Isabella, the ice-queen, a meet match for Angelo, who
micturates in snowmelt. He
is perched upon the mount of his incorruptibility; she, on that of her virginity. Her approach to him, for clemency for her brother, is stiff
and formal, till she heeds the counsel of her crouching Cyrano, who advises
her to turn on the waterworks, and maybe show a bit of bodice. Yet it is her very purity-armor
that attracts Angelo to a fall, where strumpets had no such power. (I am familiar with such
paradoxical infatuations.)
As for the duke, he is more of a trickster-figure, a trifler
with men’s fates, than an image of the Good King Haroun-al-Rashid toddling about the night-streets of his capital
incognito. In a formal sense, he
could be called the hero of the play, and Isabella the heroine. God preserve us from such heroes.
No comments:
Post a Comment