The Beggar and the Player In John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera

What I found to be particularly interesting about John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera, is the inclusion of the Beggar, the fictional author of the play, and the Player as characters. These two characters appear in the beginning of the drama and reappear towards the very end, but within different contexts.

The Beggar and the Player are having a discussion in the introduction of The Beggar’s Opera. While they share this dialogue, they are at a distance from the play itself. Why would Gay create a fictional author? Is this his way of avoiding authorship should his contemporaries label him seditious? Would the Beggar and the Player’s exchange be performed on stage, or was it only meant to be read? I asked myself these questions but had trouble answering them. When I first read the exchange between the Beggar and the Player, I was under the impression that the play will adhere to conventions found in the operas. The Beggar makes this clear to the Player when he says, “I have introduced the similes that are in all your celebrated operas” and then goes on to explain some of these inclusions (41). At this point in the reading, I didn’t have the slightest idea as to what the initial dialogue’s purpose is. By the end of the piece, however, I felt I could answer some of my own questions.

By the end of the piece, the Beggar and the Player appear once more. However, they are no longer at a distance, but rather “enter” the scene itself (120).  By entering the scene, have they become characters in the play? It is in this scene that we learn about the Beggar’s authorial intention: to apply “poetical justice” to the end of his play in order to punish vice and reward virtue (120). He thus intended on executing Macheath. The Player, however, interjects and says, “Why then, friend, this is a downright deep tragedy. The catastrophe is manifestly wrong, for an opera must end happily” to which the Beggar complies (191).  Nonetheless, the Beggar makes it clear that had the play gone as he intended, “it would have carried a most excellent moral” (121).

The Beggar and the Player represent a tension existing in Gay’s contemporary society: wanting to abide by the traditional neoclassical features of a drama, and yet having to accommodate the literature to fulfill the public’s new interest. I don’t think Gay was going to simply end his drama within the conventions of an Italian opera without making it clear that he detests doing so. So, how can he do this without facing backlash from his contemporary society? He creates a fictional author, the Beggar.

By the end of the play, I was able to answer some of my initial questions. I was nonetheless left with many more unanswered. Does Gay’s ending imply that the audience’s expectations triumph over the author’s desire? By making the fictional author a beggar, is Gay hinting that the Beggar had no choice but to denounce poetic merit for the sake of making an income? Is the author a commodity then?

Satirizing the Gothic in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey

In Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen is satirizing the Gothic genre. It is in response to Ann Radcliffe's The Romance of the Forest. The title of Austen's novel itself is very gothic, giving readers an image of a distant and vast abbey (as in Radcliffe's novel), but the story itself is not.

The beginning of Northanger Abbey sets us up for what is to be a satire of the Gothic genre. The novel begins with “No,” almost as a sort of negation. Catherine, as Austen indicates, was never thought to be a “heroine.” Austen is fighting a gender stereotype that is typical of Gothic novels, and is suggesting that maybe Catherine is simply not heroic.

Parents are often absent in gothic novels. For example, Adeline's mother in The Romance of the Forest is absent. In Northanger Abbey, however, both of Catherine’s parents are alive and well. Austen introduces Catherine’s mother, “a woman of useful plain sense….and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution” (15). Thus, she is healthy and strong, so there is no inclination that she will die.

            The Morland family is described to be very plain “who seldom aimed at wit of any kind,” (64) and if this does not anger Gothic readers, the following description of Catherine might: “She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features” (15). Gothic heroines are typically very beautiful, often as a result of their inner goodness. Catherine, however, is “awkward,” has sickly skin, and lifeless hair. She does not fit the image of the Gothic heroine, and Austen may be suggesting that this image is rather unrealistic. And if Catherine’s lack of physical superiority is not enough, Austen relates to us that Catherine is “occasionally stupid” (16). Catherine does not like to play music, and when it came to writing and accounts, “her proficiency in either was not remarkable” (16). Austen introduces a normal, everyday woman, defying the traditional convention of creating the superior Gothic heroine.

            Austen builds up suspense in Northanger Abbey, as is typical of Romantic and Gothic novels. However, she replaces the supernatural with realism. For example, where a manuscript should be, Austen gives us a laundry list instead! Austen is suggesting that the supernatural is not in nature and that novels should return to the domestic. Austen wrote the same novel six times, believing that domestic fiction will offer women new choices if they lack money or lineage.

Austen is critical of Catherine’s reading of Gothic novels. Isabella enters the room while Catherine is reading Mysteries of Udolpho, and Catherine remarks: “I should like to spend my whole life in reading it” (39). Catherine wants to be in the novel and Austen’s nightmare is that women become the fiction and are steered away from reality. Moreover, Catherine’s perspective is so colored by Gothic novels that she can’t even see English landscape: “ ‘I never look at it,’ said Catherine, as they walked along the side of the river, ‘without thinking of the south of France’ ” (102). Therefore, Austen satirizes the Gothic genre, implying that the domestic novel is more benefiting for women.

It has been very interesting to see how authors experimented with the novel in the 18th century. It seems that Jane Austen is insisting that novels stray away from the Romantic or Gothic genre and instead, focus on a more realistic and advantageous genre, the domestic. 

Article Responses: The Rise of the Novel

In “Gendered Cultural Criticism and the Rise of the Novel: The Case of Defoe,” Maximillian E. Novak is voicing his concern with literary scholars who want to remove Defoe from his place in “the rise of the novel.” He indicates that these scholars see no real literary value in Defoe’s Robinson Cruosoe. He continues to defend Robinson Crusoe as a novel that had a large impact throughout Western Europe, and urges critics to reconsider “revising Defoe’s place in the canon” (243). What was most interesting to me was Novak’s discussion of Ian Watt’s exclusion of female authors in his book, The Rise of the Novel. He agrees that Watt took a “male-oriented vision of the novel” (252), but understands this exclusion of female authors indicating, “Watt’s work is rooted in its time” (246). Novak urge critics to reshape the canon by including significant female authors, but not at the expense of prominent male authors, like Defoe. He claims that it is not “sensible” to insist “entirely on the feminine nature of the form” and dismiss “male writers solely on the basis of gender” (252). After our discussions of the canon this semester, and having read Janet Todd’s The Sign of Angellica, I realized how far removed women are from current literary study focusing on the rise of the novel. I thought it necessary to reshape our canon by including prominent female authors; prior to reading Novak’s article, however, I hadn’t thought about how we will approach this. I think he poses a fair concern and is right in urging critics not to exclude male authors in the process of including female authors. Instead of devaluing certain works, it would be best that critics begin to value marginalized female authors and their works.

In “A Question of Beginnings,” Robert B. Alter also discusses Ian Watt’s The Rise of the Novel in terms of its biases. Nonetheless, he indicates the importance of Watt’s work and stresses its influence on eighteenth-century literary scholarship.  Alter makes an interesting observation: “The choice, then, of a particular beginning for the novel will always be in some degree arbitrary, inevitable dictated by the critic’s perception of what the eventual characteristic traits of the genre turn out to be” (215). I agree with this notion; it seems impossible to me for critics to distance themselves from their own biases that tend to make claims on which characteristics best represent the genre itself. According to Alter, Watt’s shortfall is in failing to cover “all the teeming variety and unpredictability of the genre” by deeming “realism” as the main criterion for the novel (216). Nonetheless, Alter ends his article by claiming that The Rise of the Novel is unparalleled “in its identification of the importance for the novel of individual experience” (225).  Alter warns critics against rejecting Watt’s work because of its shortfalls, and instead urges critics to consider what it does offer in terms of scholarship.

On a different note, Deidre Lynch’s “Personal Effects and Sentimental Fictions” was a challenging article that discusses the emotional attachments people have to things in sentimental novels and how keepsakes become “props” intended to invoke feelings and tears in readers. From what I have learned about eighteenth- century morality, luxury and the collection of “things” was associated with the upper class and hence, with vice.  In Lynch’s article, she recognizes “people’s new willingness to….value the luxury of good as a vehicle for the finer feelings” (346). Lynch discusses how keepsakes actually help move the narrative forward, which was a new outlook for me.

I have to say I gained novel insights this week. I am curious about how we can reform the canon to make it more democratic (keeping in mind that we don’t want to reverse the marginalization process by excluding prominent male authors). I am trying to be more open about Ian Watt’s The Rise of the Novel, although his exclusion of female authors troubles me. I am also interested in the association of luxury with finer feelings rather than luxury with vice. I hope we can touch upon some of these topics in class!

Democratic Sublime in The Romance of the Forest by Ann Radcliffe

I’ve always been interested in Edmund Burke’s discussion on the sublime in A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. The sublime, as Burke describes, is a mixed feeling of pleasure and pain. He situates the sublime as a masculine quality. Ann Radcliffe, in The Romance of the Forest, reshapes Burke’s notions of the sublime as a masculine experience. To do this, she utilizes the features he discusses that help invoke the sublime, but reshapes their purpose. Radcliffe empowers her heroine, Adeline, by allowing her to indulge in an experience that was previously stereotyped as male. Radcliffe creates a more democratic sublime, in which females may partake. Thus, she reforms the sublime’s historical context and empowers her female heroine; simultaneously, she illustrates her ability as a female author to utilize and reshape a male-dominated experience and a male-originated genre (the Gothic).

Adeline experiences the sublime early on in the novel. After Peter applied the light upon the ruins, “The partial gleams” and the “obscurity of the greater part of the pile heightened its sublimity, and led fancy on to scenes of horror” (18). To experience this sublimity is Adeline:

Adeline, who had hitherto remained in silence, now uttered an exclamation of mingled admiration and fear. A kind of pleasing dread thrilled her bosom, and filled all her soul. Tears started into her eyes: - she wished, yet feared, to go on...(18).

 Burke discusses the influence of “obscurity” in creating the sublime. He states, “To make any thing very terrible, obscurity seems in general to be necessary” (Burke xix). Although Radcliffe utilizes this notion of obscurity, she reshapes it by allowing a female to experience it. In this instance in the novel, Adeline is the only character to have reached this level of sublimity, highlighting her elevated role as a female, while the others simply stood by. Furthermore, after having experienced the sublime, Adeline looked at La Motte with a “hesitating interrogation” (18). She is now accessing reason and questioning whether to proceed further into the abbey with La Motte. In stark contrast with La Motte’s earlier experience of sublimity, where he simply “conveyed the vastness of the place,” Adeline’s experience resulted in rationale (16). This is in defiance of 18^th century gender constructions that insist women cannot or should not access reason.

Radcliffe continues to use this notion of obscurity to demonstrate her empowerment of the female character. Adeline is described to have had “uneasy dreams” causing her to recollect her “sorrows” and cry (22). To calm herself, Adeline proceeds to the window and the morning scene is described as thus: “The dark mists were seen to roll off to the west, as the tints of light grew stronger, deepening the obscurity of that part of the hemisphere...” (22). Although Radcliffe is attributing Burke’s notion of obscurity onto the scene of nature, she is manipulating its effects. Because of nature, “Adeline’s heart swelled too with gratitude and adoration” and “the scene before her soothed her mind...” (Radcliffe 22). Thus, Radcliffe has allowed Adeline to calm herself by accessing strength from nature. Radcliffe demonstrated Burke’s discussion of obscurity to empower the female heroine. Thus, she has challenged the notion of a masculine sublimity.

Reading Burke’s Enquiry really helps you to put into context how Radcliffe is creating the sublime experience, and also helps you to see how she takes the sublime even further than Burke and makes it democratic. Here is a link to Burke’s Enquiry:

 http://www.bartleby.com/24/2/

Part II focuses heavily on the sublime and its various attributes.

Citation:

Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime

and Beautiful. UK: Basil Blackwell Ltd, 1987.

Arabella's Power in The Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennox

Arabella’s reading of Romances has given her a sense of power. She believes she can control situations just by commanding. When Arabella hears of Mr. Hervey being sick in bed, she insists that her letter to him will help him recover. She says, “he will recover, if I command him to do so” (16). Arabella really believes she has the power to stop death if she only commands. She derives this power from reading romances. For example, she gives an account of Mazares and Mandana, and Oroondates and Statira, where the heroines command their lovers to live (47, 48). Arabella tells Lucy that in Romances, the heroine’s lover does not die if she insists he lives (16).  

In another encounter, Arabella tells Mr. Hervey “you are now wholly in my Power” and “I’ll give you Freedom” only if he obeys her commands. Because of her romantic notions, Arabella assumes authority over situations, believing it is her right to do so. She also has power over people. She even convinced the servants to hold Mr. Hervey back even though he offered no sign of threat and no pistol was in sight.

Arabella also controls Lucy. As ridiculous as Arabella sounds, Lucy is easily convinced by her and does as Arabella commands. Lucy does not simply obey Arabella because of her rank, but admits to even agreeing with her. Early on in the novel, Arabella convinces Lucy that the gardener is a man of higher degree in disguise to pursue Arabella. Lucy says she thought him to be a simple gardener but instantly changes her mind when Arabella asks her a series of questions. Lucy then says to her, “now you open my Eyes” (24). Lucy is continually fooled by Arabella’s ridiculousness and believes in her imaginations (for example, Arabella fools Lucy into thinking a man is there to steal her away, 93).

Throughout the novel, Arabella asserts herself one way or another, and even makes commands. She speaks freely to the men she encounters (which are of course based off of her reading of romances), and even to her own father. She openly confronts Sir Charles about his intentions towards her! Arabella, using her knowledge from reading romances, even corrects and embarrasses Mr. Selvin during his discussion of ancient history (265). She is verbally expressive. It is also a sort of empowerment for a woman to correct a man’s knowledge when it is generally believed that men are the more knowledgeable sex.

In another earlier occasion, Arabella tells Mr. Glanville “I am rather to accuse the Slowness of your Understanding, for your persisting in treating me thus freely” (36). As ridiculous as her notions are, she nonetheless voices her opinions and thoughts freely. The narrator states, “strange as her Notions of life appeared, yet they were supported with so much Wit and Delicacy” (45). The narrator notes on several occasions how Mr. Glanville finds Arabella’s behavior strange and yet “smiles” at her. Arabella asserts a strange power over those around her and Mr. Glanville is “in the Possession of a Woman” (118).

A scene that I found to be very strange was in the conversation between Arabella and her father. It is common for heroines in distress to take their own life in 18^th century literature. Arabella is aware of this and desires to “imitate” these women of “Courage” to avoid marrying Mr. Glanville. Arabella finds power in taking her own life, claiming that she is just as “capable” in doing so as the romantic heroines she reads (54). When her father threatens to burn her books, Arabella laments the fate of the heroines who “were going to be cast into the merciless Flames” (55). Arabella’s imagination is so strong that she believes the characters in her books to be real and suffer a true fate caused by events outside the books themselves. The fact that Arabella sees power in deciding to take her own life away, and laments the powerlessness of her heroines (or “innocent Victims” 57) who will suffer at the hands of someone else, is a fascinating and strange part of the novel.

An interesting addition to this is Arabella’s imaginative thought that the men who cross her path will commit suicide upon her rejecting them. She makes sure to tell her father if Mr. Glanville has taken his life, she did not “desire” for him to do so (38, 39). She actually believes she has the power to push men into suicide over their supposed grief, just as I observed earlier that she believes in her power to command men to live (for example, she commands Sir George, who plays along with Arabella’s fancy, to live too).

In the end, Arabella is reformed and is no longer disillusioned. Thus, she has lost her power. Is Lennox indicating that female power is unrealistic? Is female power unacceptable and made ridiculous by society? Though her heroine loses power, has Lennox gained her own sense of power by writing in a male-dominated form to explore a female realm?

I have been interested in RED every since Professor Maruca introduced us to it. I decided to search "The Female Quixote" in the UK RED and came across Jane Austen's reading experience and how it helped shape her Northanger Abbey. I always read Northanger Abbey in response to Ann Radcliffe's Romance of the Forest, so I am definitely looking forward to keeping Lennox and the issue of education in mind as we end the semester with Austen. 

Here's a link to Austen's reading experience: http://www.open.ac.uk/Arts/reading/UK/record_details.php?id=132