Introduction
Films use architecture as visual shorthand to tell viewers everything they need to know about the characters in a short amount of time. A single second suffices to portray a room, a place, or landscape; who the characters are, whether good or evil; whether they will advance in the world, or go down; whether or not they will fall in love by the end of the film or suffer heartbreak, anguish, or worse, indifference; whether they will engage with the world, or remain passive observers. Contemporary film viewers recognize a home or place of business, a love interest or a villain through explorations of mimetic representation that often originated in the avant-garde or silent era. While these are codes of representation, they are also haptic responses to fragments that our imaginations create into an image of a whole.
We all see the same thing and yet each of us regards it differently. The world of one person’s perception arises from the world required to make a film, the background world from which that film draws, through which it communicates, and the public world that receives it. Each of us sees a fragment of film set as a whole building. Individuals perceive this communication in wildly divergent fashions, based on our separate experiences, yet the shared world enables meaning to be transferred. When viewers watch a film, they have the impression they hear the whole world when in fact they hear only the sounds picked up on the recording and placed there by the director. Film re-enacts praxis (following Aristotle’s mimesis of praxis) and by endowing it with structure, film joins the tradition of representation to help us see better. Film forms part of the continuum of the world that provides an arc connecting what is communicated with what is imagined.
We, the viewers, imagine the ‘space behind the screen’ as if it is real. Images edited together that often show only fragments in themselves become something we feel, see and understand. Our imagination becomes a vehicle of orientation that captures and transforms the image shaped by spatial experience.
HOW TO USE THIS BOOK
The book’s principal aim is the description and explanation of this ontological understanding that clarifies and stabilizes the reciprocity of the actual world and a filmic world of illusion and human imagination. For the film to ‘work’ the background and setting have to appear lived-in as though they have had a life before the film begins. Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s and Martin Heidegger’s evocations and descriptions of the reciprocity between ourselves and the world we inhabit explicates how spatiality is understood and experienced. The Heideggerian approach to the notion of ‘being’ and ‘world’ reveals being-in-the-world as dependent on those things taken for granted everyday. ‘Everydayness’ refers not to the literal background in front of which the action takes place, but to the deeper structure of familiarity, the deep background, with which we relate, as to a familiar place.1 Using a phenomenological approach, this book describes how we, the viewers, can learn how to ‘read’ architecture and design in film in order to ‘see’ the many inherent messages. Architecture provides the setting in which film is granted its mimetic closure and integrity. It also contributes to the plausibility or reality possible in film.
Other writings contribute to the knowledge and understanding of architecture in film. Mark Lamster’s collection of essays, Architecture and Film looks at different aspects of architecture and film together.2 Another excellent resource that covers a similar breadth of films to this discussion is Dietrich Neumann’s Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner. 3 Neumann’s essays explain how set design, filmmakers’ intentions and narrative come together to create the overall impression of a single film. François Penz and Maureen Thomas’s Cinema and Architecture: Méliès, Mallet-Stevens, Multimedia, is an excellent collection of essays. It offers exemplary insight into aspects of architecture and film together, and different ways of reading, analyzing, or creating architecture in moving image technology.4
Steven Jacobs’ publication, The Wrong House; The Architecture of Alfred Hitchcock, reproduces the architecture of Alfred Hitchcock’s films as if the sets were real architecture.5 In Hitchcock’s films the interweaving between set design and narrative establishes the scene for the enactment of mystery. Another seminal and original interpretation of architecture and its relation to film is Giuliana Bruno’s Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture and Film 6 Bruno’s writing presents a personal response to aspects of art, architecture and film and how we interpret them. Discourse on how we interpret film, and understand it from what we see and hear has been deeply influenced by Juhani Pallasmaa’s The Architecture of Image: Existential Space in Cinema. 7 Pallasmaa applies a phenomenological approach to how we interpret architecture in film and his book also includes architectural plans and focuses on particular films. Katherine Shonfield’s Walls have feelings: architecture, film, and the city interprets architecture and film together and covers London in the 1960s in the chapter on Alfie 8
Jane Barnwell’s Production Design: Architects of the Screen describes how and why films are made the way they are.9 It describes the role of the production designer in
filmmaking. Books such as Mark Shiel and Tony Fitzmaurice’s, Cinema and the City; or Mitchell Schwarzer’s Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media look at how cities are portrayed in film.10 While there is some crossover, such as Charles Sheeler and Paul Strand’s Manhatta, or the discussion of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-up that includes an analysis of London, my book differs from those on film and philosophy in that it explains the different and almost invisible means by which we ‘read’ architecture in film.11 Films such as Metropolis or Blade Runner are discussed extensively and cleverly in other publications, so while they are seminal in the discussion of architecture and its relation with film, I refer to them here but do not linger on analysis better presented elsewhere.12 In particular I recommend Metropolis: BFI Film Classic, 20th Anniversary Edition by Thomas Elsaesser and Blade Runner: The Inside Story by Don Shay.13
Films influence other films. For example, German Expressionism impacted on Hitchcock’s employment of light and shadow to enhance suspense, and from Hitchcock, film noir, and other influences of sound and light, the surreality of David Lynch ensued. Tropes can be found throughout. For example, the iconic shot of Jack Nicholson’s face looking through the door he has just broken through with an axe in The Shining appears first in Victor Sjöström’s Phantom Carriage in 1921.14 Metropolis influenced Blade Runner, that in turn influenced Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira and many others.15
In addition to Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty, a variety of philosophers offer insight into how we see or perceive spatiality. This book is organized into chapters, each of which is also an essay explaining particular philosophical notions in the context of specific films or filmmakers, styles of representing architectural themes or diverse films from across genres and eras of filmmaking. Each chapter describes different examples of how to interpret architecture in film. While there is a great deal of crossover of discussion, with some films and concepts appearing in more than one chapter, for clarity of reading the chapters are arranged in approximate chronological order. Different chapters discuss Plato’s parable of the cave, F. G. W. Hegel’s master and slave dialectic, Heidegger’s notion of ‘world’ and of the fourfold, Merleau-Ponty’s spatial perception, Paul Ricoeur’s tripartite mimesis, Gilles Deleuze’s movementimage and time-image, and the Japanese concept of ma, the space in-between, as well as Siegfried Kracauer’s explanation of how film brings forward reality. Our perception of what is ‘image’ as ‘real’ is explained through descriptions of Plato’s divided line, that takes us through what we see, what is reflected, and fantasy; Aristotle’s mimesis of praxis, that brings human experience into representation; Henri Bergson’s description of the ‘cinematic illusion’ that describes the filmic apparatus that includes both the camera and the projector; and Merleau-Ponty’s description of the dream, by which we see what feels real but know it to be fantasy. Jean-Luc Nancy’s phenomenological description of both ‘touch’ and ‘listening’ offers insight into the experience of watching film and how what we see and hear touches our emotions. Jean-Luc Marion’s notion of the gift provides a platform for examining what we receive from film.
Other thinkers offer insight into what we perceive symbolically, although these are not mutually exclusive. Rudolph Arnheim writes on visual thinking and
Walter Benjamin elaborates on the image and history. Feminists’ description of cinema as language producing meaning, or as a social apparatus of semiotic production, resembles the discourse of psychoanalytic film theories.16 Judith Butler describes Merleau-Ponty’s discussion of body/world duality as nonfeminist and non-gender-specific. She calls for a feminist appropriation but acknowledges that phenomenological reflection allows access to a description of the female body as territory for both exercizing impartial juridical power and the partiality of desire. Despite Butler’s claim that Merleau-Ponty devalues women by being non-gender specific and assessing only the heterosexual male subject, I return to MerleauPonty’s original intention, to describe the body as an expressive and dramatic medium.17 Iris Marion Young offers a phenomenological description of lived-body experience that is gender specific and historicized. Young traces modalities of feminine body comportment, the manner of moving and relation in space.18
Gilles Deleuze’ any-space-whatevers are nonrational links between shots that, like vacant and disconnected spaces, relate to Marc Augé’s anonymous spaces, such as waiting rooms for example. Any-space-whatevers remove us temporarily from the place of action, where we are ‘elsewhere’ in an undefined space and time, that according to Deleuze can also be a black screen, a white screen, or change in colour intensity. The any-space-whatever is an empty or interrupted space which, in film, links any number of narratives.19 Deleuze’s movement-image and time-image respond to philosophical as much as they do filmic discourse.
Alain Badiou, Deleuze, Jacques Rancière, Bergson and others explore relations between time, temporality, space, spatiality, and movement as well as perceptual understanding.20 For Bernard Stiegler film is one of the technical constructs we fabricate to make sense of the world around us.
ENTER PLATO’S CAVE OF CINEMATIC DELIGHT
When we watch a film, we suspend our disbelief to get caught up in a world that must be familiar enough to be recognized by us and into which we can situate ourselves in our imaginations. Spatial perception combines with emplotment, or diegesis, to help us connect the visuals into a narrative combining the haptic with the optic through mimesis. There are many tales that engage us with visual gameplay or that enact familiar stories, but it is the situated spatiality that enables us to get lost in these films. This is the role that architecture plays in film. It gives us a ‘there’ in which to be. Architecture mediates the dialectics of dwelling and remoteness, belonging and estrangement. As Stanley Cavell explains, film acts as a screen on which our hopes and fears are projected, as well as screening us from real aspirations and actual nightmares. 21 Cavell deliberately plays with the relationship between revealing and concealing inherent in the word ‘screen’ utilizing the double entendre of the verb (screens) as both filtering it from sight, and presented as a backdrop against which it may be seen and understood. Film disguises or camouflages the given world, while allowing a glimpse into more meaningful aspects of the lives that exist within it. Although film hides given
‘reality’ and what the viewer sees is illusion, it reveals meaning in the given world, our world. 22
This is the essence of Plato’s shadow play. As our focus narrows we both find and lose ourselves in another world. We, the viewer look at the screen, and it is as if we are looking through a window frame, as if the screen is a window that frames another world, and we are in fact looking at the projections on the back of Plato’s cave. We move through these screens imperceptibly as we watch a film.
Careful investigation of the nature of the relationship of architecture and its representation in film grants a deeper understanding of how architecture in film illuminates both architecture itself and the culture that produces it. The exchange between the two, architecture and film, is grounded in mimesis. Mimesis stabilizes this dialogue and offers insight into the phenomenon of ‘recognition’ by which we readily recognize a particular place such as a home, a library, a private or public space, etc. There is an accumulation of culture, knowledge and artefacts we carry within ourselves and bring to the viewing of the film. We look at architecture, recognize it, it looks ‘like’ things with which we are familiar. We ‘see’ it ‘as if’ it is real and the narrative moves us along.
While I examine the conventions and innovations of film, (taking into account formal procedures such as camera movement, framing and editing techniques) my point of departure lies in looking not at how films are fabricated, assembled to bring about a particular message, but at the structure of the meanings created and how these orient the viewer in a world or situation. My interpretation draws upon, but also differs distinctly from, the methodologies of film theory. I look through the screen at what we ‘see’; a world we create in our spatial imaginations, fully formed, sensual and dimensional.
In film this making of the set into a ‘world’ of its own and creating a scene concocted of fragments, is referred to as mise en scène and filmmakers whose focus is on this world as metteurs en scène. Mise en scène includes staging, direction, production. Everyone has a slightly different definition, but agree that it ‘establishes a relation to the world’.23 Some filmmakers build up the scene through carefully cultivated sets based on intense historical and cultural research. Others, such as Jean-Luc Godard, rely on existing cultural references. In Antonioni’s Blow-up, architecture and sets are used interchangeably as a visual language to play with representation in two-dimensional film, which actually serves to emphasize the vitality
Figure I.1 The cinema resembles Plato’s cave. We look at the film screen and it narrows our focus, so that ultimately we see only the perspective of what is projected on the back of the cave (drawn by author).
Figure I.2 Filters of: the world we know; diegesis; and mimesis. Seated around the fire, it is as though we look through architecture (the world we know around us); diegesis (the constructed world created by the filmmaker); and mimesis, (by which what we see resembles what we understand and with which we are familiar). Behind us, high on the wall of the cave, is a mirror that projects the mimetic image onto the screen in front of us (drawn by author).
of 1960s London as both object and subject of representation. In another example from earlier in the same era, Joseph Losey uses London visually in an entirely different manner. Set within Britain’s transition from imperial to post-war capitalist culture, The Servant involves architecture in a dialogue with itself that brings the viewer on a path first through the open door of an Edwardian house and all it represents, with its butler and gentleman’s club décor, and then back onto King’s Road in Chelsea, in a full circle.24
The importance of mise en scène is that everything within the frame is selected for inclusion by the filmmaker. Framing is an act of design, the decision what to include and what to exclude. Architects are familiar with this kind of decision making. Beyond the obvious function of what architecture communicates, for example shelter, the interpretation discloses the metaphorical and antonymic expressions of enclosure and exposure, protection and imprisonment that form the mise en scène (everything in the frame) of place and space in film. The relation of thresholds such as doors or windows, or structures of connections such as stairs, offers insight into the framing of human existence. Filmmakers frame things in diverse ways to convey a different narrative or even a different meaning within the same narrative.
Architectural elements operate on many levels and develop one aspect that gets increasingly embodied into the everyday world where we are deeply situated. The doorway frames us; the stair suggests either ascendance, or descent to hell and the nether regions. The bridge ‘bridges’ disparate ideas and the city itself is a dynamic ever changing place often best captured in the fluidity of film. Cities offer the chance to show the protagonist in motion, the movement of time during the day, and the city as a constantly evolving reflection of human progress.
Figure I.3 Getting cosy in the cave. I replace the cave with a cinema, with lounge seats and sound insulation to exclude the outside world. We take a seat and arrange cushions around us to make ourselves comfortable. We are cut off from all distracting sights and sounds and focus on the images on the screen. Filmic apparatus helps us to focus better on a series of shadow plays or stories (drawn by author).
For example, when a film opens with a landscape scene or a rural setting (often set in or suggestive of the past) it frames the tale so it is almost like a fable. In contrast, if the film opens with the establishing shot (the shot that establishes the locale in which the action will take place) in a city, this positions the story in a contemporary world, of movement, development, complexity. The kind of story that can take place in a peaceful country setting would be entirely different in an urban one.
Suburban settings suggest the ‘everyday’ and life as bland and repetitive as the streets on which they are set. For example, in a scene from American Beauty a teenage boy looks through his suburban window and spies on the teenage girl who lives in the identical suburban house next door. He videos her, with her knowledge, thus creating a movie (within a movie) that gives warmth and meaning to their otherwise disenfranchised lives. Window frames frame their lives, and the frame of the boy’s video camera frames them again in a way that gives them meaning. The scene depicts their mutual need to escape the confines of their restricted sameness of suburban life, whereas if the same story happens in Manhattan, it becomes about voyeurism and exhibitionism.
Some films are compelling when made, but lose their ‘shine’ once the story is told. Others can continue to captivate us on subsequent and repeated viewing. Still others become cultural artefacts or references over time, embedded within historical context and architectural precedent.
In film, as elsewhere, the most originary is the most familiar, the closest, and therefore, the furthest removed, the most deeply hidden. The usual structure: what we see, expect, imagine, the simplest, is the most imperceptible. Film touches us.
Figure I.4 When we leave the cave we are blinded by reality. Comfortably seated within the cave we see images projected as if they are the whole world, but after, when the film is over, we have to make an effort to ‘break’ with that reality, and walk out of the cinema where we are blinded by the light (drawn by author).
We do not literally put our finger on it, nor can we always pinpoint that image, thought, dialogue or action that affects us. Yet the camera illuminates: bringing forward a truth. This ‘moving’ image moves us, or arouses us, as Stiegler suggests.25
For Roland Barthes there is, in a still photograph, a punctum, a part of the image, that pokes us and touches us, but in film this is always receding from our view as we try to find it. It is often sentimental, in a manner we would not enjoy in life. As we know, overanalysis can take away the ‘feeling’ yet the message is just as strong. Architecture is an intrinsic and essential part of that conversation. It tells us much in very little time.
Welcome to Plato’s cave
I begin by leading us gently into Plato’s cave, explaining how and what it is, and what we do there. While seated comfortably, for I have replaced Plato’s chains for comfie cinema sofas and surround sound, we watch some images passing by that tell us the story of cinema, of ‘realism’, of darkness and light and of architecture, then a something helps lead us out of the cave.
In the cave the two-dimensional screen becomes fully dimensional in our imaginations − we need to be comfortable for this − and then, once we have understood a few things, we step ‘through’ the screen, and the other side, into a mirror reverse world where we have to look backwards at the raked seats of the cinema, stare the projectionist in the face, and climb back out into the world, the city street. We incorporate what we have seen into our own experiences and return to our own world, enriched and transformed, the ‘breaking moment’ when one enters the pathway of everyday life.26
The Plato’s cave simile elaborates vision and sight, using light as a metaphor for the truth.27 Plato debates whether truth appears to thought as the visual world appears to sight. Plato presents a world of shadow and illusion, where what appears to be real is an allegory for the enlightenment or ignorance of the human condition.28 It is worthwhile here to re-examine Plato’s allegory, which asks the reader to visualize an underground chamber. Picture a cave, he begins.
Figure I.5 The two-dimensional screen enriches our spatial imagination. We don’t step out of the cave, but into the world of our imagination, fully temporal and spatial, then through the screen and out into the world, onto the path of everyday life that is brighter, noisier, dirtier or else more quiet and mundane (depending on the film) (drawn by author).
The light of a fire some way off shines on passing figures and creates shadows projected on the wall as in a puppet show.29 They play a dual role like the shadow puppets of the Malay peninsula, of entertainer and spirit medium giving outline to beings which do not actually exist, represented in human form in some way distorted.30 Unaware of any other existence, Plato’s prisoners believe the shadows they see to be the whole truth and presume the sounds they hear to be emitted from the shadowy figures they see in front of them.31
There are two levels of shadows within the cave, those of the prisoners themselves, for they also see their own shadows, and those of the figures passing by, in this case a secondary level of representations. Plato’s parable tells us that which we see and believe to be real is only a shadow of the ideal and film takes place within this field. The story of the cave is a drama of human finitude where enlightenment is not reached in one move but through the process of understanding. The reciprocity between light and dark, is that between truth and illusion, with film intermediary between them, both enhancing and obscuring reality. The prisoners’ initial state is one of illusion about themselves and the world. The escaped prisoner, at first blinded by the light and reality, gradually adjusts, perceives the various levels of Plato’s divided line, first shadows, then reflections, and ultimately questions the nature of objects themselves. When he returns to tell the other prisoners they think him mad, and he is destroyed.
The frequent suggestion that a modern Plato would compare his cave to a cinema, where the film itself is only an image of real things and events in the world outside, approaches the literal but not figurative aspects of the allegory.32 Plato’s description refers to the unidentified prisoners undifferentiated one from the other as ‘people like us.’33 The allegory remains unclear as to whether the prisoners, who mistake their own shadows for themselves, see themselves as individuals or have yet to acquire this sense of the self.
In The Conformist , Bernardo Bertolucci visually translates the cave metaphor, depicting the prisoners in the cave as prisoners within a given political system; political prisoners of a fascist regime, unwilling or unable to emerge into the brightness of enlightened emancipation. 34 Bertolucci begins at the Ara Pacis of Caesar Augustus, (an image used again by Peter Greenaway in Belly of an Architect ). 35 The film travels to the EUR, Benito Mussolini’s fascist city of progress designed in the 1930s, then crosses from Renaissance Rome on the Ponte Sant’ Angelo when, with the Castel Sant’ Angelo , designed and built by the emperor Hadrian as his own mausoleum, framed behind them, Clerici the protagonist and conformist of the title, is nearly hit by a giant and symbolic decapitated head of ‘current emperor’ Mussolini. It ends in the Colosseum, symbol of ancient, pagan and Imperial Rome.
Bertolucci adapted The Conformist from the novel of the same name by Alberto Moravia.36 In 1930s Fascist Italy, after a sequence of scenes in Rome that enact vignettes of conformism and fascism, a man, Clerici, travels to Paris in order to assassinate his old professor, Quadri, who inspires people to think for themselves. Quadri, who has left the cave, lives in Paris, in the light. Paris represents a place where one can speak the truth. The professor has escaped there to escape the fascists who imprisoned and tortured him. In Paris there is not only light but also colour, in particular pastel shades. For example, in Paris Clerici finds a young gypsy woman selling lavender from Parma, Bertolucci’s home town.
Bertolucci plainly indicates both Clerici’s and his fiancée’s contentment in their prison cells when Clerici visits her in her apartment where she lives with her parents. Director of photography Vittorio Storaro created a modernist prison with the blinds, the stripes of the fiancée’s dress and the striped lines of light and shadow. Light is used in a sharp way; there is no harmony of shades. Clerici’s passive watching and the fiancée’s absurd dancing show how complacent one can be when nothing is questioned. In this scene we see the maid, described as ‘part of the dowry’ on the right and the fiancée with her striped dress on the left, with Clerici, comfortably bedded between them.
Prior to his trip to Paris Clerici visits both his parents, who live separately. The family home where his mother resides represents past grandeur, decadence and decay. The tall iron gate that encloses the house suggests that life within a prison is familiar to him but the posts of the gate are not upright in the film frame. Strange camera angles draw things to our notice, setting up a surreal narrative. The moving camera draws back and the figures come forward through the fallen leaves blowing in the wind. In film, wind is incredibly photogenic.37 It is referent of the spiritual, and of the passage of time. Here, in this scene, introduced by the unusual camera angle to show a world out of balance or the past not yet left behind, the sweeping camera and the movement of the leaves draws our attention to time passing, a twilight world, faded and inevitable.
The contrast of these images with the white rectilinearity of the next scene, in which Clerici visits his father in the lunatic asylum, situates it somewhat outside the everyday, appropriate as a home for those who have lost their reason. Bertolucci casts the cold marble and clinical white rooftop open air theatre of
Adalberto Libera’s Palace of the Congresses in the EUR as a madhouse. The use of Libera’s Palace of the Congresses suggest the madness of the EUR itself. Even if we ‘see’ the building with which we are familiar we are carried away to see this as a place of insanity, and this affects how we continue to perceive this building.
The interior of Libera’s building becomes, in the film, the location for the Ministry of the Interior where individuals walk past, dwarfed by the giant fascist symbols they carry, which emphasize the theatricality, the artifice, of both the fascist regime and the architecture itself. Sent to meet the minister, Clerici, always the interloper, spies on him from behind a very theatrical curtain. With him, we sneak a look and find the minister in a sensual embrace with a woman. A few minutes later, when Clerici makes his official entrance to the minister we approach slowly, reluctantly as, like Clerici, we feel differently about entering this grand room. Its intended grandeur has been transgressed by our peepshow view into it as place of sexual congress.
In addition to confusing us with places (the Palace of the Congresses as a madhouse) Bertolucci elides the characters. The woman on the desk with the minister appears later at an actual brothel that is situated at the border between Italy and France (the mediating zone) and again in the apartment in Paris, where, despite being cast as quite a different character, the wife of Quadri, she is played by the same actor, Dominique Sanda. We see Sanda twice in different personas (in a brothel and making out on the desk of the minister) before we ‘meet’ her in Paris. She is both the political and the sexual. This uncertainty confuses us – is it the same woman? didn’t we see her before? – and makes her role less real, and therefore the ambiguity and transgressive sexuality more real. Quadri’s wife contrasts with Clerici’s fiancée, described as: good in the kitchen and good in bed and who represents old time values, the normalcy to which he aspires.
Figure I.6 Adalberto Libera’s Palace of the Congresses, EUR, Rome, Italy. Individuals walk past, dwarfed by the enormous fascist symbols they carry (The Conformist, Bernardo Bertolucci, 1973).
When we first see Clerici he is sitting on a bed in a hotel room, fully dressed with his hat and shoes on, utterly ignoring the naked woman sprawled on the bed next to him, suggesting his own sexual ambiguities exposed later in the film. As Michel Foucault suggests all sexuality is a play of power.38 Sexual deviance and ‘playing both sides’ are representative of Bertolucci’s fascist state where the same building is both ministry and madhouse.
Editing and adaptation offer insights into text translated to visual language. In Moravia’s novel, Clerici and his wife flee the city into the country and make love in the snow before themselves being gunned down. Bertolucci allows Clerici and his wife to live, but keeps the scene in the snow. In his version, Quadri’s wife tells Clerici’s fiancée that they have a house in the country where they often ‘make love in the woods’, suggesting sexual as well as political freedoms and, more importantly for the film, setting the scene for their later murder. At the conclusion the professor is assassinated in the open, in the snow, and dies like Caesar, stabbed by many.
We must remain in the cave to follow the film but when we emerge (as cultural critics) we see not only the shadows (the film) but also how they are made (art direction) and why. Now that we are bedded in as it were within the cave, let us look at the scene that makes this most explicit. Analysts of both film and philosophy have described this scene in detail, illustrating how it expresses the cave myth in visuals. The best and most detailed description is from an essay by philosopher Julia Annas.39 Film theorist Robert Kolker also refers to this scene in his book on Bertolucci.40 As Quadri relates the story of Plato’s cave, he opens and closes the shutters of his office in which stands a single light, corresponding to the fire, so that the characters are in turns actors and shadows. Quadri tells the story, and acts
Figure I.7 The conformist remains a prisoner, sitting by the fire. At the end of the film, Clerici, the conformist, returns to the cave (The Conformist, Bernardo Bertolucci, 1973).
it out at the same time. The filmmaker brings it together in the most natural manner. It occurs exactly at the midpoint of the film. At the end of the sequence the shutters open and we see Clerici’s shadow fade in the light. Quadri has shown him that, if he wishes, he is free.
At the film’s end Clerici sits in front of a small fire, with other misfits, in the Colosseum. His political party is overturned, his self-delusions dashed. He remains in the cave, resigned to his fate, and preferring to return to the fire and its shadows, he remains a prisoner, having betrayed all the others.
Technē and forgetting: our way out of the cave
Bertolucci describes himself as ‘growing up in cinema’ while making The Conformist He had played with filming ‘reality’ in earlier films such as The Spider’s Stratagem. 41 In The Conformist he carefully captures myth in filmic narrative. In contrast, his contemporary Godard preferred to play with presentation and representation and breaks open the cave. In Godard’s films, such as Weekend or Pierrot Le Fou, actors speak directly to the camera, text flashes onto the screen, and actors speak as themselves, making us conscious of watching a film so that we see the reality of the puppet show, although acknowledging that this in itself is a play of light and shadow of its own.42 Godard constantly returns to this juxtaposition of myth and reality in his films by bringing our focus onto the film itself, making us conscious of watching a film, and of the ‘reality’ of the medium of film, and using locations to make us conscious of what we look at. Bertolucci and Godard fell out with one another for abandoning this question of the juxtaposition of myth and reality and it is no coincidence that in The Conformist Bertolucci gave the assassinated professor, Quadri, the unrepentant Communist, surrounded by adoring and protective young acolytes, Godard’s own Paris address (17 rue St Jacques) although Godard may not have appreciated the humour. The apartment interior in the film is not Godard’s but an apartment in Rome.
Understanding how architecture helps us to form our identity shows a way out of the cave, just as understanding some technical aspects of filmmaking helps us understand the language that the filmmaker uses to tell the story, and why it is so effective to our senses. In a film such as The Conformist , a city (1960s Rome) becomes the set, that becomes a city (both Paris and Rome in the 1930s). While there is a difference between what we see and how we see it, these are combined through mimesis and the cinematic power of persuasion. Sometimes in a film, as in Antonioni’s L’eclisse , the route a character takes makes sense and you can track the story through town, and at other times different places are collaged together for effect.43 However, does it matter to us, Plato’s slaves chained to our seats? How do we get out of the cave? To escape from the cave we need to engage with the world.
Watching is never passive. There is an inherent violence in viewing, described by Paul Virilio as the vision machine but also in evidence centuries earlier. Panoramas and dioramas of the eighteenth century presented dramatic scenes, often of battles, with no frame, horizon, beginning or end. This form of presentation was deemed
highly appropriate for propaganda. Replaced by photography, it was never about the scenery construction or the realist style of painting but it was about techniques of light, of architectural construct, time and movement used to convey a message and evoke emotion.
Athanasius Kircher details perception and projection in his Ars Magna Luce et Umbra that includes a description of scenography, somewhat based on Vitruvius (he quotes Book 6, chapter 2).44 He has thirteen rules of scenography.45 Like Sebastiano Serlio, he describes the settings appropriate for tragedy, comedy and satire in addition to a forced perspective of sets diminishing in scale as they recede.46
He uses illustrations to explain the nature of anamorphosis and how to project an image onto a cylinder. Kircher explains the uncanny way the eyes of a portrait seem to follow the viewer as they move with an image of an archer aiming his crossbow at us, the reader, thus merging being looked at, with being shot at, and the violence inherent in vision, and the frightening aspects of what we are looking at, looking back at us, something that Plato’s cave keeps hidden. As Kircher states: ‘Semper, ubiq; Suos mors inopina uidet’ variously translated as: ‘Always and everywhere sudden Death spies his own’. 47 An hourglass with wings suggests that tempus fugit between the hunter with his musket or the archer with his crossbow aimed directly at us, the viewer.
While acknowledging that this is not ‘real’ life, it also acknowledges that the eye can be fooled by tricking the optic intelligence, as the eyes in the painting seem to follow our own. In his magic lantern, the precursor of cinema, Kircher projects an image of death; even in the seventeenth century the intention of cinema was to frighten.
CRITICAL APPROACH TO ‘REALISM’
The relation of film and technics relates to the discussion of realism, that also includes social realism. Film seeks to give the viewer as perfect an illusion of reality as possible within the current limits of technique. Realism was a dominant issue of debate in painting, theatre and the novel in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Honoré Balzac, Gustave Flaubert, and T. S. Eliot in literature and Gustave Courbet and Edouard Manet in painting were early and prominent advocates of the idea that, to be ‘real’, characters and sets must have a coherent social and historical setting.48 In literature and the arts, realism is a style that aims to keep imagination within bounds and to avoid embellishments, in order to keep faith with the ‘way things really are.’ Realism, influenced by positivism and the scientific and industrial revolutions, sought to present commonplace events in the lives of ordinary people. This desire to create, or rather to recreate, an integral realism, a representation supposedly freed from artistic interpretation or constraints of time, dominated the early techniques of mechanical reproduction of reality, from photography to the phonograph.49
Canonical texts of film theory investigate film’s relation to ‘reality’ and to the viewer. Critics like Erwin Panofsky felt that cinema satisfied the idea of, and wish
for, a world recreated in its own image, which is the history of representation.50 The interest in depicting reality corresponded with technical advances. The focus in film theory on realism as an aesthetic appeared with the inception of sound in films and developed with improved film stock that allowed for more realistic lighting. Improved film quality meant that less extreme lighting was required and shadows no longer needed to be painted in for effect.
Other theorists and practitioners debated the opposition between mere appearances (meaning the reality of things as we perceive them in daily life and experience) and true morality (meaning an essential truth, one which we cannot normally see or perceive but which, as Slavoj Žižek explains, using Hegel’s phrase, is ‘born of the mind’).51 Film is either a recreation of the world in its own image or the making of an ideal world in the likeness of the real world where film aims to reconstruct or reflect viewer’s consciousness and feelings.52 Kracauer describes physical reality as the transitory world we live in, also called nature, actuality, physical existence and material reality and referred to here as the given world. Film’s role is to record and reveal this given reality partially formed by other visible worlds that reach within. In Benjamin’s words, filmic imagery of the given world depicts something entirely new.53
This conflict draws on diverse approaches to questioning the nature of reality. Critics and practitioners have viewed film as a major carrier of the ideology of a culture and ‘realism’ has been seen not just as an aesthetic but as an ideological debate. Whether ideology is taken to mean a representation of the imaginary relationships of individuals to their real conditions of existence or a specific political manifesto, it refers to the cultural phenomena. Socialist realism is an aesthetic and literary style, endorsed and imposed on filmmakers and artists in the Soviet Union in the 1930s as the only one suitable for communist society. Marxist filmmakers such as Sergei Eisenstein and Dziga Vertov desired to displace the real world, which they considered a construction of bourgeois ideology, and replace it with an ideal world in the likeness of a ‘real’ world.54
‘Realism’ in film developed into a political issue with neorealist practitioners proposing that ‘realism’ depended on the portrayal of working class truths. Italian neorealism, a post-war movement among Italian filmmakers such as Vittorio D e Sica and Roberto Rossellini, strove for verisimilitude in black and white films deeply embedded within a socio-political ideology of socialism and class struggle.55
André Bazin and Panofsky investigate the role reality plays and both theorists emphasize that in film reality is not merely described or represented. 56 In an early and influential lecture on film, Panofsky described the unique and specific possibilities of film as the ‘dynamisation of space and spatialisation of time.’57 He alleged that, in film, things move and the viewer is instantaneously able to witness successive events. He speaks of these properties as ‘self-evident’ to the point of triviality and, because of that, easily forgotten or neglected. In the cinema the viewer occupies a fixed place, but as the eye identifies itself with the lens of the camera, which permanently shifts in distance and direction, Panofsky suggests the viewer is virtually as movable as the rooms and places presented. He describes the spatial field approaching, receding, turning, dissolving and recrystallizing as it
appears through the controlled locomotion and variable focusing of the camera.58 By substituting the eye of the beholder for the consciousness of the character, film is able to suggest that psychological experience is being directly projected onto the screen.
The relationship between the viewer and the film is based on the assumption and assertion that what is seen is ‘real’ and cannot be questioned. Film processes ‘reality’ into fictional forms to create cinematic or filmic ‘realities’. For Panofsky the medium of film is physical reality as such, for film organizes persons and material things. Sixty years later, Colin MacCabe describes ‘realism’ as the language of film, and filmic discourse as comprised of a combination of words and images, just as linguistic discussions of ‘discourse’ focus on speaker and language.59 In a similar vein, Leo Braudy describes film as less real than the depicted objects that are chosen for filming and thereby transformed in content.60
The meaning of ‘realism’ varies with the context in which it is used.61 This contrast between, on the one hand, film as a projection of a previously recorded reality, and on the other hand film as an event in itself, quite separate from the original, led to debates on the role of ‘reality’ in film which continue in film theory.62 Realist filmmaker Robert Flaherty wrote that film contains an essential human story from within the viewer.63 Neorealist filmmaker Rossellini also felt that realist film has ‘world’ as its object, not the telling of a story.64 For both Godard and Antonioni the subject emerges from the characters and their situation, producing a world created by this idea.65 For Godard, the film and the reality it may or may not portray are of equal relevance. He declares: ‘[s]ometimes reality is too complex for oral communication. But legend embodies it in a form which enables it to spread all over the world.’66 When Godard puts these words into the mouth of his character Lemmy Caution (played by Eddie Constantine) in Alphaville he’s talking about his own films.
Antonioni asserts that most film viewers prefer the cave and its artificial view of the world and this is why they go to the cinema.67 It is, Antonioni feels, as if the viewers encounter enough reality in their day to day life. Reality may be like the horizon, forever receding and eluding our grasp. The power of film, Antonioni argues, is in its ability not to represent reality, but to achieve the aura of a fable because he feels fables are true.68 They wish to see in the cinema that which is new, that they do not already know. Braudy analyses film as to whether it is open or closed; others describe film as formalist or realist, full or empty. These axes of analysis are important only in as much as they focus or encourage the viewer to contemplate the image as an object.
In Rancière’s view, cinema takes its narrative conventions from literature but not its philosophy, and again draws from theatre’s aspiration to ‘realism’ while rejecting it. Film is Plato’s cave, where one is manipulated by shadow play, but in a real material place. It is in constant dialogue with the language of images that flatten the world created on screen. This ambiguity is the compelling attraction of film. As Rancière states ‘the most commonplace objects’ acquire splendour on a ‘lighted screen in a dark auditorium’.69 He suggests we don’t need to understand film theory in order to feel the power of film that lies in the ways of putting traditional stories and emotions
into images. He gives examples, such as car headlights at night, drinking glasses glittering in a bar, a hand fumbling with a door handle or lifting a curtain to see what is behind the scenes, hidden from view.
NOTES
1 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time (London: Blackwell, 1973), § 333.
2 Mark Lamster, Architecture and Film (New York: Princeton University Press, 2000).
3 Dietrich Neumann, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner (London: Prestel, 1996).
4 François Penz and Maureen Thomas, Cinema and Architecture: Méliès, Mallet-Stevens, Multimedia (London: BFI, 1997).
5 Steven Jacobs, The Wrong House; The Architecture of Alfred Hitchcock (Amsterdam: 010 publishers, 2007).
6 Giuliana Bruno, Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture and Film (London: Verso, 2002).
7 Juhani Pallasmaa, The Architecture of Image: Existential Space in Cinema (Helsinki: Rakennustieto Publishing, 2001).
8 K atherine Shonfield, Walls have feelings: architecture, film, and the city (London: Routledge, 2000). Alfie, dir. Lewis Gilbert, UK: Paramount, 1966.
9 Jane Barnwell, Production Design; Architects of the Screen (London: Wallflower Press, 2003).
10 Mark Shiel and Tony Fitzmaurice, Cinema and the City (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011); Mitchell Schwarzer, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media (New York: Princeton University Press, 2004).
11 Manhatta, dir. Charles Sheeler and Paul Strand, USA, 1921; Blow–up, dir. Michelangelo Antonioni, UK: MGM, 1967.
12 Metropolis, dir. Fritz Lang, Germany: UFA, 1927. Blade Runner, dir. Ridley Scott, USA: Ladd Company/Shaw Bros, 1982.
13 Thomas Elsaesser, Metropolis; BFI Film Classic, 20th Anniversary Edition (London: BFI, 2012) and Don Shay, Blade Runner; The Inside Story (London: Titan Books, 2000).
14 Phantom Carriage, dir. Victor Sjöström, Sweden: AB Swensk, 1921; The Shining, dir. Stanley Kubrick, USA: Producer Circle/Peregrine Productions/Hawk Films, 1980.
15 Akira, dir. Katsuhiro Otomo, Japan: Tokyo Movie Shinsha, 1987.
16 Teresa de Lauretis, Alice Doesn’t: Feminism, Semiotics, Cinema (London: Macmillan, 1984).
17 Judith Butler, Gender Trouble; Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1999), 17.
18 Iris Marion Young and Jeffner Allen. “Throwing Like a Girl” in The Thinking Muse: Feminism and Modern French Philosophy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989), 145.
19 D. N. Rodowick, Gilles Deleuze’s Time Machine (Place: Duke University Press, 1997).
20 Alain Badiou, Cinema, trans. S. Spitzer (Cambridge: Polity, 2013); Jacques Rancière, The Intervals of Cinema, trans. J. Howe (London: Verso, 2014); Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. N. Paul and W. Palmer (London: Zone, 1988).
21 Stanley Cavell, The World Viewed (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979).
22 Cavell, World Viewed, 166.
23 Rancière, The Intervals of Cinema, 6.
24 The Servant, dir. Joseph Losey, UK: Elstree Studio Films, 1963.
25 Bernard Stiegler, Technics and Time 1: The Fault of Epimetheus, trans. R. Beardsworth and G. Collins (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998).
26 André Barsacq, Architecture et Dramaturgie (Paris: Flammarion, 1950).
27 Plato, Republic, trans. Desmond Lee (London: Penguin, 2007), VII 514.
28 Plato, Republic, VII 514a.
29 Plato, Republic, VII 514b.
30 Jeune Scott-Kemball, Javanese Shadow Puppet (Great Britain: The Trustees of the British Museum, 1970), 29.
31 Plato, Republic, VII 514c.
32 Francis Cornford, introduction, Plato, The Republic of Plato (London: Penguin, 2007).
33 Plato, Republic, VII 514c.
34 Julia Annas, An Introduction to Plato’s ‘Republic’ (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981); Robert Philip Kolker, Bertolucci (London: British Film Institute, 1985); The Conformist, dir. Bernardo Bertolucci, Italy/France/West Germany: Mars/Marianne/Maran, 1969.
35 Belly of an Architect, dir. Peter Greenaway, UK/Italy: Herndale Film Corporation, 1987.
36 Alber to Moravia, The Conformist, first published 1951 (Steerforth Press: Hanover, 2011).
37 Michelangelo Antonioni, The Architecture of Vision (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 55.
38 Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, Vol. 2 The Use of Pleasure (London: Vintage, 1990).
39 Annas, Introduction to Plato’s ‘Republic’.
40 Kolker, Bertolucci
41 The Spider’s Stratagem, dir. Bernardo Bertolucci, Italy, 1970.
42 Weekend, dir. Jean-Luc Godard, France: Athos Films, 1967; Pierrot Le Fou, dir. Jean-Luc Godard, France: Films de Georges de Beauregard, 1965.
43 L’eclisse, dir. Michelangelo Antonioni, Italy: Cineriz, 1963.
44 Athanasius Kircher, Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae in Decem Libros Digesta (Amstelodami, 1671), Book 2, Part 2.
45 Kircher, Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae, 136.
46 Kircher, Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae, 139.
47 Jocelyn Godwin, Athanasius Kircher’s Theatre of the World (London: Thames and Hudson, 2007), 205.
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"Do so, and I will send you wine and sweetmeats,"saidMistressDavis. "Then youcan talk of your business matters, and we women willsit under the greatapple tree,sewour seams, and talk of affairs level with our comprehension."
Whereat the men laughed, though I didnot see the joke. Mistress Davis asked me to help her in the ordering of the banquet, * and Iwasgladto do so. (Inever dofeel thoroughly at home in any house till I get into the pantryandkitchen.)Margaret wasbusy withthe little girls, and I saw them showing her theirwork,andthe clothesthey had been making for their dolls.
* A banquet was what we should now call a dessert of fruits and sweetmeats piled upon wooden trays and trimmed with flowers. It was often set before callers.
"Yes, Joan and Nelly are quite happy now theycan haveSisterMargaret allto themselves," said Dame Davis.
"You would never guess for as simple as shesits there, thatMargaret can read theNew Testament in the Greek tongue, whereinitwaswritten,and correct the pressfor her husband's edition of Plato his Dialogues.Now, would you?"
"I think I could believe any thing thatwasgoodof Mistress Hall," Ianswered warmly.
"And you may well and safely do so,"saidherstep-mother. "Yes, that is very pretty," as I handed her a dish of fruit I had arranged. "Believeme,youcannothavea better orsafer friend than Margaret. With all her learning, sheis simpleas achild and defers to me as though I were her own mother. There, Ithink that will do nicely. And now wewill takeour own work and sit down under the tree, and you willgiveusthe pleasure ofhearing you sing, will you not? I see you have broughtyour lutewith you."
I was only too glad to do aught which could pleasemy kind hostess. Ido not knowwhen I ever spent a pleasanter afternoon than that. Isang allthesongsI knew whichwere not many and then Margaret told us some tales she had read,and by degrees,I know not how, she gently led us to serious talkuponreligionandkindred topics.
"Oh, how I do wish you knew our dearreverend mother, Mistress Hall!" Icould not help saying at last; whereat she smiled andsaid:
"Why, do you think we should agree?"
"Yes, indeed, you would," I answered."You havemade methinkof her somany times this afternoon."
At this Philippa, who had sat by stiff and silent, tossed upherchin and said:
"She must be a strange lady prioress ifshe islikeMargaret."
"How many lady prioresses did you ever know?"asked MistressDavis.
"Philippa would say I am not like hernotion ofwhat a ladyprioressshould be,I suppose!" said Margaret. "But tell us of this goodfriend ofyours, Mistress Loveday, if youwill.Ihave always been curious about convent life."
"I don't know where to begin," said I.
"Oh, begin at the beginning and tellus howyou spentyour day. What wasthefirst thing in the morning?"
So I began and told—as we say in the west country—for anhour. The elderchildren were at home by this time, and they also gathered roundto hear. When Ihad finished—
"You seem to have led quiet, peaceful lives enow," observed Margaret; "butIshouldthink such an unvarying life would have been ratherwearisome, and thata person leadingiton for years would be almostchildish. Did younever haveany study?"
"I used to do my Latin lessons withpoorSisterDenys, and afterward with Father Austin," said I; "but we never read any thing but the Imitation and somelives ofsaints. I began Cæsar's Commentaries when I studied with Father Austin, but I never goton very far."
"You shall finish it with me if you will," saidMargaret. "And wewill also havesome poetry. Latin is a noble tongue."
"Yes, a tongue more fit for the Scripturesandthe church service than common English!" said Philippa.
"But Latin was also the vulgar tongue ofthe Romans, wasn't it, Sister Margaret?" asked one of the boys. "That is the reason theLatinBible is calledtheVulgate, so ourmaster said. He said St. Jerome put it in Latin thatevery one mightread it."
"Yes, that is very likely," answered Philippa, contemptuously. "No doubt he knows all about it. Latin is the sacred language of thechurch, not likethatprofane Greek and Hebrew which was used only by heathen andby wicked Jews."
"But the Scripture was written in GreekandHebrewinthe firstplace; wasit not,sister?" asked Amyas, eagerly. "I am sure the master saidso, and I suppose he is right. Doyou think you know more than ourhead-master, CousinPhilippa?"
"Gently, gently, little brother!" said Margaret. "Your master would also tell youthat one may be right in a wrong way. 'Do youthink youknow more than so-and-so,' isnot very good logic, neither is it very good manners,especiallywhen addressedto oneolder than yourself."
At this, the lad blushed and hung down his head,but presently raised it and saidfrankly, "I beg your pardon, Cousin Philippa. But wasitnotso, sister?"
"Yes, you are right, so far. The Old Testament waswritten in Hebrew, asmost, if notall, of the New Testament was in the Greektongue. Scholars arenow beginning togivegreat attention to the Hebrew."
"Yes, my sister wrote me that His Grace ofSuffolk gives some chaplaincyor the liketo a young man—a secular priest who hath come up from the west countryexpresslyto study the Hebrew," said Mistress Davis.
"I dare say that might be the same young priestwho wasin our shop yesterday," observed Margaret. "He was a fair Grecian for one of his years,andwasasking for some one with whom to learn Hebrew."
"I wish I might learn Greek!" said Amyas.
"All in good time!" returned his mother. "Andyou,Hal?"
"Not I!" answered Hal, the younger boy. "Iwould rather bea sailor, and sail away tothe Indies, like Columbus,than to be poring overlittle crooked letters, alldotsand spots,like those you showed us the other day, sister."
"Why that may be in good time, too," said Margaret."Whoknows whatnew lands youmay discover?"
"We shall all discover rheums and quacks, * if wesit here much longer," said Mistress Davis. "Do you not perceive how theeast wind hath come up? Let us go into thehouse."
* "Colds in the head" as we call them, were rather new at that time, and were called quacks, hence the term of quack doctors Old fashioned folks laid them to the introduction of chimneys.
We had several guests to supper. YoungMasterDavisandhis wife, a pretty, livelylittle body; two or three grave merchants, andanelderlypriest, with one of thefinestfacesI ever saw—full of sweetness and gravity. I waspresented to him, andlearnedthathis name was Hooper. The talk at table wascheerful and pleasant, at timesfalling intoa serious vein, and again full of jest and humor
When the meal was done, the great Biblewasagain produced, butthistime Master Davis handed it toDr. Hooper. He chose out thetwenty-third Psalm, and madeanexposition thereon, so sweet and tender, yet vigorous withal,as I think nothing could be better, unless it were the very Word itself. Iremember, hespecially insisted on thatlittle word my.
"That is the way throughout Scripture,"saidhe. "Andso it must ever be with thosewho are called into the kingdom. It is andmustbemyShepherd, my King, ourFather, our Saviour. He may be what he is to all the restof the world, but tillI cansay Heis mine, I am nothing the better."
After he had finished speaking, he prayed—not inany form that I had ever heard, but in his own words, and such a prayer I never heard. It wasas though his very eyes saw the one to whom he spoke withthe freedomof alovinganddutiful child. Thenwe all repeated the Paternoster in English, and our guests went away, theladies giving me many kind and pressing invitations to visit them.
As I went to my room I met Philippa, who asked me if I had a book ofHours,such usthey used in the convent. I told her I had,whereatsheasked me to lend it toher adding,with her usual bitterness:
"I suppose you will not care for it, nowthat you havetaken up with the new lights."
"I have not taken up with any new lightsthat I knowof," Ianswered. "Whatdo you mean?"
"Oh, it is very easy to see. You are quite carried away withMistress Hall's sweetways and flatteries, and she will make you as great a heretic asherself. Youmustneeds stay tohear that old apostate hold forth, to-night.Oh, yes; itis easy tosee which way thewind blows, Mistress Loveday. But there is no use insayinga wordin this house,when even that malapert Amyas is put up to affrontme,andMistress Davis,my aunt,finds fault ifIdobut put a stitch awry in my mending. AllIcan do is towait with what patienceIcan,till Ican go to the convent. There I shall find peace."
"I do not believe you will find it there, unless you takeit thither with you," said I. "And I can tell you more than that, Philippa. Ifyouhad answered the reverend mother, or even one of the elder sisters, as you did your aunt and MistressHalltwo orthreetimesto-day, you would have been made to kneeland kiss theground,if, indeed,you had nottasted the discipline of the rod. I saw Sister Blandina made to cleanthewash-house floor onher hands and knees because she gave mother assistant a pert answeraboutsomedusting she was ordered to do. How wouldyou likethat? Youfound faultwithyour meat to-day at table, and your aunt said nothing, onlyhelpedyou to another bit. If youhaddonethat as a novice, you would have had no more that day,except,perhaps, theleavings onthe sisters' plates."
Philippa looked rather blank. "But I amgoingintoa Carthusian house," said she.
I could not forbear laughing.
"Worse and worse. There you will get nomeat atall, and onlyfish on feastdays. Youwill have no linen to mend, because youwillhavenone to wear, and so far from speakingback as you did to Mistress Davis, you will notbe permitted to speak atall, savein answerto a question from your superiors."
"How do you know?"
"I heard all about it from one of our sisters,avery nice woman who came toourhouse when her own was put down. She said she never spoke duringher novitiate,unless she were spoken to."
Philippa pouted and patted her footon thefloor.
"I believe you are only trying to scareme,"saidshe.
"You may ask any one who knows," I answered. "Sister Dominica did not know what to make of our easy ways at first, andyet ourdiscipline was notlax by any means."
"Children, what are you doing?" asked MistressDavis,comingupstairs. "'Tis time you wore abed, and asleep."
"There it goes," muttered Philippa. "Always interfering."
"Philippa came to borrow a book," said I.
"Oh, very well. There is no harm done.Good-night."
"Here is the book," said I, producing it; "onlyplease be careful—" Forshe took it ina very heedless way by one cover. "It is very dearto me, because our mother gaveit mea present from her own hand, and there aresome ofherpaintings in it."
Philippa instantly laid thevolume onthe table. "I willnottakeit if youareso dreadfully afraid of it," said she. "I did not guess Iwasasking sucha favor. But that isalways the way. One would think that I did nothing else but spoilthings.I don't wantthebookif you are afraid of my spoiling it by only lookingat it."
I suppose she thought I was going tourge it upon her, butshe was mistaken. My own temper was up by that time, and I quietlyturnedfrom her, took the bookandlaid it away, and bidding her a short good-night, I shut the door.
I sat a few minutes by the open casement to coolmy face and also my spirit, and then I said my prayers and went to bed. Itwasall sayingprayers at that time. The words never went deeper than my lips, or atmostIthought of them asa sortof charm,the repeating whereof might propitiate some unknown powerandsaveusfromsomeunknowndanger. I don't say this is the case with all RomanCatholics by any means, but Iknow it iswith a great many. They gabble over their rosary with nomore devotion than avillage childgoes over the criss-cross row *, or the pence table and frommuch thesamemotive, because they expect to be beaten if they do not knowtheir lesson.
*The criss-cross row is the alphabet,always preceded inthe old primers and horn books by a cross. Few people who use the wordare aware ofits origin.
CHAPTER VIII.
HERGRACE'S GENTLEWOMAN.
I STAID with Master Davis two months or more,always hoping to hear from my uncle and always disappointed.
Every one was kind to me. Master andMistressDavistreatedme likea daughter inevery respect, and I strove to behave like adutifulchild to them.Mistress Davisfound me plenty to do, knowing, dear soul that she ever was, thatto makemeuseful wastheway tomake me feel at home. I have learned a good many precious recipes for distillingandpreserving, and I liked nothing better than putting them in practice.
Then Mistress Andrew Davis fell in lovewith my playing, and must needs havemegive her lessons on the clarichord. She had afair talent formusic, and a sweet,bird-likevoice, and I shall never forget her pretty, child-likejoy whenshe wasableto surprisehergrave husband with a song and a lesson on theinstrumenthe had given her. I pursued my Latin and French, and persuaded Mistress Davisto letme begin toteach thelittle Helen toread. She proved an apt scholar, and we hadpleasanttimesover our books.
It was a wonderful new world that openedto me during those two months. As I said, I never in my life before had any deep convictions ofreligion.Ihadgone through theusual routine in the convent just as I worked my lace and sewed my white seam,but that was all. I had a great dread of death, andwhenany thing brought it home tome,I would redouble my observances and try to feelas Isupposed reallyreligious peoplefelt.Butit was all outside of me, so to speak. I believed inGod, ofcourse, but it wasas a sternjudge
I thought of him—not by any means as atender Father. Theblessed Virgin was, indeed, kind and gentle, and if I coaxed her enough,she wouldperhaps command her son to be good to me at that dreadful day of doom.
But ever and always in the background of my mind—thatis,afterIbegan to think atall— was that fearful specter of Purgatory, thedreadordealwhichmust be passedbeforeI could hope for the smallest taste ofthe bliss ofParadise.I do not mean tosay that this was the case with all of our number. Some sweetsouls there were who sucked the honey in spite of the thorn, andalbeit sorely cumbered and distressed by the barriers which the pride and folly of men had piled in theirway,didfindaccess to thevery Mercy Seat. Some found a real satisfaction in piling up prayer upon prayer; observance upon observance, thinking they were thereby heaping up merit notonlyfor themselves but their friends. Others, and they were the most, were content to perform such tasks as they could not escape, in as easy a manner as possible,trustingto their religiousprofessionandthe offices of their patron saint to help them out at thelast.
I had all my life been curious about books,ever sincea chit of five years old, Ihad tumbled off a joint-stool whereon I had climbedto look at the great volumeof theMorte d'Arthur which lay in thewindow-seat in the hall.Igot a sound switchingacross my fingers for meddling, but neither the switchingnor thetumble cured me of my hunger for books. This hunger had very little to feed itat Dartford, but it never died out, and Iusedto read over and over the few volumes we had till I knew them by heart.
It was not to be supposed that with such a dispositionI would let the New Testament lie very long on my table without looking intoit.I chancedto begin atthe first chapterof the Acts of the Apostles—that wonderfulbook, which always seemsto me tohavethe rushing, mighty wind of the Pentecost blowingthroughitfrom beginning toend. It was a Sunday afternoon, I remember, and the streets werefull ofpeoplewaiting tosee theKing pass by going to see some great lord. I was not well, yet notso ill but I wassittingupby my window to watch the show. To while away the time, Itook up the book, and Isoon became so lost in it that the whole pageantpassedby without my seeing itat all. Iwasstilldeep in its pages when Mistress Davis came tosee howIfared,andsofullywasI absorbed in the story that when she askedme where I had been, Iansweredher
"At Jerusalem, madam!"
Whereat she laughed, and answeredthat"it wasa good placeto be of aSunday," adding more seriously: "But I see how it is,andrightgladam Ito seeyou so well employed. Only remember this, chick: the Scripture is not made toberead for diversion,likea Canterbury tale, or even like any other good book.'Tis theLord's ownwordsent down for the comfort of us poor sinners, and to guide us tothatHome which He hath prepared for them that love Him; and as such, we must studyitwith reverenceandaskfor the enlightenmentof the Spirit to be shed on its pages."
This was a new idea to me, and I closed thevolumeforthattime with a strange bewilderment of ideas. I could not sleep for thinking of it, and themore I thought,the more bewildered I became. Here was ahistory ofthe first age ofthechurchunder the apostles themselves, and yet not a word said abouttheworshipof theHolyMother, the adoration of saints, the sacrifice of the mass, and many other things whichIhadbeen led to consider essential to salvation.
"But perhaps they are in the Epistles and Gospels," I thought, "only it is very strange that no more should be said about the HolyMother after the first chapter, and that thenshe should only be spoken of in thesameway as the otherwomen."
But when I came to readthe Gospelsitwassurprise piled upon surprise.At firstitwas sheer enjoyment. How lovely were those narratives intowhich Ithrew myself withan earnestness which made me forget every thing elsefor the timebeing. Howreal to me were the gatherings to hear the word, thefeedingof themultitudes, the sower who went forth to sow, the laborers waiting tobe hired and grumbling over their pay, not because they had not enough, but because someone else had as much.
But by degrees other thoughts occupiedmy mind and heart. I began tocomparemyself with the full requirements of God's holy law. I stoodfor the first time face tofacewith that awful spirit whom men call Convictionof Sin. I wasshownthat I wascondemnedunder the law, and unless some way of escape were provided,there wasnothing before me but destruction—nay, that I was condemned already.
My first thought was to reform myself; but it seemed to methat themore I tried the worse I grew. I am sure I never in all my life gaveway so far totemperand fretfulness (always my besetting sins) as at that time. Lookingback at those days Icannot but wonder atthe wise and tender patience of Master andMistressDavistoward me. As for Philippa,I don't think I am uncharitable when I say thatshe openly exultedover every outburst.But I don't mean to speak of her more than Icanhelp it. Shewas, indeed, one ofthose thorns in the side which seem to have no other usethanto try thepatience ofthose who are affected by them, and which only rankle themorethe moretheyare plucked at.
Thus was I shut up under the law, and that whichwasordained to life Ifound tobe unto death. It was Margaret Hall who ledme out ofthis prison intothe light andlife ofheaven. She had me to stay with herunder pretext of havingmy helpincorrecting the press, which I hadlearned to do with tolerabledexterity. She wasoneof those blessed saints whose very presence is comfort thoughtheydonot speak. By degrees she wonfrom me the secret of my trouble, and then taking myhand, as it were, she led me tothe fountain opened for sin, and showed me thatspring ofliving water whichhas never failed mesince, though, woe is me, I have many a time choked itsoverflow, and turned from it to those broken cisterns that can hold no water.
Oh, what a load she tookfrom my mind. I was, asIsuppose a man mightbe whohad worn fetters ever since he could remember, and though dimlyconscious ofthem, did not fully know their weight and hinderance tillthey werestruck off. It wasas a newcreature that I came back to Master Davis's friendly roof.
But those were trying times—in some respectsmore trying even than the more bloody days that came under Queen Mary. Then, atleast, oneknew what to expect. The king was growing more and more infirm and capriciousallthe time, and worked changesin church and state till it took a good head to know what washeresy and treason and what wasnot.
Already my Lord Cromwell had been filled with thefruit ofhis own devices, and now, within six short months after he had beencreatedEarlof Essex (that title which hath proved almost as unlucky to its possessoras the famoushorse Sejanus),he lay inthe Tower, attainted of treason, and waiting for the very block and as to whichhe himself had sent so many. His real offense lay in purveying tothekinga wifewho did notplease him— the Lady Anne of Cleves, already divorcedandliving in herown house, treatedby theking as his sister, happy in her endless tapestry work and in munchingthe suckets and comfits her Flemish ladies-in-waiting purveyed for her. She wasnot one to take any thing very much to heart which did not interferewith her bodily comfort.The king hadalreadyturned his dangerous fancy toward theill-fated Katherine Howard, but I don't believetheLady Anne felt one pang of jealousy thereat.She was, with allreverence,likea gentle, fatcow, perfectly content so long as she hadfoodanddrink, and the flies were nottoo troublesome.
But it was not the alterations in state matters andthe rise and fall ofonegreat man or another which troubled our peace. It wasthe dreadful uncertainty inmattersof religion.
Just now, the bloody statute of the Six Articles waslaw, butitwas enforcedrigidly or not, as the king's humor was, or the influence ofArchbishop Cranmeror ofBonnerand Gardiner came uppermost. These two lastwere the movingand rulingspirits in all persecutions at this time, as they wereafterward in themorebloody days of Queen Mary They had consented to the suppression ofthe convents,andwere even most forward in the matter, being willing, I suppose,to swimwiththecurrent so far if but they mighthave their way as to the reading of the Scriptures and some othermatters.
They were wise enough to know that all wasnaught withtheir causeif the Bible cameto be generally read; but they were notfar-seeing enough to understand that thesameBible, having once been given to the people,they could no more takeit back than they could bring back again the day that is past. They couldnotimprison orburn every one who read it, and who thought out conclusions for himself, elsemust they haveputthewholecity of London under sentence of death, asKing Philip the Second ofSpaindid to the Netherlands. But they picked up one here and another there,andnobodyfelt any security, or knew but some spy was observing hismovements in order to betray him.
One week the king hanged six monks,withtheir prior at their head, for defending a monastic life; the next, he threatened with alikefate any monkor nun who, havingtaken the vows of that life, should presume to marry. As hisinfirmitiesincreased,histemper grew more uncertain, till at last any man seemedto takehis lifein his hand who had todo with the king.
Then there were great disorders every where,some rising out ofreligion,othersfrom the excessive taxation which pressed heavily upon allclasses. Discontent wassmouldering in all quarters, and now and then brokeout intoopen flame, as in thetwoPilgrimages of Grace, and other insurrections. It is not tobedeniedthat the Protestants, asthey began to be called, were also guilty of indecencies and extravagance. If you dam up arapid stream, though never so clear, and your dambe swept away, thefirstoverflowwill be turbid and violent, and likely enow to do mischief.
Moreover, if the people enacted ridiculousplays, and sang ribald songs in thechurches, they had seen these very same thingsallowed, nay, encouragedby the church, in the spectacles of the Boy Bishop and the Pope ofFools—those strange and extravagant parodies of the most sacred offices of the church.
Yes, it was indeed a troublesome time,andevery man who, despitethe commandsofthe king and his ministers, continued toread theHolyScripture, andto frame his belief and life thereby, took that life inhis hand; yet many householdsdid it,and lived happy inthe midst of disaster, and peaceful on the very field where thebattlewasraging.
Such a household was ours. One there was, indeed,who would notenter in herself, and who would fain have hindered those who woulddoso. Iconfess I used to be afraid of Philippa at times, not that in her sober senses she would havebeenso base as to put the brand with her own hands to the thatch whichshelteredher, butin her fits oftemper there was no saying what she might do. Besides, shewasoneof thoseunhappy people to whom it seems absolutely necessary to hatesomething. In those days it wastheProtestants. Now, she thinks I am greatly to blamein harboring poor, harmless old Father Austin; looks upon the book of Common Prayer as aremnant of popery, and uponbishopsas at best very doubtful characters. She hatesall Romanists and Prelatists, asshe callsthem, in just the same spirit that she used to hate theScripture-readers—becausetheydonot agree with her.
But at that time she contented herselfwith hating, and did no covert act, saveby keeping away from the Scripture-readings—for whichnooneblamed her, as shemade it matter of conscience, and with bitter gibes andtaunts whenever the subjectwasintroduced, and, above all, if the talk turned upon personalreligionandinward experience. But as she had taken to solitude and keeping of her hours, andthelike, soshe wasout of the way agood deal. Meantime, our household went onitsway, inthe midstof the commotion,likea stanch ship in a troubled sea. There wasanxiety, indeed, which became sharp fear and agonized suspense, when the master ofthe family didnot come home at the accustomed hours; but as yet, this was the worstwhichhad befallenus.
Master Hall no more printed Bibles openly, but I knew well that they were both made and sold in secret. However, he multipliedcopies ofthe vulgate,andof Erasmus'sParaphrase of the New Testament, so thateveryonewho could makeshiftto read thevery easyLatin could have one. Afterward, the universalreadingeven ofthevulgate came to be forbidden, but it was not so at that time. Peoplegreweager to have their childrentaughtto read, and all the day-schools were full.Greek, too, wasmoreandmore studied,andmany ladies, especially about the Court, were good Grecians. Ihadagreat fancy to learn it myself,and made, with Margaret Hall's help, a good beginning; which, however, never came tobe much more.
I was all this time growing very uneasyat my stateofdependence. It wastrue, as Master Davis had told me at first, that Godhadblessed him withabundant means, but thenhe had a great many uses for thosemeans.The old motherof hisfirst wifewasstillliving, and as she persisted in keeping up her own house, and had little ornothing whereonto do it, somebody had to do it for her. I had been in the housesomeweeks, andhad visited her several times, before I found out thatshe waswhollydependent upon herson-in-law's bounty. She was only one of many pensioners. Besides, I fancy a good deal ofthe profit of the silk money wont in another way.
There was then in England a sort of secretsociety calledtheChristian Brothers. This society was composed of well-to-do merchants and tradesmen, for the most part,thoughit numbered both priests and gentlemen among itsmembers.It had its correspondents and branches all over the country, and itsobject wasto scatter far and widecopiesofthe sacred Word. As the merchant journeyed with hisstring of packhorses, laden with cloth, or silk, or hangings, or whatever might be hiscommodity, therewascunninglyhidden under the bales a case or two of Bibles, Testaments,and such portions thereofas might bemore easily concealed.
When he came to a town, he had usually knowledge beforehand who was liketo be wellaffected to the faith, or he inquired,likethedisciplesofold, who thereinwasworthy, and there he took up his abode, disposingof hismerchandise, and givingofhis books as he found occasion.
The truth was, that ever since the times of MasterWickliffeandthe Lollards, there were those scattered about both this kingdom and Scotland,who had kept the faith and handed it down from father to son, together with some writtencopies ofMasterWickliffe's Bible. But these copies, being gradually outworn, and becomingmoreandmore hard to understand, from the change of language in all those years,itmay be guessed how eagerly and joyfully these poor, faithful oneswouldwelcome the Word ofLife fairly imprinted, and in such a shape as couldbe easilyhid away, if needwere, orcarriedabout when there was no danger.
I have heard old folk, who rememberedfarback, say that the Lollards, asmencalled them, were in the habit of putting certain marksand signsupontheirhouses whichwere
known to noone else, and which served to guide thoseof them whotraveled tothehomes of their friends. I vouch not for the story, but 'tislikeenow tobe true.
Master Davis and his sons were membersof thissociety, and I now learnedthatmine uncle had been a great promoter of it. Ofcoursesuch service wasnot onlyperilous, but it cost a great deal in money, and brought noreturnas the richesof thisworld. Icould not but notice how plain was Mistress Davis'sown dress andthat ofher children,andhowboth she and Margaret did forego many oftheluxuries and ornaments indulged in by others of their station. They could not carry their practiceinthis respect too far, however, since this very simplicity in attire and living might throw suspicionuponthem.
Mistress Davis was kind enough to say that the helpI gaveher about the house, and the care of the little ones, did more thanoffsetthe expenseshe wasat for me; but I knew, in truth, that help was verylittle, thoughthe dearsoultookpainstomakemany occasions for my services that I might not feelmyself aburden.
I was young and strong. I was able towork, and hadbeen blest with a good education, and it did not seem right that these good friends, on whomI had noclaim, should be burdened with my maintenance. I beganto castabout for somebusiness whereby I could earn my bread, and had almost made up my mind toset upa little school,whenfate,or rather Providence, (to speak like a Christian instead of aheathen), cast in my way thevery thing for which I was best suited.
I have mentioned before that Mistress Davishadan eldersisterwho held an important place in the household of Katherine, Duchess ofSuffolk. This lady, thedaughter andheir of Lord Willowby by a beautiful Spanish lady, whilom maid of honor to theunfortunateQueen Katherine, had been left in ward to the Dukeof Suffolk, her father's bestfriend. She was bred up under his care, and when she came towoman'sestate,he marriedher.
Mistress Isabel Curtis—that was the name ofMistress Davis'ssister—had beenabout the young lady since her infancy, and, as wasnatural, shestill continuedin her service and affection, and had a great deal to doin the management ofthat greathousehold. Shehad been out of town with her mistress atthe duke's newmanorof Hereham,given him by the king in exchange for the suppressedpriory ofLeiston; but the family were now at their house in London, and on the first occasion possible, MistressCurtis had come tovisit her sister, between whom and herself there subsisted a devoted affectionnot often seen— more's the pity—in that relation.
I had just come home from Master Hall's, where Ihad been helping Margaret correctthe sheets of Erasmus his Paraphrase. (I wasnotallowed tohelp in the workdoneby the secret press, lest I should be broughtintotrouble thereby.)Ihadalsobeen giving a lesson on the lute to Mistress Alice, Andrew's wife,andI wasfeeling very elate becauseher mother, a stately dame, had rewarded mewith a broad Spanish gold piece for thepainsI had taken in teaching Mistress Alice some old ditty which the ladyhadliked in heryouth. I heard below that there was a guest inthe parlor, and not liking to intrude unasked, I was passing to my room, when Mistress Daviscalledmein andpresentedme tohersister.I made my courtesy, and fell in love withher thenandthere,even asIhaddone with Mistress Davis.
Mistress Curtis would have made twoof her little sister. She wastall and inclining tobe stout, but not unbecomingly so. Her features,thoughlarge, were regular, hermouth somewhat thin, her chin beautifully formed.But itwasher eyes that gavethechief beauty to her face. I hardly ever heard any two peopleagree about theircolor. They were,in fact, gray, but the pupils were so large and had sucha trick of dilating that they looked black. Like all the gray eyes I have ever seen,they had great powersof expression,anda
wonderful keenness and brilliancy, which seemedto lookone throughandthrough. Associating, as she had always done with greatpeople, and havingsuch a responsible charge, her manner had in it somethingof command, yet notmingledwith aught haughty or supercilious. I never saw the like of MistressCurtis before, andI am quite sure Inever shall again.
She received me very graciously, and, MistressDavishavinginvited meto do so, I fetched my work and took a stool near the window. I wasat that timebestowingall my skillon the embroidery of a set of kerchiefs andmufflers for Mistress Davis—and Imay say, without vanity, that I was not ashamed to show my white seam and sprigs with any body.
Mistress Curtis looked at and commended my work, and then pursuedherconversation with her sister.
"And so Mrs. Anne is married!" said MistressDavis."I trustshe hath done well."
"Why yes, I think so!" answered Mistress Curtis."Thematch is, perhaps,somewhat below her degree, since Master Agnew is but ayeoman born, butthen he hatha fair estate and is himself a man of good conditions. Mrs. Annewasever one who loved housewifery and a country life, and she hath an easy, patient temper. Yes, I thinkshe may be very happy."
"And who hath filled her place?"
"Nobody as yet. The Duke will have none butgentlewomenabouthiswife, at least inher chamber, and her Grace would like someyoung ladywho can read aloud in Latin and English, and hath skill with the lute and voice. She loves music aboveany one I ever saw, though she does not sing."
I could not help looking eagerly up at this.Mistress Davissaw it, and smiled.
"Here is Loveday thinking, 'Now that isjust theplaceforme,'"said she. "Were younot, chick?"
I confessed that some such matter had beeninmy thought.
"And why should it be in your thought?" asked MistressCurtis, a littleseverely, as it seemed. "Are you not happy and contentwithmy sister?"
"More than happy, madam," I answered. "Ishouldbethe basest ofingrates wereit otherwise. But Master and Mistress Davishavemany burdenson their hands already, and it seems not right that I should add to them,being young and strong, andhaving(under your favor, madam) a good education, which ought tostandin stead in earning a living."
"Why that is speaking well, and like a sensible woman," saidMistress Curtis."How old are you?"
I told her that I was eighteen.
"It is full young, her Grace herself being so youthful; and yet better the follies of youth than those of age," she added, in a musing tone.
"Loveday is not perfect more than otheryoung people," said MistressDavis; "butyet I think she hath as few of these folliesas fall to thelot ofmost maidens. I hope my own wenches * may grow up as good andtowardly asshe. But Loveday, why shouldyouwish to leave us?"
"Only because I would not be a burden on your hands,dear aunt,"(so Ihad calledher of late, by her own desire). "You have many to doforwho are really helpless fromage and sickness, and I cannot but feel that I am robbing somesuch person when Ieat the bread of idleness in your house."
* Wench and wretch were terms of endearment in those days, and the former is so still in some parts of England. Sir Thomas More uses it to his daughters.
"Oh, ho! I see that we can think for ourselves, and that to purpose,"said MistressCurtis, with a smile. Hers was one of those faces inwhichthe eyes smilebeforethe lips."But what of your family, damsel? Are you ofgentle blood?"
I satisfied her on that point. Indeed theCorbets are among the oldest ofour oldDevon families, and go back far beyond the Conqueror. (N. B.—'Tis nogreatwonder he conquered, seeing how many people'sancestorscame over with him.) Thenshe would have me read and sing forher. Beingnaturally somewhat agitated, I didnot acquit myself as well as usual, but Mistress Curtis seemed tobe satisfied.
"I see, indeed, that you have been well taught,"saidshe. "Youare convent-bred, yousay. Where?"
I told her. "It was a good house," she said, musingly:"Imuchwonder, sister, what young ladies will do for schools of educationnowthatthe conventsareall gone. 'Twere agood deed for some one to setup a schoolwhere such mightboard and studyunder good mistresses. Well, my young lady, I likeyour conditions,so far as Iseethem.Withmy sister's permission, I will now ask you to withdraw, that I may talk the matter over with her."
Mistress Davis called me aside and gaveme somecommission orotherabout daintiesfor the supper table. I had often exercised my skill inthisway since Icame to London. Iwent to the kitchen and asked Madge,the cook, tohaveall thingsin readinessfor me, and then retiring to my closet, I prayed earnestlythat all thingsmightbe orderedforthe best. Then, leaving the matter where it belonged,I betookmyself to the making of such a device in blanc-manger as should adorn thesuppertable anddo honorto ourguest.
After the meal was over and Mistress Curtis haddeparted, Masterand Mistress Davis called me into the parlor and bade mesitdown.They told me that while I wasmost welcome to remain in their house and family as long as I neededahome,yet they could not but commend the spirit which ledme towishto earnmineownliving.
"It is not every great family to whichI should liketo send a young lady," said Master Davis, "but theDuke of Suffolk's householdhath ever had a reputation for man-lovingand godliness."
"What like is his Grace?" I ventured to ask.
Master Davis smiled.
"Like a knight of the past age," said he. "MoreI willnot tell you. The presentDuchessis very young, but she hath been wellbroughtupand comes of a good stock. She showsher sense in keeping my goodsister Curtis atthe headof herhousehold. Well, then,my child, you shall wait upon the Duchess to-morrow, and if youaremutuallypleased, youshall take the place my sister offers you. But remember, Loveday, thatyouarealways to have a home in this house."
I thanked him for his goodness as wellasIcould—fortherebellious tearswouldcomein spite of me—saying I should never forget thekindness shown me in that house,and Mistress Hall's goodness.
"The obligation hath been mutual, my dear," said MistressDavis."I do notknow what the children will say, especially Bess andHelen."
"And you will let me know so soon as you hear from mine uncle," said I.
"Yes, indeed," answered Master Davis,but hesighed and thesighwas echoed by his wife.
I knew that he had little hope of everhearing from Gabriel Corbet again. Those were days (as they are still abroad) when a man could easilydrop outof sight and never be found or heard of again.
I have thought since that one reason why Master Daviswasso ready to letme go, was a consideration for mine own safety. The Dukeof Suffolk wasin great favorwithHenry, and was, indeed, his brother-in-law as well as god-father to the littlePrinceEdward, and he was one of the few men who dared cross theKing'shumornowand then. Gardiner hated him, but he was rather too high a quarry for thatfoulkitetoflyat, boldas hewasin those days.
THE next day at noon, which was the time appointedby Mistress Curtis, my auntandI presented ourselves at the great new mansion which theDukeof Suffolkhadbuilt for himself in Southwarke, over againstthe church of St. George. This housecame afterward into the king's possession, and is nowused asamint for thecoinage of money. I had passed the house more than once andadmired itsornaments, little thinking that Ishould ever live there.
The porter was at the door, and seemed tohavebeenexpecting us, for he called another man, who led us up the great stairway, and through agrand gallery all hung with weapons, bright armor and pictures, to a parlor, where Mistress Curtis met usandconducted us without delay to the withdrawing-room of the duchess. The room wasa small one, but so beautiful with silken hangings, Turkish rugsandotherornaments, that it waslikea casket prepared for some precious jewel; andwonderful,indeed, wasthe jewelitenshrined.
CHAPTER IX.
HER GRACE.
"Good morrow to you, Mistress Davis,"saida sweet voice; "so, my good Curtistells me, you have purveyed me a gentlewoman who isquitea paragon."
"No paragon, an' it please your Grace, but a well-bred anddiscreetyoung lady," answered Mistress Davis, modestly yet withoutservility.
"So much the better; I shall not be afraid of her. Lookup, maiden,and letme see you."
I raised my eyes to the lady's face asI spoke, and it isnoexaggeration tosay that I was dazzled. She was always lovely to thelast day of herlife, but at that time, her beauty was simply wonderful. Knowing her motherto havebeena Spanish lady, I had expected to see some one with black hairand an oliveskin.Instead ofthat, the Duchess wasmost brilliantly fair, with a complexion of such clearnessasto show thedelicate blue veins about her temples, while her hair, which wasstraightand surprisingly abundant, wasof the loveliest paly gold. I have since learned thatthis brilliantfairness belongsto certainvery noble families in Spain, and they are extremelyproudof itas showing theirpure Gothic descent. The eyes were of a violet blue,largeand wellopened;the mouth firm in outline, with a host of dimples dancing in andoutwhenever shesmiled.
She was very kind and even playful inher manner, yet not so as to inviteany unbecoming freedom. She questionedme about my accomplishments, but said kindlythatshewould not ask me to sing, as it would hardly be a fairtrial.Thensheasked me why I wished to leave my present home, and I told her—becauseI wouldfain earnmy own living instead of hanging on the hands of Master Davis.
"I am afraid you are a phœnix, after all,"saidshe, laughingmerrily, "andyet Icouldwish there were more of your kind. How is it,MistressDavis,thatyouhavenot founda husband for this child."
"So please your grace, Loveday mighthavehada husband had sheso chosen, but her mind was not to take him, and beside that, we had noauthority todo so; neither my husband nor myself would force a youngmaid'sinclinations insuchamatter. I haveseen too much of that in my day."
(This was true, though I forgot to mentionitinthe properplace. A good merchant with quite a family of children had proposed for me, but Ihadno mind for him. Marry, an'I could have taken the children andthe house, without the man,I wouldhaveliked it well enough!)
"I think you are right," said the Duchess. "As you say, itis done far too often.Well, my maiden, I am well pleased with your appearance andwith all thatIhearof you.Whencan you come to me?"
I told her I knew of nothing to hinder my coming at once.
"Very well; my good Curtis will instructyou inyour duties,and see thatyouareprovided with fitting apparel."
"Not so, please your Grace," said Mistress Davis."I must begthe privilege of myself purveying Loveday's wardrobe on her first going forth intotheworld."
"As you please, good dame," said theDuchess;"onlylet her come as soon aspossible. Curtis, will you provide some refreshment foryourfriends and settleevery thing needful with them."
We made our obeisance and withdrewtoMistressCurtis's own apartment, wherewe found a collation already provided.
Now that the thing was done, I must needs confess thatI wasrather scared,andbeganto wish that I had followed my first planof setting up a little school. I had never associated with great ladies, save indeed in the convent, whererankwasnot muchconsidered. I began to wonder how I should ever find my way aboutthese long galleriesand staircases, and whether I should ever feel at home with my newmistress. However, I reflected that, after all, these fine things were butpassing shows, and thepeopleI should haveto deal with were men and women, and—what wasmostcomforting—thatthe bestHelpand Shelter of all would be with me asmuchinthesegrand halls as in my room at Master Davis's, and by dint of such reflections and liftingupmy heart in prayer, I wasprepared to hear and understand when MistressCurtis wasready totalk with me about my duties.
These were simple enough. I found that Iwasrequired to takemy turn with the other gentlewomen in attending upon herGrace inherchamberand helping her to dress,to stand behind her chair atmealtimes and when her Grace received orwentintocompany, and, above all, to entertain my mistress with readingandmusicwhenever shewas inclined.
"I think you will agree with the otherwaiting gentlewoman, Mistress Emily Mandeville, very well," said Mistress Curtis. "She is a goodcreature,andwhollydevoted to herlady. As to the rest of the household, you will havelittleto dowith them. Youwillhaveyour own room, to which you may retire when offduty, and youwillshare thisparlor with myself and Mistress Mandeville. I need not tellyou thatyou areexpected, wheninherGrace's apartment, to hear all and say nothing,andI trustyou need no warning against gossiping and repeating conversation out of the house."
"I trust not, indeed, madam!" I answered,feelingmy cheeks grow hot at thevery idea that such a caution was needful. "I amnot likelyto tattle, seeing Iknow noone in London but MistressDavis and herfamily, who are not likelyto temptme tosuch baseness."
"Nay, be not so warm!" said Mistress Curtis, smiling. "There wasno accusationin my words, only a warning, which is quitea different matter."
"I ask pardon, madam!" I answered, feeling ashamed of my hastiness. "Quicknessof temper is my failing, but I trust, by God's grace, tocorrect it time."
"'Tis half thebattle to know one's fault,"gently answered Mistress Curtis;"butyet I counsel you, maiden, to strive with all your mightagainst it.A hasty temper often does more harm in five minutes thancan be undone by the bitterrepentance of alifetime."
I thought I had too muchreason toknowthat.
"I never thought it so bad a fault assome others—aslying and deceit!" observed Mistress Davis.
"True, sister. Deceit is to all other faultsas theKing'sEvil*to otherdiseases.Itinfects the whole soul as that the whole body, blood,flesh and bone,and onenever knows when it may break out or what form it may take. Butthereis no single fault which,when indulged, does not drag a chain of other sins along withit.Learn,then, torulethy spirit,dear maiden, and so to be greater than hethattaketh a city, as the wise mansays. Now, as to a less important matter, but yet one of weight, especiallywithyoung maids—your clothes!" she added, smiling.
* What we now call scrofula. It was named King's Evil from the fact that the Kings of England were believed to have the power of curing it
"If it please you, madam,do you and my Aunt Davissettle that between you," I answered. "I am sure you will know best."
"Why, so we will. Meantime, you may go intothenext room,where you will find an instrument, some music books, andothervolumes with which youmay amuse yourself."
I rose, nothing loth, and passed intothe next room; a very pretty one with anoriel window, and having a lute and virginals * and apile of music books, and lookingthese over I discovered a book of the psalmsin French meterwithmusic attached.I could not forbear trying these with the spinet, and wasso muchengaged withthem,that Istarted as if shot when some one opened the door. I rosein some confusion,when I foundmy visitor was a tall, stately gentlemen, splendidlydressed,but one who would haveshown his dignity in any weeds.
* The spinet, clarichord and virginals wore all ancestors of the piano-forte See a very interesting article in Macmillan's "English Magazine" for January, 1884
"I crave pardon for startling you, fair lady," said he, with a gestureofcourtesy. "Iwas looking for Mistress Curtis, and hearing your voice, my curiosity would not besatisfied without seeing the singer. Pray, good Curtis—" as she enteredby theother door—"what fair lady is this who sings so charmingly?"
Mistress Curtis explained the matter. I had guessed alreadythat I stood inthepresenceof the Duke of Suffolk. He heard her to theend,glancing at me now and then,as Istood withdrawn into the recess ofthe window
"It is well," said he. "I have every reason totrust your discretion, my goodCurtis, and glad I am that my dear wife'slove of music should be sogratified. What did youcalltheyoung lady's name?"
"Loveday Corbet, your Grace."
"Corbet—Corbet!" he repeated, musingly. "That is awest countryname and a good old family. Come you from Devon, MistressCorbet?"
"Yes, your Grace," I answered. "My fatherwasa gentleman ofNorthDevon,though I believe his father removed to Londonbefore hewasborn."
"Have you any friends there living at present?"
"None, your Grace, now that my LadyPeckhamis dead. Her first husbandwasa distant kinsman of my father's."
"Corbet I have heard the name lately, but I cannot placeit,"said he. "Well, my young lady, I trust you may be happy and usefulin thishouse.Your mistressisa mostlovely lady, and easily pleased. Let me give you a token to hanselyour first entrance intomy family."
So saying, he placed a gold piece inmy hand, and then turned away and left the room. Such was my first sight of Charles Brandon, thegoodDukeof Suffolk, andever to my
mind the very mirror of all knightlyand manlyvirtues.
I went homein a somewhat dazed andbewilderedframeofmind, but once in the solitude of my own room, I soon composed myself and wasready tomeet Master Hall'sjokes and Philippa's bitter gibes on my promotionwith equal serenity. Indeed, however full of fun and merriment Master Hall might be, he never forgotto be kind. It wasnot so easyto bear the children's remonstrances and tears, especially thoseof my own little pupil,Helen,a tender, spirited littlemaid, who had becomevery dearto me, but the matter wassettlednow, and there was no help for it.
And, indeed, considering the whole affair calmly inmy chamber, I did notwish to help it. I was convinced that I had done rightinrelieving Master Davisof my maintenance. Ialso felt sure of afaithful friend and counselor inMistressCurtis. Iwascharmed with my new master and mistress, and saw no reason why I need notbe happy inservingthem. I hada little my doubts of my companion inwaiting,MistressMandeville.Ithought she looked prim and formal, but I would not allow myself tobe set against her beforehand.
Yes, I believed I had acted wisely, and wascontentto leavetheresult ofmy action inthe hands of Him whom I had learned to consider my bestfriend. Iknew I shouldalways have the Davis family and Margaret Hall to fall backupon, if I needed such support. Theyhad already done for me morethan I could ever repay, wereit only inbringing me to a knowledge of the Scriptures. Margaret, especially, had openedto mea greatnew world of thought, which could never be closed again, happen what might.
Surely God had been very good to me, though forso many years I had never learned to love Him—never thought of Him if I couldhelpit,andthen onlyas oneto be dreaded and propitiated if possible, and who, if I onlymademyself uncomfortable enough,might perhaps be won at least not utterly todestroy me.Let those testify whoknow by theirown experience, what a change is madeinthe lifewhen God's loveis shed abroad inour hearts.
But I must hasten on to my tale. 'Tis the natureof oldfolk tobe garrulous, and Ifind Iam no exception to the rule, especially whenI havea penin my hand.
Just a week from my first visit to Suffolk House, Ibetookmyself thither, accompaniedby Mistress Davis, and followed by one ofthemen bearingmy bundles.Mygreat mail was to come later in the day. I remember St. George'sclock wasjust striking nine as we passed near it, and I saw a poor woman, whom I knew at once had beena religious ofsomekind, standing under the porch. I had some loosesilver in my pocket, and Icouldnot forbear putting a couple of groats into her hand.She started and colored,andthen thanked me eagerly, and turned quickly away. In a moment more,we saw her enter a baker's shop close by.
"Poor thing, did she not look hungry?"saidMistressDavis."You have given her one good meal, at all events."
"She is, or rather has been, a religious,"saidI. "Iamsureof it."
"Very like, very like! I must try and speakwithher whenI comeback. Theirsis a hard fate, poor souls!"
"Yes, they do not all fall into such warmnestsasI did!" I could not help saying, whereat she squeezed my hand lovingly.
I heard afterward that she saw the woman, and finding herclever with herneedle,she got her work that made the poor sister verycomfortable. Helping oneout ofthe hundredswho were in need, was like helping one flywhen hundreds aredrowning,yet is it altogether better for that one fly than if you wereto leavehim to drown too
I took leave of my dear Aunt Davis, and certainlyI did feelrather forlorn as Iappliedto the fat, surly, consequential porter at the hall-doorto be led to Mistress Curtis. However, he was very civil—like master, like man—and Isoonfound myself conducted into my own little room and left to prepare myself toattend my mistressat dinner. It wasby no means as sumptuous as my room at MasterDavishis house, butyet comfortable enough. There was a small bed hung with blue stuff, a joint-stool, chair and small tablewitha mirror hung above it. And in one corner was asortofcabinet, with drawers, for my clothes. The window commanded a pleasant view. Themaid whoattendedto help meunpackmy goods, told me that Mistress Mandeville's room wasnext mine.
"Who is that?" I asked, as an elderly lady, dressedindeep, butold fashioned, black passed me, giving me a keen glance as she didso
"That is Mistress Patience. She was agreat friend ofherGrace's mother Ihaveheard say she attended on Queen Katherine, and wasleftin greatmisery after her death,till her Grace found her. She hath been in clover ever since,butsome thinkshe isnotquiteright in her mind."
I looked with great interest at the old lady, as shewalked to theend ofthegallery, seemingly only for the exercise. As shemet and passed mein returning,she dropped her stick; I picked it up quickly and put it into herhand, whereat shegavemeanother keen glance and thanked me, adding in a clear thoughtremblingvoice, and a somewhat foreign accent:
"You are my new neighbor, I suppose."
"Yes, madam!" I answered.
"Ay. Well, be faithful and you shall haveyour reward."
I courtesied and followed my guide down the stairs,notingcarefully alltheturns, that I might be able to find my way back.Mistress Curtisgreeted me kindly, sayingIwasjustin time to attend my mistress at dinner. Accordingly, she ledmeto theduchessher withdrawing-room, where I found hersplendidly dressed and beautiful as ever.
"So, here is my singing bird!" said she."Wemust maketrial ofyour gifts by and by Meantime, be you acquainted with MistressMandeville, your companion in service."
Mistress Mandeville courtesied and said something civil. She wasof medium height, with eyes of that sort which seem to have noparticular color, a reasonablygood skin and features, and she carried herself remarkably well. She passed for a modelof prudence, propriety, and all the other good Ps, becauseshenever expressed an opinion ofherown, and, indeed, never talked if she could help it. Ilived in thehousewith hersix months, and did not know her one bit better at theend ofthe timethanat the beginning. But we never had an unpleasant word,and I really think sheliked me aswell as she knew howtolike any body
We stood behind our lady's chair atthe dinner, which wasvery splendid and well furnished, with guests of great quality. The Dukeentertainedmany gentlemenin his household,and the expenses of the tablealone weresomethingfabulous. As Iglanceddown thelong
board, I saw at the lower end a face and figurewhichseemed atonce to takeme back to childish days at Peckham Hall. The dress wasthatof apriest,butIcouldnotsee the face plainly for a great burly count from theLow Countries who sat above. The glimpse I had, excited me to a lively curiosity, and Ilonged for another, butwhenIlooked againthe priest had left the board.
"Now we shall have our dinner," saidMrs. Mandeville, withsome appearance of interest. (It was the only subject on which she ever didshowany animation.) "I hopetheyhavenot eaten up all the sturgeon."
I felt for a moment foolishly humiliatedat havingto sitdownto theboard after others had finished, but I might have spared myself thatmortification, forIfound that theladiesand gentlemen attendant directly upon theDukeandDuchess dined in achamber by themselves,and as well as any one at the greatboard, iftheychose.It wasa fast day, and I, who was accustomed to keep the fasts and feasts ofthe church,wassurprised to see the delicacies which were servedto us.
Mistress Curtis presided at the boardandkept order, yet wasthere abundanceof lively conversation among the young gentlemen. Only when it seemedvergingupon toomuch freedom did Mistress Curtis, smilingly,call them toorder. There werehalf a dozen pages of noble, or at least gentle, birth, who were being bred up in theDuke's household, and instructed in all sorts of manly exercises in the tilt-yard and manege, besideswhat booklearning they got with a master entertainedfor the purpose.Two orthree of these were little lads of an age, as it seemed, tobe under their mothers,anditpleasedme to see how these children came about MistressCurtis when themeal wasdone, and how kindlyshe spoke to them. One of them had been crying,and,on being questioned,owned that he had been in difficulties with his tutor on account of certain pronounswhereofhe could by no means understand the declensions.
"Bring your book to me," I ventured to say, (Iknew I had an hourto myself at thistime) "and, with Mistress Curtis's leave, I will seeif Icanhelpyou."
"Do so, Roger, since Mistress Corbetis sokind," added Mistress Curtis.
The little fellow—he was no more than seven yearsold—brightened up andranoffforhis book.
"Law's me, Mistress Corbet, what pleasurecan there be in spending your play-hour over a Latin grammar and a stupid lad?" saidMrs. Mandeville.
"Oh I like teaching, and I remembermine own troubles with these same declensions," said I; and little Roger returning, I took him into thewindow-seatandsoon madehis way plain for him.
"Thank you, madam," said the child, gratefully. "Iwish I mightdo my lessons with you every day. Master Sprat is so cross, andwhen Iampuzzled,hesays Icouldlearn ifI would—but I can't learn unless I understand. But heis going away tohisnow cure—much good may it do him," said Roger, brightening up, "and perhapsMaster Corbetmay be more good-natured."
"Corbet!" said I. "That is my name."
"It is our new master's name, too, and we are tobeginwithhim to-morrow."
"Then see that you have your task well conned, so as nottoshame your mistress,"said I.
He was such a baby that I could not forbear kissinghis round, fair cheek. Then I betook myself to Mistress Curtis's parlor, whereI found her, and alsoMistress Mandeville,who was making a kerchief at the rate of ten stitchesa minute, and liftingevery one as thoughshe were prying up stones with a crowbar. It did always makemeache tosee her sew
"Well and what of your pupil?" askedMistress Curtis.
"Oh, I have sent him away happy," saidI. "'Tis a finelittlelad, thoughhesays hismaster calls him stupid because he can not learnwhat he does notunderstand."
"I dare say. He is a crabbed, austereman, souredby poverty and hard studybeforehe came here, and his temper is not sweetened by thetricks the mischievous ladsplay on him. But he goes away very soon tosome benefice or other. By the way, thenew tutor has the same name as your own."
"So little Roger tells me," said I. "I had a distant cousinof that name, my Lady Peckham's son, who went to study for a priest. Iwonder if this could possiblybethesame?"
"This young man hath come up to London,as understand, to study the Hebrew tongue," said Mistress Curtis.
"Dear me, why should he want to learn Hebrew?" asked Mrs. Mandeville. "Heis nota Jew, is he?"
"If he were, he would probably knowHebrewwithout learning it," answered Mistress Curtis. (Somehow Mrs. Mandeville'sstupidspeeches always didseem toput her out of temper.) "I suppose he wishes to studytheScripturein theoriginal tongue."
"Well, I would not like to know so many strange tonguesand things. Ishould beafraid of being burned for a wizard."
"That would be a waste of faggots, certainly," returnedMistressCurtis,dryly. "But there is the clock. Young ladies, it is time you went to your mistress."
Mrs. Mandeville led the way, and I soon foundmyself behind my lady's chair in thegreat withdrawing-room, which was crowded withguests, both ladiesandgentlemen,come to pay their court. The Duchess seemedto knowall,and havea pleasantword for all.The Duke stood near,now and then addressing awordtohis wife, and there wasever that interchange of loving and familiar glancesso pleasanttoseebetween marriedpeople. He was more than old enough to be her father, and,indeed, she washis fourth wife, his third having been the Princess Mary of England, the king'ssister, and dowager of France. Itwas on the occasion of this marriage thathe appeared ata tourney in a dress halfof clothof gold and half of frieze, with this motto:
"Cloth of frieze be not too bold. Though thou be matchedwithcloth of gold. Cloth of gold do not despise Though thou be matchedwithcloth of frieze."
It was said all his marriages had been lovematches, and I could easilybelieveit, for a nobler pattern of a man I never saw. Hewasthe modelofall knightly and gracious exercises in tourney and field, havinggainedmorethan onevictoryby his prowess, and he was counted equally wise and discreet in the councilhall. He wasalso agreat patron of the new learning and a protector of thosewhofollowed it, nor did he disdain the moretrifling
