If you go to IMDB.com and type in the name “Hamlet,” 73 exact title matches are returned of film and television adaptations of what it widely considered Shakespeare’s masterpiece. The filmic adaptations stretch back literally to the year 1900 when a French adaptation called Le duel d'Hamlet became the first filmic adaptation of Hamlet on record. Since then, such great actors as Laurence Olivier, Orson Welles, Derek Jacobi, Kenneth Branagh, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mel Gibson, David Tennant, and Ethan Hawke have taken on the role of the prince of Denmark. These adaptations exist in English, French, Swedish, German, Italian, and even Indian. Even more impressive is that each of these various reproductions was made with a purpose in mind. Each of the directors sat down and considered the question of what they could bring to the table that had never been done before. For example, Zeffirelli saw himself as a “popularizer” of Shakespeare, and to that end he cast recognizable stars as the main characters and rearranged the dialogue to make it more accessible to a modern audience (qtd. in Hapgood 80). Olivier’s thesis and purpose was to emphasize the idea that Hamlet “…is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind,” and brought about his purpose in part by making the set a series of precarious ledges and banisters without edges (Hamlet Dir. Olivier). Branagh showed Hamlet’s indecision by using the hidden doors in Elsinore castle as a metaphor for the many possible and occult decisions he could make (Shawver 4).

While each of these productions is interesting in its own right, one of the most interesting and provocative adaptations of Hamlet was directed by Michael Almereyda and released in the year 2000 (a type of poetic symmetry to be released 100 years after the first adaptation). The thesis of Almereyda’s Hamlet is the very last spoken line in the film. A news anchor, ostensibly covering the bloody multiple homicide in the upper echelons of the Denmark corporation and its effects in the corporate world, ends his broadcast by saying, “Our wills and fates do so contrary run that our devices still are overthrown, our thoughts are ours; their ends none of our own.” In short, Almereyda’s thesis is, despite our greatest efforts and plans, in the end, we are not in control of our own fate. Typically the goal of a filmmaker is immersion. They want to create an experience that draws the viewer into the universe of the film and makes them forget they are watching a movie. But in order to convey the lack of control that Almereyda considers so crucial, he constantly reminds the audience that they are watching a movie. By reminding them of that simple fact, he also reminds them that the ending of the movie is fixed and out of the protagonist’s control.

One way that Almereyda reminds the viewer that his film is a film is in the very way that he transplants Hamlet into the 20^th century. He could have used any number of situations as a backdrop for the action of the film, but he chose to transform the state of Denmark into a massive corporation, and the prince of Denmark into an independent film maker. The result of these two decisions is that there is video equipment all over the place; Hamlet, in fact, is rarely seen without a video camera or a portable video player. He is not the only one with cameras or surveillance equipment however. In an essay written about the technology in Almereyda’s Hamlet, Mark Thornton Burnett says,

All of this technology gives the feeling that everything the characters do is being watched; but on occasion, as is the case with Ophelia’s wire tap, it also shows that there are things going on that are outside of the character’s control.

A scene that shows off the theme of unexpected surveillance is the scene where Polonius confronts Hamlet to find the source of his madness. While the dialogue is not greatly changed (they do of course include the famous “you are a fishmonger” line), twice during this scene the camera flashes briefly to a closed circuit security (CCS) monitor. The first time it just shows Polonius and Hamlet talking, but as they enter the frame it is as Hamlet is saying the end of this line: “To be honest as this world goes is to be one man picked out of ten thousand” (Ham. 2.2.178-179). This does not necessarily mean that either of them are honest (in fact they are both being deceitful), but it does compliment the idea of the security camera picking individuals out of a crowd. The second time the shot changes to the CCS monitor is much more interesting, however. The shot changes as Hamlet walks away from Polonius. In other versions of the play and in other film adaptations, Hamlet walking away simply triggers an aside by Polonius. In this adaptation however, his aside is delivered to the security camera. This simple action makes the audience aware that Polonius knew of the security camera and very likely set up this little conversation for the benefit of someone watching on the monitor (maybe Claudius or Gertrude). In any case, it shows that Hamlet, for all his careful planning, is not in control of the situation. The simple fact that there are so many cameras and other means of surveillance is a constant reminder to the audience that this is a film; and because it is a film Hamlet’s actions and the actions of every character are scripted and they have no control over the eventual outcome.

Maintaining the Shakespearean language is another way Almereyda breaks immersion and reminds the audience that Hamlet is a film. Watching the Olivier version of Hamlet, it is easy to get lost in the language and the setting because they match so perfectly. On the other side of the coin, it is easy to get lost in the setting and language of Fight Club, once again, because the language and the setting match so perfectly. Almereyda mixes the sides of the coin by taking a modern setting and applying Shakespearean language. It is important to note that this had been done before. In 1996, Baz Luhrmann provided a model by releasing Romeo + Juliet, which mixed a modern setting with Shakespearean text. This adaptation was still quite immersive despite this juxtaposition because effort was made to reconcile the language and the setting. The most notable change was making the “swords” and “daggers” the brand names of the different pistols they were using. As a result of these updates to the modern setting, the Shakespearean language is more potable. In contrast, Almereyda’s Hamlet makes a few accommodations, but leaves many anachronistic terms in place for no other purpose than to jar the viewer. The Claudius figure is the new CEO of the Denmark Corporation, but he is constantly referred to as “King” and “Lord,” just as Gertrude is referred to as “Queen.” This anachronistic juxtaposition jars the viewer out of immersion almost every time. Another anachronism that is not really related to the language is the duel at the end of the film (as if anyone fences anymore). These anachronisms are left unchanged, partially to maintain the purity of the text I am sure, but largely for the effect of jarring and dislodging the audience from the fiction of the universe and reminding them once again that they are watching a film.

Maintaining the Shakespearean language also works in reverse. While Almereyda makes a point of maintaining the anachronisms of Shakespearean text, he also makes it a point to confuse the matter even more, by inserting bits of modern English from time to time. The first place we see this is in the opening shots of the film while the text is explaining the background of the story. Each caption is in modern English. It is confusing for first time viewers who are expecting Shakespearean language, and that confusion breaks immersion (in the very first scene). There are other parts of the film where characters speaking in Shakespearean English interact with diegetic sound spoken in modern English. There is a scene in which Ophelia calls “moviefone” and interacts with the menus. Also, in a short segment preceding the first iteration of the “To be, or not to be” speech, there is an Asian man on television that delivers a speech that could be titled “To be, or inter-be,” but does so in modern English. The recorded voice in the taxi after the screening of The Mousetrap is in modern English as well. It is odd that aspects of Shakespearean English and every occurrence of the modern English are also jarring and anti-immersive. They both serve as reminders that what the audience is watching, is a film and hence out of the control of Hamlet or any other character.

In a chapter entitled “Wide Angle” from Shakespeare and Film, Samuel Crowl finds the beginnings of the next anti-immersive technique used by Almereyda:

In this passage, Crowl calls attention to two aspects of the film: the camera angles and the color palette of the film. He suggests that the city “is a looming presence” and makes reference to the cold blues and grays. While this is important, and he is correct in asserting that the stark environment and the color palette create a prison-like atmosphere, it falls short of the true import of these cinematic elements, which is to draw attention to the fact that they are cinematic elements. In Almereyda’s Hamlet these two elements are taken to such extremes that they draw attention to the fact that they are exaggerated conventions of filmmaking.

First, the vast majority of the film is shot in tight interior spaces from slightly low angles so you can very often see the ceiling. Being able to see the ceiling in films has a tendency to create a sense of entrapment and oppression, but these are shots that are commonplace in films. What are really important for the idea of anti-immersion are the exterior shots. The most iconic exterior moment comes immediately after Claudius gives Leartes leave to return to France. This sequence features low angle shots that juxtapose Hamlet against skyscrapers, making obvious the size difference and calling attention to the cinematic technique that was used to create the shot. A similar shot can be seen in the very opening shots of the film looking through the moon roof of a limousine while driving under the hulk-like buildings.

The color palette is another way Almereyda draws attention to the cinematic techniques used to create the film and by doing so reminding the audience of the futility of Hamlet’s and other characters’s desire to control the events of the play. As Crowl pointed out, the color palette for the film is largely gray and blue. The dominant grays and blues, likely the result of a filter over the lens, are done in such a way that it appears stylistic, but not distracting (like Jerry Bruckheimer films). Clothes are black, gray, or dark. Vehicles are mostly black (except for taxis). Buildings are gray. Water is blue. There are very few places that vivid color is used, but when it is, it is distracting and breaks immersion. There are a few examples of exceptions to this rule: the press room at the beginning of the film, Claudius and Gertrude’s bedroom, the bar that Hamlet visits with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but the most significant divergence from the muted color palette is Ophelia. The reason Ophelia stands out as an exception is the rest of the examples are places and they break the rule as a whole, it is different and breaks immersion for a moment, but it goes away quickly. Ophelia, in her red outfits, stands out because she exists in contrast to the dreary color palette (it is also interesting to note that the title screen of the film is just “HAMLET” in big white block letters on a red background).

The last anti-immersive trick that we are going to look at is perhaps one of the more subtle, but one of the most effective ones that Almereyda uses: casting Bill Murray as Polonius. He does a great job. There are moments of such intense believability that it is easy to forget how Bill Murray made his career. Bill Murray has starred in movies like Ghost Busters, What About Bob, Groundhog Days, Stripes, and (of course) Caddyshack. The last thing someone would think of when they see Bill Murray is “Shakespeare.” I can only speak for myself, but every time Bill Murray came on screen, one of the characters from one of the movies listed above jumped into my head for just a second. Bill Murray is the ultimate anti-immersive device because he is the last person the audience expects to see.

Michael Almereyda’s Hamlet is a piece of art. Like the film, television, and stage versions before it (and after it), it had a thesis. Almereyda created a version of Hamlet that emphasized the fact that, despite his planning and scheming, Hamlet has no control over the outcome of his situation. He did this by ignoring one of the primary rules of cinema and breaking immersion on purpose in order to make the audience aware that, as a movie, the story is written in stone (or at least plastic discs) and the characters have no control. Almereyda’s Hamlet has a compelling vision. It has great actors. It is beautifully presented. It is a worthy addition to the collection of 72 other filmic adaptations of Hamlet and the hundreds of other film versions of Shakespeare’s plays.

Works Cited

Burnett, Mark Thornton. "To Hear and See the Matter": Communicating Technology in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet (2000)." Cinema Journal 42.3 (2003): 48-69. Print.

Caddyshack. Dir. Harold Ramis. Orion Pictures Corporation. 1980. Film.

Crowl, Samuel. “Wide Angle: The Films of the 1990’s.”Shakespeare and Film: A Norton Guide. New York: Norton, 2008. 80-97. Print.

Fight Club. Dir. David Fincher. Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. 1999. Film

Ghost Busters. Dir. Ivan Reitman. Columbia Pictures. 1984. Film.

Groundhog Days. Dir. Harold Ramis. Columbia Pictures. 1993. Film.

Hamlet. Dir. Michael Almereyda. Miramax Films. 2000. Film.

---. Dir. Kenneth Branagh. Warner Home Video. 1996. Film.

---. Dir. Laurence Olivier. The Criterion Collection. 1948. Film.

Hapgood, Robert. “Popularizing Shakespeare: The Artistry of Franco Zeffirelli.” Shakespeare, The Movie: Popularizing the Plays on Film, TV, and Video. Ed. Lynda E. Boose and Richard Burt. New York: Routledge, 1997. 80-94. Print.

Le duel d'Hamlet. Dir. Clément Maurice. Kleine Optical Company. 1900. Film.

Romeo + Juliet. Dir. Baz Luhrmann. Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.1996. Film

Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Ed. Susanne L. Wofford. Boston: Bedford-St. Martin’s, 1994. Print.

Shawver, Benjamin K. “The Ultimate Decision: Thematic Visual Elements in Branagh’s and Olivier’s Hamlet.” Ohio State U. 2010. Print.

Stripes. Dir. Ivan Reitman. Columbia Pictures. 1981. Film.

What About Bob? Dir. Frank Oz. Buena Vista Pictures. 1991. Film.

Extended Bibliography

Abbate, Alessandro. "The Text within the Text, the Screen within the Screen: Multi-Layered Representations in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet and Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet." The Play within the Play: The Performance of Meta-Theatre and Self-Reflection. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Rodopi, 2007. 377-91. Print.

---. "To Be or Inter-Be": Almereyda's end-of-millennium Hamlet." Literature Film Quarterly 32.2 (2004): 82-89. Print.

Burnett, Mark Thornton. "To Hear and See the Matter": Communicating Technology in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet (2000)." Cinema Journal 42.3 (2003): 48-69. Print.

Croteau, Melissa. "Celluloid Revelations: Millenial Culture and Dialogic 'Pastiche' in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet (2000)." Apocalyptic Shakespeare: Essays on Visions of Chaos and Revelation in Recent Film Adaptations. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2009. 110-31. Print.

Deitchman, Elizabeth A. "Shakespeare Stiles Style: Shakespeare, Julia Stiles, and American Girl Culture." A Companion to Shakespeare and Performance. Oxford, England: Blackwell, 2005. 478-93. Print.

Fedderson, Kim, and J. Michael Richardson. "Hamlet 9/11: Sound, Noise, and Fury in Almereyda's "Hamlet.." College Literature 31.4 (2004): 150-170. Print.

Jess, Carolyn. "The Promethean Apparatus: Michael Almereyda's Hamlet as Cinematic Allegory." Literature Film Quarterly 32.2 (2004): 90-96. Print.

Khoury, Yvette K. "To be or not to be" in "The Belly of the Whale"; A Reading of Joseph Campbell's "Modern Hero" Hypothesis in Hamlet on Film." Literature Film Quarterly 34.2 (2006): 120-129. Print.

Ko, Yu Jin. "'The Mousetrap' and Remembrance in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet." Shakespeare Bulletin: A Journal of Performance Criticism and Scholarship 23.4 (2005): 19-32. Print.

Leggatt, Alexander. "Urban Poetry in the Almereyda Hamlet." Shakespeare Studies Today. Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2004. 169-81. Print.

Owens, Joana. "Images, Images, Images: The Contemporary Landscape of Michael Almereyda's Hamlet." Interdisciplinary Humanities 20.2 (2003): 21-27. Print.

Rowe, Katherine. "'Remember Me': Technologies of Memory in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet." Shakespeare, the Movie II: Popularizing the Plays on Film, TV, Video, and DVD. London, England: Routledge, 2003. 37-55. Print.

Ryle, Simon J. "Ghosts and Mirrors: The Gaze in Film Hamlets." Shakespeare Survey 61(2008): 116-133. Print.

Sosnowska, Monika. "New York City of 2000 and Pars Pro Toto in Michael Almereyda's Hamlet." Images of the City. Newcastle upon Tyne, England: Cambridge Scholars, 2009. 135-46. Print.

Wood, Robert E. "Medium Cruel: Hamlet in 2000." Studies in the Humanities 31.1 (2004): 60-68. Print.

The corporate world has often been viewed as dehumanizing and given a dark existence, victimizing its workers with machine-like jobs for low wages.  These employees are constantly reminded how easily replaceable they are and are forced to work as much as possible in order to maintain job security.  No matter what may be occurring in the worker’s life, they are expected to show up early in the morning and stay late in the evening.  This description is not new, but when Herman Melville wrote Bartleby, the Scrivener in 1853, this socially progressive short story is the first to show the budding corporate world and the effects of capitalism on workers in a negative and inhumane way.

The characters of this story work on Wall Street, the heart of the corporate world, in offices that isolate them from nature.  The narrator describes the scene from his window as “commanding an unobstructed view of a lofty brick wall, black by age and everlasting shade…pushed up to within ten feet of my window pane” (Melville 1094). The black wall, with the effect of no sunlight, would make the observation dark, as though there wasn’t even a window there in the first place.  With no vegetation or nature to enjoy, it would be easy to feel disconnected from the outside world.  This also creates an atmosphere of imprisonment.  The author describes Bartleby’s view as “a window…commanded at present no view at all, though it gave some light” (Melville 1098).  This description of Bartleby’s corner conjures up an image of a prison cell, especially after he is isolated even further by a high green folding screen set between him and the narrator.  Bartleby could be seen when he was needed and locked away securely the rest of the time. 

Corporate ownership of employees is shown when Bartleby is discovered living at the office.  On his way to church one Sunday the narrator drops by only to be surprised when Bartleby answers the door, proclaiming to his boss that he “preferred not admitting him at present…he was deeply engaged,” suggesting to his boss to take a walk and return later (Melville 1103).  Upon returning and inspecting the Bartleby-free office,  the narrator discovers “a blanket…blacking box and brush…a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel…a morsel of cheese”-evidence that the man is squatting there (Melville 1104).  What a miserable existence, to be property of the corporate world. Living in an empty, desolate office after hours is pitiful.  Having to share your most personal belongings with the space you work in is humiliating.  There becomes no separation from work and home life.  This lack of privacy takes a toll on the human spirit.

The nature of the work at the law office exploits each character differently, yet in a way that connects them as mirror images.  The job of a scrivener is a “very dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair” (Melville 1098).  Their duty is to copy law documents by hand, then verify the accuracy word for word.  So not only must they copy an already existing document, they must mindlessly chant it out loud to make sure it has been transcribed correctly.  Imagine the monotony of this job in a dark, isolated corner of an office.  Anyone could do this job, but who would want to?   

Two of the scriveners, Nippers and Turkey, develop poor working skills and health issues due to the pressure and stress of working uncreatively. Neither man could adapt to a full, meaningless day of joyless work. Nippers is a unambitous young man who suffers from indigestion and nervousness in the morning but feels well enough by the afternoon to work to his potential.  On the flipside, Turkey, an older gentleman, is more productive in the morning than in the afternoon when he creates incredible messes of inkblots.  As the narrator puts it, “their fits relieved each other like guards” (Melville 1096).   The narrator and Bartleby are also like double sides of the same coin.  The narrator’s name is never given in the story, making him anonymous and giving him no strong individuality or personality.  With the motto of “the easiest way of life is the best,” he goes to great lengths to avoid conflicts.  This motto also carries over to his field of work.  The narrator is a lawyer that refuses to fight for others in the courtroom.  When faced with the closure of his job at the Master of the Chancery, he adapts by accepting his current position in the matter of bonds, mortgages and title deeds.  He is a conformist, in part to maintain peace and in part for self survival.  Bartleby is the opposite.  At first appearance in the story, he is given a “pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn” appearance, creating a half-dead air about him as if he has endured something that drained the life out of him (Melville 1097).  Not much is known about the cadaverous man who prefers not to answer any questions.  All that we know about Bartleby is how he performs at work, which is machine-like, copying documents at an amazing pace.  But not even the best-oiled machine can run at top speed forever.  Exhausted to the point of near death, he begins to rebel.  Instead of conforming as the narrator would have, Bartleby tells his boss that he ‘prefers not’ to do any work.  This is a “pure act of power and free will” (Giles 89).  He rebels against the corporate world because he refused to adjust to something as horrible as the life he is now living. To have partiality and the determination to act on them in front of the boss is the “ultimate realization of freedom and selfhood” (Giles 89).  His actions eventually get him placed in the court system (referred to as the “Tombs”) as a vagrant for not working or leaving the office after the narrator relocates.  This is where Bartleby stages his final act of rebellion.  He “prefers not” to dine, wasting away until he is found “strangely huddled at the base of the wall…his head touching the cold stone,” the world of Wall Street claiming another victim (Melville 1117).  Bartleby’s refusal to become a victim of the corporate world leads him to the ultimate freedom that only death can offer.

At the end of the story, we learn of Bartleby’s former employment as a subordinate clerk at the dead letter office.  A change in administration resulted in his unemployment, and instead of adapting, he simply shuts down in his feeble attempt as a scrivener. Many letters of importance, such as charity or declarations of love, only made it to the flames.  As the narrator says: “on errands of life, these letters speed to death” (Melville 1118).  The work at the dead letter office was so soul-crushing, burning letters that have no destination by the cartload that Bartleby was already near death by the time he came to work for the narrator. 

Herman Melville drew on personal experiences to write Bartleby, the Scrivener.  As a writer, he knew how the corporate world treated artists.  Melville was quoted as saying:

Throughout his career he had many failures, even burning his own work in disgust.  In 19^th century America, jobs were scarce and when a person found one career, it was hard to change to a better or more rewarding job.  Being stuck in a dead end job with no foreseeable way out can dehumanize a worker into feeling like a mindless drone, controlled and owned by whom he works for.  The dead letter office can be interpreted as a metaphor for the artists’ struggle.  Originality and creativity are not welcome.  In Bartleby, Melville portrays the corporate world in that light.  Death permeates throughout this short story.  The description of Bartleby, the job of scrivener, the view from the offices, the health of the employees, Bartleby’s imprisonment in the “Tombs,” eventual self starvation and death are the effects of working in an environment that deny the human spirit what it needs to survive - nature, nurture, and human contact.  By creating a uniform, solitary, and life-less environment for employees to produce as much as inhumanly possible, corporations take away the connection with the outside world and with other humans, which can lead to a personal rebellion when one refuses to trade originality and creativity for job “security.” 

Works Cited

Melville, Herman.  “Bartleby, the Scrivener.”  The Norton Anthology of American Literature 7^th Ed.  Ed. Nina Baym.  New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2008.  1093 – 1118.

Giles, Todd.  “Melville’s ‘Bartleby, the Scrivener.’”  Explicator 65 (2007) : 88 – 91.  MLA International Bibliography.  EBSCO Host.  The Ohio State University Library, Columbus.  28 Jan.  2009.

One major cause of Erythroblastosis fetalis or Hemolytic Disease of the Newborn (HDN) is Rhesus (Rh) incompatibility. Symptoms of HDN caused by the Rh factor (RhHDN) include jaundice, anemia, erythroblastosis, enlarged liver and spleen, and hydrops fetalis. This life threatening disease led to an explosion of research in the field of hematology, discovery of the Rh factor, and prevention of the disease.

The symptoms of HDN were documented hundreds of years ago, but doctors at the time did not realize that the symptoms had a common cause. The first case of HDN was documented in 1609 by a French midwife when a set of twins was born. One twin was stillborn and the other died from severe jaundice after birth (Gabbe). Such sudden, tragic deaths piqued the interest of scientists and the search for the cause of fetus and infant deaths began. In 1910 Schriddle was one of the first doctors to suggest that there appeared to be a link between the symptoms of edema and abnormal erythrocyte formation. It was discovered that the erythrocytes were being destroyed somehow, a symptom that became known as erythroblastosis. Rautman coined the term erythroblastosis in 1912 (Taylor, 1). In 1932, Diamond became the first doctor to recognize that the symptoms of edema, anemia, and jaundice were all symptoms of the same disease (Gabbe). Discovering the many symptoms of one disease, HDN, led to further research in hematology. Darrow was the first to hypothesize that the numerous symptoms of HDN were due to an immune reaction to an antigen in 1938. Levine and Stetson reported a case in which a woman had a reaction when transfused with her husband’s blood. The strange thing was that the blood she received matched her blood type (Taylor 2).  Alexander Wiener and Karl Landsteiner discovered the reason for such a transfusion reaction in 1940. They were conducting an experiment in 1937 in which they immunized guinea pigs and rabbits with blood from rhesus monkeys. Then they mixed the resulting antiserum with human blood and found that 85% of the blood samples agglutinated, clumped together (Levine 4-5). Landsteiner and Wiener’s experiment discovered the Rhesus (Rh) factor, which was later found to be a major cause of HDN.

The Rh factor refers to an antigen found on red blood cells. There are five Rh antigens: D, C, E, c, and e. The genes for Rh factor have eight possible haplotypes made up of 3 alleles: Dce, DCe, DcE, DCE, dce, dCe, dcE, and dCE. The d allele refers to the absence of the D antigen. The D antigen is responsible for most cases of Rh factor HDN (RhHDN) (McPherson and Pincus). People that have the D antigen are said to be Rh+ and those without the antigen are Rh- (Derrickson and Tortora 369). Rh+ is a dominate trait, meaning two recessive genes are required for someone to be Rh-. Eighty-five percent of Caucasians, 95.5 percent of African Americans, and nearly 100 percent of American Indians, Chinese, and Japanese are Rh+ (Levine 5-7). Therefore, Caucasians are most affected by Rh incompatibility. When Rh+ blood comes into contact with Rh- blood, powerful immune responses take place.

Erythroblastosis fetalis occurs when an Rh+ fetus is attacked by its Rh- mother’s immune system. However, the immune response typically does not attack the fetus of a woman’s first pregnancy. During birth, abortion, or problems during pregnancy, the baby’s blood can leak through the placenta and into the mother’s bloodstream. When the Rh+ blood of the fetus comes into contact with the Rh- mother’s blood, an antibody-mediated immune response occurs in the mother’s body.  B cells ingest the Rh antigens by phagocytosis. Digestive enzymes break down the antigen into peptide fragments while major histocompatibility complexes (MHCs) are produced and packaged in vesicles within the B cell. The vesicle containing the MHC fuses with the vesicle containing the peptide fragments. The peptide fragments and MHC molecules bind to each other to form antigen-MHC complexes. Then the vesicle releases the antigen-MHC complexes so they can insert into the plasma membrane of the B cell. Next, helper T cells bind to the antigen-MHC complex and secrete proteins that activate the B cells. The B cells proliferate and differentiate to form plasma cells, which secrete anti-Rh antibodies, and memory B cells which help make a swift attack if the immune system encounters the D antigens again. The antibodies attack and destroy the Rh antigens (Derrickson and Tortora 448-451). The mother’s first encounter with the Rh-antigens causes the production of immunoglobulin (Ig) M, a class of antibodies (Abbas). Since IgM is unable to cross the placenta (Derrickson and Tortora 444), HDN typically does not occur in the firstborn.

Subsequent invasions of a fetus’s Rh antigens in the mother’s body will elicit a stronger, faster immune response due to the increase of memory B cells. Repeated exposure to the D antigen produces IgG, a class of antibodies that can cross the placenta and attack the fetus’s red blood cells (RBCs) (Abbas et al.).

Rh incompatibility can lead to many problems for fetuses and infants such as anemia, jaundice and edema due to the destruction of erythrocytes (Behrman et al.). Erythrocytes are mature blood cells and they play a major role in gas exchange for the body. When the oxygen levels within the body drop, the kidneys produce erythropoietin, which stimulates the production of RBC (Derrickson and Tortora, 362). However, the fetus is unable to produce enough RBCs to combat the destruction of its RBCs by the mother’s antibodies and develops the symptom known as anemia. Blood smears from infants suffering from RhHDN show a large number of nucleated red cells and reticulocytes (Snelling 47). Some of the RBCs that are actually able to survive the immune response become spherocytes. These cells swell, forming round cells, rather than concave cells (Dameshek 44-45). Neither the immature RBCs nor the spherocytes are capable of carrying oxygen, making them useless. Since the oxygen levels in the newborn’s body continue to drop, the kidneys keep cranking out more erythropoietin and RBCs continue to be produced in the bone marrow, spleen, and liver. The high production of RBCs leads to a buildup of fluid, causing these sites to swell (Abbas et al.). The large amounts of fluid also accumulate in skin, placenta, amniotic fluid, and body cavities such as the pleural, pericardial, and peritoneal cavities. Fluid in two or more of these areas is called hydrops fetalis. Fluid in the lungs of a fetus can cause asphyxia at birth. The extra fluid in body cavities can also put pressure on the organs and cause heart failure. Severe cases of hydrops fetalis result in reduced production of platelets, causing hemorrhaging, and increased pressure on the right side of the heart, causing heart failure (Behrman et al.).

After birth, an infant can encounter liver problems such as jaundice as a result of RhHDN. When a RBC is destroyed by the anti-Rh antibodies, macrophages from the spleen, liver, and bone marrow engulf the destroyed RBCs through phagocytosis. The hemoglobin is split into heme, iron, and globulin. Globulin and iron are recycled for RBC production and stored in the liver and spleen. The iron-free heme is converted into a green pigment called biliverdin and then into a yellow-orange pigment called bilirubin (Derrickson and Tortora 361-362). The bilirubin is unconjugated in fetuses. After birth, the infant’s body tries to conjugate the bilirubin and get rid of it (Behrman et al.). In a normal functioning body, the liver secretes the bilirubin as bile into the small intestine. The bile winds through the small intestine and enters the large intestine where bacteria convert it into urobilinogen. Finally, the urobilinogen is either converted to stercobilin and excreted in feces or converted to urobilin and excreted in urine (Derrickson and Tortora 362). However, this process of excreting bilirubin is unsuccessful in many infants who battle Rh incompatibility. The infant’s body is overwhelmed by the large amounts of unconjugated bilirubin. Jaundice can be observed as yellowing of the skin caused by the accumulation of the bilirubin under the skin. Further problems can occur as a result of jaundice if the bilirubin travels to the brain through the blood. Unconjugated bilirubin is a nonpolar, lipid-soluble substance; therefore, it can bind to lipids in the brain and pass through the blood-brain barrier. Deposits of bilirubin in the basal ganglia and brain stem nuclei result in damage to the central nervous system. This is called kernicterus (Abbas et al.).

Due to the many life threatening symptoms of RhHDN, treatment focuses on immediate treatment of the baby before and after birth. One treatment for RhHDN is a blood transfusion which helps with the symptoms of severe anemia. Exsanguination is a procedure that removes the baby’s Rh+ blood while replacing it with Rh- blood at the same time. By removing and replacing the blood at the same time, shock is prevented. It is also important that the infant receives Rh- blood, not Rh+ blood as was once hypothesized. If the infant receives Rh+ blood, the anti-Rh antibodies will continue to attack the erythrocytes of the newly transfused blood. There is no immune reaction to the Rh- negative blood, allowing the infant to have mature, functioning RBCs (Wallerstein 170-173). Exsanguination is a transfusion that occurs after a baby is delivered. Fetuses can also receive blood transfusion. This risky procedure is used if an ultrasound shows signs of severe hydrops fetalis. The intravascular fetal transfusion gives the fetus Rh- blood via the umbilical cord. The procedure has an 89 percent survival rate. Complications of this potentially risky procedure include preterm delivery, infection, fetal distress, and perinatal death (Behrman et al.).

Jaundice is another potentially life threatening symptom of RhHDN. It is treated by phototherapy, the use of high intensity visible light from fluorescent lamps. The light causes photochemical reactions that change the unconjugated bilirubin to another isomer that the body can pass without being conjugated.  Phototherapy also reduces the number of repeated blood transfusions for severe cases of jaundice (Abbas et al.).

Newer, preventative treatments for RhHDN focus on preventing RhD sensitization in the Rh- mother. John Gorman and Vincent Freda proposed using Rh immune globulin (RhoGAM) to prevent women from being sensitized to the RhD antigen in the early 1960s (Gabbe). William Pollack made an intramuscular injection called RhoGAM. The injection was made from human plasma that contained anti-D antibodies (Gabbe). Gorman and Vincent’s research showed that RhoGAM had 100% success rate in preventing sensitization to the Rh antigen in human beings. It was also successful in preventing sensitization in Rh- women when it was used after they delivered an Rh+ baby. RhoGAM destroys any Rh antigens that may enter the mother’s body, stopping immune responses since there is nothing left to attack.  RhoGAM was accepted for clinical use in 1968 by the Division of Biologics Standards of the National Institutes of Health. In 1970, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists proposed the use of RhoGAM at twenty-eight to twenty-nine weeks gestation in addition to its use postpartum (Gabbe). The number of cases of RhHDN per number of births dropped from 40.5 in 1970 to 14.3 cases per 10,000 total births in 1979 (Adams 1031). Finally, the Food and Drug Administration approved its use in 1981 (Gabbe). The RhoGAM is now used at twenty-eight weeks gestation and within seventy-two hours after delivery or abortions in Rh- mothers who are carrying Rh+ babies (Abbas et al.). As a result, RhoGAM has reduced the risk of Rh- mothers producing anti-Rh antibodies to less than 1 percent (Behrman et al.). Research is being done now to make a vaccine like RhoGAM that can be produced from synthetic material instead of human plasma (Gabbe).

Thanks to Landsteiner and Wiener, Rh incompatibility and its symptoms are better understood. It is amazing what the immune system can do. One expects a mother’s body to care and nurture a fetus, but with exposure to the Rh antigen, an Rh- mother’s immune system can turn against her fetus. Jaundice, anemia, and fetal hydrops are some of the symptoms that result from the vicious attack of the anti-Rh antibodies. With new technology, the risk of having a baby with RhHDN is greatly reduced. Treatments such as phototherapy and blood transfusions help alleviate some of the life threatening symptoms of RhHDN. RhoGAM prevents the immune response of Rh incompatibility, and thereby, prevents RhHDN from occurring. A once terrifying disease is for the most part under control due to the better understanding of Rh incompatibility and immune responses in the human body.

Works Cited

Abbas, Abul K., Jon C. Aster, Nelson Fausto, and Vinay Kumar. Robbins and Cotran Pathologic Basis of Disease. 8^th ed. Philadelphia: Elsevier Inc, 2009. 7 Nov. 2009. <http://www.mdconsult.com.proxy.lib.ohio-state.edu/das/book/body/169734196-2/0/2060/1.html?tocnode=57529131&fromURL=1.html>.

Adams, Melissa M., Joann Gustafson, James S. Marks, and Godfrey P. Oakley. “Rh Hemolytic Disease of the Newborn: Using Incidence Observations to Evaluate the Use of Rh Immune Globulin.” American Journal of Public Health. 71.9 (1981): 1031-1035.

Behrman, Richard E., Hal B. Jenson, Robert M. Kliegman, and Bonita F. Stanton. Nelson Textbook of Pediatrics. 18^th ed. Philadelphia: Elsevier Inc, 2007. 7 Nov. 2009. <http://www.mdconsult.com.proxy.lib.ohio-state.edu/das/book/body/169734196-4/0/1608/1.html tocnode=54474738&fromURL=1.html>.

Dameshek, William. “Hemolytic Mechanisms. The Rh Factor in the Clinic and the Laboratory. Ed. William Dameshek and Joseph M. Hill. New York: Grune & Stratton, 1948. 43-56.

Derrickson, Bryan, and Gerard J. Tortora. Introduction to the Human Body: The Essentials of Anatomy and Physiology. 8^th ed. New York: John Wiley & Sons Inc., 2009.

Gabbe, Steven G., Jennifer R. Niebyl, and Joe Leigh Simpson. Obstetrics: Normal and Problem Pregnancies. 5^th ed. Philadelphia: Elsevier Inc, 2007. 3 November 2009.

Levine, Philip. “A Survey of the Rh Factor.” The Rh Factor in the Clinic and the Laboratory. Ed. William Dameshek and Joseph M. Hill. New York: Grune & Stratton, 1948. 3-26.

McPherson, Richard A., and Matthew R.Pincus. Henry’s Clinical Diagnosis and Management by Laboratory Methods. 21^st ed.Philadelphia: Elsevier Inc, 2007. 3 Nov. 2009 <http://www.mdconsult.com.proxy.lib.ohio-state.edu/das/book/body/169734196-4/0/1393/1.html?tocnode=51747920&fromURL=1.html#4-u1.0-B1-4160-0287-1..X5001-0--TOP_1 >

Snelling, C.E. “The Rh Factor and Erythroblastosis.” Canadian Medical Association Journal. 56 (1947): 47-51.

Taylor, Jane Frances. “The Rh Factor, Its Application in a Pre-natal Testing Prognosis.” Diss. Ohio State University, 1949.

Wallerstein, Harry. “The Treatment of Erythroblastosis Fetalis By Substitution Transfusion.” The Rh Factor in the Clinic and the Laboratory. Ed. William Dameshek and Joseph M. Hill. New York: Grune & Stratton, 1948. 170-179.

Candy cigarettes are sugar sticks that are shaped like cigarettes. Jerky Chew is beef jerky shredded to look like loose tobacco. Baseball Bubble gum is gum that’s shredded like tobacco. Despite the government regulating tobacco use in America, companies are still permitted to produce and market products which imitate tobacco. Candy companies shouldn’t be allowed to make tobacco promoting products like candy cigarettes, jerky chew, and baseball gum because these products encourage kids to use tobacco and create a positive feeling of smoking or dipping. The companies should be banned from selling the idea of tobacco use to minors and the result of candy tobacco is harmful.

Candy cigarettes imitate cigarettes in their packaging. Therefore, the government should ban candy cigarettes because candy cigarettes encourage children to smoke. A specific example of tobacco promoting candy cigarettes is Lucky Lights made by World Confections, Inc. Lucky Lights candy cigarettes are packaged in a small white box, the same size as a package of cigarettes. The top of the box has a blue seal, replicating the cigarette package. The name of the candy Lucky Lights gives the children the impression they can light-up the candy cigarettes just like smokers light up their cigarettes. On the package there’s a four-leaf clover printed on the box to give children the idea they are “Lucky,” like stated in the title. Lucky Lights candy cigarettes contain multiple long white candy sticks. The candy sticks are long and white, resembling cigarettes. The candy sticks are small enough they can be put between your fingers or in your mouth. Government should ban companies from producing candy cigarettes because the candy cigarettes’ packaging looks like real cigarettes and encourages children to smoke.

Since candy companies are allowed to produce candy imitating cigarettes, children are using the candy to pretend smoke. When working as a cashier at a grocery store, I hear many comments kids say about candy cigarettes. Some of the things I heard recently are “Let’s go get some smokes!” “Yah! Let’s get some cigarettes!” I once observed a young boy buy a package of “Lucky Lights,” put a candy cigarette in his mouth, take a depth breath and pretend to exhale smoke. The government should ban candy cigarettes because children are pretending to smoke and candy cigarettes encourage future tobacco use.  

Marketing cigarettes to minors through magazine advertisements was banned in 1998 (Reuters), but candy companies can still sell the idea of smoking to minors. The FTC Bureau of Consumer Protection states the following regarding magazine articles, “What we have said is it causes underage consumers to smoke. We believe that the ad campaign was not the sole cause, but it contributed to the decision to imitate smoking or continue to smoke” (Teinowit). It’s ironic how the tobacco companies were banned from advertising but candy companies can still produce candy imitating tobacco.

Jerky Chew is beef jerky that is shredded and put into cans to mimic loose tobacco like chew. The government should ban companies from producing Jerky Chew. A specific kind of beef jerky is called “Jerky Chew” produced by Jack Links. Jerky Chew comes in a round cans similar to the tobacco brand Kodiak. The candy chew can has a wrapper around the side of the can, which is similar to the seal of a tobacco can. To open the can the consumer must break the seal. The can of the Jerky Chew has a black line to divide the can in half, like real tobacco chew. Jerky Chew has an animal skull just like the tobacco brand Kodiak. Kodiak has a grizzly bear on the can. The jerky itself is shredded, long and brown like real tobacco. Kids can also buy jerky chew by the logs. Logs are five single cans purchased at once. Kids can buy jerky chew by the logs like tobacco users buying their favorite tobacco by the logs. The government should ban companies from producing Jerky Chew because it looks like real tobacco and encourages children to use tobacco and the government should ban companies from producing Jerky Chew.

  Jerky Chew is shredded so kids can put the jerky chew in their bottom lip like tobacco users. Doing this gives children the ability to imitate something adults can do. These actions could create future use of tobacco in teenagers. The children create a positive feeling with fake tobacco and feel cool. Working at a grocery store, I see children taking the labels off Jerky Chew and putting the cans in their back pocket like adults. The Jerky Chew leaves a ring in their pants pocket. Kids also put Jerky Chew in their bottom lip and spit their salvia into plastic cups like real tobacco users. 

Bubble gum chew is gum shredded and packaged in a pouch like real tobacco. The package is similar in size and texture. Children can put the shredded bubble in their cheek like their favorite baseball player. A specific brand is Big League Chew by Wm. Wrigley Jr. Co. The top of the Big League Chew bag is intentionally longer so the user is able to roll it down, to lock in freshness between uses just like the tobacco brand Red Man. Children can purchase Big League Chew, by the boxes. Boxes have ten single pouches per box; this connects the baseball gum to real tobacco.

The package on the Big League Chew has a baseball player hitting a ball, and the ball reads “Are you the next MVP?” This question on the package can give children the false connection between chewing Big League Chew and being a good baseball player. By printing a baseball player on the packaging the companies are marketing tobacco because baseball players were known for tobacco use on the field. Children can put the gum in their cheek like their favorite baseball player and spit.

In addition to products like Lucky Lights, Jerky Chew and Big League Chew there are many other tobacco promoting products like cigar bubblegum and candy pipes. Cigar bubblegum is bubblegum shaped like cigars. Cigar bubblegum has a paper seal like real cigars. Cigar bubblegum comes in a wooden box like real cigars. Candy pipes are plastic pipes that have candy trapped inside.

Lucky Lights, Jerky Chew and Big League Chew are all specific examples of products imitating tobacco products. At the grocery store children get excited when seeing products like Lucky Lights, Jerky Chew and Big League Chew because they can be like an adult using. tobacco. These products all closely resemble tobacco products in their packaging and their appearance. The candy companies influence children through cleaver names and packaging. The products are made so children can eat the candy like tobacco users. The products have sugar and this gives the children a good feeling when eating and links their feelings to tobacco use. Candy companies should be banned from making products like these because they are selling the idea of tobacco use to children unknowingly.

Franco Zeffirelli’s 1990 film production of Hamlet is arguably more politically correct than any other version of the play to date.  Zeffirelli “enlarges the roles of the women” (Cartmell 219) so that they are almost equal to those of men.  Neither the film’s predecessors nor its followers empower the play’s female characters in the way that Zeffirelli’s adaptation does.  Compared to Jean Simmons in Lawrence Olivier’s 1948 production and Kate Winslet in Kenneth Branagh’s 1995 production, actress Helena Bonham-Carter portrays an unconventionally assertive Ophelia.  In the same way, Glenn Close adds to the film’s sense of feminism, as she portrays an independent, strong Gertrude.  Conventionally portrayed as a character that merely reacts to her surroundings, Gertrude plays a vastly more influential role in this adaptation.  Though much of the film’s feminist quality can be attributed to the skills of the actresses, Zeffirelli is the one who gives Shakespeare’s female characters a stage in which they can actively influence their surroundings. 

Zeffirelli begins his incorporation of feminism in the film’s opening scene, through Close’s portrayal of Gertrude.  The first diegetic sound that the audience hears is the sound of the Queen sobbing at the sarcophagus of her late husband.  The camera focuses on her as she weeps over her husband’s body.  At the climax of her hysterics, she throws her body over the stone slab as if in surrender to her grief.  She then slowly raises her eyes from the body, softening her expression, and meets Claudius’s gaze.  Hamlet “catches the exchange of glances between the sobbing Gertrude (whose face reads, ‘I need to be comforted’) and the opportunistic Claudius (‘I’m here to comfort’)” (Keyishian 77).  Though subtle and seemingly inconsequential, this exchange helps to portray Gertrude as “a woman torn between two lovers” (Cartmell 219), impacting the audience’s perception of Gertrude.  It helps to present Gertrude as an active participant in her marriage to Claudius.  She is not the passive, conquered woman that many other productions portray her to be.  With this first impression of Gertrude, the audience is more likely to interpret differently her actions later in the play.  Furthermore, the fact that the film’s first diegetic sounds come from a woman suggests to the audience that, throughout the rest of the film, women will play an especially important role.           

In a less subtle way, Zeffirelli adapts the second scene of the play in such a way that Gertrude has a greater influence on the plot than previous adaptations have given her.  To accomplish this contemporary portrait of the Queen, Zeffirelli expands the Gertrude-Hamlet relationship, demonstrating Gertrude’s influence on the plot.  Conventionally, Claudius is present in act 1, scene 2, to persuade Hamlet not to return to Wittenberg and to stay in Elsinore. In Zeffirelli’s adaptation, however, Gertrude and Hamlet are alone for this conversation.  Zeffirelli rearranges the dialogue in a way that magnifies Gertrude’s influence on the male characters around her, such as Hamlet.  Claudius attempts to assuage Hamlet’s grief over his father’s death earlier in the scene, confronting Hamlet’s sorrow with cold logic: “But you must know your father lost a father, / That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound in filial obligation for some term / To do obsequious sorrow” (1.2.90-92).  His words seem to have little impact on Hamlet, and no one responds to him.  Only when Claudius’s attempt has failed and he has exited the room does Gertrude reach out to her son, saying, “Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, / And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark” (1.2.68-69).  In Claudius’s absence, the sentiment Gertrude conveys in these lines is more intimate.  She also emphasizes Claudius’s attempt, saying, “Thou know’st ‘tis common.  All that lives must die, / Passing through nature to eternity” (1.2.72-73).  Her words, unlike Claudius’s, seem to have an effect on Hamlet.  Despite its obstinate nature, his response to her demonstrates Gertrude’s influence on her son:  she is able to elicit a response from him, with the same logic Claudius offers just moments before.

To further demonstrate the depth of Gertrude’s and Hamlet’s relationship, Zeffirelli places Hamlet alone with his mother when he tries to help her understand the true depth of his grief, saying, “Seems, madam?  Nay, it is.  I know not ‘seems’” (1.2.76).  Gertrude then says, “Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. / I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg” (1.2.118-119).  Hamlet responds directly to her, intimately looking into her eyes, and the characters share an embrace to manifest the intimacy of the scene.  To end the scene, Gertrude, in the epitome of feminism, speaks a line that was in the written play intended for Claudius to speak:  “This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet / Sits smiling to my heart” (1.2.123-124).  Like the embrace between Gertrude and her son, this line helps to emphasize and outwardly express the ways in which Zeffirelli’s Gertrude greatly influences her surroundings.  Zeffirelli’s rearrangement of this scene leaves the audience to believe that Gertrude is solely responsible for Hamlet’s decision to stay in Elsinore. 

In an even more obvious act of feminism, Zeffirelli empowers Gertrude by giving her a more aggressive role in act III, scene 4 of the play.  Conventionally, Hamlet handles Gertrude in a violent manner, often yanking her by the arm and throwing her onto the bed.  In Zeffirelli’s adaptation of this scene, however, Gertrude initiates the violence, slapping Hamlet after he says, “And (would it were not so) you are my mother” (3.4.16).  The fact that Gertrude catalyzes the altercation is significant.  Again, this action is an obvious demonstration of Gertrude’s power to assert herself.  Though Hamlet handles Gertrude roughly throughout the rest of the scene, pulling her by the chain she wears around her neck, it is significant that Gertrude is the one who initiates the rough play. 

As heavily as he emphasizes Gertrude’s influence on her surroundings, Zeffirelli emphasizes Ophelia’s self assurance in spite of her surroundings.  Many productions, such as Olivier’s in 1948, present the character of Ophelia as ethereal and fragile.  For example, Olivier’s Ophelia collapses in tears on a staircase after Hamlet accosts her in the “Get thee to a nunnery” scene.  Male characters generally treat her like a child, condescending to her.  In Zeffirelli’s production, however, Ophelia is never treated in an overly delicate manner.  She is often treated as an equal by male characters such as Laertes.  In act I, scene 3, Laertes shares a look of amusement with his sister as Polonius gives him cliché and humorous advice for his departure.  In the same way, Laertes does not patronize Ophelia earlier in the scene when he gives her direct advice about her relationship with Hamlet.  In fact, he sits upon a windowsill for this conversation, so that he is looking up into Ophelia’s eyes as he gives his advice.

Similar to Close’s Gertrude, Bonham-Carter’s Ophelia is more aggressive.  In act 1, scene 3, when Polonius has stated his doubt that Hamlet loves Ophelia and is walking away from her, she hurries after him.  She then contentiously grabs him by the arm, forcing him to face her, and says, “[He] hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, / With almost all the holy vows of heaven” (112-113).  Shortly after this assertion, when Polonius decrees that Ophelia should henceforth refuse Hamlet’s affections, Ophelia bitterly accepts:  “I shall obey, my lord” (135).  As the characters end their conversation on a slight hill in front of the castle, Ophelia assumes a position higher than her father’s on the hill (Screencap A).  She literally has the higher ground, even though she submits to her father’s decision.  Paired with Bonham-Carter’s obvious look of contempt while she delivers the line, this positioning of the actors helps the audience to perceive Ophelia as a woman capable of holding her own in a world dominated by men.

Zeffirelli further empowers the character of Ophelia in his adaptation of act III, scene 1.  In this scene, Ophelia is aggressive as she insists to Hamlet that he did, in fact, give her the tokens she wishes to return to him.  Completely self assured, she confronts him, saying, “My honored lord, you know right well you did, / And with them words of so sweet breath composed / As made the things more rich” (97-99).  Bonham-Carter reinforces the strength behind these lines by stepping towards Hamlet instead of shying away from him.  Her authoritative behavior takes even Hamlet by surprise, and he momentarily regards her with an intrigued look upon his face.  She is not frail or delicate as she continues, saying, “Their perfume lost, / Take these again” (99-100).  In fact, as she speaks, her mannerisms further emphasize her composure:  She examines the tokens coldly, as if emotionally disengaged from both the gifts and the giver.  This representation of Ophelia differs greatly from Olivier’s weepy, dainty portrayal of the character.  To further establish the character’s self-assured presence, Bonham-Carter even shakes her head and rolls her eyes as she places the tokens in Hamlet’s hand.

The action that follows in this scene also helps to create the audience’s perception of a stronger Ophelia.  Though Zeffirelli omits quite a few lines in the scene, from Hamlet as well as from Ophelia, it is significant that he omits Ophelia’s line, “I was the more deceived” (3.1.120).  With this omission, Ophelia does not reveal the depth to which Hamlet has hurt her.  She seems substantially less vulnerable in his presence.  To reinforce the image of a less vulnerable female character, Zeffirelli’s Ophelia, in comparison to Olivier’s, is hardly broken after Hamlet accosts her.  She does not collapse to the ground in dramatic sobs; she is still standing when Hamlet makes his exit.  Zeffirelli’s Ophelia is even strong enough to bend down and retrieve the tokens which Hamlet has so coldly thrown to the ground.

Perhaps the strongest example of Zeffirelli’s feminism is the scene in which Ophelia goes mad.  Some film adaptations of Hamlet use sexuality to demonstrate Ophelia’s madness.  In Branagh’s production, for example, Ophelia lies on her back and thrusts her hips in the air.  This sexual portrayal of Ophelia, though shocking, is still essentially passive.  Firstly, Ophelia does not interact sexually with another character.  Though she performs in the presence of others, she chooses to carry out the act alone.  Secondly, the way in which she lies on her back and looks to the air in front of her, as if imagining someone on top of her (Screencap B), suggests to the audience that she is practicing the sexual act of receiving.  Zeffirelli’s Ophelia, in contrast, is sexually aggressive, almost to the point of assault.  The scene opens with a camera on Bonham-Carter as she sneaks across the courtyard to a lone sentry, approaching him with a look of intent upon her face.  She then proceeds to run her hand through his hair and touch his face inappropriately.  Her focus gradually shifts downward, and she explores his body with her hands, until finally grabbing his belt in a sexually suggestive way (Screencap C).  Her “assault upon [the] boyish sentry who must stand to attention even as she masturbates his sword belt” (Rutter 256-7) is so vulgar and offensive that the sentry is too shocked to react.  This actively sexual behavior differs greatly from Winslet’s portrayal of Ophelia.  Bonham-Carter’s actions are not at all passive.  The act of seeking a partner with whom she can act on her sexual impulse demonstrates to the audience her aggressive personality.

Zeffirelli is not introducing feminism in Hamlet as a new concept; he simply emphasizes and enhances the play’s preexisting feminine influence.  He incorporates his interpretation of Ophelia and the Queen by rearranging dialogue, manipulating characters’ relationships, and deliberately staging scenes, in ways that invigorate the characters and magnify their strengths.  Close and Bonham-Carter also do their parts to contribute to the film’s feminist quality, emphasizing characteristics in Gertrude and Ophelia that actresses typically have never been able to emphasize.  Through Zeffirelli’s interpretation of the play, as well as through Close’s and Bonham-Carter’s interpretations of their roles, the audience is able to see Gertrude, Ophelia, and the feminine influence in Hamlet, in a new light.

Screencap A:  Bonham-Carter, as Ophelia, takes the high ground when Polonius forbids her to accept Hamlet’s affections.

Screencap B:  Winslet portrays a vulgar yet passive Ophelia.

Screencap C:  Bonham-Carter portrays a sexually aggressive Ophelia.

Works Cited

Cartmell, Deborah.  “Franco Zeffirelli and Shakespeare.”  The Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare on Film.  Ed. Russell Jackson.  2^nd ed.  Cambridge:  CUP, 2007.  216-25.  Print.

Hamlet.  Dir. Kenneth Branagh.  Perf. by Kenneth Branagh, Julie Christie, and Kate Winslet.  Castle Rock, 1996.  Film.

---.  Dir. Laurence Olivier.  Perf. by Laurence Olivier, Eileen Herlie, and Jean Simmons.  Janus Films, 1948.  Film.

---.  Dir. Franco Zeffirelli.  Perf. by Mel Gibson, Glenn Close, and Helena Bonham Carter.  Warner Bros. Pictures, 1990.  Film.

Keyishian, Harry.  “Shakespeare and movie genre:  the case of Hamlet.”  Shakespeare on Film.  Ed. Russell Jackson.  2^nd ed.  Cambridge:  CUP, 2007.  72-84.  Print.

Rutter, Carol Chillington.  “Looking at Shakespeare’s women on film.”  Shakespeare on Film.  Ed. Russell Jackson.  2^nd ed.  Cambridge:  CUP, 2007.  245-66.  Print.

Shakespeare, William.  The Tragical History of Hamlet Prince of Denmark.  The Pelican Shakespeare.  Ed. A. R. Braunmuller.  New York:  Penguin Books, 2001.  Print.

Related Scholarship

Bourus, Terri. "The First Quarto of Hamlet in Film: The Revenge Tragedies of Tony Richardson and Franco Zeffirelli."EnterText: An Interactive Interdisciplinary E-Journal for Cultural and Historical Studies and Creative Work 1.2 (2001): 180-191. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Brugger, William. "Male Pattern Boldness: Zeffirelli's Feminist Adaptation of The Taming of the Shrew." Journal of the Wooden O Symposium 4.(2004): 9-23. Humanities International Complete. EBSCO. Web. 2 June 2010.

Charnes, Linda. "Dismember me: Shakespeare, paranoia, and the logic of mass culture." Shakespeare Quarterly 48.(1997): 1-16. Film & Television Literature Index with Full Text . EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Costa, J. R. "The Film's the Thing: Film Translation and Its Effect on a Silent Edited and Full Text Hamlet." Ilha do Desterro: A Journal of Language and Literature 36.(1999): 371-388. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Crowl, Samuel. "Zeffirelli's Hamlet: The golden girl and a fistful of dust." Cineaste 24.1 (1998): 56. Film & Television Literature Index with Full Text. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Eaton, Edward. "Hamlet and His Women: A Study of Four Films." West Virginia University Philological Papers 45.(1999): 47-55. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Hapgood, Robert. "Popularizing Shakespeare: The Artistry of Franco Zeffirelli." Shakespeare, the Movie: Popularizing the Plays on Film, TV, and Video. 80-94. London, England: Routledge, 1997. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Hodgdon, Barbara. "The Critic, the Poor Player, Prince Hamlet, and the Lady in the Dark." Shakespeare Reread: The Texts in New Contexts . Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1994. 259-293.  MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Impastato, David. "Zeffirelli's Hamlet and the Baroque." Shakespeare on Film Newsletter 16.2 (1992): 1. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Macdonald, Andrew, and Gina Macdonald. "(Re)Writing Shakespeare for Film: Devore/Zeffirelli's Hamlet vs. Branagh's Hamlet." Creative Screenwriting 5.2 (1998): 42-53. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

Macnab, Geoffrey. "The Shakespeare Collection." Sight & Sound 16.2 (2006): 91. Film & Television Literature Index with Full Text . EBSCO. Web. 1 June 2010.

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William Wordsworth (1770-1850) might be considered the arch-typical Romantic poet and this poem “Mutability,” written late in his career (1821), is an excellent example not only of his craft but of his Romantic idealism. With this explication it is intended to show not only the varied meanings of the poem but also the Romantic idealism demonstrated in Wordsworth's writings. This particular poem was included along with a group of poems expressing Wordsworth's feelings on the Church of England entitled Ecclesiastical Sonnets, which might explain why he choose a hymn like theme to express his idea (Greenblatt 320). Reading the poem aloud it has a moody, musical quality to it that fits well with the words Wordsworth chose to express the poem’s ideas about change. Using this musical quality as metaphor in his poem, Wordsworth expresses his ideas on how change is the truth in life. Through his judicious choice of words, the use of nature, the metaphor of music as change with internal pattern, and one of his favorite images of a crumbling tower, Wordsworth conveys his vision of an internal pattern in life that is truth even in the face of the ever apparent dynamic quality of nature, and that that “Truth” is God.

Not using the word in the body of his poem, Wordsworth titles this poem “Mutability” to help insure there is no doubt what the poem is speaking upon. Mutability was a common theme used by English writers dating as far back as Chaucer, and a major tenet of the Romantic Movement as well as a common theme in Wordsworth's works. Using “Mutability” as the title, the author sets his readers thinking about change, channeling their thoughts before they even get started. Placing the word as title also helps emphasize that this poem could be not only be about change, but the capacity to change, the ability to do so. Simply using the word “change” would not emphasis this capacity for change as well as mutability because of the internal word “ability.” The idea of mutation is also expressed by the term. Although mutation did not take on the connotation it currently has at the time this poem was written, after Charles Darwin wrote Origin of Species, mutability's modern connection has given this word a richer meaning for this poem.

Although written in sonnet form, this poem breaks many of the conventions of a sonnet in its structure and rhyme scheme. The first six lines form a sentence and the last eight a second, reversing the usual pattern in a sonnet. The pattern, in the first two lines especially, gives a seesaw rhythm to the poem adding to its musical imagery. The poem’s pattern strongly accentuates the musical metaphor of the poem aided by Wordsworth’s rhyme scheme and uses of alliteration and assonance. Alliteration is found in the first (“doth dissolution”) and fifth (“musical” and  “melancholy”) lines as well as assonance in line six with the repetitions of the “a” sound (“avarice” and “anxious”) and “o” (“nor” twice and “over”). His use of the rhyme scheme ABBA AC CA DACDCA ties together the first sentence to the second and the beginning of the poem with the end. Using “climb” and “time” as the first and last words in the poem changes the overall feeling of the poem. The beginning of the poem seems very solemn but changes to being uplifting by uniting “climb” with “time.”

Paraphrasing the first sentence, the speaker explains through a musical metaphor, that like notes on a musical scale change naturally ebbs and flows for those who take notice. Wordsworth’s choices of words in the first two lines create a feeling of harmony, balance and rhythm giving them a musical quality. Through his selection of repetitive letters and vowel sounds he creates an internal pattern to his changing words. His use of the repetition of the words “high” and “low,” starting first with “low” and climbing to “high” and reversing them in the second line he conveys the meaning of the words, along with the moving up and down sensation a musical scale creates, showing an internal pattern.  The first sentence is talking about not only that change happens but also showing that there is an internal pattern to change. Literally talking about ascending and descending of a musical scale, the first sentence imitates the musical quality of the metaphor with its use of word order, assonance and alliteration. With this pattern of rising and falling, the rhythmic cycle of the metaphor evokes other images, such as the sun’s rise and fall or ocean waves’ ebb and flow.

In plain language the first line says that all things little or great fall-apart (dissolve), change, at an increasing rate. Everything, from simple to complex, from the smallest to the largest, changes over time. The choice of the word “dissolution” in the first sentence is very interesting with one of its meanings being the dissatisfaction with or loss of faith in something. Wordsworth was said to have lost faith in the hope for social change that the political revolutions in Europe brought early in his life. Critics claim his later writing suffered, noting that he produced significantly less material, and he seemed disenchanted with many of the Romantic ideas he once held. Expectations of social reforms promised by the French Revolution, and contacts with many refugees forced out of France were a couple of reasons Wordsworth had become “dissolved“ from the Romantic Movement. “Dissolution” also can mean the disbanding of a group or the bringing of something to its termination. Very cleverly, the reader sees the presentation of an internal pattern within the poem speaking about the ending of something through change. Although there is change, “mutability,” at the same time there remains an underlying pattern. Finally, it is notable that at the time this poem was written “dissolution” had a common musical meaning involving the moving down of consecutive notes in a musical scale, of which Wordsworth's contemporary audience would have been aware, carrying through his musical theme. “Climb,” the last word of the first line, like “dissolution,” conveys an idea of a gradual change. To “climb” is the patterned upward movement of evenly placed steps, like in a musical scale, the rise and fall of the sun and moon, or the crest and fall of ocean waves, all keeping the ongoing theme of pattern within change. The “dissolution” of a solute in a solution is also a gradual process.

After the opening line, Wordsworth switches to an obvious musical metaphor. Lines two and three present the idea of moving up and down a musical scale; that the change taking place in line one has a pattern to it. In the second line the reader sinks down from their high climb and reverses direction completing the scale. “Sink” is commonly associated with water as in a ship sinking in the ocean, as well as the sinking of the moon, again carrying through on the imagery of the sun rising and moon sinking or waves rising and sinking, rhythmic internal pattern. These first two lines, ripe with possibilities, convey the overall imagery of the natural world changing in a gradual rhythmic pattern. Furthering the connection is the repetition of the s sound in the words “sink” and “scale.” 

Line three continues to reinforce the idea of rhythm in the nature of change. Paraphrasing, line three says that musical notes inspired by God have a harmonic pattern which will never “fail.” Using the word “awful” might confuse the contemporary reader with the modern connotation of being something very bad but the older meaning of full of awe, inspiring a sense of the sublime, more likely fits for a Romantic poet. And what is inspiring this awe is the notes of the music nature is creating for us in its rise and fall. Along with the meaning of a musical note, there is also the idea of importance contained in using the word “note.” A “note” is an important legal document used when borrowing money or a person of “note” is one who carries some kind of distinction or importance. These “notes” create a “concord,” a harmonious agreement, a harmonious legal agreement, a legal agreement following the laws of nature. “Concord” in musical terms is specifically a harmonious agreement between notes whose pattern resolves it so that it can stand alone without the need of additional notes or chords. The other definitions of “concord” carry through the idea of a harmonious union of words, people, or nations. The constantly changing notes used creating music must have an internal pattern holding them together.  The completion of this line with the phrase “shall not fail” also presents an interesting use of words. “Shall” is an imperative commanding that something will be done in the future, giving a sense of permanence to change, of moving forward. Using “shall” gives this underlying pattern, which seems to be holding change together, permanence. The pattern “shall not fail;” it will never be lacking or inadequate. Another meaning of “fail” is to die so this change projected into the future will be faithful even after death. “Shall” also carries a religious connotation, a strong undertone within the poem.

Remembering the narrator is speaking about “dissolution,” the dissolving of something, the change and decay of all things over time, line four finishes this metaphor about the musical nature of change. This change is “musical,” it is harmonious and pleasing to the ear but at the same time it is “melancholy.” The line is saying that despite the pleasant, musical, natural pattern to change, it can also cause remorse. At the time this poem was written melancholy was still understood by many as relating to medicine as one of four basic humours that controlled human health and well being. Too much melancholy made a person sad, angry, and depressed and so was associated with these feeling. In context to this poem change is normally not desired and often makes a person pensive, moody, and mournful with a feeling of loss of order, disharmonious. The line finishes with “chime,” again a harmonious combination of music pleasing to the ear. A chime can also be the instrument itself, normally a group of bells. The poem expressing that change is both welcome and depressing as people enjoy having a steady state, a status quo, but at the same time like spontaneity and differences, changes. Human beings often desire change while resisting it, even knowing in reality that only the pattern underneath nature is unchangeable. Change is unavoidable.

Lines five and six abruptly switch the flow of thought by the narrator. The speaker is now describing why people are not aware of these changes around them. They express that only virtuous, moral people recognize change happening. Summarizing the first sentence, the speaker uses a musical metaphor to express how people who are moral and not overly preoccupied with their daily lives can see an underlying pattern, an ebb and flow in the natural change in the world created by God. Similar to the ideas expressed by Wordsworth earlier in “The World Is too Much with Us,” people who are preoccupied with themselves and not nature, do not perceive these changes. This poem is different from “World” with its strong moral component. Specifically, immoral people are the ones who miss the changes. Continuing with the musical metaphor the speaker is now discussing who is able to perceive this pattern of change. ”Which they can hear” is obviously referring to those people who can hear the music. The phrase, to hear the music, is used to denote a person who can see change on the horizon, understanding its inevitableness. The second half of the line begins to define who it is that can hear the music. Of the multiple meaning of the word “meddle,” to mix or mingle seems the only appropriate choice when paired with “crime.”  To engage in conflict or sex or to interfere do not seem appropriate here. Often a word choice a poet makes is to keep pattern intact and it seems that in this instance the choice of "meddle” may well be an example. Excluded are people who are criminals or engage in “crime,” crime more likely being used in the broader context as doing something morally objectionable than in its meaning of breaking the law. It is interesting the speaker uses a negation to explain this section. Wishing to appear humble, the speaker uses a negation, placing emphasis on his being moral, but at the same time doing so with humility. The vices singled out include “avarice,” which refers to people who wish to gather extreme amounts of wealth and, or who are not willing to share that wealth, and lastly those with “over-anxious care” (6).  “Over-anxious” is the suffering mentally from anticipating something might happen, or over the future consequences of that something happening. It can also be fear or doubt about the outcome of an event, or contrarily, full of anticipation with an excitement towards a coming event and not its dread. The narrator here seems to be referring back to the “melancholy” he has referred to regarding change. Giving examples of things, which are immoral or improper to demonstrate why a person cannot hear the music, the word “over” is used to emphasize excess. It is not just anxious but “over-anxious” and this anxiety is directed toward caring. “Care” is the common name for a kind of ash tree the author would have been familiar with, but it is unlikely this has significance here. Most of the other meanings do fit such as to be in charge, to be responsible for the safekeeping of another, and could very well cause one to be anxious. To be the center of that anxiety, the cause, could also be called the “care” and even to provide medical treatment could possibly be applicable here. Being “overly” worried about natural change as an improper or immoral action, grouped with “crime” and “avarice” are the examples used of things preventing someone from hearing the music. These lines are trying to connote the old adage that a person cannot see the forest for the trees. If someone is too concerned with acts of daily living, then that person will miss the music by not attending to it.

The next sentence begins at line seven talking about “truth” not failing. Wordsworth has chosen to repeat the use of the word “fail” used earlier in reference to “concord.” Shifting from his musical metaphor the speaker is now explaining what holds the world together in this chaos of change, “Truth.” “Truth” often has a religious meaning as that which God knows but humans only guess. “Truth” is the actuality, reality, the immutable essence, in religious convention, known only by God that humans merely speculate upon with their senses, which are fallible, whereas God's truth is not. Humans who are believers in God's “truth” have a “concord” with Him in the Christian belief and this author was Christian. “Truth fails not,” by repeating the use of “fail” leads the reader back to the previous sentence. The speaker is referring back to the underlying pattern to change he has introduced, to the “mutability” of nature, of corporal things altering without changing their core pattern, their “spirit.” “Truth” then is this “spirit,” the true reality; the insensible reality not based on belief but actuality, the pattern infused into all things by God.

The sentence continues with the speaker defining to what “truth” here is referring. Paraphrasing lines seven and eight, the speaker explains that what always holds true is change; that the internal pattern in life created by God is the “truth” which never changes, while the physical things in the world do. The sentence continues “but her” so it is understood that the subject of “her” is “truth.” “Her” is “truth” personified and the “but” makes the expression following it a conditional phrase excluding possibilities. “Truth” never “fails” “but” other things do. And what are the things which are not true, which “truth fails?” The speaker explains, “but her outward forms that bear / The longest date do melt like frosty rime” (7/8). The pattern God has infused into the world is “truth,” which is immortal, unlike the corporal world that people live in which is mutable. In simple, everything but God’s “truth” changes. “Outward forms” is an interesting use of words. “Outward” means on the surface or moving away from the center. “Outward” is superficial and not the essence of the “form.” “Outward” refers to the external, corporeal nature not the true nature. “Form” is a model, a manner or representation but not the actual thing itself. Again words chosen here have religious meanings and connotations. One must have proper “form,” proper decorum in church; and “outward” thoughts are corporal or secular ideas that interfere with one's concentration on God. Both “outward” and “form” are words relating to a part of the whole reality of a thing, a representation having only partial truth. These forms “bear”, they wear, “the longest date.” “Bear” in this usage again places superficiality to the meaning. Of the multiple meanings of “bear,” none of them gives a sense of permanence. To “bear” is to tolerate, to sustain or to support, again dealing with the external the surface of a thing, the sensual reality and not its truth. Another interesting meaning of “bear” is to give birth, to yield, or to bring forth, which calls forth a different connotation to the idea of change as the transformation from one “form” to another, the rebirth of things by change. “Form” can also be a mold used to give birth to something. “Form” is also an allusion to Plato and his philosophy. Plato’s “forms” being true reality and not there sensuous representations; “forms” being an ontological term dealing with “truth” but again like in “World,” using an earlier pagan argument.

Lines seven through fourteen express three related ideas about the pattern of change. First, that no matter how long something exists, it changes. That these changes happen both quickly and slowly without regard to whether the things changing are natural or manmade and that the reasons for change is unknown to man. Wordsworth shifts from using a musical metaphor to using personifications and similes of corporeal objects. The second sentence shifts to the pantheistic explanation of change; keeping a distinction between the religious nature of the God (male) and the pantheistic expression of the essence of change (female) caused by this essential pattern God instilled in life. Paraphrasing, truth (the pattern God infused in all creation) never fails, but natural and man made objects do; they change. Moreover, this change has no barriers, no compassion, and its true causation is unknown to man.

Next, come the words “longest date” obviously referring to the temporal length of existence these “forms” have. No matter how long something exists, it is still subject to change, that the only thing immortal and permanent is the pattern, the ”truth” essential to all nature. The idea of things being temporal, markers to a specific period of existence, reinforces the theme of the poem. The idea of “dating” something, as making it something that has passed, obsolete, is also interesting to think of in this context of change although not the direct meaning here.

What happens to these “longest lasting forms” is that they “melt like frosty rime” (9). The final sentence the speaker uses two examples, one of how change takes place very rapidly in a matter of a few hours, a morning, or over the length of the memory of a man  First he uses an example in nature of a beautiful “frost” rapidly melted by the sun and then switches to a man made “tower” falling into decay over many years. “Melt” is another example of Wordsworth’s choice of words linking meanings. “Melt” is nearly synonymous with “dissolve” used in the first line tying the two together. “Melt” is also referring back to time and the temporal nature of things, as being that period in spring when the ice melts and spring transforms winter from white to green. “Melt” can also mean to overwhelm with emotion. The reference here of course is to the melting of the “frost” but the other connections are obvious to the close reader and add to the richness of the imagery. Choosing a simile, the speaker has moved from appealing to our sense of sound to adding the touch of cold and the visual white. The phrase is completed by the tautology “frosty rime” introducing these two new sensations into the poem. The speaker has personified “truth” (7) as the female essence that remains after all else changes. God is normally referred to as male, but here, the choice of this internal unchanging essence that seems to be the embodiment of God infused into nature, is addressed as female. Wordsworth has also chosen to use the term “bear” in reference to “truth” giving birth to change, tightly packaging the personification. Line nine continues the thought and describes the “frost” painting a pastoral scene for a brief part of the day rapidly changing back to green from white. The connotation of beginning is also within the word “morning.” The use of “morning” as the time of day, although logical, brings forth to the mind of the reader mourning, as in the sadness of loss, linking back to the “melancholy chime” (4). The “chime,” the internally ringing bell in our minds when a person is suddenly awakened, when there is the sudden recognition of a significant, “awful” change. “Whitened hill and plain” would be our speaker trying to include all nature in change; “hill and plain” an expression commonly used to describe encompassing everything in the world. The use of the color white, the symbol of purity and of aging holds together here. The “frost” that has aged nature passes quickly has more change follow it. “Whitened” here used as a verb making it the active process of change; with “whitening” and “frost” both words used to express change through aging.

However, our “frost” is no more and the speaker moves on to a new thought shifting from things in nature to things created by man. Line ten changes to imagery that Wordsworth was very fond of, “Tintern Abby” circa 1798, shifting to a beautifully man-made tower of times past which has collapsed into ruin through the “touch of Time.” Using “tower” as a simile, the change one sees in nature expresses change as seen in made objects as well. The “tower” was “sublime,” which taken literally would mean very tall and uplifted but also goes back to our “awful” musical “notes,” filling humans full of awe, uplifting a person with a sense of the divine in this creation of man. “Sublime” expresses the pantheism Wordsworth saw in nature. “Sublime” is also the process of changing a gas into a solid without going through a liquid phase again conveying the idea of change. “Towers” multiple meanings all relate to being lofted, or exalted above whatever it is being compared. To “tower,” is used in the context of exhaled; the words “tower sublime” form another tautology. The breaks between line nine and ten, and ten and eleven alters the thoughts of the reader. Line nine is nature and line ten is an image of an inspiring manmade creation, which in their next line is abruptly destroyed, with “is no more” and “of yesterday.” Although the speaker is describing something that lasted for a very long time, a “tower,” its demise is made sudden with the phrase “of yesterday” coming on the following line. The “tower” is personified, wearing “royally” (11) his “crown of weeds,” (12) suggesting humility. The word “wear” is another word expressing gradual change. When something “wears” it normally does so with a pattern; the heaviest used parts showing the effects first. “Wear” also evokes a seasonal quality (winter “wear”) carrying through with the idea of patterned change. The “tower” was so beautiful it could wear weeds, natural indigenous plants as opposed to cultivated flowers, royally, with great pomp and pride. The irony here, of royally wearing weeds, demonstrates the tower’s humility, which coincides with the narrator’s humility, expressed in lines five and six. The “tower” personified evokes the image of a poet laureate, a common person able to express the sublime with the use of simple words. “Crown” refers to royalty, to the “exhaltedness” of a man continuing the parallel of both man and nature being equally affected by change. Sutton-Ramspeck notes that “weeds” were black clothes worn by widows, referring back to “melancholy” and “bear,” as the image of the “tower’s” death would be fitting here as well.

In line thirteen the "tower” collapses by “Some casual shout that broke the silent air.” This is the first of two possible causes of the collapse of the “tower” and the tone of the poem suggests not the speaker’s choice. The speaker explains change using the “tower’s” demise in the last three lines, telling his reader that despite man’s handiwork being strong and beautiful it is insignificant, unable to withstand the ravages of change. This change is sudden and unplanned seemingly contradicting the underlying pattern expressed throughout the poem. “Shout” is a loud exaltation; a warning or an exclamation of joy yelled loudly, resounded casually, haphazardly collapsing the tower. This loud cry is “casual,” it is not interested nor emotional about whatever effect it caused as it “broke the silent air” (13). “Casual” can also denote something that is informal or not permanent continuing with the uses of words connoting change. “Broke” is a causal word as the effecter of an action. The speaker is showing that whatever action caused the demise of the tower was sudden and not deliberate; it was simply through the design of nature, the thread of “truth” beneath nature that holds everything united. “Broke” can also mean to make obedient giving “shout” power over “silence.” “Silent” means without a voice, and here could be indicating that the changes happening are inevitable, that nature has no voice to deny changes happening. 

The second explanation for the tower's collapse is “the unimaginable touch of Time” (14). Here the contradiction of pattern within nature is erased. “Time” is personified, having the ability to “touch” the “tower” and crumble it to the ground. Because the speaker has placed “time” beyond the mental abilities of the human mind, “unimaginable,” he has placed it in the same realm of understanding as “truth.” The alternative meaning of “touch” in the sense of evoking a strong emotional response could also apply as a secondary meaning. “Time” continues the idea of pattern used in the poem. “Time” being a fixed, patterned measurement, an era identifiable normally as having passed - changed. Wordsworth capitalizes “Time” equating it to “Truth,” carrying through the theme that change is the internal pattern of God. Nevertheless, like the “frost” the “tower” too cannot “sustain” time. Using “sustain,” is again the use of a word pointing to upholding and supporting. All these words maintain the constant use of helping words, words that show aide, but cannot stand alone, pointing to the heavens, helping words that need a foundation to work from, an underlying pattern of “truth.”

Wordsworth very craftily constructed a poem where he unites many elements and through careful word choice carries a unified theme throughout; that in spite of the changes made by time affecting all corporal things there is still a truth, a pattern underlying that is essential and immortal. Choosing multiple words with an upward movement or a sustaining quality he has unified and tied the word “climb”(1) with “time”(14) giving his poem an uplifting quality. Starting with a musical metaphor and then switching to a tower metaphor, he joined the natural world with the art of man, covering all beauty anywhere in reality and demonstrating that the truth underlying all of reality is a pattern held together by something awe inspiring and sublime, the pattern of God. Like a beautiful chord of music, Wordsworth has strung together a harmonious string of words held together by the rhythmic pulse of nature.

Works Cited

Greenblatt, Stephen. et al.  The Norton Anthology of English Literature. 8th ed. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt, et al. Vol. D. New York: Norton, 2006. Print. 

The Oxford English Dictionary. 2009. Web.

Sutton-Ramspeck, Beth. “English 202, British Literature 1500 to Present, class lecture. Ohio State University-Lima, Lima, Ohio. April 2010. Lecture.

Wordsworth, William. “Mutability”. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. 8th ed. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt, et al. Vol. D. New York: Norton 2006. 320. Print.

“Any of us might reject a novel because it seems to conflict with our moral belief….When we do so, we should be clear as to what we are doing. We have not read the book aesthetically, for we have interposed moral or other responses of our own which are alien to it….we cannot then say that the novel is aesthetically bad for we have not permitted ourselves to consider it aesthetically.”—Jerome Stolniz from Aesthetics and the Philosophy of Art Criticism

When reading the Preface of The Picture of Dorian Gray on its own, this quote seems to describe Wilde’s view of art and morality exactly.  In the Preface, Wilde strongly opposes the use of morals when judging a piece of art and asserts that anyone who expresses a moral message in his work cannot be called an artist.  The quote simply summarizes the stance that Wilde takes in his Preface.  And in the book, the voice of Lord Henry often asserts this belief that art is above morals.  But the book itself is a strongly moralistic tale.  Dorian Gray, who dedicates his life to beauty and the pursuit of pleasure, does not meet a happy fate.  His immoral acts are, in the end, rewarded only with anguish.  Dorian follows the “Hellenistic ideal” zealously and it pulls him down a path of cruelty, sin and murder.  It transforms his soul, represented on the canvas, into a repulsive monster while Dorian’s supernatural trade-off preserves his face.  By the end of the book, Dorian Gray is driven mad by his own ideal and the ugliness of the portrait and escapes only through his own death, at which time, the trade is reversed and the natural state of both the painting and Dorian are restored.

So, the Preface and the story itself seem to contradict one another.  And because of that apparent contradiction, it is hard to tell if the given quote is consistent with Wilde’s views on art and morality or not.  Wilde, in the Preface to the book, writes “Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art,”(Wilde, xvi) and this could connect the views expressed in the Preface with the supposedly moral story.  This phrase would suggest that The Picture of Dorian Gray, while expressing moral themes, is not, in itself, morally biased and so can be called art, by Wilde’s standards.  Whatever moral conventions that are used in The Picture of Dorian Gray are, according to Wilde, simply a means to express an aesthetic.  In this respect, the novel can be compared to a still life painting: The subject matter of the work is not nearly as important as the way in which this subject is portrayed.  Vincent Van Gogh’s sunflowers, famous for their unusual and exquisite beauty, are only extraordinary in the way that Van Gogh painted them.  Similarly, the simple story told in The Picture of Dorian Gray, as well any moral material it may possess, is nothing more than the bowl of fruit in Wilde’s still-life of words.  The content of the novel, then, is unimportant and the book coincides with the view expressed in the Preface and both, through this interpretation, agree with the quote given.  Art, though it can make use of morals, is above being judged by them. 

But this interpretation, in drawing a connection between the given quote and Wilde’s views, oversimplifies the book itself until it is no more than a surface story and Wilde’s words.  And Wilde’s words, as beautifully written as they are, are not enough to lend the story artistic significance.  While beautiful words are to the novel what brushstrokes are to the painting, books differ from the visual arts in one important way.  No book of any significance can stand on words alone.  Van Gogh’s still life paintings have no meaning to them other than that they are beautiful.  But, while visual arts can have many deep meanings, beauty itself can be enough meaning for a painting because of the brevity with which it is viewed.  Walking through an entire museum of art takes only one afternoon, but the novel is a much more intimate art form.  It takes days to read a single novel and most times, books are read in quiet places and by one person at a time, giving the audience much more time to think about the content of the book.  No one would spend so much time with The Picture of Dorian Gray if it were nothing but exquisite words and a shallow story.  So, there must be much more to the novel than that.  

According to McGinn’s piece “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” the given quote is actually not consistent at all with Wilde’s view of art and morality and that there is a morally significant meaning behind The Picture of Dorian Gray.  McGinn explores the meanings hiding under the surface story, concentrating on the climactic, but ambiguous death of Dorian Gray.  McGinn teases out his interpretation from small phrases and even single words that would go unnoticed by the casual reader.  By deciphering Wilde’s clever literary devices, McGinn suggests that, because of Dorian’s pact with the devil, “Dorian becomes numerically identical to the picture of Dorian”(McGinn 128).  Dorian does not simply gain the ageless characteristic of a work of art, he becomes his own painting.  So, according to McGinn, when Dorian takes the knife that killed Basil and decides that he would “kill the painters work and all that that meant” (Wilde 253), Dorian does not try to stab the canvas, only to have the knife turned on him by some supernatural force.  He stabs himself, knowing full well that he himself is the painting. 

From there, McGinn goes into an analysis of the purpose of the book.  According to McGinn, the two seemingly conflicting values of beauty and morality are really a single value and that “the aesthetic and the moral…are ultimately inseparable”(McGinn 142).  The Picture of Dorian Gray illustrates the dire consequences of trying to disassociate the two.  Dorian often uses art to glorify his sins, such as in the suicide of his lover Sibyl Vane.  The suicide was a direct result of his cruelty to her, spurning her love and adoration because she performed poorly in a play.  She only performed poorly out of love for him, because in her mind, he was the reality of Love.  At first, Dorian feels a terrible guilt for Sibyl’s death, as any person might, but by elevating her death to the level of art, he makes Sibyl into nothing more than “a wonderful tragic figure” (Wilde 119).  Dorian raises Sibyl and her suicide onto a pedestal, putting her among the tragic heroines she played, and saves himself from feeling guilt or remorse for her death because it has become beautiful and completely distant to him, a dramatic ending to a wonderful play.  But by abandoning those human emotions, by essentially forsaking his conscience, Dorian makes himself into a repulsive, unfeeling creature.    By attempting to make his life into art while denying virtue and embracing sin as a form of beauty, Dorian undermines his own pursuit and makes his soul into a “foul parody, some infamous, ignoble satire” (Wilde 176). 

And so, McGinn translates Wilde’s artistic ideal as a moral ideal as well.  The quote by Stolnitz, then, would not reflect Wilde’s view of art at all.  In fact, the quote suggests that a critic practice the same separation of aesthetics and morals that brings about Dorian Gray’s destruction.  According to McGinn’s interpretation, the two are naturally connected and it is both natural and correct to judge a piece of art as aesthetically good or bad based on the moral vision it represents.  Because evil is inherently ugly, even the most skilled artist cannot make it beautiful.

The interpretation offered by McGinn is a thorough one and reveals a much deeper meaning in The Picture of Dorian Gray than that which a casual reader would find in it.  His interpretation makes the ending of the book far more satisfying less ambiguous than the initial reading of the story.  But is this interpretation really enough to reconcile the differences between Wilde’s view in the Preface and the message of his story?  McGinn addresses the differences between the Preface and the novel only briefly: “Did not Wilde scorn traditional virtue in favour of dandy-ism, sensation seeking, freedom of spirit?  The aphorisms that preface the novel sound as if they are endorsing such a morally cleansed outlook.  But his story points to a very different conclusion” (McGinn 140).

This does not do anything to connect the Preface and the novel, so there is still not a clear interpretation of what Wilde’s views really are.   The only way to understand Wilde’s views is to get the seemingly opposite positions he holds in the Preface and the novel on the same page. 

Wilde certainly does recognize that art cannot escape the influence of morality, the fate of Dorian Gray is enough to confirm that.  Beauty and evil cannot possibly coexist because of the inherently ugly nature of evil, an ugliness that shows itself in the face of Dorian’s soul, trapped on canvas.  It may be in this acceptance of art’s dependence on virtue that Wilde finds justification for his arguments in the Preface. As Dorian Gray’s inner ugliness mars his outer beauty, so too does evil disfigure art, twisting it into something so despicable that it can scarcely be called art at all.  Wilde states that “the only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely”(Wilde xvi).  The artist who creates in his work the ugliness of immorality has no excuse for doing so because it is impossible to admire ugliness.  This excludes immorality from being art.  Therefore, an artist, who seeks only to create beautiful art, cannot be said to have “ethical sympathies” (Wilde xv) because he really only has two options when creating art: to portray either the morally beautiful or the morally neutral.  The artist can express immorality if he so chooses, after all “the artist can express everything” (Wilde xvi), but morality must, by the nature of art, ultimately win over corruption.

Critics who find immorality in art, then, truly are “corrupt without being charming” (Wilde xv) because they have found evil in something that, by necessity, has no evil in it.  The evil that they find can only come from themselves.  Morals cannot be imposed on that which is already morally sound.  Nor can they be imposed on the morally neutral.  Even sensuous beauty cannot be criticized morally because if it were truly immoral it would cease to be beautiful.   So, as Oscar Wilde suggests, it is not acceptable to criticize art by means of morality.

This interpretation of the Preface reconciles it with the novel itself.  McGinn’s interpretation of Wilde’s beliefs is ultimately the most correct; he just did not extend that interpretation into the Preface.  Wilde does not believe that there is a separation between beauty and morality, as the Stolnitz quote would suggest.  In fact, it is that very separation that Wilde warns against in his book.  And Wilde’s views in the Preface, though they seem to agree with the given quote on the surface, actually coincide with those views expressed in The Picture of Dorian Gray.  McGinn’s interpretation gives a satisfying explanation of the story, especially its ambiguous ending.  But it also, more importantly, gives a satisfying and well-justified interpretation of Wilde’s views on aesthetics.  These two qualities together make McGinn’s interpretation relevant to the views of Oscar Wilde and the content of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, it was a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, middle-class woman in possession of little fortune, must have been in need of a husband. Inheriting property from a spouse or father after death was a precarious business; while inheriting enough to be financially secure was nearly impossible, especially if there were other siblings or children involved. It stands to reason that marriage for single, middle-class women was extremely important for financial stability. The necessity of gaining a husband for the financial benefit was such an integral part of that time period that the main character in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet, followed that same, sensible path of marrying for money. The notion that Elizabeth Bennet would be more concerned about marrying for love, rather than financial security, seems highly unlikely given her position in society and lack of inheritance. The only commonsensical way to view marriage from Elizabeth’s position would have been based on who could have provided the best financial situation for her. Understanding this, and through closely examining Pride and Prejudice, we can begin to see evidence that Elizabeth had less of an emotional connection with Mr. Darcy, and was concerned more with his ability to raise her social position and provide for her financially.

At the opening of the novel, we are told that a single, rich man “must be in want of a wife.” Although this may lead us to focus on a man’s search for matrimony, we are quickly introduced to a woman’s quest for financial security when Austen writes “[this new man] is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of [the surrounding families’] daughters,” (Austen 43). There can be no doubt after reading the first two paragraphs of the novel that the idea of marriage is an important one, and it is of no greater importance than in the Bennet household. Upon first being introduced to the Bennet family, we learn that it consists of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their five daughters. The absence of a son would have quickly informed readers of the time that the Bennet daughters would be in desperate need of a husband. This desperation is made clear through the character of Mrs. Bennet when we are told “the business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news” (Austen 45). Although she may seem quite silly, she is completely right: “marriage was the economic and social building block for the middle class” (Davidoff and Hall 322). Mrs. Bennet’s excitement over the occupation of Netherfield by a gentleman with a substantial income becomes understandable given her daughters’ situation.

The situation the Bennet daughters were in, specifically, could not have gotten much worse. In normal circumstances, with no son to inherit the property after the death of Mr. Bennet, the estate would have most likely been placed in the hands of a trustee to hold the property for the children; however, there was no son in the Bennet family (Davidoff and Hall 211). In this situation, “estates were often sold to facilitate the creation of annuities,” and although these annuities were a relatively secure form of income, they weren’t always reliable (Davidoff and Hall 212). The practice of selling the estate to create a source of income via annuities for the Bennet daughters sounds enticing, but it is interesting to note that, even though both sexes used this form of income, it was more heavily depended upon by women, and “in a census sample from two areas, 63 per cent of all middle-class female household heads were ‘independent’ as an occupational classification (and 70 per cent of those so designated could be regarded as lower middle class)” (Davidoff and Hall 212). Therefore, if annuities were created for the Bennet daughters, they would have a hard time living independently in a middle class position based solely on income from an annuity generated from the sale of the Bennet estate. These facts alone could lead one to understand the importance of a suitable marriage for any one of the Bennet daughters, and yet their situation gets even worse. We soon learn that the estate of Mr. Bennet, as a result of there being no male heirs, has been entailed to his cousin, Mr. Collins, (in an attempt to keep the estate in the male side of the family) who, upon the death of Mr. Bennet, becomes the owner of the Bennet estate and would hold the power to remove the daughters of Mr. Bennet from the household should they still remain. This entailment would make the sale of the estate, and therefore the creation of annuities, impossible and beget an even more desperate need for a financially secure husband.

Mr. Bennet was well aware of the poor situation he was leaving his daughters and it is told to the reader that Mr. Bennet had never saved money that would be able to support his widow or his daughters. We are told that upon marrying Mrs. Bennet, he expected they would soon have a son to divert the entail from Mr. Collins and that his other children, along with his wife, would be cared for; however, after some time Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had given up on having a son. It is explained that Mrs. Bennet has no financial resources and that it was only her husband’s fiscal responsibility that prevented them from bankrupting the family. The Bennet’s state of affairs, with Mr. Bennet wishing “more than ever” that he had saved for his daughters, shows just how desperate a position the Bennet girls were in, and why marriage was of such great importance to Mrs. Bennet, and, in turn, her daughters (Austen 314). The only other alternatives for the Bennet daughters were to either become a burden to some other male member of their family (which was looked down upon), or to enter into business themselves, which brought with it very little esteem. During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, women were considered to be part of the domestic sphere and would only enter into business if they were forced by the need for income. By entering into the economic sphere, a woman was making it clear that she “was a woman without either an income of her own or a man to support her.” Not only did her entering the economic sphere make a statement about her financial situation, but a woman working to support herself also suffered disrepute from her community, which could also affect opinions of those who associated with her. This prejudice against a working class woman therefore created a “structured inequality [making] it exceedingly difficult for a woman to support herself on her own, much less take on dependants” (Davidoff and Hall 272). By entering into the economic sphere, a woman was making it clear that she had no financial worth, which lowered her position in society, and in turn lowered her chances of marrying a man with favorable social connections and financial resources. This is best said from the period itself, where a Mrs. Ellis wrote, “gentlemen may employ their hours of business in almost any degrading occupation and, if they but have the means of supporting a respectable establishment at home, may be gentlemen still; while, if a lady but touch any article, no matter how delicate, in the way of trade, she loses caste, and ceases to be a lady” (Davidoff and Hall 315). Understanding these aspects, which readers of that time most certainly would have, leads us to believe that securing a husband of financial and social worth would have been top priority for the Bennet daughters.

 If, however, marriage was of the utmost importance, why did Elizabeth reject the proposal of Mr. Collins? Mr. Collins’s design in coming to the Bennet home was to secure a wife in order to improve his relations with his relatives, and by marrying Mr. Collins, Elizabeth would have made the financial situation better for her sisters, who would then have been less likely to be removed from the home after the death of their father. Although Mr. Collins is sometimes loquacious to the point of being embarrassing, his manners are not extremely terrible (especially when compared to those of Mr. Darcy) and he makes it extremely clear that he has some substantial social connections that Elizabeth could possibly benefit from; however, there is one thing Mr. Collins lacks: land. Mr. Collins does not, in fact, possess any land of his own, but lives in a residence provided to him by Lady Catherine De Bourgh. During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, England was still controlled by those who owned land and “ownership of landed property remained the greatest source of wealth, power and social honour,” while those who were invested in the market were often seen as “creatures of passion and fancy” (Davidoff and Hall 198). We can see this attitude reflected in the novel when the narrator describes the Bingley sisters as spending more money than they should, associating with people of rank (implying that they are not people of rank), and relying more on making it clear that they were a respectable family from north England, than the fact that their fortune had come from trade (Austen 54).

Because Mr. Collins did not actually own his land, Elizabeth could have been removed from the property by Lady Catherine upon the death of Mr. Collins, and although Elizabeth’s marriage to Collins would have resulted in her family still being in possession of her father’s estate, it may not have been possible for Elizabeth to live on that property if she outlived Mr. Collins. In this instance, if Elizabeth and Mr. Collins had children, the estate could have been sold to generate annuities as mentioned before or it could have been placed into the hands of a trustee in order to save the property for the children, which would still not guarantee Elizabeth’s financial security.  An example of this would be Armaretta Argent, who was a widow of a Withham farmer and a trustee of an estate; however, she shared her trusteeship with her two brothers-in-law. Mrs. Argent inherited horses, cattle, and other paraphernalia associated with the livestock, but “the trustees were instructed to sell all the rest and divide it between the seven children. Her share, even of the household goods, was not to exceed £100” (Davidoff and Hall 211). Clearly, if a situation of this type arose for Elizabeth, her pecuniary future would not have been very secure. Not to mention that Mr. Collins’s profession was one of the few in which the widow could expect to inherit very little, if anything. In 1827,  Rev. Richard Cobbold from a Suffolk village wrote that he was upset because he could not leave his wife a “residence of any independent kind” after his death, and later went on to lament that “few people suffer more from change of circumstances than clergyman’s widows.” This same complaint was also paralleled by a Congregational minister in Essex who, upon being threatened with termination, told his congregation that he did not have a trade, exactly, and therefore had nothing to fall back on if he was removed from his position.

We can assume that it was for the above reasons that Elizabeth rejected Mr. Collins. In her rejection, Elizabeth states that she is “very sensible of the honour of [Mr. Collins’] proposals” but claims that it would be impossible for her to accept him. The fact of the matter is, there wouldn’t be much honor for Elizabeth to be the wife of a clergyman, and so it appears that this sentence is more of an insult to Mr. Collins’ pride rather than a compliment of his proposal. Aside from this statement, Elizabeth gives no real reasons as to why she is rejecting Mr. Collins, which leads him to believe that she is rejecting him purely out of modesty. In this scene, it appears that Elizabeth creates excuses for her rejection, as we see when she claims that Lady Catherine would not like her (which would be completely presumptuous of Elizabeth, seeing as she had neither heard of, nor met, Lady Catherine at this point in the story) and when she claims that there is no way Mr. Collins could make her happy, and she certainly could not make him happy; however, this is rather pretentious, for Mr. Collins finds Elizabeth to be very amiable, and there is little doubt in Elizabeth’s ability to make Mr. Collins happy, seeing as he is only concerned with marrying a sensible woman that he could show off to the Lady De Bourgh. Again Mr. Collins attempts to persuade Elizabeth to accept his proposal by making it clear that his situation should be desirable because of his connections with her family as well as his other connections, and  that she has very little chance of receiving a proposal from anyone, let alone someone better than Mr. Collins. He makes it very clear to her that her small inheritance, along with the small dowry her family could provide, will most certainly undo any charm she may have. Elizabeth, however, was very astute and would have been aware of the financial implications of being a clergyman’s wife. She would have understood that her financial future would have been very limited and could have possibly been no better than her current situation. For those reasons alone she chose to reject the proposal of Mr. Collins.

The ending of this possible relationship puts the focus on two others. The first of these relationships being between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, which becomes very interesting when viewed in terms of the different emotions felt by both. Mr. Darcy’s introduction into the novel tells us that he is far more attractive than his friend, but his manners are abhorrent and he is disliked by the entire company in attendance at the ball. It is the wish of almost all in attendance (Elizabeth included) that Mr. Darcy never returns (Austen 50). Elizabeth is first put off by Mr. Darcy when she overhears him saying that he doesn’t find her at all attractive, or good enough to dance with. We later discover that Mr. Darcy’s lack of desire for dancing stems from an insecurity of interacting with those who he is not intimately acquainted. Not only this, but upon further studying Elizabeth’s features, he begins to find her very attractive and wants to get to know her better. This, however, is lost upon Elizabeth who has become determined to dislike Mr. Darcy despite any effort he may make in changing her mind; however, one question does arise. If Elizabeth is supposedly so focused on the pursuit of a suitable companion, why did she not begin to pursue Mr. Darcy from his very introduction? Elizabeth is first introduced to Mr. Darcy before she receives the advice of Charlotte Lucas, and her opinions consequently are already settled before she begins to seriously think of the pursuit of a husband. Not only this, but it is not long after her introduction to Mr. Darcy that Mr. Collins makes his proposal, and Wickham makes his appearance. For Elizabeth, it seems there is no shortage of suitors, and she finds herself in no need of pursuing a man who she finds so disagreeable when she is the object of Wickham’s attention, regardless of that other man’s income.

Upon first meeting Wickham, we are told that Elizabeth was happy to talk to him, even about the least interesting subjects because he was such a pleasant person (Austen 110). Furthermore, the way in which her feelings about him are described by the narrator become interesting when later compared to the way in which her feelings toward Mr. Darcy are described. Elizabeth talks of Wickham being handsome and holds her tongue for fear of going too far when she almost compliments him on his “wonderful countenance” (Austen 114). This flirtatious, visible behavior is directly opposite of her emotions concerning Darcy, especially when Elizabeth is described as leaving the party of Mrs. Philips with “her head full of [Wickham]”; however, the infatuation with Wickham is brought to an abrupt halt by two events, the most interesting being a conversation between Elizabeth and her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner (Austen 118). Mrs. Gardiner, upon seeing and hearing of the affection Elizabeth has for Wickham, tells her that she should “not involve [herself], or endeavour to involve [herself] which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent,” and continues by telling Elizabeth, “you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it” (Austen 172). This “sense” of which Mrs. Gardiner speaks is soon displayed to the fullest by Wickham ( and surprisingly defended by Elizabeth) when Wickham loses interest in Elizabeth and begins to pursue a Mary King, who has just received a large amount of money by way of inheritance. This event with Miss King ultimately puts an end to Elizabeth’s potential relationship with Wickham, and the narrator explains that Elizabeth’s heart had been “but slightly touched” although she still felt that she would have been Wickham’s choice for a wife “had fortune permitted it” (Austen 177). Of course this reference to “fortune” has a dual meaning, implying both luck and Wickham’s financial situation. The focus by Mrs. Gardiner on Wickham’s finances suggests to the reader that Elizabeth is being instructed to focus more on the promise of financial stability and less on affection; however, the fact that Wickham chose to give up on Elizabeth for a woman with more money is looked down on by Mrs. Gardiner, but Elizabeth defends Wickham’s choice. When Mrs. Gardiner says Wickham is simply being mercenary Elizabeth responds by saying, “Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive?” She then goes on to defend Wickham’s behavior and claims that if this Mary King does not mind Wickham’s interest in her money, why should anyone else? This defense of Wickham shows that Elizabeth now identifies with Wickham’s struggle more than she or the narrator let on. The ending of the relationship with her last suitor, as well as her conversation with her aunt, forces Elizabeth to begin actively thinking of employing more prudent motives, just as Wickham has, when a suitor is concerned (although Wickham’s motives ultimately turn out to be more mercenary than Elizabeth’s). The idea of marriage prudence was not an uncommon one. By the early nineteenth century, individuals were given more choice (albeit closely monitored) in their marriage partners; however, peer pressure often resulted in a marriage “when [a woman] would have preferred to remain single” (Davidoff and Hall 325). Even with more freedom to choose a partner, those looking for marriage “were less willing to start a marriage without sufficient resources” (Davidoff and Hall 324). We can see clearly that Elizabeth (as well as her family) is focused on marrying to gain resources as indicated through her rejection of Mr. Collins and her warning against pursuing Wickham. This idea of prudence ties very distinctly back to the opening of the novel; a rich man may be in want of a wife, but a middle-class woman needed a husband. “If marriage was thus an ‘important crisis’ in a man’s life, it could be the key to a woman’s future” (Davidoff and Hall 325).  That “key” for Elizabeth ultimately turns out to be Mr. Darcy, but it is a choice that is made without the influence of emotion.

Very often in the story, we are led to believe that Elizabeth tries to judge everyone around her based on their character, absent of any emotions she may possess; however, the reader learns that Elizabeth’s ability to judge objectively is rather flawed. One such instance can be seen in her support of Wickham over Mr. Darcy, but the most important of these misjudgments occurs during Mr. Darcy’s proposal to Elizabeth. There is no sensible way to explain why Elizabeth refused Mr. Darcy’s proposal, because her decision was based purely on strong emotions. The one thing we gain from this prejudiced emotion is an understanding of Elizabeth’s true feelings toward Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth’s dislike for Mr. Darcy ultimately defines her rejection of him, and it is stated that “in spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s affection… [but] her intentions did not vary for an instant,” and the reader is lead to understand that Elizabeth is not even considering Mr. Darcy’s proposal, even though she understand what it means. She goes even further, telling Mr. Darcy that she has never desired approval from him (Austen 211). But perhaps the most interesting statement comes when she explains to Mr. Darcy that “it is not merely this affair [his involvement in the separation of Jane and Mr. Bingley]…on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided” (Austen 212). Elizabeth is very aware that Mr. Darcy possesses a large fortune, but his proposal was made at a very inopportune time. Her fresh emotions, as well as the heated conversation following Mr. Darcy’s confessions of love result in a stubbornness on the part of Elizabeth. The next day, Elizabeth is the recipient of a letter from Mr. Darcy, which explains his position in relation to Mr. Bingley and Jane, as well as his involvement with Wickham. Elizabeth’s reaction to the information contained in the letter further clarifies her lack of desire to be associated with Mr. Darcy any longer. Although this letter was meant to improve her opinion of Mr. Darcy, it ultimately does not serve its purpose. The reader finds that Elizabeth is more upset with herself for her inability to discern Wickham’s avaricious motives than her loss of Mr. Darcy’s proposal (Austen 226). She even goes as far to say “she could not approve him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again,” which leaves no doubt whatsoever that Elizabeth harbors no true love or affection for Mr. Darcy, but is more concerned with vanity and her own shortcomings (Austen 231). Elizabeth only realizes the extent of her mistake when plans during a trip with her aunt and uncle inadvertently result in making a trip to Mr. Darcy’s estate in Devonshire.

Elizabeth’s desire to visit Pemberley was contingent on Mr. Darcy not being present in the country, for fear that she may be forced to see him while touring his grounds. Upon learning that Mr. Darcy was indeed not currently residing at Pemberley, Elizabeth agreed to go. The fact that Elizabeth only desired to see Pemberley absent of Mr. Darcy makes clear to the reader that her opinions of him have not changed, and that she is still resolute in her promise to never see Mr. Darcy again; however, her opinions interestingly and drastically change upon seeing Pemberley for the first time. Austen’s phraseology is extremely telling of Elizabeth’s prudent motives when she writes, “at that moment [italics mine] she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something,” (Austen 259). Elizabeth realizes in one instant what she gave up by not accepting the proposal of Mr. Darcy, and, although she finds herself in awe of his estate, we still find Elizabeth hoping that Mr. Darcy is not present. We again see Austen using duality of definition to convey a point to the reader. She describes Elizabeth as “after slightly surveying [a room], went to a window to enjoy its prospect.” The word prospect catches the eye for not only does it refer to the view of the window, it also refers to the “prospect” of being mistress of Pemberley. We find that Elizabeth is not just touring Pemberley for the entertainment, but she is indeed viewing the property from the perspective that it all could have been hers. She begins to acknowledge her mistake in rejecting Mr. Darcy, not because she has had a change of heart, but because she has realized the extent of the wealth she gave up. Elizabeth finds herself thinking, “of this place…I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my aunt and uncle.” These thoughts are purely focused on two objects: Elizabeth, and Pemberley House. We see no mention of a relationship with Mr. Darcy or any member of his family, we see no mention of affection toward Mr. Darcy or happiness that a marital union between the two would have brought. We do, however, see a clear description of the overwhelming happiness an estate of such grandeur, as well as the prospect of entertaining family in the estate, would have brought to Elizabeth (Austen 260). For the very first time since Mr. Darcy made his ill-fated proposal, we see Elizabeth experience some form of regret. This regret is in no way based on emotions or feelings toward Mr. Darcy, and in fact, we see that her opinion of Mr. Darcy up to this point has not changed at all; however, a change in opinion does begin to occur when Elizabeth discovers the power which Mr. Darcy possesses: “As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people’s happiness were in his guardianship! – How much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow!” (Austen 264). We would, however, expect that her warming up to Mr. Darcy would result in her wanting to see him again, but this turns out to not be the case. It soon becomes apparent while they tour the grounds, that Mr. Darcy has returned early and catches sight of Elizabeth and her relatives. The emotions which Elizabeth experience upon seeing Mr. Darcy seem contradictory to statements made by herself only a few pages prior. She laments that their trip to Pemberley was “ill-judged,” and “most unfortunate,” which hardly conveys an eagerness to meet the man whose proposal she has only moments before come to regret rejecting.

The interactions that follow between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth contain rather strange descriptions of her feelings toward Mr. Darcy. When Mr. Darcy and his sister come to visit Elizabeth and her relatives the next day, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner find themselves interested in the relationship between their niece and Mr. Darcy. Ultimately, they come to the conclusion “that one of them at least knew what it was to love” (Austen 273). The fact that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Gardiner could discern any form of love on the part of Elizabeth speaks volumes, and when it is realized by Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy is still madly in love with her, she finds herself to be extremely perplexed. Eventually, Mr. Darcy and his sister leave and Elizabeth is left to her own thoughts. Again, the way in which Elizabeth describes the situation cause one to have an interest in her motives. Elizabeth explains that “it was evident that he [Mr. Darcy] was very much in love with her,” and yet we see no mention of her feelings toward Mr. Darcy, save one description explaining that her feelings toward him had not yet been determined (Austen 276). Later that night, Elizabeth lay awake trying to make sense of the new developments between herself and Mr. Darcy, and comes to a very prudent conclusion. She decides that she no longer views Mr. Darcy as “repugnant,” but rather she views him with a “friendlier nature.” Although the reader may be hoping for a love to blossom between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth at this point, it is important not to read too far into what Austen has written. The fact that Elizabeth describes her own feelings toward Mr. Darcy as friendly may suggest many things, but it certainly does not suggest an overwhelming passion or love for Mr. Darcy. At long last, we see Elizabeth develop in to the prudent woman when she channels the advice of Charlotte Lucas that was given to her in the opening of the novel and states:

This description of her decision as to how to handle the affections of Mr. Darcy could not make Elizabeth’s motives clearer. She acknowledges that Mr. Darcy does indeed love her, and that it is the type of love to be encouraged just as Charlotte Lucas suggested that love needed to be encouraged, but more importantly she acknowledges an array of feelings she has toward Mr. Darcy; respect, esteem, gratefulness, and interest are all well and good, yet none of these are synonymous with love. She ultimately decides that she will “shew more affection than she feels” in order to secure a second proposal from Mr. Darcy.

One major question does emerge, however, and that is, why does Mr. Darcy want to marry a woman of a lower position in society? It would seem that someone of Mr. Darcy’s position could have any companion that he chose, and that logically he would choose a woman who would add wealth and status to his house. But, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the practice of marrying for love rather than money or status for the aristocracy had a lot of support (Trumbach 109-113). There was also a rise after 1750 of a “constant but small-scale mingling of men of elite status with the daughters of men of business” which would further support Mr. Darcy’s pursuit of Elizabeth based solely on his affection for her; however, the situation was not quite the same for women. “Novelists from Samuel Richardson to Jane Austen also made it [the English social paradigm] one of the two basic themes in the English novel, the second being closely related issue of love versus money and status as the deciding factor in the business of marriage” (Stone 14).  This idea that men could easily become members of the elite while a woman “took her husband’s social standing, [meaning] her marriage was of greater moment to her than a man’s to him,” helps to support the differences in climbing the social ladder through marriage between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy (Trumbach 97). Essentially, while Mr. Darcy’s position in society granted him the leisure to choose whomever he liked, Elizabeth was not so fortunate.

Subsequent events involving Wickham and Elizabeth’s sister, Lydia, delay Elizabeth securing the proposal that she seeks. But Elizabeth’s despair over what she considers to be the end of her association with Mr. Darcy give great insight into her emotions. Elizabeth says in despair that “never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain” (Austen 288). One word contained in this lamentation characterizes Elizabeth’s emotions, and that is the word “could.” Her use of this tense clearly tells the reader that Elizabeth does not currently love Mr. Darcy, but upon securing his proposal (and Pemberley as a result) she could have loved him, and the esteem which she had previously felt for Mr. Darcy became, for her, something to be jealous of “when she could no longer hope to be benefitted by it” (Austen 317). Eventually, it becomes clear to Elizabeth that her sister’s actions have not affected Mr. Darcy’s opinion of her, and that Mr. Darcy had even taken it upon himself to secure the desired marriage between Wickham and Lydia. One would think that the extent to which Mr. Darcy went to prove his love for Elizabeth would result in her returning his feelings, but it does not. After all that Mr. Darcy has done, Elizabeth describes herself as only having a “change of sentiment toward him” which can hardly be equated to the “ardent love” which Mr. Darcy is known to possess (Austen 337). Following this “change of sentiment” is a description of Elizabeth’s overwhelming anxiety over the obligation she feels to repay Mr. Darcy for his involvement in her sister’s affairs. There is incessant talk of what her family owes Mr. Darcy, and how their ignorance of Mr. Darcy’s actions pained her.

The circulating rumors of Mr. Darcy’s expected engagement to Elizabeth warrant a visit from Mr. Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, who Elizabeth had become acquainted with when visiting Mr. Collins and his new wife, Charlotte. Lady Catherine attempts to dissuade Elizabeth from accepting Mr. Darcy’s impending proposal. She explains to Elizabeth that it has been her plan that Mr. Darcy would marry her daughter in order to unite the two estates. Elizabeth refuses to either confirm or deny the rumors, and Lady Catherine accuses Elizabeth of using “arts and allurements [to]…draw him in,” to which Elizabeth slyly replies “If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it” (Austen 355). Elizabeth, although acknowledging her use of encouragement by her statement, does not wish to confirm it outright, for this may (if reported back to Mr. Darcy) have an adverse affect on her relationship. But perhaps the most telling moment in the conversation between Lady De Bourgh and Elizabeth occurs when Lady De Bourgh threatens Elizabeth with her being “censured, slighted and despised, by every one connected with [Mr. Darcy],” to which Elizabeth, in a moment showing her brutal honesty and prudent motives, shockingly replies, “These are heavy misfortunes…but the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine” (Austen 356). Austen chooses to use the word “misfortunes” as a pun, because as Elizabeth clearly states, she could buy her own happiness with Mr. Darcy’s immense fortune. Elizabeth is making it perfectly clear to Lady Catherine that she is “only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in [her] own opinion, constitute [her] happiness, without reference to [Lady Catherine], or to any other person so wholly unconnected with [her]” (Austen 359). The point is made, and the matter ultimately left unsettled between the two women. Elizabeth soon secures Darcy’s proposal, but is “agitated and confused, [and] rather knew that she was happy, than felt herself to be so,” which in no way conveys to the reader the image of a fiancé overflowing with joy. Furthermore, Elizabeth makes no form of an apology to Mr. Darcy for her previous accusations, and during the few times it is brought up by Mr. Darcy, she attempts to change the subject which suggests that Elizabeth’s opinions of the events, and therefore Mr. Darcy’s behavior, have not undergone any change. Elizabeth’s descriptions of her own emotions show a great contrast to Mr. Darcy, who explains to Elizabeth that he cannot name the exact day in which he loved Elizabeth; however, we have already seen Elizabeth telling Jane “I believe I must date it [her change of opinion] from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley,” which is interesting in itself because it shows that Mr. Darcy’s altered manner were not what changed Elizabeth’s opinion, but it was “upon seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley” that she experienced her change of heart (Austen 372). In fact, Elizabeth must convince her whole family that she does have feelings of affection for Mr. Darcy. The hardest person she has to convince is her father, who, upon hearing of the engagement, asks Elizabeth “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?” To this Elizabeth wishes that she had better concealed her opinions of Mr. Darcy (Austen 375).  Then, when Elizabeth relays the story to Mr. Bennet of Mr. Darcy’s involvement in Lydia’s affairs and the extent to which the family was indebted to him, Mr. Bennet then tells Elizabeth that the family will benefit by her marriage to Mr. Darcy, and that “I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter,” showing that Mr. Bennet then sought to take advantage of the situation to satiate his parsimonious nature, giving Elizabeth a pass from Mr. Bennet’s questions. At long last we see Elizabeth’s motives come full circle when she is able to live out one of her desires. When she first visited Pemberley, she explained how she wishes she could have invited her aunt and uncle, and before she has even been married to Mr. Darcy, or moved into Pemberley, she takes it upon herself to invite both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner to Pemberley for Christmas (Austen 380).

Although the dénouement in Jane Austen’s novel may at first leave us with a feeling of finality, deeper questions start to come into view about Elizabeth and her happiness. Perhaps one thing that we never quite grasp is if Elizabeth will truly be happy living in Pemberley with Mr. Darcy. The story ends with the cliché happily-ever-after ending, but it leaves one longing to find out how the story ends for the real world Elizabeth. By simply reading Pride and Prejudice as though it were love story for both characters, the reader is forced to do away with all questions pertaining to the future of the relationship between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth; they are both in love, and they are pictured as remaining ardently in love with each other at the closing of the novel, giving the reader no cause for concern that their relationship could take a misfortunate turn. On the other hand, if we view the relationship as it has been shown in the preceding pages, the novel takes on a whole new light. There is now a discussion to be had on the future of the union between the two, if Elizabeth eventually grows to love Mr. Darcy, and if Elizabeth really does find her happiness at Pemberley. It can be argued that the novel in itself is a critique on the system as a whole, suggesting that women were in desperate need of ways to make their life their own, instead of perpetually depending on a man throughout their lives. Austen’s novel takes on deeper meaning, and explores more the questions of a woman’s role in society, instead of just commenting on the average ideas of propriety and love. There is a statement to be made when viewing the book in such a way, even if Elizabeth Bennet found her happiness with Mr. Darcy, even if the social modes of the time worked favorably for Elizabeth, it did not for many women. There were many women of the time that were forced into marry the Mr. Collinses of the world, that did not find happiness, but were forced to settle with the mediocre, rather than pursue the extraordinary. Perhaps, through answering these questions, we can begin to find ourselves seeing but a glimpse of the life for a woman during the early nineteenth century, the unique challenges that the time posed for those who lived in it, and find ourselves seeing that many women shared Elizabeth’s views when she said, “the more I see of the world the more I am dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed in the appearance of either merit or sense,” (Austen 164). We may never know if Elizabeth was truly satisfied, but we do know that Austen set out to do more than write a novel about propriety, she set out to let the reader know that women were dissatisfied, and through Elizabeth Bennet, attempted to change the minds of the people.

Works Cited:

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. Broadview Press, 2002.

Davidoff, Leonore and Catherine Hall. Family Fortunes. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987.

Stone, Lawrence and Jeanne C. Fawtier Stone. An Open Elite? England 1540-1880. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Trumbach, Randolph. The Rise of the Egalitarian Family. New York: Academic Press, 1978.