Monday, June 30, 2008

The Winter’s Tale discussion: Act III


Samuel Middiman engraving of Act Three, Scene Three
Picture source

Scene i is very short, but packed with stylistic foreshadowing of things to come in addition to basic information of things that have happened offstage. The two lords sent to the Oracle in Act II Scene i have returned. Cleomenes and Dion describe their visit to the Oracle’s island, which sets up a sharp contrast to Sicilia. Words like “delicate,” “sweet,” and “fertile” are used in their praise of the island. The solemnity of the sacrifice they witnessed stands in sharp contrast to the sacrifice of Hermione’s baby (although the animal sacrificed to Apollo might beg to differ). Cleomenes recalls the Oracle’s voice, or more probably the noise heard when the Oracle heard the message from the gods, made him feel like he “was nothing.” While this echoes Leontes’ nihilistic ranting in Act I Scene ii, the contrast also stands out regarding the inward despair of Leontes versus Cleomenes' awe in the presence of god-related activity. An additional echo comes from Dion’s claim that the Oracle’s message hope that the message “Will clear or end the business” (line 18), recalling Leontes' command to take the baby to a place “Where chance may nurse or end it.” (II. iii. 182) The lords wish a favorable outcome for Hermione from the Oracle’s message, further showing that all is not well in Sicilia when the King's desire is being resisted (as Paulina showed in the previous scene).

Scene ii presents the trial of Hermione, with Leontes attempting to appear fair instead of tyrannical. The charges against the Queen are treason, adultery, and conspiring to kill the King. Hermione declares her innocence but since all she has is her word (which the King is predisposed to disbelieve), how can she adequately defend herself? She befriended Polixenes at Leontes’ request, which could not disobey. The threat of death is no longer a threat from her since she can no longer see her children and has clearly lost the love of her husband. Her language smoothly flows in a logical sense while Leontes' barbs are harsh and base. My favorite exchange is shortly before the Oracle’s message is read (III. Ii. 79 – 84):

Hermione: Sir, You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I’ll lay down.

Leontes: Your actions are my dreams.
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream’d it!

Hermione’s life is at the mercy of Leontes’ fantasies and he stands reality and delusions on their head. Hermione prizes her honor before her life, but unfortunately Leontes feels the same way: he prizes his honor above her life, too. After eloquently defending herself, even though she knows it will not change the outcome, Hermione defers to the Oracle. (Reading Hermione's pleas alongside Imogen's passionate defense in Cymbeline, Act III Scene iv is educational in what is similar and what is different when taking into account their situations.)

The Oracle’s message is comically brief and unambiguous, unlike any pronouncement in ancient Greek literature:

“Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.”

The only ambiguous part is narrowing the intent of what is lost. One of my reactions in reading the Oracle’s message was obviously anachronistic—it sounded like a telegram: “Hermione is chaste, stop. Polixenes blameless, stop. Camillo a true subject, stop.” Leontes dismisses the message as false and vows to proceed with the trial. Retribution from the gods is swift, however. A messenger delivers the news that Mamillius, fearing his mother’s fate, died. Leontes, on hearing the news and seeing Hermione faint, realizes he has been unjust and the gods are punishing him. He provides for every care be taken with the prostate Queen, vowing to reconcile with her as well as Polixenes and Camillo. In realizing he sought revenge for his honor, he has stripped away the honor of others. Paulina returns after attending to the Queen and acts as Leontes’ conscience as well as abeting in the belief that Hermione has died. Also, Paulina provides some foreshadowing for the final Act regarding bringing Hermione back to life. The King’s 180° return to sanity is almost too rapid to be believed, mainly because his jealousy and paranoia were so strong. However, before the reader or theatergoer can raise any concerns, the location changes as well as the temperament of the play.

Scene iii shifts to Bohemia where the shocking action continues, complete with death and destruction, but the mood is noticeably changed to parody. There are other comparisons and contrasts with what has already happened, but the main effect is to stop grief or similar emotion in its tracks. Antigonus has arrived in Bohemia with the royal baby to complete his mission of abandoning it to the elements. He relays his dream seeing Hermione and her desire to name the baby Perdita. Since he believes he would not have seen Hermione in a dream without her being dead, and that she could not be dead without the Oracle’s message, Antigonus clearly believes in the Queen’s guilt. He abandons the baby to the elements (with gold and a scroll) and leaves the stage under the direction Exit, pursued by a bear. Whether or not the original production contained a bear or not (bears were not uncommon in plays of the time, not to mention there was a bear pit near the Globe Theatre), the trajectory (bearing?) of the play hinges on this scene as well as carrying symbolic value. A shepherd and his son enter. The son has seen Antigonus being devoured by the bear as well as his ship’s crew lost in a storm, which means that Leontes is irrevocably cut off from Perdita. After the shepherd finds the baby and the gold, he instructs his son to keep it a secret in order to maintain their good luck. Given the rapid shift in location and tone, the viewer is given fair warning that something different is in store for the reaminder of the play.


Bear garden and playhouse
Picture source

Friday, June 27, 2008

The Winter’s Tale discussion: Act II

Mrs. Siddons as Hermione at Drury Lane, 1802
Picture source

Act II’s power comes from three sources:

  • Leontes’ further descent into paranoia and madness, his rule sliding into tyranny,
  • Hermione’s calm submission to her fate, certain that the truth will be revealed and absolve her of any wrongdoing, and
  • Paulina’s role as the lone voice of reason, calling on Nature to favorably resolve the perversion of justice the King has caused.

Scene i takes place in Leontes’ palace, beginning with Hermione, son Mamillius, and attending ladies. While it would have been apparent in Act I to theatergoers that Hermione was pregnant, here is the first mention of that fact. Polixenes’ stay had been mentioned as lasting nine months, which takes on added significance (and again, would have been apparent earlier). After some playful banter between Mamillius and the attendants, the boy starts a tale at the request of his mother. He is interrupted before he gets very far, probably meant to foreshadow both the interruption of his life as well as the King’s penance (“There was a man-- … / Dwelt by a churchyard” II. i. 29, 30).

Leontes feels justified in his conviction that he had been cuckolded when he finds out that Polixenes and Camillo have fled Sicilia, although he wishes he didn’t “know”.

How blest am I
In my just censure! In my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom (for his knowledge
Is not infected); but if one present
Th’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. (II. i. 35-45)

This is wonderful imagery, describing how ignorance protected him from the venom of jealousy. And even though he had directed Camillo to “bespice” Polixenes’ drink, Leontes is the one who saw “the spider” and has descended into madness. (The spider motif must have been common. Stephen Greenblatt mentions in the biography Will in the World that John Rainolds, scholar and dean around Shakespeare’s time, commented on the danger of acting in schools. Since actors were always male, there might be a call in the play where the hero and heroine might kiss, which would be like the kiss of “certain spiders”: “if they do but touch men only with their mouth, they put them to wonderful pain and make them mad.”) Leontes makes himself known in the room by separating Mamillius from Hermione, decrying that his son has her blood in him and the unborn child belongs to Polixenes. Leontes’ gibes at his wife grow stronger until he commands she be sent to prison. Hermione responds as if these comments and actions are “sport”, unable to believe are serious. Her responses are lightheartedly at first, growing stronger in her denials until she tells her husband that when he finds out the truth he will be grieved. Even so, at this point, she says that all can be righted if Leontes admits his mistake.

After being ordered to prison, Hermione still remains collected, saying she feels grief but knows with patience she will be cleared. Several lords, especially Antigonus, defend the Queen but this only seems to make Leontes angrier. Finally he quiets them by saying he had sent two lords to the Oracle at Apollo’s temple to reveal the truth. It is clear he believes the Oracle will support him and will “Give rest to th’ minds of others” (II. i. 191). That Leontes believes confirmation of the Queen’s adultery will calm his subjects shows how far his reasoning has left him.

Scene ii is short, setting up the subsequent scene. The reader/theatergoer does not find out that it is 23 days after Scene i until later. Paulina, Antigonus’ wife, visits the jail and finds out from one of the Queen’s attendants that Hermione went into labor early due to the “frights and griefs”, giving birth to a girl. Paulina, thinking that Leontes will “soften at the sight o’ th’ child,” proposes to present the baby to him. She finally convinces the jailer that the baby, unborn at the time of the Queen’s sentence, may be given her freedom.

Scene iii continues the buildup of tension in the play. We find out that Mamillius has taken ill, Leontes believes because of “the dishonor of his mother”. Leontes’ madness is firmly established as he mutters about plots and vengeance and reveals his insomnia. His son’s illness appears to be a contributing factor as well. Paulina arrives with the baby, several lords in tow including her husband Antigonus. She probably could not have chosen a worse time to see the King as he rambles with his paranoid fantasies. Leontes is upset with Antigonus’ inability to control Paulina, threatening him with hanging. Antigonus replies that the King would not have any subjects left if he were to carry out that sentence on all the men. Paulina’s defiance, not just of her husband but of the King as well, shows that things are topsy-turvy in Sicilia. Yet Paulina proves to be an adequate match for the King, stating that she is there to help Leontes unlike his obsequious subjects allowing not confronting his madness with the truth. She presents the baby to Leontes, detailing the likenesses (and snidely commenting ‘‘tis the worse” for it) of the King and the baby, symbolically speaking for the “good goddess Nature” for the proof that the baby is his. Despite being threatened by fire and hanging, Paulina comes close to calling Leontes a tyrant, unable to back up his accusations with anything beyond his “fancy.” Paulina lays the baby at Leontes feet and leaves.

A furious Leontes commands Antigonus to dispatch of the baby. Antigonus persuades the King to give the baby a chance in case of innocence. Leontes seems to relent in order to maintain some semblance of justice and reasonableness. As Antigonus leaves to abandon the baby in a remote place, he calls on Nature to provide pity and sustain the child. The Act ends with the announcement that the lords have returned with a message from the Oracle. While the King declares his wife will have “A just and open trial”, he clearly has his mind made up that she is guilty.


Winter's Tale: Act Two, Scene Three
(Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, Attendants and the Infant Perdita)
Picture source

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The Winter’s Tale discussion: Act I

Ian McKellen as Leontes
Picture source

Scene i consists of two nobles, one each from Bohemia (Archidamus) and Sicilia (Camillo), providing the foreground of where the action currently lies. The long-standing friendship of their two kings, dating back to their childhood, is established as well as the young prince Mamillius’ promise as heir to the Sicilian throne. The inflated compliments between the two nobles are so exaggerated that the undermining of the succession claims in the last three lines sounds a rather flat note to set up Scene ii.

Scene ii is where the action begins, and it races ahead quickly. Polixenes (King of Bohemia) thanks Leontes (King of Sicilia) for hosting his long stay, but regrets that he needs to return to his kingdom. Polixenes is not persuaded by Leontes to remain a while longer, so Leontes enlists the aid of his wife, Hermione. She is able to convince Polixenes to stay, but their conversation has several interesting points. Polixenes rhapsodizes on the time he and Leontes spent as boys (I. ii. 67-75). While proclaiming their innocence as youths, there is a strong homoerotic tone in his speech. As usual with Shakespeare, it is difficult to be completely sure if it is there or if I am reading too much into it (although it would provide an additional reason for what unfolds). As Hermione chides Polixenes and questions the boys’ sexual experience before they met their wives, Leontes returns (and must have overheard some of their talk about sex). He finds out she has persuaded the King of Bohemia to stay, which marks the start of his descent into murderous sexual jealousy.

The cause of Leontes’ jealousy is not completely clear, or at least doesn't seem completely explained by what has transpired. But as Camillo states at the end of the scene when asked how this jealousy could have happened, “I know not: but I am sure ‘tis safer to / Avoid what’s grown than question how ‘tis born.” (I. ii. 432-433). At this point, how it happened is not as important as recognizing it is very real. Leontes’ words and actions turn caustic, congratulating his wife for her ability to win a man over for a second time, using acerbic words to describe their courtship (I. ii. 101-105). His language takes on additional layers of meaning as he comments on the innocent actions of his wife and Polixenes as well as the appearance of his son. The close proximity of the lines regarding the boys innocent play, their pre-marriage sexual experiences, and Leontes' courtship comments traces a revealing arc. The implication seems to be that innocence is sullied by sexual activity outside of marriage, followed by Leontes' powerlessness in courtship. The tables have already been turned once regarding sexual power, and his perceived subjugation again helps fuel his fire. While his anger and despair rise, his comments are veiled and much more subtle (around others, at least) than similar Shakespearean characters that believe themselves to be the cuckold (Othello and Posthumus most notably). Some of Leontes’ comments on cuckoldry are even comic (men “little thinks she has been sluic’d in ‘s absence / And his pond fish’d by his next neighbor” I. ii. 194-195) as he drives himself deeper into the abyss of his jealous madness.

The abyss doesn’t reach bottom any time soon as he grills Camillo on his wife’s fidelity, believing himself the last to find out. The intensity builds as he reaches his nihilistic conclusion:

Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty)? horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs; theirs only.
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why then the world and all that's in't is nothing.
The covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,
My wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing. (I. ii. 284-296)

That there is nothing behind his fears does not matter at this point. Unsaid in this despair is that he fears himself ‘nothing’. Since there is only ‘nothing’, Leontes has free rein to do anything he pleases, disregarding his responsibilities as leader (and the belief of Shakespeare's time that the personal affects the state when it comes to leaders). The section at the end of the second scene with Leontes and Camillo is my favorite part of this act for several reasons: it shows that Leontes is mad (imagining Hermione’s unfaithfulness, ordering Camillo to kill Polixenes) but still manages a perverted lucidity of reasoning (promising not to hurt Hermione if Camillo does poison Polixenes). Camillo realizes he cannot win regardless of his actions, so his replies to the King are ambiguous. Does he actually promise to poison Polixenes or not? It is so wonderfully worded the reader/observer can’t tell.

In this section, as well as when Camillo warns Polixenes of the plot, there is the allusion to the breakdown of order, beginning at the top (which will cause things to be greater because of Leontes’ power) and how it will impact the rest of the kingdom. The scene and act ends with Polixenes agreeing to flee with Camillo’s guidance. The act is a wonderful set-up for what feels to be an updated Greek tragedy.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Winter's Tale online resources



John Gielgud as Leontes
Picture source





Text of the play

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (MIT)
Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library
Project Gutenberg
MaximumEdge.com has a useful search feature
The Electronic Literature Foundation also has a search engine

Links about the play

Wikipedia’s entry on the play

“Retelling the Tale” by Gideon Lester at the American Repertory Theatre site—a performance history

Notes on the play by Dr. Michael Deahoyde, Washington State University

John Marwick's site, who directed the play. The site contains "study guides, summaries, academic papers, commentaries, photos, paintings, and the text among other things".

Wikipedia entry on Pandosto or The Triumph of Time by Robert Greene, probable inspiration for The Winter’s Tale. The text can be found in the external links at the end of the entry.

A few links on Shakespeare (quirky mix)

Each of the The Winter's Tale text links has all the plays available from their home page

Shakespeare Online

Mr. William Shakespeare and the Internet (The "Other" Sites link contains a hodgepodge of useful and funny links as well)

Exploring Shakespeare at the Royal Shakespeare Company--notes, video clips, interviews of past performances

Absolute Shakespeare

Shakespeare Resource Center

Google's digitized texts of his plays and Google video results

Shakespeare Online

The Shakespeare page of Dr. Michael Deahoyde, Washington State University

Peter Hadorn's Renaissance and Shakespeare Page (University of Wisconsin at Platteville)

Shakespeare General Resources by Marc Hufnagl (The Harker School)

Monday, June 23, 2008

The Periodic Table discussion

The Periodic Table consists of 21 short pieces, each titled with an element from the periodic table. The pieces include personal and family stories of Primo Levi as well as fictional tales while the relationship to the title element ranges from peripheral to central. More than anything else, the book gives insight to Levi’s composition as we follow him through his training to become a chemist, dealing with the Jewish laws in fascist Italy, surviving Auschwitz at the end of World War II, and picking up the pieces of his life after such a experience.


Levi explains what drove him to study chemistry:

We began studying physics together, and Sandro was surprised when I tried to explain to him some of the ideas that at the time I was confusedly cultivating. That the nobility of Man, acquired in a hundred centuries of trial and error, lay in making himself the conqueror of matter, and that I had enrolled in chemistry because I wanted to remain faithful to this nobility. That conquering matter is to understand it, and understanding matter is necessary to understanding the universe and ourselves: and that therefore Mendleev’s Periodic Table, which just during those weeks we were laboriously learning to unravel, was poetry, loftier and more solemn than all the poetry we had swallowed down in liceo; and come to think of it, it even rhymed! That if one looked for the bridge, the missing link, between the world of words and the world of things, one did not have to look far: it was there, in our Autenrieth, in our smoke-filled labs, and in our future trade.

One of the delights of the book is the brief character sketches Levi gives of his friends and acquaintances, presenting a full person in only a few words. There was the Sandro, mentioned above, who wanted to understand himself (in contrast to Levi’s desire to understand matter) and constantly challenged himself, unwilling to be conquered by man or nature. There are only a few brief mentions of Levi’s wife, but in presenting a woman willing to help her husband collect chicken droppings he manages to convey a lot about her. In the chapter titled “Vanadium”, we are even given a character sketch from a distance of one of the industrial mangers connected with Auschwitz that he encountered through his work (and never met, other than through correspondence). Levi’s interaction with people throughout his life discloses a complex and generous man—while the book is far from autobiographical, the reader gets a revealing look at the author.

Many chemistry-related themes run throughout the book, with Levi showing both chemical and personal examples:

  • distances between theory and practice,
  • the complexity of matter, people and reality,
  • purity vs. impurity,
  • passive vs. active,
  • the ability of minute things to ignite much greater action or cause unwanted reactions,
  • divergent possibilities that hinge on minor differences,
  • order vs. chaos, and
  • the importance of inertia in people and institutions.

The final chapter tells “the story of an atom of carbon.” It would be interesting to know if Levi ever read The Maias by Eça de Queirós since the character Ega proposes authoring Memoirs of an Atom, for which he is hailed as a promising writer (even though he never even attempts to write it). Just as Levi imagines the history of a carbon atom finding its way into his brain, The Periodic Table gives the reader unique insight into the mind of Levi. He envies one character’s “boundless freedom of invention” to build “the past that suits him best,” yet Levi’s experiences show that simple humaneness can yield disproportionate (and unwarranted) optimism in constructing his rich life.

A few online resources for Primo Levi can be found here.

Update (5 Jan 2018): Carole Angier provides not just a nice overview of the book, but also includes the chapter “Cerium” with detailed commentary on that chapter at Aeon.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Online resources for Primo Levi

While I had The Periodic Table on my list to re-read soon, I was surprised when a co-worker recommended it. It was such a coincidence, I thought now was a good time to approach it again after more than 20 years. Originally published in 1975, my first encounter with it was when it was translated into English in 1984.

Fortunately there is a lot available online regarding Levi and his writing, so below is a short list of a few sites I found informative:

  • Levi’s Wikipedia entry


  • A detailed entry on Levi at “The Modern Word’s” Scriptorium, with biography, bibliography, and brief reviews of his works


  • Composer Ari Frankel’s article at The Internet Channel has a partial transcript of a documentary covering a group visit to Auschwitz. Levi’s portion is detailed, and the site includes many pictures of Levi, his books, and photos that Frankel took.


  • An article by David Mendel on Levi’s thoughts on translation


  • One of Levi’s stories, published after his death: The Molecule's Defiance


  • Parts of an interview with Levi (excerpts from Ferdinando Camon, Conversations with Primo Levi)


  • A webpage dedicated to Primo Levi the Chemist


  • Primo Levi, from The Truce

    [And] a dream full of horror has still not ceased to visit me, at sometimes frequent, sometimes longer, intervals. It is a dream within a dream, varied in detail, one in substance. I am sitting at a table with my family, or with friends, or at work, or in the green countryside; in short, in a peaceful relaxed environment, apparently without tension or affliction; yet I feel a deep and subtle anguish, the definite sensation of an impending threat. And in fact, as the dream proceeds, slowly and brutally, each time in a different way, everything collapses, and disintegrates around me, the scenery, the walls, the people, while the anguish becomes more intense and more precise. Now everything has changed into chaos; I am alone in the centre of a grey and turbid nothing, and now, I know what this thing means, and I also know that I have always known it; I am in the Lager once more, and nothing is true outside the Lager. All the rest was a brief pause, a deception of the senses, a dream; my family, nature in flower, my home. Now this inner dream, this dream of peace, is over, and in the outer dream, which continues, gelid, a well-known voice resounds: a single word, not imperious, but brief and subdued. It is the dawn command, of Auschwitz, a foreign word, feared and expected: get up, "Wstawàch."

    Update (3 Dec 2011): A short post by Siddhartha Mukherjee on My hero: Primo Levi.

    The Relic summary

    All of the posts related to The Relic are listed below, and I'll repeat the closing of the last post:

    The Relic combines comedy, romance, and satire in a bawdy picaresque tale. Even with all the spoilers in these posts, I highly recommend this unique work and author. It is a true pleasure to read and savor.

    Online resources for Eça de Queirós

    An introductory post to the book and where it can be found

    The Relic discussion: Chapters 1 - 2
    The Relic discussion: Chapter 3
    The Relic discussion: Chapters 4 - 5

    The Relic discussion: Chapters 4 – 5

    The last two chapters return us to Teodorico’s waking life, following him home from the Holy Lands. After being carried back in time, Teodorico finds that he is indifferent and weary of the shrines and sights. The languor of soul is serious: “I did not even feel interested in the pretty Jewish girls” of Nazareth. This is not the libertine we have gotten to know! While he sometimes feels “a faint, delicious nostalgia for the remote past,” his real incentive now is to return home and worm his way into his aunt’s good graces (and of course, her will).

    Teodorico takes great care in packing the many relics he has obtained, especially focusing on the crate holding the alleged crown of thorns (sealed with nails from Noah’s ark, of course). His companion, Topsius, settles Teodorico’s nerves regarding the claim that he has the crown of thorns. “The value of relics, Dom Raposo, lies not in their authenticity but in the faith that they inspire.” Unstated is that the faith lies in the holder’s belief that they are authentic. Contrasts between Teodorico’s actions and the historical nature of the Holy Lands abound, and his stay ends with one of the more ironical comparisons during his visit to the Garden of Gethsemane. Instead of retreating there to pray, he daydreams about his aunt’s death and spending his inheritance. With Eça there is little surprise with intended plot twists, so when Teodorico gives what he thinks is Mary’s nightdress to a woman as an act of charity, the reader can be pretty sure where this is headed. As he leaves Jaffa he is temporarily moved by a longing for the Holy Lands. But even though his plans are dashed when he finds out that Mary has run off with another man, we see our beloved Teodorico return to normal—he plans to defile a nun. He rationalizes this as true love, but seasickness quickly overtakes him and she is spared. Upon reaching Alexandria, he spends “the brief night in a street of delights. Go there, my compatriots, if you want to know the rough pleasures of the Orient.”

    Upon returning to Lisbon, Teodorico feels a new respect from people who know about his trip. He feels he “could speak with equal authority at the Geographical Society and at Benta Bexigosa’s bawdyhouse.” The tales he tells his aunt and family friends about his holy journey are laughable in contrast to what he actually experienced. His hopes go higher as he learns of his aunt’s failing health. Eça plays up the unveiling of relics a little too much, but meanwhile Teodorico prays earnestly (for a change) about his aunt: “Oh holy Virgin Mary, let her die soon.” He even thinks he may have to resort to violence to hasten her end. But then the moment comes as expected:

          The final nail was removed from the final plank to reveal the white layer of cotton wool. With tender reverence I removed it and, before their ecstatic eyes, I lifted out the sacred package wrapped in brown paper and tied with red ribbon.

          “Oh, what a perfume! I feel quite faint!” sighed Auntie swooning with saintly pleasure, the whites of her eyes showing above the black lenses of her glasses.

          I stood up, flushed with pride: “Given her great virtue, it should be left to my aunt to unwrap the package.”

          Rousing herself from her languor, still tremulous and pale, but with the grave demeanour of a pontiff, Auntie took up the package, bowed to the saints, placed it on the altar and devoutly untied the knot in the red ribbon. Then with the solicitude of one who fears she might bruise a divine body, she undid the folds of brown paper one by one. A piece of white linen appeared. Auntie picked it up with the tips of her fingers, pulled it brusquely out and there on the altar amongst the saints, on the camellias, at the foot of the cross, lay the lace and ribbons of Mary’s nightdress!

          Yes, Mary’s nightdress, in all its glory and immodesty, still creased by my embraces, with ever fold redolent of sin! Mary’s nightdress! And pinned to it, clearly legible by the light of the candles, the note that went with the gift, written in large letters: “To my Teodorico, my brave little Portuguese lover, in memory of all the pleasures we enjoyed!” Signed “M.M.”

    After being banished from the house, he discovers he had grabbed the trunk with the “minor relics” he had brought back for his friends. He realizes “The relics were money!”, but then that had always been his intent—to use them for inclusion in his aunt’s will. Teodorico is able to live extravagantly for a brief time by selling his relics (and manufacturing some new ones), but soon Portugal is swamped and the market dries up. His middleman earnestly complains to my delight: “It was you who ruined the business! The market’s overflowing. I can’t even sell one of Baby Jesus’ nappies, which always used to sell so well before.”

    Teodorico’s aunt dies and he gets word that he is essentially disinherited. The church (or more accurately, several priests) get the bulk of her wealth. The reader can clearly see why the priests hung around the aunt’s house all those years, and it wasn’t just for spiritual guidance. After blaming religion for all his troubles, Teodorico has yet another dream. What appears to be Jesus, but ends up being Teodorico’s conscious, judges him and leads him to see his own hypocrisy—it’s narrated a little heavy-handed at times, but the transformation had to occur for Eça’s intended ending. The ironies pile up as he becomes a truthful man. He cuts his prayer off mid-sentence realizing he doesn’t believe in religion anymore. He ends up with a respectable career and a marriage with an amply dowried woman. He ends up buying the family house although everything he had originally hoped for ended up in the hands of a rapacious priest. But he now has an understanding of how things have happened, and how things could have been different if he had been even more audacious:

          Yes, when a sinful nightdress had appeared on the altar instead of a crown of thorns, I should have declared confidently:

          “There is the relic! I wanted to give you a surprise. It’s not the crown of thorns, it’s better than that! It’s the nightdress that belonged to May Magdalene. She gave it to me herself in the desert.” …

          And who would doubt it? … Aunt Patrocínio would have fallen upon my breast, calling me ‘her son and heir.’ And I would be rich! I would be beatified. My portrait would be hung in the sacristy of the cathedral. The Pope would telegraph me an apostolic blessing. …

          Thus would all my social ambitions have been satisfied. And show knows? Perhaps the intellectual ambitions I had caught from the learned Topsius would also have been satisfied. Because science, jealous of the triumph of faith, might well have claimed that nightdress belonging to Mary Magdalene for itself, as an archaeological document. It might well have illumined certain obscure points in the history of contemporary costume in the New Testament, the way nightdresses in Judaea were made in the first century, the industrial state of lacemaking in Syria under the Roman administration, the way the Semitic races did their hemming. …

          And I had lost it all. Why? Because for one moment, I lacked the ‘shameless heroism needed to tell a lie’, which, thanks to some universal illusion, is responsible for creating all sciences and all religions, whether it loudly strides the earth or merely lifts its eyes palely to Heaven.

    Not much remains unscathed from the author’s finale. Eça seems to have no problem with the humanistic side of religion (or similarly the actual usefulness of academia) but decries what the institutions have developed into and how much they undermine the original intent of their existence. The last paragraph of the book harks back to the first dream Teodorico has of the devil lamenting the creation of yet another religion and the audacity it takes to found one.

    The Relic combines comedy, romance, and satire in a bawdy picaresque tale. Even with all the spoilers in these posts, I highly recommend this unique work and author. It is a true pleasure to read and savor.

    Monday, June 09, 2008

    The Relic discussion: Chapter 3

    And now for something completely different…

    After enjoying the women and champagne at the end of Chapter 2, Teodorico is transported by dream back to the first century AD. Following Topsius on a whirlwind trip to Jerusalem, we are given a detailed view of the city and temple as it might have appeared at the time. Teodorico has not changed much in his dream since he is intoxicated by women, wishing to keep them company. Instead, Topsius makes sure he views Jesus’ trial and crucifixion. Teodorico gets involved in a plot to spirit away an (still alive) alive Jesus after the crucifixion, but the scheme unravels when Jesus dies before the planned escape.

    The narration of the dream can be jarring at times. There are a few instances where some discordant notes can give the reader pause. The anachronisms (eyeglasses and cigarettes, for example) are minor and easy to brush off since it is a dream. More questions arise from the knowledge Teodorico shows in the dream—how is he aware of so much? Is it something he “knew” during his dream or did he acquire the knowledge later? The awareness of what subsequently happens after this Passover while actually experiencing it creates a tension regarding time. These questions and paradoxes are ultimately set aside by what he sees and experiences in the dream, not just the known events but a fleshing out of the atmosphere and politics surrounding them.

    Why is this chapter in the book? I wish I could talk with the author and get his take. Since that’s not going to happen, I’ll make some guesses based on what struck me. One obvious point is the difference in the Holy Land “back then” and “today” (or at least the time of the tale). Teodorico describes the desolate area he visits but in the dream he marvels over the lushness and beauty in everything he sees. This contrast seems to serve as a metaphor for Queirós’ view of religion—that a once promising idea has been so debased and debauched that the original intent (and potential) has been forgotten. It’s not that things were always rosy regarding religion—the Muslim guards in Chapter 2 are replaced by the Romans used to keep the peace in the dream. (Not that the Romans were always fair, as detailed in the dream). Debates in the temple over arcane and meaningless points show one corruption of the basic message. The willingness to protect the whole (and more likely the self) by allowing the sacrifice of an individual calls into question the intention or motivation of those willing to throw others under the bus.

    Some of the more powerful scenes in the dream pertain to Jesus’ humanity and his basic message. Queirós seems to have a respect for Jesus and his message but ultimately doesn’t appear to believe his holiness. The explanation of the empty tomb calls into question the very foundation of Christianity (at worst) and the focus of its message (at best). The author doesn’t pull any punches regarding Jesus himself, showing a decidedly different viewpoint on his treatment of the moneychangers in the temple.

    The interesting observation for me is how different Teodorico acts during the dream. At first he behaves the same as in real life, not just in his desire for women but also the personal gain of being privy to what Jesus might say in his presence. But as the dream progresses he changes and shows a reverence and awe for what is happening. The difference is that what is happening in the dream is unadulterated. What Teodorico experiences in Lisbon when surrounded by his overly zealous aunt and her spiritual advisers has added a distance he must travel (and is unwilling to do so) to reach the heart of the religion. It may overdoing it in portraying the entire religion as based on legend, but it definitely gets Queirós point across as to the difference between the humanism of Jesus and the sham piety of Teodorico’s day. Some things are consistent between the two ages, whether it is the fake relics or the moeny to be made from someone else’s faith. But the differences, especially regarding what can be at stake, are even more striking.

    I’m not sure if Queirós views that elevating Jesus’ humanism into a religion is the ultimate source of its corruption, but he does highlight the distance it traveled from the original intent. This is masterpiece of a very unique chapter. As Queirós commented early in the chapter about Jesus’ own actions, unintended consequences can undermine the intent of what is planned, which seems to be one theme of the entire book.