ado, iii.iv.14-19), the traces of sectarian violence could not be more dark.21 But Shakespeare’s texts string out a veritable washing-line of such mnemonic mantles, scarves, shawls, shrouds, veils, and vestments, all tear-soaked or matted ‘in harmless blood’ (3Henry vi, i.iv.80) – from the ‘dishclout’ Armado was ‘enjoined in Rome’ to wear ‘next to his heart’ (Love’s, v.ii.696), to the popishly ‘glistening apparel’ hung out by Ariel to trap morons mourning ‘Mistress Line’ herself, the martyr Anne Line (Tempest, SD. iv.i.194; 233) – in which, as Celia exclaims of Orlando’s bloodstained handkerchief, there is ever ‘more in it’ (As You, iv.iii.158). Shakespeare knows the martyr will always have devotees to ‘dip their napkins in his sacred blood’ (Julius, iii.ii.130). Yet in episodes such as Antony’s terroristic unveiling of Caesar’s shroud, with the revelation of the ‘place,’ ‘rent,’ and ‘unkindest cut’ where ‘the blood of Caesar followed,’ we are alerted to the category confusion of idolizing ‘the mantle muffling up his face’ as if it was ‘Caesar’s vesture’ that was ‘wounded’ (181-90): the ‘strong madness in a silken thread’ (Ado, v.i.25), for an age which has seen ‘napkins enough’ (Macbeth, ii.iii.6). So, though Bianca fails to ‘take out’ the ‘work’ a ‘sybil... In her prophetic fury sewed’ into the Egyptian veil (Othello, iii.iv.68-70; 174; iv.i.145), Greenblatt is surely right to say that Shakespeare’s plays are haunted by religious signifiers which have been ‘emptied out,’ if by that evacuation we mean that their ‘prophetic fury’ has been laundered in the pacifying solution of theatre itself.22 His characters do indeed inhabit ‘a worn world,’ clad in second-hand cast-offs of the war of religions, which have been fabricated in Italy, from silk shipped out of Africa, bought in India with American gold.23 But as the action of The Tempest suggests, his own work with veils and sails seems to be to wash out the blood and tears, so as to leave ‘On their sustaining garments not a blemish, / But fresher than before’ (i.ii.219-20):

our garments being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water […] as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. (The Tempest, ii.i.62-70)

  • 24  Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 20), p. 161-3.
  • 25  John Lane (1600) and ‘T.M.’ (c.1620), quoted in Andrew Gurr, Playgoing in Shakespeare’s London (Ca (...)
  • 26  ‘Very loathsome’: Dudley Carleton, cited in C.H. Herford, and Percy and Evelyn Simpson, Ben Jonson(...)
  • 27  Alain Badiou, The Century, trans. Alberto Toscano (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), p. 47.

7From Moslem, to Christian, to theatrical possession: ‘What is at stake in the shift from the old religion’ to theatre, asks Greenblatt, when ‘a bit of red cloth’ like Cardinal Wolsey’s silk berretta is recycled on a stage that both ‘mocks and celebrates’ its violent charisma?24 The answer, Bassanio’s ‘Indian veil’ suggests, is the separation of private and public spheres as a precondition of racial, religious, sexual, and artistic freedoms. ‘Unseen to see those she feign would know,’ the ‘masked lady in the pit’ at the playhouse was herself a contributor to this new coexistence, Gurr shows.25 And the ‘Moorish’ hieroglyphics of a text like the Masque of Blackness, acted by the Catholic Queen Anne in defiance of those who thought black faces a ‘loathsome sight,’ confirm how audiences would indeed penetrate Shakespeare’s moral about his dark materials as he wove a tissue of terror and toleration out of a mortal ‘thread of silk’ (Dream, v.i.341).26 In episodes like the veiling of the ‘Madonna’ Olivia, when the ‘dark lady’ covers up with her mantilla so ‘like a cloistress she will veiled walk,’ these dramas do seem to stress the morbid danger of an interiority apt ‘to take dust’ like ‘Mistress Mall’s’ (or Mary’s) picture, curtained in the recusant house (Twelfth, i.i.27; i.v.43-137). The poet’s own ‘masked imagination’ always hopes for some grand unveiling, like the discovery scenes that Prospero controls: ‘The fringed curtains of thine eye advance / And say what thou seest yon’ (Tempest, i.ii.412-13). But in our present stand-off, this secretive Shakespeare assures us, the question of the hijab ‘veiling an Indian beauty’ must remain one of trust – as Alain Badiou similarly reflects: ‘Brecht says that the end is with us when the figures of oppression no longer need masks,’ but ‘it is necessary to rethink the relation between violence and the mask… The theatrical mask is a symbol of a question erroneously designated in the century of the lie. The question is better formulated as follows: What is the relation between the passion for the real and the necessity of semblance?’27 Or as Derrida decides at the end of his essay on sails and veils, the secretion of the silkworm, this ‘slime from slugs,’ is the precious secret of the secret itself:

  • 28  Derrida, op. cit. (note 15), p. 89-90, ‘slime from slugs’: p. 91.

‘What I appropriated for myself… was the operation through which the worm itself secreted its secretion. It secreted it, the secretion… It secreted absolutely… this little silent finite life was doing nothing other… than this: preparing itself to hide itself, liking to hide itself, with a view to coming out and losing itself… wrapping itself in white night.28

Haut de page

Notes

1  Andrew Gurr, ‘Measure for Measure’s Hoods and Masks: The Duke, Isabella, and Liberty,’ English Literary Renaissance, 27 (1997), 89-105, here 91 and 102-3.

2  Jutta Gisela Sperling, Convents and the Body Politic in late Renaissance Venice (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1999), p. 141. For Mary Ward and the debate about the clausura, see Elizabeth Rapley, The Dévotes: Women and Church in Seventeenth-Century France (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1990), p. 28-9 and 54-6.

3  John Bowen, Why the French Don’t Like Headscarves: Islam, the State, and Public Sphere (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), p. 71.

4  Polydore Vergil, Beginnings and Discoveries: Polydore Vergil’s ‘De inventoribus rerum’, trans. Beno Weiss and Louis Përez (Nieukoop: De Graaf, 1997), p. 329.

5  Proclamation of 1418, London: Guildhall Letter Book I, folio 223r, quoted in Twycross, op. cit. (note 30), p. 331.

6  Roland Barthes, ‘The Face of Garbo,’ in Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (London: Vintage, 1993), p. 56.

7  Jean-Luc Nancy, ‘The Masked Imagination,’ in The Ground of the Image, trans. Jeff Fort (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005), p. 96.

8  ‘Visor effect’: Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning, and the New International, trans. Peggy Kamuf (London: Routledge, 1994), p. 7; Heyl, op. cit, (note 28), p. 128.

9  Ibid.

10  Richard Wilson, Secret Shakespeare: studies in theatre, religion, and resistance (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), p. 35 & 298; Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit, Caravaggio’s Secrets (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1998), p. 8-9.

11  Stephen Orgel, The Jonsonian Masque (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967), p. 87-8.

12  For beards as signifiers of masculinity, see Will Fraser, ‘The Renaissance Beard: Masculinity in Early Modern England,’ Renaissance Quarterly, 54 (2001), 155-87. But for the prosthetic construction of masculinity in false facial hair, see Mark Albert Johnston, ‘Prosthetic Absence in Ben Jonson’s Epicoene, The Alchemist, and Bartholomew Fair,’ English Literary Renaissance, 37 (2007), 401-29.

13  Stephen Orgel, op. cit. (note 13), p. 77.

14  Meer Hassan Ali, Observations on the Mussulmauns of India Descriptive of their Manners, Customs, Habits and Religious Opinions (London: Humprey Milford & O.U.P., 1832; repr. 1917), p. 204: ‘The dress of the bridegroom is of gold-cloth, with an immense bunch of silver trimming that falls over his face, and answers to the purpose of a veil… and to his mouth he keeps a red silk handkerchief closely pressed to prevent devils entering.’

15  Patricia Parker, ‘What’s in a Name: More,’ Sederi XI: Revista de la Sociedad Española de Estudios Renacentistas Ingleses (Huelva: Universidad de Huelva Publicaciones, 2002), 101-49, esp. 131-5; Wilson, op. cit. (note 55), p. 155-85, esp. p. 178.

16  Dympna Callaghan, ‘Looking well to linens: women and cultural production in Othello and Shakespeare’s England,’ in Howard and Shershow, ibid, p. 61.

17  For Thisbe’s veil as a feature of a Babylonian love story and so the prototype of the hijab, see Shirazi, op.cit. (note 1), p. 3-4.

18  John Tolland, The Agreement of the Customs of the East Indians With Those of the Jews and other Ancient People (London: 1705; repr. New York: AMS Press, 1999), p. ii; ‘Qualified intolerance’: Antony Milton, ‘A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities of Early Stuart Anti-Catholicism,’ in Arthur Marotti, Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), p. 105.

19  Derrida, op. cit. (note 15), p. 61, 84 & 90-1.

20  Jones and Stallybrass, op. cit. (note 20), p. 32; ‘shared history’: Ballaster, op. cit. (note 2), p. 18.

21  See Wilson, op. cit. (note 55), p. 96-7.

22  Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 20), p. 119 & 126.

23  ‘Worn world’: Stallybrass, op. cit. (note 22).

24  Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 20), p. 161-3.

25  John Lane (1600) and ‘T.M.’ (c.1620), quoted in Andrew Gurr, Playgoing in Shakespeare’s London (Cambridge: C.U.P., 1987), p. 66 & 73.

26  ‘Very loathsome’: Dudley Carleton, cited in C.H. Herford, and Percy and Evelyn Simpson, Ben Jonson (11 vols., Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1925-52), vol. 10, p. 449. For Anne’s defiant ‘drama of feminine blackness,’ see also Sophie Tomlinson, ‘Theatrical Vibrancy on the Caroline Court Stage,’ in Clare McManus (ed.), Women and Culture at the Courts of the Stuart Queens (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2003), p. 194-5.

27  Alain Badiou, The Century, trans. Alberto Toscano (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), p. 47.

28  Derrida, op. cit. (note 15), p. 89-90, ‘slime from slugs’: p. 91.

Haut de page

Pour citer cet article

Référence électronique

Richard Wilson, « Veiling an Indian Beauty: Shakespeare and the hijab (2/2) », Actes des congrès de la Société française Shakespeare [En ligne], 26 | 2008, mis en ligne le 20 décembre 2008, consulté le 28 janvier 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/shakespeare/1483 ; DOI : 10.4000/shakespeare.1483

Haut de page

Auteur

Richard Wilson

Articles du même auteur

Haut de page

Droits d’auteur

© SFS

Haut de page
  • Logo Société Française Shakespeare
  • Logo Shakespeare 450
  • Logo Shakespeare Anniversary
  • Logo La SFS sur Facebook
  • OpenEdition Journals