You light the sky at dawn of day
And paint the clouds at sunset.
You color the roses of love
And darken each man’s veins.
You set apart the Savior’s words,
Yet also stain the Scarlet Letter
Two gems claim your color in January and July.
Each heart that beats you know inside out,
The rosy cheeks of each child’s vitality,
The lips of every lover’s passion.
You are the beauty in things most cherished.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Dickens and Promiscuity as Portrayed in Bleak House
Written during the beginning of the Realism, Charles Dickens’ lengthy Victorian novel Bleak House is a masterpiece of fiction that contains many social and political commentaries relative not only in Dickens’s world but also in the world today. A timeless issue in literature, the fallen woman plays a significant role in the novel’s plot. In determining Dickens’ views on fallen women it is important to consider the reactions of four primary characters in Bleak House towards Lady Dedlock’s transgression.
First of all, from the beginning of Bleak House, Miss Barbary gives a very decided opinion about her sister, Lady Dedlock’s, youthful indiscretions which resulted in Esther’s birth. To begin with, Esther does not understand her bastardly origin, rather believing herself to be an orphaned child left in the care of her severe aunt. “She was so very good herself, I thought,” Esther describes Miss Barbary, “that the badness of other people made her frown all her life” (28). The succeeding description that Esther attributes to her aunt is less than flattering; however, she is the virgin, the sister who supposedly played her cards right, living by the letter of the law. In short, Dickens paints a picture of an exceedingly self-righteous older woman whose bitterness and anger over her sister’s offense has eaten her up inside so that she has no quality of life left to live. On Esther’s birthday, Dickens’ records that Miss Barbary tells her, “It would have been far better, little Esther, that you had had no birthday; that you had never been born” (30). Esther responds by asking her if her mother died on her birthday, which, of course, she did not. However, based on her reaction and vehement statements of reproach, it would seem that Miss Barbary wishes that it were so.
Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come—and soon enough—when you will understand this better, and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can. I have forgiven her the wrong she did to me, and say no more of it, though it was greater than you will ever know—than any one will ever know, but I, the sufferer. For yourself, unfortunate girl, orphaned and degraded from the first of these evil anniversaries, pray daily that the sins of others be not visited upon your head, according to what is written, Forget your mother, and leave all other people to forget her who will do her unhappy child that greatest kindness. (30)
Miss Barbary believes that Lady Dedlock not only sinned against God, but also against all womankind, of whom Miss Barbary herself is the greatest of sufferers. She victimized herself via Lady Dedlock’s disgrace, depriving her sister of her own child and herself becoming an old maid. Miss Barbary’s bitterness shrivels her up and ruins her life. Ironically, although she warns Esther lest she reap the consequences for her family’s actions, it appears that Miss Barbary had bitterness and hatred heaped in her own soul over her sister’s sin. Through Miss Barbary, Dickens shows that failure to forgive even the worst of sins wastes away at the soul, and also uses her character to warn against judging others for their sins.
Secondly, Esther’s response to the reality that she is her mother’s bastard child must be taken into account. Throughout the first five hundred pages of the novel, several minor characters note the close similarity in the appearances of Lady Dedlock and Esther; however, Esther’s face is so marred during her illness that no resemblance remains afterward. One day, while Esther is staying at Chesney Wold to recover her strength, Lady Dedlock comes to her while she is resting in the park-woods. As she approaches, Esther notes that there is “something in her faced that [she] had pined for and dreamed of when [she] was a child” (578). With weeping, kisses, and passion, Lady Dedlock reveals her maternity to Esther, saying, “O my child, my child, I am your wicked and unhappy mother! O try to forgive me!” (579). Although one might expect Esther to respond in either anger or shock, she instead says that "When I saw her at my feet on the bare earth in her great agony of mind, I felt,through all my tumult of emotion, a burst of gratitude to the providence of God that I was so changed as that I never could disgrace her by any trace of likeness; as that nobody could ever now look at me, and look at her, and remotely think of any near tie between us. (579)"
In other words, rather than hold bitterness or anger over the entire situation, she rejoices that her illness has so disfigured her that her appearance would not lead to the revelation of her mother’s indiscretion. Lady Dedlock goes on to tell her that she must bear the burden for her sin alone “on [her] guilty feet. I bear it, and I hide it” (Ibid). She asks Esther then to keep her identity and their relationship secret. Rather than taking offense, Esther affirms her mother’s decision and agrees that it is the wisest course of action under the circumstances. In sharp contrast to her aunt, Esther deems her mother’s transgression almost as her own fault. She is frightened that she will be the cause of her mother’s downfall, which she perceives as an pardonable wrongdoing. Through Esther, Dickens not only provides hope for redemption and forgiveness to the fallen woman, but he also conjectures about the affects promiscuity may have on bastard children.
Thirdly, Sir Leicester Dedlock, the husband to the guilty party, plays a key role in portraying Dickens’ views of the fallen woman in his novel. In chapter 54, “Springing a Mine”, Mr. Bucket finally reveals the truth about Lady Dedlock’s promiscuity to Sir Leicester when he solves the murder mystery surrounding Mr. Tulkinghorn’s death. Sir Leicester’s response to this shocking revelation is surprising. As he contemplates what to do, he realizes that
"It is she… [about whom] he has never had a selfish thought. It is she whom he has loved, admired, honoured, and set up for the world to respect. It is she, who….has been a stock of living tenderness and love, susceptible as nothing else is of being struck with the agony he feels. He sees her, almost to the exclusion of himself; and cannot bear to look upon her cast down from the high places she has so well graced." (838)
As he considers all of this, he falls to his knees uttering her name “in a tone of mourning and compassion rather than reproach” (Ibid). Instead of becoming irate when he hears the truth, Sir Leicester refuses to view her as his perfect Victorian wife fallen from her ivory tower, but rather as his love who still remains on a golden pedestal. As the plot progresses and Lady Dedlock runs away, leaving an explanatory note behind her, Sir Leicester has a stroke as a result of his grief that makes him “the decrepit shadow of himself” (857). Despite a handicap that requires him to write rather than speak, he orders a search party out to find Lady Dedlock, to whom he desires to offer “full forgiveness” (859). Sir Leicester’s response to Lady Dedlock is perhaps Dickens’ strongest statement about the nature of fallen women. While many people considered such a sin unpardonable and worthy of death, Sir Leicester reverses the norm by offering pardon. He serves as a Christ-figure by continuing in his undying love for his wife even after he learns of her betrayal and disgrace.
Fourthly, Lady Dedlock’s response to her own sin is of exceeding importance in Dickens’ novel. She not only decides to hide her secret for years, but she also takes whatever measures she deems necessary to continue to cover up her sin when it begins to surface. Several chance events, such as the spontaneous combustion of Mr. Krook, the murder of Mr. Tulkinghorn, and the deferral of Mr. Guppy by Esther, help her to conceal it for a while, but ultimately all those she holds dear find her out. In accordance with the biblical truth that your sins will find you out, although it takes many years, Lady Dedlock’s transgression ultimately catches up with her. Next, when she realizes that all hope is lost for hiding her secret any longer, she writes a note to her husband and then runs away in disgrace. Sadly, although Esther and, more importantly, Sir Leicester offer redemption and love, Lady Dedlock cannot accept their grace and forgive herself. She feels she must do some sort of penance for her misdeed, and so she runs away before even learning of Sir Leicester’s reaction. She would rather flee the shame and rejection that she believes will come with confrontation than humble herself enough to accept whatever penalty those she has wronged deem fit. Although Mr. Bucket and Esther lead a perilous search for her, they do not find her until it is too late—she is already frozen to death by the gate of the public burial ground where her premarital lover, Captain “Nemo” Hawdon, lies.
Dickens depicts an interesting commentary on fallen womanhood and those that it affects in his novel Bleak House.
Through Miss Barbary he presents the affects that harbored bitterness can have on the life of the unforgiving. Esther shows how lies can affect children of indiscretion through both her childhood under Miss Barbary’s care and her blame-taking response to the truth. Sir Leicester reveals that full forgiveness can be extended to fallen women on the basis of true love, yet Lady Dedlock shows that not all women can reach a point where they are able to forgive themselves before arriving at a point of self-destruction caused by imposing penance on themselves for their transgressions. Dickens’ personal view of the fallen woman is multi-faceted yet hopeful. He critiques the life-long ripple effects that the sin of a fallen woman may have on those who surround her. While he offers hope, he still harbors skepticism as to whether or not a fallen woman can really accept the hope of forgiveness even if it is offered.
Works Cited
Dickens, Charles. Bleak House. London: Penguin, 2003. Print.
First of all, from the beginning of Bleak House, Miss Barbary gives a very decided opinion about her sister, Lady Dedlock’s, youthful indiscretions which resulted in Esther’s birth. To begin with, Esther does not understand her bastardly origin, rather believing herself to be an orphaned child left in the care of her severe aunt. “She was so very good herself, I thought,” Esther describes Miss Barbary, “that the badness of other people made her frown all her life” (28). The succeeding description that Esther attributes to her aunt is less than flattering; however, she is the virgin, the sister who supposedly played her cards right, living by the letter of the law. In short, Dickens paints a picture of an exceedingly self-righteous older woman whose bitterness and anger over her sister’s offense has eaten her up inside so that she has no quality of life left to live. On Esther’s birthday, Dickens’ records that Miss Barbary tells her, “It would have been far better, little Esther, that you had had no birthday; that you had never been born” (30). Esther responds by asking her if her mother died on her birthday, which, of course, she did not. However, based on her reaction and vehement statements of reproach, it would seem that Miss Barbary wishes that it were so.
Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come—and soon enough—when you will understand this better, and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can. I have forgiven her the wrong she did to me, and say no more of it, though it was greater than you will ever know—than any one will ever know, but I, the sufferer. For yourself, unfortunate girl, orphaned and degraded from the first of these evil anniversaries, pray daily that the sins of others be not visited upon your head, according to what is written, Forget your mother, and leave all other people to forget her who will do her unhappy child that greatest kindness. (30)
Miss Barbary believes that Lady Dedlock not only sinned against God, but also against all womankind, of whom Miss Barbary herself is the greatest of sufferers. She victimized herself via Lady Dedlock’s disgrace, depriving her sister of her own child and herself becoming an old maid. Miss Barbary’s bitterness shrivels her up and ruins her life. Ironically, although she warns Esther lest she reap the consequences for her family’s actions, it appears that Miss Barbary had bitterness and hatred heaped in her own soul over her sister’s sin. Through Miss Barbary, Dickens shows that failure to forgive even the worst of sins wastes away at the soul, and also uses her character to warn against judging others for their sins.
Secondly, Esther’s response to the reality that she is her mother’s bastard child must be taken into account. Throughout the first five hundred pages of the novel, several minor characters note the close similarity in the appearances of Lady Dedlock and Esther; however, Esther’s face is so marred during her illness that no resemblance remains afterward. One day, while Esther is staying at Chesney Wold to recover her strength, Lady Dedlock comes to her while she is resting in the park-woods. As she approaches, Esther notes that there is “something in her faced that [she] had pined for and dreamed of when [she] was a child” (578). With weeping, kisses, and passion, Lady Dedlock reveals her maternity to Esther, saying, “O my child, my child, I am your wicked and unhappy mother! O try to forgive me!” (579). Although one might expect Esther to respond in either anger or shock, she instead says that "When I saw her at my feet on the bare earth in her great agony of mind, I felt,through all my tumult of emotion, a burst of gratitude to the providence of God that I was so changed as that I never could disgrace her by any trace of likeness; as that nobody could ever now look at me, and look at her, and remotely think of any near tie between us. (579)"
In other words, rather than hold bitterness or anger over the entire situation, she rejoices that her illness has so disfigured her that her appearance would not lead to the revelation of her mother’s indiscretion. Lady Dedlock goes on to tell her that she must bear the burden for her sin alone “on [her] guilty feet. I bear it, and I hide it” (Ibid). She asks Esther then to keep her identity and their relationship secret. Rather than taking offense, Esther affirms her mother’s decision and agrees that it is the wisest course of action under the circumstances. In sharp contrast to her aunt, Esther deems her mother’s transgression almost as her own fault. She is frightened that she will be the cause of her mother’s downfall, which she perceives as an pardonable wrongdoing. Through Esther, Dickens not only provides hope for redemption and forgiveness to the fallen woman, but he also conjectures about the affects promiscuity may have on bastard children.
Thirdly, Sir Leicester Dedlock, the husband to the guilty party, plays a key role in portraying Dickens’ views of the fallen woman in his novel. In chapter 54, “Springing a Mine”, Mr. Bucket finally reveals the truth about Lady Dedlock’s promiscuity to Sir Leicester when he solves the murder mystery surrounding Mr. Tulkinghorn’s death. Sir Leicester’s response to this shocking revelation is surprising. As he contemplates what to do, he realizes that
"It is she… [about whom] he has never had a selfish thought. It is she whom he has loved, admired, honoured, and set up for the world to respect. It is she, who….has been a stock of living tenderness and love, susceptible as nothing else is of being struck with the agony he feels. He sees her, almost to the exclusion of himself; and cannot bear to look upon her cast down from the high places she has so well graced." (838)
As he considers all of this, he falls to his knees uttering her name “in a tone of mourning and compassion rather than reproach” (Ibid). Instead of becoming irate when he hears the truth, Sir Leicester refuses to view her as his perfect Victorian wife fallen from her ivory tower, but rather as his love who still remains on a golden pedestal. As the plot progresses and Lady Dedlock runs away, leaving an explanatory note behind her, Sir Leicester has a stroke as a result of his grief that makes him “the decrepit shadow of himself” (857). Despite a handicap that requires him to write rather than speak, he orders a search party out to find Lady Dedlock, to whom he desires to offer “full forgiveness” (859). Sir Leicester’s response to Lady Dedlock is perhaps Dickens’ strongest statement about the nature of fallen women. While many people considered such a sin unpardonable and worthy of death, Sir Leicester reverses the norm by offering pardon. He serves as a Christ-figure by continuing in his undying love for his wife even after he learns of her betrayal and disgrace.
Fourthly, Lady Dedlock’s response to her own sin is of exceeding importance in Dickens’ novel. She not only decides to hide her secret for years, but she also takes whatever measures she deems necessary to continue to cover up her sin when it begins to surface. Several chance events, such as the spontaneous combustion of Mr. Krook, the murder of Mr. Tulkinghorn, and the deferral of Mr. Guppy by Esther, help her to conceal it for a while, but ultimately all those she holds dear find her out. In accordance with the biblical truth that your sins will find you out, although it takes many years, Lady Dedlock’s transgression ultimately catches up with her. Next, when she realizes that all hope is lost for hiding her secret any longer, she writes a note to her husband and then runs away in disgrace. Sadly, although Esther and, more importantly, Sir Leicester offer redemption and love, Lady Dedlock cannot accept their grace and forgive herself. She feels she must do some sort of penance for her misdeed, and so she runs away before even learning of Sir Leicester’s reaction. She would rather flee the shame and rejection that she believes will come with confrontation than humble herself enough to accept whatever penalty those she has wronged deem fit. Although Mr. Bucket and Esther lead a perilous search for her, they do not find her until it is too late—she is already frozen to death by the gate of the public burial ground where her premarital lover, Captain “Nemo” Hawdon, lies.
Dickens depicts an interesting commentary on fallen womanhood and those that it affects in his novel Bleak House.
Through Miss Barbary he presents the affects that harbored bitterness can have on the life of the unforgiving. Esther shows how lies can affect children of indiscretion through both her childhood under Miss Barbary’s care and her blame-taking response to the truth. Sir Leicester reveals that full forgiveness can be extended to fallen women on the basis of true love, yet Lady Dedlock shows that not all women can reach a point where they are able to forgive themselves before arriving at a point of self-destruction caused by imposing penance on themselves for their transgressions. Dickens’ personal view of the fallen woman is multi-faceted yet hopeful. He critiques the life-long ripple effects that the sin of a fallen woman may have on those who surround her. While he offers hope, he still harbors skepticism as to whether or not a fallen woman can really accept the hope of forgiveness even if it is offered.
Works Cited
Dickens, Charles. Bleak House. London: Penguin, 2003. Print.
The Coquette as Inoffensive as a Shadow
Throughout Villette, Lucy has two potential suitors—Dr. John Graham Bretton and Monsieur Paul Emmanuel. Although initially her devotion takes a decided course, her affections for each man takes a pivotal turn roughly midway through the novel in Volume II.
Prior to this turning point, in Volume I, the reader senses Lucy’s affection for Graham in the flippant manner she adopts to describe Paulina “Polly” Home during their concurrent visit at Bretton. As the novel progresses, Lucy slyly observes Dr. John while he ministers to residents at Madame Beck’s penssionate; however, she withholds his true identity from the reader until she falls ill and is forced to recover in the home of Mrs. Louis Bretton and her son, Graham—Dr. John. For a lengthy interval, Lucy gravitates towards Dr. John, accepting five letters from him as well as invitations to outings to the theater and art museums. The letters she receives from him are “the letter[s] of [her] hope, the fruition of [her] wish, the release from [her] doubt, the ransom from [her] terror… a morsel of real solid joy” (265). Meanwhile, Lucy and M. Paul introduced when Lucy is forced to substitute for an actress in M. Paul’s play who falls ill on Madame Beck’s fete day. They interact frequently and often capriciously at the school on Rue Fossette. M. Paul is constantly the pedantic master who instructs Lucy in all manner of Labassecouerian learning, as well as the recurrently hotheaded friend whom Lucy constantly frustrates.
In the chapter entitled “The Hotel Crecy” of Volume II, during a party in the home of M. de Bassompierre, Dr. John remembers Polly’s childhood attachment to him at Bretton and appeals to Lucy Snowe to aid him in his endeavor to renew Paulina’s interests. Lucy refuses. Along the way of his request, Graham tells Lucy that, were she a man, they would be best friends, for “[their] opinions would have melted into each other” (349). Lucy contrarily questions his statement, wondering if the very opposite would not be true. “We may see the same objects,” Lucy replies, “yet we estimate them differently” (349). He then reveals his ignorance of Lucy’s true character by deeming her “a being inoffensive as a shadow” (351). Evidently, despite the copious amount of time they have spent together, Dr. John has remained ignorant of Lucy’s true feelings for him—unobservant of her frustrations, her pent-up passions and desires. Suddenly, the eaves dropping M. Paul appears and contradicts Dr. John’s words, revealing his depth of knowledge of his protégée and colleague, Lucy Snowe. She describes him as “the sudden boa-constrictor” as he violently terms her a flirt, a coquette with fire in her soul and lightning in her eyes (352). Though he exaggerates because of his jealousy toward Graham, M. Paul discloses in his insult that he sees Lucy in a much truer light. These two statements from her potential suitors at the end of Volume II serve as a turning point for the romance of Lucy Snowe. Not only do they initially alter how she spends her time, but also affect the rest of her life.
By way of concretely terminating her former passions for Graham, Lucy decides almost immediately to bury his previously treasured letters in a sealed jar in a tree stump. Along with his letters, Lucy buries all but familial affections for the man she once obsessively loved. “In all this,” writes Lucy, “I had a dreary something—not pleasure—but a sad, lonely satisfaction” (328). During the ensuing relationship that develops between Lucy and M. Paul, Dr. John quickly fades from Lucy’s scope of thought and consideration. As time goes on and the novel draws to a close, Lucy achieves a sort of indifference that allows her to listen without envy to Paulina’s commendations of Dr John (412-418). When Graham and Paulina develop a romance without any outside help and decide to marry, Lucy ultimately acts, not unhappily, as a mediator between the couple and M. de Bassompierre (472-483).
On the other hand, a romance blossoms between Lucy Snowe and M. Paul during the remaining volume of Villette. Not only does he tutor and converse with her every day, but they interact as friends as well. When, once, Lucy Snowe begins to make a man’s watch guard, M. Paul becomes frightfully incensed because he envies the unknown recipient, whom he wrongly believes to be Dr. John (366-368). Not only is their relationship built largely around jealousy and passion, but it has several other odd conventions as well. M. Paul is always snooping in Lucy’s things, as well as filling her desk with chocolates and a variety of literature. Next, they are constantly annoying one another. For example, on M. Paul’s fete day, after everyone has given him a present, M. Paul is angry because Lucy has offered him nothing. She, however, is quite annoyed at his impatience, and therefore withholds out of spite the watch guard she had always intended to give him (376-385). Oddly, Lucy and M. Paul also spend a significant amount of time trying to convert one another. In “The Apple of Discord,” they discuss her Protestantism versus his Catholicism at length. Then, for a time, M. Paul completely avoids Lucy because his mentor, Pere Silas, instructs him not to consort with Protestants who refuse to convert. Although neither converts, they reach an accord to accept one another’s nonconformity.
Towards the end of the novel, in the chapter entitled “The Dryad”, M. Paul reveals to Lucy that he too sees the mysterious Nun-apparition, and uses this revelation as a venue to express his affection for Lucy (407). His words to her sharply contrast with Graham’s earlier reference to Lucy as being “inoffensive as a shadow” (351). M. Paul goes beyond the surface level of who Lucy is and why he is attracted to her and points out the kindred nature of their spirits. Unlike Dr John, he acknowledges that they do not see everything through the same lens, pointing out their differences of faith as an example. However, in hopes of proving to Lucy that they are meant to be together, he notes that they have similar faces, implementing the Victorian ideals of physiognomy and phrenology as further proof of their similar destinies. He sees the Nun as further connection between them, and even goes so far as to claim possession of Lucy, saying, “I perceive all this, and believe that you were born under my star…where that is the case with mortals, the threads of their destinies are difficult to disentangle” (407).
When M. Paul decides that he must leave Villette and travel, Lucy becomes overwrought at the prospect of losing her only love. However, just when her only chance at human love seems to be fading and the world to be conspiring against her, M. Paul reveals that he has lovingly arranged for Lucy to have her own home and school to work from until his return three years hence, at which time they are to be married. Before taking his leave of her, M. Paul at last declares his love to his “coquette,” saying, “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. By my dearest, first on earth”(541).
In conclusion, Dr John’s fateful words that deem Lucy “as inoffensive as a shadow” terminate all affection that Lucy has for him, while M. Paul’s subsequent determination that she is a “coquette” creates the spark that ignites the flames of passion for the two teachers. The conversations at Hotel Crecy serve not only as a turning point in Lucy’s romance, but also as pivotal moment that redirects the remaining course of the novel.
Works Cited
Brontë, Charlotte. Villette (Penguin Classics). New York: Penguin Classics, 2004. Print.
Prior to this turning point, in Volume I, the reader senses Lucy’s affection for Graham in the flippant manner she adopts to describe Paulina “Polly” Home during their concurrent visit at Bretton. As the novel progresses, Lucy slyly observes Dr. John while he ministers to residents at Madame Beck’s penssionate; however, she withholds his true identity from the reader until she falls ill and is forced to recover in the home of Mrs. Louis Bretton and her son, Graham—Dr. John. For a lengthy interval, Lucy gravitates towards Dr. John, accepting five letters from him as well as invitations to outings to the theater and art museums. The letters she receives from him are “the letter[s] of [her] hope, the fruition of [her] wish, the release from [her] doubt, the ransom from [her] terror… a morsel of real solid joy” (265). Meanwhile, Lucy and M. Paul introduced when Lucy is forced to substitute for an actress in M. Paul’s play who falls ill on Madame Beck’s fete day. They interact frequently and often capriciously at the school on Rue Fossette. M. Paul is constantly the pedantic master who instructs Lucy in all manner of Labassecouerian learning, as well as the recurrently hotheaded friend whom Lucy constantly frustrates.
In the chapter entitled “The Hotel Crecy” of Volume II, during a party in the home of M. de Bassompierre, Dr. John remembers Polly’s childhood attachment to him at Bretton and appeals to Lucy Snowe to aid him in his endeavor to renew Paulina’s interests. Lucy refuses. Along the way of his request, Graham tells Lucy that, were she a man, they would be best friends, for “[their] opinions would have melted into each other” (349). Lucy contrarily questions his statement, wondering if the very opposite would not be true. “We may see the same objects,” Lucy replies, “yet we estimate them differently” (349). He then reveals his ignorance of Lucy’s true character by deeming her “a being inoffensive as a shadow” (351). Evidently, despite the copious amount of time they have spent together, Dr. John has remained ignorant of Lucy’s true feelings for him—unobservant of her frustrations, her pent-up passions and desires. Suddenly, the eaves dropping M. Paul appears and contradicts Dr. John’s words, revealing his depth of knowledge of his protégée and colleague, Lucy Snowe. She describes him as “the sudden boa-constrictor” as he violently terms her a flirt, a coquette with fire in her soul and lightning in her eyes (352). Though he exaggerates because of his jealousy toward Graham, M. Paul discloses in his insult that he sees Lucy in a much truer light. These two statements from her potential suitors at the end of Volume II serve as a turning point for the romance of Lucy Snowe. Not only do they initially alter how she spends her time, but also affect the rest of her life.
By way of concretely terminating her former passions for Graham, Lucy decides almost immediately to bury his previously treasured letters in a sealed jar in a tree stump. Along with his letters, Lucy buries all but familial affections for the man she once obsessively loved. “In all this,” writes Lucy, “I had a dreary something—not pleasure—but a sad, lonely satisfaction” (328). During the ensuing relationship that develops between Lucy and M. Paul, Dr. John quickly fades from Lucy’s scope of thought and consideration. As time goes on and the novel draws to a close, Lucy achieves a sort of indifference that allows her to listen without envy to Paulina’s commendations of Dr John (412-418). When Graham and Paulina develop a romance without any outside help and decide to marry, Lucy ultimately acts, not unhappily, as a mediator between the couple and M. de Bassompierre (472-483).
On the other hand, a romance blossoms between Lucy Snowe and M. Paul during the remaining volume of Villette. Not only does he tutor and converse with her every day, but they interact as friends as well. When, once, Lucy Snowe begins to make a man’s watch guard, M. Paul becomes frightfully incensed because he envies the unknown recipient, whom he wrongly believes to be Dr. John (366-368). Not only is their relationship built largely around jealousy and passion, but it has several other odd conventions as well. M. Paul is always snooping in Lucy’s things, as well as filling her desk with chocolates and a variety of literature. Next, they are constantly annoying one another. For example, on M. Paul’s fete day, after everyone has given him a present, M. Paul is angry because Lucy has offered him nothing. She, however, is quite annoyed at his impatience, and therefore withholds out of spite the watch guard she had always intended to give him (376-385). Oddly, Lucy and M. Paul also spend a significant amount of time trying to convert one another. In “The Apple of Discord,” they discuss her Protestantism versus his Catholicism at length. Then, for a time, M. Paul completely avoids Lucy because his mentor, Pere Silas, instructs him not to consort with Protestants who refuse to convert. Although neither converts, they reach an accord to accept one another’s nonconformity.
Towards the end of the novel, in the chapter entitled “The Dryad”, M. Paul reveals to Lucy that he too sees the mysterious Nun-apparition, and uses this revelation as a venue to express his affection for Lucy (407). His words to her sharply contrast with Graham’s earlier reference to Lucy as being “inoffensive as a shadow” (351). M. Paul goes beyond the surface level of who Lucy is and why he is attracted to her and points out the kindred nature of their spirits. Unlike Dr John, he acknowledges that they do not see everything through the same lens, pointing out their differences of faith as an example. However, in hopes of proving to Lucy that they are meant to be together, he notes that they have similar faces, implementing the Victorian ideals of physiognomy and phrenology as further proof of their similar destinies. He sees the Nun as further connection between them, and even goes so far as to claim possession of Lucy, saying, “I perceive all this, and believe that you were born under my star…where that is the case with mortals, the threads of their destinies are difficult to disentangle” (407).
When M. Paul decides that he must leave Villette and travel, Lucy becomes overwrought at the prospect of losing her only love. However, just when her only chance at human love seems to be fading and the world to be conspiring against her, M. Paul reveals that he has lovingly arranged for Lucy to have her own home and school to work from until his return three years hence, at which time they are to be married. Before taking his leave of her, M. Paul at last declares his love to his “coquette,” saying, “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. By my dearest, first on earth”(541).
In conclusion, Dr John’s fateful words that deem Lucy “as inoffensive as a shadow” terminate all affection that Lucy has for him, while M. Paul’s subsequent determination that she is a “coquette” creates the spark that ignites the flames of passion for the two teachers. The conversations at Hotel Crecy serve not only as a turning point in Lucy’s romance, but also as pivotal moment that redirects the remaining course of the novel.
Works Cited
Brontë, Charlotte. Villette (Penguin Classics). New York: Penguin Classics, 2004. Print.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Appearances versus Reality in the Relationships of The Merchant of Venice
Shakespeare uses the relationship of love and money throughout his plays as a subtle device that raises questions about reality. Upon deeper analysis of the relationships between characters in The Merchant of Venice, there is a distinct and recurrent theme of appearances versus reality. After delving deeper into the reality of the matter, a different perspective on characters within the play may be adopted, one that dispels stereotypes and initial conclusions about love in Shakespeare’s comedy. The characters in the drama approach relationships with overwhelming self-interest and, upon closer observation, allow economic determinism to slyly undercut their apparent motives.
First of all, under scrutiny, the supposed love of Portia and Bassanio indubitably leads one to believe that he has ulterior motives in his design to woo Portia that do not merely include the desire to be married to a respectable, intelligent and beautiful heiress. In the initial scene of the play, the audience learns that Bassanio already owes Antonio “the most in money and in love” (1.1.131). However, he has devised a plan to repay him by means of an additional loan. “‘Tis not unknown to you,” Bassanio tells Antonio, “how much I have disabled mine estate…and from your love I have a warranty to unburthen all of my plots and purposes how to get clear of all the debts I owe” (1.1.122-134). Basically, prevailing upon the generosity of his friend, and under the pretense of repaying his debts, Bassanio obtains a colossal sum of money in order to monetarily have a chance at wooing his way into even greater personal wealth and prosperity. In order for Antonio to forward his beloved friend the proposed sum of money, he must obtain a bond from the most notoriously vicious loan shark and usurer in Venice- the Jew, Shylock. The reprehensible Jew allows Antonio the desired sum free of interest; however, he stipulates that, if he does not repay him on time, then “the forfeit be nominated for an equal pound of [Antonio’s] fair flesh, to be cut off and taken in what part of the body pleaseth [Shylock],” to which Antonio willingly agrees(1.3.148-151)!
Although, upon this realization, one may decry the surreptitious method by which Bassanio scams Antonio into placing his life on the line for the sake of his personal comfort, it is judicious to take into account Portia’s role in Bassanio’s actions. First of all, solely based on the identities of her first two suitors, the Princes of Morocco and Arragon, it is apparent that, without some form of substantial monetary holdings, the casket test would not be an option for any man. As a result, in order for the messenger to even announce that “there is alighted at [her] gate a young Venetian, one that comes before to signify th’ approach of his lord,” Bassanio must procure a significant sum of money (2.9.86-88). At first notice, Portia is skeptical about Bassanio and his alleged wealth, responding to the messenger’s news, “No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee” (2.9.96-97)! Once Bassanio comes before her and she sees for herself his conspicuous wealth, the fickle Portia is quickly smitten before he even has the opportunity to choose, exclaiming, “Beshrow you eyes, they have o’erlooked and divided me: One half of me is yours, the other half yours—mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours” (3.2.14-18).
Ironically, Bassanio’s reasoning during the casket test reveals to the audience some of the false pretenses under which both Portia and Bassanio operate. Bassanio’s over eagerness to undergo the test causes Portia to doubt him for but a mere moment, asking him to “confess what treason there is mingled with [his] love” (3.2.26-27). However, not willing to admit the truth that he lives on borrowed funds and thereby forfeit personal gain, Bassanio quickly assuages her with his reply, “None but that ugly treason of mistrust,” causing her to feel bad for her unbelief rather than to pursue reality. His actions thus far lead the audience to believe that Bassanio, although perhaps attracted to Portia and maybe even “in love” with her, is primarily concerned with his initial objective of accumulating great personal wealth. After contemplating the riddle Portia’s father has left to determine her husband, Bassanio ironically muses that “the world is deciev’d with ornament” (3.2.74). Although Portia does not immediately realize it, he is admitting his own deceit toward her and pointing out her enamor with wealth. Their respective love for money allows them each to be deceived by the appearance of love rather than penetrating to the reality of the matter. The unfortunate reality is they both succumb to“the seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest,” allowing love of money to blind them towards pretentious love (3.2.100-101).
Next, upon closer observation, although apparently the most faithful and affectionate of friends, the friendship of Bassanio and Antonio is notably based also on a mutual love of money. From the beginning, it is evident that Bassanio continually borrows money from Antonio for personal profit and comfort; yet, for some unknown reason, Antonio is blinded by love for his friend, allowing him whatever he wishes, saying, “My purse, my person, my extremest means, lie all unlock’d to your occasions” (1.1.138-139). Later, in Act IV, Shylock calls in the bond, which Antonio has agreed to in order to advance Bassanio the funds he needs to woo Portia, so placing his life in jeopardy because of his friend’s love of money. At this point, Bassanio interjects before the court on Antonio’s behalf, event telling him, “Antonio, I am married to a wife which is as dear to me as life itself, but life itself, my wife, and all the world, are not with me esteem’d above thy life. I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all here to this devil, to deliver you” (4.1.282-287).One must, however, question the sincerity of these words. Does Bassanio truly love Antonio more than even his wife (whom he has obtained under false pretense for the sake of monetary gain), or is he simply putting on a show for the sake of those observing, who undoubtedly condemn him for placing his friend in such a position? Is Bassanio truly distressed at his friend’s fate as it appears, or is he simply either distraught at the prospect of losing such a magnificent source of income or relieved that he will escape repaying the debt he owes? Although he appears to be a good friend, really he himself is as greedy of a villain as Shylock.
Another consequential relationship that may, indeed, be viewed as based on money rather than love is that of Shylock and his daughter Jessica. Shylock is a wealthy Jew, continually lending money and charging exorbitant rates of interest. As his daughter, Jessica undoubtedly receives the benefit of this wealth, although he does shut her away from the rest of the world, as denoted by his words, “Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum and the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife, clamber not you up to the casements then, nor thrust your head in to the public street to gaze on Christian fools with varnishe’d faces” (2.5.29-38). Despite his warning, Jessica flees her father’s house to elope with the Christian, Lorenzo, one evening in his absence, taking with her the majority of his wealth. When Lorenzo arrives under the shroud of darkness to retrieve Jessica, revealing himself as her love, Jessica curiously responds, “my love indeed, for who love I so much? And now who knows but you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours” (2.5.29-31)? This rhetorical question leads one to consider the intentions of Lorenzo’s affection toward Jessica. Does he merely love her for her ducats? If his love is real, then perhaps her ensuing statement, “love is blind” holds some credence (2.5.36). However, if his motivation lies in obtaining her wealth, the statement further displays the overarching role of appearance as it disguises reality. Jessica thoroughly espouses her above statement, overlooking Lorenzo’s Christian faith, and perhaps even an economic disadvantage, truly loving him regardless.
When Shylock discovers that Jessica has eloped with Lorenzo and stolen a large portion of her inheritance, his response is far from passive. According to Solanio, he was heard in the street vehemently expressing his distress, saying, “My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! The law! My ducat, and my daughter...Justice! Find the girl, she hath the stones upon her, and the ducats” (2.8.12-22)! Solanio’s response toward Shylock is not that of merely a casual observer, rather that of a less than objective onlooker who embellishes the downfall of his enemy; however, one must wonder whether Shylock’s repeated words do not contain a hint of misplaced sorrow. It appears that, although Shylock shows remorse for the loss of his daughter, he harps even more upon the loss of his “Christian ducats” (Ibid).
Lastly, one must discern the significance of money in relation to what Shylock considers important in life. Even though Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice portrays a greedy Jew in the first few acts, in reality, Shylock is a man who loves revenge more than money. When Antonio and Shylock bring their case before the court, Shylock vehemently demands that he be repaid every ounce of flesh entitled to him according to their bond agreement. Surprisingly, instead of accepting double-recompense from Bassanio for the loaned sum, Shylock refuses this appeasement, saying, “If every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond” (4.1.85-88). If, indeed, Shylock’s sole aim were to accumulate even greater wealth by scamming Christians, he would accept the deal of ducats and forfeit the flesh. However, Shylock pursues revenge rather than money, breaking the hitherto apparent stereotype of Jews avaricious usurers. Although everyone expects him to cave in to the offer of money, Shylock surprises everyone when he proves that, in reality, money comes second, even if only to revenge. “I crave the law,” Shylock proclaims to the court, in other words desiring what he sees as the just demise of his adversary, Antonio. After all, his cause is just, as “he hath disgrace’d [him], and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d at my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorn’d my nation, thwarted my bargains, cool’d my friends, heated mine enemies; and what’s his reason? I am a Jew”(3.1.54-58). Unfortunately for Shylock, Portia, disguised as a law clerk, changes the scales on his justice, telling him, “As thou urgest justice, be assur’d thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st. He shall have merely justice and his bond” (4.1.321-322,339). Shylock’s pound of flesh is deemed to be unlawfully taken, yet required by the law, so that he faces death in exchange for vengeance. Only when he realizes that his life is in jeopardy does he endeavor to take the proffered sum of money, saying, “I take this offer then; pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go… Give me my principal and let me go” (4.1.318-319, 336). Sadly, not only is he no longer allowed to accept repayment, but he is also required to relinquish what is left of his fortune to the state, as well as to give up his faith and convert to Christianity on penalty of death. While one might believe that such a formerly penurious and avaricious man would rather forfeit his life than life in poverty, Shylock even further dispels such misconceptions about himself, proving that, despite his eminent appearance of greed, in reality, money his true priority.
The overarching theme of appearance versus reality unfolds throughout Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice as evidenced through the various relationships represented above. Love and money recurrently correlate as they motivate the appearances that are so skillfully woven throughout the play, surreptitiously concealing reality, and only later much later exposed after careful observation. Relationships that appear to be based on love are, in reality, the products of self-interest, often spurred on by economic determinism.
Works Cited
Shakespeare, William. "The Merchant of Venice." The Riverside Shakespeare. 2nd ed. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin Company, 1997. 288-317. Print.
First of all, under scrutiny, the supposed love of Portia and Bassanio indubitably leads one to believe that he has ulterior motives in his design to woo Portia that do not merely include the desire to be married to a respectable, intelligent and beautiful heiress. In the initial scene of the play, the audience learns that Bassanio already owes Antonio “the most in money and in love” (1.1.131). However, he has devised a plan to repay him by means of an additional loan. “‘Tis not unknown to you,” Bassanio tells Antonio, “how much I have disabled mine estate…and from your love I have a warranty to unburthen all of my plots and purposes how to get clear of all the debts I owe” (1.1.122-134). Basically, prevailing upon the generosity of his friend, and under the pretense of repaying his debts, Bassanio obtains a colossal sum of money in order to monetarily have a chance at wooing his way into even greater personal wealth and prosperity. In order for Antonio to forward his beloved friend the proposed sum of money, he must obtain a bond from the most notoriously vicious loan shark and usurer in Venice- the Jew, Shylock. The reprehensible Jew allows Antonio the desired sum free of interest; however, he stipulates that, if he does not repay him on time, then “the forfeit be nominated for an equal pound of [Antonio’s] fair flesh, to be cut off and taken in what part of the body pleaseth [Shylock],” to which Antonio willingly agrees(1.3.148-151)!
Although, upon this realization, one may decry the surreptitious method by which Bassanio scams Antonio into placing his life on the line for the sake of his personal comfort, it is judicious to take into account Portia’s role in Bassanio’s actions. First of all, solely based on the identities of her first two suitors, the Princes of Morocco and Arragon, it is apparent that, without some form of substantial monetary holdings, the casket test would not be an option for any man. As a result, in order for the messenger to even announce that “there is alighted at [her] gate a young Venetian, one that comes before to signify th’ approach of his lord,” Bassanio must procure a significant sum of money (2.9.86-88). At first notice, Portia is skeptical about Bassanio and his alleged wealth, responding to the messenger’s news, “No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee” (2.9.96-97)! Once Bassanio comes before her and she sees for herself his conspicuous wealth, the fickle Portia is quickly smitten before he even has the opportunity to choose, exclaiming, “Beshrow you eyes, they have o’erlooked and divided me: One half of me is yours, the other half yours—mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours” (3.2.14-18).
Ironically, Bassanio’s reasoning during the casket test reveals to the audience some of the false pretenses under which both Portia and Bassanio operate. Bassanio’s over eagerness to undergo the test causes Portia to doubt him for but a mere moment, asking him to “confess what treason there is mingled with [his] love” (3.2.26-27). However, not willing to admit the truth that he lives on borrowed funds and thereby forfeit personal gain, Bassanio quickly assuages her with his reply, “None but that ugly treason of mistrust,” causing her to feel bad for her unbelief rather than to pursue reality. His actions thus far lead the audience to believe that Bassanio, although perhaps attracted to Portia and maybe even “in love” with her, is primarily concerned with his initial objective of accumulating great personal wealth. After contemplating the riddle Portia’s father has left to determine her husband, Bassanio ironically muses that “the world is deciev’d with ornament” (3.2.74). Although Portia does not immediately realize it, he is admitting his own deceit toward her and pointing out her enamor with wealth. Their respective love for money allows them each to be deceived by the appearance of love rather than penetrating to the reality of the matter. The unfortunate reality is they both succumb to“the seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest,” allowing love of money to blind them towards pretentious love (3.2.100-101).
Next, upon closer observation, although apparently the most faithful and affectionate of friends, the friendship of Bassanio and Antonio is notably based also on a mutual love of money. From the beginning, it is evident that Bassanio continually borrows money from Antonio for personal profit and comfort; yet, for some unknown reason, Antonio is blinded by love for his friend, allowing him whatever he wishes, saying, “My purse, my person, my extremest means, lie all unlock’d to your occasions” (1.1.138-139). Later, in Act IV, Shylock calls in the bond, which Antonio has agreed to in order to advance Bassanio the funds he needs to woo Portia, so placing his life in jeopardy because of his friend’s love of money. At this point, Bassanio interjects before the court on Antonio’s behalf, event telling him, “Antonio, I am married to a wife which is as dear to me as life itself, but life itself, my wife, and all the world, are not with me esteem’d above thy life. I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all here to this devil, to deliver you” (4.1.282-287).One must, however, question the sincerity of these words. Does Bassanio truly love Antonio more than even his wife (whom he has obtained under false pretense for the sake of monetary gain), or is he simply putting on a show for the sake of those observing, who undoubtedly condemn him for placing his friend in such a position? Is Bassanio truly distressed at his friend’s fate as it appears, or is he simply either distraught at the prospect of losing such a magnificent source of income or relieved that he will escape repaying the debt he owes? Although he appears to be a good friend, really he himself is as greedy of a villain as Shylock.
Another consequential relationship that may, indeed, be viewed as based on money rather than love is that of Shylock and his daughter Jessica. Shylock is a wealthy Jew, continually lending money and charging exorbitant rates of interest. As his daughter, Jessica undoubtedly receives the benefit of this wealth, although he does shut her away from the rest of the world, as denoted by his words, “Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum and the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife, clamber not you up to the casements then, nor thrust your head in to the public street to gaze on Christian fools with varnishe’d faces” (2.5.29-38). Despite his warning, Jessica flees her father’s house to elope with the Christian, Lorenzo, one evening in his absence, taking with her the majority of his wealth. When Lorenzo arrives under the shroud of darkness to retrieve Jessica, revealing himself as her love, Jessica curiously responds, “my love indeed, for who love I so much? And now who knows but you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours” (2.5.29-31)? This rhetorical question leads one to consider the intentions of Lorenzo’s affection toward Jessica. Does he merely love her for her ducats? If his love is real, then perhaps her ensuing statement, “love is blind” holds some credence (2.5.36). However, if his motivation lies in obtaining her wealth, the statement further displays the overarching role of appearance as it disguises reality. Jessica thoroughly espouses her above statement, overlooking Lorenzo’s Christian faith, and perhaps even an economic disadvantage, truly loving him regardless.
When Shylock discovers that Jessica has eloped with Lorenzo and stolen a large portion of her inheritance, his response is far from passive. According to Solanio, he was heard in the street vehemently expressing his distress, saying, “My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! The law! My ducat, and my daughter...Justice! Find the girl, she hath the stones upon her, and the ducats” (2.8.12-22)! Solanio’s response toward Shylock is not that of merely a casual observer, rather that of a less than objective onlooker who embellishes the downfall of his enemy; however, one must wonder whether Shylock’s repeated words do not contain a hint of misplaced sorrow. It appears that, although Shylock shows remorse for the loss of his daughter, he harps even more upon the loss of his “Christian ducats” (Ibid).
Lastly, one must discern the significance of money in relation to what Shylock considers important in life. Even though Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice portrays a greedy Jew in the first few acts, in reality, Shylock is a man who loves revenge more than money. When Antonio and Shylock bring their case before the court, Shylock vehemently demands that he be repaid every ounce of flesh entitled to him according to their bond agreement. Surprisingly, instead of accepting double-recompense from Bassanio for the loaned sum, Shylock refuses this appeasement, saying, “If every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond” (4.1.85-88). If, indeed, Shylock’s sole aim were to accumulate even greater wealth by scamming Christians, he would accept the deal of ducats and forfeit the flesh. However, Shylock pursues revenge rather than money, breaking the hitherto apparent stereotype of Jews avaricious usurers. Although everyone expects him to cave in to the offer of money, Shylock surprises everyone when he proves that, in reality, money comes second, even if only to revenge. “I crave the law,” Shylock proclaims to the court, in other words desiring what he sees as the just demise of his adversary, Antonio. After all, his cause is just, as “he hath disgrace’d [him], and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d at my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorn’d my nation, thwarted my bargains, cool’d my friends, heated mine enemies; and what’s his reason? I am a Jew”(3.1.54-58). Unfortunately for Shylock, Portia, disguised as a law clerk, changes the scales on his justice, telling him, “As thou urgest justice, be assur’d thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st. He shall have merely justice and his bond” (4.1.321-322,339). Shylock’s pound of flesh is deemed to be unlawfully taken, yet required by the law, so that he faces death in exchange for vengeance. Only when he realizes that his life is in jeopardy does he endeavor to take the proffered sum of money, saying, “I take this offer then; pay the bond thrice and let the Christian go… Give me my principal and let me go” (4.1.318-319, 336). Sadly, not only is he no longer allowed to accept repayment, but he is also required to relinquish what is left of his fortune to the state, as well as to give up his faith and convert to Christianity on penalty of death. While one might believe that such a formerly penurious and avaricious man would rather forfeit his life than life in poverty, Shylock even further dispels such misconceptions about himself, proving that, despite his eminent appearance of greed, in reality, money his true priority.
The overarching theme of appearance versus reality unfolds throughout Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice as evidenced through the various relationships represented above. Love and money recurrently correlate as they motivate the appearances that are so skillfully woven throughout the play, surreptitiously concealing reality, and only later much later exposed after careful observation. Relationships that appear to be based on love are, in reality, the products of self-interest, often spurred on by economic determinism.
Works Cited
Shakespeare, William. "The Merchant of Venice." The Riverside Shakespeare. 2nd ed. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin Company, 1997. 288-317. Print.
Ophelia's Death and Madness
Reflecting his society’s widely differing views, Shakespeare, in his play Hamlet, confronts madness and suicide without making any moral judgment. Ophelia’s madness and subsequent death are illustrative of this analysis. To fully appreciate Shakespeare’s approach, one must consider the varying views of madness embraced during the Shakespearean period, which are reflected in the burial rites assigned to alleged suicidal victims. Ultimately, Shakespeare’s treatment of Ophelia leads to the conclusion that her tragic death was the unfortunate result of her madness.
In order to fully understand how Shakespeare confronts madness and suicide in Hamlet, it is necessary to review Ophelia’s life and death. As her brother Laertes departs for France in Hamlet I.iii, he warns Ophelia not to love Hamlet. Shortly thereafter, Polonius also upbraids Ophelia for falling in love with Hamlet and commands her to refuse any further attentions from him. A faithful daughter, Ophelia pledges to obey her father without realizing the effect it will have on her life later. In Hamlet III.i, immediately after Hamlet soliloquizes his famous “To be or not to be” speech, Ophelia enters the room to return to Hamlet some trifles he had given her while he was trying to woo her. Soon, Hamlet realizes that they are being watched, and proceeds to abuse his love for Ophelia with his renowned “get thee to a nunnery” speech. Not long afterwards, Ophelia’s madness is realized in Act IV scene v, shortly after her beloved Hamlet accidentally murders her father Polonius. Two scenes later, Gertrude relays the tragic news that Ophelia drowned when a branch of the willow tree she was sitting in broke off and she fell into the water.
In Shakespeare’s era, madness was frequently referred to as hysteria, the equivalent of modern-day dementia. Madness in women was commonly associated with sexual repression. According to Carol Thomas Neely, “Hysteria was caused, traditional medicine believed, by the pathology of the diseased and wandering womb, hence it was primarily although not exclusively a disease of women” (320). As noted by Elaine Showalter, “A deranged beloved embodies ‘the representational bonds between female insanity and female sexuality’”(Owen 1). It also was generally believed that if sexual desires or menstrual periods were suppressed for extended periods of time without fruition, women would slowly begin to go mad, as sanity and sexuality were considered closely tied in Shakespeare’s age (Neely 320). As a result, marriage was frequently proposed as the antidote for such madness, as it allowed women to have frequent sexual relations in a socially and morally acceptable setting (321). Furthermore, it is critical to note that, due to idleness and general passivity, such hysterical madness was generally more common among “women of the upper classes” and was “linked with marital, sexual, and class status, associated with sexual frustration, and cured by sexual satisfaction” (320).
In some cases, marriage was not an option. Campbell notes that “Neither marriage nor its sexual by-product is an option for Ophelia because her father deems her only suitor unsuitable; thus she resorts to a violent and permanent cure for her suffering of the mother” (2). “Suffering of the mother” is a medical term that describes the suffering state of a girl whose need for sexual activity and child production is suppressed, causing her to experience erotic melancholy known as erotomania (Camden 254). According to Showalter, “Ophelia’s madness was presented as the predictable outcome of erotomania” (3). Neely continues this argument that Ophelia’s madness was due to forsaken love when she contends that, “[t]he context of [Ophelia’s] disease, like that of hysteria later, is sexual frustration, social helplessness, and enforced control of women’s bodies (Campbell 1-2). Consideration of such factors is important when interpreting and critiquing Ophelia’s madness in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
Shortly after the scene where Hamlet tells Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery” and then foully abuses her innocence with excessive sexual language in public during the play enacted to prick Claudius’ guilty mind, the audience learns that Ophelia goes mad in Act III scene i. The cause of her madness, however, is highly debated among literary critics, as some believe that it was the result of grief over the unnatural death of her father Polonius and others attribute it to the volatile and then abandoned love of Hamlet. As noted by Robert Burton in his work, The Anatomy of the Melancholy, “Ophelia suffers from hysteria, a malady often ascribed to upper class women who bide their time in their fathers’ homes while awaiting fulfillment of their culturally mandated roles as wives and mothers” (Campbell 1). In other words, Ophelia’s hysterical symptoms mirror those considered in Shakespeare’s time to be the result of suppressed sexual desire.
Ophelia grows mad out of a need to free herself from the rule of “patriarchal cultural institutions,” which tried to “contain women’s natural passions” (Campbell 2). The audience learns of this when, “by publically alluding to sexual experience, Ophelia reveals a deeper understanding of worldly issues than an aristocratic virgin should even admit, rejecting the essentialized female codes her father dictated to her and blurring the demarcations between innocence and subversion” (Ibid). Furthermore, Ophelia’s symptoms are those of hysterics and erotomania as,
She is mad, cries ‘hem’ to clear her throat because of choking or suffocation, beats her heart to relieve the sensation of oppression around it, weeps, prattles constantly, sings snatches of old songs, is distracted and has a depraved imagination, and ends her life by drowning (Camden 254).
Such speech and actions show that the untimely death of Polonius is not what drove Ophelia to madness, but rather the forsaken love of Hamlet.
The words of mad individuals in Shakespeare’s plays continually play a significant role in the interpretation of the events that take place in the play. Ophelia’s insane musings take the form of an odd jumble of lauds and “bawdy songs” that give the audience insight into the reality of her fate. These“bawdy songs,” which she pronounces during her madness, further supports this idea, as “Ophelia becomes exactly what her father, brother, and Renaissance society fear she will be after breaking the shackles of control over feminine overflow: blatantly sexual, excessively noisy, and socially subversive” (Campbell 3-4). As part of these songs, “Ophelia recites formulas, tales, and songs that ritualize passages of transformation and loss—lost love, lost chastity, and death” (Neely 324). In addition, many of the nearly incoherent lauds she sings shortly before her death are church songs sung during monastic services as praises to God, recalling in the audience’s mind III.i.121 when Hamlet tells her to “get thee to a nunnery” (Chapman 1). In her article, “Documents in Madness: Reading Madness and Gender in Shakespeare’s Tragedies and Early Modern Culture”, Neely contended that Ophelia’s madness was “her liberation from silence, obedience, and constraint or her absolute victimization by patriarchal oppression” (332). As a result, contrary to many popular beliefs, rather than out of grief over the murder of her beloved father on the part of her lover, it is appropriate to deem Ophelia’s madness as a result of the need for liberation from masculine rule, as well as the need for fulfillment of her sexual needs and desires coupled with the apparent loss of Hamlet’s love.
Were it to have occurred today, Ophelia’s death would have been considered a tragic accident; however, according to the views of Shakespeare’s era, her accidental death was viewed as a self-destructive suicide. Many apparent suicides were not clear-cut and easily provable. “Drowning was one of the most frequent causes of accidental death in Tudor and Stuart England, and it was obviously difficult in many cases to be sure that the people found drowned in a pond or river had actually committed suicide” (McDonald 311). To understand the death and burial of Ophelia, it is imperative to consider the common views and rituals of Shakespeare’s day concerning suicide and burial in relation to madness.
When dead bodies were discovered, it was almost automatically assumed that they were suicide victims, and therefore were treated accordingly as the laws of the Elizabethan period prescribed. According to Michael McDonald in his article “Ophelia’s Maimed Rites”, “Self-murderers were certainly among those excluded from Christian burial, and refusing rites to them was justified on the basis of their inability to publically repent before their deaths” (314). When cases of suicide or ambiguous cause of death appeared, juries of common people would convene to determine whether the deceased should be considered felo de se or non compos mentis (McDonald 310-311). A felo de se, or “felon of himself” entailed the withholding of traditional Christian burial rites and complete asset forfeiture to the state, in addition to burial of the corpse, impaled on a stake, in the middle of the road during the night. On the other hand, a sentence of non compos mentis, a decision that the deceased was mad and thereby acquitted of any felony, involved the possible allowance for some burial rituals if approved by the church, and without asset forfeiture (Ibid). When in doubt, however, instead of giving the deceased the benefit of the doubt, juries usually sentenced them as felo de se, and even “gentility…was no guarantee of mercy” (311-312). Another verdict used in cases of suicide victims and mentioned in Hamlet by the clown in V.i.10-13, se defendendo was absurdly used to declare individuals to have acted out of self-defense (312). As the views of Shakespeare’s day concerning suicide burials come to light, they may be seen in Ophelia’s own death and subsequent burial.
When Gertrude reports her death, she attributes Ophelia’s fall into the water to the breaking of a limb of a willow tree upon which she is perched. Ironically, this tree is considered to be a symbol of unrequited love in both Shakespearean and Elizabethan Literature (Ibid). German critic Ruth J. Owen states that “Ophelia’s waters are ‘die stummer wasser,’ representing silence. What goes unspoken here is less an individual murder than a force crumbling and eroding civilization” (5). Upon the realization that Ophelia died for love of her beloved, mad Hamlet, the audience sees the desecration of societal traditions, as she disobeys her father’s command to forsake her suitor in this final liberating act of dying on behalf of his love. This supposition is supported when Ophelia gives rosemary, an herb usually given as a wedding present, to her brother Laertes, “condemn[ing] his collusion with Polonius in preventing her marriage, which forces her into this state of overwrought emotion and socially unsanctioned sexuality”(Campbell 8).
Suicide was viewed as an odious felony in the early modern period of Shakespeare’s England. As a result, “[a]mong the coroners’ inquisitions filed in the central courts between 1487 and 1660, only 1.6% of suicides were returned non compos mentis” (Ibid). Because the laws prohibiting suicide were so strictly upheld, “[a]s a rule, they excused only raving lunatics and regarded evidence of lesser mental disorders as proof that a suicide was guilty of his own murder” (Ibid). This evidence supports the idea that the mentally ill or mad, being such, received their due punishment for their actions, though performed in altered states of mind, through the refusal of proper burial and the forfeiture of property.
The audience first learns of Ophelia’s death from Gertrude, who reveals the nature of the incident “as accidental, passive, involuntary, [and] mad” when, in IV.vii.173 she proclaims that “an envious sliver broke” when Ophelia was sitting on a branch of a willow tree singing her mad songs (Neely 326). She continues her report by describing the scene of Ophelia’s drowning, saying,
Her clothes spread wide, and mermaidlike awhile they bore her up, which time she chanted snatches of old lauds, as one incapable of her own distress, or like a creature native and indued unto that element. (Shakespeare IV.ii.175-80).
Through this portrayal of Ophelia’s death, Gertrude, with her words,
[N]either condemns [Ophelia’s death] on religious grounds nor explicitly condones it on medical/legal grounds. Instead she narrates it without interpretation as a beautiful, “natural,” ritual of passage and purification, the mad body’s inevitable return to nature (Neely 327).
As Joshua Cohen points out that, through her announcement of Ophelia’s death, Gertrude “describes the drowning Ophelia as ‘mermaid-like,’ she brings into focus the precise nature of her tragedy, that of a young woman turned away at the threshold of sexual fulfillment, whose maiden love is slandered, rejected, thwarted” (1).
The methods of sentencing suicide victims in Shakespeare’s day were severly flawed. Ophelia’s death presents an excellent case “illuminat[ing] the problems that identifying suicides and burying their bodies presented to the passive drowning of high birth” (McDonald 316). The clown’s mispronunciation of the legal term se defendendo presents an interesting satire of the “arbitrary and subjective methods of coroners’ juries” in such cases. Furthermore,
Shakespeare’s treatment of Ophelia’s death and burial sustains the meditation on the consequences of self-destruction that Hamlet begins in his famous soliloquy…[and] exploits changing attitudes about suicide [of his day] (Ibid).
Although the clown mispronounces the term se defendendo, his and the gravediggers’ reasoning was quite similar to that of the coroners’ juries of Shakespeare’s day (Ibid). The limited burial rites that Ophelia is allowed portray that, although she may have received a verdict of non compos mentis, the “popular conviction that lunacy did not entirely excuse self-destruction” permeated Shakespeare’s writing, as she was buried on the north end of the churchyard with others of questionable death (314).
Hamlet, under close scrutiny, is replete with details that reveal that Ophelia died because of lost love and the subsequent madness that this created. Perhaps Elaine Showalter states it best when she records that “Drowning…becomes the truly feminine death in the dramas and literature of life, one which is a beautiful immersion and submersion in the female element” (3). Ophelia’s death is frequently attributed to “the conjunction of female mental disorder with love for Hamlet” (Owen 1). Although some critics believe that Ophelia committed suicide out of grief over the death of her father Polonius, this seems unlikely, as Claudius suggests this idea while having “his own axe to grind since he wished to stir Laertes up to ridding him of Hamlet” (Camden 252).
In conclusion, although Shakespeare portrays the varying views of his society concerning madness, suicide, and the burial of suicide victims of his day, he easily accomplishes the “task of cultural history…to identify the colors in the spectrum, not to resolve them in a single beam of light” (McDonald 317). Despite the belief of many critics that Ophelia grew mad because of grief over the murder of her father, it is evident that, in reality, she only attained madness out of a singular and unsatisfied love for Hamlet. As a passive drowning victim, her death was misconstrued as suicide when, in reality, she died accidentally while madly pining after her unrequited love. As a result, the maimed burial rites she receives are a great travesty to her honest yet oppressed personage. As noted by Arthur Palmer Hudson, “Tragedy creates a balance of affections… [in which] Shakespear (sic) has shown the mastery of his genius and of his power over the human heart” (68). Although Hamlet is one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, he still pays careful attention to matters of the heart, construing the tragedy of Ophelia as one of love lost.
Works Cited
Camden, Carroll. "On Ophelia's Madness." Shakespeare Quarterly 15.2 (1964): 247-55. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009..
Campbell, Erin E. "Sad Generations Seeking Water: The Social Construction of Madness in Ophelia and Quentin Compson." The Faulkner Journal 20.1-2 (2004): 1-9. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
Chapman, Alison A. "Ophelia's 'Old Lauds': Madness and Hagiography in Hamlet." Ed. Michelle Lee. Shakespearean Criticism 120 (2007): 1-13. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
Cohen, Joshua. "Mermaid-like: The Tragedy of Ophelia." Shakespearean Criticism 56.2 (2006): 1-2. Print.
Hudson, Arthur P. "Romantic Apologiae for Hamlet's Treatment of Ophelia." ELH 9.1 (1942): 59-70. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009..
MacDonald, Michael. "Ophelia's Maimed Rites." Shakespeare Quarterly 37.3 (1986): 309-17. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009..
Neely, Carol T. "Documents in Madness: Reading Madness and Gender in Shakespeare's Tragedies and Early Modern Culture." Shakespeare Quarterly 42.3 (1991): 315-38. JStor. Web. 11 Nov. 2009..
Owen, Ruth J. "Claiming the Body: The Ophelia Myth in the GDR." The Germanic Review 82.3 (2007): 1-9. Print.
Showalter, Elaine. "Representing Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of
Feminist Criticism." Ed. Dana R. Barnes. Shakespearean Criticism 35 (1997): 1-9. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
William, Shakespeare,. Hamlet. Riverside Shakespeare. 2nd ed. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1997. 1189-234. Print.
In order to fully understand how Shakespeare confronts madness and suicide in Hamlet, it is necessary to review Ophelia’s life and death. As her brother Laertes departs for France in Hamlet I.iii, he warns Ophelia not to love Hamlet. Shortly thereafter, Polonius also upbraids Ophelia for falling in love with Hamlet and commands her to refuse any further attentions from him. A faithful daughter, Ophelia pledges to obey her father without realizing the effect it will have on her life later. In Hamlet III.i, immediately after Hamlet soliloquizes his famous “To be or not to be” speech, Ophelia enters the room to return to Hamlet some trifles he had given her while he was trying to woo her. Soon, Hamlet realizes that they are being watched, and proceeds to abuse his love for Ophelia with his renowned “get thee to a nunnery” speech. Not long afterwards, Ophelia’s madness is realized in Act IV scene v, shortly after her beloved Hamlet accidentally murders her father Polonius. Two scenes later, Gertrude relays the tragic news that Ophelia drowned when a branch of the willow tree she was sitting in broke off and she fell into the water.
In Shakespeare’s era, madness was frequently referred to as hysteria, the equivalent of modern-day dementia. Madness in women was commonly associated with sexual repression. According to Carol Thomas Neely, “Hysteria was caused, traditional medicine believed, by the pathology of the diseased and wandering womb, hence it was primarily although not exclusively a disease of women” (320). As noted by Elaine Showalter, “A deranged beloved embodies ‘the representational bonds between female insanity and female sexuality’”(Owen 1). It also was generally believed that if sexual desires or menstrual periods were suppressed for extended periods of time without fruition, women would slowly begin to go mad, as sanity and sexuality were considered closely tied in Shakespeare’s age (Neely 320). As a result, marriage was frequently proposed as the antidote for such madness, as it allowed women to have frequent sexual relations in a socially and morally acceptable setting (321). Furthermore, it is critical to note that, due to idleness and general passivity, such hysterical madness was generally more common among “women of the upper classes” and was “linked with marital, sexual, and class status, associated with sexual frustration, and cured by sexual satisfaction” (320).
In some cases, marriage was not an option. Campbell notes that “Neither marriage nor its sexual by-product is an option for Ophelia because her father deems her only suitor unsuitable; thus she resorts to a violent and permanent cure for her suffering of the mother” (2). “Suffering of the mother” is a medical term that describes the suffering state of a girl whose need for sexual activity and child production is suppressed, causing her to experience erotic melancholy known as erotomania (Camden 254). According to Showalter, “Ophelia’s madness was presented as the predictable outcome of erotomania” (3). Neely continues this argument that Ophelia’s madness was due to forsaken love when she contends that, “[t]he context of [Ophelia’s] disease, like that of hysteria later, is sexual frustration, social helplessness, and enforced control of women’s bodies (Campbell 1-2). Consideration of such factors is important when interpreting and critiquing Ophelia’s madness in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
Shortly after the scene where Hamlet tells Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery” and then foully abuses her innocence with excessive sexual language in public during the play enacted to prick Claudius’ guilty mind, the audience learns that Ophelia goes mad in Act III scene i. The cause of her madness, however, is highly debated among literary critics, as some believe that it was the result of grief over the unnatural death of her father Polonius and others attribute it to the volatile and then abandoned love of Hamlet. As noted by Robert Burton in his work, The Anatomy of the Melancholy, “Ophelia suffers from hysteria, a malady often ascribed to upper class women who bide their time in their fathers’ homes while awaiting fulfillment of their culturally mandated roles as wives and mothers” (Campbell 1). In other words, Ophelia’s hysterical symptoms mirror those considered in Shakespeare’s time to be the result of suppressed sexual desire.
Ophelia grows mad out of a need to free herself from the rule of “patriarchal cultural institutions,” which tried to “contain women’s natural passions” (Campbell 2). The audience learns of this when, “by publically alluding to sexual experience, Ophelia reveals a deeper understanding of worldly issues than an aristocratic virgin should even admit, rejecting the essentialized female codes her father dictated to her and blurring the demarcations between innocence and subversion” (Ibid). Furthermore, Ophelia’s symptoms are those of hysterics and erotomania as,
She is mad, cries ‘hem’ to clear her throat because of choking or suffocation, beats her heart to relieve the sensation of oppression around it, weeps, prattles constantly, sings snatches of old songs, is distracted and has a depraved imagination, and ends her life by drowning (Camden 254).
Such speech and actions show that the untimely death of Polonius is not what drove Ophelia to madness, but rather the forsaken love of Hamlet.
The words of mad individuals in Shakespeare’s plays continually play a significant role in the interpretation of the events that take place in the play. Ophelia’s insane musings take the form of an odd jumble of lauds and “bawdy songs” that give the audience insight into the reality of her fate. These“bawdy songs,” which she pronounces during her madness, further supports this idea, as “Ophelia becomes exactly what her father, brother, and Renaissance society fear she will be after breaking the shackles of control over feminine overflow: blatantly sexual, excessively noisy, and socially subversive” (Campbell 3-4). As part of these songs, “Ophelia recites formulas, tales, and songs that ritualize passages of transformation and loss—lost love, lost chastity, and death” (Neely 324). In addition, many of the nearly incoherent lauds she sings shortly before her death are church songs sung during monastic services as praises to God, recalling in the audience’s mind III.i.121 when Hamlet tells her to “get thee to a nunnery” (Chapman 1). In her article, “Documents in Madness: Reading Madness and Gender in Shakespeare’s Tragedies and Early Modern Culture”, Neely contended that Ophelia’s madness was “her liberation from silence, obedience, and constraint or her absolute victimization by patriarchal oppression” (332). As a result, contrary to many popular beliefs, rather than out of grief over the murder of her beloved father on the part of her lover, it is appropriate to deem Ophelia’s madness as a result of the need for liberation from masculine rule, as well as the need for fulfillment of her sexual needs and desires coupled with the apparent loss of Hamlet’s love.
Were it to have occurred today, Ophelia’s death would have been considered a tragic accident; however, according to the views of Shakespeare’s era, her accidental death was viewed as a self-destructive suicide. Many apparent suicides were not clear-cut and easily provable. “Drowning was one of the most frequent causes of accidental death in Tudor and Stuart England, and it was obviously difficult in many cases to be sure that the people found drowned in a pond or river had actually committed suicide” (McDonald 311). To understand the death and burial of Ophelia, it is imperative to consider the common views and rituals of Shakespeare’s day concerning suicide and burial in relation to madness.
When dead bodies were discovered, it was almost automatically assumed that they were suicide victims, and therefore were treated accordingly as the laws of the Elizabethan period prescribed. According to Michael McDonald in his article “Ophelia’s Maimed Rites”, “Self-murderers were certainly among those excluded from Christian burial, and refusing rites to them was justified on the basis of their inability to publically repent before their deaths” (314). When cases of suicide or ambiguous cause of death appeared, juries of common people would convene to determine whether the deceased should be considered felo de se or non compos mentis (McDonald 310-311). A felo de se, or “felon of himself” entailed the withholding of traditional Christian burial rites and complete asset forfeiture to the state, in addition to burial of the corpse, impaled on a stake, in the middle of the road during the night. On the other hand, a sentence of non compos mentis, a decision that the deceased was mad and thereby acquitted of any felony, involved the possible allowance for some burial rituals if approved by the church, and without asset forfeiture (Ibid). When in doubt, however, instead of giving the deceased the benefit of the doubt, juries usually sentenced them as felo de se, and even “gentility…was no guarantee of mercy” (311-312). Another verdict used in cases of suicide victims and mentioned in Hamlet by the clown in V.i.10-13, se defendendo was absurdly used to declare individuals to have acted out of self-defense (312). As the views of Shakespeare’s day concerning suicide burials come to light, they may be seen in Ophelia’s own death and subsequent burial.
When Gertrude reports her death, she attributes Ophelia’s fall into the water to the breaking of a limb of a willow tree upon which she is perched. Ironically, this tree is considered to be a symbol of unrequited love in both Shakespearean and Elizabethan Literature (Ibid). German critic Ruth J. Owen states that “Ophelia’s waters are ‘die stummer wasser,’ representing silence. What goes unspoken here is less an individual murder than a force crumbling and eroding civilization” (5). Upon the realization that Ophelia died for love of her beloved, mad Hamlet, the audience sees the desecration of societal traditions, as she disobeys her father’s command to forsake her suitor in this final liberating act of dying on behalf of his love. This supposition is supported when Ophelia gives rosemary, an herb usually given as a wedding present, to her brother Laertes, “condemn[ing] his collusion with Polonius in preventing her marriage, which forces her into this state of overwrought emotion and socially unsanctioned sexuality”(Campbell 8).
Suicide was viewed as an odious felony in the early modern period of Shakespeare’s England. As a result, “[a]mong the coroners’ inquisitions filed in the central courts between 1487 and 1660, only 1.6% of suicides were returned non compos mentis” (Ibid). Because the laws prohibiting suicide were so strictly upheld, “[a]s a rule, they excused only raving lunatics and regarded evidence of lesser mental disorders as proof that a suicide was guilty of his own murder” (Ibid). This evidence supports the idea that the mentally ill or mad, being such, received their due punishment for their actions, though performed in altered states of mind, through the refusal of proper burial and the forfeiture of property.
The audience first learns of Ophelia’s death from Gertrude, who reveals the nature of the incident “as accidental, passive, involuntary, [and] mad” when, in IV.vii.173 she proclaims that “an envious sliver broke” when Ophelia was sitting on a branch of a willow tree singing her mad songs (Neely 326). She continues her report by describing the scene of Ophelia’s drowning, saying,
Her clothes spread wide, and mermaidlike awhile they bore her up, which time she chanted snatches of old lauds, as one incapable of her own distress, or like a creature native and indued unto that element. (Shakespeare IV.ii.175-80).
Through this portrayal of Ophelia’s death, Gertrude, with her words,
[N]either condemns [Ophelia’s death] on religious grounds nor explicitly condones it on medical/legal grounds. Instead she narrates it without interpretation as a beautiful, “natural,” ritual of passage and purification, the mad body’s inevitable return to nature (Neely 327).
As Joshua Cohen points out that, through her announcement of Ophelia’s death, Gertrude “describes the drowning Ophelia as ‘mermaid-like,’ she brings into focus the precise nature of her tragedy, that of a young woman turned away at the threshold of sexual fulfillment, whose maiden love is slandered, rejected, thwarted” (1).
The methods of sentencing suicide victims in Shakespeare’s day were severly flawed. Ophelia’s death presents an excellent case “illuminat[ing] the problems that identifying suicides and burying their bodies presented to the passive drowning of high birth” (McDonald 316). The clown’s mispronunciation of the legal term se defendendo presents an interesting satire of the “arbitrary and subjective methods of coroners’ juries” in such cases. Furthermore,
Shakespeare’s treatment of Ophelia’s death and burial sustains the meditation on the consequences of self-destruction that Hamlet begins in his famous soliloquy…[and] exploits changing attitudes about suicide [of his day] (Ibid).
Although the clown mispronounces the term se defendendo, his and the gravediggers’ reasoning was quite similar to that of the coroners’ juries of Shakespeare’s day (Ibid). The limited burial rites that Ophelia is allowed portray that, although she may have received a verdict of non compos mentis, the “popular conviction that lunacy did not entirely excuse self-destruction” permeated Shakespeare’s writing, as she was buried on the north end of the churchyard with others of questionable death (314).
Hamlet, under close scrutiny, is replete with details that reveal that Ophelia died because of lost love and the subsequent madness that this created. Perhaps Elaine Showalter states it best when she records that “Drowning…becomes the truly feminine death in the dramas and literature of life, one which is a beautiful immersion and submersion in the female element” (3). Ophelia’s death is frequently attributed to “the conjunction of female mental disorder with love for Hamlet” (Owen 1). Although some critics believe that Ophelia committed suicide out of grief over the death of her father Polonius, this seems unlikely, as Claudius suggests this idea while having “his own axe to grind since he wished to stir Laertes up to ridding him of Hamlet” (Camden 252).
In conclusion, although Shakespeare portrays the varying views of his society concerning madness, suicide, and the burial of suicide victims of his day, he easily accomplishes the “task of cultural history…to identify the colors in the spectrum, not to resolve them in a single beam of light” (McDonald 317). Despite the belief of many critics that Ophelia grew mad because of grief over the murder of her father, it is evident that, in reality, she only attained madness out of a singular and unsatisfied love for Hamlet. As a passive drowning victim, her death was misconstrued as suicide when, in reality, she died accidentally while madly pining after her unrequited love. As a result, the maimed burial rites she receives are a great travesty to her honest yet oppressed personage. As noted by Arthur Palmer Hudson, “Tragedy creates a balance of affections… [in which] Shakespear (sic) has shown the mastery of his genius and of his power over the human heart” (68). Although Hamlet is one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, he still pays careful attention to matters of the heart, construing the tragedy of Ophelia as one of love lost.
Works Cited
Camden, Carroll. "On Ophelia's Madness." Shakespeare Quarterly 15.2 (1964): 247-55. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009.
Campbell, Erin E. "Sad Generations Seeking Water: The Social Construction of Madness in Ophelia and Quentin Compson." The Faulkner Journal 20.1-2 (2004): 1-9. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
Chapman, Alison A. "Ophelia's 'Old Lauds': Madness and Hagiography in Hamlet." Ed. Michelle Lee. Shakespearean Criticism 120 (2007): 1-13. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
Cohen, Joshua. "Mermaid-like: The Tragedy of Ophelia." Shakespearean Criticism 56.2 (2006): 1-2. Print.
Hudson, Arthur P. "Romantic Apologiae for Hamlet's Treatment of Ophelia." ELH 9.1 (1942): 59-70. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009.
MacDonald, Michael. "Ophelia's Maimed Rites." Shakespeare Quarterly 37.3 (1986): 309-17. JStor. Web. 19 Nov. 2009.
Neely, Carol T. "Documents in Madness: Reading Madness and Gender in Shakespeare's Tragedies and Early Modern Culture." Shakespeare Quarterly 42.3 (1991): 315-38. JStor. Web. 11 Nov. 2009.
Owen, Ruth J. "Claiming the Body: The Ophelia Myth in the GDR." The Germanic Review 82.3 (2007): 1-9. Print.
Showalter, Elaine. "Representing Ophelia: Women, Madness, and the Responsibilities of
Feminist Criticism." Ed. Dana R. Barnes. Shakespearean Criticism 35 (1997): 1-9. Literature Resource Center. Web. 21 Nov. 2009.
William, Shakespeare,. Hamlet. Riverside Shakespeare. 2nd ed. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1997. 1189-234. Print.
Reflexiones: el engaño de la belleza
Al contrario del comportamiento comúnmente aceptado para la mujer, la monja Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz aprendió y alfabetizó poco clandestinamente. Escribió muchas obras de literatura, las cuales recibieron mucha fama y reflejaron muchas de las dificultades de su época. La primera feminista, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz saca a la luz los misconcepciones más comunes del siglo XVII sobre la mujer en sus poemas A su retrato y A una rosa.
Nacida en 1651, Juana Inés de la Cruz fue la hija natural criolla del español Pedro Asbaje y la mexicana Isabel Ramírez de Santillana (Gutiérrez 31). Cuando tenía tres años, ella siguió a su hermana mayor a su maestra donde le mintió que su madre la había mandado para aprender a leer. Aunque la maestra no le creyó, la enseñó a causa de su precocidad (Arenal 164). Un poco mas tarde, cuando tenía siete años, Juana le molestaba a su madre para permitirle a vestirse como un niño y asistir a una universidad o una escuela en la Ciudad de México, pero no le permitió (Gutiérrez 31). A pesar de que no pudo obtener una educación formal, Juana leyó muchos libros en la biblioteca de su abuela materna hasta que fue al corte del virreinato a los trece años de edad (Ibid). Luego, tendría su propia biblioteca de casi 4,000 libros (Barnstone 263).
En agosto de 1667 se sumó al convento de la carmelitas de San José por dos años (Kirk 15). Se enfermó y tuvo que volver a la corte y luego, en febrero de 1669, se sumó al convento de los jeronimitas de Santa Paula (Ibid). A los diecisiete años, soportó un examen dado por cuarenta de los mejores y más sabios profesores de la ciencia, la filosofía, la matemática, la literatura, la teología, y la música. Ella aprobó expertamente (Barnstone 262).
Llamada “La Décima Musa”, escribió muchas obras literarias del estilo barroco con los primordiales temas del “desengaño, la desilusión, el pesimismo, la angustia, el sentido de transitoriedad y [la] vanidad de la vida” (Gutiérrez 32-33). Como una gran dramaturga, Sor Juana escribió Los empeños de una casa, unos de sus dramas más famosos en que presenta la idea que el matrimonio es la única opción aceptable en su sociedad para la mujer (Johnson 127). Como poeta escribió Hombres necios, el cual revela el engaño de los hombres y la calidad doble que ellos imponen en las mujeres (McInnis 764). En defensa de sus derechos femeninos intelectuales, Sor Juana escribió su final y más famosa obra en su Repuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz (Kirk 107).
En A su retrato, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz crea una pintura de la falsedad de los silogismos y razones machistas de su época. Escrito en rima consonante abrazada de once sílabas, este soneto denuncia el engaño de su sociedad como “un vano artificio del cuidado”, “una flor al viento dedicada”, “un resguardo inútil para el hado”, “una necia diligencia errada” y otras cosas espurias (187). Según la crítica Lola Luna en su artículo “Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, poeta y filósofa,” “Muchos de sus poemas, dedicado al tema del retrato, de la copia original, muestran la preocupación filosófica de sor Juana por lo que hoy llamaríamos plano de representación y plano de contenido, por el contraste inevitable que se establece entre lo representado y lo real” (58-59). Sor Juana empieza su poema por describir el retrato como un “engaño colorido”(187).
Aunque por supuesto un retrato debe mostrar la realidad de quien es una persona, Sor Juana dice que el retrato es una reflexión inexacta de la vida que sola imita a la realidad. El crítico Carlos Blanco Aguinaga, en su artículo “Dos Sonetos del Siglo XVII: Amor-Locura en Quevedo y Sor Juana,” dice que, “Frente a la idea, repetido hasta el cansancio desde la antigüedad, de que lo pintado compite con lo vivo, que da a lo vivo presencia indestructible…lo pintado- “cauteloso engaño del sentido!”- es, desde su concepción, lo muerto; color que quiere pasar por substancia” (155). Aunque un retrato quiere representar lo real, “es un afán caduco y, bien mirado, es cadáver, es polvo, es sobra, es nada”(De la Cruz 187). Los colores del retrato traten de sangrar de verdad pero se apaguen.
En su poema A una rosa Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz continua la idea del engaño de la apariencia. En su tiempo, mujeres fueron presentadas frecuentemente como símbolos del deterioro físico y moral, muy semejante de la manera en que Sor Juana da censura moral a una rosa que representa el engaño de la belleza (Merrim 45). Durante toda su vida, Sor Juana tuvo un conflicto de sentimientos sobre su propia belleza (Kaminsky 34). Pero, en su poema, ella denuncia la belleza como un “amago de la humana arquitectura, ejemplo de la vana gentileza”. Según la autora Gloria Bautista Gutiérrez, en el libro Voces femeninas de Hispanoamérica: Antología, “pensaba que la mujer no debía lucir una hermosa cabellera en una cerebro vacío” (31). En su Repuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz relata un cuento de su niñez cuando se cortó su pelo por ser lenta de aprender el Latín (Kaminsky 34).
Con este ejemplo de su propia vida ella sostenga la idea del poema de que la belleza como una rosa es de un “caduco ser das mustias, señas, con que con docta muerte y necia vida, viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas!”(De la Cruz 187). Carlos Blanco Aguinaga describe su poema como un soneto “en que da moral censura a una rosa, y en ella a sus semejantes” (153). Ella se dio cuenta que la sociedad centrado en la belleza fue “viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas” como “la cuna alegre y triste sepulcra:”(De la Cruz 187). Ella censuraba el mundo por ser enfocado en la belleza efímera cuando lo que queda después de se marchita la belleza es el intelecto.
En los dos poemas, Sor Juana revela el mundo en la luz de un engaño. Los dos, el retrato y la rosa, tratan de representar la realidad pero lo hacen inexactamente. Los dos son “viviendo engañas” así como son “engaño colorido”(De la Cruz 187). Al mismo tiempo que el retrato “es un vano artificio del cuidado”, la rosa es un “amago de la humana arquitectura”(Ibid). Sor Juana pretende corregir los falsos silogismos de los símbolos con sus poemas.
En conclusión, según las palabras de Lola Luna, “Sor Juana renuncia al cuerpo y sólo hereda la memoria, las impresiones de las imágenes percibidas por los sentidos” (62). Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz no quería la hermosura sin la inteligencia. Por su vida clausurada, Sor Juana vivió los propósitos de sus obras. Ella no se enfoque en la belleza y entonces da censura al mundo por representar ideas falsas.
Obras Citadas
Aguinaga, Carlos B. "Dos Sonetos del Siglo XVII: Amor-Locura en Quevedo y Sor Juana." MLN 2nd ser. 77.Spanish (1962): 145-62. JStor. Web. 30 Nov. 2009.
Arenal, Electra. "The Convent as a Catalyst for Autonomy: Two Hispanic Nuns of the Seventeenth Century." Women in Hispanic Literature: Icons and Fallen Idols. Ed. Beth Miller. Berkeley: University of California, 1983. 147-83. Print.
Barnstone, Willis. A Book of Women Poets from Antiquity to Now. Ed. Aliki Barnstone. New York: Schocken Books, 1980. Print.
De la Cruz, Sor Juana Inés. "A su retrato." Aproximaciones al estudio de la literatura hispánica. Ed. Edward H. Friedman, L. T. Valdivieso, and Carmelo Virgillo. 6th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, 2008. 186-88. Print.
De la Cruz, Sor Juana Inés. "A una rosa." Aproximaciones al estudio de la literatura hispánica. Ed. Edward H. Friedman, L. T. Valdivieso, and Carmelo Virgillo. 6th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, 2008. 186-88. Print.
Johnson, Julie G. Women in Colonial Spanish American Literature: Literary Images. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1983. Print
Kaminsky, Amy K. "Nearly New Clarions: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Pays Homage to a Swedish Poet." In the Feminine Mode: Essays on Hispanic Women Writers. Ed. Noel Valis and Carol Maier. Lewisburg: Associated UP, 1990. 31-53. Print.
Kirk, Pamela. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Relgion, Art, and Feminism. New York: The Continuum Company, 1998. Print.
Luna, Lola. "Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, poeta y filósofa." Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos (1995): 55-67. Print.
Merrim, Stephanie. Early Modern Women's Writing and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Nashville: Vanderbilt UP, 1999. Print.
"Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz." Voces femininas de Hispanoamérica: Antología. Ed. Gloria
B. Gutiérrez. Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg, 1996. 31-39. Print.
Nacida en 1651, Juana Inés de la Cruz fue la hija natural criolla del español Pedro Asbaje y la mexicana Isabel Ramírez de Santillana (Gutiérrez 31). Cuando tenía tres años, ella siguió a su hermana mayor a su maestra donde le mintió que su madre la había mandado para aprender a leer. Aunque la maestra no le creyó, la enseñó a causa de su precocidad (Arenal 164). Un poco mas tarde, cuando tenía siete años, Juana le molestaba a su madre para permitirle a vestirse como un niño y asistir a una universidad o una escuela en la Ciudad de México, pero no le permitió (Gutiérrez 31). A pesar de que no pudo obtener una educación formal, Juana leyó muchos libros en la biblioteca de su abuela materna hasta que fue al corte del virreinato a los trece años de edad (Ibid). Luego, tendría su propia biblioteca de casi 4,000 libros (Barnstone 263).
En agosto de 1667 se sumó al convento de la carmelitas de San José por dos años (Kirk 15). Se enfermó y tuvo que volver a la corte y luego, en febrero de 1669, se sumó al convento de los jeronimitas de Santa Paula (Ibid). A los diecisiete años, soportó un examen dado por cuarenta de los mejores y más sabios profesores de la ciencia, la filosofía, la matemática, la literatura, la teología, y la música. Ella aprobó expertamente (Barnstone 262).
Llamada “La Décima Musa”, escribió muchas obras literarias del estilo barroco con los primordiales temas del “desengaño, la desilusión, el pesimismo, la angustia, el sentido de transitoriedad y [la] vanidad de la vida” (Gutiérrez 32-33). Como una gran dramaturga, Sor Juana escribió Los empeños de una casa, unos de sus dramas más famosos en que presenta la idea que el matrimonio es la única opción aceptable en su sociedad para la mujer (Johnson 127). Como poeta escribió Hombres necios, el cual revela el engaño de los hombres y la calidad doble que ellos imponen en las mujeres (McInnis 764). En defensa de sus derechos femeninos intelectuales, Sor Juana escribió su final y más famosa obra en su Repuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz (Kirk 107).
En A su retrato, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz crea una pintura de la falsedad de los silogismos y razones machistas de su época. Escrito en rima consonante abrazada de once sílabas, este soneto denuncia el engaño de su sociedad como “un vano artificio del cuidado”, “una flor al viento dedicada”, “un resguardo inútil para el hado”, “una necia diligencia errada” y otras cosas espurias (187). Según la crítica Lola Luna en su artículo “Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, poeta y filósofa,” “Muchos de sus poemas, dedicado al tema del retrato, de la copia original, muestran la preocupación filosófica de sor Juana por lo que hoy llamaríamos plano de representación y plano de contenido, por el contraste inevitable que se establece entre lo representado y lo real” (58-59). Sor Juana empieza su poema por describir el retrato como un “engaño colorido”(187).
Aunque por supuesto un retrato debe mostrar la realidad de quien es una persona, Sor Juana dice que el retrato es una reflexión inexacta de la vida que sola imita a la realidad. El crítico Carlos Blanco Aguinaga, en su artículo “Dos Sonetos del Siglo XVII: Amor-Locura en Quevedo y Sor Juana,” dice que, “Frente a la idea, repetido hasta el cansancio desde la antigüedad, de que lo pintado compite con lo vivo, que da a lo vivo presencia indestructible…lo pintado- “cauteloso engaño del sentido!”- es, desde su concepción, lo muerto; color que quiere pasar por substancia” (155). Aunque un retrato quiere representar lo real, “es un afán caduco y, bien mirado, es cadáver, es polvo, es sobra, es nada”(De la Cruz 187). Los colores del retrato traten de sangrar de verdad pero se apaguen.
En su poema A una rosa Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz continua la idea del engaño de la apariencia. En su tiempo, mujeres fueron presentadas frecuentemente como símbolos del deterioro físico y moral, muy semejante de la manera en que Sor Juana da censura moral a una rosa que representa el engaño de la belleza (Merrim 45). Durante toda su vida, Sor Juana tuvo un conflicto de sentimientos sobre su propia belleza (Kaminsky 34). Pero, en su poema, ella denuncia la belleza como un “amago de la humana arquitectura, ejemplo de la vana gentileza”. Según la autora Gloria Bautista Gutiérrez, en el libro Voces femeninas de Hispanoamérica: Antología, “pensaba que la mujer no debía lucir una hermosa cabellera en una cerebro vacío” (31). En su Repuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz relata un cuento de su niñez cuando se cortó su pelo por ser lenta de aprender el Latín (Kaminsky 34).
Con este ejemplo de su propia vida ella sostenga la idea del poema de que la belleza como una rosa es de un “caduco ser das mustias, señas, con que con docta muerte y necia vida, viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas!”(De la Cruz 187). Carlos Blanco Aguinaga describe su poema como un soneto “en que da moral censura a una rosa, y en ella a sus semejantes” (153). Ella se dio cuenta que la sociedad centrado en la belleza fue “viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas” como “la cuna alegre y triste sepulcra:”(De la Cruz 187). Ella censuraba el mundo por ser enfocado en la belleza efímera cuando lo que queda después de se marchita la belleza es el intelecto.
En los dos poemas, Sor Juana revela el mundo en la luz de un engaño. Los dos, el retrato y la rosa, tratan de representar la realidad pero lo hacen inexactamente. Los dos son “viviendo engañas” así como son “engaño colorido”(De la Cruz 187). Al mismo tiempo que el retrato “es un vano artificio del cuidado”, la rosa es un “amago de la humana arquitectura”(Ibid). Sor Juana pretende corregir los falsos silogismos de los símbolos con sus poemas.
En conclusión, según las palabras de Lola Luna, “Sor Juana renuncia al cuerpo y sólo hereda la memoria, las impresiones de las imágenes percibidas por los sentidos” (62). Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz no quería la hermosura sin la inteligencia. Por su vida clausurada, Sor Juana vivió los propósitos de sus obras. Ella no se enfoque en la belleza y entonces da censura al mundo por representar ideas falsas.
Obras Citadas
Aguinaga, Carlos B. "Dos Sonetos del Siglo XVII: Amor-Locura en Quevedo y Sor Juana." MLN 2nd ser. 77.Spanish (1962): 145-62. JStor. Web. 30 Nov. 2009.
Arenal, Electra. "The Convent as a Catalyst for Autonomy: Two Hispanic Nuns of the Seventeenth Century." Women in Hispanic Literature: Icons and Fallen Idols. Ed. Beth Miller. Berkeley: University of California, 1983. 147-83. Print.
Barnstone, Willis. A Book of Women Poets from Antiquity to Now. Ed. Aliki Barnstone. New York: Schocken Books, 1980. Print.
De la Cruz, Sor Juana Inés. "A su retrato." Aproximaciones al estudio de la literatura hispánica. Ed. Edward H. Friedman, L. T. Valdivieso, and Carmelo Virgillo. 6th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, 2008. 186-88. Print.
De la Cruz, Sor Juana Inés. "A una rosa." Aproximaciones al estudio de la literatura hispánica. Ed. Edward H. Friedman, L. T. Valdivieso, and Carmelo Virgillo. 6th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill Higher Education, 2008. 186-88. Print.
Johnson, Julie G. Women in Colonial Spanish American Literature: Literary Images. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1983. Print
Kaminsky, Amy K. "Nearly New Clarions: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Pays Homage to a Swedish Poet." In the Feminine Mode: Essays on Hispanic Women Writers. Ed. Noel Valis and Carol Maier. Lewisburg: Associated UP, 1990. 31-53. Print.
Kirk, Pamela. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Relgion, Art, and Feminism. New York: The Continuum Company, 1998. Print.
Luna, Lola. "Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, poeta y filósofa." Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos (1995): 55-67. Print.
Merrim, Stephanie. Early Modern Women's Writing and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Nashville: Vanderbilt UP, 1999. Print.
"Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz." Voces femininas de Hispanoamérica: Antología. Ed. Gloria
B. Gutiérrez. Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg, 1996. 31-39. Print.
The Quest for Southern Identity in American Culture
Since the Civil War, many authors and critics, such as Ulrich B. Phillips and C. Vann Woodward among others, have attempted to define and grasp what exactly is the central theme of Southern American History. While many ideas an ideologies have influenced and shaped popular views of the South, there is no single idea that encompasses the entirety of what the South is, but rather a conglomerations of many views which all mesh together, despite their diversity, to create a unified whole.
Although many wish to dodge the issue, the most undeniably significant issue throughout Southern history in one way or another is that of race relations. According to Ulrich B. Phillips in his book The Central Theme of Southern History, the identity of the South is focused around the idea that it is “a white man’s country”. While many argue that state rights or free trade or slavery or cotton or any number of other typically southern affiliations are the primary issues, Phillips believes that white supremacy overarches all of these, as it is the common theme among them. Because of this Southern sense of duty to preserve a “white man’s world” and as “white men’s ways must prevail; the Negroes must be kept innocuous”. While in the 21st century South of today such a thesis is not often blatantly held among Southerners, in ways this issue still remains in the hearts of her people. Even by the 1960’s when Flannery O’Connor wrote her short story “Revelation,” Southerners were beginning to take on a more open-minded view of race relations. Mrs. Turpin, portrayed as a typical Southern bigot continuing to hold a prejudice against African Americans as inferior, slowly comes to realize the error of her views as the story progresses, finally recognizing that, in her prejudice, she was herself becoming what she despised. She wonders, if forced to choose between being “a nigger or white-trash” which she would choose. Juxtaposing the two and hardly able to decide, she finally concludes that she would rather be the former. While the value on white supremacy is still there, there is also a sense of the Negroes as inferior and simple while those she considers “white trash” are Caucasians who choose to make themselves subordinate and like the blacks and therefore are detestable to the white sense of supremacy and superiority. Continually ruling to her husband’s Negro field hands as foolish, when she shares the story of insane girl who attacked her in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, she continues to show her prejudice, saying “You could never say anything intelligent to a nigger.” Sadly, she believes herself to fulfill the duties of her class, as she states “its not trash around her, black or white, that I haven’t given to. And break my back to the bone every day working. And do for the church.” Yet, in the end, she finally admits to being the wart hog her attacker defamed her as, releasing her prejudice as she realizes that she is her self the simple-minded, inferior being simply because of her white view of the world and what God considers acceptable. While U.B. Phillips viewpoint, echoed in the work of Flannery O’Connor is of crucial importance in Southern history, white supremacy alone does not comprehend the entirety of the South.
There are a copious number of stereotypes in association with Southern identity derived from several different sources, and many of which are not in the least accurate, although springing from real aspects of Southern history. When Europeans first began to arrive in the New World, they did so primarily under a head right system in which wealthier landowners paid the passage of those of the poorer classes in exchange for their work for a period of years in an arrangement known as indentured servitude. Next, as indentured servants and the generations following began to obtain their own properties, another class began to develop as people took the opportunities that the South, particularly its then frontier regions offered. W.J. Cash, in chapter five of The Mind of the South, paints the picture of an Irishman building a small log cabin and toiling over his plot of land and then, as his life progresses, also moving up in society by becoming a magistrate and buying a big house in the town. Out of these stereotypes of the poorest of the poor, on the verge of enslavement, working and striving at every opportunity to better their station in life, are derived that of the cavalier, or gentleman. These lowly indentured servants, over the course of a few generations, become wealthy landowners with pieces of property and slaves, known as plantations. Although true in some cases, most of such stories are only legends that satisfy the curious observer and, in reality, “the large majority of southern whites in 1860 did not did not own slaves.” Perhaps the most renowned among these myths is Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. Her novel, transformed into a timeless film, presents this idealized view of Southern cavalier society. Tara Farm, the prosperous O’Hara plantation prior to the war is utterly transformed from a land of beauty and hope into one of desolation. Scarlett O’Hara, the foolish but pretty Southern belle, plays the typical prototype caste against Southern women, focused solely on wealth and social status rather than the world around them. Large cities Southern cities, magnets for the wealthy and social elites, are utterly destroyed with the Union advance. In the wake of despondency left after the onslaught of the Northern enemy, Southerners reunite out of a sense of common loss. O’Hara even vows never to go hungry again, continuing to hold her staunch Southern pride despite their poverty. Even though, for decades, when the South is mentioned, many think of a plantation economy based on slavery, in reality, although true in some instances, this portrayal of Southern history is flawed on many levels, and its only accuracy lies in the commonality that Southerners experienced through hardship and great loss. Flannery O’Connor, in her short story entitled “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” displays many characteristics of a modern version of this Southern stereotype. Both the mother and grandmother are absorbed with making sure that “in case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady”, once again showing a Southern preoccupation with social status and appearances. Grandmother, the cliché of elderly Southerners, is eager to tell everyone in the car with her on their road trip to Florida about all the history and all the memories that the land they pass marks in her life. Just as Grandmother mistakenly leads the family down a wrong path towards and imaginary estate which is actually in another state, many typical Southern images lead people towards skewed views of what Southern identity entails.
Taking into account the theory if white supremacy and the mythology of the plantation, another concept that defined the South is its view of liberty. David Hackett Fischer, in this book Albion’s Seed defined liberty in four ways, all of which relate to properly viewing the South. First of all, ordered freedom was a puritanical type of freedom that came to the North, specifically Massachusetts, when the Puritans left the Church of England, but acted as an exclusive sort of freedom in which only those who followed the orders and dictates of Puritan theology were truly free. Secondly, hegemonic freedom, or the belief that one should have the right of freedom but also the right to rule others, is a proponent of slavery. Thirdly, reciprocal freedom was a Quaker belief that entailed “withdrawal from the world.” Lastly, commonly found among those in the backcountry, was natural freedom where culture ruled. While these varying views of freedom represent respective parts of the country they, in reality represent the struggle of the South for its own identity while being terribly misunderstood. Similarly to the exclusivity of the Puritan ordered freedom, Southerners were, and in many ways still are, closed-minded towards advancement rather than open for change and differing beliefs systems and opinions. For example, while the North industrialized rather quickly following the Enlightenment, the South did not modernize until long after Reconstruction ended. Also,” identification with place and family” is evident throughout Southern history. During the Civil War it took the forms of both state and cause loyalty, while today it is seen in a distinct Southern pride seen just driving through any southern town, sported on many truck license plates in the form of a Confederate flag or even the staunch hold of restaurants on greasy but delicious recipes in a society ever moving towards health food stores and weight-loss health-food diets. Next, clearly visible through the institution of slavery is the Southern idea of hegemonic freedom. Whites enjoyed the ability to rule other races, yet disliked the idea that anyone, especially the North, could encroach upon that right. Seen today, as throughout history, is the idea of reciprocal freedom, as many Southerners resist outsiders and would rather retreat into their own world, even if it were a world of the past, rather than face change. Finally, the backcountry idea of natural freedom is rampant in the South, as Southerners have their own culture unique from the rest of the nation. For example, according to Boles,
“High technology, interstate highways, and industrial growth may threaten one vision of the South, but recorded country music, fast food outlets for fried chicken and biscuits and sausage, C-B radios in eighteen-wheelers crackling with good-ole-boy talk from their drivers and the working poor who have moved from the fields to the factories keep alive memories of the past. Southern speech patters and that signal form of ethnic identification, gastronomic preferences, show sure signs of resisting change.
All of these views of liberty culminate in the South in an attempt to produce a Southern identity. However, these differing views depict the commonality found within such diversity of the South.
As John B. Boles wrote in his piece The Difficulty of Consensus in the South, “the southern character is too complex for easy answers, and southerners- at least the publishing kind-enjoy the perennial search for southern identity.” While many people have attempted to define the South and Southernism, in reality, there is no easy answer to this dilemma. While white supremacy, stereotypes, commonality through diversity, and the southern idea of liberty all play integral roles in formulating Southern identity, they do not even begin to summarize what really is encompassed in the idea of one Southern identity.
Works Cited
Boles, John B. "The Difficulty of Consensus on the South." Major Problems in the History of the American South. Vol. II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1999. 19-27.
Cash, W. J. The Mind of the South. New York: Alfred A Knopf MCMXLVI, 1941.
Fischer, David H. Albion's Seed. Vol. I. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1989.
O'Connor, Flannery. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find." The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. 117-33.
O'Connor, Flannery. "Revelation." The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. 488-509.
Phillips, Ulrich B. "The Central Theme of Southern History." American Historical Review 34 (1928): 30-43.
Although many wish to dodge the issue, the most undeniably significant issue throughout Southern history in one way or another is that of race relations. According to Ulrich B. Phillips in his book The Central Theme of Southern History, the identity of the South is focused around the idea that it is “a white man’s country”. While many argue that state rights or free trade or slavery or cotton or any number of other typically southern affiliations are the primary issues, Phillips believes that white supremacy overarches all of these, as it is the common theme among them. Because of this Southern sense of duty to preserve a “white man’s world” and as “white men’s ways must prevail; the Negroes must be kept innocuous”. While in the 21st century South of today such a thesis is not often blatantly held among Southerners, in ways this issue still remains in the hearts of her people. Even by the 1960’s when Flannery O’Connor wrote her short story “Revelation,” Southerners were beginning to take on a more open-minded view of race relations. Mrs. Turpin, portrayed as a typical Southern bigot continuing to hold a prejudice against African Americans as inferior, slowly comes to realize the error of her views as the story progresses, finally recognizing that, in her prejudice, she was herself becoming what she despised. She wonders, if forced to choose between being “a nigger or white-trash” which she would choose. Juxtaposing the two and hardly able to decide, she finally concludes that she would rather be the former. While the value on white supremacy is still there, there is also a sense of the Negroes as inferior and simple while those she considers “white trash” are Caucasians who choose to make themselves subordinate and like the blacks and therefore are detestable to the white sense of supremacy and superiority. Continually ruling to her husband’s Negro field hands as foolish, when she shares the story of insane girl who attacked her in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, she continues to show her prejudice, saying “You could never say anything intelligent to a nigger.” Sadly, she believes herself to fulfill the duties of her class, as she states “its not trash around her, black or white, that I haven’t given to. And break my back to the bone every day working. And do for the church.” Yet, in the end, she finally admits to being the wart hog her attacker defamed her as, releasing her prejudice as she realizes that she is her self the simple-minded, inferior being simply because of her white view of the world and what God considers acceptable. While U.B. Phillips viewpoint, echoed in the work of Flannery O’Connor is of crucial importance in Southern history, white supremacy alone does not comprehend the entirety of the South.
There are a copious number of stereotypes in association with Southern identity derived from several different sources, and many of which are not in the least accurate, although springing from real aspects of Southern history. When Europeans first began to arrive in the New World, they did so primarily under a head right system in which wealthier landowners paid the passage of those of the poorer classes in exchange for their work for a period of years in an arrangement known as indentured servitude. Next, as indentured servants and the generations following began to obtain their own properties, another class began to develop as people took the opportunities that the South, particularly its then frontier regions offered. W.J. Cash, in chapter five of The Mind of the South, paints the picture of an Irishman building a small log cabin and toiling over his plot of land and then, as his life progresses, also moving up in society by becoming a magistrate and buying a big house in the town. Out of these stereotypes of the poorest of the poor, on the verge of enslavement, working and striving at every opportunity to better their station in life, are derived that of the cavalier, or gentleman. These lowly indentured servants, over the course of a few generations, become wealthy landowners with pieces of property and slaves, known as plantations. Although true in some cases, most of such stories are only legends that satisfy the curious observer and, in reality, “the large majority of southern whites in 1860 did not did not own slaves.” Perhaps the most renowned among these myths is Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. Her novel, transformed into a timeless film, presents this idealized view of Southern cavalier society. Tara Farm, the prosperous O’Hara plantation prior to the war is utterly transformed from a land of beauty and hope into one of desolation. Scarlett O’Hara, the foolish but pretty Southern belle, plays the typical prototype caste against Southern women, focused solely on wealth and social status rather than the world around them. Large cities Southern cities, magnets for the wealthy and social elites, are utterly destroyed with the Union advance. In the wake of despondency left after the onslaught of the Northern enemy, Southerners reunite out of a sense of common loss. O’Hara even vows never to go hungry again, continuing to hold her staunch Southern pride despite their poverty. Even though, for decades, when the South is mentioned, many think of a plantation economy based on slavery, in reality, although true in some instances, this portrayal of Southern history is flawed on many levels, and its only accuracy lies in the commonality that Southerners experienced through hardship and great loss. Flannery O’Connor, in her short story entitled “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” displays many characteristics of a modern version of this Southern stereotype. Both the mother and grandmother are absorbed with making sure that “in case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady”, once again showing a Southern preoccupation with social status and appearances. Grandmother, the cliché of elderly Southerners, is eager to tell everyone in the car with her on their road trip to Florida about all the history and all the memories that the land they pass marks in her life. Just as Grandmother mistakenly leads the family down a wrong path towards and imaginary estate which is actually in another state, many typical Southern images lead people towards skewed views of what Southern identity entails.
Taking into account the theory if white supremacy and the mythology of the plantation, another concept that defined the South is its view of liberty. David Hackett Fischer, in this book Albion’s Seed defined liberty in four ways, all of which relate to properly viewing the South. First of all, ordered freedom was a puritanical type of freedom that came to the North, specifically Massachusetts, when the Puritans left the Church of England, but acted as an exclusive sort of freedom in which only those who followed the orders and dictates of Puritan theology were truly free. Secondly, hegemonic freedom, or the belief that one should have the right of freedom but also the right to rule others, is a proponent of slavery. Thirdly, reciprocal freedom was a Quaker belief that entailed “withdrawal from the world.” Lastly, commonly found among those in the backcountry, was natural freedom where culture ruled. While these varying views of freedom represent respective parts of the country they, in reality represent the struggle of the South for its own identity while being terribly misunderstood. Similarly to the exclusivity of the Puritan ordered freedom, Southerners were, and in many ways still are, closed-minded towards advancement rather than open for change and differing beliefs systems and opinions. For example, while the North industrialized rather quickly following the Enlightenment, the South did not modernize until long after Reconstruction ended. Also,” identification with place and family” is evident throughout Southern history. During the Civil War it took the forms of both state and cause loyalty, while today it is seen in a distinct Southern pride seen just driving through any southern town, sported on many truck license plates in the form of a Confederate flag or even the staunch hold of restaurants on greasy but delicious recipes in a society ever moving towards health food stores and weight-loss health-food diets. Next, clearly visible through the institution of slavery is the Southern idea of hegemonic freedom. Whites enjoyed the ability to rule other races, yet disliked the idea that anyone, especially the North, could encroach upon that right. Seen today, as throughout history, is the idea of reciprocal freedom, as many Southerners resist outsiders and would rather retreat into their own world, even if it were a world of the past, rather than face change. Finally, the backcountry idea of natural freedom is rampant in the South, as Southerners have their own culture unique from the rest of the nation. For example, according to Boles,
“High technology, interstate highways, and industrial growth may threaten one vision of the South, but recorded country music, fast food outlets for fried chicken and biscuits and sausage, C-B radios in eighteen-wheelers crackling with good-ole-boy talk from their drivers and the working poor who have moved from the fields to the factories keep alive memories of the past. Southern speech patters and that signal form of ethnic identification, gastronomic preferences, show sure signs of resisting change.
All of these views of liberty culminate in the South in an attempt to produce a Southern identity. However, these differing views depict the commonality found within such diversity of the South.
As John B. Boles wrote in his piece The Difficulty of Consensus in the South, “the southern character is too complex for easy answers, and southerners- at least the publishing kind-enjoy the perennial search for southern identity.” While many people have attempted to define the South and Southernism, in reality, there is no easy answer to this dilemma. While white supremacy, stereotypes, commonality through diversity, and the southern idea of liberty all play integral roles in formulating Southern identity, they do not even begin to summarize what really is encompassed in the idea of one Southern identity.
Works Cited
Boles, John B. "The Difficulty of Consensus on the South." Major Problems in the History of the American South. Vol. II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1999. 19-27.
Cash, W. J. The Mind of the South. New York: Alfred A Knopf MCMXLVI, 1941.
Fischer, David H. Albion's Seed. Vol. I. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1989.
O'Connor, Flannery. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find." The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. 117-33.
O'Connor, Flannery. "Revelation." The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. 488-509.
Phillips, Ulrich B. "The Central Theme of Southern History." American Historical Review 34 (1928): 30-43.
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