Because I am a nerd...
and loooooooove essays. Any sort of writing, I get a kick out of it. So I'm going to post an essay I wrote for my Hamlet & Revenge course. This may become a theme of my last two quarters, posting my final essays...for nostalgia sake, in a few years time. XD
A God’s Revenge
The act of taking vengeance is one of restoration; to return equity betwixt the injured party and the one who accomplished the injury. Yet, in classical works, as readily demonstrated by such playwrights as Euripides and Seneca, revenge is meant to be undertaken by the gods: the right to retribution is a Divine one. However, the act of revenge itself, though oft divinely inspired, is almost always committed by mortal hand. There are, not surprisingly, instances where this Divine Retribution is not inspired by the gods, is not put into play from the power of their whims, but is accredited solely to the agency of a mortal. This mortal, by essence of taking what ought be the duty of the gods, must thusly consider him or herself godly. In a word, this individual must suffer from Megalomania, a state of mind marked by a sense of omnipotence and greatness; a sense of one’s own godliness and grandeur (lecture notes). Such a state of megalomania is, in large part, a product of misogynistic society, where men rule women absolutely; govern their lives and sexuality with god-like power. This state, then, of megalomania, is a masculine one, though not reserved in specification to men alone, as shall be seen in Euripides’ The Medea when compared to John Ford’s ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore.
The two passages that exemplify this theme most are, in The Medea, the titled character’s detailed speech to the chorus of those wrongs which she has suffered at the hand of Jason, her wayward husband; and in Ford’s ’Tis Pity, the last scene betwixt Giovanni and Annabella, before he takes her life, just after her marriage to Soranzo.
“Giovanni. What danger’s half so great as thy revolt?
Thou art a faithless sister, else thou know’st
Malice, or any treachery beside,
Would stoop my bent brows. Why, I hold fate
Clasped in my fist, and could command the course
Of time’s eternal motion, hadst thou been
One thought more steady than an ebbing sea.
And what? You’ll now be honest, that’s resolved?
Annabella. Brother, dear brother, know what I have been,
And know that now there’s but a dining-time
‘Twixt us and our confusion. Let’s not waste
These precious hours in vain and useless speech.
Alas, these gay attires were not put on
But to some end; this sudden solemn feast
Was not ordained to riot in expense.
I that have no been chambered here alone,
Am not for nothing at an instant freed
To fresh access. Be not deceived, my brother:
This banquet is an harbinger of death
To you and me; resolve yourself it is,
And be prepared to welcome it.
Giovanni. Well, then,
The schoolmen teach that all this globe of earth
Shall be consumed to ashes in a minute.
Annabella. So I have read too.
Giovanni. But ’twere somewhat strange
To see the waters burn. Could I believe
This might be true, I could believe as well
There might be hell or heaven.
Annabella. That’s most certain.
Giovanni. A dream, a dream; else in this other world
We should know one another.
Annabella. So we shall.
Giovanni. Have you heard so?
Annabella. For certain.
Giovanni. But d’ee think
That I shall see you there, you look on me;
May we kiss one another, prate or laugh,
Or do as we do here?
Annabella. I know not that.
But good, for the present, what d’ee mean
To free yourself from danger? Some way, think
How to escape; I’m sure the guests are come.
Giovanni. Look up, look here; what see you in my face?
Annabella. Distraction and a troubled countenance.
Giovanni. Death, and a swift repining wrath-yet look,
What see you in mine eyes?
Annabella. Methinks you weep.
Giovanni. I do indeed. These are the funeral tears
Shed on your grave; these furrowed up my cheeks
When first I loved and knew not how to woo.
Fair Annabella, should I here repeat
The story of my life, we might lose time.
Be record all the spirits of the air,
And all things else that are, that day and night,
Early and late, the tribute which my heart
Hath paid to Annabella’s sacred love
Hath been these tears, which are her mourners now.
Never till now did Nature do her best
To show a matchless beauty to the world,
Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen,
The jealous Destinies required again.
Pray, Annabella, pray; since we must part,
Go thou white in thy soul, to fill a throne
Of innocence and sanctity in heaven.
Pray, pray, my sister.
Annabella. Then I see your drift
Ye blessèd angels, guard me!
Giovanni. So say I.
Kiss me. If ever after-times should hear
Of our fast-knit affections, though perhaps
The laws of conscience and of civil use
May justly blame us, yet when they but know
Our loves, that love will wipe away that rigour
Which would in other incests be abhorred.
Give me your hand. How sweetly life doth run
In these well-coloured veins! How constantly
These palms do promise health! But I could chide
With Nature for this cunning flattery.
Kiss me again-forgive me.
Annabella. With my heart.
Giovanni. Farewell.
Annabella. Will you be gone?
Giovanni. Be dark, bright sun,
And make this midday night, that thy gilty rays
May not behold a deed will turn their splendour
More sooty than the poets feign their Styx!
One other kiss, my sister.
Annabella. What means this?
Giovanni. To save thy fame, and kill thee in a kiss.
Stabs her.
Thus die, and die by me, and by my hand.
Revenge is mine; honour doth love command.
Annabella. O brother, by your hand?
Giovanni. When thou art dead
I’ll give my reasons for ’t; for to dispute
With thy-even in thy death-most lovely beauty
Would make me stagger to perform this act
Which I must glory in.
Annabella. Forgive him, heaven-and me my sins. Farewell,
Brother, unkind, unkind-mercy, great heaven!-O-O!
Dies” (Ford, 5.5.8-93).
And, from The Medea:
“Chorus
I heard a shriek that is laden with sorrow.
Shrilling out her hard grief she cries out
Upon him who betrayed both her bed and her marriage.
Wronged, she calls on the gods,
On the justice of Zeus, the oath sworn,
Which brought her away
To the opposite shore of the Greeks
Through the gloomy salt straits to the gateway
Of the salty unlimited sea.
(Medea, attended by servants, comes out of the house)
Medea
Women of Corinth, I have come outside to you
Lest you should be indignant with me; for I know
That many people are overproud, some when alone,
And others when in company. And those who live
Quietly, as I do, get a bad reputation.
For a just judgment is not evident in the eyes
When a man at first sight hates another, before
Learning his character, being in no way injured;
And a foreigner especially must adapt himself.
I’d not approve of even a fellow-countryman
Who by pride and want of manners offends his neighbors.
But on me this thing has fallen so unexpectedly,
It has broken my heart. I am finished. I let go
All my life’s joy. My friends, I only want to die.
It was everything to me to think well of one man,
And he, my own husband, has turned out wholly vile.
Of all things which are living and can form a judgment
We women are the most unfortunate creatures
Firstly, with an excess of wealth it is required
For us to buy a husband and take for our bodies
A master; for not to take one is even worse.
And now the question is serious whether we take
A good or bad one; for there is no easy escape
For a woman, nor can she say no to her marriage.
She arrives among new modes of behavior and manners,
And needs prophetic power, unless she has learned at home,
How best to manage him who shares the bed with her.
And if we work out all this well and carefully,
And the husband lives with us and lightly bears his yoke,
Then life is enviable. If not, I’d rather die.
A man, when he’s tired of the company in his home,
Goes out of the house and puts an end to his boredom
And turns to a friend or companion of his own age.
But we are forced to keep our eyes on one alone.
What they say of us is that we have a peaceful time
Living at home, while they do the fighting in war.
How wrong they are! I would very much rather stand
Three times in front of battle than bear one child.
Yet what applies to me does not apply to you.
You have a country. Your family home is here.
You enjoy life and the company of your friends.
But I am deserted, a refugee, thought nothing of
By my husband-something he won in a foreign land.
I have no mother or brother, nor any relation
With whom I can take refuge in this sea of woe.
This much then is the service I would beg from you:
If I can find the means or devise any scheme
To pay my husband back for what he has done to me-
Him and his father-in-law and the girl who married him-
Just to keep silent. For in other ways a woman
Is full of fear, defenseless, dreads the sight of cold
Steel; but, when once she is wronged in the matter of love,
No other soul can hold so many thoughts of blood” (Euripides, 204-266).
There is a wealth of material in these two passages, long as they are, alone. Giovanni’s opening dialogue to Annabella harkens not only to sovereign rule over her, but recalls the reader to Genesis and Eve’s revolt against God Himself. In Giovanni’s mind, he is not only God to Annabella, but God of the fragile world he has created for himself throughout the course of the play-one which Annabella threatens to shatter; evidenced by his speech of holding “fate / Clasped in [his] fist” (Ford, 5.5.11-12). He immediately blames the dissolution of such godhood upon her wayward fickleness, comparing her faithfulness to him to be like the “ebbing sea” (Ford, 5.5.14). This notion of feminine qualities as being like the ocean informed then a woman’s inconsistency, her mutability, in classic and modern drama (handout, 49-50). To be feminine was to be moist and cold, and that which was moist and cold was easily impressed upon, easily changed. So, when Giovanni says that Annabella is like the sea, he means she is faithless, unruly, and her appetite is unlimited (handout, 49-50). As a man, he is right, has judgment and reason on his side, and inherently knows what is best for her (handout, 49-50). This aspect of having reason, of having the ability to understand what is best for her that is under his power (as Annabella is), is in a respect, Divine. The gods were powerful, knew that which transpired, and their judgment was never to be questioned (lest one should then receive their wrath). Giovanni sees this in himself; he will not be questioned by Annabella, not with her dying breath; he gives her no excuse for his behavior other than that her death is enacted so brutally to save her honor.
Before he kills her, however, he further fleshes out his Megalomania by describing Annabella’s beauty. He calls it “matchless”, Nature’s best, and states that it is the “jealous Destinies”, Divine figures, that call her to the grave (Ford, 5.5.59-62). Since his is the hand that strikes her a mortal blow, his is the hand of Destiny, further emphasizing his own sense divinity. However, he also claims that her beauty surpasses that of all others’, but this beauty is a reflection upon his own grandeur. The idea of her perfect beauty is a recurring one to Giovanni in the play, and is usually tied to himself in some way, as can be seen when he first tells Annabella of his love for her:
“Wise nature first in your creation meant
To make you mine; else ’t had been sin and foul
To share one beauty to a double soul.
Nearness in birth or blood doth persuade
A nearer nearness in affection” (Ford, 1.2.237-241).
The two share this single beauty, and he implies that he and Annabella even share a single soul. So, this greatness of her beauty, her outward perfection, is mirror to himself. He loves her, admires her beauty, because it is a part of his own being, and is therefore a true narcissist. That being stated, if she is divine, then by a clear path of logic, so too must he be. And as he tells the Friar, speaking of why he does not fear hell, and cannot make himself leave Annabella, it is clear he considers her to be divine. “Your age o’errules you; had you youth like mine, / you’d make her love your heaven, and her divine” (Ford, 2.5.35-36). However, Giovanni’s incredible Phantasia, or imagination (lecture notes), does not allow Annabella to be divine on her own; not when he clearly, as he told the Friar, has made her divine. When she must seek another man, another partner, Soranzo, Giovanni’s Orge, or rage (paper directions, 2), cannot suffer her, who is a reflection of his own perfection, to give glory and Hedone, or pleasure (handout, 40), to another. She must support his fantastic notion of divinity, or cease to exist-for to exist without dependence upon him would undermine his notions of divinity, undermine his sense of self import. Giovanni then chooses Daimon, the darker side of divinity (handout, 23), over Ethos, or that which is divine and moral (lecture).
This Megalomania in Giovanni is not an immediate sensation in Ford’s play; it grows over the course of the drama, finally culminating in his timely, astonishing, and rather uncanny, display of Annabella’s heart to his father, Soranzo, and the group Annabella’s enraged husband has gathered. Before Giovanni has actually received Annabella’s confession of love, when he speaks of her beauty he compares its greatness to non-tangible things, things one cannot possess such as the goddess Juno herself (Ford, 1.2.192-199). It is only after he has made love to her, claimed her as his wife, that he begins to describe her as treasure and rich objects (Ford, 2.5.51-54). His megalomania develops along side his notion of being her husband, her ruler. As a man, he holds the power in their relationship. He, as previously mentioned, knows that which is best, while females do not know their best interest, and frequently act against it (handout, 49-50).
Giovanni’s uncanny performance of gutting his sister (in a strange, sick parody of the act of lovemaking), is an act that has been foreshadowed repeatedly during the play. The heart, and baring the heart, is a theme that travels through the entirety of ’Tis Pity; beginning first with Giovanni’s pledge to Annabella, that she must pierce his heart or love him (Ford, 1.2.260), and continues with an exchange between Annabella and Sorazno. Soranzo pleads for Annabella to love him, to marry him, but she refutes him at every turn, as Giovanni watches:
“Soranzo. Did you but see my heart, then would you swear-
Annabella. That you were dead” (Ford, 3.2.23-24).
This line that Annabella speaks is ironically called to mind later on, when Giovanni triumphantly displays her heart (reveling, no doubt, in the fact that he is again the sole possessor of it) and shouts:
“Here, here, Soranzo! Trimmed in reeking blood
That triumphs over death; proud in the spoil
Of love and vengeance! Fate, or all the powers
That guide the motions of immortals souls,
Could not prevent me” (Ford, 5.6.10-14).
Though he has undertaken a Mimesis, or imitation (paper directions, 2), of the dialogue between Annabella and Soranzo, then claims to have been the “monarch of her heart and her” (Ford, 5.6.45), none else can recognize that it is in fact Annabella’s heart he displays. His moment of triumph then is ruined, for none acknowledge his godhead over Annabella in his absolute possession of her. It is only in his skewed phantasia that he is the god he thinks himself to be. To then complete the cycle of divine vengeance he has begun, he attacks and kills Soranzo, striking him down with one swift blow as might Zeus with a thunderbolt:
“Soranzo, see this heart which was thy wife’s;
Thus I exchange it royally for thine, [Stabs him.]
And thus, and thus. Now brave revenge is mine” (Ford, 5.6.72-74).
So he again claims revenge, this time against Soranzo, revenge which ought to be left in the hands of the gods’. Yet Giovanni cannot see past his own fantastic notion of godhood, his own Orexis, or appetite, desire (paper directions, 2), to realize his notion of absolute sovereignty. He has succeeded in marring Annabella’s heroic beauty from adorning any other but himself, has realized his fantastic notion of revenge on both Annabella and Soranzo. These accomplished, his megalomania is as satisfied as it can be. He has indulged his Pleonexia, or greed (paper directions, 2), in the orexis to possess Annabella solely, and no longer has a competitor even in her death. And he, unlike Medea, has nothing left. He must die, having undeservedly taken the role of the gods; for no mortal can live without witnessing disproof to his or her own godliness. Giovanni then must die, for he will not face that which is true: he is not a god, and Annabella died for naught but his twisted and unnatural notion of love.
Medea, enactor of a self-inflated divine retribution as well, is a megalomaniac, but not in the way that is Giovanni. Giovanni has an overly magnified sense of self, and in no way deserves the power he has ascribed himself. Medea is, however, the granddaughter of a god: Helius. Divine blood does flow in her veins. Her megalomania, therefore, is one that is sustained at the end of the play. The Chorus opens the aforementioned passage, calling upon Zeus to make divine retribution for Medea’s sake, and divine retribution there is: by the hand of Medea. She takes from Jason, her husband and the man who has so severely wronged her pride, everything she can, as might the all-powerful gods. Yet she does not suffer as does Giovanni; she does not need to die in order to maintain her notion of godhood. As if to reinforce this idea of divinity, she leaves Jason (after having murdered their two young sons) in a chariot drawn by dragons (Euripides, 1316-1317). She then flees to a country where she has asylum and is promised protection from her enemies, remaining safe and very much alive and vindicated (Euripides, 749-753).
That does leave the question, how then is Medea’s megalomania, as a woman, a product of misogyny? The answer lies in the quoted passage above, and in her discourse with Jason later on in the play. Medea gives the answer quite eloquently when she states that, “it is required / For us to buy a husband and take for our bodies / A master; for not to take one is even worse” (Euripides, 232-234). In short, a woman must take a husband in classical Greek society, in order to remain a part of the polis. Medea then goes on to make clear that the husband is the woman’s entire world: while he may escape the home at his will and leisure, she may not (Euripides, 244-247). In this imbalanced relationship, the male also has complete and absolute control over the woman. If he is bad, she must bear it. Again, according to classic thought, women not only did not know what was for their own good, but acted directly opposing that which was best for them (handout, 49-50). Jason makes this claim, when he gives his reason for taking a second wife,
“Here I will prove that, first, it was a clever move,
Secondly, a wise one, and, finally, that I made it
In your best interests and the children’s. Please keep calm” (Euripides, 548-550).
He made this decision, he claims, so that their position in society would be a secure one; that their children might not go friendless and they would have a role in the polis (Euripides, 559-563). In the somewhat dim mind of Jason, Medea ought be grateful to him for being so considerate of her, and their two sons. And, seeing as he is Medea’s legal keeper, he decides to go and act on his impulse, without her permission, or even discussing the matter with her. Medea addresses this, saying to him,
“O Coward in every way-that is what I call you,
With bitterest reproach for your lack of manliness,
You have come, you my worst enemy, have come to me” (Medea, 465-467)!
He is a coward, feminized. She goes on to take the agency he has claimed among the Greeks, listing each deed he has supposedly accomplished, and takes the active hand in every one (Euripides, 476-479). Medea then has the masculine role, has the agency and true dominance in her relationship with Jason. Yet because of the patriarchal misogyny of the society in which they live, Medea as a woman has no option but to bear the role which her husband as dealt unto her.
Jason, however, seems to not take into account that Medea slew her own family for him, that she is the grandchild of the god of the sun. When she acts, so do divine forces but her own very nature of heavenly ancestry and blood. Medea is no passive housewife; she knows her lineage and knows that her revenge, should she make it, is divine. She counts on the fact that the Furies will not be able to touch her, in her crime against her own blood, the slaying of her sons. She references her own divinity, acknowledging her right to revenge,
“God, and God’s daughter, justice, and light of Helius!
Now, friends, has come the time of my triumph over
My enemies, and now my foot is on the road.
Now I am confident they will pay the penalty” (Euripides, 764-767).
She has no cares about divine retribution against her, committing such a heinous crime as infanticide, and only takes pain to assure her safety against the hand of man (by roping Aegeus into promising her safety in his lands). Once this has been assured, she sets her plan in motion, confident in her megalomania, her godliness. She even claims that the gods have helped her contrive this plot; for when the tutor of her children asks why she weeps, she replies, “Oh, I am forced to weep, old man. The gods and I, / I in a kind of madness, have contrived all this” (Euripides, 1013-1014). Here she proves her own megalomania; though she is divine and therefore cannot suffer divine retaliation for her twisted actions, she mistakenly believes the gods to be her co-conspirators in her crime of regicide and infanticide.
If Jason had not had the power asserted to him by his patriarchal and misogynistic polis; if it was not his right to do as he pleased with his wife, to take another and discard the first without seemingly a thought to her emotional response; if his society held women upon an equal footing, with equal rights and power in their marriages, Medea would never have had the need or opportunity to give rise and feed her megalomaniacal disposition and mentality. In summation, it is the misogynistic tendencies of this patriarchal society that, though it did not create Medea’s megalomania-it existed in tandem with her divine heritage-it gave rise to it; it was the driving force that awakened her divine need for retribution against her wronged pride. Medea, a masculine individual with very active agency (over Jason’s passive, submissive role), enacts her megalomania to recall equity betwixt her and, not only Jason, but the entire misogynistic society that has wronged her, by killing not only the Princess and her children, but the King as well.
Works Cited
Ford, John. ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore. Manchester United Press, 1997. Print
Euripides. The Medea. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1955. Print.
Silver, Victoria. Handout.
---. Paper directions.