One Gentleman and One Cur of Verona

What does it mean to forgive deeply and truly?

That’s the question we struggled with while discussing Two Gentlemen of Verona. With all the backstabbing and deception, could we excuse Proteus enough to be okay with Valentine’s forgiveness of him at the end of the play? Much like the endings to other plays, such as All’s Well that Ends Well, something didn’t sit right. It felt too easy. Sure, you can forgive your best friend for trying to steal your girlfriend. But to readily forgive him for trying to rape her? And then to plan your immediate double wedding? Why would Valentine do something so crazy?

Valentine Rescuing Silvia from Proteus, by William Holman Hunt

Let’s start with Proteus. He can change his mind and his love at the drop of a hat; his name literally means “changing shape” or “mutable.” We generally don’t trust characters who proclaim love for one woman in one scene then claim undying devotion to a different lady in the next scene (*cough*Romeo*cough*). In our discussion of Two Gentlemen of Verona, we couldn’t agree on whether or not Proteus actually even loved Silvia, or if he was just overwhelmed by loneliness. What matters is that, whatever the case, he turned on his best friend at a moment’s notice. However, this mutability could also be argued as proof for the genuineness of his repentance. If so little time could change his heart’s allegiance, perhaps the same amount of time could bring about repentance, and even cause him to truly love Julia again.

While I really don’t want to believe Proteus’s repentance is genuine, I think the text supports the idea. In our discussion, one member pointed out that Proteus has suddenly been faced with the horror of what he has done to his best friend. It’s a scary, pivotal moment when a character sees himself as he truly is. What’s to say that his realization doesn’t bring him to a complete change of heart? Valentine completes every line of his accusation, so Proteus could presumably pause as long as needed before his line, “My shame and guilt confounds me.” If the fiend is played by a strong actor, he can, like Posthumus in Cymbeline or a strong Claudio in Much Ado, make us believe his remorse and perhaps even pity him. It all depends on how he’s played.

Another hint that perhaps Proteus is meant to be a regenerate character is the fact that he’s not a villain. He’s not Iago, he’s not Edmund, he’s not John the Bastard. He’s a “gentleman,” according to the title. Unlike real villains, Proteus isn’t assumed to be evil. Also, Valentine, like a gentleman, shows him quick forgiveness, finishing Proteus’s verse with the words, “Then I am paid.” If Valentine doubted Proteus’s sincerity, he could have ordered him taken offstage to serve penance. But he doesn’t, and we see how gentlemen reconcile.

We all want to hold onto our offense toward Proteus, and, as I’ve argued, the text cries mercy. Yet I’ve saved the best argument for compassion for last, a theory brought up by Whitney. While at first glance Launce appears to be the groundlings’ annoying comic relief, we may look deeper at the character and his relationship with his dog. Launce is a steadfast servant and lover, willing to overlook the worst of faults (III.i). He’s strikingly like Valentine, who overlooks Proteus’s vices. What’s more, Launce loves his dog Crab, despite the fact that Crab “is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog” (II.iii). You’d think this was only a silly comment, except for the fact that even the cat is listed as mourning for Launce’s departure. Since when does a cat weep while a dog remains stoic? Something is remiss in this dog’s behavior. Later, Launce talks about all the trouble he’s gone through for his dog. Crab is a terrible cur, always causing mayhem; yet, instead of letting him feel the whip, Launce takes his dog’s punishment (IV.iv). If you’ve ever loved a misbehaved pet, you can understand why Launce would go to such pains for him.

Launce’s Substitute for Proteus’s Dog

We probably feel pity for Crab and are able to overlook his stench, food thievery, and lack of loyalty. We can respect Launce’s choice to forgive the mongrel (especially if played by a cute puppy). Likewise, can we accept Valentine’s choice to love the one who has wronged him? In Launce and Crab we see a reflection of the larger story of Valentine and Proteus.

None of this is perfect. Proteus did do terrible things, and he deserves punishment. His behavior is not excusable at all. Yet, in the end, Shakespeare challenges us to think about our own grudges. We may be completely justified in exacting revenge, but maybe the more gentlemanly response is pure, unwarranted forgiveness.

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