Dear Serial Readers,
Are you reading this? Are you reading Romola? Are you on vacation? Or--more likely--are you NOT on summer schedule anymore? This past week there was not a single comment, the first time since I started the blog. Only three more installments to go. Then what?
This week, I found the opening and closing chapters especially intriguing. In the first, we have Camilla, "chief among the feminine seers of Florence," who has a vision about Romola that she "separate herself from the enemy of God"--while Sav seems the obvious referent here, Tito is also possible. I love the way prophecy shapes this narrative throughout, from its earliest pages. How is the narrator a kind of prophet too, foretelling futures?
"The Other Wife" chapter that closes this May 1863 number brings Romola to Tessa's home where she is able to ascertain, to her keen disappointment, that Tessa is not Tito's lawful wife. The chapter makes clear though that Romola increasingly sees herself as Tessa's and Tessa's children's surrogate mother or guardian by a higher law of human obligation. In this segment, Romola resembles both Tito and Savonarola at different points. Like Tito, she has rescued Tessa from harrassment in the marketplace; but Romola also compares herself to Tito whose great transgression is his "light abandonment of ties" from Baldassarre. But here too Romola is drawn to Sav as a model--not just the "sacredness of obedience" (why she returns to Tito in the first place), but now she also sees the "sacredness of rebellion" and determines to live apart from Tito (and, presumably, in some kind of relationship to Tessa and her children). Again, this segment of the story makes me think of sensation fiction of the 1860s, the bigamy novels and secret wives or husbands that also envision different, more flexible, intimate configurations than monogamous heterosexuality. There are some strong echoes with the domestic arrangements here of Marian Evans and George Henry Lewes (where Marian's earnings from her books help support George's son's from his "lawful" marriage to Agnes).
I also thought about the Pre-Raphaelites and their paintings, such as William Holman Hunt's "The Awakening Conscience," this one of a "kept woman" in her gilded cage in St. John's Wood, London, presumably the man's "other wife" much like Eliot's rendition of Tessa. I also see surprising echoes forward to Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles--this time again with Tessa's account to Romola of her "marriage" to "Naldo"--what Tessa in her childlike innocence thought valid, but clearly it was a false marriage. Hardy had such a marriage scene too between Tess and Alec, one that was published as a separate installment later after the original run of Tess in a magazine; this contrived marriage ceremony was then excised from the full novel. Of course Hardy surely read *this* novel!
Next time, the installment is also short, and I hope to have more company in reading--and more ideas about our next reading project. Or would you like a long vacation? For next week: chaps 57-61.
Serially yours,
Susan
3 comments:
I'm obviously arriving far too late to get in on Romola, but now that my schedule isn't quite so manic, I'd love to rejoin the serial reading. I like the idea of short stories, too -- especially early on in the semester, for those of us on the academic calendar, I think it'd make it easier to keep up. But I'm happy to read anything.
Yes, last week I was starting school. I had done the reading, but I just never got to writing. I really enjoyed the comments from Don Weinstein on Sav! I am struck by how much Romola typifies the "rise of caring power" approach to social change, as Julia stated. I find that less compelling, myself, and I, too, will be interested to see if the novel takes a position on how useful that is.
I was also struck by how much I had dreaded the Pyramid of the Vanities and then it passed so quickly, and I barely noticed. I noted Piero's conversation with Romola, his observation that she had already read the books and therefore it wasn't of as much concern to her that they were burned--which suggests that in his opinion, books are important for their content rather than as objects. I remember a time in my life when I felt too sad to appreciate much of the pleasure of art--as Eliot says about Romola at the end of Pyramid of Vanities. I would love to see Romola find some happiness, even if only with Tessa's children.
I wondered, in the section we read, why Romola rushed to her uncle when she had heard of Tito's betrayal of Baldassare--did she think Tito might betray him as well? Or did she displace her worries about herself onto her uncle? So she could feel she was still watching out primarily for someone else?
As was Susan, I was interested in the "sacredness of obedience" in relationship to the "sacredness of rebellion."
Happy Reading!
Like Kari, I was reading along last week, but didn't get to writing out my thoughts. For that installment, I was especially interested in the way that Tito's character seemed to be dictated by the woman he found himself with--he was hard/cruel with Romola (because of her high standards), but soft/playful with Tessa (because of her trustingness and lack of knowledge). I'm not sure what to make of this--it seems disheartening that Romola's noble qualities are what make Tito and her marriage so miserable!
As for this week's installment, I thought Eliot did a brilliant job of bringing the private and public together in the final conversation between Romola and Tito. When Tito says "You have heard it all, I see," Romola assumes he's talking about Tessa, but in fact he's talking about the very public political situation with Bernardo del Nero. The private and public are indistinguishable for a moment. This is doubly complex, too, as Bernardo's fate is also of personal/private concern to Romola.
I was also intrigued by Romola's unconventional response to learning about Tessa: "The feeling that leaped out in that flush was something like exultation at the thought that the wife's burthen might be about to slip from her overladen shoulders; that this little ignorant creature might prove to be Tito's lawful wife. A strange exultation for a proud and high-born woman to have been brought to!" (p. 439). I don't remember seeing another female character in Victorian literature who hopes that her marriage is *not* valid. Can anyone else think of other characters who react in this way to the question of bigamy?
I'm on board for short stories as our next selection, and I'm working on a routine to make sure I set aside a time to post each week!
Post a Comment