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~1~
Liceo Classico «Giulio Cesare» - Rimini
a.s. 2012 - 2013
Prof. Fabio Pesaresi
~2~
William Shakespeare
Much Ado about Nothing
Plot Overview
Leonato, the respectable Duke of Messina, shares
his house with his lovely young daughter, Hero,
his playful, clever niece, Beatrice, and his elderly
brother, Antonio.
As the play begins, Leonato is informed by a
messenger that some friends are coming home
from a war: Don Pedro, the prince of Aragon, and
two fellow soldiers, Claudio, a well-respected
young nobleman, and Benedick, a clever man
who constantly makes witty jokes, often at the
expense of his friends. Don Pedro is also
accompanied by his half brother Don John,
whose rebellion he has just crushed.
When the soldiers arrive at Leonato’s home,
Claudio quickly falls in love with Hero, while
Benedick and Beatrice resume the war of witty
insults that we understand they have been
carrying on with each other for years. Beatrice
scorns men for being boasters and …, and when
the messenger reports Benedick’s valor in war
saying that “he is stuffed with all honourable
virtues”, Beatrice retors that “he is no less than a
stuffed man”. Beatrice does not feel fit for
marriage “[God] send me no husband, for the
which blessing I am at him upon my knees every
morning and evening”.
“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and
he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he
that is more than a youth is not for me; and he
that is less than a man I am not for him.”
On the other hand, Benedick scorns women as
faithless, and all husbands as cuckolds. He
counters Claudio’s idealistic love with bitter
remarks:
Claudio (about Hero): Can the world buy such a
jewel?”
Benedick: “Yea, and a case to put it in too”.
Claudio decides to declare his love to Hero, but
knowing that he is inexpert of love, Don Pedro
proposes to help him during the masked ball that
is going to take place that very night: he will
disguise himself with Claudio’s costume and woo
Hero on his behalf.
During the ball, Don Pedro approaches Hero and
starts to talk to her. Don John, envious of
Claudio’s possible joy, approaches him and
suggests that Don Pedro is courting Hero for
himself. Claudio is an easy prey to his
innuendoes, and his anger grows till Don Pedro
comes and announces that he has won Hero for
Claudio. Their marriage will take place in one
week.
To pass the time in the week before the wedding,
the lovers and their friends decide to play a game.
They want to get Beatrice and Benedick, who are
clearly meant for each other, to stop arguing and
fall in love.
They pretend to speak when they cannot hear
them, confiding to each other that the two are in
love. They let Benedick hear that Beatrice “will
soon die if he love her not, and she will die ere
she make her love known, and she will die if he
woo her”, while Don Pedro claims that “she is an
excellent sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she
is virtuous […] I would she had bestowed this
dotage on me”.
As for Beatrice, Hero and the other gentlewomen
do pretty much thje same, letting her hear that
“Benedick loves Beatrice … entirely […] but she
cannot love, nor take no shape nor project of
affection, she is so self-endeared” and that
“Signior Benedick, for shape, for bearing,
argument and valour, goes foremost in report
through Italy”.
Their tricks prove successful, and Beatrice and
Benedick soon fall secretly in love with each
other.
But Don John has decided to disrupt Claudio’s
happiness “Any bar, any cross, any impediment
will be medicinable to me. I am sick in
displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes
athwart his affection ranges heavenly with mine”.
He prepares a plot: his companion Borachio will
make love to Margaret, Hero’s serving woman, at
Hero’s window in the darkness of the night, and
he will bring Don Pedro and Claudio to watch.
Believing that he has seen Hero being unfaithful
to him, the enraged Claudio decides to cancel the
wedding.
The following day, when all the guests are in the
chapel, he humiliates Hero by suddenly accusing
her of lechery and abandoning her at the altar
~3~
Claudio: “There, Leonato, take her back again.
Give not this rotten orange to your friend; She’s
but the sign and semblance of her honour […]
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed: her blush
is guiltiness, not modesty. […]
O Hero! What a Hero hadst thou been, if half thy
outward graces had been plac’d / about thy
thoughts and counsels of thy heart! / But fare
thee well, most foul, most fair! Farewell, / thou
pure impiety and impious purity / For thee I’ll
lock up all the gates of love”.
Hero faints, and Leonato interprets that as a sign
of guilt, and says “ O Fate, take not away thy
heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her
shame / that may be wish’d for”.
All the people are stricken by this turn of events.
The only one who still believes in Hero’s
innocence is the friarHero’s stricken family
members decide to pretend that she died
suddenly of shock and grief and to hide her away
while they wait for the truth about her innocence
to come to light. In the aftermath of the rejection,
Benedick and Beatrice finally confess their love to
one another. Fortunately, the night watchmen
overhear Borachio bragging about his crime.
Dogberry and Verges, the heads of the local
police, ultimately arrest both Borachio and
Conrad, another of Don John’s followers.
Everyone learns that Hero is really innocent, and
Claudio, who believes she is dead, grieves for her.
Leonato tells Claudio that, as punishment, he
wants Claudio to tell everybody in the city how
innocent Hero was. He also wants Claudio to
marry Leonato’s “niece”—a girl who, he says,
looks much like the dead Hero. Claudio goes to
church with the others, preparing to marry the
mysterious, masked woman he thinks is Hero’s
cousin. When Hero reveals herself as the masked
woman, Claudio is overwhelmed with joy.
Benedick then asks Beatrice if she will marry
him, and after some arguing they agree. The
joyful lovers all have a merry dance before they
celebrate their double wedding.
Analysis of Major Characters
Beatrice
Beatrice is the niece of Leonato, a wealthy
governor of Messina. Though she is close friends
with her cousin Hero, Leonato’s daughter, the
two could not be less alike. Whereas Hero is
polite, quiet, respectful, and gentle, Beatrice is
feisty, cynical, witty, and sharp. Beatrice keeps up
a “merry war” of wits with Benedick, a lord and
soldier from Padua. The play suggests that she
was once in love with Benedick but that he led
her on and their relationship ended. Now when
they meet, the two constantly compete to outdo
one another with clever insults.
Although she appears hardened and sharp,
Beatrice is really vulnerable. Once she overhears
Hero describing that Benedick is in love with her
(Beatrice), she opens herself to the sensitivities
and weaknesses of love. Beatrice is a prime
example of one of Shakespeare’s strong female
characters. She refuses to marry because she has
not discovered the perfect, equal partner and
because she is unwilling to eschew her liberty and
submit to the will of a controlling husband. When
Hero has been humiliated and accused of
violating her chastity, Beatrice explodes with fury
at Claudio for mistreating her cousin. In her
frustration and rage about Hero’s mistreatment,
Beatrice rebels against the unequal status of
women in Renaissance society. “O that I were a
man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would
be a man for my sake!” she passionately exclaims.
“I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will
die a woman with grieving” (IV.i.312–318).
Benedick
Benedick is the willful lord, recently returned
from fighting in the wars, who vows that he will
never marry. He engages with Beatrice in a
competition to outwit, outsmart, and out-insult
the other, but to his observant friends, he seems
to feel some deeper emotion below the surface.
Upon hearing Claudio and Don Pedro discussing
Beatrice’s desire for him, Benedick vows to be
“horribly in love with her,” in effect continuing
the competition by outdoing her in love and
courtship (II.iii.207). Benedick is one of the most
histrionic characters in the play, as he constantly
performs for the benefit of others. He is the
entertainer, indulging in witty hyperbole to
express his feelings. He delivers a perfect
example of his inflated rhetoric when Beatrice
enters during the masked ball. Turning to his
companions, Benedick grossly exaggerates how
Beatrice has misused him, bidding his friends to
send him to the farthest corners of the earth
rather than let him spend one more minute with
his nemesis: “Will your grace command me any
service to the world’s end? I will go on the
slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you
can devise to send me on. I will fetch you a
toothpicker from the furthest inch of Asia . . . do
you any embassage to the pigmies, rather than
hold three words’ conference with this harpy”
(II.i.229–235).
Of course, since Benedick is so invested in
performing for the others, it is not easy for us to
tell whether he has been in love with Beatrice all
along or falls in love with her suddenly during the
play. Benedick’s adamant refusal to marry does
appear to change over the course of the play, once
he decides to fall in love with Beatrice. He
attempts to conceal this transformation from his
friends but really might enjoy shocking them by
shaving off his beard and professing undying love
to Beatrice. This change in attitude seems most
~4~
evident when Benedick challenges Claudio,
previously his closest friend in the world, to duel
to the death over Claudio’s accusation as to Hero’s
unchaste behavior. There can be no doubt at this
point that Benedick has switched his allegiances
entirely over to Beatrice.
Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon
Of all the main characters in Much Ado About
Nothing, Don Pedro seems the most elusive. He
is the noblest character in the social hierarchy of
the play, and his friends Benedick and Claudio,
though equals in wit, must always defer to him
because their positions depend upon his favor.
Don Pedro has power, and he is well aware of it;
whether or not he abuses this power is open to
question. Unlike his bastard brother, the villain
Don John, Don Pedro most often uses his power
and authority toward positive ends. But like his
half-brother, Don Pedro manipulates other
characters as much as he likes. For instance, he
insists on wooing Hero for Claudio himself, while
masked, rather than allowing Claudio to profess
his love to Hero first. Of course, everything turns
out for the best—Don Pedro’s motives are purely
in the interest of his friend. But we are left
wondering why Don Pedro feels the need for such
an elaborate dissimulation merely to inform Hero
of Claudio’s romantic interest. It seems simply
that it is Don Pedro’s royal prerogative to do
exactly as he wishes, and no one can question it.
Despite his cloudy motives, Don Pedro does work
to bring about happiness. It is his idea, for
instance, to convince Beatrice and Benedick that
each is in love with the other and by doing so
bring the two competitors together. He
orchestrates the whole plot and plays the role of
director in this comedy of wit and manners.
Don Pedro is the only one of the three gallants
not to end up with a wife at the end. Benedick
laughingly jokes in the final scene that the
melancholy prince must “get thee a wife” in order
to enjoy true happiness (V.iv.117). The question
necessarily arises as to why Don Pedro is sad at
the end of a joyous comedy. Perhaps his exchange
with Beatrice at the masked ball—in which he
proposes marriage to her and she jokingly refuses
him, taking his proposal as mere sport—pains
him; perhaps he is truly in love with Beatrice. The
text does not give us a conclusive explanation for
his melancholy, nor for his fascination with
dissembling. This uncertainly about his character
helps to make him one of the most thoughtprovoking characters in the play.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often universal
ideas explored in a literary work.
The Ideal of Social Grace
The characters’ dense, colorful manner of
speaking represents the ideal that Renaissance
courtiers strove for in their social interactions.
The play’s language is heavily laden with
metaphor and ornamented by rhetoric. Benedick,
Claudio, and Don Pedro all produce the kind of
witty banter that courtiers used to attract
attention and approval in noble households.
Courtiers were expected to speak in highly
contrived language but to make their clever
performances seem effortless. The most famous
model for this kind of behavior is Baldassare
Castiglione’s sixteenth-century manual The
Courtier, translated into English by Thomas
Hoby in 1561. According to this work, the ideal
courtier masks his effort and appears to project
elegance and natural grace by means of what
Castiglione calls sprezzatura, the illusion of
effortlessness. Benedick and his companions try
to display their polished social graces both in
their behavior and in their speech.
The play pokes fun at the fanciful language of
love that courtiers used. When Claudio falls in
love, he tries to be the perfect courtier by using
intricate language. As Benedick notes: “His words
are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
strange dishes” (II.iii.18–19). Although the young
gallants in the play seem casual in their displays
of wit, they constantly struggle to maintain their
social positions. Benedick and Claudio must
constantly strive to remain in Don Pedro’s favor.
When Claudio silently agrees to let Don Pedro
take his place to woo Hero, it is quite possible
that he does so not because he is too shy to woo
the woman himself, but because he must accede
to Don Pedro’s authority in order to stay in Don
Pedro’s good favor. When Claudio believes that
Don Pedro has deceived him and wooed Hero not
for Claudio but for himself, he cannot drop his
polite civility, even though he is full of despair.
Beatrice jokes that Claudio is “civil as an orange,”
punning on the Seville orange, a bitter fruit
(II.i.256). Claudio remains polite and nearly
silent even though he is upset, telling Benedick of
Don Pedro and Hero: “I wish him joy of her”
(II.i.170). Clearly, Claudio chooses his obedience
to Don Pedro over his love for Hero.
Claudio displays social grace, but his strict
adherence to social propriety eventually leads
him into a trap. He abandons Hero at the
wedding because Don John leads him to believe
that she is unchaste (marriage to an unchaste
woman would be socially unacceptable). But Don
John’s plan to unseat Claudio does not succeed,
of course, as Claudio remains Don Pedro’s
favorite, and it is Hero who has to suffer until her
good reputation is restored.
Deception as a Means to an End
The plot of Much Ado About Nothing is based
upon deliberate deceptions, some malevolent and
others benign. The duping of Claudio and Don
Pedro results in Hero’s disgrace, while the ruse of
~5~
her death prepares the way for her redemption
and reconciliation with Claudio. In a more
lighthearted vein, Beatrice and Benedick are
fooled into thinking that each loves the other, and
they actually do fall in love as a result. Much Ado
About Nothing shows that deceit is not
inherently evil, but something that can be used as
a means to good or bad ends.
In the play, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish
between good and bad deception. When Claudio
announces his desire to woo Hero, Don Pedro
takes it upon himself to woo her for Claudio.
Then, at the instigation of Don John, Claudio
begins to mistrust Don Pedro, thinking he has
been deceived. Just as the play’s audience comes
to believe, temporarily, in the illusions of the
theater, so the play’s characters become caught
up in the illusions that they help to create for one
another. Benedick and Beatrice flirt caustically at
the masked ball, each possibly aware of the
other’s presence yet pretending not to know the
person hiding behind the mask. Likewise, when
Claudio has shamed and rejected Hero, Leonato
and his household “publish” that Hero has died
in order to punish Claudio for his mistake. When
Claudio returns, penitent, to accept the hand of
Leonato’s “niece” (actually Hero), a group of
masked women enters and Claudio must wed
blindly. The masking of Hero and the other
women reveals that the social institution of
marriage has little to do with love. When Claudio
flounders and asks, “Which is the lady I must
seize upon?” he is ready and willing to commit
the rest of his life to one of a group of unknowns
(V.iv.53). His willingness stems not only from his
guilt about slandering an innocent woman but
also from the fact that he may care more about
rising in Leonato’s favor than in marrying for
love. In the end, deceit is neither purely positive
nor purely negative: it is a means to an end, a way
to create an illusion that helps one succeed
socially.
The Importance of Honor
The aborted wedding ceremony, in which Claudio
rejects Hero, accusing her of infidelity and
violated chastity and publicly shaming her in
front of her father, is the climax of the play. In
Shakespeare’s time, a woman’s honor was based
upon her virginity and chaste behavior. For a
woman to lose her honor by having sexual
relations before marriage meant that she would
lose all social standing, a disaster from which she
could never recover. Moreover, this loss of honor
would poison the woman’s whole family. Thus,
when Leonato rashly believes Claudio’s shaming
of Hero at the wedding ceremony, he tries to
obliterate her entirely: “Hence from her, let her
die” (IV.i.153). Furthermore, he speaks of her loss
of honor as an indelible stain from which he
cannot distance himself, no matter how hard he
tries: “O she is fallen / Into a pit of ink, that the
wide sea / Hath drops too few to wash her clean
again” (IV.i.138–140). For women in that era, the
loss of honor was a form of annihilation.
For men, on the other hand, honor depended on
male friendship alliances and was more military
in nature. Unlike a woman, a man could defend
his honor, and that of his family, by fighting in a
battle or a duel. Beatrice urges Benedick to
avenge Hero’s honor by dueling to the death with
Claudio. As a woman, Hero cannot seize back her
honor, but Benedick can do it for her via physical
combat.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Public Shaming
Even though Hero is ultimately vindicated, her
public shaming at the wedding ceremony is too
terrible to be ignored. In a sense, this kind of
humiliation incurs more damage to her honor
and her family name than would an act of
unchaste behavior—an transgression she never
commits. The language that both Claudio and
Leonato use to shame Hero is extremely strong.
To Claudio she is a “rotten orange” (IV.i.30), and
to Leonato a rotting carcass that cannot be
preserved: “the wide sea / Hath . . . / . . . salt too
little which may season give / To her foul tainted
flesh!” (IV.i.139–142).
Shame is also what Don John hopes will cause
Claudio to lose his place as Don Pedro’s favorite:
once Claudio is discovered to be engaged to a
loose woman, Don John believes that Don Pedro
will reject Claudio as he rejected Don John long
ago. Shame is a form of social punishment closely
connected to loss of honor. A product of an
illegitimate sexual coupling himself, Don John
has grown up constantly reminded of his own
social shame, and he will do anything to right the
balance. Ironically, in the end Don John is
shamed and threatened with torture to punish
him for deceiving the company. Clearly, he will
never gain a good place in courtly society.
Noting
In Shakespeare’s time, the “Nothing” of the title
would have been pronounced “Noting.” Thus, the
play’s title could read: “Much Ado About Noting.”
Indeed, many of the players participate in the
actions of observing, listening, and writing, or
noting. In order for a plot hinged on instances of
deceit to work, the characters must note one
another constantly. When the women manipulate
Beatrice into believing that Benedick adores her,
they conceal themselves in the orchard so that
Beatrice can better note their conversation. Since
they know that Beatrice loves to eavesdrop, they
are sure that their plot will succeed: “look where
Beatrice like a lapwing runs / Close by the ground
to hear our conference,” notes Hero (III.i.24–25).
Each line the women speak is a carefully placed
note for Beatrice to take up and ponder; the same
~6~
is true of the scheme to convince Benedick of
Beatrice’s passion.
Don John’s plot to undo Claudio also hinges on
noting: in order for Claudio to believe that Hero
is unchaste and unfaithful, he must be brought to
her window to witness, or note, Margaret (whom
he takes to be Hero) bidding farewell to Borachio
in the semidarkness. Dogberry, Verges, and the
rest of the comical night watch discover and
arrest Don John because, although ill-equipped
to express themselves linguistically, they
overhear talk of the Margaret--Borachio staging.
Despite their verbal deficiencies, they manage to
capture Don John and bring him to Leonato,
after having had the sexton (a church official)
“note” the occurrences of the evening in writing.
In the end, noting, in the sense of writing, unites
Beatrice and Benedick for good: Hero and
Claudio reveal love sonnets written by Beatrice
and Benedick, textual evidence that notes and
proves their love for one another.
Entertainment
From the witty yet plaintive song that Balthasar
sings about the deceitfulness of men to the
masked ball and the music and dancing at the
end of the play, the characters of Much Ado
About Nothing spend much of their time
engaging in elaborate spectacles and
entertainments. The play’s title encapsulates the
sentiment of effervescent and light court
entertainment: the two hours’ traffic onstage will
be entertaining, comic, and absorbing. The
characters who merrily spar and fall in love in the
beginning will, of course, end up together in the
conclusion. Beatrice compares courtship and
marriage to delightful court dances: “wooing,
wedding and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a
measure, and a cinquepace” (II.i.60–61). By
including a masquerade as court entertainment
in the middle, as well as two songs and a dance at
the end, the play presents itself as sheer
entertainment, conscious of its own theatricality.
Counterfeiting
The idea of counterfeiting, in the sense of
presenting a false face to the world, appears
frequently throughout the play. A particularly
rich and complex example of counterfeiting
occurs as Leonato, Claudio, and Don Pedro
pretend that Beatrice is head over heels in love
with Benedick so that the eavesdropping
Benedick will overhear it and believe it. Luring
Benedick into this trap, Leonato ironically
dismisses the idea that perhaps Beatrice
counterfeits her desire for Benedick, as he and
the others counterfeit this love themselves: “O
God! Counterfeit? There was never counterfeit of
passion came so near the life of passion as she
discovers it” (II.iii.98–99).
Another, more serious reference to counterfeiting
occurs at the wedding ceremony, as Claudio
rhetorically paints a picture of Hero as a perfect
counterfeit of innocence, unchaste and impure
beneath a seemingly unblemished surface:
She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.
Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
(IV.i.31–34)
Hero’s supposed counterfeiting is of a grave
nature, as it threatens her womanly reputation. It
is not her emotions that are being misconstrued,
as with Beatrice, but rather her character and
integrity.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
The Taming of Wild Animals
The play is peppered with metaphors involving
the taming of wild animals. In the case of the
courtship between Beatrice and Benedick, the
symbol of a tamed savage animal represents the
social taming that must occur for both wild souls
to be ready to submit themselves to the shackles
of love and marriage. Beatrice’s vow to submit to
Benedick’s love by “[t]aming my wild heart to thy
loving hand” makes use of terms from falconry,
suggesting that Benedick is to become Beatrice’s
master (III.i.113). In the opening act, Claudio and
Don Pedro tease Benedick about his aversion to
marriage, comparing him to a wild animal. Don
Pedro quotes a common adage, “‘In time the
savage bull doth bear the yoke,’” meaning that in
time even the savage Benedick will surrender to
the taming of love and marriage (I.i.213).
Benedick mocks this sentiment, professing that
he will never submit to the will of a woman. At
the very end, when Benedick and Beatrice agree
to marry, Claudio pokes fun at Benedick’s
mortified countenance, suggesting that Benedick
is reluctant to marry because he remembers the
allusion to tamed bulls:
Tush, fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with
gold,
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee
As once Europa did at lusty Jove
When he would play the noble beast in love.
(V.iv.44–47)
Claudio changes Benedick from a laboring farm
animal, a bull straining under a yoke, to a wild
god, empowered by his bestial form to take
sexual possession of his lady. While the bull of
marriage is the sadly yoked, formerly savage
creature, the bull that Claudio refers to comes
from the classical myth in which Zeus took the
form of a bull and carried off the mortal woman
Europa. This second bull is supposed to represent
the other side of the coin: the bull of bestial male
sexuality.
War
~7~
Throughout the play, images of war frequently
symbolize verbal arguments and confrontations.
At the beginning of the play, Leonato relates to
the other characters that there is a “merry war”
between Beatrice and Benedick: “They never
meet but there’s a skirmish of wit between them”
(I.i.50–51). Beatrice carries on this martial
imagery, describing how, when she won the last
duel with Benedick, “four of his five wits went
halting off” (I.i.53). When Benedick arrives, their
witty exchange resembles the blows and parries
of a well-executed fencing match. Leonato
accuses Claudio of killing Hero with words: “Thy
slander hath gone through and through her
heart” (V.i.68). Later in the same scene, Benedick
presents Claudio with a violent verbal challenge:
to duel to the death over Hero’s honor. When
Borachio confesses to staging the loss of Hero’s
innocence, Don Pedro describes this spoken
evidence as a sword that tears through Claudio’s
heart: “Runs not this speech like iron through
your blood?” (V.i.227), and Claudio responds that
he has already figuratively committed suicide
upon hearing these words: “I have drunk poison
whiles he uttered it” (V.i.228).
Hero’s Death
Claudio’s powerful words accusing Hero of
unchaste and disloyal acts cause her to fall down
in apparent lifelessness. Leonato accentuates the
direness of Hero’s state, pushing her further into
seeming death by renouncing her, “Hence from
her, let her die” (IV.i.153). When Friar Francis,
Hero, and Beatrice convince Leonato of his
daughter’s innocence, they maintain that she
really has died, in order to punish Claudio and
give Hero a respectable amount of time to regain
her honor, which, although not lost, has been
publicly savaged. Claudio performs all the actions
of mourning Hero, paying a choir to sing a dirge
at her tomb. In a symbolic sense, Hero has died,
since, although she is pure, Claudio’s damning
accusation has permanently besmirched her
name. She must symbolically die and be reborn
pure again in order for Claudio to marry her a
second time. Hero’s false death is less a charade
aimed to induce remorse in Claudio than it is a
social ritual designed to cleanse her name and
person of infamy.
Measure for Measure
Vincentio, the Duke of Vienna, announces his
intention to leave town for a while. During his
absence, his deputy will not be his life-long
assistant Escalus but a young man, Angelo,
famous for his strict moral conduct and
chastity. Angelo confesses that he feels
unworthy:
Now good my Lord
Let there be some more test made of my metal,
Before so noble, and so great a figure
Be stamp't upon it. (I, 1)
But the decision of the Duke is already taken.
At a tower, Lucio is jesting with two
gentlemen and Mistress Overdone, a
prostitute, who informs them that Claudio has
been arrested for getting Juliet, his fiancé,
pregnant. Furthermore, Pompey (Overdone’s
pimp) announces that Angelo plans to tear
down all brothels in town.
Claudio enters, under arrest, along with Juliet.
He tells Lucio that he and Juliet were
betrothed and that they were only waiting for
a settlement about the dowry to proceed to
marriage.
Lucio promises Claudio that he'll ask Isabella,
Claudio's sister famous for her virtue, to
convince Angelo to free him.
At a monastery, the Duke informs Friar Thomas
that he has appointed Angelo knowing full well
he would clean up the town's prostitution. He
could not do this himself, because he has been
too permissive in the past years, and a change
would be “too dreadful” for his people.
However, the duke has planned to keep an eye
on Angelo, staying in Vienna disguised as a friar.
Isabella is first presented in a convent, where she
has been preparing herself to become a nun. She
is talking to a companion, saying that she wishes
she could live in a nunnery under “more strict
restraint” than the one she lives in.
Lucio arrives and tells Isabella about Claudio’s
situation and convinces her to beg Angelo for
mercy on her brother. In the meanwhile, Escalus
is trying to dissuade Angelo from his harsh
judgement, but Angelo insists that Claudio be
executed
~8~
Ang. We must not make a scarecrow of the
Law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror
Esc. Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little
Then fall, and bruise to death.
Let but your honour know Whom I believe to be most strait in virtueThat in the working of your owne affections,
Had time coher’d with Place, or place with
wishing,
[…]
Whether you had not sometime in your life
Err'd in this point, which now you censure
him,
And pull’d the Law upon you
Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall […]
(II, 1)
In this atmosphere of incumbent tragedy,
some comic (though bitter) relief is provided
by Constable who brings Pompey and Froth
to Angelo and Escalus accusing them of
illegal doings. Angelo leaves the matter to
Escalus who warns Froth and Pompey of new
enforcement of the laws, then lets them go.
Constable Elbow continually uses the wrong
words in sentences (eg. detest for protest,
cardinally for carnally, etc.) and repeats that it
is sad that Claudio is to die.
During his meeting with Angelo, even the
Provost (executioner) questions the decision
to execute Claudio: “What shall be done, Sir,
with the groaning Juliet?” (II, 2)
Isabella arrives and pleads Angelo to spare
her brother, but she is not very convincing,
suggesting that she despises his sin as much
as Angelo does.
Isab. There is a vice that most I do
abhor,
And most desire should meet the blow
of Justice;
For which I would not plead, but that
I must,
For which I must not plead, but that
I am
At war, ‘twixt will, and will not
Ang. Well: the matter?
Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd
to die,
I doe beseech you let it be his fault,
And not my brother
Pro. Heaven give thee moving graces.
Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the
actor of it?
Why every fault's condemn’d ere it be
done:
Mine were the very cipher of a Function
To fine the faults, whose fine stands
in record,
And let go by the Actor
Isab. Oh just, but severe Law:
I had a brother then; heaven keep your
honour.
But Lucio encourages her not to give up, and go
on trying to convince him. Her grace and virtue
eventually seem to dissuade Angelo’s strictness
and he tells her to come back the next day to
know his verdict.
When Isabella leaves the room, Angelo starts a
long soliloquy, in which little by little he admits
to himself that Isabella has aroused his lust:
Isab. […] go to your bosom,
Knock there, and ask your heart what it
doth know
That's like my brothers fault: if it
confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your
tongue
Against my brother’s life.
[…] Heaven keep you honour safe. […]
Ang. From thee: even from thy virtue.
What's this? what's this? is this her
fault, or mine?
The Tempter, or the Tempted, who sins
most? ha?
Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is
I,
That, lying by the Violet in the Sun,
Do as the Carrion does, not as the
flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season: Can it
be,
That Modesty may more betray our sense
Then woman’s lightness?
[…]never could the Strumpet
With all her double vigour, Art, and
Nature
Once stir my temper: but this virtuous
Maid
Subdues me quite: Ever till now
When men were fond, I smiled, and
wondered how.
~9~
The Duke (as the Friar) comes to the prison to
bless those condemned. He blesses Juliet and
learns of Claudio's predicament.
Isabella comes back to Angelo to ask about
his decision. Angelo tells her he will free
Claudio on one condition: that she sleeps with
him. She threatens to expose his hypocrisy
but he taunt that no-one will believe her, and
she admits the truth of this. However, she
decides that she cannot give up her virtue at
any price.
He tells her she has one day to change her
mind, then leaves. She decides to tell her
brother of Angelo's ultimatum and her
decision, confident that Claudio will approve
her choice.
At the prison, the Duke (as the Friar) is
comforting Claudio. Isabella arrives and tells
Claudio of Angelo's ultimatum. Claudio asks
Isabella to honour Angelo's request since he is
afraid of death, but she refuses. The Duke,
who was eavesdropping, keeps the ruse by
telling Claudio to prepare for death. But to
Isabella, the Duke reveals a plan to save
Claudio, appease Angelo, spare Isabella's
chastity, and reunite Angelo's long lost
lover/fiancé‚ Mariana with him. Apparently,
Angelo had been engaged to her, but had
broken off their engagement when she lost her
dowry. Despite his cruelty, Mariana has
always been faithful to him, and is still
willing to marry him. The Duke proposes that
Isabella go along with Angelo’s scheme and
set a place for them to meet. Mariana will go
in her place so that he will have to free
Claudio, and she will be afterwards able to
force him to marry her.
At the prison, Elbow brings Pompey in for
being a bawd (pimp). Lucio talks with the
Duke (as the Friar) and hypothesizes that the
Duke would be more lenient with Claudio
since he (the Duke) has never really followed
the law. This enrages the Duke, who
outwardly vows to expose Lucio's view "to
the Duke" when he returns. Escalus and
officers bring Mistress Overdone and other
prostitutes to the prison. She tells Escalus that
Lucio himself has had a child with Mistress
Keepdown and should also be arrested. The
Duke (as the Friar) speaks to Escalus and
learns that Escalus truly respects the Duke
and disagrees with Angelo's strictness.
The Duke (as the Friar) goes to meet Mariana.
She introduces Isabella to Mariana, who agrees
to pretend to be Isabella and sleep with Angelo
in order to consummate their marriage. She
leaves to meet Angelo, and Isabella, relieved,
waits for the news of the liberation of her brother
to come.
At the prison the Provost asks Pompey to help
the executioner, Abhorson, execute Claudio and
another prisoner, Barnardine, a drunkard who
has spent most of his life in prison, in exchange
for Pompey's freedom, to which Pompey agrees.
The Provost receives a letter confirming
Claudio's death warrant, to the dismay of the
Duke. The Duke, then, convinces the Provost to
delay Claudio's execution for four days, but
execute Barnardine and deliver his head to
Angelo, making it look like Claudio's (per
Angelo's request to see Claudio's head). The
Duke (as the Friar) convinces the Provost by
showing him a letter from the actual Duke. Since
Barnardine isn't prepared to die at 4 am, the
Duke and Provost bring Angelo the head of a
man who had died of a fever. To hold the ruse,
the Duke tells Isabella that Claudio has been
beheaded, but reassures her that she will be able
to speak to the actual Duke to avenge her
wrongs. Lucio appears again, and upon prodding
admits to the Duke (as the Friar) that he did
indeed impregnate a whore. Angelo, upon
learning of the actual Duke's return, regrets that
Claudio was executed.
The Duke "returns" to the city. Isabella,
instructed by the friar, comes to him and tells her
story, the whole city listening. She knows that
this scandal will ruin her plans to become a nun,
but she thinks that Angelo cannot go unpunished.
The Duke pretends to doubt her story, and
declares her imprisoned. Isabella’s desperation
comes to an end only when Friar Peter comes
forward and vouches for her story, then brings
forth Mariana who tells she slept with Angelo.
The Duke then appears as the Friar and repeats
the accusations. In front of all the people, the
Friar is revealed as the Duke. As the Duke, he
tells Friar Peter to marry Angelo and Mariana, in
order to restore her honour, then sentences
Angelo to death to punish him for hi deeds.
Angelo admits his faults and begs to be put to
death. Mariana is afraid that her happiness is
~ 10 ~
going to be destroyed again, and prays
Isabella to beg the Duke to spare Angelo.
who is promised a better job – ends with the
Duke’s second proposal to Isabella:
Mar. Isabel:
Sweet Isabel, doe yet but kneel by
me,
Hold up your hands, say nothing: I'll
speak all.
They say best men are moulded out of
faults,
And for the most, become much more
the better
For being a little bad: So may my
husband.
Oh Isabel: will you not lend a knee?
Duke. He dies for Claudio's death.
Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good,
Whereto if you'll a willing ear
incline;
What's mine is yours, and what is yours
is mine.
So bring us to our palace, where we'll
show
What's yet behind, that’s meet you all
should know.
It is difficult for Isabella to plead for the man
who has ruined her life, but she accepts for
the sake of Mariana.
Isab. Most bounteous Sir.
Look if it please you, on this man
condemn'd,
As if my Brother liv'd: I partly
think,
A due sincerity governed his deeds,
Till he did look on me: Since it is
so,
Let him not die: my Brother had but
Justice,
In that he did the thing for which he
died.
For Angelo, his act did not o’ertake
his bad intent,
And must be buried but as an intent
That perish'd by the way: thoughts
are no subjects;
Intents, but merely thoughts
The Duke, moved by her plea, agrees to spare
Angelo’s life. The Duke then has the Provost
bring Barnardine and Claudio, his face
covered, to him. The Duke frees Barnardine
then uncovers Claudio and returns him to
Isabella.
The Duke proposes Isabella to marry him, and
announces Angelo’s pardon and tells him to
love his wife.
There is still one more thing to settle: Lucio
must marry the whore he got pregnant, and
then be hanged. Lucio objects, and the Duke
moderates the sentence to marriage alone,
which Lucio describes as worse than death. A
series of orders – to Claudio to marry Juliet,
to Mariana to be happy and to Angelo to love
his wife, thanks to Escalus and to the Provost
~ 11 ~
Romeo and Juliet
Plot Overview
In Capulet’s household, young Juliet talks with her
mother, Lady Capulet, and her nurse about the
possibility of marrying Paris. Juliet has not yet
considered marriage, but agrees to look at Paris
IN THE STREETS OF VERONA another brawl breaks
during the feast to see if she thinks she could fall in
out between the servants of the feuding noble
love with him.
families of Capulet and Montague. Benvolio, a
The feast begins. A melancholy Romeo follows
Montague, tries to stop the fighting, but is
Benvolio and their witty friend Mercutio to Capulet’s
himself embroiled when the rash Capulet, Tybalt,
house. Once inside, Romeo sees Juliet from a
arrives on the scene. After citizens outraged by
distance and instantly falls in love with her; he
the constant violence beat back the warring
forgets about Rosaline completely. As Romeo
factions, Prince Escalus, the ruler of Verona,
watches Juliet, entranced, a young Capulet, Tybalt,
attempts to prevent any further conflicts
recognizes him, and is enraged that a Montague
between the families by decreeing death for any
would sneak into a Capulet feast. He prepares to
individual who disturbs the peace in the future.
attack, but Capulet holds him back. Soon, Romeo
Romeo,
speaks to Juliet, and the two experience a
the son of Montague, runs into his cousin
Benvolio, who had earlier seen Romeo moping
profound attraction. They kiss, not even knowing
in a grove of sycamores. After some prodding by
each other’s names. When he finds out from
Benvolio, Romeo confides that he is in love with
Juliet’s nurse that she is the daughter of Capulet—
Rosaline,
his family’s enemy—he becomes distraught. When
a woman who does not return his
affections. Benvolio counsels him to forget this
Juliet learns that the young man she has just
woman and find another, more beautiful one,
kissed is the son of Montague, she grows equally
but Romeo remains despondent.
upset.
Meanwhile, Paris, a kinsman of the Prince, seeks
As Mercutio and Benvolio leave the Capulet estate,
Juliet’s
Romeo leaps over the orchard wall into the garden,
hand in marriage. Her father Capulet,
though happy at the match, asks Paris to wait
unable to leave Juliet behind. From his hiding
two years, since Juliet is not yet even fourteen.
place, he sees Juliet in a window above the orchard
Capulet dispatches a servant with a list of
and hears her speak his name. He calls out to her,
people to invite to a masquerade and feast he
and they exchange vows of love.
traditionally holds. He invites Paris to the feast,
Romeo hurries to see his friend and confessor Friar
hoping that Paris will begin to win Juliet’s
Lawrence,
heart.
of Romeo’s heart, agrees to marry the young lovers
Romeo and Benvolio, still discussing Rosaline,
in secret since he sees in their love the possibility
encounter the Capulet servant bearing the list of
of ending the age-old feud between Capulet and
invitations. Benvolio suggests that they attend,
Montague. The following day, Romeo and Juliet
since that will allow Romeo to compare his
meet at Friar Lawrence’s cell and are married. The
beloved to other beautiful women of Verona.
Nurse,
Romeo agrees to go with Benvolio to the feast,
which Romeo will use to climb into Juliet’s window
but only because Rosaline, whose name he
for their wedding night.
reads on the list, will be there.
The next day, Benvolio and Mercutio encounter
who, though shocked at the sudden turn
who is privy to the secret, procures a ladder,
Tybalt—Juliet’s cousin—who, still enraged that
~ 12 ~
Romeo attended Capulet’s feast, has challenged
appear to be dead. After she is laid to rest in the
Romeo to a duel. Romeo appears. Now Tybalt’s
family’s crypt, the Friar and Romeo will secretly
kinsman by marriage, Romeo begs the Capulet
retrieve her, and she will be free to live with
to hold off the duel until he understands why
Romeo, away from their parents’ feuding.
Romeo does not want to fight. Disgusted with
Juliet returns home to discover the wedding has
this plea for peace, Mercutio says that he will
been moved ahead one day, and she is to be
fight Tybalt himself. The two begin to duel.
married tomorrow. That night, Juliet drinks the
Romeo tries to stop them by leaping between
potion, and the Nurse discovers her, apparently
the combatants. Tybalt stabs Mercutio under
dead, the next morning. The Capulets grieve, and
Romeo’s arm, and Mercutio dies. Romeo, in a
Juliet is entombed according to plan. But Friar
rage, kills Tybalt. Romeo flees from the scene.
Lawrence’s message explaining the plan to Romeo
Soon after, the Prince declares him forever
never reaches Mantua. Its bearer, Friar John, gets
banished from Verona for his crime. Friar
confined to a quarantined house. Romeo hears
Lawrence arranges for Romeo to spend his
only that Juliet is dead.
wedding night with Juliet before he has to leave
Romeo learns only of Juliet’s death and decides to
for Mantua the following morning.
kill himself rather than live without her. He buys a
In her room, Juliet awaits the arrival of her new
vial of poison from a reluctant Apothecary, then
husband. The Nurse enters, and, after some
speeds back to Verona to take his own life at
confusion, tells Juliet that Romeo has killed
Juliet’s tomb. Outside the Capulet crypt, Romeo
Tybalt. Distraught, Juliet suddenly finds herself
comes upon Paris, who is scattering flowers on
married to a man who has killed her kinsman.
Juliet’s grave. They fight, and Romeo kills Paris.
But she resettles herself, and realizes that her
He enters the tomb, sees Juliet’s inanimate body,
duty belongs with her love: to Romeo.
drinks the poison, and dies by her side. Just then,
Romeo sneaks into Juliet’s room that night, and
Friar Lawrence enters and realizes that Romeo has
at last they consummate their marriage and
killed Paris and himself. At the same time, Juliet
their love. Morning comes, and the lovers bid
awakes. Friar Lawrence hears the coming of the
farewell, unsure when they will see each other
watch. When Juliet refuses to leave with him, he
again. Juliet learns that her father, affected by
flees alone. Juliet sees her beloved Romeo and
the recent events, now intends for her to marry
realizes he has killed himself with poison. She
Paris in just three days. Unsure of how to
kisses his poisoned lips, and when that does not
proceed—unable to reveal to her parents that
kill her, buries his dagger in her chest, falling dead
she is married to Romeo, but unwilling to marry
upon his body.
Paris now that she is Romeo’s wife—Juliet asks
The watch arrives, followed closely by the Prince,
her Nurse for advice. She counsels Juliet to
the Capulets, and Montague. Montague declares
proceed as if Romeo were dead and to marry
that Lady Montague has died of grief over Romeo’s
Paris, who is a better match anyway. Disgusted
exile. Seeing their children’s bodies, Capulet and
with the Nurse’s disloyalty, Juliet disregards her
Montague agree to end their long-standing feud
advice and hurries to Friar Lawrence. He
and to raise gold statues of their children side-by-
concocts a plan to reunite Juliet with Romeo in
side in a newly peaceful Verona.
Mantua. The night before her wedding to Paris,
Juliet must drink a potion that will make her
~ 13 ~
Analysis of Major Characters
Romeo
The name Romeo, in popular culture, has
become nearly synonymous with “lover.”
Romeo, in Romeo and Juliet, does indeed
experience a love of such purity and passion
that he kills himself when he believes that the
object of his love, Juliet, has died. The power of
Romeo’s love, however, often obscures a clear
vision of Romeo’s character, which is far more
complex.
Even Romeo’s relation to love is not so simple.
At the beginning of the play, Romeo pines for
Rosaline, proclaiming her the paragon of
women and despairing at her indifference
toward him. Taken together, Romeo’s Rosalineinduced histrionics seem rather juvenile.
Romeo is a great reader of love poetry, and the
portrayal of his love for Rosaline suggests he is
trying to re-create the feelings that he has read
about. After first kissing Juliet, she tells him
“you kiss by th’ book,” meaning that he kisses
according to the rules, and implying that while
proficient, his kissing lacks originality (I.v.107).
In reference to Rosaline, it seems, Romeo loves
by the book. Rosaline, of course, slips from
Romeo’s mind at first sight of Juliet. But Juliet
is no mere replacement. The love she shares
with Romeo is far deeper, more authentic and
unique than the clichéd puppy love Romeo felt
for Rosaline. Romeo’s love matures over the
course of the play from the shallow desire to be
in love to a profound and intense passion. One
must ascribe Romeo’s development at least in
part to Juliet. Her level-headed observations,
such as the one about Romeo’s kissing, seem
just the thing to snap Romeo from his
superficial idea of love and to inspire him to
begin to speak some of the most beautiful and
intense love poetry ever written.
Yet Romeo’s deep capacity for love is merely a
part of his larger capacity for intense feeling of
all kinds. Put another way, it is possible to
describe Romeo as lacking the capacity for
moderation. Love compels him to sneak into the
garden of his enemy’s daughter, risking death
simply to catch a glimpse of her. Anger compels
him to kill his wife’s cousin in a reckless duel to
avenge the death of his friend. Despair compels
him to suicide upon hearing of Juliet’s death.
Such extreme behavior dominates Romeo’s
character throughout the play and contributes
to the ultimate tragedy that befalls the lovers.
Had Romeo restrained himself from killing
Tybalt, or waited even one day before killing
himself after hearing the news of Juliet’s death,
matters might have ended happily. Of course,
though, had Romeo not had such depths of
feeling, the love he shared with Juliet would
never have existed in the first place.
Among his friends, especially while bantering with
Mercutio, Romeo shows glimpses of his social
persona. He is intelligent, quick-witted, fond of
verbal jousting (particularly about sex), loyal, and
unafraid of danger.
Juliet
Having not quite reached her fourteenth birthday,
Juliet is of an age that stands on the border
between immaturity and maturity. At the play’s
beginning however she seems merely an obedient,
sheltered, naïve child. Though many girls her age—
including her mother—get married, Juliet has not
given the subject any thought. When Lady Capulet
mentions Paris’s interest in marrying Juliet, Juliet
dutifully responds that she will try to see if she can
love him, a response that seems childish in its
obedience and in its immature conception of love.
Juliet seems to have no friends her own age, and
she is not comfortable talking about sex (as seen in
her discomfort when the Nurse goes on and on
about a sexual joke at Juliet’s expense in Act I,
scene iii).
Juliet gives glimpses of her determination,
strength, and sober-mindedness, in her earliest
scenes, and offers a preview of the woman she will
become during the five-day span of Romeo and
Juliet. While Lady Capulet proves unable to quiet
the Nurse, Juliet succeeds with one word (also in
Act I, scene iii). In addition, even in Juliet’s dutiful
acquiescence to try to love Paris, there is some
seed of steely determination. Juliet promises to
consider Paris as a possible husband to the precise
degree her mother desires. While an outward show
of obedience, such a statement can also be read as
a refusal through passivity. Juliet will accede to her
mother’s wishes, but she will not go out of her way
to fall in love with Paris.
Juliet’s first meeting with Romeo propels her fullforce toward adulthood. Though profoundly in love
with him, Juliet is able to see and criticize Romeo’s
rash decisions and his tendency to romanticize
things. After Romeo kills Tybalt and is banished,
Juliet does not follow him blindly. She makes a
logical and heartfelt decision that her loyalty and
love for Romeo must be her guiding priorities.
Essentially, Juliet cuts herself loose from her prior
social moorings—her Nurse, her parents, and her
social position in Verona—in order to try to reunite
with Romeo. When she wakes in the tomb to find
Romeo dead, she does not kill herself out of
feminine weakness, but rather out of an intensity
of love, just as Romeo did. Juliet’s suicide actually
requires more nerve than Romeo’s: while he
swallows poison, she stabs herself through the
heart with a dagger.
Juliet’s development from a wide-eyed girl into a
self-assured, loyal, and capable woman is one of
Shakespeare’s early triumphs of characterization.
It also marks one of his most confident and
rounded treatments of a female character.
~ 14 ~
Friar Lawrence
Friar Lawrence occupies a strange position
territory in Romeo and Juliet. He is a
kindhearted cleric who helps Romeo and Juliet
throughout the play. He performs their
marriage and gives generally good advice,
especially in regard to the need for moderation.
He is the sole figure of religion in the play. But
Friar Lawrence is also the most scheming and
political of characters in the play: he marries
Romeo and Juliet as part of a plan to end the
civil strife in Verona; he spirits Romeo into
Juliet’s room and then out of Verona; he devises
the plan to reunite Romeo and Juliet through
the deceptive ruse of a sleeping potion that
seems to arise from almost mystic knowledge.
This mystical knowledge seems out of place for
a Catholic friar; why does he have such
knowledge, and what could such knowledge
mean? The answers are not clear. In addition,
though Friar Lawrence’s plans all seem well
conceived and well intentioned, they serve as
the main mechanisms through which the fated
tragedy of the play occurs. Readers should
recognize that the Friar is not only subject to
the fate that dominates the play—in many ways
he brings that fate about.
Mercutio
With a lightning-quick wit and a clever mind,
Mercutio is a scene stealer and one of the most
memorable characters in all of Shakespeare’s
works. Though he constantly puns, jokes, and
teases—sometimes in fun, sometimes with
bitterness—Mercutio is not a mere jester or
prankster. With his wild words, Mercutio
punctures the romantic sentiments and blind
self-love that exist within the play. He mocks
Romeos self-indulgence just as he ridicules
Tybalt’s hauteur and adherence to fashion. The
critic Stephen Greenblatt describes Mercutio as
a force within the play that functions to deflate
the possibility of romantic love and the power of
tragic fate. Unlike the other characters who
blame their deaths on fate, Mercutio dies
cursing all Montagues and Capulets. Mercutio
believes that specific people are responsible for
his death rather than some external impersonal
force.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Forcefulness of Love
Romeo and Juliet is the most famous love story
in the English literary tradition. Love is
naturally the play’s dominant and most
important theme. The play focuses on romantic
love, specifically the intense passion that
springs up at first sight between Romeo and
Juliet. In Romeo and Juliet, love is a violent,
ecstatic, overpowering force that supersedes all
other values, loyalties, and emotions. In the course
of the play, the young lovers are driven to defy
their entire social world: families (“Deny thy father
and refuse thy name,” Juliet asks, “Or if thou wilt
not, be but sworn my love, / And I’ll no longer be a
Capulet”); friends (Romeo abandons Mercutio and
Benvolio after the feast in order to go to Juliet’s
garden); and ruler (Romeo returns to Verona for
Juliet’s sake after being exiled by the Prince on
pain of death in II.i.76–78). Love is the overriding
theme of the play, but a reader should always
remember that Shakespeare is uninterested in
portraying a prettied-up, dainty version of the
emotion, the kind that bad poets write about, and
whose bad poetry Romeo reads while pining for
Rosaline. Love in Romeo and Juliet is a brutal,
powerful emotion that captures individuals and
catapults them against their world, and, at times,
against themselves.
The powerful nature of love can be seen in the way
it is described, or, more accurately, the way
descriptions of it so consistently fail to capture its
entirety. At times love is described in the terms of
religion, as in the fourteen lines when Romeo and
Juliet first meet. At others it is described as a sort
of magic: “Alike bewitchèd by the charm of looks”
(II.Prologue.6). Juliet, perhaps, most perfectly
describes her love for Romeo by refusing to
describe it: “But my true love is grown to such
excess / I cannot sum up some of half my wealth”
(III.i.33–34). Love, in other words, resists any
single metaphor because it is too powerful to be so
easily contained or understood.
Romeo and Juliet does not make a specific moral
statement about the relationships between love
and society, religion, and family; rather, it portrays
the chaos and passion of being in love, combining
images of love, violence, death, religion, and family
in an impressionistic rush leading to the play’s
tragic conclusion.
Love as a Cause of Violence
The themes of death and violence permeate Romeo
and Juliet, and they are always connected to
passion, whether that passion is love or hate. The
connection between hate, violence, and death
seems obvious. But the connection between love
and violence requires further investigation.
Love, in Romeo and Juliet, is a grand passion, and
as such it is blinding; it can overwhelm a person as
powerfully and completely as hate can. The
passionate love between Romeo and Juliet is
linked from the moment of its inception with
death: Tybalt notices that Romeo has crashed the
feast and determines to kill him just as Romeo
catches sight of Juliet and falls instantly in love
with her. From that point on, love seems to push
the lovers closer to love and violence, not farther
from it. Romeo and Juliet are plagued with
thoughts of suicide, and a willingness to experience
it: in Act III, scene iii, Romeo brandishes a knife in
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Friar Lawrence’s cell and threatens to kill
himself after he has been banished from Verona
and his love. Juliet also pulls a knife in order to
take her own life in Friar Lawrence’s presence
just three scenes later. After Capulet decides
that Juliet will marry Paris, Juliet says, “If all
else fail, myself have power to die” (III.v.242).
Finally, each imagines that the other looks dead
the morning after their first, and only, sexual
experience (“Methinks I see thee,” Juliet says, “.
. . as one dead in the bottom of a tomb”
(III.v.242; III.v.55–56). This theme continues
until its inevitable conclusion: double suicide.
This tragic choice is the highest, most potent
expression of love that Romeo and Juliet can
make. It is only through death that they can
preserve their love, and their love is so
profound that they are willing to end their lives
in its defense. In the play, love emerges as an
amoral thing, leading as much to destruction as
to happiness. But in its extreme passion, the
love that Romeo and Juliet experience also
appears so exquisitely beautiful that few would
want, or be able, to resist its power.
The Individual Versus Society
Much of Romeo and Juliet involves the lovers’
struggles against public and social institutions
that either explicitly or implicitly oppose the
existence of their love. Such structures range
from the concrete to the abstract: families and
the placement of familial power in the father;
law and the desire for public order; religion;
and the social importance placed on masculine
honor. These institutions often come into
conflict with each other. The importance of
honor, for example, time and again results in
brawls that disturb the public peace.
Though they do not always work in concert,
each of these societal institutions in some way
present obstacles for Romeo and Juliet. The
enmity between their families, coupled with the
emphasis placed on loyalty and honor to kin,
combine to create a profound conflict for
Romeo and Juliet, who must rebel against their
heritages. Further, the patriarchal power
structure inherent in Renaissance families,
wherein the father controls the action of all
other family members, particularly women,
places Juliet in an extremely vulnerable
position. Her heart, in her family’s mind, is not
hers to give. The law and the emphasis on social
civility demands terms of conduct with which
the blind passion of love cannot comply.
Religion similarly demands priorities that
Romeo and Juliet cannot abide by because of
the intensity of their love. Though in most
situations the lovers uphold the traditions of
Christianity (they wait to marry before
consummating their love), their love is so
powerful that they begin to think of each other
in blasphemous terms. For example, Juliet calls
Romeo “the god of my idolatry,” elevating
Romeo to level of God (II.i.156). The couple’s final
act of suicide is likewise un-Christian. The
maintenance of masculine honor forces Romeo to
commit actions he would prefer to avoid. But the
social emphasis placed on masculine honor is so
profound that Romeo cannot simply ignore them.
It is possible to see Romeo and Juliet as a battle
between the responsibilities and actions demanded
by social institutions and those demanded by the
private desires of the individual. Romeo and
Juliet’s appreciation of night, with its darkness and
privacy, and their renunciation of their names,
with its attendant loss of obligation, make sense in
the context of individuals who wish to escape the
public world. But the lovers cannot stop the night
from becoming day. And Romeo cannot cease
being a Montague simply because he wants to; the
rest of the world will not let him. The lovers’
suicides can be understood as the ultimate night,
the ultimate privacy.
The Inevitability of Fate
In its first address to the audience, the Chorus
states that Romeo and Juliet are “star-crossed”—
that is to say that fate (a power often vested in the
movements of the stars) controls them
(Prologue.6). This sense of fate permeates the play,
and not just for the audience. The characters also
are quite aware of it: Romeo and Juliet constantly
see omens. When Romeo believes that Juliet is
dead, he cries out, “Then I defy you, stars,”
completing the idea that the love between Romeo
and Juliet is in opposition to the decrees of destiny
(V.i.24). Of course, Romeo’s defiance itself plays
into the hands of fate, and his determination to
spend eternity with Juliet results in their deaths.
The mechanism of fate works in all of the events
surrounding the lovers: the feud between their
families (it is worth noting that this hatred is never
explained; rather, the reader must accept it as an
undeniable aspect of the world of the play); the
horrible series of accidents that ruin Friar
Lawrence’s seemingly well-intentioned plans at the
end of the play; and the tragic timing of Romeo’s
suicide and Juliet’s awakening. These events are
not mere coincidences, but rather manifestations
of fate that help bring about the unavoidable
outcome of the young lovers’ deaths.
The concept of fate described above is the most
commonly accepted interpretation. There are other
possible readings of fate in the play: as a force
determined by the powerful social institutions that
influence Romeo and Juliet’s choices, as well as
fate as a force that emerges from Romeo and
Juliet’s very personalities.
Motifs
Light/Dark Imagery
One of the play’s most consistent visual motifs is
the contrast between light and dark, often in terms
of night/day imagery. This contrast is not given a
particular metaphoric meaning—light is not always
good, and dark is not always evil. On the contrary,
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light and dark are generally used to provide a
sensory contrast and to hint at opposed
alternatives. One of the more important
instances of this motif is Romeo’s lengthy
meditation on the sun and the moon during the
balcony scene, in which Juliet, metaphorically
described as the sun, is seen as banishing the
“envious moon” and transforming the night into
day (II.i.46). A similar blurring of night and day
occurs in the early morning hours after the
lovers’ only night together. Romeo, forced to
leave for exile in the morning, and Juliet, not
wanting him to leave her room, both try to
pretend that it is still night, and that the light is
actually darkness: “More light and light, more
dark and dark our woes” (III.v.36).
Opposite Points of View
Shakespeare includes numerous speeches and
scenes in Romeo and Juliet that hint at
alternative ways to evaluate the play.
Shakespeare uses two main devices in this
regard: Mercutio and servants. Mercutio
consistently skewers the viewpoints of all the
other characters in play: he sees Romeo’s
devotion to love as a sort of blindness that robs
Romeo from himself; similarly, he sees Tybalt’s
devotion to honor as blind and stupid. His
punning and the Queen Mab speech can be
interpreted as undercutting virtually every
passion evident in the play. Mercutio serves as a
critic of the delusions of righteousness and
grandeur held by the characters around him.
Where Mercutio is a nobleman who openly
criticizes other nobles, the views offered by
servants in the play are less explicit. There is the
Nurse who lost her baby and husband, the
servant Peter who cannot read, the musicians
who care about their lost wages and their
lunches, and the Apothecary who cannot afford
to make the moral choice, the lower classes
present a second tragic world to counter that of
the nobility. The nobles’ world is full of grand
tragic gestures. The servants’ world, in contrast,
is characterized by simple needs, and early
deaths brought about by disease and poverty
rather than dueling and grand passions. Where
the nobility almost seem to revel in their
capacity for drama, the servants’ lives are such
that they cannot afford tragedy of the epic kind.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
Poison
In his first appearance, in Act II, scene ii, Friar
Lawrence remarks that every plant, herb, and
stone has its own special properties, and that
nothing exists in nature that cannot be put to
both good and bad uses. Thus, poison is not
intrinsically evil, but is instead a natural
substance made lethal by human hands. Friar
Lawrence’s words prove true over the course of the
play. The sleeping potion he gives Juliet is
concocted to cause the appearance of death, not
death itself, but through circumstances beyond the
Friar’s control, the potion does bring about a fatal
result: Romeo’s suicide. As this example shows,
human beings tend to cause death even without
intending to. Similarly, Romeo suggests that
society is to blame for the apothecary’s criminal
selling of poison, because while there are laws
prohiting the apothecary from selling poison, there
are no laws that would help the apothecary make
money. Poison symbolizes human society’s
tendency to poison good things and make them
fatal, just as the pointless Capulet-Montague feud
turns Romeo and Juliet’s love to poison. After all,
unlike many of the other tragedies, this play does
not have an evil villain, but rather people whose
good qualities are turned to poison by the world in
which they live.
Thumb-biting
In Act I, scene I, the buffoonish Samson begins a
brawl between the Montagues and Capulets by
flicking his thumbnail from behind his upper teeth,
an insulting gesture known as biting the thumb.
He engages in this juvenile and vulgar display
because he wants to get into a fight with the
Montagues but doesn’t want to be accused of
starting the fight by making an explicit insult.
Because of his timidity, he settles for being
annoying rather than challenging. The thumbbiting, as an essentially meaningless gesture,
represents the foolishness of the entire
Capulet/Montague feud and the stupidity of
violence in general.
Queen Mab
In Act I, scene iv, Mercutio delivers a dazzling
speech about the fairy Queen Mab, who rides
through the night on her tiny wagon bringing
dreams to sleepers. One of the most noteworthy
aspects of Queen Mab’s ride is that the dreams she
brings generally do not bring out the best sides of
the dreamers, but instead serve to confirm them in
whatever vices they are addicted to—for example,
greed, violence, or lust. Another important aspect
of Mercutio’s description of Queen Mab is that it is
complete nonsense, albeit vivid and highly
colorful. Nobody believes in a fairy pulled about by
“a small grey-coated gnat” whipped with a cricket’s
bone (I.iv.65). Finally, it is worth noting that the
description of Mab and her carriage goes to
extravagant lengths to emphasize how tiny and
insubstantial she and her accoutrements are.
Queen Mab and her carriage do not merely
symbolize the dreams of sleepers, they also
symbolize the power of waking fantasies,
daydreams, and desires. Through the Queen Mab
imagery, Mercutio suggests that all desires and
fantasies are as nonsensical and fragile as Mab,
and that they are basically corrupting. This point of
view contrasts starkly with that of Romeo and
Juliet, who see their love as real and ennobling.
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Macbeth
Plot Overview
THE PLAY BEGINS
with the brief appearance of a
trio of witches and then moves to a military
camp, where the Scottish King Duncan hears the
news that his generals, Macbeth and Banquo, have
defeated two separate invading armies—one
from Ireland, led by the rebel Macdonald, and
one from Norway. Following their pitched battle
with these enemy forces, Macbeth and Banquo
encounter the witches as they cross a moor. The
witches prophesy that Macbeth will be made
thane (a rank of Scottish nobility) of Cawdor
and eventually king of Scotland. They also
prophesy that Macbeth’s companion, Banquo,
will beget a line of Scottish kings, although
Banquo will never be king himself. The witches
vanish, and Macbeth and Banquo treat their
prophecies skeptically until some of King
Duncan’s men come to thank the two generals
for their victories in battle and to tell Macbeth
that he has indeed been named thane of
Cawdor. The previous thane betrayed Scotland
by fighting for the Norwegians and Duncan has
condemned him to death. Macbeth is intrigued
by the possibility that the remainder of the
witches’ prophecy—that he will be crowned
king—might be true, but he is uncertain what to
expect. He visits with King Duncan, and they
plan to dine together at Inverness, Macbeth’s
castle, that night. Macbeth writes ahead to his
wife, Lady Macbeth, telling her all that has
happened.
Lady Macbeth suffers none of her husband’s
uncertainty. She desires the kingship for him and
wants him to murder Duncan in order to obtain
it. When Macbeth arrives at Inverness, she
overrides all of her husband’s objections and
persuades him to kill the king that very night.
He and Lady Macbeth plan to get Duncan’s two
chamberlains drunk so they will black out; the
next morning they will blame the murder on the
chamberlains, who will be defenseless, as they
will remember nothing. While Duncan is asleep,
Macbeth stabs him, despite his doubts and a
number of supernatural portents, including a
vision of a bloody dagger. When Duncan’s death
is discovered the next morning, Macbeth kills
the chamberlains—ostensibly out of rage at
their crime—and easily assumes the kingship.
Duncan’s sons Malcolm and Donalbain flee to
England and Ireland, respectively, fearing that
whoever killed Duncan desires their demise as
well.
Fearful of the witches’ prophecy that Banquo’s
heirs will seize the throne, Macbeth hires a
group of murderers to kill Banquo and his son
Fleance. They ambush Banquo on his way to a
royal feast, but they fail to kill Fleance, who
escapes into the night. Macbeth becomes furious:
as long as Fleance is alive, he fears that his power
remains insecure. At the feast that night, Banquo’s
ghost visits Macbeth. When he sees the ghost,
Macbeth raves fearfully, startling his guests, who
include most of the great Scottish nobility. Lady
Macbeth tries to neutralize the damage, but
Macbeth’s kingship incites increasing resistance
from his nobles and subjects. Frightened, Macbeth
goes to visit the witches in their cavern. There, they
show him a sequence of demons and spirits who
present him with further prophecies: he must
beware of Macduff, a Scottish nobleman who
opposed Macbeth’s accession to the throne; he is
incapable of being harmed by any man born of
woman; and he will be safe until Birnam Wood
comes to Dunsinane Castle. Macbeth is relieved
and feels secure, because he knows that all men are
born of women and that forests cannot move.
When he learns that Macduff has fled to England
to join Malcolm, Macbeth orders that Macduff’s
castle be seized and, most cruelly, that Lady Macduff
and her children be murdered.
When news of his family’s execution reaches
Macduff in England, he is stricken with grief and
vows revenge. Prince Malcolm, Duncan’s son, has
succeeded in raising an army in England, and
Macduff joins him as he rides to Scotland to
challenge Macbeth’s forces. The invasion has the
support of the Scottish nobles, who are appalled
and frightened by Macbeth’s tyrannical and
murderous behavior. Lady Macbeth, meanwhile,
becomes plagued with fits of sleepwalking in which
she bemoans what she believes to be bloodstains
on her hands. Before Macbeth’s opponents arrive,
Macbeth receives news that she has killed herself,
causing him to sink into a deep and pessimistic
despair. Nevertheless, he awaits the English and
fortifies Dunsinane, to which he seems to have
withdrawn in order to defend himself, certain that
the witches’ prophecies guarantee his invincibility.
He is struck numb with fear, however, when he
learns that the English army is advancing on
Dunsinane shielded with boughs cut from Birnam
Wood. Birnam Wood is indeed coming to
Dunsinane, fulfilling half of the witches’ prophecy.
In the battle, Macbeth hews violently, but the
English forces gradually overwhelm his army and
castle. On the battlefield, Macbeth encounters the
vengeful Macduff, who declares that he was not “of
woman born” but was instead “untimely ripped”
from his mother’s womb (what we now call birth
by cesarean section). Though he realizes that he is
doomed, Macbeth continues to fight until Macduff
kills and beheads him. Malcolm, now the king of
Scotland, declares his benevolent intentions for the
~ 18 ~
country and invites all to see him crowned at
Scone.
Analysis of Major Characters
Macbeth
Because we first hear of Macbeth in the wounded
captain’s account of his battlefield valor, our
initial impression is of a brave and capable
warrior. This perspective is complicated,
however, once we see Macbeth interact with the
three witches. We realize that his physical
courage is joined by a consuming ambition and a
tendency to self-doubt—the prediction that he
will be king brings him joy, but it also creates
inner turmoil. These three attributes—bravery,
ambition, and self-doubt—struggle for mastery
of Macbeth throughout the play. Shakespeare
uses Macbeth to show the terrible effects that
ambition and guilt can have on a man who lacks
strength of character. We may classify Macbeth
as irrevocably evil, but his weak character
separates him from Shakespeare’s great
villains—Iago in Othello, Richard III in Richard
III, Edmund in King Lear—who are all strong
enough to conquer guilt and self-doubt.
Macbeth, great warrior though he is, is ill
equipped for the psychic consequences of crime.
Before he kills Duncan, Macbeth is plagued by
worry and almost aborts the crime. It takes Lady
Macbeth’s steely sense of purpose to push him
into the deed. After the murder, however, her
powerful personality begins to disintegrate,
leaving Macbeth increasingly alone. He
fluctuates between fits of fevered action, in
which he plots a series of murders to secure his
throne, and moments of terrible guilt (as when
Banquo’s ghost appears) and absolute pessimism
(after his wife’s death, when he seems to
succumb to despair). These fluctuations reflect
the tragic tension within Macbeth: he is at once
too ambitious to allow his conscience to stop
him from murdering his way to the top and too
conscientious to be happy with himself as a
murderer. As things fall apart for him at the end
of the play, he seems almost relieved—with the
English army at his gates, he can finally return
to life as a warrior, and he displays a kind of
reckless bravado as his enemies surround him
and drag him down. In part, this stems from his
fatal confidence in the witches’ prophecies, but
it also seems to derive from the fact that he has
returned to the arena where he has been most
successful and where his internal turmoil need
not affect him—namely, the battlefield. Unlike
many of Shakespeare’s other tragic heroes,
Macbeth never seems to contemplate suicide:
“Why should I play the Roman fool,” he asks,
“and die / On mine own sword?” (V.x.1–2).
Instead, he goes down fighting, bringing the
play full circle: it begins with Macbeth winning
on the battlefield and ends with him dying in
combat.
Lady Macbeth
Lady Macbeth is one of Shakespeare’s most famous
and frightening female characters. When we first
see her, she is already plotting Duncan’s murder,
and she is stronger, more ruthless, and more
ambitious than her husband. She seems fully
aware of this and knows that she will have to push
Macbeth into committing murder. At one point,
she wishes that she were not a woman so that she
could do it herself. This theme of the relationship
between gender and power is key to Lady
Macbeth’s character: her husband implies that she
is a masculine soul inhabiting a female body, which
seems to link masculinity to ambition and violence.
Shakespeare, however, seems to use her, and the
witches, to undercut Macbeth’s idea that
“undaunted mettle should compose / Nothing but
males” (I.vii.73–74). These crafty women use
female methods of achieving power—that is,
manipulation—to further their supposedly male
ambitions. Women, the play implies, can be as
ambitious and cruel as men, yet social constraints
deny them the means to pursue these ambitions on
their own.
Lady Macbeth manipulates her husband with
remarkable effectiveness, overriding all his
objections; when he hesitates to murder, she
repeatedly questions his manhood until he feels
that he must commit murder to prove himself.
Lady Macbeth’s remarkable strength of will
persists through the murder of the king—it is she
who steadies her husband’s nerves immediately
after the crime has been perpetrated. Afterward,
however, she begins a slow slide into madness—
just as ambition affects her more strongly than
Macbeth before the crime, so does guilt plague her
more strongly afterward. By the close of the play,
she has been reduced to sleepwalking through the
castle, desperately trying to wash away an invisible
bloodstain. Once the sense of guilt comes home to
roost, Lady Macbeth’s sensitivity becomes a
weakness, and she is unable to cope. Significantly,
she (apparently) kills herself, signaling her total
inability to deal with the legacy of their crimes.
The Three Witches
Throughout the play, the witches—referred to as
the “weird sisters” by many of the characters—lurk
like dark thoughts and unconscious temptations to
evil. In part, the mischief they cause stems from
their supernatural powers, but mainly it is the
result of their understanding of the weaknesses of
their specific interlocutors—they play upon
Macbeth’s ambition like puppeteers.
The witches’ beards, bizarre potions, and rhymed
speech make them seem slightly ridiculous, like
caricatures of the supernatural. Shakespeare has
them speak in rhyming couplets throughout (their
most famous line is probably “Double, double, toil
and trouble, / Fire burn and cauldron bubble” in
IV.i.10–11), which separates them from the other
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characters, who mostly speak in blank verse.
The witches’ words seem almost comical, like
malevolent nursery rhymes. Despite the
absurdity of their “eye of newt and toe of frog”
recipes, however, they are clearly the most
dangerous characters in the play, being both
tremendously powerful and utterly wicked
(IV.i.14).
The audience is left to ask whether the witches
are independent agents toying with human
lives, or agents of fate, whose prophecies are
only reports of the inevitable. The witches bear
a striking and obviously intentional
resemblance to the Fates, female characters in
both Norse and Greek mythology who weave
the fabric of human lives and then cut the
threads to end them. Some of their prophecies
seem self-fulfilling. For example, it is doubtful
that Macbeth would have murdered his king
without the push given by the witches’
predictions. In other cases, though, their
prophecies are just remarkably accurate
readings of the future—it is hard to see Birnam
Wood coming to Dunsinane as being selffulfilling in any way. The play offers no easy
answers. Instead, Shakespeare keeps the
witches well outside the limits of human
comprehension. They embody an unreasoning,
instinctive evil.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Corrupting Power of Unchecked
Ambition
The main theme of Macbeth—the destruction
wrought when ambition goes unchecked by moral
constraints—finds its most powerful expression
in the play’s two main characters. Macbeth is a
courageous Scottish general who is not
naturally inclined to commit evil deeds, yet he
deeply desires power and advancement. He kills
Duncan against his better judgment and
afterward stews in guilt and paranoia. Toward
the end of the play he descends into a kind of
frantic, boastful madness. Lady Macbeth, on the
other hand, pursues her goals with greater
determination, yet she is less capable of
withstanding the repercussions of her immoral
acts. One of Shakespeare’s most forcefully
drawn female characters, she spurs her
husband mercilessly to kill Duncan and urges
him to be strong in the murder’s aftermath, but
she is eventually driven to distraction by the
effect of Macbeth’s repeated bloodshed on her
conscience. In each case, ambition—helped, of
course, by the malign prophecies of the
witches—is what drives the couple to ever more
terrible atrocities. The problem, the play
suggests, is that once one decides to use
violence to further one’s quest for power, it is
difficult to stop. There are always potential threats
to the throne—Banquo, Fleance, Macduff—and it is
always tempting to use violent means to dispose of
them.
The Relationship between Cruelty and
Masculinity
Characters in Macbeth frequently dwell on issues
of gender. Lady Macbeth manipulates her husband
by questioning his manhood, wishes that she
herself could be “unsexed,” and does not contradict
Macbeth when he says that a woman like her
should give birth only to boys. In the same manner
that Lady Macbeth goads her husband on to
murder, Macbeth provokes the murderers he hires
to kill Banquo by questioning their manhood. Such
acts show that both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth
equate masculinity with naked aggression, and
whenever they converse about manhood, violence
soon follows. Their understanding of manhood
allows the political order depicted in the play to
descend into chaos.
At the same time, however, the audience cannot
help noticing that women are also sources of
violence and evil. The witches’ prophecies spark
Macbeth’s ambitions and then encourage his
violent behavior; Lady Macbeth provides the
brains and the will behind her husband’s plotting;
and the only divine being to appear is Hecate, the
goddess of witchcraft. Arguably, Macbeth traces
the root of chaos and evil to women, which has led
some critics to argue that this is Shakespeare’s
most misogynistic play. While the male characters
are just as violent and prone to evil as the women,
the aggression of the female characters is more
striking because it goes against prevailing
expectations of how women ought to behave. Lady
Macbeth’s behavior certainly shows that women
can be as ambitious and cruel as men. Whether
because of the constraints of her society or because
she is not fearless enough to kill, Lady Macbeth
relies on deception and manipulation rather than
violence to achieve her ends.
Ultimately, the play does put forth a revised and
less destructive definition of manhood. In the
scene where Macduff learns of the murders of his
wife and child, Malcolm consoles him by encouraging
him to take the news in “manly” fashion, by
seeking revenge upon Macbeth. Macduff shows the
young heir apparent that he has a mistaken
understanding of masculinity. To Malcolm’s
suggestion, “Dispute it like a man,” Macduff
replies, “I shall do so. But I must also feel it as a
man” (IV.iii.221–223). At the end of the play,
Siward receives news of his son’s death rather
complacently. Malcolm responds: “He’s worth
more sorrow [than you have expressed] / And that
I’ll spend for him” (V.xi.16–17). Malcolm’s
comment shows that he has learned the lesson
Macduff gave him on the sentient nature of true
masculinity. It also suggests that, with Malcolm’s
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coronation, order will be restored to the
Kingdom of Scotland.
The Difference between Kingship and
Tyranny
In the play, Duncan is always referred to as a
“king,” while Macbeth soon becomes known as
the “tyrant.” The difference between the two
types of rulers seems to be expressed in a
conversation that occurs in Act IV, scene iii,
when Macduff meets Malcolm in England. In
order to test Macduff’s loyalty to Scotland,
Malcolm pretends that he would make an even
worse king than Macbeth. He tells Macduff of
his reproachable qualities—among them a thirst
for personal power and a violent temperament,
both of which seem to characterize Macbeth
perfectly. On the other hand, Malcolm says,
“The king-becoming graces / [are] justice,
verity, temp’rance, stableness, / Bounty,
perseverance, mercy, [and] lowliness”
(IV.iii.92–93). The model king, then, offers the
kingdom an embodiment of order and justice,
but also comfort and affection. Under him,
subjects are rewarded according to their merits,
as when Duncan makes Macbeth thane of
Cawdor after Macbeth’s victory over the
invaders. Most important, the king must be
loyal to Scotland above his own interests.
Macbeth, by contrast, brings only chaos to
Scotland—symbolized in the bad weather and
bizarre supernatural events—and offers no real
justice, only a habit of capriciously murdering
those he sees as a threat. As the embodiment of
tyranny, he must be overcome by Malcolm so
that Scotland can have a true king once more.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Hallucinations
Visions and hallucinations recur throughout the
play and serve as reminders of Macbeth and
Lady Macbeth’s joint culpability for the growing
body count. When he is about to kill Duncan,
Macbeth sees a dagger floating in the air.
Covered with blood and pointed toward the
king’s chamber, the dagger represents the
bloody course on which Macbeth is about to
embark. Later, he sees Banquo’s ghost sitting in
a chair at a feast, pricking his conscience by
mutely reminding him that he murdered his
former friend. The seemingly hardheaded Lady
Macbeth also eventually gives way to visions, as
she sleepwalks and believes that her hands are
stained with blood that cannot be washed away
by any amount of water. In each case, it is
ambiguous whether the vision is real or purely
hallucinatory; but, in both cases, the Macbeths
read them uniformly as supernatural signs of
their guilt.
Violence
Macbeth is a famously violent play. Interestingly,
most of the killings take place offstage, but
throughout the play the characters provide the
audience with gory descriptions of the carnage,
from the opening scene where the captain
describes Macbeth and Banquo wading in blood on
the battlefield, to the endless references to the
bloodstained hands of Macbeth and his wife. The
action is bookended by a pair of bloody battles: in
the first, Macbeth defeats the invaders; in the
second, he is slain and beheaded by Macduff. In
between is a series of murders: Duncan, Duncan’s
chamberlains, Banquo, Lady Macduff, and Macduff’s
son all come to bloody ends. By the end of the
action, blood seems to be everywhere.
Prophecy
Prophecy sets Macbeth’s plot in motion—namely, the
witches’ prophecy that Macbeth will become first
thane of Cawdor and then king. The weird sisters
make a number of other prophecies: they tell us
that Banquo’s heirs will be kings, that Macbeth
should beware Macduff, that Macbeth is safe till
Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane, and that no
man born of woman can harm Macbeth. Save for
the prophecy about Banquo’s heirs, all of these
predictions are fulfilled within the course of the
play. Still, it is left deliberately ambiguous whether
some of them are self-fulfilling—for example,
whether Macbeth wills himself to be king or is
fated to be king. Additionally, as the Birnam Wood
and “born of woman” prophecies make clear, the
prophecies must be interpreted as riddles, since
they do not always mean what they seem to mean.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors
used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.
Blood
Blood is everywhere in Macbeth, beginning with the
opening battle between the Scots and the
Norwegian invaders, which is described in
harrowing terms by the wounded captain in Act I,
scene ii. Once Macbeth and Lady Macbeth embark
upon their murderous journey, blood comes to
symbolize their guilt, and they begin to feel that
their crimes have stained them in a way that
cannot be washed clean. “Will all great Neptune’s
ocean wash this blood / Clean from my hand?”
Macbeth cries after he has killed Duncan, even as
his wife scolds him and says that a little water will
do the job (II.ii.58–59). Later, though, she comes
to share his horrified sense of being stained: “Out,
damned spot; out, I say . . . who would have
thought the old man to have had so much blood in
him?” she asks as she wanders through the halls of
their castle near the close of the play (V.i.30–34).
Blood symbolizes the guilt that sits like a
permanent stain on the consciences of both
Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, one that hounds them
to their graves.
The Weather
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As in other Shakespearean tragedies, Macbeth’s
grotesque murder spree is accompanied by a
number of unnatural occurrences in the natural
realm. From the thunder and lightning that
accompany the witches’ appearances to the
terrible storms that rage on the night of Duncan’s
murder, these violations of the natural order
reflect corruption in the moral and political orders.
Hamlet
Plot Overview
ON A DARK WINTER NIGHT, a ghost walks the
ramparts of Elsinore Castle in Denmark.
Discovered first by a pair of watchmen, then by
the scholar Horatio, the ghost resembles the
recently deceased King Hamlet, whose brother
Claudius has inherited the throne and married
the king’s widow, Queen Gertrude. When Horatio
and the watchmen bring Prince Hamlet, the son
of Gertrude and the dead king, to see the ghost,
it speaks to him, declaring ominously that it is
indeed his father’s spirit, and that he was
murdered by none other than Claudius.
Ordering Hamlet to seek revenge on the man
who usurped his throne and married his wife,
the ghost disappears with the dawn.
Prince Hamlet devotes himself to avenging his
father’s death, but, because he is contemplative
and thoughtful by nature, he delays, entering
into a deep melancholy and even apparent
madness. Claudius and Gertrude worry about
the prince’s erratic behavior and attempt to
discover its cause. They employ a pair of
Hamlet’s friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
to watch him. When Polonius, the pompous Lord
Chamberlain, suggests that Hamlet may be mad
with love for his daughter, Ophelia, Claudius
agrees to spy on Hamlet in conversation with
the girl. But though Hamlet certainly seems
mad, he does not seem to love Ophelia: he
orders her to enter a nunnery and declares that
he wishes to ban marriages.
A group of traveling actors comes to Elsinore,
and Hamlet seizes upon an idea to test his
uncle’s guilt. He will have the players perform a
scene closely resembling the sequence by which
Hamlet imagines his uncle to have murdered
his father, so that if Claudius is guilty, he will
surely react. When the moment of the murder
arrives in the theater, Claudius leaps up and
leaves the room. Hamlet and Horatio agree that
this proves his guilt. Hamlet goes to kill
Claudius but finds him praying. Since he
believes that killing Claudius while in prayer
would send Claudius’s soul to heaven, Hamlet
considers that it would be an inadequate
revenge and decides to wait. Claudius, now
frightened of Hamlet’s madness and fearing for
his own safety, orders that Hamlet be sent to
England at once.
Hamlet goes to confront his mother, in whose
bedchamber Polonius has hidden behind a
tapestry. Hearing a noise from behind the tapestry,
Hamlet believes the king is hiding there. He draws
his sword and stabs through the fabric, killing
Polonius. For this crime, he is immediately
dispatched to England with Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern. However, Claudius’s plan for Hamlet
includes more than banishment, as he has given
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern sealed orders for
the King of England demanding that Hamlet be
put to death.
In the aftermath of her father’s death, Ophelia goes
mad with grief and drowns in the river. Polonius’s
son, Laertes, who has been staying in France,
returns to Denmark in a rage. Claudius convinces
him that Hamlet is to blame for his father’s and
sister’s deaths. When Horatio and the king receive
letters from Hamlet indicating that the prince has
returned to Denmark after pirates attacked his
ship en route to England, Claudius concocts a plan
to use Laertes’ desire for revenge to secure
Hamlet’s death. Laertes will fence with Hamlet in
innocent sport, but Claudius will poison Laertes’
blade so that if he draws blood, Hamlet will die. As
a backup plan, the king decides to poison a goblet,
which he will give Hamlet to drink should Hamlet
score the first or second hits of the match. Hamlet
returns to the vicinity of Elsinore just as Ophelia’s
funeral is taking place. Stricken with grief, he
attacks Laertes and declares that he had in fact
always loved Ophelia. Back at the castle, he tells
Horatio that he believes one must be prepared to
die, since death can come at any moment. A foolish
courtier named Osric arrives on Claudius’s orders to
arrange the fencing match between Hamlet and
Laertes.
The sword-fighting begins. Hamlet scores the first
hit, but declines to drink from the king’s proffered
goblet. Instead, Gertrude takes a drink from it and
is swiftly killed by the poison. Laertes succeeds in
wounding Hamlet, though Hamlet does not die of
the poison immediately. First, Laertes is cut by his
own sword’s blade, and, after revealing to Hamlet
that Claudius is responsible for the queen’s death,
he dies from the blade’s poison. Hamlet then stabs
Claudius through with the poisoned sword and
forces him to drink down the rest of the poisoned
wine. Claudius dies, and Hamlet dies immediately
after achieving his revenge.
At this moment, a Norwegian prince named
Fortinbras, who has led an army to Denmark and
~ 22 ~
attacked Poland earlier in the play, enters with
ambassadors from England, who report that
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.
Fortinbras is stunned by the gruesome sight of
the entire royal family lying sprawled on the
floor dead. He moves to take power of the
kingdom. Horatio, fulfilling Hamlet’s last
request, tells him Hamlet’s tragic story.
Fortinbras orders that Hamlet be carried away
in a manner befitting a fallen soldier.
Analysis of Major Characters
Hamlet
Hamlet has fascinated audiences and readers for
centuries, and the first thing to point out about
him is that he is enigmatic. There is always
more to him than the other characters in the
play can figure out; even the most careful and
clever readers come away with the sense that
they don’t know everything there is to know
about this character. Hamlet actually tells other
characters that there is more to him than meets
the eye—notably, his mother, and Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern—but his fascination involves much
more than this. When he speaks, he sounds as if
there’s something important he’s not saying,
maybe something even he is not aware of. The
ability to write soliloquies and dialogues that
create this effect is one of Shakespeare’s most
impressive achievements.
A university student whose studies are
interrupted by his father’s death, Hamlet is
extremely philosophical and contemplative. He
is particularly drawn to difficult questions or
questions that cannot be answered with any
certainty. Faced with evidence that his uncle
murdered his father, evidence that any other
character in a play would believe, Hamlet
becomes obsessed with proving his uncle’s guilt
before trying to act. The standard of “beyond a
reasonable doubt” is simply unacceptable to
him. He is equally plagued with questions about
the afterlife, about the wisdom of suicide, about
what happens to bodies after they die—the list
is extensive.
But even though he is thoughtful to the point of
obsession, Hamlet also behaves rashly and
impulsively. When he does act, it is with
surprising swiftness and little or no
premeditation, as when he stabs Polonius through
a curtain without even checking to see who he
is. He seems to step very easily into the role of a
madman, behaving erratically and upsetting the
other characters with his wild speech and
pointed innuendos.
It is also important to note that Hamlet is
extremely melancholy and discontented with
the state of affairs in Denmark and in his own
family—indeed, in the world at large. He is
extremely disappointed with his mother for
marrying his uncle so quickly, and he
repudiates Ophelia, a woman he once claimed to
love, in the harshest terms. His words often
indicate his disgust with and distrust of women in
general. At a number of points in the play, he
contemplates his own death and even the option of
suicide.
But, despite all of the things with which Hamlet
professes dissatisfaction, it is remarkable that the
prince and heir apparent of Denmark should think
about these problems only in personal and
philosophical terms. He spends relatively little
time thinking about the threats to Denmark’s
national security from without or the threats to its
stability from within (some of which he helps to
create through his own carelessness).
Claudius
Hamlet’s major antagonist is a shrewd, lustful,
conniving king who contrasts sharply with the
other male characters in the play. Whereas most of
the other important men in Hamlet are
preoccupied with ideas of justice, revenge, and
moral balance, Claudius is bent upon maintaining
his own power. The old King Hamlet was
apparently a stern warrior, but Claudius is a
corrupt politician whose main weapon is his ability
to manipulate others through his skillful use of
language. Claudius’s speech is compared to poison
being poured in the ear—the method he used to
murder Hamlet’s father. Claudius’s love for Gertrude
may be sincere, but it also seems likely that he
married her as a strategic move, to help him win
the throne away from Hamlet after the death of the
king. As the play progresses, Claudius’s mounting
fear of Hamlet’s insanity leads him to ever greater
self-preoccupation; when Gertrude tells him that
Hamlet has killed Polonius, Claudius does not
remark that Gertrude might have been in danger,
but only that he would have been in danger had he
been in the room. He tells Laertes the same thing as
he attempts to soothe the young man’s anger after
his father’s death. Claudius is ultimately too crafty
for his own good. In Act V, scene ii, rather than
allowing Laertes only two methods of killing
Hamlet, the sharpened sword and the poison on
the blade, Claudius insists on a third, the poisoned
goblet. When Gertrude inadvertently drinks the
poison and dies, Hamlet is at last able to bring
himself to kill Claudius, and the king is felled by
his own cowardly machination.
Gertrude
Few Shakespearean characters have caused as
much uncertainty as Gertrude, the beautiful Queen
of Denmark. The play seems to raise more
questions about Gertrude than it answers,
including: Was she involved with Claudius before
the death of her husband? Did she love her
husband? Did she know about Claudius’s plan to
commit the murder? Did she love Claudius, or did
she marry him simply to keep her high station in
Denmark? Does she believe Hamlet when he
insists that he is not mad, or does she pretend to
believe him simply to protect herself? Does she
~ 23 ~
intentionally betray Hamlet to Claudius, or does
she believe that she is protecting her son’s
secret?
These questions can be answered in numerous
ways, depending upon one’s reading of the play.
The Gertrude who does emerge clearly in
Hamlet is a woman defined by her desire for
station and affection, as well as by her tendency
to use men to fulfill her instinct for selfpreservation—which, of course, makes her
extremely dependent upon the men in her life.
Hamlet’s most famous comment about
Gertrude is his furious condemnation of women
in general: “Frailty, thy name is woman!”
(I.ii.146). This comment is as much indicative of
Hamlet’s agonized state of mind as of anything
else, but to a great extent Gertrude does seem
morally frail. She never exhibits the ability to
think critically about her situation, but seems
merely to move instinctively toward seemingly
safe choices, as when she immediately runs to
Claudius after her confrontation with Hamlet.
She is at her best in social situations (I.ii and
V.ii), when her natural grace and charm seem to
indicate a rich, rounded personality. At times it
seems that her grace and charm are her only
characteristics, and her reliance on men
appears to be her sole way of capitalizing on her
abilities.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Impossibility of Certainty
What separates Hamlet from other revenge
plays (and maybe from every play written
before it) is that the action we expect to see,
particularly from Hamlet himself, is continually
postponed while Hamlet tries to obtain more
certain knowledge about what he is doing. This
play poses many questions that other plays
would simply take for granted. Can we have
certain knowledge about ghosts? Is the ghost
what it appears to be, or is it really a misleading
fiend? Does the ghost have reliable knowledge
about its own death, or is the ghost itself
deluded? Moving to more earthly matters: How
can we know for certain the facts about a crime
that has no witnesses? Can Hamlet know the
state of Claudius’s soul by watching his behavior?
If so, can he know the facts of what Claudius did
by observing the state of his soul? Can Claudius
(or the audience) know the state of Hamlet’s
mind by observing his behavior and listening to
his speech? Can we know whether our actions
will have the consequences we want them to
have? Can we know anything about the
afterlife?
Many people have seen Hamlet as a play about
indecisiveness, and thus about Hamlet’s failure
to act appropriately. It might be more interesting
to consider that the play shows us how many
uncertainties our lives are built upon, how many
unknown quantities are taken for granted when
people act or when they evaluate one another’s
actions.
The Complexity of Action
Directly related to the theme of certainty is the
theme of action. How is it possible to take
reasonable, effective, purposeful action? In
Hamlet, the question of how to act is affected not
only by rational considerations, such as the need
for certainty, but also by emotional, ethical, and
psychological factors. Hamlet himself appears to
distrust the idea that it’s even possible to act in a
controlled, purposeful way. When he does act, he
prefers to do it blindly, recklessly, and violently.
The other characters obviously think much less
about “action” in the abstract than Hamlet does,
and are therefore less troubled about the
possibility of acting effectively. They simply act as
they feel is appropriate. But in some sense they
prove that Hamlet is right, because all of their
actions miscarry. Claudius possesses himself of
queen and crown through bold action, but his
conscience torments him, and he is beset by
threats to his authority (and, of course, he dies).
Laertes resolves that nothing will distract him from
acting out his revenge, but he is easily influenced
and manipulated into serving Claudius’s ends, and
his poisoned rapier is turned back upon himself.
The Mystery of Death
In the aftermath of his father’s murder, Hamlet is
obsessed with the idea of death, and over the
course of the play he considers death from a great
many perspectives. He ponders both the spiritual
aftermath of death, embodied in the ghost, and the
physical remainders of the dead, such as by
Yorick’s skull and the decaying corpses in the
cemetery. Throughout, the idea of death is closely
tied to the themes of spirituality, truth, and
uncertainty in that death may bring the answers to
Hamlet’s deepest questions, ending once and for
all the problem of trying to determine truth in an
ambiguous world. And, since death is both the
cause and the consequence of revenge, it is
intimately tied to the theme of revenge and
justice—Claudius’s murder of King Hamlet
initiates Hamlet’s quest for revenge, and Claudius’s
death is the end of that quest.
The question of his own death plagues Hamlet as
well, as he repeatedly contemplates whether or not
suicide is a morally legitimate action in an
unbearably painful world. Hamlet’s grief and
misery is such that he frequently longs for death to
end his suffering, but he fears that if he commits
suicide, he will be consigned to eternal suffering in
hell because of the Christian religion’s prohibition
of suicide. In his famous “To be or not to be”
soliloquy (III.i), Hamlet philosophically concludes
that no one would choose to endure the pain of life
if he or she were not afraid of what will come after
~ 24 ~
death, and that it is this fear which causes
complex moral considerations to interfere with
the capacity for action.
The Nation as a Diseased Body
Everything is connected in Hamlet, including
the welfare of the royal family and the health of
the state as a whole. The play’s early scenes
explore the sense of anxiety and dread that
surrounds the transfer of power from one ruler
to the next. Throughout the play, characters
draw explicit connections between the moral
legitimacy of a ruler and the health of the
nation. Denmark is frequently described as a
physical body made ill by the moral corruption
of Claudius and Gertrude, and many observers
interpret the presence of the ghost as a
supernatural omen indicating that “[s]omething
is rotten in the state of Denmark” (I.iv.67). The
dead King Hamlet is portrayed as a strong,
forthright ruler under whose guard the state
was in good health, while Claudius, a wicked
politician, has corrupted and compromised
Denmark to satisfy his own appetites. At the
end of the play, the rise to power of the upright
Fortinbras suggests that Denmark will be
strengthened once again.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Incest and Incestuous Desire
The motif of incest runs throughout the play
and is frequently alluded to by Hamlet and the
ghost, most obviously in conversations about
Gertrude and Claudius, the former brother-inlaw and sister-in-law who are now married. A
subtle motif of incestuous desire can be found
in the relationship of Laertes and Ophelia, as
Laertes sometimes speaks to his sister in
suggestively sexual terms and, at her funeral,
leaps into her grave to hold her in his arms.
However, the strongest overtones of incestuous
desire arise in the relationship of Hamlet and
Gertrude, in Hamlet’s fixation on Gertrude’s sex
life with Claudius and his preoccupation with
her in general.
Misogyny
Shattered by his mother’s decision to marry
Claudius so soon after her husband’s death,
Hamlet becomes cynical about women in
general, showing a particular obsession with
what he perceives to be a connection between
female sexuality and moral corruption. This
motif of misogyny, or hatred of women, occurs
sporadically throughout the play, but it is an
important inhibiting factor in Hamlet’s
relationships with Ophelia and Gertrude. He
urges Ophelia to go to a nunnery rather than
experience the corruptions of sexuality and
exclaims of Gertrude, “Frailty, thy name is
woman” (I.ii.146).
Ears and Hearing
One facet of Hamlet’s exploration of the difficulty
of attaining true knowledge is slipperiness of
language. Words are used to communicate ideas,
but they can also be used to distort the truth,
manipulate other people, and serve as tools in
corrupt quests for power. Claudius, the shrewd
politician, is the most obvious example of a man
who manipulates words to enhance his own power.
The sinister uses of words are represented by
images of ears and hearing, from Claudius’s
murder of the king by pouring poison into his ear
to Hamlet’s claim to Horatio that “I have words to
speak in thine ear will make thee dumb” (IV.vi.21).
The poison poured in the king’s ear by Claudius is
used by the ghost to symbolize the corrosive effect
of Claudius’s dishonesty on the health of Denmark.
Declaring that the story that he was killed by a
snake is a lie, he says that “the whole ear of
Denmark” is “Rankly abused. . . .” (I.v.36–38).
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors
used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.
Yorick’s Skull
In Hamlet, physical objects are rarely used to
represent thematic ideas. One important exception
is Yorick’s skull, which Hamlet discovers in the
graveyard in the first scene of Act V. As Hamlet
speaks to the skull and about the skull of the king’s
former jester, he fixates on death’s inevitability
and the disintegration of the body. He urges the
skull to “get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her,
let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must
come”—no one can avoid death (V.i.178–179). He
traces the skull’s mouth and says, “Here hung
those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft,”
indicating his fascination with the physical
consequences of death (V.i.174–175). This latter
idea is an important motif throughout the play, as
Hamlet frequently makes comments referring to
every human body’s eventual decay, noting that
Polonius will be eaten by worms, that even kings are
eaten by worms, and that dust from the decayed
body of Alexander the Great might be used to stop
a hole in a beer barrel.
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The Tempest
A STORM STRIKES A SHIP carrying the king of Naples
if he performs tasks such as these without complaint.
Alonso, his son Ferdinand, his brother Sebastian,
Prospero chastises Ariel for protesting and reminds him of
his Councellor Gonzalo and the Duke of Milan
the horrible fate from which he was rescued. Before
Antonio who are on their way back to Italy after
Prospero came to the island, a witch named Sycorax
coming from the wedding of Alonso’s daughter,
imprisoned Ariel in a tree where he was trapped until
Claribel, to the prince of Tunis in Africa. The royal
Prospero arrived and freed him. After Ariel assures
party and the other mariners begin to fear for their
Prospero that he knows his place, Prospero orders Ariel to
lives. Lightning cracks, and the mariners cry that the
take the shape of a sea nymph and make himself invisible
ship has been hit. Everyone prepares to sink.
to all but Prospero.
The next scene begins much more quietly. Miranda
Miranda awakens from her sleep, and she and Prospero go
and Prospero stand on the shore of their island,
to visit Caliban, Prospero’s servant and the son of the
looking out to sea at the recent shipwreck. Miranda
dead Sycorax. Caliban curses Prospero, and Prospero and
asks her father to do anything he can to help the poor
Miranda berate him for being ungrateful for what they
souls in the ship. Prospero assures her that everything
have given and taught him. Prospero sends Caliban to
is all right and then informs her that it is time she
fetch firewood. Ariel, invisible, enters playing music and
learned more about herself and her past. He reveals to
makes Ferdinand believe that his father has died, and now
her that he orchestrated the shipwreck and tells her the
he is the rightful King of Naples.
lengthy story of her past, a story he has often started to
Ariel: Full fathom five thy father lies;
tell her before but never finished. The story goes that
Of his bones are coral made;
Prospero was the Duke of Milan until his brother
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Antonio, conspiring with Alonso, the King of Naples,
Nothing of him that doth fade
usurped his position. With the help of Gonzalo,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Prospero was able to escape with his daughter and with
Into something rich and strange.
the books that are the source of his magic and power.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell
Prospero and his daughter arrived on the island where
Then he leads Ferdinand towards Prospero’s cavern till he
they remain now and have been for twelve years. Only
meets Miranda. The two are immediately smitten with
now, Prospero says, has Fortune at last sent his
each other: he is the only man Miranda has ever seen,
enemies his way, and he has raised the tempest in order
besides Caliban and her father. Prospero is happy to see
to make things right with them once and for all.
that his plan for his daughter’s future marriage is working,
After telling this story, Prospero charms Miranda to
but decides that he must upset things temporarily in order
sleep and then calls forth his familiar spirit Ariel, his
to prevent their relationship from developing too quickly.
chief magical agent. Prospero and Ariel’s discussion
He accuses Ferdinand of merely pretending to be the
reveals that Ariel brought the tempest upon the ship
Prince of Naples and threatens him with imprisonment.
and set fire to the mast. He then made sure that
When Ferdinand draws his sword, Prospero charms him
everyone got safely to the island, though they are now
and leads him off to prison, ignoring Miranda’s cries for
separated from each other into small groups. Ariel,
mercy. He then sends Ariel on another mysterious mission.
who is a captive servant to Prospero, reminds his
On another part of the island, Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio,
master that he has promised Ariel freedom a year early
Gonzalo, and other miscellaneous lords give thanks for
~ 26 ~
their safety but worry about the fate of Ferdinand.
Ferdinand accepts. Prospero has been on stage most of the
Alonso says that he wishes he never had married his
time, unseen, and he is pleased with this development.
daughter to the prince of Tunis because if he had not
Stefano, Trinculo, and Caliban are now drunk and raucous
made this journey, his son would still be alive. Gonzalo
and are made all the more so by Ariel, who comes to them
tries to maintain high spirits by discussing the beauty
invisibly and provokes them to fight with one another by
of the island, but his remarks are undercut by the
impersonating their voices and taunting them. Caliban
sarcastic sourness of Antonio and Sebastian. Ariel
grows more and more fervent in his boasts that he knows
appears, invisible, and plays music that puts all but
how to kill Prospero. He even tells Stefano that he can
Sebastian and Antonio to sleep. These two then begin
bring him to where Prospero is sleeping. He proposes that
to discuss the possible advantages of killing their
they kill Prospero, take his daughter, and set Stefano up as
sleeping companions. Antonio persuades Sebastian that
king of the island. Stefano thinks this a good plan, and the
the latter will become ruler of Naples if they kill
three prepare to set off to find Prospero. They are
Alonso. Claribel, who would be the next heir if
distracted, however, by the sound of music that Ariel plays
Ferdinand were indeed dead, is too far away to be able
on his flute and tabor-drum, and they decide to follow this
to claim her right. Sebastian is convinced, and the two
music before executing their plot.
are about to stab the sleeping men when Ariel causes
Alonso, Gonzalo, Sebastian, and Antonio grow weary
Gonzalo to wake with a shout. Everyone wakes up, and
from traveling and pause to rest. Antonio and Sebastian
Antonio and Sebastian concoct a ridiculous story about
secretly plot to take advantage of Alonso and Gonzalo’s
having drawn their swords to protect the king from
exhaustion, deciding to kill them in the evening. Prospero,
lions. Ariel goes back to Prospero while Alonso and his
probably on the balcony of the stage and invisible to the
party continue to search for Ferdinand.
men, causes a banquet to be set out by strangely shaped
Caliban, meanwhile, is hauling wood for Prospero
spirits. As the men prepare to eat, Ariel appears like a
when he sees Trinculo (a mariner) and thinks he is a
harpy and causes the banquet to vanish. He then accuses
spirit sent by Prospero to torment him. He lies down
the men of supplanting Prospero and says that it was for
and hides under his cloak. A storm is brewing, and
this sin that Alonso’s son, Ferdinand, has been taken. He
Trinculo, curious about but undeterred by Caliban’s
vanishes, leaving Alonso feeling vexed and guilty.
strange appearance and smell, crawls under the cloak
Prospero now softens toward Ferdinand and welcomes him
with him. Stefano (another mariner), drunk and
into his family as the soon-to-be-husband of Miranda. He
singing, comes along and stumbles upon the bizarre
sternly reminds Ferdinand, however, that Miranda’s
spectacle of Caliban and Trinculo huddled under the
“virgin-knot” (IV.i.15) is not to be broken until the
cloak. Caliban, hearing the singing, cries out that he
wedding has been officially solemnized. Prospero then
will work faster so long as the “spirits” leave him
asks Ariel to call forth some spirits to perform a masque
alone. Stefano decides that this monster requires liquor
for Ferdinand and Miranda. The spirits assume the shapes
and attempts to get Caliban to drink. Trinculo
of Ceres, Juno, and Iris and perform a short masque
recognizes his friend Stefano and calls out to him.
celebrating the rites of marriage and the bounty of the
Soon the three are sitting up together and drinking.
earth. A dance of reapers and nymphs follows but is
Caliban quickly becomes an enthusiastic drinker, and
interrupted when Prospero suddenly remembers that he
begins to sing.
still must stop the plot against his life.
Prospero puts Ferdinand to work hauling wood.
He sends the spirits away warning the two youths that
Ferdinand finds his labor pleasant because it is for
Miranda’s sake. Miranda, thinking that her father is
asleep, tells Ferdinand to take a break. The two flirt
with one another. Miranda proposes marriage, and
PROSPERO: ... These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
~ 27 ~
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
a sleep that had apparently lasted since the tempest. At
Prospero’s bidding, Ariel releases Caliban, Trinculo and
Stefano, who then enter wearing their stolen clothing.
Prospero and Alonso command them to return it and to
clean up Prospero’s cell. Prospero invites Alonso and the
He then asks Ariel about Trinculo, Stefano, and
others to stay for the night so that he can tell them the tale
Caliban. Ariel tells his master of the three men’s
of his life in the past twelve years. After this, the group
drunken plans. He also tells how he led the men with
plans to return to Italy. Prospero, restored to his dukedom,
his music through prickly grass and briars and finally
will “retire to my Milan, where Every third thought shall
into a filthy pond near Prospero’s cell. Ariel and
be my grave”. Prospero gives Ariel one final task—to
Prospero then set a trap by hanging beautiful clothing
make sure the seas are calm for the return voyage-before
in Prospero’s cell. Stefano, Trinculo, and Caliban enter
setting him free. Finally, Prospero delivers an epilogue to
looking for Prospero and, finding the beautiful
the audience, asking them to forgive him for his
clothing, decide to steal it. They are immediately set
wrongdoing and set him free by applauding:
upon by a pack of spirits in the shape of dogs and
Prospero: Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
hounds, driven on by Prospero and Ariel.
And what strength I have's mine own,
Prospero uses Ariel to bring Alonso and the others
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
before him. He then sends Ariel to bring the Boatswain
I must be here confined by you,
and the mariners from where they sleep on the wrecked
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
ship. Prospero confronts Alonso, Antonio, and
Since I have my dukedom got
Sebastian with their treachery, but tells them that he
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
forgives them. Alonso tells him of having lost
In this bare island by your spell;
Ferdinand in the tempest and Prospero says that he
But release me from my bands
recently lost his own daughter. Clarifying his meaning,
With the help of your good hands:
he draws aside a curtain to reveal Ferdinand and
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Miranda playing chess. Alonso and his companions are
Must fill, or else my project fails,
amazed by the miracle of Ferdinand’s survival, and
Which was to please. Now I want
Miranda is stunned by the sight of people unlike any
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
she has seen before exclaiming “O brave new world
And my ending is despair,
that has such people in it!”.
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Ferdinand tells his father about his marriage. Gonzalo
Which pierces so that it assaults
comments:
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
GONZALO: Was Milan thrust from Milan,
that his issue
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy, and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his
dukedom
In a poor isle and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own.
Ariel returns with the Boatswain and mariners. The
Boatswain tells a story of having been awakened from
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
~ 28 ~
W. Shakespeare,
The Tempest
Analysis of Major Characters
Prospero
Prospero is one of Shakespeare’s more enigmatic
protagonists. He is a sympathetic character in
that he was wronged by his usurping brother, but
his absolute power over the other characters and
his overwrought speeches make him difficult to
like. In our first glimpse of him, he appears
puffed up and self-important, and his repeated
insistence that Miranda pay attention suggest
that his story is boring her. Once Prospero moves
on to a subject other than his absorption in the
pursuit of knowledge, Miranda’s attention is
riveted.
The pursuit of knowledge gets Prospero into
trouble in the first place. By neglecting everyday
matters when he was duke, he gave his brother a
chance to rise up against him. His possession and
use of magical knowledge renders him extremely
powerful and not entirely sympathetic. His
punishments of Caliban are petty and vindictive,
as he calls upon his spirits to pinch Caliban when
he curses. He is defensively autocratic with Ariel.
For example, when Ariel reminds his master of
his promise to relieve him of his duties early if he
performs them willingly, Prospero bursts into
fury and threatens to return him to his former
imprisonment and torment. He is similarly
unpleasant in his treatment of Ferdinand, leading
him to his daughter and then imprisoning and
enslaving him.
Despite his shortcomings as a man, however,
Prospero is central to The Tempest’s narrative.
Prospero generates the plot of the play almost
single-handedly, as his various schemes, spells,
and manipulations all work as part of his grand
design to achieve the play’s happy ending.
Watching Prospero work through The Tempest is
like watching a dramatist create a play, building a
story from material at hand and developing his
plot so that the resolution brings the world into
line with his idea of goodness and justice. Many
critics and readers of the play have interpreted
Prospero as a surrogate for Shakespeare,
enabling the audience to explore firsthand the
ambiguities and ultimate wonder of the creative
endeavor.
Prospero’s final speech, in which he likens
himself to a playwright by asking the audience for
applause, strengthens this reading of the play,
and makes the play’s final scene function as a
moving celebration of creativity, humanity, and
art. Prospero emerges as a more likable and
sympathetic figure in the final two acts of the
play. In these acts, his love for Miranda, his
forgiveness of his enemies, and the legitimately
happy ending his scheme creates all work to
mitigate some of the undesirable means he has
used to achieve his happy ending. If Prospero
sometimes seems autocratic, he ultimately
manages to persuade the audience to share his
understanding of the world—an achievement that
is, after all, the final goal of every author and
every play.
Miranda
Just under fifteen years old, Miranda is a gentle
and compassionate, but also relatively passive,
heroine. From her very first lines she displays a
meek and emotional nature. “O, I have suffered /
With those that I saw suffer!” she says of the
shipwreck (I.ii.5–6), and hearing Prospero’s tale
of their narrow escape from Milan, she says “I,
not rememb’ring how I cried out then, / Will cry
it o’er again” (I.ii.133–134). Miranda does not
choose her own husband. Instead, while she
sleeps, Prospero sends Ariel to fetch Ferdinand,
and arranges things so that the two will come to
love one another. After Prospero has given the
lovers his blessing, he and Ferdinand talk with
surprising frankness about her virginity and the
pleasures of the marriage bed while she stands
quietly by. Prospero tells Ferdinand to be sure
not to “break her virgin-knot” before the wedding
night (IV.i.15), and Ferdinand replies with no
small anticipation that lust shall never take away
“the edge of that day’s celebration” (IV.i.29). In
the play’s final scene, Miranda is presented, with
Ferdinand, almost as a prop or piece of the
scenery as Prospero draws aside a curtain to
reveal the pair playing chess.
But while Miranda is passive in many ways, she
has at least two moments of surprising
forthrightness and strength that complicate the
reader’s impressions of her as a naïve young girl.
The first such moment is in Act I, scene ii, in
which she and Prospero converse with Caliban.
Prospero alludes to the fact that Caliban once
tried to rape Miranda. When Caliban rudely
agrees that he intended to violate her, Miranda
responds with impressive vehemence, clearly
appalled at Caliban’s light attitude toward his
attempted rape. She goes on to scold him for
being ungrateful for her attempts to educate him:
“When thou didst not, savage, / Know thine own
meaning, but wouldst gabble like / A thing most
brutish, I endowed thy purposes / With words
that made them known” (358–361). These lines
are so surprising coming from the mouth of
Miranda that many editors have amended the
text and given it to Prospero. This reattribution
seems to give Miranda too little credit. In Act III,
scene i comes the second surprising moment—
Miranda’s marriage proposal to Ferdinand: “I am
~ 29 ~
your wife, if you will marry me; / If not, I’ll die
your maid” (III.i.83–84). Her proposal comes
shortly after Miranda has told herself to
remember her “father’s precepts” (III.i.58)
forbidding conversation with Ferdinand. As the
reader can see in her speech to Caliban in Act I,
scene ii, Miranda is willing to speak up for herself
about her sexuality.
Caliban
Prospero’s dark, earthy slave, frequently referred
to as a monster by the other characters, Caliban
is the son of a witch-hag and the only real native
of the island to appear in the play. He is an
extremely complex figure, and he mirrors or
parodies several other characters in the play. In
his first speech to Prospero, Caliban insists that
Prospero stole the island from him. Through this
speech, Caliban suggests that his situation is
much the same as Prospero’s, whose brother
usurped his dukedom. On the other hand,
Caliban’s desire for sovereignty of the island
mirrors the lust for power that led Antonio to
overthrow Prospero. Caliban’s conspiracy with
Stefano and Trinculo to murder Prospero mirrors
Antonio and Sebastian’s plot against Alonso, as
well as Antonio and Alonso’s original conspiracy
against Prospero.
Caliban both mirrors and contrasts with
Prospero’s other servant, Ariel. While Ariel is “an
airy spirit,” Caliban is of the earth, his speeches
turning to “springs, brine pits” (I.ii.341), “bogs,
fens, flats” (II.ii.2), or crabapples and pignuts
(II.ii.159–160). While Ariel maintains his dignity
and his freedom by serving Prospero willingly,
Caliban achieves a different kind of dignity by
refusing, if only sporadically, to bow before
Prospero’s intimidation.
Surprisingly, Caliban also mirrors and contrasts
with Ferdinand in certain ways. In Act II, scene ii
Caliban enters “with a burden of wood,” and
Ferdinand enters in Act III, scene i “bearing a
log.” Both Caliban and Ferdinand profess an
interest in untying Miranda’s “virgin knot.”
Ferdinand plans to marry her, while Caliban has
attempted to rape her. The glorified, romantic,
almost ethereal love of Ferdinand for Miranda
starkly contrasts with Caliban’s desire to
impregnate Miranda and people the island with
Calibans.
Finally, and most tragically, Caliban becomes a
parody of himself. In his first speech to Prospero,
he regretfully reminds the magician of how he
showed him all the ins and outs of the island
when Prospero first arrived. Only a few scenes
later, however, we see Caliban drunk and fawning
before a new magical being in his life: Stefano
and his bottle of liquor. Soon, Caliban begs to
show Stefano the island and even asks to lick his
shoe. Caliban repeats the mistakes he claims to
curse. In his final act of rebellion, he is once more
entirely subdued by Prospero in the most petty
way—he is dunked in a stinking bog and ordered
to clean up Prospero’s cell in preparation for
dinner.
Despite his savage demeanor and grotesque
appearance, however, Caliban has a nobler, more
sensitive side that the audience is only allowed to
glimpse briefly, and which Prospero and Miranda
do not acknowledge at all. His beautiful speeches
about his island home provide some of the most
affecting imagery in the play, reminding the
audience that Caliban really did occupy the island
before Prospero came, and that he may be right
in thinking his enslavement to be monstrously
unjust. Caliban’s swarthy appearance, his forced
servitude, and his native status on the island have
led many readers to interpret him as a symbol of
the native cultures occupied and suppressed by
European colonial societies, which are
represented by the power of Prospero. Whether
or not one accepts this allegory, Caliban remains
one of the most intriguing and ambiguous minor
characters in all of Shakespeare, a sensitive
monster who allows himself to be transformed
into a fool.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often universal
ideas explored in a literary work.
The Illusion of Justice
The Tempest tells a fairly straightforward story
involving an unjust act, the usurpation of
Prospero’s throne by his brother, and Prospero’s
quest to re-establish justice by restoring himself
to power. However, the idea of justice that the
play works toward seems highly subjective, since
this idea represents the view of one character
who controls the fate of all the other characters.
Though Prospero presents himself as a victim of
injustice working to right the wrongs that have
been done to him, Prospero’s idea of justice and
injustice is somewhat hypocritical—though he is
furious with his brother for taking his power, he
has no qualms about enslaving Ariel and Caliban
in order to achieve his ends. At many moments
throughout the play, Prospero’s sense of justice
seems extremely one-sided and mainly involves
what is good for Prospero. Moreover, because the
play offers no notion of higher order or justice to
supersede Prospero’s interpretation of events, the
play is morally ambiguous.
As the play progresses, however, it becomes more
and more involved with the idea of creativity and
art, and Prospero’s role begins to mirror more
explicitly the role of an author creating a story
around him. With this metaphor in mind, and
especially if we accept Prospero as a surrogate for
Shakespeare himself, Prospero’s sense of justice
begins to seem, if not perfect, at least
sympathetic. Moreover, the means he uses to
~ 30 ~
achieve his idea of justice mirror the
machinations of the artist, who also seeks to
enable others to see his view of the world.
Playwrights arrange their stories in such a way
that their own idea of justice is imposed upon
events. In The Tempest, the author is in the play,
and the fact that he establishes his idea of justice
and creates a happy ending for all the characters
becomes a cause for celebration, not criticism.
By using magic and tricks that echo the special
effects and spectacles of the theater, Prospero
gradually persuades the other characters and the
audience of the rightness of his case. As he does
so, the ambiguities surrounding his methods
slowly resolve themselves. Prospero forgives his
enemies, releases his slaves, and relinquishes his
magic power, so that, at the end of the play, he is
only an old man whose work has been
responsible for all the audience’s pleasure. The
establishment of Prospero’s idea of justice
becomes less a commentary on justice in life than
on the nature of morality in art. Happy endings
are possible, Shakespeare seems to say, because
the creativity of artists can create them, even if
the moral values that establish the happy ending
originate from nowhere but the imagination of
the artist.
The Difficulty of Distinguishing “Men”
from “Monsters”
Upon seeing Ferdinand for the first time,
Miranda says that he is “the third man that e’er I
saw” (I.ii.449). The other two are, presumably,
Prospero and Caliban. In their first conversation
with Caliban, however, Miranda and Prospero
say very little that shows they consider him to be
human. Miranda reminds Caliban that before she
taught him language, he gabbled “like / A thing
most brutish” (I.ii.59–60) and Prospero says that
he gave Caliban “human care” (I.ii.349), implying
that this was something Caliban ultimately did
not deserve. Caliban’s exact nature continues to
be slightly ambiguous later. In Act IV, scene i,
reminded of Caliban’s plot, Prospero refers to
him as a “devil, a born devil, on whose nature /
Nurture can never stick” (IV.i.188–189). Miranda
and Prospero both have contradictory views of
Caliban’s humanity. On the one hand, they think
that their education of him has lifted him from
his formerly brutish status. On the other hand,
they seem to see him as inherently brutish. His
devilish nature can never be overcome by
nurture, according to Prospero. Miranda
expresses a similar sentiment in Act I, scene ii:
“thy vile race, / Though thou didst learn, had that
in’t which good natures / Could not abide to be
with” (I.ii.361–363). The inhuman part of
Caliban drives out the human part, the “good
nature,” that is imposed on him.
Caliban claims that he was kind to Prospero, and
that Prospero repaid that kindness by
imprisoning him (see I.ii.347). In contrast,
Prospero claims that he stopped being kind to
Caliban once Caliban had tried to rape Miranda
(I.ii.347–351). Which character the audience
decides to believe depends on whether it views
Caliban as inherently brutish, or as made brutish
by oppression. The play leaves the matter
ambiguous. Caliban balances all of his eloquent
speeches, such as his curses in Act I, scene ii and
his speech about the isle’s “noises” in Act III,
scene ii, with the most degrading kind of
drunken, servile behavior. But Trinculo’s speech
upon first seeing Caliban (II.ii.18–38), the
longest speech in the play, reproaches too harsh a
view of Caliban and blurs the distinction between
men and monsters. In England, which he visited
once, Trinculo says, Caliban could be shown off
for money: “There would this monster make a
man. Any strange beast there makes a man.
When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame
beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian”
(II.ii.28–31). What seems most monstrous in
these sentences is not the “dead Indian,” or “any
strange beast,” but the cruel voyeurism of those
who capture and gape at them.
The Allure of Ruling a Colony
The nearly uninhabited island presents the sense
of infinite possibility to almost everyone who
lands there. Prospero has found it, in its
isolation, an ideal place to school his daughter.
Sycorax, Caliban’s mother, worked her magic
there after she was exiled from Algeria. Caliban,
once alone on the island, now Prospero’s slave,
laments that he had been his own king (I.ii.344–
345). As he attempts to comfort Alonso, Gonzalo
imagines a utopian society on the island, over
which he would rule (II.i.148–156). In Act III,
scene ii, Caliban suggests that Stefano kill
Prospero, and Stefano immediately envisions his
own reign: “Monster, I will kill this man. His
daughter and I will be King and Queen—save our
graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be my
viceroys” (III.ii.101–103). Stefano particularly
looks forward to taking advantage of the spirits
that make “noises” on the isle; they will provide
music for his kingdom for free. All these
characters envision the island as a space of
freedom and unrealized potential.
The tone of the play, however, toward the hopes
of the would-be colonizers is vexed at best.
Gonzalo’s utopian vision in Act II, scene i is
undercut by a sharp retort from the usually
foolish Sebastian and Antonio. When Gonzalo
says that there would be no commerce or work or
“sovereignty” in his society, Sebastian replies,
“yet he would be king on’t,” and Antonio adds,
“The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning” (II.i.156–157). Gonzalo’s fantasy thus
involves him ruling the island while seeming not
to rule it, and in this he becomes a kind of parody
of Prospero.
While there are many representatives of the
colonial impulse in the play, the colonized have
only one representative: Caliban. We might
~ 31 ~
develop sympathy for him at first, when Prospero
seeks him out merely to abuse him, and when we
see him tormented by spirits. However, this
sympathy is made more difficult by his
willingness to abase himself before Stefano in Act
II, scene ii. Even as Caliban plots to kill one
colonial master (Prospero) in Act III, scene ii, he
sets up another (Stefano). The urge to rule and
the urge to be ruled seem inextricably
intertwined.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Masters and Servants
Nearly every scene in the play either explicitly or
implicitly portrays a relationship between a
figure that possesses power and a figure that is
subject to that power. The play explores the
master-servant dynamic most harshly in cases in
which the harmony of the relationship is
threatened or disrupted, as by the rebellion of a
servant or the ineptitude of a master. For
instance, in the opening scene, the “servant” (the
Boatswain) is dismissive and angry toward his
“masters” (the noblemen), whose ineptitude
threatens to lead to a shipwreck in the storm.
From then on, master-servant relationships like
these dominate the play: Prospero and Caliban;
Prospero and Ariel; Alonso and his nobles; the
nobles and Gonzalo; Stefano, Trinculo, and
Caliban; and so forth. The play explores the
psychological and social dynamics of power
relationships from a number of contrasting
angles, such as the generally positive relationship
between Prospero and Ariel, the generally
negative relationship between Prospero and
Caliban, and the treachery in Alonso’s
relationship to his nobles.
Water and Drowning
The play is awash with references to water. The
Mariners enter “wet” in Act I, scene i, and
Caliban, Stefano, and Trinculo enter “all wet,”
after being led by Ariel into a swampy lake
(IV.i.193). Miranda’s fear for the lives of the
sailors in the “wild waters” (I.ii.2) causes her to
weep. Alonso, believing his son dead because of
his own actions against Prospero, decides in Act
III, scene iii to drown himself. His language is
echoed by Prospero in Act V, scene i when the
magician promises that, once he has reconciled
with his enemies, “deeper than did ever plummet
sound / I’ll drown my book” (V.i.56–57).
These are only a few of the references to water in
the play. Occasionally, the references to water are
used to compare characters. For example, the
echo of Alonso’s desire to drown himself in
Prospero’s promise to drown his book calls
attention to the similarity of the sacrifices each
man must make. Alonso must be willing to give
up his life in order to become truly penitent and
to be forgiven for his treachery against Prospero.
Similarly, in order to rejoin the world he has been
driven from, Prospero must be willing to give up
his magic and his power.
Perhaps the most important overall effect of this
water motif is to heighten the symbolic
importance of the tempest itself. It is as though
the water from that storm runs through the
language and action of the entire play—just as the
tempest itself literally and crucially affects the
lives and actions of all the characters.
Mysterious Noises
The isle is indeed, as Caliban says, “full of noises”
(III.ii.130). The play begins with a “tempestuous
noise of thunder and lightning” (I.i.1, stage
direction), and the splitting of the ship is signaled
in part by “a confused noise within” (I.i.54, stage
direction). Much of the noise of the play is
musical, and much of the music is Ariel’s.
Ferdinand is led to Miranda by Ariel’s music.
Ariel’s music also wakes Gonzalo just as Antonio
and Sebastian are about to kill Alonso in Act II,
scene i. Moreover, the magical banquet of Act III,
scene iii is laid out to the tune of “Solemn and
strange music” (III.iii.18, stage direction), and
Juno and Ceres sing in the wedding masque
(IV.i.106–117).
The noises, sounds, and music of the play are
made most significant by Caliban’s speech about
the noises of the island at III.ii.130–138.
Shakespeare shows Caliban in the thrall of magic,
which the theater audience also experiences as
the illusion of thunder, rain, invisibility. The
action of The Tempest is very simple. What gives
the play most of its hypnotic, magical atmosphere
is the series of dreamlike events it stages, such as
the tempest, the magical banquet, and the
wedding masque. Accompanied by music, these
present a feast for the eye and the ear and
convince us of the magical glory of Prospero’s
enchanted isle.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
The Tempest
The tempest that begins the play, and which puts
all of Prospero’s enemies at his disposal,
symbolizes the suffering Prospero endured, and
which he wants to inflict on others. All of those
shipwrecked are put at the mercy of the sea, just
as Prospero and his infant daughter were twelve
years ago, when some loyal friends helped them
out to sea in a ragged little boat (see I.ii.144–151).
Prospero must make his enemies suffer as he has
suffered so that they will learn from their
suffering, as he has from his. The tempest is also
a symbol of Prospero’s magic, and of the
frightening, potentially malevolent side of his
power.
The Game of Chess
~ 32 ~
The object of chess is to capture the king. That, at
the simplest level, is the symbolic significance of
Prospero revealing Ferdinand and Miranda
playing chess in the final scene. Prospero has
caught the king—Alonso—and reprimanded him
for his treachery. In doing so, Prospero has
married Alonso’s son to his own daughter
without the king’s knowledge, a deft political
maneuver that assures Alonso’s support because
Alonso will have no interest in upsetting a
dukedom to which his own son is heir. This is the
final move in Prospero’s plot, which began with
the tempest. He has maneuvered the different
passengers of Alonso’s ship around the island
with the skill of a great chess player.
Caught up in their game, Miranda and Ferdinand
also symbolize something ominous about
Prospero’s power. They do not even notice the
others staring at them for a few lines. “Sweet
lord, you play me false,” Miranda says, and
Ferdinand assures her that he “would not for the
world” do so (V.i.174–176). The theatrical tableau
is almost too perfect: Ferdinand and Miranda,
suddenly and unexpectedly revealed behind a
curtain, playing chess and talking gently of love
and faith, seem entirely removed from the world
around them. Though he has promised to
relinquish his magic, Prospero still seems to see
his daughter as a mere pawn in his game.
Prospero’s Books
Like the tempest, Prospero’s books are a symbol
of his power. “Remember / First to possess his
books,” Caliban says to Stefano and Trinculo, “for
without them / He’s but a sot” (III.ii.86–88). The
books are also, however, a symbol of Prospero’s
dangerous desire to withdraw entirely from the
world. It was his devotion to study that put him
at the mercy of his ambitious brother, and it is
this same devotion to study that has made him
content to raise Miranda in isolation. Yet,
Miranda’s isolation has made her ignorant of
where she came from (see I.ii.33–36), and
Prospero’s own isolation provides him with little
company. In order to return to the world where
his knowledge means something more than
power, Prospero must let go of his magic.
Dante: the Four Levels of Meaning
Dante wrote his great poem while in political exile from his beloved city of Florence. Part of the time he lived in
Verona under the protection of a close friend, Can Grande. Dante wrote a letter to Can Grande della Scala,
describing how he felt the poem should be read. Dante described four levels of interpretation for the poem, all of
which might operate simultaneously. He explained his theory with the example of Moses leading the Exodus out
of Egypt. Dante's four levels, freely translated, are as follows:
1. The literal: Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt.
2. The allegorical: Christ's role in redemption and transformation.
3. The moral: The turning of a soul from sinful life to a state of grace.
4. The anagogical (mystical): The movement of a life from a focus on the temporal world to the freedom of an
eternal state of grace.
~ 33 ~
aubade
A song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning.
Aubade comes from the French, from aube, which derives from Latin albus, white, pale, as in "alba
lux," the "pale light" of dawn.
Sir William Davenant. 1606–1668
Aubade
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings—
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes,
But still the lover wonders what they are
Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn!
Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
5
10
Ovidio, Amores, XIII
Iam super oceanum venit a seniore marito
flava pruinoso quae vehit axe diem.
'Quo properas, Aurora? mane! – sic Memnonis umbris
annua sollemni caede parentet avis!
nunc iuvat in teneris dominae iacuisse lacertis;
si quando, lateri nunc bene iuncta meo est.
nunc etiam somni pingues et frigidus aer,
et liquidum tenui gutture cantat avis.
quo properas, ingrata viris, ingrata puellis?
roscida purpurea supprime lora manu!
Ante tuos ortus melius sua sidera servat
navita nec media nescius errat aqua;
te surgit quamvis lassus veniente viator,
Lasciato l'annoso marito, sopraggiunge ormai,
sorvolando l'oceano, la bionda dea che porta il
giorno sul carro coperto di brina. Dove ti affretti,
Aurora? Férmati: così ogni anno gli uccelli
possano celebrare un solenne sacrificio funebre
per l'ombra di Mèmnone.
Ora per me è bello starmene abbandonato fra le
morbide braccia della mia donna; ora, se mai altre
volte, ella è strettamente allacciata al mio fianco.
Ora si fanno anche sonni profondi e l'aria è fresca
e gli uccelli intonano limpidi gorgheggi con l'esile
gola. Dove ti affretti, sgradita agli uomini e alle
donne?
Trattieni con la tua mano splendente le redini
rugiadose. Prima del tuo sorgere il marinaio scruta
meglio le stelle e non va errando senza sapersi
dirigere in mezzo al mare; al tuo apparire, benché
stanco, il viandante si alza e il soldato riprende a
maneggiare le armi crudeli;
et miles saevas aptat ad arma manus.
prima bidente vides oneratos arva colentes;
tu sei la prima a vedere i contadini col bidente in
spalla e la prima a chiamare i lenti buoi sotto il
curvo giogo; tu rubi il sonno ai fanciulli e li affidi
ai maestri, perché le loro mani delicate subiscano
~ 34 ~
prima vocas tardos sub iuga panda boves.
tu pueros somno fraudas tradisque magistris,
sferzate crudeli, e sei sempre tu che costringi la
gente a mettersi l'abito buono e a rendersi garante
per qualcuno davanti al tempio di Vesta,
ut subeant tenerae verbera saeva manus;
atque eadem sponsum incautos ante atria mittis,
unius ut verbi grandia damna ferant.
nec tu consulto, nec tu iucunda diserto;
cogitur ad lites surgere uterque novas.
tu, cum feminei possint cessare labores,
lanificam revocas ad sua pensa manum.
Omnia perpeterer – sed surgere mane puellas,
quis nisi cui non est ulla puella ferat?
optavi quotiens, ne nox tibi cedere vellet,
ne fugerent vultus sidera mota tuos!
salvo il subire poi gravi conseguenze per aver
detto una sola parola; tu non giungi gradita né al
giureconsulto né all'avvocato: entrambi sono
costretti ad alzarsi per affrontare nuove cause; tu,
mentre le donne potrebbero imporre una sosta alle
loro occupazioni, richiami la mano della filatrice
al suo lavoro.
Tutto avrei potuto tollerare; ma chi può accettare
che le innamorate si alzino di buon mattino, se
non chi l'innamorata non ce l'ha? Quante volte mi
sono augurato che la notte non volesse lasciarti il
posto e che al tuo apparire le stelle spinte via non
fuggissero! Quante volte mi sono augurato o che il
vento mandasse in frantumi il tuo carro o che uno
dei cavalli ruzzolasse, dopo essere rimasto
invischiato in una densa nuvola!
optavi quotiens, aut ventus frangeret axem,
aut caderet spissa nube retentus equus!
Wolfram von Eschenbach (c. 1170 – c. 1220)
Lied 1
Den morgenblic bî wahtærs sange erkôs
ein vrouwe dâ si tougen
an ir werden vriundes arme lac.
dâ von si der vröiden vil verlôs.
des muosen liehtiu ougen
aver nazzen. si sprach ‹ôwê tac!
wilde und zam daz vröit sich dîn
und siht dich gerne - wan ich eine. wie sol iz mir ergên!
nu enmac niht langer hie bî mir bestên
mîn vriunt: den jaget von mir dîn schîn.›
Der tac mit kraft al durh diu venster dranc.
vil slôze sie besluzzen.
daz half niht: des wart in sorge kunt.
diu vriundîn den vriunt vast an sich twanc.
ir ougen diu beguzzen
ir beider wangel. sus sprach zim ir munt:
‹zwei herze und einen lîp hân wir
gar ungescheiden unser triuwe mit einander vert.
der grôzen liebe der bin ich gar verhert,
wan sô du kumest und ich zuo dir.›
Der trûric man nam urloup balde alsus:
ir liehten vel diu slehten
kômen nâher. sus der tac erschein.
Il raggio del mattino dal canto della guardia riconobbe
una dama, là dov’ella era nascosta
Giaceva tra le braccia del suo nobile amico.
Svanì d’allora tutta la sua gioia.
E così inevitabilmente si riempirono di lacrime ancora,
gli occhi suoi lucenti. E disse: “Ahi, giorno! Ogni
creatura mite e selvaggia, si rallegra della tua comparsa e
brama contemplarti, ma io no. Che mai sarà di me? Ora
non può più restare qui con me il mio amore. E’ la tua
luce che da me lo scaccia”.
Irruppe tutto dalle finestre il giorno.
Erano chiuse da molti catenacci,
ma non servì: riconobbero dunque il loro affanno.
L’amica strinse a sé l’amico
Ed i suoi occhi all’uno e all’altra
Bagnarono le guance. Così parlò a lui:
“Noi siamo due cuori ed un solo corpo.
Indissolubile ci segue la nostra fedeltà.
Sarò privata di tutta la mia gioia,
se tu non torni a me, ed io con te”.
Il cavaliere, triste, prese da lei subito congedo:
le loro pelli luminose e lisce
~ 35 ~
weindiu ougen - süezer vrouen kus!
sus kunden sie dô vlehten
ir munde, ir brüste, ir arm, ir blankiu bein.
swelch schiltær entwurfe daz,
geselleclîche als si lâgen - des wære ouch dem genuoc.
ir beider liebe doch vil sorgen truoc,
sie pflâgen minne ân allen haz.
si fecero dappresso e già splendeva il giorno.
Occhi piangenti e ancor più dolci i baci dell’amata.
Seppero essi intrecciare insieme
La bocca, il petto, le braccia e le gambe chiare.
Se un pittore volesse disegnare
Come essi giacquero vicino, non sarebbe per lui facile
impresa.
Anche se la loro gioia portava molta pena,
seppero amarsi senza odio alcuno.
William Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene V
JULIET
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced* the fearful hollow* of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon* pomegranate-tree*:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
ROMEO
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks*
Do lace* the severing* clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe* on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Perforava / cavo
Quel / melograno
Maligne strisce di luce
Ornare di trine / che si separano
In punta di piedi
JULIET
Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
ROMEO
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty* heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.
JULIET
It is, it is: hie* hence*, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
A volta
Affrettati! / via di qui
~ 36 ~
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division*;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say the lark and loathed* toad change* eyes,
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray*,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up* to the day,
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
Sforzando aspre dissonanze e sgradevoli acuti
moduli armoniose variazioni
immondo / si sono scambiati
tremare di paura
squillando alta la sveglia del mattino
ROMEO
More light and light; more dark and dark our
woes!
John Donne
THE GOOD-MORROW.
I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
BREAK OF DAY
'TIS true, 'tis day ; what though it be?
O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
~ 37 ~
Did we lie down because 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him, that had them, go.
Must business thee from hence remove?
O ! that's the worst disease of love,
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.
"The Sun Rising"
Summary
Lying in bed with his lover, the speaker chides
the rising sun, calling it a "busy old fool," and
asking why it must bother them through windows
and curtains. Love is not subject to season or to
time, he says, and he admonishes the sun--the
"Saucy pedantic wretch"--to go and bother late
schoolboys and sour apprentices, to tell the
court-huntsmen that the King will ride, and to
call the country ants to their harvesting.
Why should the sun think that his beams are
strong? The speaker says that he could eclipse
them simply by closing his eyes, except that he
does not want to lose sight of his beloved for even
an instant. He asks the sun--if the sun's eyes have
not been blinded by his lover's eyes--to tell him
by late tomorrow whether the treasures of India
are in the same place they occupied yesterday or
if they are now in bed with the speaker. He says
that if the sun asks about the kings he shined on
yesterday, he will learn that they all lie in bed
with the speaker.
The speaker explains this claim by saying that his
beloved is like every country in the world, and he
is like every king; nothing else is real. Princes
simply play at having countries; compared to
what he has, all honor is mimicry and all wealth
is alchemy. The sun, the speaker says, is half as
happy as he and his lover are, for the fact that the
world is contracted into their bed makes the sun's
job much easier--in its old age, it desires ease,
and now all it has to do is shine on their bed and
it shines on the whole world. "This bed thy centre
is," the speaker tells the sun, "these walls, thy
sphere."
Form
The three regular stanzas of "The Sun Rising" are
each ten lines long and follow a line-stress
pattern of 4255445555--lines one, five, and six
are metered in iambic tetrameter, line two is in
dimeter, and lines three, four, and seven through
ten are in pentameter. The rhyme scheme in each
stanza is ABBACDCDEE.
Commentary
One of Donne's most charming and successful
metaphysical love poems, "The Sun Rising" is
built around a few hyperbolic assertions--first,
that the sun is conscious and has the watchful
personality of an old busybody; second, that love,
as the speaker puts it, "no season knows, nor
clime, / Nor hours, days, months, which are the
rags of time"; third, that the speaker's love affair
is so important to the universe that kings and
princes simply copy it, that the world is literally
contained within their bedroom. Of course, each
of these assertions simply describes figuratively a
state of feeling--to the wakeful lover, the rising
sun does seem like an intruder, irrelevant to the
operations of love; to the man in love, the
bedroom can seem to enclose all the matters in
the world. The inspiration of this poem is to
pretend that each of these subjective states of
feeling is an objective truth.
Accordingly, Donne endows his speaker with
language implying that what goes on in his head
is primary over the world outside it; for instance,
in the second stanza, the speaker tells the sun
that it is not so powerful, since the speaker can
cause an eclipse simply by closing his eyes. This
kind of heedless, joyful arrogance is perfectly
tuned to the consciousness of a new lover, and
the speaker appropriately claims to have all the
world's riches in his bed (India, he says, is not
where the sun left it; it is in bed with him). The
speaker captures the essence of his feeling in the
final stanza, when, after taking pity on the sun
and deciding to ease the burdens of his old age,
he declares "Shine here to us, and thou art
everywhere."
~ 38 ~
A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING.
by John Donne
AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
5
10
15
20
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
25
30
35
~ 39 ~
Summary
The speaker explains that he is forced to spend
time apart from his lover, but before he leaves, he
tells her that their farewell should not be the
occasion for mourning and sorrow. In the same
way that virtuous men die mildly and without
complaint, he says, so they should leave without
"tear-floods" and "sigh-tempests," for to publicly
announce their feelings in such a way would
profane their love. The speaker says that when
the earth moves, it brings "harms and fears," but
when the spheres experience "trepidation,"
though the impact is greater, it is also innocent.
The love of "dull sublunary lovers" cannot survive
separation, but it removes that which constitutes
the love itself; but the love he shares with his
beloved is so refined and "Inter-assured of the
mind" that they need not worry about missing
"eyes, lips, and hands."
Though he must go, their souls are still one, and,
therefore, they are not enduring a breach, they
are experiencing an "expansion"; in the same way
that gold can be stretched by beating it "to aery
thinness," the soul they share will simply stretch
to take in all the space between them. If their
souls are separate, he says, they are like the feet
of a compass: His lover's soul is the fixed foot in
the center, and his is the foot that moves around
it. The firmness of the center foot makes the
circle that the outer foot draws perfect: "Thy
firmness makes my circle just, / And makes me
end, where I begun."
Form
The nine stanzas of this Valediction are quite
simple compared to many of Donne's poems,
which utilize strange metrical patterns overlaid
jarringly on regular rhyme schemes. Here, each
four-line stanza is quite unadorned, with an
ABAB rhyme scheme and an iambic tetrameter
meter.
Commentary
"A Valediction: forbidding Mourning" is one of
Donne's most famous and simplest poems and
also probably his most direct statement of his
ideal of spiritual love. For all his erotic carnality
in poems, such as "The Flea," Donne professed a
devotion to a kind of spiritual love that
transcended the merely physical. Here,
anticipating a physical separation from his
beloved, he invokes the nature of that spiritual
love to ward off the "tear-floods" and "sightempests" that might otherwise attend on their
farewell. The poem is essentially a sequence of
metaphors and comparisons, each describing a
way of looking at their separation that will help
them to avoid the mourning forbidden by the
poem's title.
First, the speaker says that their farewell should
be as mild as the uncomplaining deaths of
virtuous men, for to weep would be "profanation
of our joys." Next, the speaker compares harmful
"Moving of th' earth" to innocent "trepidation of
the spheres," equating the first with "dull
sublunary lovers' love" and the second with their
love, "Inter-assured of the mind." Like the
rumbling earth, the dull sublunary (sublunary
meaning literally beneath the moon and also
subject to the moon) lovers are all physical,
unable to experience separation without losing
the sensation that comprises and sustains their
love. But the spiritual lovers "Care less, eyes, lips,
and hands to miss," because, like the trepidation
(vibration) of the spheres (the concentric globes
that surrounded the earth in ancient astronomy),
their love is not wholly physical. Also, like the
trepidation of the spheres, their movement will
not have the harmful consequences of an
earthquake.
The speaker then declares that, since the lovers'
two souls are one, his departure will simply
expand the area of their unified soul, rather than
cause a rift between them. If, however, their souls
are "two" instead of "one", they are as the feet of
a drafter's compass, connected, with the center
foot fixing the orbit of the outer foot and helping
it to describe a perfect circle. The compass (the
instrument used for drawing circles) is one of
Donne's most famous metaphors, and it is the
perfect image to encapsulate the values of
Donne's spiritual love, which is balanced,
symmetrical, intellectual, serious, and beautiful
in its polished simplicity.
Like many of Donne's love poems (including "The
Sun Rising" and "The Canonization"), "A
Valediction: forbidding Mourning" creates a
dichotomy between the common love of the
everyday world and the uncommon love of the
speaker. Here, the speaker claims that to tell "the
laity," or the common people, of his love would
be to profane its sacred nature, and he is clearly
contemptuous of the dull sublunary love of other
lovers. The effect of this dichotomy is to create a
kind of emotional aristocracy that is similar in
form to the political aristocracy with which
Donne has had painfully bad luck throughout his
life and which he commented upon in poems,
such as "The Canonization": This emotional
aristocracy is similar in form to the political one
but utterly opposed to it in spirit. Few in number
are the emotional aristocrats who have access to
the spiritual love of the spheres and the compass;
throughout all of Donne's writing, the
membership of this elite never includes more
than the speaker and his lover--or at the most,
the speaker, his lover, and the reader of the
poem, who is called upon to sympathize with
Donne's romantic plight.
~ 40 ~
Batter My Heart
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Summary
The speaker asks the "three-personed God" to
"batter" his heart, for as yet God only knocks
politely, breathes, shines, and seeks to mend. The
speaker says that to rise and stand, he needs God
to overthrow him and bend his force to break,
blow, and burn him, and to make him new. Like a
town that has been captured by the enemy, which
seeks unsuccessfully to admit the army of its
allies and friends, the speaker works to admit
God into his heart, but Reason, like God's
viceroy, has been captured by the enemy and
proves "weak or untrue." Yet the speaker says
that he loves God dearly and wants to be loved in
return, but he is like a maiden who is betrothed
to God's enemy. The speaker asks God to
"divorce, untie, or break that knot again," to take
him prisoner; for until he is God's prisoner, he
says, he will never be free, and he will never be
chaste until God ravishes him.
Form
This simple sonnet follows an
ABBAABBACDDCEE rhyme scheme and is
written in a loose iambic pentameter. In its
structural division, it is a Petrarchan sonnet
rather than a Shakespearean one, with an octet
followed by a sestet.
Commentary
This poem is an appeal to God, pleading with
Him not for mercy or clemency or benevolent aid
but for a violent, almost brutal overmastering;
thus, it implores God to perform actions that
would usually be considered extremely sinful-from battering the speaker to actually raping
him, which, he says in the final line, is the only
way he will ever be chaste. The poem's metaphors
(the speaker's heart as a captured town, the
speaker as a maiden betrothed to God's enemy)
work with its extraordinary series of violent and
powerful verbs (batter, o'erthrow, bend, break,
blow, burn, divorce, untie, break, take, imprison,
enthrall, ravish) to create the image of God as an
overwhelming, violent conqueror. The bizarre
nature of the speaker's plea finds its apotheosis in
the paradoxical final couplet, in which the
speaker claims that only if God takes him
prisoner can he be free, and only if God ravishes
him can he be chaste.
As is amply illustrated by the contrast between
Donne's religious lyrics and his metaphysical love
poems, Donne is a poet deeply divided between
religious spirituality and a kind of carnal lust for
life. Many of his best poems, including "Batter
my heart, three-personed God," mix the
discourse of the spiritual and the physical or of
the holy and the secular. In this case, the speaker
achieves that mix by claiming that he can only
overcome sin and achieve spiritual purity if he is
forced by God in the most physical, violent, and
carnal terms imaginable.
~ 41 ~
Death Be Not Proud
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
From The Temple (1633), by George
Herbert:
¶ Easter wings.
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poore:
With thee
Oh let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did beginne:
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst so punish sinne,
That I became
Most thinne.
With thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victorie:
For, if I imp my wing on thine
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
~ 42 ~
Satire
Montesquieu, Persian Letters
Plot summary
In 1711 Usbek leaves his seraglio in Isfahan to
undertake the long journey to France,
accompanied by his young friend Rica. During the
trip and their long stay in Paris (1712-1720), they
comment, in letters exchanged with friends and
mullahs, on numerous aspects of Western,
Christian society, particularly French politics and
mores, ending with a biting satire of the System of
John Law.
In Paris, the Persians express themselves on a
wide variety of subjects, from governmental
institutions to salon caricatures. Although their
journey takes place in the declining years of the
reign of king Louis XIV, much of what he has
accomplished is still admired in a Paris where the
Invalides is being completed and cafés and theatre
proliferate. We observe the function of
parliaments, tribunals, religious bodies
(Capuchins, Jesuits, etc.), public places and their
publics (the Tuileries, the Palais Royal), state
foundations (the hospital of the Quinze-Vingts
[300] for the blind, the Invalides for those
wounded in war). They describe a thriving
culture: the café – where debates take place – has
become established as a public institution, as were
already the theatre and opera. There are still
people foolish enough to search at their own
expense for the philosopher's stone; the
newsmonger and the periodical press are
beginning to play a role in everyday life.
Letter XXIV
Rica to Ibben, at Smyrna
We have now been a month at Paris, and all the
time constantly moving about. (…) Paris is quite
as large as Ispahan. The houses are so high that
you would swear they must be inhabited by
astrologers. You can easily imagine that a city
built in the air, with six or seven houses one above
the other, is densely peopled; and that when
everybody is abroad, there is a mighty bustle. (…)
You must not yet expect from me an
exhaustive account of the manners and customs of
the Europeans: I have myself but a faint notion of
them yet, and have hardly had time to recover
from my astonishment.
The king of France1 is the most powerful of
European potentates. He has no mines of gold like
his neighbour, the King of Spain; but he is much
wealthier than that prince; because his riches are
drawn from a more inexhaustible source, the vanity
of his subjects. He has undertaken and carried on
great wars, without any other supplies than those
derived from the sale of titles of honour; and it is by a
prodigy of human pride that his troops are paid, his
towns fortified, and his fleets equipped.
Then again, the king is a great magician, for his
dominion extends to the minds of his subjects; he
makes them think what he wishes. If he has only a
million crowns in his exchequer, and has need of two
millions, he has only to persuade them that one
crown is worth two, and they believe it.2 If he has a
costly war on hand, and is short of money, he simply
suggests to his subjects that a piece of paper is coin
of the realm, and they are straightway convinced of
it. He has even succeeded in persuading them that his
touch is a sovereign cure for all sorts of diseases, so
great is the power and influence he has over their
minds.
What I have told you of this prince need not
astonish you: there is another magician more
powerful still, who is master of the king’s mind, as
absolutely as the king is master of the minds of his
subjects. This magician is called the Pope.
Sometimes he makes the king believe that three are
no more than one; that the bread which he eats is not
bread; the wine which he drinks not wine; and a
thousand things of a like nature.
And, to keep him in practice, and prevent him form
losing the habit of belief, he gives him, now and
again, as an exercise, certain articles of faith. Some
two years ago he sent him a large document which he
called Constitution,3 and wished to enforce belief in
all that it contained upon this prince and his subjects
under heavy penalties. (…)
I will continue to write you, and acquaint you with
matters differing widely from the Persian character
and genius. We tread, indeed, the same earth; but it
seems incredible, remembering in the presence of the
men of this country those of the country in which you
are.
Paris, the 4th of the second moon of Rebiab,4 1712.
1
Louis XIV
The French kings regarded money as a mere symbol,
the value of which they could raise or lower at their
pleasure.
3
The Bull Unigenitus which, however, was issued in
1713.
4
Rabi-ul-sani, the second month of spring, and
fourth of the Persian year.
2
~ 43 ~
Jonathan Swift
A Modest Proposal
Paragraphs 1-7
The author invokes the "melancholly" and all-too-common sight of women and children begging on the streets of Ireland.
These mothers, unable to work for their livelihood, "are forced to employ all their Time" panhandling for food. The
children, also for want of work, grow up to be thieves, or else emigrate "to fight for the Pretender" (the son of James II,
who lost the throne of England in the Glorious Revolution of 1688) or to seek their fortunes in the Americas. The author
appeals to the general consensus that these beggared children are, "in the present deplorable State of the Kingdom, a very
great additional Grievance."
Having considered Ireland's population problem for many years, the author has concluded that the arguments and schemes
of others upon the subject are wholly inadequate. He offers some calculations of his own: a newborn infant can be
supported for its first year on breast-milk and two shillings, a sum that can easily be obtained by begging. It is after this
relatively undemanding first year, therefore, that Swift's proposal will go into effect.
Commentary
Swift's opening paragraph offers a starkly realistic, although compassionate, portrait of families of beggars in Ireland. The
first sentence gives a fairly straightforward and un-ironic description, but by the second sentence the author begins to offer
judgments and explanations about this rampant beggary: the mothers are unable to work, and have been "forced" into their
current poverty and disgrace. Swift's language here reverses the prevailing sentiment of his day, which held that if
beggars were poor, it was their own fault. The reader is unsure at this point whether to take Swift's professed
compassion for the beggars as earnest or ironic. The issue never becomes completely clear: his stance is one of general
exasperation with all parties in a complex problem. Swift is generous with his disdain, and his irony works both to censure
the poor and to critique the society that enables their poverty. The remark about Irish Catholics who go to Spain to fight for
the Pretender offers a good example of the complexity of Swift's judgments: he is commenting on a woeful lack of national
loyalty among the Irish, and at the same time critiquing a nation that drives its own citizens to mercenary activity.
The reader is inclined at first to identify with the "proposer," in part because Swift has given no reason, at this point, not to.
His compassion in the first paragraph, the matter-of-fact tone of the second, his seeming objectivity in weighing other
proposals, and his moral outrage at the frequency of abortion and infanticide--these characteristics all speak out in his favor
as a potential reformer. Yet the depersonalizing vocabulary with which he embarks on his computations is calculated to
give us pause. He describes women as "female sex" and, after that, the author reduces human beings alternately to
statistical entities, to economic commodities, and to animals.
It becomes clear fairly quickly that this will be an economic argument, although the proposal will have moral, religious,
political, and nationalistic implications. Despite his own moral indignation, when the author suggests that most abortions
are occasioned by financial rather than moral considerations, he assumes that people's motivations are basically
materialistic. This is not, of course, Swift's own assumption; he presents a shockingly extreme case of cold-blooded
"rationality" in order to make his readers reexamine their own priorities. Swift parodies the style of the pseudo-scientific
proposals for social engineering that were so popular in his day. His piece is partly an attack on the economic
utilitarianism that drove so many of these proposals. Although Swift was himself an astute economist, here he draws
attention to the incongruity between a ruthless (though impeccably systematic) logic and a complexly human social and
political reality. Part of the effect will be to make the reader feel that the argument is bad, without knowing quite where to
intervene--to pit moral judgment against other, more rigidly logical kinds of argumentation.
~ 44 ~
Gulliver’s Travels
During his brief time in England, Swift had become friends with writers such as Alexander Pope, and during a meeting of
their literary club, the Martinus Scriblerus Club, they decided to write satires of modern learning. Gulliver’s Travels was a
controversial work when it was first published in 1726. In fact, it was not until almost ten years after its first printing that
the book appeared with the entire text that Swift had originally intended it to have. Ever since, editors have excised many
of the passages, particularly the more caustic ones dealing with bodily functions. Even without those passages, however,
Gulliver’s Travels serves as a biting satire, and Swift ensures that it is both humorous and critical, constantly attacking
British and European society through its descriptions of imaginary countries.
Plot Overview
Gulliver’s Travels recounts the story of Lemuel Gulliver, a practical-minded Englishman trained as a surgeon who takes to
the seas when his business fails. In a deadpan first-person narrative that rarely shows any signs of self-reflection or deep
emotional response, Gulliver narrates the adventures that befall him on these travels.
Gulliver’s adventure in Lilliput begins when he wakes after his shipwreck to find himself bound by innumerable tiny
threads and addressed by tiny captors who are in awe of him but fiercely protective of their kingdom. They are not afraid to
use violence against Gulliver, though their arrows are little more than pinpricks. But overall, they are hospitable, risking
famine in their land by feeding Gulliver, who consumes more food than a thousand Lilliputians combined could. Gulliver is
taken into the capital city by a vast wagon the Lilliputians have specially built. He is presented to the emperor, who is
entertained by Gulliver, just as Gulliver is flattered by the attention of royalty. Eventually Gulliver becomes a national
resource, used by the army in its war against the people of Blefuscu, whom the Lilliputians hate for doctrinal differences
concerning the proper way to crack eggs. But things change when Gulliver is convicted of treason for putting out a fire in
the royal palace with his urine and is condemned to be shot in the eyes with poisoned arrows. The emperor eventually
pardons him and he goes to Blefuscu, where he is able to repair a boat he finds and set sail for England.
After staying in England with his wife and family for two months, Gulliver undertakes his next sea voyage, which takes
him to a land of giants called Brobdingnag. Here, a farmer discovers him and initially treats him as little more than an
animal, keeping him for amusement. The farmer eventually sells Gulliver to the queen, who makes him a courtly diversion
and is entertained by his musical talents. Social life is easy for Gulliver after his discovery by the court, but not particularly
enjoyable. Gulliver is often repulsed by the physicality of the Brobdingnagians, whose ordinary flaws are many times
magnified by their huge size. Thus, when a couple of courtly ladies let him play on their naked bodies, he is not attracted to
them but rather disgusted by their enormous skin pores and the sound of their torrential urination. He is generally startled
by the ignorance of the people here—even the king knows nothing about politics. More unsettling findings in Brobdingnag
come in the form of various animals of the realm that endanger his life. Even Brobdingnagian insects leave slimy trails on
his food that make eating difficult. On a trip to the frontier, accompanying the royal couple, Gulliver leaves Brobdingnag
when his cage is plucked up by an eagle and dropped into the sea.
Next, Gulliver sets sail again and, after an attack by pirates, ends up in Laputa, where a floating island inhabited by
theoreticians and academics oppresses the land below, called Balnibarbi. The scientific research undertaken in Laputa and
in Balnibarbi seems totally inane and impractical, and its residents too appear wholly out of touch with reality. Taking a
short side trip to Glubbdubdrib, Gulliver is able to witness the conjuring up of figures from history, such as Julius Caesar
and other military leaders, whom he finds much less impressive than in books. After visiting the Luggnaggians and the
Struldbrugs, the latter of which are senile immortals who prove that age does not bring wisdom, he is able to sail to Japan
and from there back to England.
~ 45 ~
Finally, on his fourth journey, Gulliver sets out as captain of a ship, but after the mutiny of his crew and a long confinement
in his cabin, he arrives in an unknown land. This land is populated by Houyhnhnms, rational-thinking horses who rule, and
by Yahoos, brutish humanlike creatures who serve the Houyhnhnms. Gulliver sets about learning their language, and when
he can speak he narrates his voyages to them and explains the constitution of England. He is treated with great courtesy and
kindness by the horses and is enlightened by his many conversations with them and by his exposure to their noble culture.
He wants to stay with the Houyhnhnms, but his bared body reveals to the horses that he is very much like a Yahoo, and he
is banished. Gulliver is grief-stricken but agrees to leave. He fashions a canoe and makes his way to a nearby island, where
he is picked up by a Portuguese ship captain who treats him well, though Gulliver cannot help now seeing the captain—and
all humans—as shamefully Yahoolike. Gulliver then concludes his narrative with a claim that the lands he has visited
belong by rights to England, as her colonies, even though he questions the whole idea of colonialism.
Analysis of Major Characters
Lemuel Gulliver
Although Gulliver is a bold adventurer who visits a multitude of strange lands, it is difficult to regard him as truly heroic.
Even well before his slide into misanthropy at the end of the book, he simply does not show the stuff of which grand heroes
are made. He is not cowardly—on the contrary, he undergoes the unnerving experiences of nearly being devoured by a
giant rat, taken captive by pirates, shipwrecked on faraway shores, sexually assaulted by an eleven-year-old girl, and shot in
the face with poison arrows. Additionally, the isolation from humanity that he endures for sixteen years must be hard to
bear, though Gulliver rarely talks about such matters. Yet despite the courage Gulliver shows throughout his voyages, his
character lacks basic greatness. This impression could be due to the fact that he rarely shows his feelings, reveals his soul,
or experiences great passions of any sort. But other literary adventurers, like Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey, seem heroic
without being particularly open about their emotions.
What seems most lacking in Gulliver is not courage or feelings, but drive. One modern critic has described Gulliver as
possessing the smallest will in all of Western literature: he is simply devoid of a sense of mission, a goal that would make
his wandering into a quest. Odysseus’s goal is to get home again, Aeneas’s goal in Virgil’s Aeneid is to found Rome, but
Gulliver’s goal on his sea voyage is uncertain. He says that he needs to make some money after the failure of his business,
but he rarely mentions finances throughout the work and indeed almost never even mentions home. He has no awareness of
any greatness in what he is doing or what he is working toward. In short, he has no aspirations. When he leaves home on
his travels for the first time, he gives no impression that he regards himself as undertaking a great endeavor or embarking
on a thrilling new challenge.
We may also note Gulliver’s lack of ingenuity and savvy. Other great travelers, such as Odysseus, get themselves out of
dangerous situations by exercising their wit and ability to trick others. Gulliver seems too dull for any battles of wit and too
unimaginative to think up tricks, and thus he ends up being passive in most of the situations in which he finds himself. He
is held captive several times throughout his voyages, but he is never once released through his own stratagems, relying
instead on chance factors for his liberation. Once presented with a way out, he works hard to escape, as when he repairs the
boat he finds that delivers him from Blefuscu, but he is never actively ingenious in attaining freedom. This example
summarizes quite well Gulliver’s intelligence, which is factual and practical rather than imaginative or introspective.
Gulliver is gullible, as his name suggests. For example, he misses the obvious ways in which the Lilliputians exploit him.
While he is quite adept at navigational calculations and the humdrum details of seafaring, he is far less able to reflect on
himself or his nation in any profoundly critical way. Traveling to such different countries and returning to England in
between each voyage, he seems poised to make some great anthropological speculations about cultural differences around
the world, about how societies are similar despite their variations or different despite their similarities. But, frustratingly,
Gulliver gives us nothing of the sort. He provides us only with literal facts and narrative events, never with any
~ 46 ~
generalizing or philosophizing. He is a self-hating, self-proclaimed Yahoo at the end, announcing his misanthropy quite
loudly, but even this attitude is difficult to accept as the moral of the story. Gulliver is not a figure with whom we identify
but, rather, part of the array of personalities and behaviors about which we must make judgments.
Don Pedro de Mendez
Don Pedro is a minor character in terms of plot, but he plays an important symbolic role at the end of the novel. He treats
the half-deranged Gulliver with great patience, even tenderness, when he allows him to travel on his ship as far as Lisbon,
offering to give him his own finest suit of clothes to replace the seaman’s tatters, and giving him twenty pounds for his
journey home to England. Don Pedro never judges Gulliver, despite Gulliver’s abominably antisocial behavior on the trip
back. Ironically, though Don Pedro shows the same kind of generosity and understanding that Gulliver’s Houyhnhnm
master earlier shows him, Gulliver still considers Don Pedro a repulsive Yahoo. Were Gulliver able to escape his own
delusions, he might be able to see the Houyhnhnm-like reasonableness and kindness in Don Pedro’s behavior. Don Pedro
is thus the touchstone through which we see that Gulliver is no longer a reliable and objective commentator on the
reality he sees but, rather, a skewed observer of a reality colored by private delusions.
PEOPLES
Lilliputians and Blefuscudians Two races of miniature people whom Gulliver meets on his first voyage. Lilliputians and Blefuscudians are prone to
conspiracies and jealousies, and while they treat Gulliver well enough materially, they are quick to take advantage of him
in political intrigues of various sorts. The two races have been in a longstanding war with each over the interpretation of a
reference in their common holy scripture to the proper way to eat eggs. Gulliver helps the Lilliputians defeat the
Blefuscudian navy, but he eventually leaves Lilliput and receives a warm welcome in the court of Blefuscu, by which Swift
satirizes the arbitrariness of international relations.
Brobdingnagians Giants whom Gulliver meets on his second voyage. Brobdingnagians are basically a reasonable and kindly people governed
by a sense of justice. Even the farmer who abuses Gulliver at the beginning is gentle with him, and politely takes the
trouble to say good-bye to him upon leaving him. The farmer’s daughter, Glumdalclitch, gives Gulliver perhaps the most
kindhearted treatment he receives on any of his voyages. The Brobdingnagians do not exploit him for personal or political
reasons, as the Lilliputians do, and his life there is one of satisfaction and quietude. But the Brobdingnagians do treat
Gulliver as a plaything. When he tries to speak seriously with the king of Brobdingnag about England, the king dismisses
the English as odious vermin, showing that deep discussion is not possible for Gulliver here.
Laputans Absentminded intellectuals who live on the floating island of Laputa, encountered by Gulliver on his third voyage. The
Laputans are parodies of theoreticians, who have scant regard for any practical results of their own research. They are so
inwardly absorbed in their own thoughts that they must be shaken out of their meditations by special servants called
flappers, who shake rattles in their ears. During Gulliver’s stay among them, they do not mistreat him, but are generally
unpleasant and dismiss him as intellectually deficient. They do not care about down-to-earth things like the dilapidation of
their own houses, but worry intensely about abstract matters like the trajectories of comets and the course of the sun. They
are dependent in their own material needs on the land below them, called Lagado, above which they hover by virtue of a
magnetic field, and from which they periodically raise up food supplies. In the larger context of Gulliver’s journeys, the
Laputans are a parody of the excesses of theoretical pursuits and the uselessness of purely abstract knowledge.
Yahoos Unkempt humanlike beasts who live in servitude to the Houyhnhnms. Yahoos seem to belong to various ethnic groups,
since there are blond Yahoos as well as dark-haired and redheaded ones. The men are characterized by their hairy bodies,
~ 47 ~
and the women by their low-hanging breasts. They are naked, filthy, and extremely primitive in their eating habits. Yahoos
are not capable of government, and thus they are kept as servants to the Houyhnhnms, pulling their carriages and
performing manual tasks. They repel Gulliver with their lascivious sexual appetites, especially when an eleven-year-old
Yahoo girl attempts to rape Gulliver as he is bathing naked. Yet despite Gulliver’s revulsion for these disgusting creatures,
he ends his writings referring to himself as a Yahoo, just as the Houyhnhnms do as they regretfully evict him from their
realm. Thus, “Yahoo” becomes another term for human, at least in the semideranged and self-loathing mind of Gulliver at
the end of his fourth journey.
Houyhnhnms Rational horses who maintain a simple, peaceful society governed by reason and truthfulness—they do not even have a
word for “lie” in their language. Houyhnhnms are like ordinary horses, except that they are highly intelligent and deeply
wise. They live in a sort of socialist republic, with the needs of the community put before individual desires. They are the
masters of the Yahoos, the savage humanlike creatures in Houyhnhnmland. In all, the Houyhnhnms have the greatest
impact on Gulliver throughout all his four voyages. He is grieved to leave them, not relieved as he is in leaving the other
three lands, and back in England he relates better with his horses than with his human family. The Houyhnhnms thus are a
measure of the extent to which Gulliver has become a misanthrope, or “human-hater”: he is certainly, at the end, a horse
lover.
Character List
The Emperor - Lilliput
The ruler of Lilliput. Like all Lilliputians, the emperor is fewer than six inches tall. His power and majesty impress Gulliver
deeply, but to us he appears both laughable and sinister. Because of his tiny size, his belief that he can control Gulliver
seems silly, but his willingness to execute his subjects for minor reasons of politics or honor gives him a frightening aspect.
He is proud of possessing the tallest trees and biggest palace in the kingdom, but he is also quite hospitable, spending a
fortune on his captive’s food. The emperor is both a satire of the autocratic ruler and a strangely serious portrait of political
power.
The queen - Brobdingnag
The queen of Brobdingnag, who is so delighted by Gulliver’s beauty and charms that she agrees to buy him from the farmer
for 1,000 pieces of gold. Gulliver appreciates her kindness after the hardships he suffers at the farmer’s and shows his usual
fawning love for royalty by kissing the tip of her little finger when presented before her. She possesses, in Gulliver’s
words, “infinite” wit and humor, though this description may entail a bit of Gulliver’s characteristic flattery of superiors.
The queen seems genuinely considerate, asking Gulliver whether he would consent to live at court instead of simply taking
him in as a pet and inquiring into the reasons for his cold good-byes with the farmer. She is by no means a hero, but simply
a pleasant, powerful person.
The king - Brobdingnag
The king of Brobdingnag, who, in contrast to the emperor of Lilliput, seems to be a true intellectual, well versed in political
science among other disciplines. While his wife has an intimate, friendly relationship with the diminutive visitor, the king’s
relation to Gulliver is limited to serious discussions about the history and institutions of Gulliver’s native land. He is thus a
figure of rational thought who somewhat prefigures the Houyhnhnms in Book IV.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.
Might Versus Right
~ 48 ~
Gulliver’s Travels implicitly poses the question of whether physical power or moral righteousness should be the governing
factor in social life. Gulliver experiences the advantages of physical might both as one who has it, as a giant in Lilliput
where he can defeat the Blefuscudian navy by virtue of his immense size, and as one who does not have it, as a miniature
visitor to Brobdingnag where he is harassed by the hugeness of everything from insects to household pets. His first
encounter with another society is one of entrapment, when he is physically tied down by the Lilliputians; later, in
Brobdingnag, he is enslaved by a farmer. He also observes physical force used against others, as with the Houyhnhnms’
chaining up of the Yahoos.
But alongside the use of physical force, there are also many claims to power based on moral correctness. The whole point
of the egg controversy that has set Lilliput against Blefuscu is not merely a cultural difference but, instead, a religious and
moral issue related to the proper interpretation of a passage in their holy book. This difference of opinion seems to justify,
in their eyes at least, the warfare it has sparked. Similarly, the use of physical force against the Yahoos is justified for the
Houyhnhnms by their sense of moral superiority: they are cleaner, better behaved, and more rational. But overall, the novel
tends to show that claims to rule on the basis of moral righteousness are often just as arbitrary as, and sometimes simply
disguises for, simple physical subjugation. The Laputans keep the lower land of Balnibarbi in check through force because
they believe themselves to be more rational, even though we might see them as absurd and unpleasant. Similarly, the ruling
elite of Balnibarbi believes itself to be in the right in driving Lord Munodi from power, although we perceive that Munodi
is the rational party. Claims to moral superiority are, in the end, as hard to justify as the random use of physical force to
dominate others.
The Individual Versus Society
Like many narratives about voyages to nonexistent lands, Gulliver’s Travels explores the idea of utopia—an imaginary
model of the ideal community. The idea of a utopia is an ancient one, going back at least as far as the description in Plato’s
Republic of a city-state governed by the wise and expressed most famously in English by Thomas More’s Utopia. Swift
nods to both works in his own narrative, though his attitude toward utopia is much more skeptical, and one of the main
aspects he points out about famous historical utopias is the tendency to privilege the collective group over the individual.
The children of Plato’s Republic are raised communally, with no knowledge of their biological parents, in the
understanding that this system enhances social fairness. Swift has the Lilliputians similarly raise their offspring
collectively, but its results are not exactly utopian, since Lilliput is torn by conspiracies, jealousies, and backstabbing.
The Houyhnhnms also practice strict family planning, dictating that the parents of two females should exchange a child
with a family of two males, so that the male-to-female ratio is perfectly maintained. Indeed, they come closer to the utopian
ideal than the Lilliputians in their wisdom and rational simplicity. But there is something unsettling about the
Houyhnhnms’ indistinct personalities and about how they are the only social group that Gulliver encounters who do not
have proper names. Despite minor physical differences, they are all so good and rational that they are more or less
interchangeable, without individual identities. In their absolute fusion with their society and lack of individuality, they are
in a sense the exact opposite of Gulliver, who has hardly any sense of belonging to his native society and exists only as an
individual eternally wandering the seas. Gulliver’s intense grief when forced to leave the Houyhnhnms may have
something to do with his longing for union with a community in which he can lose his human identity. In any case, such a
union is impossible for him, since he is not a horse, and all the other societies he visits make him feel alienated as well.
Gulliver’s Travels could in fact be described as one of the first novels of modern alienation, focusing on an individual’s
repeated failures to integrate into societies to which he does not belong. England itself is not much of a homeland for
Gulliver, and, with his surgeon’s business unprofitable and his father’s estate insufficient to support him, he may be right to
feel alienated from it. He never speaks fondly or nostalgically about England, and every time he returns home, he is quick
to leave again. Gulliver never complains explicitly about feeling lonely, but the embittered and antisocial misanthrope we
see at the end of the novel is clearly a profoundly isolated individual. Thus, if Swift’s satire mocks the excesses of
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communal life, it may also mock the excesses of individualism in its portrait of a miserable and lonely Gulliver talking to
his horses at home in England.
The Limits of Human Understanding
The idea that humans are not meant to know everything and that all understanding has a natural limit is important in
Gulliver’s Travels. Swift singles out theoretical knowledge in particular for attack: his portrait of the disagreeable and selfcentered Laputans, who show blatant contempt for those who are not sunk in private theorizing, is a clear satire against
those who pride themselves on knowledge above all else. Practical knowledge is also satirized when it does not produce
results, as in the academy of Balnibarbi, where the experiments for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers amount to
nothing. Swift insists that there is a realm of understanding into which humans are simply not supposed to venture. Thus his
depictions of rational societies, like Brobdingnag and Houyhnhnmland, emphasize not these people’s knowledge or
understanding of abstract ideas but their ability to live their lives in a wise and steady way.
The Brobdingnagian king knows shockingly little about the abstractions of political science, yet his country seems
prosperous and well governed. Similarly, the Houyhnhnms know little about arcane subjects like astronomy, though they
know how long a month is by observing the moon, since that knowledge has a practical effect on their well-being. Aspiring
to higher fields of knowledge would be meaningless to them and would interfere with their happiness. In such contexts, it
appears that living a happy and well-ordered life seems to be the very thing for which Swift thinks knowledge is useful.
Swift also emphasizes the importance of self-understanding. Gulliver is initially remarkably lacking in self-reflection and
self-awareness. He makes no mention of his emotions, passions, dreams, or aspirations, and he shows no interest in
describing his own psychology to us. Accordingly, he may strike us as frustratingly hollow or empty, though it is likely that
his personal emptiness is part of the overall meaning of the novel. By the end, he has come close to a kind of twisted selfknowledge in his deranged belief that he is a Yahoo. His revulsion with the human condition, shown in his shabby
treatment of the generous Don Pedro, extends to himself as well, so that he ends the novel in a thinly disguised state of selfhatred. Swift may thus be saying that self-knowledge has its necessary limits just as theoretical knowledge does, and that if
we look too closely at ourselves we might not be able to carry on living happily.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.
Excrement
While it may seem a trivial or laughable motif, the recurrent mention of excrement in Gulliver’s Travels actually has a
serious philosophical significance in the narrative. It symbolizes everything that is crass and ignoble about the human body
and about human existence in general, and it obstructs any attempt to view humans as wholly spiritual or mentally
transcendent creatures. Since the Enlightenment culture of eighteenth-century England tended to view humans
optimistically as noble souls rather than vulgar bodies, Swift’s emphasis on the common filth of life is a slap in the face of
the philosophers of his day. Thus, when Gulliver finds himself up to his waist in cow dung in Lilliput, or when
Brobdingnagian flies defecate on his meals, or when the scientist in Lagado works to transform excrement back into food,
we are reminded how very little human reason has to do with everyday existence. Swift suggests that the human condition
in general is dirtier and lowlier than we might like to believe it is.
Foreign Languages
Gulliver appears to be a gifted linguist, knowing at least the basics of several European languages and even a fair amount of
ancient Greek. This knowledge serves him well, as he is able to disguise himself as a Dutchman in order to facilitate his
entry into Japan, which at the time only admitted the Dutch. But even more important, his linguistic gifts allow him to learn
the languages of the exotic lands he visits with a dazzling speed and, thus, gain access to their culture quickly. He learns the
languages of the Lilliputians, the Brobdingnagians, and even the neighing tongue of the Houyhnhnms. He is meticulous in
recording the details of language in his narrative, often giving the original as well as the translation. One would expect that
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such detail would indicate a cross-cultural sensitivity, a kind of anthropologist’s awareness of how things vary from culture
to culture. Yet surprisingly, Gulliver’s mastery of foreign languages generally does not correspond to any real interest in
cultural differences. He compares any of the governments he visits to that of his native England, and he rarely even
speculates on how or why cultures are different at all. Thus, his facility for translation does not indicate a culturally
comparative mind, and we are perhaps meant to yearn for a narrator who is a bit less able to remember the Brobdingnagian
word for “lark” and better able to offer a more illuminating kind of cultural analysis.
Clothing
Critics have noted the extraordinary attention that Gulliver pays to clothes throughout his journeys. Every time he gets a rip
in his shirt or is forced to adopt some native garment to replace one of his own, he recounts the clothing details with great
precision. We are told how his pants are falling apart in Lilliput, so that as the army marches between his legs they get quite
an eyeful. We are informed about the mouse skin he wears in Brobdingnag, and how the finest silks of the land are as thick
as blankets on him. In one sense, these descriptions are obviously an easy narrative device with which Swift can chart his
protagonist’s progression from one culture to another: the more ragged his clothes become and the stranger his new
wardrobe, the farther he is from the comforts and conventions of England. His journey to new lands is also thus a journey
into new clothes. When he is picked up by Don Pedro after his fourth voyage and offered a new suit of clothes, Gulliver
vehemently refuses, preferring his wild animal skins. We sense that Gulliver may well never fully reintegrate into European
society.
But the motif of clothing carries a deeper, more psychologically complex meaning as well. Gulliver’s intense interest in the
state of his clothes may signal a deep-seated anxiety about his identity, or lack thereof. He does not seem to have much
selfhood: one critic has called him an “abyss,” a void where an individual character should be. If clothes make the man,
then perhaps Gulliver’s obsession with the state of his wardrobe may suggest that he desperately needs to be fashioned as a
personality. Significantly, the two moments when he describes being naked in the novel are two deeply troubling or
humiliating experiences: the first when he is the boy toy of the Brobdingnagian maids who let him cavort nude on their
mountainous breasts, and the second when he is assaulted by an eleven-year-old Yahoo girl as he bathes. Both incidents
suggest more than mere prudery. Gulliver associates nudity with extreme vulnerability, even when there is no real danger
present—a pre-teen girl is hardly a threat to a grown man, at least in physical terms. The state of nudity may remind
Gulliver of how nonexistent he feels without the reassuring cover of clothing.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.
Lilliputians
The Lilliputians symbolize humankind’s wildly excessive pride in its own puny existence. Swift fully intends the irony of
representing the tiniest race visited by Gulliver as by far the most vainglorious and smug, both collectively and
individually. There is surely no character more odious in all of Gulliver’s travels than the noxious Skyresh. There is more
backbiting and conspiracy in Lilliput than anywhere else, and more of the pettiness of small minds who imagine themselves
to be grand. Gulliver is a naïve consumer of the Lilliputians’ grandiose imaginings: he is flattered by the attention of their
royal family and cowed by their threats of punishment, forgetting that they have no real physical power over him. Their
formally worded condemnation of Gulliver on grounds of treason is a model of pompous and self-important verbiage, but it
works quite effectively on the naïve Gulliver.
The Lilliputians show off not only to Gulliver but to themselves as well. There is no mention of armies proudly marching in
any of the other societies Gulliver visits—only in Lilliput and neighboring Blefuscu are the six-inch inhabitants possessed
of the need to show off their patriotic glories with such displays. When the Lilliputian emperor requests that Gulliver serve
as a kind of makeshift Arch of Triumph for the troops to pass under, it is a pathetic reminder that their grand parade—in
full view of Gulliver’s nether regions—is supremely silly, a basically absurd way to boost the collective ego of the nation.
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Indeed, the war with Blefuscu is itself an absurdity springing from wounded vanity, since the cause is not a material
concern like disputed territory but, rather, the proper interpretation of scripture by the emperor’s forebears and the hurt
feelings resulting from the disagreement. All in all, the Lilliputians symbolize misplaced human pride, and point out
Gulliver’s inability to diagnose it correctly.
Brobdingnagians
The Brobdingnagians symbolize the private, personal, and physical side of humans when examined up close and in great
detail. The philosophical era of the Enlightenment tended to overlook the routines of everyday life and the sordid or tedious
little facts of existence, but in Brobdingnag such facts become very important for Gulliver, sometimes matters of life and
death. An eighteenth-century philosopher could afford to ignore the fly buzzing around his head or the skin pores on his
servant girl, but in his shrunken state Gulliver is forced to pay great attention to such things. He is forced take the domestic
sphere seriously as well. In other lands it is difficult for Gulliver, being such an outsider, to get glimpses of family relations
or private affairs, but in Brobdingnag he is treated as a doll or a plaything, and thus is made privy to the urination of
housemaids and the sexual lives of women. The Brobdingnagians do not symbolize a solely negative human characteristic,
as the Laputans do. They are not merely ridiculous—some aspects of them are disgusting, like their gigantic stench and the
excrement left by their insects, but others are noble, like the queen’s goodwill toward Gulliver and the king’s commonsense
views of politics. More than anything else, the Brobdingnagians symbolize a dimension of human existence visible at close
range, under close scrutiny.
Laputans
The Laputans represent the folly of theoretical knowledge that has no relation to human life and no use in the actual world.
As a profound cultural conservative, Swift was a critic of the newfangled ideas springing up around him at the dawn of the
eighteenth-century Enlightenment, a period of great intellectual experimentation and theorization. He much preferred the
traditional knowledge that had been tested over centuries. Laputa symbolizes the absurdity of knowledge that has never
been tested or applied, the ludicrous side of Enlightenment intellectualism. Even down below in Balnibarbi, where the local
academy is more inclined to practical application, knowledge is not made socially useful as Swift demands. Indeed,
theoretical knowledge there has proven positively disastrous, resulting in the ruin of agriculture and architecture and the
impoverishment of the population. Even up above, the pursuit of theoretical understanding has not improved the lot of the
Laputans. They have few material worries, dependent as they are upon the Balnibarbians below. But they are tormented by
worries about the trajectories of comets and other astronomical speculations: their theories have not made them wise, but
neurotic and disagreeable. The Laputans do not symbolize reason itself but rather the pursuit of a form of knowledge that is
not directly related to the improvement of human life.
Houyhnhnms
The Houyhnhnms represent an ideal of rational existence, a life governed by sense and moderation of which philosophers
since Plato have long dreamed. Indeed, there are echoes of Plato’s Republic in the Houyhnhnms’ rejection of light
entertainment and vain displays of luxury, their appeal to reason rather than any holy writings as the criterion for proper
action, and their communal approach to family planning. As in Plato’s ideal community, the Houyhnhnms have no need to
lie nor any word for lying. They do not use force but only strong exhortation. Their subjugation of the Yahoos appears
more necessary than cruel and perhaps the best way to deal with an unfortunate blot on their otherwise ideal society. In
these ways and others, the Houyhnhnms seem like model citizens, and Gulliver’s intense grief when he is forced to leave
them suggests that they have made an impact on him greater than that of any other society he has visited. His derangement
on Don Pedro’s ship, in which he snubs the generous man as a Yahoo-like creature, implies that he strongly identifies with
the Houyhnhnms.
But we may be less ready than Gulliver to take the Houyhnhnms as ideals of human existence. They have no names in the
narrative nor any need for names, since they are virtually interchangeable, with little individual identity. Their lives seem
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harmonious and happy, although quite lacking in vigor, challenge, and excitement. Indeed, this apparent ease may be why
Swift chooses to make them horses rather than human types like every other group in the novel. He may be hinting, to those
more insightful than Gulliver, that the Houyhnhnms should not be considered human ideals at all. In any case, they
symbolize a standard of rational existence to be either espoused or rejected by both Gulliver and us.
England
As the site of his father’s disappointingly “small estate” and Gulliver’s failing business, England seems to symbolize
deficiency or insufficiency, at least in the financial sense that matters most to Gulliver. England is passed over very quickly
in the first paragraph of Chapter I, as if to show that it is simply there as the starting point to be left quickly behind.
Gulliver seems to have very few nationalistic or patriotic feelings about England, and he rarely mentions his homeland on
his travels. In this sense, Gulliver’s Travels is quite unlike other travel narratives like the Odyssey, in which Odysseus
misses his homeland and laments his wanderings. England is where Gulliver’s wife and family live, but they too are hardly
mentioned. Yet Swift chooses to have Gulliver return home after each of his four journeys instead of having him continue
on one long trip to four different places, so that England is kept constantly in the picture and given a steady, unspoken
importance. By the end of the fourth journey, England is brought more explicitly into the fabric of Gulliver’s Travels when
Gulliver, in his neurotic state, starts confusing Houyhnhnmland with his homeland, referring to Englishmen as Yahoos. The
distinction between native and foreign thus unravels—the Houyhnhnms and Yahoos are not just races populating a faraway
land but rather types that Gulliver projects upon those around him. The possibility thus arises that all the races Gulliver
encounters could be versions of the English and that his travels merely allow him to see various aspects of human nature
more clearly.
Important Quotations Explained
1. My Father had a small Estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the Third of five Sons. . . . I was bound Apprentice to Mr.
James Bates, an eminent Surgeon in London . . . my Father now and then sending me small Sums of Money. . . . When I
left Mr. Bates, I went down to my Father; where, by the Assistance of him and my Uncle John . . . I got Forty Pounds, and a
Promise of Thirty Pounds a Year.
Explanation for Quotation #1
This introductory paragraph from Part I, Chapter I, is often passed over as simply providing the preliminary facts of
Gulliver’s life, the bare essentials needed in order to proceed to the more interesting travel narrative. But this introduction
is deeply significant in its own right, and it reveals much about Gulliver’s character that is necessary to understand not just
his journeys but also his way of narrating them. Gulliver is bourgeois: he is primarily interested in money, acquisitions, and
achievement, and his life story is filtered through these desires. The first sentence means more than just a statement of his
financial situation, since the third son of a possessor of only a “small Estate” would have no hopes of inheriting enough on
which to support himself and would be expected to leave the estate and seek his own fortune. If Gulliver had been the firstborn son, he might very well not have embarked on his travels. But the passage is even more revealing in its tone, which is
starkly impersonal. Gulliver provides no sentimental characterization of his father, Bates, or Uncle John; they appear in his
story only insofar as they further him in life. There is no mention of any youthful dreams or ambitions or of any romantic
attachments. This lack of an emotional inner life is traceable throughout his narrative until his virtual nervous breakdown at
the very end.
2. He said, he knew no Reason, why those who entertain Opinions prejudicial to the Publick, should be obliged to change,
or should not be obliged to conceal them. And, as it was Tyranny in any Government to require the first, so it was
Weakness not to enforce the second.
Explanation for Quotation #2
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This quotation comes from a conversation between Gulliver and the king of Brobdingnag, in Part II, Chapter VI. The belief
expressed by the king is one that Swift, writing in his own voice, expressed elsewhere: that people have the right to their
own beliefs but not the right to express them at will. As always, it is difficult to determine whether or not Swift’s view is
exactly the one advanced by his characters. The king has little sympathy for many English institutions as Gulliver describes
them to him. Swift would probably not have rejected such institutions, and we should keep in mind that Brobdingnagian
criticism does not always imply Swiftian criticism. Indeed, Gulliver’s Travels could be considered to contain at least a few
“Opinions prejudicial to the Publick”—unpopular opinions, in other words—so it is unlikely that Swift is in favor of
suppressing all social criticism entirely. Whatever the final interpretation, the quotation raises interesting issues of
censorship, freedom of speech, and the rightful place of indirect forms of criticism, such as the satire of which Swift was a
master.
3. My little Friend Grildrig. . . . I cannot but conclude the Bulk of your Natives, to be the most pernicious Race of little
odious Vermin that Nature ever suffered to crawl upon the Surface of the Earth.
Explanation for Quotation #3
This famous judgment by the king of Brobdingnag on the people of England, given in Part II, Chapter VI, after Gulliver (or
“Grildrig”) has summarized the institutions of his native land, is a harsh denunciation of mankind in its current state, and it
stokes the misanthropy that dominates Gulliver’s mind by the end of Gulliver’s Travels. The judgment is particularly ironic
because Gulliver’s own purpose in telling the king about England is to convince him of England’s significance. The king
acts as though Gulliver has intended to “clearly prove” the faults of his land, though of course Gulliver does not mean to
make such an attack at all. Gulliver’s speech on his country is not meant to be in the least critical, but it is received by the
king as a forceful damnation, so what is mocked here is not just England but also Gulliver’s naïve and unthinking
acceptance of his own society. Swift subtly raises the issue of ideology, which refers to a person’s brainwashed way of
taking for granted a social arrangement that could or should be criticized and improved.
4. [T]hey go on Shore to rob and plunder; they see an harmless People, are entertained with Kindness, they give the
Country a new Name, they take formal Possession of it for the King, they set up a rotten Plank or a Stone for a Memorial,
they murder two or three Dozen of the Natives, bring away a Couple more by Force for a Sample, return home, and get
their Pardon. Here commences a New Dominion acquired with a Title by Divine Right . . . the Earth reeking with the Blood
of its Inhabitants.
Explanation for Quotation #4
This quotation comes from Part IV, Chapter XII, when Gulliver, having returned home to England after his stay among the
Houyhnhnms, tries to apologize for what he sees as the only fault he committed while on his journeys: failing to claim the
lands he visited in the name of England. First, he justifies his failure by saying that the countries he visited would not be
worth the effort of conquering them. In the section quoted above, however, he goes even further by criticizing the practice
of colonization itself. His picture of colonization as a criminal enterprise justified by the state for the purposes of trade and
military power is one that looks familiar to modern eyes but was radical for Swift’s time. Others criticized aspects of
colonialism, such as the murder or enslavement of indigenous peoples, but few failed to see it as the justifiable expansion
of purportedly civilized cultures. Swift employs his standard satirical technique here, as he first describes something
without naming it in order to create an image in our minds, then gives it the name of something different, provoking us to
rethink old assumptions.
5. My Reconcilement to the Yahoo-kind in general might not be so difficult, if they would be content with those Vices
and Follies only which Nature hath entitled them to. I am not in the least provoked at the Sight of a Lawyer, a Pick-pocket,
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a Colonel. . . . This is all according to the due Course of Things: But, when I behold a Lump of Deformity, and Diseases
both in Body and Mind, smitten with Pride, it immediately breaks all the Measures of my Patience; neither shall I ever be
able to comprehend how such an Animal and such a Vice could tally together.
Explanation for Quotation #5
This quotation comes from the end of the narrative, in Part IV, Chapter XII, when Gulliver describes the difficulties he has
had in readjusting to his own human culture. He now associates English and European culture with the Yahoos, though the
hypocrisy he describes is not a Yahoo characteristic. By attributing a number of sins to “the due Course of Things,”
Gulliver expresses his new conviction that humanity is, as the Houyhnhnms believe, corrupt and ungovernable at heart.
Humans are nothing more than beasts equipped with only enough reason to make their corruption dangerous. But even
worse than that, he says, is the inability of humanity to see its own failings, to recognize its depravity behind its false
nobility.
Gulliver’s apparent exemption of himself from this charge against humanity—referring to “such an Animal” rather than to
humans, may be yet another moment of denial. In fact, he is guilty of the same hypocrisy he condemns, showing himself
unaware of his own human flaws several times throughout his travels. He is a toady toward royalty in Lilliput and
Brobdingnag, indifferent toward those in misery and pain when visiting the Yahoos, and ungrateful toward the kindness of
strangers with the Portuguese captain, Don Pedro. Gulliver’s difficulty in including himself among the humans he describes
as vice-ridden animals is symbolic of the identity crisis he undergoes at the end of the novel, even if he is unaware of it.
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Daniel Defoe
Robinson Crusoe
Plot Overview
ROBINSON CRUSOE IS AN ENGLISHMAN from the
town of York in the seventeenth century, the
youngest son of a merchant of German origin.
Encouraged by his father to study law, Crusoe
expresses his wish to go to sea instead. His
family is against Crusoe going out to sea, and
his father explains that it is better to seek a
modest, secure life for oneself. Initially,
Robinson is committed to obeying his father,
but he eventually succumbs to temptation and
embarks on a ship bound for London with a
friend. When a storm causes the near deaths of
Crusoe and his friend, the friend is dissuaded
from sea travel, but Crusoe still goes on to set
himself up as merchant on a ship leaving
London. This trip is financially successful, and
Crusoe plans another, leaving his early profits
in the care of a friendly widow. The second
voyage does not prove as fortunate: the ship is
seized by Moorish pirates, and Crusoe is
enslaved to a potentate in the North African
town of Sallee. While on a fishing expedition, he
and a slave boy break free and sail down the
African coast. A kindly Portuguese captain picks
them up, buys the slave boy from Crusoe, and
takes Crusoe to Brazil. In Brazil, Crusoe
establishes himself as a plantation owner and
soon becomes successful. Eager for slave labor
and its economic advantages, he embarks on a
slave-gathering expedition to West Africa but
ends up shipwrecked off of the coast of
Trinidad.
Crusoe soon learns he is the sole survivor of the
expedition and seeks shelter and food for
himself. He returns to the wreck’s remains
twelve times to salvage guns, powder, food, and
other items. Onshore, he finds goats he can
graze for meat and builds himself a shelter. He
erects a cross that he inscribes with the date of
his arrival, September 1, 1659, and makes a
notch every day in order never to lose track of
time. He also keeps a journal of his household
activities, noting his attempts to make candles,
his lucky discovery of sprouting grain, and his
construction of a cellar, among other events. In
June 1660, he falls ill and hallucinates that an
angel visits, warning him to repent. Drinking
tobacco-steeped rum, Crusoe experiences a
religious illumination and realizes that God has
delivered him from his earlier sins. After
recovering, Crusoe makes a survey of the area
and discovers he is on an island. He finds a
pleasant valley abounding in grapes, where he
builds a shady retreat. Crusoe begins to feel more
optimistic about being on the island, describing
himself as its “king.” He trains a pet parrot, takes a
goat as a pet, and develops skills in basket weaving,
bread making, and pottery. He cuts down an
enormous cedar tree and builds a huge canoe from
its trunk, but he discovers that he cannot move it
to the sea. After building a smaller boat, he rows
around the island but nearly perishes when swept
away by a powerful current. Reaching shore, he
hears his parrot calling his name and is thankful
for being saved once again. He spends several
years in peace.
One day Crusoe is shocked to discover a man’s
footprint on the beach. He first assumes the
footprint is the devil’s, then decides it must belong
to one of the cannibals said to live in the region.
Terrified, he arms himself and remains on the
lookout for cannibals. He also builds an
underground cellar in which to herd his goats at
night and devises a way to cook underground. One
evening he hears gunshots, and the next day he is
able to see a ship wrecked on his coast. It is empty
when he arrives on the scene to investigate. Crusoe
once again thanks Providence for having been
saved. Soon afterward, Crusoe discovers that the
shore has been strewn with human carnage,
apparently the remains of a cannibal feast. He is
alarmed and continues to be vigilant. Later Crusoe
catches sight of thirty cannibals heading for shore
with their victims. One of the victims is killed.
Another one, waiting to be slaughtered, suddenly
breaks free and runs toward Crusoe’s dwelling.
Crusoe protects him, killing one of the pursuers
and injuring the other, whom the victim finally
kills. Well-armed, Crusoe defeats most of the
cannibals onshore. The victim vows total
submission to Crusoe in gratitude for his
liberation. Crusoe names him Friday, to
commemorate the day on which his life was saved,
and takes him as his servant.
Finding Friday cheerful and intelligent, Crusoe
teaches him some English words and some
elementary Christian concepts. Friday, in turn,
explains that the cannibals are divided into distinct
nations and that they only eat their enemies.
Friday also informs Crusoe that the cannibals
saved the men from the shipwreck Crusoe
witnessed earlier, and that those men, Spaniards,
are living nearby. Friday expresses a longing to
return to his people, and Crusoe is upset at the
prospect of losing Friday. Crusoe then entertains
the idea of making contact with the Spaniards, and
Friday admits that he would rather die than lose
Crusoe. The two build a boat to visit the cannibals’
land together. Before they have a chance to leave,
they are surprised by the arrival of twenty-one
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cannibals in canoes. The cannibals are holding
three victims, one of whom is in European
dress. Friday and Crusoe kill most of the
cannibals and release the European, a Spaniard.
Friday is overjoyed to discover that another of
the rescued victims is his father. The four men
return to Crusoe’s dwelling for food and rest.
Crusoe prepares to welcome them into his
community permanently. He sends Friday’s
father and the Spaniard out in a canoe to
explore the nearby land.
Eight days later, the sight of an approaching
English ship alarms Friday. Crusoe is
suspicious. Friday and Crusoe watch as eleven
men take three captives onshore in a boat. Nine
of the men explore the land, leaving two to
guard the captives. Friday and Crusoe
overpower these men and release the captives,
one of whom is the captain of the ship, which
has been taken in a mutiny. Shouting to the
remaining mutineers from different points,
Friday and Crusoe confuse and tire the men by
making them run from place to place.
Eventually they confront the mutineers, telling
them that all may escape with their lives except
the ringleader. The men surrender. Crusoe and
the captain pretend that the island is an
imperial territory and that the governor has
spared their lives in order to send them all to
England to face justice. Keeping five men as
hostages, Crusoe sends the other men out to
seize the ship. When the ship is brought in,
Crusoe nearly faints.
On December 19, 1686, Crusoe boards the ship
to return to England. There, he finds his family
is deceased except for two sisters. His widow
friend has kept Crusoe’s money safe, and after
traveling to Lisbon, Crusoe learns from the
Portuguese captain that his plantations in Brazil
have been highly profitable. He arranges to sell
his Brazilian lands. Wary of sea travel, Crusoe
attempts to return to England by land but is
threatened by bad weather and wild animals in
northern Spain. Finally arriving back in
England, Crusoe receives word that the sale of
his plantations has been completed and that he
has made a considerable fortune. After donating
a portion to the widow and his sisters, Crusoe is
restless and considers returning to Brazil, but
he is dissuaded by the thought that he would
have to become Catholic. He marries, and his
wife dies. Crusoe finally departs for the East
Indies as a trader in 1694. He revisits his island,
finding that the Spaniards are governing it well
and that it has become a prosperous colony.
Analysis of Major Characters
Robinson Crusoe
While he is no flashy hero or grand epic
adventurer, Robinson Crusoe displays character
traits that have won him the approval of
generations of readers. His perseverance in
spending months making a canoe, and in
practicing pottery making until he gets it right, is
praiseworthy. Additionally, his resourcefulness in
building a home, dairy, grape arbor, country
house, and goat stable from practically nothing is
clearly remarkable. The Swiss philosopher JeanJacques Rousseau applauded Crusoe’s do-ityourself independence, and in his book on
education, Emile, he recommends that children be
taught to imitate Crusoe’s hands-on approach to
life. Crusoe’s business instincts are just as
considerable as his survival instincts: he manages
to make a fortune in Brazil despite a twenty-eightyear absence and even leaves his island with a nice
collection of gold. Moreover, Crusoe is never
interested in portraying himself as a hero in his
own narration. He does not boast of his courage in
quelling the mutiny, and he is always ready to
admit unheroic feelings of fear or panic, as when
he finds the footprint on the beach. Crusoe prefers
to depict himself as an ordinary sensible man,
never as an exceptional hero.
But Crusoe’s admirable qualities must be weighed
against the flaws in his character. Crusoe seems
incapable of deep feelings, as shown by his cold
account of leaving his family—he worries about the
religious consequences of disobeying his father,
but never displays any emotion about leaving.
Though he is generous toward people, as when he
gives gifts to his sisters and the captain, Crusoe
reveals very little tender or sincere affection in his
dealings with them. When Crusoe tells us that he
has gotten married and that his wife has died all
within the same sentence, his indifference to her
seems almost cruel. Moreover, as an individual
personality, Crusoe is rather dull. His precise and
deadpan style of narration works well for
recounting the process of canoe building, but it
tends to drain the excitement from events that
should be thrilling. Action-packed scenes like the
conquest of the cannibals become quite humdrum
when Crusoe narrates them, giving us a detailed
inventory of the cannibals in list form, for example.
His insistence on dating events makes sense to a
point, but it ultimately ends up seeming obsessive
and irrelevant when he tells us the date on which
he grinds his tools but neglects to tell us the date of
a very important event like meeting Friday.
Perhaps his impulse to record facts carefully is not
a survival skill, but an irritating sign of his
neurosis.
Finally, while not boasting of heroism, Crusoe is
nonetheless very interested in possessions, power,
and prestige. When he first calls himself king of the
island it seems jocund, but when he describes the
Spaniard as his subject we must take his royal
delusion seriously, since it seems he really does
consider himself king. His teaching Friday to call
him “Master,” even before teaching him the words
for “yes” or “no,” seems obnoxious even under the
racist standards of the day, as if Crusoe needs to
hear the ego-boosting word spoken as soon as
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possible. Overall, Crusoe’s virtues tend to be
private: his industry, resourcefulness, and
solitary courage make him an exemplary
individual. But his vices are social, and his urge
to subjugate others is highly objectionable. In
bringing both sides together into one complex
character, Defoe gives us a fascinating glimpse
into the successes, failures, and contradictions
of modern man.
Friday
Probably the first nonwhite character to be
given a realistic, individualized, and humane
portrayal in the English novel, Friday has a
huge literary and cultural importance. If Crusoe
represents the first colonial mind in fiction,
then Friday represents not just a Caribbean
tribesman, but all the natives of America, Asia,
and Africa who would later be oppressed in the
age of European imperialism. At the moment
when Crusoe teaches Friday to call him
“Master” Friday becomes an enduring political
symbol of racial injustice in a modern world
critical of imperialist expansion. Recent
rewritings of the Crusoe story, like J. M.
Coetzee’s Foe and Michel Tournier’s Friday,
emphasize the sad consequences of Crusoe’s
failure to understand Friday and suggest how
the tale might be told very differently from the
native’s perspective.
Aside from his importance to our culture,
Friday is a key figure within the context of the
novel. In many ways he is the most vibrant
character in Robinson Crusoe, much more
charismatic and colorful than his master.
Indeed, Defoe at times underscores the contrast
between Crusoe’s and Friday’s personalities, as
when Friday, in his joyful reunion with his
father, exhibits far more emotion toward his
family than Crusoe. Whereas Crusoe never
mentions missing his family or dreams about
the happiness of seeing them again, Friday
jumps and sings for joy when he meets his
father, and this emotional display makes us see
what is missing from Crusoe’s stodgy heart.
Friday’s expression of loyalty in asking Crusoe
to kill him rather than leave him is more
heartfelt than anything Crusoe ever says or
does. Friday’s sincere questions to Crusoe about
the devil, which Crusoe answers only indirectly
and hesitantly, leave us wondering whether
Crusoe’s knowledge of Christianity is superficial
and sketchy in contrast to Friday’s full
understanding of his own god Benamuckee. In
short, Friday’s exuberance and emotional
directness often point out the wooden
conventionality of Crusoe’s personality.
Despite Friday’s subjugation, however, Crusoe
appreciates Friday much more than he would a
mere servant. Crusoe does not seem to value
intimacy with humans much, but he does say
that he loves Friday, which is a remarkable
disclosure. It is the only time Crusoe makes
such an admission in the novel, since he never
expresses love for his parents, brothers, sisters, or
even his wife. The mere fact that an Englishman
confesses more love for an illiterate Caribbean excannibal than for his own family suggests the
appeal of Friday’s personality. Crusoe may bring
Friday Christianity and clothing, but Friday brings
Crusoe emotional warmth and a vitality of spirit
that Crusoe’s own European heart lacks.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often universal
ideas explored in a literary work.
The Ambivalence of Mastery
Crusoe’s success in mastering his situation,
overcoming his obstacles, and controlling his
environment shows the condition of mastery in a
positive light, at least at the beginning of the novel.
Crusoe lands in an inhospitable environment and
makes it his home. His taming and domestication
of wild goats and parrots with Crusoe as their
master illustrates his newfound control. Moreover,
Crusoe’s mastery over nature makes him a master
of his fate and of himself. Early in the novel, he
frequently blames himself for disobeying his
father’s advice or blames the destiny that drove
him to sea. But in the later part of the novel,
Crusoe stops viewing himself as a passive victim
and strikes a new note of self-determination. In
building a home for himself on the island, he finds
that he is master of his life—he suffers a hard fate
and still finds prosperity.
But this theme of mastery becomes more complex
and less positive after Friday’s arrival, when the
idea of mastery comes to apply more to unfair
relationships between humans. In Chapter XXIII,
Crusoe teaches Friday the word “[m]aster” even
before teaching him “yes” and “no,” and indeed he
lets him “know that was to be [Crusoe’s] name.”
Crusoe never entertains the idea of considering
Friday a friend or equal—for some reason,
superiority comes instinctively to him. We further
question Crusoe’s right to be called “[m]aster”
when he later refers to himself as “king” over the
natives and Europeans, who are his “subjects.” In
short, while Crusoe seems praiseworthy in
mastering his fate, the praiseworthiness of his
mastery over his fellow humans is more doubtful.
Defoe explores the link between the two in his
depiction of the colonial mind.
The Necessity of Repentance
Crusoe’s experiences constitute not simply an
adventure story in which thrilling things happen,
but also a moral tale illustrating the right and
wrong ways to live one’s life. This moral and
religious dimension of the tale is indicated in the
Preface, which states that Crusoe’s story is being
published to instruct others in God’s wisdom, and
one vital part of this wisdom is the importance of
repenting one’s sins. While it is important to be
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grateful for God’s miracles, as Crusoe is when
his grain sprouts, it is not enough simply to
express gratitude or even to pray to God, as
Crusoe does several times with few results.
Crusoe needs repentance most, as he learns
from the fiery angelic figure that comes to him
during a feverish hallucination and says,
“Seeing all these things have not brought thee to
repentance, now thou shalt die.” Crusoe
believes that his major sin is his rebellious
behavior toward his father, which he refers to as
his “original sin,” akin to Adam and Eve’s first
disobedience of God. This biblical reference also
suggests that Crusoe’s exile from civilization
represents Adam and Eve’s expulsion from
Eden.
For Crusoe, repentance consists of
acknowledging his wretchedness and his
absolute dependence on the Lord. This
admission marks a turning point in Crusoe’s
spiritual consciousness, and is almost a bornagain experience for him. After repentance, he
complains much less about his sad fate and
views the island more positively. Later, when
Crusoe is rescued and his fortune restored, he
compares himself to Job, who also regained
divine favor. Ironically, this view of the
necessity of repentance ends up justifying sin:
Crusoe may never have learned to repent if he
had never sinfully disobeyed his father in the
first place. Thus, as powerful as the theme of
repentance is in the novel, it is nevertheless
complex and ambiguous.
The Importance of Self-Awareness
Crusoe’s arrival on the island does not make
him revert to a brute existence controlled by
animal instincts, and, unlike animals, he
remains conscious of himself at all times.
Indeed, his island existence actually deepens his
self-awareness as he withdraws from the
external social world and turns inward. The
idea that the individual must keep a careful
reckoning of the state of his own soul is a key
point in the Presbyterian doctrine that Defoe
took seriously all his life. We see that in his
normal day-to-day activities, Crusoe keeps
accounts of himself enthusiastically and in
various ways. For example, it is significant that
Crusoe’s makeshift calendar does not simply
mark the passing of days, but instead more
egocentrically marks the days he has spent on
the island: it is about him, a sort of selfconscious or autobiographical calendar with
him at its center. Similarly, Crusoe obsessively
keeps a journal to record his daily activities,
even when they amount to nothing more than
finding a few pieces of wood on the beach or
waiting inside while it rains. Crusoe feels the
importance of staying aware of his situation at
all times. We can also sense Crusoe’s impulse
toward self-awareness in the fact that he
teaches his parrot to say the words, “Poor Robin
Crusoe. . . . Where have you been?” This sort of
self-examining thought is natural for anyone alone
on a desert island, but it is given a strange intensity
when we recall that Crusoe has spent months
teaching the bird to say it back to him. Crusoe
teaches nature itself to voice his own selfawareness.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Counting and Measuring
Crusoe is a careful note-taker whenever numbers
and quantities are involved. He does not simply tell
us that his hedge encloses a large space, but
informs us with a surveyor’s precision that the
space is “150 yards in length, and 100 yards in
breadth.” He tells us not simply that he spends a
long time making his canoe in Chapter XVI, but
that it takes precisely twenty days to fell the tree
and fourteen to remove the branches. It is not just
an immense tree, but is “five foot ten inches in
diameter at the lower part . . . and four foot eleven
inches diameter at the end of twenty-two foot.”
Furthermore, time is measured with similar
exactitude, as Crusoe’s journal shows. We may
often wonder why Crusoe feels it useful to record
that it did not rain on December 26, but for him
the necessity of counting out each day is never
questioned. All these examples of counting and
measuring underscore Crusoe’s practical,
businesslike character and his hands-on approach
to life. But Defoe sometimes hints at the futility of
Crusoe’s measuring—as when the carefully
measured canoe cannot reach water or when his
obsessively kept calendar is thrown off by a day of
oversleeping. Defoe may be subtly poking fun at
the urge to quantify, showing us that, in the end,
everything Crusoe counts never really adds up to
much and does not save him from isolation.
Eating
One of Crusoe’s first concerns after his shipwreck
is his food supply. Even while he is still wet from
the sea in Chapter V, he frets about not having
“anything to eat or drink to comfort me.” He soon
provides himself with food, and indeed each new
edible item marks a new stage in his mastery of the
island, so that his food supply becomes a symbol of
his survival. His securing of goat meat staves off
immediate starvation, and his discovery of grain is
viewed as a miracle, like manna from heaven. His
cultivation of raisins, almost a luxury food for
Crusoe, marks a new comfortable period in his
island existence. In a way, these images of eating
convey Crusoe’s ability to integrate the island into
his life, just as food is integrated into the body to
let the organism grow and prosper. But no sooner
does Crusoe master the art of eating than he begins
to fear being eaten himself. The cannibals
transform Crusoe from the consumer into a
potential object to be consumed. Life for Crusoe
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always illustrates this eat or be eaten
philosophy, since even back in Europe he is
threatened by man-eating wolves. Eating is an
image of existence itself, just as being eaten
signifies death for Crusoe.
Ordeals at Sea
Crusoe’s encounters with water in the novel are
often associated not simply with hardship, but
with a kind of symbolic ordeal, or test of
character. First, the storm off the coast of
Yarmouth frightens Crusoe’s friend away from a
life at sea, but does not deter Crusoe. Then, in
his first trading voyage, he proves himself a
capable merchant, and in his second one, he
shows he is able to survive enslavement. His
escape from his Moorish master and his
successful encounter with the Africans both
occur at sea. Most significantly, Crusoe survives
his shipwreck after a lengthy immersion in
water. But the sea remains a source of danger
and fear even later, when the cannibals arrive in
canoes. The Spanish shipwreck reminds Crusoe
of the destructive power of water and of his own
good fortune in surviving it. All the life-testing
water imagery in the novel has subtle
associations with the rite of baptism, by which
Christians prove their faith and enter a new life
saved by Christ.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
The Footprint
Crusoe’s shocking discovery of a single footprint
on the sand in Chapter XVIII is one of the most
famous moments in the novel, and it symbolizes
our hero’s conflicted feelings about human
companionship. Crusoe has earlier confessed
how much he misses companionship, yet the
evidence of a man on his island sends him into
a panic. Immediately he interprets the footprint
negatively, as the print of the devil or of an
aggressor. He never for a moment entertains
hope that it could belong to an angel or another
European who could rescue or befriend him.
This instinctively negative and fearful attitude
toward others makes us consider the possibility
that Crusoe may not want to return to human
society after all, and that the isolation he is
experiencing may actually be his ideal state.
The Cross
Concerned that he will “lose [his] reckoning of
time” in Chapter VII, Crusoe marks the passing
of days “with [his] knife upon a large post, in
capital letters, and making it into a great cross .
. . set[s] it up on the shore where [he] first
landed. . . .” The large size and capital letters
show us how important this cross is to Crusoe
as a timekeeping device and thus also as a way
of relating himself to the larger social world
where dates and calendars still matter. But the
cross is also a symbol of his own new existence on
the island, just as the Christian cross is a symbol of
the Christian’s new life in Christ after baptism, an
immersion in water like Crusoe’s shipwreck
experience. Yet Crusoe’s large cross seems
somewhat blasphemous in making no reference to
Christ. Instead, it is a memorial to Crusoe himself,
underscoring how completely he has become the
center of his own life.
Crusoe’s Bower
On a scouting tour around the island, Crusoe
discovers a delightful valley in which he decides to
build a country retreat or “bower” in Chapter XII.
This bower contrasts sharply with Crusoe’s first
residence, since it is built not for the practical
purpose of shelter or storage, but simply for
pleasure: “because I was so enamoured of the
place.” Crusoe is no longer focused solely on
survival, which by this point in the novel is more or
less secure. Now, for the first time since his arrival,
he thinks in terms of “pleasantness.” Thus, the
bower symbolizes a radical improvement in
Crusoe’s attitude toward his time on the island.
Island life is no longer necessarily a disaster to
suffer through, but may be an opportunity for
enjoyment—just as, for the Presbyterian, life may
be enjoyed only after hard work has been finished
and repentance achieved.
~ 60 ~
Henry Fielding
Tom Jones
Plot Overview
The distinguished country gentleman Allworthy,
who lives in Somersetshire with his unmarried
sister Bridget Allworthy, arrives home from a trip
to London to discover a baby boy in is bed.
Allworthy undertakes to uncover the mother and
father of this foundling, and finds local woman
Jenny Jones and her tutor, Mr. Partridge, guilty.
Allworthy sends Jenny away from the county,
and the poverty-stricken Partridge leaves of his
own accord. In spite of the criticism of the parish,
Allworthy decides to bring up the boy. Soon after,
Bridget marries Captain Blifil, a visitor at
Allworthy's estate, and gives birth to a son of her
own, named Blifil. Captain Blifil regards Tom
Jones with jealousy, since he wishes his son to
inherit all of Allworthy possessions. While
meditating on money matters, Captain Blifil falls
dead of an apoplexy.
The narrator skips forward twelve years. Blifil
and Tom Jones have been brought up together,
but receive vastly different treatment from the
other members of the household. Allworthy is the
only person who shows consistent affection for
Tom. The philosopher Square and the reverend
Thwackum, the boys' tutors, despise Tom and
adore Blifil, since Tom is wild and Blifil is pious.
Tom frequently steals apples and ducks to
support the family of Black George, one of
Allworthy's servants. Tom tells all of his secrets to
Blifil, who then relates these to Thwackum or
Allworthy, thereby getting Tom into trouble. The
people of the parish, hearing of Tom's generosity
to Black George, begin to speak kindly of Tom
while condemning Blifil for his sneakiness.
Tom spends much time with Squire Western—
Allworthy's neighbor—since the Squire is
impressed by Tom's sportsmanship. Sophia
Western, Squire Western's daughter, falls deeply
in love with Tom. Tom has already bestowed his
affection on Molly Seagrim, the poor but feisty
daughter of Black George. When Molly becomes
pregnant, Tom prevents Allworthy from sending
Molly to prison by admitting that he has fathered
her child. Tom, at first oblivious to Sophia's
charms and beauty, falls deeply in love with her,
and begins to resent his ties to Molly. Yet he
remains with Molly out of honor. Tom's
commitment to Molly ends when he discovers
that she has been having affairs, which means
Tom is not the father of her child and frees him to
confess his feelings to Sophia.
Allworthy falls gravely ill and summons his
family and friends to be near him. He reads out
his will, which states that Blifil will inherit most
of his estate, although Tom is also provided for.
Thwackum and Square are upset that they are
each promised only a thousand pounds. Tom
experiences great emotion at Allworthy's illness
and barely leaves his bedside. A lawyer named
Dowling arrives and announces the sudden and
unexpected death of Bridget Allworthy. When the
doctor announces that Allworthy will not die,
Tom rejoices and gets drunk on both joy and
alcohol. Blifil calls Tom a "bastard" and Tom
retaliates by hitting him. Tom, after swearing
eternal constancy to Sophia, encounters Molly by
chance and makes love to her.
Mrs. Western, the aunt with whom Sophia spent
much of her youth, comes to stay at her brother's
house. She and the Squire fight constantly, but
they unite over Mrs. Western's plan to marry
Sophia to Blifil. Mrs. Western promises not to
reveal Sophia's love for Tom as long as Sophia
submits to receiving Blifil as a suitor. Blifil thus
begins his courtship of Sophia, and brags so
much about his progress that Allworthy believes
that Sophia must love Blifil. Sophia, however,
strongly opposes the proposal, and Squire
Western grows violent with her. Blifil tells
Allworthy that Tom is a rascal who cavorted
drunkenly about the house, and Allworthy
banishes Tom from the county. Tom does not
want to leave Sophia, but decides that he must
follow the honorable path.
Tom begins to wander about the countryside. In
Bristol, he happens to meet up with Partridge,
who becomes his loyal servant. Tom also rescues
a Mrs. Waters from being robbed, and they begin
an affair at a local inn. Sophia, who has run away
from Squire Western's estate to avoid marrying
Blifil, stops at this inn and discovers that Tom is
having an affair with Mrs. Waters. She leaves her
muff in Tom's bed so that he knows she has been
there. When Tom finds the muff, he frantically
sets out in pursuit of Sophia. The Irishman
Fitzpatrick arrives at the inn searching for his
wife, and Western arrives searching for Sophia.
On the way to London, Sophia rides with her
cousin Harriet, who is also Fitzpatrick's wife. In
London, Sophia stays with her lady relative Lady
Bellaston. Tom and Partridge arrive in London
soon after, and they stay in the house of Mrs.
Miller and her daughters, one of whom is named
Nancy. A young gentleman called Nightingale
also inhabits the house, and Tom soon realizes
that he and Nancy are in love. Nancy falls
pregnant and Tom convinces Nightingale to
marry her. Lady Bellaston and Tom begin an
~ 61 ~
affair, although Tom privately, continues to
pursue Sophia. When he and Sophia are
reconciled, Tom breaks off the relationship with
Lady Bellaston by sending her a marriage
proposal that scares her away. Yet Lady Bellaston
is still determined not to allow Sophia and Tom's
love to flourish. She encourages anoter young
man, Lord Fellamar, to rape Sophia.
Soon after, Squire Western, Mrs. Western, Blifil,
and Allworthy arrive in London, and Squire
Western locks Sophia in her bedroom. Mr.
Fitzpatrick thinks Tom is his wife's lover and
begins a duel with Tom. In defending himself,
Tom stabs Fitzpatrick with the sword and is
thrown into jail. Partridge visits Tom in jail with
the ghastly news that Mrs. Waters is Jenny Jones,
Tom's mother. Mrs. Waters meets with Allworthy
and explains that Fitzpatrick is still alive, and has
admitted to initiating the duel. She also tells
Allworthy that a lawyer acting on behalf of an
unnamed gentleman tried to persuade her to
conspire against Tom. Allworthy realizes that
Blifil is this very gentleman, and he decides never
to speak to him again. Tom, however, takes pity
on Blifil and provides him with an annuity.
Mrs. Waters also reveals that Tom's mother was
Bridget Allworthy. Square sends Allworthy a
letter explaining that Tom's conduct during
Allworthy's illness was honorable and
compassionate. Tom is released from jail and he
and Allworthy are reunited as nephew and uncle.
Mrs. Miller explains to Sophia the reasons for
Tom's marriage proposal to Lady Bellaston, and
Sophia is satisfied. Now that Tom is Allworthy's
heir, Squire Western eagerly encourages the
marriage between Tom and Sophia. Sophia
chastises Tom for his lack of chastity, but agrees
to marry him. They live happily on Western's
estate with two children, and shower everyone
around them with kindness and generosity.
Book I
Chapter I.
The introduction to the work, or bill of fare to the feast.
An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman who gives a private or elemosynary treat, but
rather as one who keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are welcome for their money. In the former
case, it is well known that the entertainer provides what fare he pleases; and though this should be very
indifferent, and utterly disagreeable to the taste of his company, they must not find any fault; nay, on the
contrary, good breeding forces them outwardly to approve and to commend whatever is set before them.
Now the contrary of this happens to the master of an ordinary. Men who pay for what they eat will insist on
gratifying their palates, however nice and whimsical these may prove; and if everything is not agreeable to
their taste, will challenge a right to censure, to abuse, and to d—n their dinner without control.
To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their customers by any such disappointment, it hath been usual
with the honest and well-meaning host to provide a bill of fare which all persons may peruse at their first
entrance into the house; and having thence acquainted themselves with the entertainment which they may
expect, may either stay and regale with what is provided for them, or may depart to some other ordinary
better accommodated to their taste.
As we do not disdain to borrow wit or wisdom from any man who is capable of lending us either, we have
condescended to take a hint from these honest victuallers, and shall prefix not only a general bill of fare to
our whole entertainment, but shall likewise give the reader particular bills to every course which is to be
served up in this and the ensuing volumes.
The provision, then, which we have here made is no other than _Human Nature_. Nor do I fear that my
sensible reader, though most luxurious in his taste, will start, cavil, or be offended, because I have named
but one article. The tortoise—as the alderman of Bristol, well learned in eating, knows by much
experience—besides the delicious calipash and calipee, contains many different kinds of food; nor can the
learned reader be ignorant, that in human nature, though here collected under one general name, is such
prodigious variety, that a cook will have sooner gone through all the several species of animal and
vegetable food in the world, than an author will be able to exhaust so extensive a subject.
An objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more delicate, that this dish is too common and
vulgar; for what else is the subject of all the romances, novels, plays, and poems, with which the stalls
~ 62 ~
abound? Many exquisite viands might be rejected by the epicure, if it was a sufficient cause for his
contemning of them as common and vulgar, that something was to be found in the most paltry alleys under
the same name. In reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in authors, as the Bayonne ham, or
Bologna sausage, is to be found in the shops.
But the whole, to continue the same metaphor, consists in the cookery of the author; for, as Mr Pope tells
us—
"True wit is nature to advantage drest;
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well exprest."
The same animal which hath the honour to have some part of his flesh eaten at the table of a duke, may
perhaps be degraded in another part, and some of his limbs gibbeted, as it were, in the vilest stall in town.
Where, then, lies the difference between the food of the nobleman and the porter, if both are at dinner on
the same ox or calf, but in the seasoning, the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting forth? Hence the one
provokes and incites the most languid appetite, and the other turns and palls that which is the sharpest
and keenest.
In like manner, the excellence of the mental entertainment consists less in the subject than in the author's
skill in well dressing it up. How pleased, therefore, will the reader be to find that we have, in the following
work, adhered closely to one of the highest principles of the best cook which the present age, or perhaps
that of Heliogabalus, hath produced. This great man, as is well known to all lovers of polite eating, begins
at first by setting plain things before his hungry guests, rising afterwards by degrees as their stomachs may
be supposed to decrease, to the very quintessence of sauce and spices. In like manner, we shall represent
human nature at first to the keen appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple manner in which it
is found in the country, and shall hereafter hash and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian seasoning
of affectation and vice which courts and cities afford. By these means, we doubt not but our reader may be
rendered desirous to read on for ever, as the great person just above-mentioned is supposed to have made
some persons eat.
Having premised thus much, we will now detain those who like our bill of fare no longer from their diet,
and shall proceed directly to serve up the first course of our history for their entertainment.
Book II
CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFERENT DEGREES OF LIFE; AND
VARIOUS OTHER TRANSACTIONS DURING THE FIRST TWO YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE
BETWEEN CAPTAIN BLIFIL AND MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY.
Chapter i.
Showing what kind of a history this is; what it is like, and what it is not like.
Though we have properly enough entitled this our work, a history, and not a life; nor an apology for a life,
as is more in fashion; yet we intend in it rather to pursue the method of those writers, who profess to
disclose the revolutions of countries, than to imitate the painful and voluminous historian, who, to
preserve the regularity of his series, thinks himself obliged to fill up as much paper with the detail of
months and years in which nothing remarkable happened, as he employs upon those notable aeras when
the greatest scenes have been transacted on the human stage.
Such histories as these do, in reality, very much resemble a newspaper, which consists of just the same
number of words, whether there be any news in it or not. They may likewise be compared to a stage coach,
~ 63 ~
which performs constantly the same course, empty as well as full. The writer, indeed, seems to think
himself obliged to keep even pace with time, whose amanuensis he is; and, like his master, travels as slowly
through centuries of monkish dulness, when the world seems to have been asleep, as through that bright
and busy age so nobly distinguished by the excellent Latin poet—
_Ad confligendum venientibus undique poenis,
Omnia cum belli trepido concussa tumultu
Horrida contremuere sub altis aetheris auris;
In dubioque fuit sub utrorum regna cadendum
Omnibus humanis esset, terraque marique._
Of which we wish we could give our readers a more adequate translation than that by Mr Creech—
When dreadful Carthage frighted Rome with arms,
And all the world was shook with fierce alarms;
Whilst undecided yet, which part should fall,
Which nation rise the glorious lord of all.
Now it is our purpose, in the ensuing pages, to pursue a contrary method. When any extraordinary scene
presents itself (as we trust will often be the case), we shall spare no pains nor paper to open it at large to
our reader; but if whole years should pass without producing anything worthy his notice, we shall not be
afraid of a chasm in our history; but shall hasten on to matters of consequence, and leave such periods of
time totally unobserved.
These are indeed to be considered as blanks in the grand lottery of time. We therefore, who are the
registers of that lottery, shall imitate those sagacious persons who deal in that which is drawn at Guildhall,
and who never trouble the public with the many blanks they dispose of; but when a great prize happens to
be drawn, the newspapers are presently filled with it, and the world is sure to be informed at whose office it
was sold: indeed, commonly two or three different offices lay claim to the honour of having disposed of it;
by which, I suppose, the adventurers are given to understand that certain brokers are in the secrets of
Fortune, and indeed of her cabinet council.
My reader then is not to be surprized, if, in the course of this work, he shall find some chapters very short,
and others altogether as long; some that contain only the time of a single day, and others that comprise
years; in a word, if my history sometimes seems to stand still, and sometimes to fly. For all which I shall
not look on myself as accountable to any court of critical jurisdiction whatever: for as I am, in reality, the
founder of a new province of writing, so I am at liberty to make what laws I please therein. And these laws,
my readers, whom I consider as my subjects, are bound to believe in and to obey; with which that they may
readily and cheerfully comply, I do hereby assure them that I shall principally regard their ease and
advantage in all such institutions: for I do not, like a _jure divino_ tyrant, imagine that they are my slaves,
or my commodity. I am, indeed, set over them for their own good only, and was created for their use, and
not they for mine. Nor do I doubt, while I make their interest the great rule of my writings, they will
unanimously concur in supporting my dignity, and in rendering me all the honour I shall deserve or desire.
~ 64 ~
Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling
An Introduction
Henry Fielding's Tom Jones is both one of the
great comic masterpieces of English
literature and a major force in the
development of the novel form. By 1749, the
year Tom Jones appeared, the novel was
only beginning to be recognized as a
potentially literary form. Samuel
Richardson's novel Clarissa had appeared
only the year before, and for the most part in
intellectual circles prose fiction was not
considered a worthy pursuit. Despite the
publication by Jonathan Swift, a member of
the literary elite surrounding Alexander Pope,
Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, of
Gulliver's Travels in 1726, the sanctioned
genres of the first half of the eighteenth
century were verse and drama. The novels of
Daniel Defoe, seen by many as purely
adventure tales, were not regarded as
worthy of serious consideration. They were,
however, instrumental in the development of
a suitable reading public, without which
Fielding probably would not have attempted
any form of sustained prose fiction.
But while Defoe still followed the
seventeenth century tradition of claiming his
fiction was fact, and Richardson professed
that his tales were moral tracts, emphasizing
the instructional rather than the fictional
aspect, Fielding was the first major novelist
to unabashedly write fiction. At the same
time, he undertook an initial critical theory of
the new fictional form he was creating:
together with the preface to Joseph Andrews
(1742), the introductory chapters preceding
the individual books in Tom Jones constitute
the first extended body of work in English
which attempts to define and explain the
novel as a literary genre. In the preface
Joseph Andrews, Fielding described his own
fictional form as "a comic romance" or a
"comic epic poem in prose," and in Tom
Jones as a "heroical, historical prosaic poem"
(IV, 1); a form of "prosai-comi-epic writing"
(V, 1). In defining the novel as an epic
genre, Fielding emphasized its function in
presenting a broad picture of an era, but
one, unlike verse epic, in which primarily the
weaknesses of humanity are put on display.
Although he termed his new style of writing
"history," his definition of the budding genre
still influences our understanding of
novelistic fiction. According to Fielding, the
appropriate subject of the novel is human
nature (often in its more ridiculous guises)
rather than ghosts and fairies; he sees no
excuse for the "modern" writer to introduce
supernatural agents (VIII, 1). His insistence
on conforming to the rules of probability
rather than mere possibility is integral to the
development of the novel as we know it.
Fielding knew what he wanted to do in prose
fiction and understood the novelty of his
undertaking in a way many of his
predecessors had not. He is not modest
about pointing this out either:
[...] I shall not look on myself as
accountable to any court of critical
jurisdiction whatever; for as I am, in
reality, the founder of a new province
of writing, so I am at liberty to make
what laws I please therein. (II, 1)
Although these claims to originality are
largely justified, Tom Jones contains many
conventional narrative elements as well
which Fielding had already made use of in
Joseph Andrews (1742), including an
ostensibly picaresque form, inserted
narrative and the discovery of true identity.
But while the character Joseph, with his
origins in parody, suffers from an element of
the ridiculous, Tom emerges as a deeper
character who even goes through a certain
amount of superficial moral development.
Tom Jones exemplifies serious aspects of
Fielding's concept of benevolence and good
nature, his generous personality reflecting
Fielding's moral philosophy. At the same
time, it is from his impulsive and affectionate
nature that many of his troubles spring. He is
contrasted to the inhibited, self-seeking
hypocrite Blifil, his opposite and, as it turns
out, his half-brother. Fielding frequently uses
this method of contrasting pairs to manage
his huge cast of characters: Tom is opposed
to Blifil, Sophia to Molly and later Lady
Bellaston, and Allworthy to Squire Western.
The same technique is used with the minor
characters: the tutors of Tom and Blifil are
Thwackum, representing blind respect for
authority, and Square, representing abstract
ethics.
~ 65 ~
Despite Fielding's insistence on realism, for
the most part the figures in Tom Jones are
recognizably indebted to stock theatrical
types. Like his predecessor Aphra Behn,
Fielding was a dramatist before he was a
novelist, but while this dramatic training
primarily lead Behn to introduce the rhythms
of spoken language to prose fiction, the
influence of drama on Fielding's novels was
in formal structural elements. For example,
he employs concrete "visual" symbols such
as Sophia's muff to anchor the reader and
focus his or her attention in a way similar to
the use of stage properties. The most
obvious influence of drama on Tom Jones is
in the intricacies of the plot, which are the
typical confusions of comedy.
which will bring about a resolution. The last
six books plunge Tom into disastrous
circumstances through his actions and get
him out of them again. When he is in prison
about to be hanged, he hears that Sophia
has refused to speak to or see him again as
a result of his affair with Lady Bellaston. As if
this were not enough, he even has to face
the possibility that he might have committed
incest. But it is this last misfortune which
also brings about his change of fortune: it is
through Jenny Jones, Tom's purported
mother who is now known as Mrs. Waters,
that the truth of Tom's birth emerges. This
brings about a reconciliation with Squire
Allworthy and Sophia, and the downfall of
Blifil.
The neatly constructed plot reflects a basic
eighteenth century faith in the order of the
world, which Fielding, despite skeptical
overtones, displayed in this huge but far
from sprawling novel. Samuel Taylor
Coleridge saw the plot of Tom Jones as one
of the three most perfectly planned plots in
literature. Even seemingly random details
have a place, and at the end of the tale the
reader notices that elements which might
have appeared superfluous are necessary to
round off the story. The role of the lawyer
Dowling is a case in point. In his original
appearance he seems only to contribute to
the busy atmosphere of the scene, but at the
end he is revealed to have been instrumental
to the development of events. The scene at
the inn in Upton, exactly halfway through the
novel, is a plot node of great complexity:
here all of the major actors and plot threads
come together, and actions and
misunderstandings occur which will be crucial
for the climax and denouement. Despite the
involved construction and numerous plot
twists, the author is at great pains to provide
adequate motivation for these machinations,
creating an appearance of causality usually
lacking in the monumental prose romances
popular in his day.
The formal tidiness displayed by Tom Jones
is more the exception than the rule in the
history of the novel: Clarissa or Oliver Twist
do not display this kind of neatness. And at
times, Tom Jones might seem almost too
well-made, since the elaborate construction
is not calculated to give the reader a sense
of real, unpredictable, day-to-day life. On the
other hand, part of Fielding's originality is
precisely in the honesty and exuberance with
which he creates his fictional world: by
drawing attention to the nature of the
artifice, the authorial intrusions into the
narrative prevent the novel from ever taking
on the appearance of a true chronicle of
events. This admittance of artifice is not
common in the novel either. For the most
part, the legacy of Tom Jones was not in any
influence on structure; it was to make the
English novel until the late nineteenth
century primarily a comic genre.
Not only is the plot of Tom Jones famous for
its intricacy, it is also highly symmetrical in
design. The novel has eighteen books, six for
the beginning, six for the middle, and six for
the end, conforming to the three parts
recommended by Aristotle. The first six
books give the cause of the action: Tom's
open, sensual nature; the conflict with Blifil;
the misunderstanding with Squire Allworthy;
Tom's love for Sophia and their separation.
The next six contain both the consequences
of the first six and the incidents and details
The most original and memorable element of
Tom Jones, however, is the narrative voice
informing the action and discoursing on the
philosophy of writing to the reader in the
introductory chapters. Fielding controls the
reader's response thorough the urbane,
tolerant presence of the figure of the
omniscient author, a polished and rational
gentleman with a pronounced sense of the
ridiculous who emerges as the true moral
focus in the novel. While this technique
sacrifices to a certain extent the sense of
identification and verisimilitude provided by
the first-person or epistolary forms used by
Defoe and Richardson, the reading
experience is enriched by the analysis of the
all-knowing 'author.' On the other hand, the
wry narrative voice accounts for various
comic effects Fielding achieves in this
remarkable novel; it is often the detached
~ 66 ~
description which transforms a melodramatic
situation into a comic one.
This authorial presence, an integral element
of Fielding's aesthetic undertaking, is a very
recognizably masculine presence; an allknowing male author figure who rules over
his fictional world for the good of his readers:
[...] these laws my readers, whom I
consider as my subjects, are bound to
believe and to obey; with which that
they may readily and cheerfully
comply, I do hearby assure them that
I shall principally regard their ease
and advantage in all such institutions;
for I do not, like a jure divino tyrant,
imagine that they are my slaves or
my commodity. I am, indeed, set over
them for their own good only, and
was created for their use and not they
for mine. Nor do I doubt, while I
make their interest the great rule of
my writings, they will unanimously
concur in supporting my dignity and in
rendering me all the honour I shall
deserve or desire. (II, 1)
Fielding's implied author demonstrates a
very paternal attitude towards both his
readers and his characters, displaying a
humorous tolerance to all, but ruling over
them implacably.
While Fielding's aesthetics are frankly
masculine, the moral assumptions exhibited
in the novel are also frankly sexist by today's
standards. The characterization of Tom Jones
displays a tolerance for virile young
manhood: he is a sensual youth, easily
succumbing to temptation of a sexual nature.
This tolerance doesn't work the other way
around, however; the heroine Sophia is
virginal and pure, while the women who
indulge in sensual pleasures are either
tramps like Molly or hypocrites like Lady
Bellaston (the lowest of the low in Fielding's
moral universe). An exception to this can be
found in the portrayal of Jenny Jones (Mrs.
Waters), who was originally betrayed into
living an "immoral" life and once having lost
her virtue had no choice but to continue in
her sinful ways. Fielding's frank acceptance
of (male) sensuality was regarded by many
contemporaries with disapproval. The more
puritan Richardson criticized outright what he
saw as a "very bad tendency" in Fielding's
work, and with Sir Charles Grandison (1753)
he attempted to create a hero as virtuous as
any heroine.
It has become commonplace in literary
history to recognize masculine and feminine
traditions in the novel going back to Tom
Jones and Clarissa. This can be misleading in
more than just the fact that both of the
seminal works in these supposedly gender
specific novelistic modes were written by
men: Sophia, for example, has more spirit
than Richardson's feminine ideal, Clarissa. In
addition, the omniscient, "masculine"
authorial voice developed by Fielding was
used to great effect by that female master of
the Victorian novel, George Eliot. For most of
the next century, however, it did remain true
that the wise, god-like author-figure Fielding
created was not a role that could easily be
played by women writers. Social restrictions
requiring them to deal with emotions or
domestic affairs made the form of the novel
developed by Richardson much more suitable
for women than the social panorama of a
novel like Tom Jones. As Fielding also
asserted that authors should have some
experience of what they write about (XIV, 1),
it would seem to follow that women would
not be able to write in the epic fictional mode
he established.
The god-like omniscience of the authorial
narrator in Tom Jones needs to be taken with
a grain of salt, however. The authorial
narrator is portrayed as all-knowing and allseeing, but a reader who relies exclusively
on the expressed judgment calls of the
narrator will be deceived: one of Fielding's
techniques is to introduce important details
that are given very little attention by the
narrative voice, lulling the reader into
ignoring them. The omnipotent role is
somewhat tongue-in-cheek, as is much of
Tom Jones. Take for example one of the
introductory chapters in which Fielding lays
down the rules of the new genre:
Peradventure there may be no parts in this
prodigious work which will give the reader
less pleasure in perusing than those which
have given the author the greatest pains in
composing. Among these, probably, may be
reckoned those initial essays which we have
prefixed to the historical matter contained in
every book, and which we have determined
to be essentially necessary to this kind of
writing, of which we have set ourselves at
the head.
For this our determination we do not hold
ourselves strictly bound to assign any
reason, it being abundantly sufficient that we
have laid it down as a rule necessary to be
~ 67 ~
observed in all prosai-comi-epic writing. Who
ever demanded the reasons of that nice unity
of time or place which is now established as
so essential to dramatic poetry? (V, 1)
Here the game Fielding is playing with his
readers becomes obvious, especially when he
compares his prefaces to the rule of dramatic
unity; the comments following this passage
make it abundantly clear that he scorns the
convention. Of course, the inclusion of
prefaces is one rule set down in Tom Jones
which has found next to no imitation, and it
appears likely that Fielding would not have
been disappointed by that fact. What Fielding
did establish with Tom Jones, however, was
the role of the novel as the modern epic
form. And many of the other "rules" he put
forth -- plausibility over possibility, for
example -- still exert a strong influence on
novelistic fiction today.
~ 68 ~
Laurence Sterne
Tristram Shandy
Summary
The action covered in Tristram Shandy spans the
years 1680-1766. Sterne obscures the story's
underlying chronology, however, by rearranging
the order of the various pieces of his tale. He also
subordinates the basic plot framework by
weaving together a number of different stories, as
well as such disparate materials as essays,
sermons, and legal documents. There are,
nevertheless, two clearly discernible narrative
lines in the book.
The first is the plot sequence that includes
Tristram's conception, birth, christening, and
accidental circumcision. (This sequence extends
somewhat further in Tristram's treatment of his
"breeching," the problem of his education, and
his first and second tours of France, but these
events are handled less extensively and are not as
central to the text.) It takes six volumes to cover
this chain of events, although comparatively few
pages are spent in actually advancing such a
simple plot. The story occurs as a series of
accidents, all of which seem calculated to
confound Walter Shandy's hopes and
expectations for his son. The manner of his
conception is the first disaster, followed by the
flattening of his nose at birth, a
misunderstanding in which he is given the wrong
name, and an accidental run-in with a falling
window-sash. The catastrophes that befall
Tristram are actually relatively trivial; only in the
context of Walter Shandy's eccentric, pseudoscientific theories do they become calamities.
The second major plot consists of the fortunes of
Tristram's Uncle Toby. Most of the details of this
story are concentrated in the final third of the
novel, although they are alluded to and developed
in piecemeal fashion from the very beginning.
Toby receives a wound to the groin while in the
army, and it takes him four years to recover.
When he is able to move around again, he retires
to the country with the idea of constructing a
scaled replica of the scene of the battle in which
he was injured. He becomes obsessed with reenacting those battles, as well as with the whole
history and theory of fortification and defense.
The Peace of Utrecht slows him down in these
"hobby-horsical" activities, however, and it is
during this lull that he falls under the spell of
Widow Wadman. The novel ends with the longpromised account of their unfortunate affair.
Volume 1
I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to
it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly consider'd how much depended
upon what they were then doing;—that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but
that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his
mind;—and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn
from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost;—Had they duly weighed and considered
all this, and proceeded accordingly,—I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in
the world, from that in which the reader is likely to see me.—Believe me, good folks, this is not so
inconsiderable a thing as many of you may think it;—you have all, I dare say, heard of the animal spirits, as
how they are transfused from father to son, &c. &c.—and a great deal to that purpose:—Well, you may take
my word, that nine parts in ten of a man's sense or his nonsense, his successes and miscarriages in this
world depend upon their motions and activity, and the different tracks and trains you put them into, so
that when they are once set a-going, whether right or wrong, 'tis not a matter,—away they go cluttering like
hey-go mad; and by treading the same steps over and over again, they presently make a road of it, as plain
and as smooth as a garden-walk, which, when they are once used to, the Devil himself sometimes shall not
be able to drive them off it.
Pray my Dear, quoth my mother, have you not forgot to wind up the clock?—Good G..! cried my father,
making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice at the same time,—Did ever woman, since
the creation of the world, interrupt a man with such a silly question? Pray, what was your father saying?—
Nothing.
~ 69 ~
Book VI
Chapter 38
To conceive this right,—call for pen and ink—here's paper ready to your hand.—Sit down, Sir, paint her to
your own mind—as like your mistress as you can—as unlike your wife as your conscience will let you—'tis
all one to me—please but your own fancy in it.
(blank page)
THE VERY PLACE
C H A P. XX.
------ * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * --------- You shall see the very place, Madam, said my uncle Toby.
Mrs. Wadman blush'd ---- look'd towards the door ---- turn'd pale ---- blush'd slightly again ---recovered her natural colour ---- blush'd worse than ever ; which for the sake of the unlearned
reader, I translate thus ---``L--d!
`` L--d! I cannot look at it ---`` What would the world say if I look'd at it?
`` I should drop down, if I look'd at it -`` I wish I could look at it ---`` There can be no sin in looking at it.
---- ``I will look at it.''
Whilst all this was running through Mrs. Wadman's imagination, my uncle Toby had risen from the
sopha, and got to the other side of the parlour-door, to give Trim an order about it in the passage ---[...]
My uncle Toby returned into the parlour, and sat himself down again upon the sopha.
---- You shall lay your finger upon the place -- said my uncle Toby. ---- I will not touch it, however,
quoth Mrs. Wadman to herself.
This requires a second translation : -- it shews what little knowledge is got by mere words -- we
must go up to the first springs.
Now in order to clear up the mist which hangs upon these three pages, I must endeavour to be as
clear as possible myself.
Rub your hands thrice across your foreheads -- blow your noses -- cleanse your emunctories -sneeze, my good people!
---- God bless you ---Now give me all the help you can.
~ 70 ~
William Blake
The Garden Of Love
Poem lyrics of The Garden Of Love by William Blake.
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
"The Lamb"
Summary
The poem begins with the question, "Little Lamb,
who made thee?" The speaker, a child, asks the
lamb about its origins: how it came into being,
how it acquired its particular manner of feeding,
its "clothing" of wool, its "tender voice." In the
next stanza, the speaker attempts a riddling
answer to his own question: the lamb was made
by one who "calls himself a Lamb," one who
resembles in his gentleness both the child and the
lamb. The poem ends with the child bestowing a
blessing on the lamb.
Form
"The Lamb" has two stanzas, each containing five
rhymed couplets. Repetition in the first and last
couplet of each stanza makes these lines into a
refrain, and helps to give the poem its song-like
quality. The flowing l's and soft vowel sounds
contribute to this effect, and also suggest the
bleating of a lamb or the lisping character of a
child's chant.
Commentary
The poem is a child's song, in the form of a
question and answer. The first stanza is rural and
descriptive, while the second focuses on abstract
spiritual matters and contains explanation and
analogy. The child's question is both naive and
profound. The question ("who made thee?") is a
simple one, and yet the child is also tapping into
the deep and timeless questions that all human
beings have, about their own origins and the
nature of creation. The poem's apostrophic form
contributes to the effect of naiveté, since the
situation of a child talking to an animal is a
believable one, and not simply a literary
contrivance. Yet by answering his own question,
the child converts it into a rhetorical one, thus
counteracting the initial spontaneous sense of the
poem. The answer is presented as a puzzle or
riddle, and even though it is an easy one--child's
play--this also contributes to an underlying sense
of ironic knowingness or artifice in the poem. The
child's answer, however, reveals his confidence in
his simple Christian faith and his innocent
acceptance of its teachings.
The lamb of course symbolizes Jesus. The
traditional image of Jesus as a lamb underscores
the Christian values of gentleness, meekness, and
peace. The image of the child is also associated
with Jesus: in the Gospel, Jesus displays a special
solicitude for children, and the Bible's depiction
of Jesus in his childhood shows him as guileless
~ 71 ~
and vulnerable. These are also the characteristics
from which the child-speaker approaches the
ideas of nature and of God. This poem, like many
of the Songs of Innocence, accepts what Blake
saw as the more positive aspects of conventional
Christian belief. But it does not provide a
completely adequate doctrine, because it fails to
account for the presence of suffering and evil in
the world. The pendant (or companion) poem to
this one, found in the Songs of Experience, is
"The Tyger"; taken together, the two poems give a
perspective on religion that includes the good
and clear as well as the terrible and inscrutable.
These poems complement each other to produce
a fuller account than either offers independently.
They offer a good instance of how Blake himself
stands somewhere outside the perspectives of
innocence and experience he projects.
"The Tyger"
Summary
The poem begins with the speaker asking a
fearsome tiger what kind of divine being could
have created it: "What immortal hand or eye/
Could frame they fearful symmetry?" Each
subsequent stanza contains further questions, all
of which refine this first one. From what part of
the cosmos could the tiger's fiery eyes have come,
and who would have dared to handle that fire?
What sort of physical presence, and what kind of
dark craftsmanship, would have been required to
"twist the sinews" of the tiger's heart? The
speaker wonders how, once that horrible heart
"began to beat," its creator would have had the
courage to continue the job. Comparing the
creator to a blacksmith, he ponders about the
anvil and the furnace that the project would have
required and the smith who could have wielded
them. And when the job was done, the speaker
wonders, how would the creator have felt? "Did
he smile his work to see?" Could this possibly be
the same being who made the lamb?
Form
The poem is comprised of six quatrains in
rhymed couplets. The meter is regular and
rhythmic, its hammering beat suggestive of the
smithy that is the poem's central image. The
simplicity and neat proportions of the poems
form perfectly suit its regular structure, in which
a string of questions all contribute to the
articulation of a single, central idea.
Commentary
The opening question enacts what will be the
single dramatic gesture of the poem, and each
subsequent stanza elaborates on this conception.
Blake is building on the conventional idea that
nature, like a work of art, must in some way
contain a reflection of its creator. The tiger is
strikingly beautiful yet also horrific in its capacity
for violence. What kind of a God, then, could or
would design such a terrifying beast as the tiger?
In more general terms, what does the undeniable
existence of evil and violence in the world tell us
about the nature of God, and what does it mean
to live in a world where a being can at once
contain both beauty and horror?
The tiger initially appears as a strikingly
sensuous image. However, as the poem
progresses, it takes on a symbolic character, and
comes to embody the spiritual and moral
problem the poem explores: perfectly beautiful
and yet perfectly destructive, Blake's tiger
becomes the symbolic center for an investigation
into the presence of evil in the world. Since the
tiger's remarkable nature exists both in physical
and moral terms, the speaker's questions about
its origin must also encompass both physical and
moral dimensions. The poem's series of questions
repeatedly ask what sort of physical creative
capacity the "fearful symmetry" of the tiger
bespeaks; assumedly only a very strong and
powerful being could be capable of such a
creation.
The smithy represents a traditional image of
artistic creation; here Blake applies it to the
divine creation of the natural world. The
"forging" of the tiger suggests a very physical,
laborious, and deliberate kind of making; it
emphasizes the awesome physical presence of the
tiger and precludes the idea that such a creation
could have been in any way accidentally or
haphazardly produced. It also continues from the
first description of the tiger the imagery of fire
with its simultaneous connotations of creation,
purification, and destruction. The speaker stands
in awe of the tiger as a sheer physical and
aesthetic achievement, even as he recoils in
horror from the moral implications of such a
creation; for the poem addresses not only the
question of who could make such a creature as
the tiger, but who would perform this act. This is
a question of creative responsibility and of will,
and the poet carefully includes this moral
question with the consideration of physical
power. Note, in the third stanza, the parallelism
of "shoulder" and "art," as well as the fact that it
is not just the body but also the "heart" of the
tiger that is being forged. The repeated use of
word the "dare" to replace the "could" of the first
stanza introduces a dimension of aspiration and
willfulness into the sheer might of the creative
act.
~ 72 ~
The reference to the lamb in the penultimate
stanza reminds the reader that a tiger and a lamb
have been created by the same God, and raises
questions about the implications of this. It also
invites a contrast between the perspectives of
"experience" and "innocence" represented here
and in the poem "The Lamb." "The Tyger"
consists entirely of unanswered questions, and
the poet leaves us to awe at the complexity of
creation, the sheer magnitude of God's power,
and the inscrutability of divine will. The
perspective of experience in this poem involves a
sophisticated acknowledgment of what is
unexplainable in the universe, presenting evil as
the prime example of something that cannot be
denied, but will not withstand facile explanation,
either. The open awe of "The Tyger" contrasts
with the easy confidence, in "The Lamb," of a
child's innocent faith in a benevolent universe.
"London"
Summary
The speaker wanders through the streets of
London and comments on his observations. He
sees despair in the faces of the people he meets
and hears fear and repression in their voices. The
woeful cry of the chimney-sweeper stands as a
chastisement to the Church, and the blood of a
soldier stains the outer walls of the monarch's
residence. The nighttime holds nothing more
promising: the cursing of prostitutes corrupts the
newborn infant and sullies the "Marriage hearse."
Form
The poem has four quatrains, with alternate lines
rhyming. Repetition is the most striking formal
feature of the poem, and it serves to emphasize
the prevalence of the horrors the speaker
describes.
Commentary
The opening image of wandering, the focus on
sound, and the images of stains in this poem's
first lines recall the Introduction to Songs of
Innocence, but with a twist; we are now quite far
from the piping, pastoral bard of the earlier
poem: we are in the city. The poem's title denotes
a specific geographic space, not the archetypal
locales in which many of the other Songs are set.
Everything in this urban space--even the natural
River Thames--submits to being "charter'd," a
term which combines mapping and legalism.
Blake's repetition of this word (which he then
tops with two repetitions of "mark" in the next
two lines) reinforces the sense of stricture the
speaker feels upon entering the city. It is as if
language itself, the poet's medium, experiences a
hemming-in, a restriction of resources. Blake's
repetition, thudding and oppressive, reflects the
suffocating atmosphere of the city. But words
also undergo transformation within this
repetition: thus "mark," between the third and
fourth lines, changes from a verb to a pair of
nouns--from an act of observation which leaves
"The Nurse's Song"
When the voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And every thing else is still
some room for imaginative elaboration, to an
indelible imprint, branding the people's bodies
regardless of the speaker's actions.
Ironically, the speaker's "meeting" with these
marks represents the experience closest to a
human encounter that the poem will offer the
speaker. All the speaker's subjects--men, infants,
chimney-sweeper, soldier, harlot--are known
only through the traces they leave behind: the
ubiquitous cries, the blood on the palace walls.
Signs of human suffering abound, but a complete
human form--the human form that Blake has
used repeatedly in the Songs to personify and
render natural phenomena--is lacking. In the
third stanza the cry of the chimney-sweep and the
sigh of the soldier metamorphose (almost
mystically) into soot on church walls and blood
on palace walls--but we never see the chimneysweep or the soldier themselves. Likewise,
institutions of power--the clergy, the
government--are rendered by synecdoche, by
mention of the places in which they reside.
Indeed, it is crucial to Blake's commentary that
neither the city's victims nor their oppressors
ever appear in body: Blake does not simply blame
a set of institutions or a system of enslavement
for the city's woes; rather, the victims help to
make their own "mind-forg'd manacles," more
powerful than material chains could ever be.
The poem climaxes at the moment when the cycle
of misery recommences, in the form of a new
human being starting life: a baby is born into
poverty, to a cursing, prostitute mother. Sexual
and marital union--the place of possible
regeneration and rebirth--are tainted by the
blight of venereal disease. Thus Blake's final
image is the "Marriage hearse," a vehicle in which
love and desire combine with death and
destruction.
~ 73 ~
Then come home my children, the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Come come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies
No no let us play, for it is yet day
And we cannot go to sleep
Besides in the sky, the little birds fly
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep
Well well go & play till the light fades away
And then go home to bed
The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd
And all the hills ecchoed
Summary
The scene of the poem features a group of
children playing outside in the hills, while their
nurse listens to them in contentment. As twilight
begins to fall, she gently urges them to "leave off
play" and retire to the house for the night. They
ask to play on till bedtime, for as long as the light
lasts. The nurse yields to their pleas, and the
children shout and laugh with joy while the hills
echo their gladness.
Form
The poem has four quatrains, rhymed ABCB and
containing an internal rhyme in the third line of
each verse.
Commentary
This is a poem of affinities and correspondences.
There is no suggestion of alienation, either
between children and adults or between man and
nature, and even the dark certainty of nightfall is
tempered by the promise of resuming play in the
morning. The theme of the poem is the children's
innocent and simple joy. Their happiness persists
unabashed and uninhibited, and without shame
the children plead for permission to continue in
it. The sounds and games of the children
harmonize with a busy world of sheep and birds.
They think of themselves as part of nature, and
cannot bear the thought of abandoning their play
while birds and sheep still frolic in the sky and on
the hills, for the children share the innocence and
unselfconscious spontaneity of these natural
creatures. They also approach the world with a
cheerful optimism, focusing not on the
impending nightfall but on the last drops of
daylight that surely can be eked out of the
evening.
A similar innocence characterizes the pleasure
the adult nurse takes in watching her charges
play. Their happiness inspires in her a feeling of
peace, and their desire to prolong their own
delight is one she readily indulges. She is a kind
of angelic, guardian presence who, while standing
apart from the children, supports rather than
overshadows their innocence. As an adult, she is
identified with "everything else" in nature; but
while her inner repose does contrast with the
children's exuberant delight, the difference does
not constitute an antagonism. Rather, her
tranquility resonates with the evening's natural
stillness, and both seem to envelop the carefree
children in a tender protection.
~ 74 ~
"Holy Thursday"
Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns.
It is eternal winter there.
Summary
The poem begins with a series of questions: how
holy is the sight of children living in misery in a
prosperous country? Might the children's "cry,"
as they sit assembled in St. Paul's Cathedral on
Holy Thursday, really be a song? "Can it be a
song of joy?" The speaker's own answer is that
the destitute existence of so many children
impoverishes the country no matter how
prosperous it may be in other ways: for these
children the sun does not shine, the fields do not
bear, all paths are thorny, and it is always winter.
Form
The four quatrains of this poem, which have four
beats each and rhyme ABAB, are a variation on
the ballad stanza.
Commentary
In the poem "Holy Thursday" from Songs of
Innocence, Blake described the public
appearance of charity school children in St. Paul's
Cathedral on Ascension Day. In this
"experienced" version, however, he critiques
rather than praises the charity of the institutions
responsible for hapless children. The speaker
entertains questions about the children as victims
of cruelty and injustice, some of which the earlier
poem implied. The rhetorical technique of the
poem is to pose a number of suspicious questions
that receive indirect, yet quite censoriously toned
answers. This is one of the poems in Songs of
Innocence and Experience that best show Blake's
incisiveness as a social critic.
In the first stanza, we learn that whatever care
these children receive is minimal and grudgingly
bestowed. The "cold and usurous hand" that
feeds them is motivated more by self-interest
than by love and pity. Moreover, this "hand"
metonymically represents not just the daily
guardians of the orphans, but the city of London
as a whole: the entire city has a civic
responsibility to these most helpless members of
their society, yet it delegates or denies this
obligation. Here the children must participate in
a public display of joy that poorly reflects their
actual circumstances, but serves rather to
reinforce the self-righteous complacency of those
who are supposed to care for them.
The song that had sounded so majestic in the
Songs of Innocence shrivels, here, to a "trembling
cry." In the first poem, the parade of children
found natural symbolization in London's mighty
river. Here, however, the children and the natural
world conceptually connect via a strikingly
different set of images: the failing crops and
sunless fields symbolize the wasting of a nation's
resources and the public's neglect of the future.
The thorns, which line their paths, link their
suffering to that of Christ. They live in an eternal
winter, where they experience neither physical
comfort nor the warmth of love. In the last
stanza, prosperity is defined in its most
rudimentary form: sun and rain and food are
enough to sustain life, and social intervention
into natural processes, which ought to improve
on these basic necessities, in fact reduce people to
poverty while others enjoy plenitude.
~ 75 ~
A Glossary of Literary Terms
Accumulatio: figure of speech in which the
points made previously are presented again in a
compact, forceful manner. It often employs the
use of climax in the summation of a speech.
E.g.: "Your organization, your vigilance, your
devotion to duty, your zeal for the cause must
be raised to the highest intensity." Winston
Churchill, Speech, 14 July 1941.
we shall fight with growing confidence
and growing strength in the air, ... We
shall never surrender. Churchill.
Anastrophe: transposition of normal word
order; most often found in Latin in the case of
prepositions and the words they control.
Anastrophe is a form of hyperbaton.
*The helmsman steered; the ship moved
on; yet never a breeze up blew.
(Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient
Mariner)
Alexandrine: a six-foot iambic line.
Allegory: a narrative in verse or prose in which
the literal events consistently point to a parallel
sequence of symbolic ideas. For example,
Dante’s journey in Divina Comedia is also a
symbol for the religious man’s progress from
sin to redemption.
Alliteration: repetition of the same sound
beginning several words in sequence.
*Let us go forth to lead the land we
love. J. F. Kennedy, Inaugural
Anacoluthon: lack of grammatical sequence; a
change in the grammatical construction within
the same sentence.
“he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart.” (William Shakespeare,
Henry V IV iii 346-6).
Anadiplosis: ("doubling back") the rhetorical
repetition of one or several words; specifically,
repetition of a word that ends one clause at the
beginning of the next.
*Men in great place are thrice servants:
servants of the sovereign or state;
servants of fame; and servants of
business. Francis Bacon
Anapest: a metrical foot in which two
unstressed syllables are followed by a stressed
one:
“on a boat” = U U Anaphora: the repetition of a word or phrase
at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses
or lines.
*We shall not flag or fail. We shall go
on to the end. We shall fight in France,
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
Antanaclasis: stylistic device in which the
same word is repeated, but each time with a
different sense. E.g.: “We must all hang
together, or assuredly we shall all hang
separately”, Benjamin Franklin.
Anticlimax: the descent in tension in a story
contrasting with a previous rise. See also
climax.
Antistrophe: repetition of the same word or
phrase at the end of successive clauses.
*In 1931, ten years ago, Japan invaded
Manchukuo -- without warning. In
1935, Italy invaded Ethiopia -- without
warning. In 1938, Hitler occupied
Austria -- without warning. In 1939,
Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia -without warning. Franklin D. Roosevelt
Antithesis: opposition, or contrast of ideas or
words in a balanced or parallel construction.
*Brutus: Not that I loved Caesar less,
but that I loved Rome more.
Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Apologue. A moral fable, usually featuring
personified animals or inanimate objects which
act like people to allow the author to comment
on the human condition.
Aporia: expression of doubt (often feigned) by
which a speaker appears uncertain as to what
he should think, say, or do.
*Then the steward said within himself,
'What shall I do?' Luke 16
Aposiopesis: rhetorical device by which the
speaker or writer deliberately stops short and
leaves something unexpressed, but yet obvious,
to be supplied by the imagination, giving the
~ 76 ~
impression that he/she is unwilling or unable to
continue. It often portrays being overcome with
passion (fear, anger, excitement) or modesty.
"Well, I lay if I get ahold of you I'll—."
(M. Twain, Tom Sawyer)
Apostrophe: a sudden turn from the general
audience to address a specific group or person
or personified abstraction absent or present.
*For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's
angel.
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar
loved him. Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Archaism: use of an older or obsolete form.
*Pipit sate upright in her chair
Some distance from where I was sitting;
T. S. Eliot, "A Cooking Egg"
Assonance: repetition of the same vowel sound
in words close to each other.
*So twice five miles of fertile ground...
(Coleridge, Kubla Khan)
Asyndeton: lack of conjunctions between
coordinate phrases, clauses, or words. In a list
of items, asyndeton gives the effect of
unpremeditated multiplicity, of an
extemporaneous rather than a labored account:

On his return he received medals,
honors, treasures, titles, fame.
The lack of the "and" conjunction gives the
impression that the list is perhaps not complete.
Compare:


She likes pickles, olives, raisins, dates,
pretzels.
She likes pickles, olives, raisins, dates,
and pretzels.
Blank Verse. Unrhymed iambic pentameter.
Caesura. A pause, metrical or rhetorical,
occurring somewhere in a line of poetry. The
pause may or may not be typographically
indicated.
Catalog: see enumeration.
Chiasmus: two corresponding pairs arranged
not in parallels (a-b-a-b) but in inverted order
(a-b-b-a); from shape of the Greek letter chi
(X).
*Those gallant men will remain often in
my thoughts and in my prayers always.
MacArthur
*Renown'd for conquest, and in council
skill'd. Addison et pacis ornamenta et
subsidia belli. Cicero, Pro lege Manilia
Cliché: a stereotyped phrase, theme or
structural pattern in a literary work.
Climax: arrangement of words, phrases, or
clauses in an order of ascending power. Often
the last emphatic word in one phrase or clause
is repeated as the first emphatic word of the
next.
*One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong
in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to
yield. Tennyson, Ulysses
Concatenation: stanza- or verse-linking by
verbal repetition.
“Pleasure might cause her read, reading
might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity
grace obtain”
(Sidney, Astrophil and Stella)
Conceit. An elaborate, usually intellectually
ingenious poetic comparison or image, such as
an analogy or metaphor in which, say a beloved
is compared to a ship, planet, etc. See John
Donne's "Valediction: Forbidding Mourning,"
for example: "Let man's soul be a sphere, and
then, in this, / The Intelligence that moves,
devotion is."
Connotation. The secondary (non-literal)
meaning of a word.
See for example mother / mum /
mummy.
Couplet. Two consecutive lines rhyming
together.
Decasyllable. A ten-syllable poetical line.
Denotation: the literal meaning of a word,
without any particular connotation.
~ 77 ~
Diction. All the stylistic elements of a single
literary work.
Elegy. A poetic composition intended as a
lament for the loss of someone.
End-stopped. A line that has a natural pause at
the end (period, comma, etc.). For example,
these lines are end stopped:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the
sun.
Coral is far more red than her lips red.
(Shakespeare)
Enjambement (run-on-line). The running
over of a sentence or thought into the next line
without a pause at the end of the line. For
example:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove. .
. . –Shakespeare
Iamb: U Trochee: - U
Anapest: U U Dactyl: - U U
Spondee: - Pyrrhic: U U
Free verse. Verse that has neither regular
rhyme nor regular meter. Free verse often uses
cadences rather than uniform metrical feet.
Hendiadys: use of two words connected by a
conjunction, instead of subordinating one to the
other, to express a single complex idea.
*It sure is nice and cool today! (for
"pleasantly cool")
*I love the Lord, because he hath heard
my voice and my supplications. Psalms
116
Heroic Couplet. Two lines of rhyming iambic
pentameter. Most of Alexander Pope's verse is
written in heroic couplets. In fact, it is the most
favored verse form of the eighteenth century.
Example:
Enumeration: list of words coordinated
through asyndeton or polysyndeton.
“A novice beginning . . . a farmer, mechanic,
artist, gentleman, sailor…” (W. Whitman)
u - u - u - u - u 'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Epigram. A short, satirical or humorous poem.
u - u - u - u - u Appear in writing or in judging ill. . . .
(Alexander Pope)
Euphemism. The substitution of a mild or less
negative word or phrase for a harsh or blunt
one, as in the use of "pass away" instead of
"die."
Exaggeration: see hyperbole.
Flashback. A device that allows the writer to
present events that happened before the time of
the current narration or the current events in the
fiction.
Foot. The basic unit of meter consisting of a
group of two or three syllables. Scanning or
scansion is the process of determining the
prevailing foot in a line of poetry, of
determining the types and sequence of different
feet.
Types of feet: U (unstressed); - (stressed
syllable)
[Note in the second line that "or" should be a
stressed syllable if the meter were perfectly
iambic. Iambic= a two syllable foot of one
unstressed and one stressed syllable, as in the
word "begin." Pentameter= five feet. Thus,
iambic pentameter has ten syllables, five feet of
two syllable iambs.]
Hypallage: ("exchanging") transferred epithet;
grammatical agreement of a word with another
word which it does not logically qualify. More
common in poetry.
“Alas what ignorant sin have I
committed?”, W. Shakespeare, Othello,
4.2.70
Hyperbaton: separation of words which
belong together, often to emphasize the first of
the separated words or to create a certain
image.
~ 78 ~
“Strange horror seize thee, and pangs
unfelt before”, J. Milton, Paradise Lost,
2.703
Hyperbole: exaggeration for emphasis or for
rhetorical effect.
*My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should got to praise
Thine eyes and on thine forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest. (Andrew
Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress")
Hysteron Proteron ("later-earlier"): inversion
of the natural sequence of events, often meant
to stress the event which, though later in time,
is considered the more important.
*Put on your shoes and socks!
Iamb. The most common foot in English
poetry: U Invective. Speech or writing that abuses,
denounces, or attacks. It can be directed against
a person, cause, idea, or system. It employs a
heavy use of negative emotive language.
Example:

I cannot but conclude the bulk of your
natives to be the most pernicious race of
little odious vermin that nature ever
suffered to crawl upon the surface of the
earth. --Swift
Irony. A mode of expression conveying a
reality different from and usually opposite to
appearance or expectation. A writer may say
the opposite of what he means, create a reversal
between expectation and its fulfillment, or give
the audience knowledge that a character lacks,
making the character's words have meaning to
the audience not perceived by the character. In
verbal irony, the writer's meaning or even his
attitude may be different from what he says:
"Why, no one would dare argue that there
could be anything more important in choosing a
college than its proximity to the beach." The
irony is generated by the surprise recognition
by the audience of a reality in contrast with
expectation or appearance, while another
audience, victim, or character puts confidence
in the appearance as reality. The surprise
recognition by the audience often produces a
comic effect, making irony often funny.
Kenning. In Anglo-Saxon poetry, a condensed
simile or metaphor: “sky candle” for sun.
Litotes: understatement, for intensification, by
denying the contrary of the thing being
affirmed. (Sometimes used synonymously with
meiosis.)
*A few unannounced quizzes are not
inconceivable.
Metaphor: implied comparison achieved
through a figurative use of words; the word is
used not in its literal sense, but in one
analogous to it.
“Life's but a walking shadow; a poor
player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the
stage” Shakespeare, Macbeth
“From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in
the Adriatic, an iron curtain has
descended across the continent.” W.
Churchill
Metonymy: substitution of one word for
another which it suggests.
*He is a man of the cloth.
*The pen is mightier than the sword.
*By the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat
thy bread.
Metre. The rhythmic pattern produced when
words are arranged so that their stressed and
unstressed syllables fall into a more or less
regular sequence, resulting in repeated patterns
of accent (called feet). See feet and
versification.
Mock Epic. Treating a frivolous or minor
subject seriously, especially by using the
machinery and devices of the epic (invocations,
descriptions of armor, battles, extended similes,
etc.). The opposite of travesty. Examples:


Alexander Pope, The Dunciad
Alexander Pope, Rape of the Lock
Novel. Extended prose fiction narrative,
broadly realistic--concerning the everyday
events of ordinary people--and concerned with
character. "People in significant action" is one
~ 79 ~
way of describing it. Another definition might
be "an extended, fictional prose narrative about
realistic characters and events." It is a
representation of life, experience, and learning.
Action, discovery, and description are
important elements, but the most important
tends to be one or more characters--how they
grow, learn, find--or don't grow, learn, or find.
Novella. A prose fiction longer than a short
story but shorter than a novel. For example
Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness
*The dying Mercutio: “Ask for me
tomorrow and you shall find me a grave
man.” (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)
Pentameter: a ten-syllable poetical line.
Persona. The person created by the author to
tell a story. Whether the story is told by an
omniscient narrator or by a character in it, the
actual author of the work often distances
himself from what is said or told by adopting a
persona--a personality different from his real
one.
Octave: an eight-line stanza.
Ode. A long lyric poem that addresses a
person, thing or place or celebrates a notable
event.
Onomatopoeia: use of words to imitate natural
sounds; accommodation of sound to sense.
*bang, buzz, to slam the door
Personification: presenting something as
human. E.g.: “Busy old fool, unruly sun” (J.
Donne).
Pleonasm: use of superfluous or redundant
words, often enriching the thought.
*No one, rich or poor, will be excepted.
Ottava rima: abababcc.
Oxymoron: apparent paradox achieved by the
juxtaposition of words which seem to
contradict one another.
*I must be cruel only to be kind.
Shakespeare, Hamlet
Pamphlet: a small publication, or a short
treatise on a subject, intended to influence
public opinion.
Paradox: an assertion seemingly opposed to
common sense, but that may yet have some
truth in it.
*What a pity that youth must be wasted
on the young. George Bernard Shaw
Parallel: two or more words in the same
grammatical and logical order in two lines or
sentences.
E.g.: “ginger hair, blue eyes”.
Parody. A satiric imitation of a work or of an
author with the idea of ridiculing the author, his
ideas, or work. Fielding's Shamela is, in large
part, a parody of Richardson's Pamela.
Paronomasia: use of similar sounding words;
often etymological word-play.
*I have seen no stranger sight since I
was born.
Polyptoton: stylistic scheme in which words
derived from the same root are repeated (e.g.
"strong" and "strength"). A related stylistic
device is antanaclasis, in which the same word
is repeated, but each time with a different
sense. E.g.: “With eager feeding food doth
choke the feeder”. W. Shakespeare, Richard II,
II, I, 37.
Polysyndeton is the use of a conjunction
between each word, phrase, or clause, and is
thus structurally the opposite of asyndeton. The
rhetorical effect of polysyndeton, however,
often shares with that of asyndeton a feeling of
multiplicity, energetic enumeration, and
building up.

They read and studied and wrote and
drilled. I laughed and played and talked
and flunked.
Praeteritio: is a rhetorical figure of speech
wherein the speaker or writer invokes a subject
by denying that it should be invoked. As such,
it can be seen as a rhetorical relative of irony.
~ 80 ~
E.g. "I don't even want to talk about the fact
that my opponent is a drunk."
Prolepsis: the anticipation, in adjectives or
nouns, of the result of the action of a verb; also,
the positioning of a relative clause before its
antecedent.
 *Consider the lilies of the field how
they grow.
Repetition: the appearance of an identical
structure or word.
Rhyme. The similarity between syllable sounds
at the end of two or more lines. Some kinds of
rhyme (also spelled rime) include:




Couplet: a pair of lines rhyming
consecutively.
Eye rhyme: words whose spellings
would lead one to think that they
rhymed (slough, tough, cough, bough,
though, hiccough. Or: love, move,
prove. Or: daughter, laughter.)
Feminine rhyme: two syllable rhyme
consisting of stressed syllable followed
by unstressed.
Masculine rhyme: similarity between
terminally stressed syllables.
Rhythm: the pattern created by the alternation
of stressed and unstressed syllables.
Romance. An extended fictional prose
narrative about improbable events involving
characters that are quite different from ordinary
people. Knights on a quest for a magic sword
and aided by characters like fairies and trolls
would be examples of things found in romance
fiction. Examples:


Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
Sir Philip Sidney, The Arcadia
In popular use, the modern romance novel is a
formulaic love story (boy meets girl, obstacles
interfere, they overcome obstacles, they live
happily ever after).
Run-on-line: see enjambement.
Sarcasm. A form of sneering criticism in
which disapproval is often expressed as ironic
praise.
Satire. A literary mode based on criticism of
people and society through ridicule. The satirist
aims to reduce the practices attacked by
laughing scornfully at them--and being witty
enough to allow the reader to laugh, also.
Ridicule, irony, exaggeration, and several other
techniques are almost always present
Sestet: a six-line stanza.
Setting: the place and time in which narrated
events occur.
Simile: an explicit comparison between two
things using 'like' or 'as'.
*My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the
disease, Shakespeare, Sonnet CXLVII
Sonnet. A fourteen line poem, usually in
iambic pentameter, with a varied rhyme
scheme. The two main types of sonnet are the
Petrarchan (or Italian) and the Shakespearean.
The Petrarchan Sonnet is divided into two
main sections, the octave (first eight lines) and
the sestet (last six lines). The octave presents a
problem or situation which is then resolved or
commented on in the sestet. The most common
rhyme scheme is A-B-B-A A-B-B-A C-D-E CD-E, though there is flexibility in the sestet,
such as C-D-C D-C-D.
The Shakespearean Sonnet, (perfected though
not invented by Shakespeare), contains three
quatrains and a couplet, with more rhymes
(because of the greater difficulty finding
rhymes in English). The most common rhyme
scheme is A-B-A-B C-D-C-D E-F-E-F G-G. In
Shakespeare, the couplet often undercuts the
thought created in the rest of the poem.
Spenserian Stanza. A nine-line stanza, with
the first eight lines in iambic pentameter and
the last line in iambic hexameter (called an
Alexandrine). The rhyme scheme is A-B-A-B
B-C-B-C C. Edmund Spenser's Faerie Queene
is written in Spenserian stanzas.
~ 81 ~
Stanza: in a poem, a unit of several lines.
Typical stanzas are: couplet, tercet, quatrain,
sestet, octave.
Subplot. A subordinate or minor collection of
events in a novel or drama. Most subplots have
some connection with the main plot, acting as
foils to, commentary on, complications of, or
support to the theme of, the main plot.
Symbol. Something that on the surface is its
literal self but which also has another meaning
or even several meanings. For example, a
sword may be a sword and also symbolize
justice. A symbol may be said to embody an
idea. There are two general types of symbols:
universal symbols that embody universally
recognizable meanings wherever used, such as
light to symbolize knowledge, a skull to
symbolize death, etc., and constructed symbols
that are given symbolic meaning by the way an
author uses them in a literary work, as the
white whale becomes a symbol of evil in Moby
Dick.
Synecdoche: understanding one thing with
another; the use of a part for the whole, or the
whole for the part. (A form of metonymy.)
*Give us this day our daily bread.
Matthew 6
Synesthesia: the association of images
pertaining to different human senses: e.g. “a
dark voice”.
Tetrameter: an eight-syllable poetical line.
Tone. The writer's attitude toward his readers
and his subject; his mood or moral view. A
writer can be formal, informal, playful, ironic,
and especially, optimistic or pessimistic. While
both Swift and Pope are satirizing much the
same subjects, there is a profound difference in
their tone.
Trochee: poetical foot - U
Turning point: a point that marks a definite
change in a story or a poem. Also called volta.
Understatement deliberately expresses an idea
as less important than it actually is, either for
ironic emphasis or for politeness and tact.
When the writer's audience can be expected to
know the true nature of a fact which might be
rather difficult to describe adequately in a brief
space, the writer may choose to understate the
fact as a means of employing the reader's own
powers of description. For example, instead of
endeavoring to describe in a few words the
horrors and destruction of the 1906 earthquake
in San Francisco, a writer might state:

The 1906 San Francisco earthquake
interrupted business somewhat in the
downtown area.
Verisimilitude. How fully the characters and
actions in a work of fiction conform to our
sense of reality. To say that a work has a high
degree of verisimilitude means that the work is
very realistic and believable--it is "true to life.".
Versification. Generally, the structural form of
a verse, as revealed by scansion. Identification
of verse structure includes the name of the
metrical type and the name designating number
of feet:






Trimeter: 3 feet
Tetrameter: 4 feet
Pentameter: 5 feet
Hexameter: 6 feet
Heptameter: 7 feet
Octameter: 8 feet
The most common verse in English poetry is
iambic pentameter. See foot for more.
Zeugma: two different words linked to a verb
or an adjective which is strictly appropriate to
only one of them.
*Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick
fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.” (W.
Shakespeare, Sonnet LV)
~ 82 ~
CONTENTS
W. Shakespeare
Much Ado About Nothing
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
2
3
4
Measure for Measure
Plot
7
Romeo and Juliet
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
11
13
14
Macbeth
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
17
18
19
Hamlet
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
21
22
23
The Tempest
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
25
28
29
Dante: The Four Levels of Meaning
32
Aubade
W. Davenant, Aubade
Ovidio, from Amores
W. von Eschenbach
W. Shakespeare, from Romeo and...
33
33
33
34
35
J. Donne,
The Good Morrow
Break of Day
The Sun Rising (notes)
A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
A Valediction… (notes)
Batter My Heart & notes
Death Be Not Proud
36
36
37
38
39
40
41
G. Herbert, Easter Wings
41
Satire
Montesquieu, Persian Letters
42
J. Swift
A Modest Proposal 1-7 (notes)
43
Gulliver’s Travels
Plot
Major Characters
Peoples
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
Important Quotations Explained
44
45
46
47
52
Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe
Plot
Major Characters
Themes, Motifs and Symbols
55
56
57
Henry Fielding, Tom Jones
Plot
The Bill of Fare (1, 1)
What kind of a history this is (2, 1)
“Tom Jones, An Introduction”
60
61
62
64
Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy
Summary
Volume 1
Book 6, Chapter 38
The Very Place
68
68
69
69
William Blake
The Garden of Love
The Lamb (notes)
The Tyger (notes)
London (notes)
The Nurse’s Song
The Nurse’s Song (notes)
Holy Thursday
Holy Thursday (notes)
70
70
71
72
72
73
74
74
A Glossary of Literary Terms
75
RESOURCES ON THE INTERNET
Spark Notes: http://www.sparknotes.com/
Cliffs Notes:
http://www.cliffsnotes.com/WileyCDA/
Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page
eNotes:
http://www.enotes.com/