h
e
B
u
r
d
e
n
o
f
I
n
t
e
l
l
e
c
t
u
a
l
F
r
e
e
d
o
m
:
I
v
a
n
K
a
r
a
m
a
z
o
v
’
s
R
e
l
i
g
i
o
u
s
C
r
i
s
i
s
R
e
j
e
c
t
i
n
g
N
i
h
i
l
i
s
m
i
n
A
n
n
a
K
a
r
e
n
i
n
a
A
b
a
n
d
o
n
m
e
n
t
,
I
n
c
e
s
t
,
&
O
t
h
e
r
G
a
t
e
w
a
y
s
t
o
S
u
i
c
i
d
e
Due to his unending wrestle with faith, Ivan constantly associates himself with questions of religion, though he would like to believe he is able to “love life more than the meaning of it” (199). He rejects God’s will wholeheartedly but engages with these theories so deeply that his fear of being wrong is synonymous with belief which causes him to act conscientiously. Because he’ll never allow himself to fully embrace atheism, but criticizes his old theories as “stupid ideas–outgrown, thrashed out long ago, and flung aside like a dead carcass,” (545) means he will forever search for a definitive answer as even his most studied findings will never appease him. Ivan tries to argue that even when faced with the harmony of heaven and earth colliding, he would still not accept His will (212). However Ivan’s ‘Geological Cataclysm’ insinuates the man-god would be a better option even without the sanctions of an afterlife. In the essay “Ivan Karamazov” F.F. Seeley summarizes Ivan’s paradoxical struggles by arguing that, “He needs God, and with a twofold need: as a focus for his ‘unslaked indignation’ and rebellion, and as the indispensable condition of morality" which he relies on to prevent him from turning into another Fyodor (135). It is clear that Ivan’s over-intellectualization has magnified his extremes even further which is why when the devil satirizes Ivan’s ‘Geological Cataclysm’, Ivan throws the vase at him (546), because it proves that there will always be flaws in his theories, that his rebellion is fruitless. Similarly to faith, an act of anger is the very visceral, and the most instinctual of his reactions throughout their exchange. Given that it is Ivan’s character to have mostly premeditated reactions, his thoughts and opinions have been meticulously planned as to not appear inadequate or vulnerable, but in these moments his uninterrupted beliefs are clear. By throwing the vase, Ivan proves that he believes the devil is existing before him and therefore he must also believe in God.
He even feels the presence of God through the inexplicable power of faith and gratitude for His Creation. Particularly through his exchange with his brother Alyosha within ‘The Legend of the Grand Inquisitor’, that personifies no matter how much Ivan grapples with the science of existence, there is a force greater than his theories. By choosing to debase himself morally and act in the typical Karamazov manner, he chooses to walk with the devil and “was suddenly overcome by unbearable depression,” (230). He’s unable to grasp that his depression comes about because he ignored the invite to redemption that was Alyosha’s kiss. Because Alyosha’s is so often paralleled to an angel, in this scenario, Alyosha is personifying the soft, arguably less rational, force of faith by accepting his brother despite his differing opinions. Alyosha even says, “But the little sticky leaves, and the precious tombs, and the woman you love!” (228) This desperate argument pales in comparison to Ivan’s lengthy anecdote, emphasizing that faith cannot be rationalized and it is a feeling, a characteristic that must be fed and not rationalized away. In this moment, Ivan’s love for his brother was able to waiver his desire to be right, undermining his determination to renounce all that evoked faith within him. He mocks his love for Katya, explaining how easy it was for him to let go of her (201), yet supports her in her plan to love Dmitri from afar (166). Again, Ivan’s fear of being vulnerable forces him to go against his will. Despite promising to act in these Karamazov ways, he never consciously commits any grand acts of debauchery, proving that it’s his ego, his incessant desire to be right, that prevents him from proceeding without certainty and not any desire to “stifle [his] soul with corruption” (229).
It is only after his father’s murder that these two extremes of Ivan’s principles truly test his character ethically instead of simply academically. F.F. Seeley explains that Ivan “plays with a dream of individual salvation in the form of at least a respite of private joys,” (120). The final conversation with Smerdyakov gives birth to the real moral conflict in Ivan’s story as Ivan is faced with the fact that his subconscious desires, and even more so, his teachings have encouraged a murder. It is important to note that before Ivan owned his guilt, he was unwilling to help his ‘neighbor’, the homeless man freezing in the cold, but after deciding to act in the christian way, to tell the truth, ‘something like joy was springing up in his heart,’ and he helped the man (532). Despite him saying earlier on in the book that he didn’t understand how one could help his neighbors, he was feeling the power of faith by himself, seeking redemption without Alyosha guiding the way. Academically, Ivan would rather continue to intellectualize the Creation instead of accept the suffering of the innocent, but his actions show differently as he is no longer afraid to face suffering and take on christian values that support ‘loving thy neighbor’. He wants justice and truth so deeply that he won't allow himself to commit to something if he doesn't know it to be completely true, but finds the truth within his inexplicable actions and profound feelings about the world. Seeley adds that, “Ivan seeks and ‘accepts’ God–not with his heart, not with his head, but with his deepest, visceral instincts” (135).
However, these instincts must battle his more surface-level self-serving Karamazov tendencies which allowed him to delay telling the prosecutor the truth of the murder. Ivan may have been unaware when he was teaching Smerdakyov about his atheist principles, but he was certainly conscious about his decision–his ‘Karamazov recklessness’ at that moment. After that fateful decision, he was faced with “a reminder, of something agonizing and revolting” (533)--his guilt, personified as the devil. Dostoevsky further blurs the line of reality with the devil, painting him as an incarnation of the basest parts of Ivan instead of using the historical appearance of the devil to even further challenge the validity in Ivan’s rationalizations. Ivan agrees that the illusion of the devil is just a mirror into his subconscious, he is admitting that he wants to believe like the sailor’s wife (540) and that the man-god is completely unreasonable. The fact that during his and Alyosha’s final conversation, he brings up points that the devil hadn’t even made, proves that he accepts the devil’s word and even exacerbates it. Ivan says about himself, “You’ll sit all night and deliberating whether to go or not. But you will go, you know you’ll go,” (550) because he believes in God and immortality. Ivan rationalizes that he will go because he is a ‘coward’, but in actuality he is manifesting that stupidity of faith. Some may argue that, if Ivan can’t prove God doesn’t exist, it doesn’t necessarily mean he believes in Him, but nonbelief is definite as after Fyodor’s murder Ivan acts like God is real by helping the old man in seeking redemption for his wrongdoing.
Within his spiralling dialectic with the devil, Ivan’s mental suffering imitates the Christian concept of spiritual purgation and resurrection as he must face his most profound sins before he can achieve redemption. Similarly to the man that walks a quadrillion miles (541) and the guilty man who goes to his death happily with faith in God (208), Ivan foreshadows his own suffering only to accept God’s will in the end anyways. Because of Ivan’s paralyzing moral conflicts, any action is rarely shown, so when Dostoevesky brings up the concept of ‘I think, therefore I am’ (540), similar to how his subconscious desires materialize with the murder of Fyodor, it can be assumed that this is as definite of a purgation as Ivan is capable of.
As Alyosha says, Ivan will “rise up in the light of truth, or . . . he’ll perish in hate, revenging on himself and on everyone for serving a cause he doesn’t believe in,” (551). It is Ivan’s fatal flaw that he shall go to the court to serve justice just to fail to give any valuable testimony–he will forever be unable to voluntarily choose light or darkness, even unable to decipher which is which. When he claims “No, I swear it was not a dream, it all happened just now!” (547) Dostyoevesky is drawing on the Freudian’s psychodynamic theory that is used as a theme throughout the novel. Just as Ivan’s subconscious desires were realized, he is validating that his ‘dreams’ were real too. Because it is impossible to validate any philosophical or religious paradigm and Ivan can never find satisfaction in any of his anecdotes, his belief in the devil is synonymous with belief in God. As he requests earlier in the book, he needs “retribution somewhere and sometime in eternity, but here, on earth so that I see it myself!” (211)
Throughout the novel, Ivan is portrayed as an extreme theorist, constantly struggling with finding a definitive answer that pleases his morals and relieves his mind. It is only when at his worst suffering that Ivan’s challenge between living and needing to know what life means is subordinate to instinctual faith as he has lost his ability, which he had previously relied on, to think clearly and is instead down to his most basic form. Dostoyevsky makes a point to limit Ivan’s actions, to complexify and destabilize his character, yet it is through the actions his deep conscience makes that it is clear that despite all of his theories, he believes in God, and even more so, needs Him.
Works Cited
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, et al. The Brothers Karamazov: A Revised Translation, Contexts, Criticism. W.W. Norton & Co, 2011.
F.F. Seeley. Ivan Karamazov. New Essays on Dostoevsky, Malcolm V. Jones, Garth M. Terry, Cambridge University Press.
In the novel Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy investigates the role of choice as characters struggle with taboo themes intertwined with their daily lives in the Russian aristocracy. Tolstoy writes the parallel narratives of Konstantin Levin and Anna Karenina as they are equally plagued by nihilistic attitudes. Although the two protagonists undergo environmental changes throughout the novel, Levin’s continued exploration of the depths of his nihilism ultimately saves him. Though Anna can’t live out all of her desires and be accepted in everyday society, as it is for anyone, her inability to abandon her extremist views is the leading cause of her death. At the same time, Levin’s openmindedness gives him the hope that prevents him from the same fate.
Anna and Levin’s stories first intertwine as Anna begins a flirtation with the young Vronsky, who is courting Kitty, the object of all Levin’s desires. As a result of all this confusion, Levin was faced with rejection which was difficult for him as marriage “was the chief concern of life, on which all happiness depended. And now he had to renounce it!” (95) In this precarious position, Levin promises to be more concerned with his work and the present (92) to counteract the loss of purpose he was just faced with and even considers love elsewhere while watching the merry peasants from the haystack (276).
Not having the same charm and beauty as Anna, Levin was more accustomed to the concept of rejection, equipping him with the necessary strength to forgo external approval. While Anna has a constant influx of men, Levin doesn’t face the same temptations. Even so, Levin comments on infidelity as he says, “I don’t understand how I could pass by a bakery, as full as I am now, and steal a sweet roll,” (40). It’s also important to note that these invitations are not without input from Anna as she says of Veslovsky, “It tickles Alexei, that’s all; but he’s a boy and he’s entirely in my hands,” (639). Anna acts like a child, hedonistically playing with people’s emotions for fun. Levin also appears to be a child as he flips the hierarchy on its head, looking to the peasants for guidance, precisely when he follows the old man in prayer and eats his mash (254), which resembles baby food. However, it comes out of reverence for the man and his lifestyle. This tendency of Anna’s reveals itself even more so when she asks Seryozha, “Do you love me?” (290) In any similar situation, the mother would comfort the son. However, Anna requests protection from Seryozha to erase her sins instead of repenting for them herself, similar to a child who expects their parents to decide their fate after they’ve committed wrongdoing. With Seryozha’s approval, Anna doesn’t have to apologize to Karenin. It’s in her nature to assume this viewpoint that everything would realign itself without any input from her (353).
Levin’s struggles with purpose are fluid and never definite, while Anna takes everything to an extreme. For instance, Levin has open communication with Kitty, firstly with his confession of sexual impurity and lack of religious belief. He knew “it was painful, but he considered that he ought to tell her both,” (406). Though each argument was challenging for their relationship, he treated each as a conversation, a resolution to be discovered together.
Anna is often the one to become more heated in the argument, steering away from logic and into hysterics. Despite Vronsky calming her down and reassuring her that “he had never stopped and would never stop loving her” (745), by the next day, Anna had initiated a fight again.
Because Anna sees no resolution to her issues after her final series of fights with Vronsky (764), she further debases herself to vengeance. Her extremist views prevent her from seeing herself as redeemable. She refuses to look to religion, a potential source of redemption, for fear of being denied. Tolstoy employs free indirect discourse when writing, “She knew beforehand that the help of religion was possible only on condition of renouncing all that made up the whole meaning of life for her” (288). Instead of working for mercy, she only asks for it in her last moments when she says, “Lord, forgive me for everything,” (768). Here, it is clear that Anna is experiencing a self-fulfilling prophecy; she only requests redemption when God can’t possibly save her.
Arguably, Anna may deem forgiveness impossible because of the societal norms surrounding her; these expectations appear even more suffocating as a woman. Therefore, the question of how inevitable Anna’s demise was does exist. However, Anna seeks out further evidence to affirm her nihilism. For example, after Vronsky implored her not to attend the theater, she removes herself from blame when she says, “You shouldn’t have driven me to do that. If you loved me,” (549). Despite stating her desire to only punish herself multiple times throughout the novel, she punishes Vronsky for her own missteps. She continues in this state of denial to ignore the facts of her life. Vronsky begins questioning it as he realizes his life will be in a constant limbo when he says, “Thousands of complications exist that she doesn’t see and doesn’t want to see now,” (626). Only if she had come to terms with them would she be able to change her perspective. Because she refuses to seek a divorce from Karenin, assuming he will not abide, she feels she has no control over whether or not Vronsky will stay, causing strain on her only sole of happiness. Therefore, she turns to her beauty, straying away from having another child to keep Vronsky interested (638). Though law cannot be a factor in maintaining their fidelity, her inability to recognize Vronsky’s love for her despite his constant reaffirmations causes unnecessary issues in their relationship.
Her repeated dreams of the muzhik can summarize Anna’s prevailing nihilistic attitude. Preceding her suicide, Anna dreams that “A little old muzhik with a disheveled beard was doing something bent over some iron,” but that it was that he “was doing something dreadful over her,” (752). Here, the train is personified as a muzhik, affirming Anna’s belief that she doesn’t have free will. Instead, bad things just happen to her.
Anna seemingly attempts to find a stable purpose in the teaching of the young English girl and her writing of the children’s book. However, Anna seems to be picking up these odd jobs to avoid the glaringly obvious one–being a mother to Annie. Conversely, Levin genuinely explores alternative perspectives of living, immersing himself in others' struggles. He seems to have more in common with the peasants than with the aristocrats, and his work to involve them further in the economic standpoint of farming reflects his ability to empathize with them. Levin previously renounced the principle of general welfare, saying, “This ability to act for the common good, of which he felt himself completely deprived, was perhaps not a virtue but, on the contrary, a lack of something,” (239). Levin appears to be an extreme nihilist himself with these pessimistic thoughts. However, the most definitive marker of his development is that though he may have spouts of nihilism, he isn’t afraid to contradict his earlier statements to grow fully. After discovering his calling to improve the Russian farming system, he states that “This is not my personal affair, it is a question here of the common good,” (344). He then says, “Yes, that is a goal worth working for,” (344). There is no indication within Anna’s internal monologue that how she occupies her time is as charged as Levin’s. It appears more as a cover-up for Anna’s emotional distancing from her illegitimate daughter, as she’s a constant reminder of the consequences of Anna’s actions. Anna doesn’t even spend time with her (619). Ultimately, because Levin acts in a way that serves others, he doesn’t have to question whether or not he is redeemable.
Anna does nothing to receive forgiveness from God, but even more so from Karenin, besides a momentary lapse during her near-death experience. Again, only when she is dying does she ask for redemption. Therefore, she doesn’t have to do anything to receive this forgiveness because she can be pitied to the furthest extent. In the haze of her deathbed, Anna explains her ‘double-ness,’ “But there is another woman in me, I’m afraid of her - she fell in love with that man, and I wanted to hate you” (412). Before even fully recovering from her illness, she says, “She now wished for only one thing–to be rid of his hateful presence,” (427). Karenin evokes an undeniable loathing in Anna, that despite her near-death ‘epiphany,’ her extremist perspective overtakes her, and any effort elicited from her illness quickly fades away.
After renouncing her former life, she put all of her efforts into Vronsky, and with her new spouts of jealousy, she feels she has nothing left. “I’m unable to think up a situation in which life would not be suffering, that we’re all created in order to suffer, and that we all know it and keep thinking up ways of deceiving ourselves,” (766). The difference between Levin and Anna is he constantly tries to think up situations where life isn’t suffering. In fact, Levin sees this world similarly, but he still forces himself to find purpose. Even after being faced with death, Levin realizes “that his undertaking was the only guiding thread in the darkness, and he seized it and held on to it with all his remaining strength,” (352). Anna thinks she’s being honest with herself but only wants to get out of the work of living, which would mean repenting, while Levin has devoted himself to a purpose beyond the power of suffering.
Anna’s assumption that everything in her life is predestined leaves her with no hope and, therefore, no reason to live. She experiences an endless cycle as her nihilistic views get more extremist. She makes choices that further destabilize her situation but makes these choices because of her nihilism. Vronsky describes her decline, that “when he first met her, also at a station,” she was “mysterious, enchanting, loving, seeking, and giving happiness, and not cruelly vengeful,” (781). Though, when they first met Anna had been containing her true feelings about the world. Vronsky seemed to be the first worthwhile temptation she had encountered, powerful enough to open these hedonistic gates to her. It can be argued that Tolstoy is drawing a connection between the two vital points of the novel, that Anna’s first meeting with Vronsky is essentially the eventual cause of her suicide as they both occur at the train station, that her suicide was to avenge the life she thought their relationship took from her. Primarily because “She blamed him for everything that was difficult in her situation,” (740) despite being an eager participant throughout.
As their narratives continue, Anna sinks further into the pits of nihilism while, despite a tumultuous road, Levin’s moral abnegations are slowly deconstructed. The retelling of his journey positioning himself in society displays his constant battle (785), and even so, “Levin was several times so close to suicide that he hid a rope lest he hang himself with it, and was afraid to go about with a rifle lest he shoot himself,” (789). Though Levin's nihilism often spikes, causing him to have similar ideations to Anna, he can bring himself to reality, while Anna often descends into hysterics. With this, he finds that “There will be the same wall between my soul’s holy of holies and other people,” but that “My whole life, regardless of all that may happen to me, every minute of it, is not only not meaningless, as it was before, but has the unquestionable meaning of the good which it is my power to put into it!” (817) By ending the novel with this epiphany, Tolstoy insinuates that Levin forgives himself for his missteps, a feat Anna could never achieve outside of blaming others for her downfall. Levin’s ability to view himself as human but as someone who can fundamentally decide his attitude is the proper resolution to his nihilism.
Levin treats his attitude as malleable, while Anna sees her attitude and situation as interchangeable, that her nihilism is an immovable force instead of a daily choice. Though her uncertain situation marred her efforts, they were minimal and wrongly directed. Anna’s suicide arguably would’ve been prevented by forgiving herself and, therefore, allowing herself to find a genuine purpose.
Works Cited
Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karenina : By Leo Tolstoy. Translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett. Illus. By Fritz Eichenberg. New York, N.Y, Penguin Books, 2000.
In the novella Mathilda by Mary Shelley, the title character narrates her tragedy to attest to the factors that drove her to carry out stereotypical gothic deeds. Mathilda’s father subjects their relationship to cycles of abandonment and excessive affection, creating a negative association with trusting others in her young mind. It is clear that Mathilda is not the driving force behind the misfortunes of her life; however, she consciously contributes to her hopelessness.
Mathilda struggles with forming relationships with others because she was forced into isolation as a child, finding more comfort in loneliness than in social interactions. After her beloved nurse leaves, Mathilda writes, “By degrees I became reconciled to solitude but no one supplied her place in my affections” (18), marking the second abandonment she experiences by age seven. Mathilda reasons that she could never make friends afterward because her “Aunt interposed her authority to prevent all intercourse between [her] and the peasantry” (18). Her first guardian trivialized the significance of friendship, forcing Mathilda to seek these joys elsewhere. Although Mathilda finds relief in nature, nature cannot serve as a genuine human connection. She was robbed of a community to rely on and, more than that, an understanding of the value of community as a concept. Even before properly meeting her father, Mathilda is tainted by stunted social skills made worse by the cold aura of her aunt. They only shared “chains of habit” that are “so strong even when affection [did] not link them” (23), establishing that she had never felt genuine familial love besides obligatory interactions until her father arrived.
When Mathilda’s father finally re-enters her life, he acts as if they have been separated by some external force, despite making that decision on his terms. In the letter he writes prefacing his arrival, he says, “I look on her as the creature who will form the happiness of my future life” and that he “can hardly prevent himself from hastening immediately to [her]” (21). Without any reason for his timing, he normalizes the idea that loved ones may come and go as they please, diminishing the value of dependability. Since she has been so deprived of love and attention, Mathilda welcomes him wholeheartedly, saying that “I was, as it were, transported since his arrival from a narrow spot of earth into a universe boundless to the imagination and the understanding” (23). Without any previous experience, Mathilda will later attribute all of the joys of the world to her father’s presence, finding it unnecessary to integrate into society without him.
When Mathilda’s father begins to ignore her, belittling the bond they were forging, Mathilda experiences another form of abandonment as the father she thought she finally knew leaves again with only a distant and abrasive version in his wake. Early on in the reader’s suspicions of her father’s incestuous inclinations, Mathilda reveals that “There are many incidents that I might relate which shewed the diseased yet incomprehensible state of mind” (26). She reasons that he must have fallen in love with another woman, but in order to respect Mathilda and her mother, he is holding in those feelings (29). Mathilda maintains a peculiar ambiguity when narrating this situation, as it’s clear she had some suspicions but seemed to vehemently oppose believing them. The question arises of whether or not Mathilda purposefully blurs the reader’s understanding of this ambiguity. Later in the novella, she uses phrases like “Do not mistake me” (49) and “You will say” but “I don’t think so” (52). The reader can see at any rate that she's struggling with finding her voice amongst so much grief but also may question the reliability of Mathilda as a narrator if she feels the need to explicitly direct her audience to assert her opinions.
Mathilda and her father’s tumultuous relationship comes to a head when she decides to question his negligence. The toxic cycle of abandonment and adoration can be summarized through her father’s violent outburst, miserably beginning with, “You are my bane, my poison, my disgust!” Within the same breath, he corrects himself, “You are none of these, you are my light, my only one, my life” (33). At this point, Mathilda is “almost dead with excess of sickness and fear” (33). Mathilda employs the thought of death throughout the novella as a form of solace, so it only makes sense that she begins to cry, and this “warm & healing stream from [her] eyes relieved the burthen that oppressed [her] heart almost to madness” (34), showing that she may have pushed him to confess, but only to alleviate the pain he caused.
When he leaves her with no explanation for his distance, Mathilda’s father ignores his individual responsibility to camouflage his guilt. He admits that he “with devilish levity [has] endeavored to steal away her loneliness to place in its stead the foul deformity of sin” and that “I, in the overflowing anguish of my heart, supplicate you to forgive me” (38). Shelley’s word choice emphasizes the power dynamic between father and daughter, that he can ruin the rest of her life with “levity.” His excessive begging becomes manipulative as he encourages her to feel obligated to forgive him. He kills himself because he has no hope of ever feeling innocent, yet he still asserts his position over her to put the obligation on her to forgive him instead of absorbing the obligation himself to resolve his sins.
Since Mathilda has limited knowledge of society, she looks to her father to fill in the blanks. From what he has said, she can trust that no one will love her because she is marked by his sins. He claims that she may be “utterly destroyed” (42) by his actions, and to a young girl with no one else to affirm her, it reinforces that she is unsalvageable. Mathilda’s father’s actions are almost paradoxical because up until this moment, he has removed himself from a position to be found at fault, and this brutally honest apology seems to be an honorable sacrifice to his character. However, again he twists his remorse so that Mathilda doesn't notice how she continues to be manipulated into believing whatever he tells her. Though his intentions may have been to secure her forgiveness, Mathilda is engulfed by this insecurity that no one can love her because she is polluted by her father’s sins. It seems that she begins to blame him after his confession, but his mistakes reach back much farther, to the first time he abandoned her in her childhood.
The blame Mathilda places on her father is still partial as she holds onto his memory as a reminder of what death will bring her – a reunion with her father. However, she maintains that she will not kill herself; “Yes my hope was corruption and dust and all to which death brings us. – Or after life – No, no, I will not persuade myself to die” (47). At this point, Mathilda has the will to keep on living. Therefore, it is not her father’s confession or death but prolonged isolation that causes the suicide to manifest in her life and only friendship.
Before she meets Woodville, the friend she addresses her narrative to, she prays “for one friend to love [her]” (52), but when he does, she refuses to accept the friendship as an opportunity for her to reenter society. She even compares their situations to embellish the irreversibility of the pain that has been inflicted on her, writing, “The misfortunes of Woodville were not of the heart’s core like mine; his was a natural grief, not to destroy but to purify the heart” (53). Arguably, her grief should be more purifying because a major element of her tragedy has been removed from her life. Her unwillingness to look beyond the external influences proves that she has long decided that her father’s death cannot represent a new chapter for her but must define her fate.
It’s especially tragic that Mathilda has been so conditioned into isolation that she can’t consider a joyous life surrounded by people she loves. When Woodville enters her world, she immediately notices “His personal beauty, his conversation which glowed with imagination and sensibility” and, most importantly, sees that he “in no degree reminded [her] of [her father]” (58). Although Mathilda cannot be blamed for many of her previous actions, asking Woodville to join her in a suicide pact signifies she is beyond help at this point. Woodville has the potential to show her society in a manner that would honor her in ways her father never could, but she turns to distrusting him. She says that “I had become arrogant, peevish, and above all suspicious” (63). It is in her nature to distrust, after all her father had shown her about men that seemingly care about her—that they have an alternate motive and they will abandon her.
Mathilda spends most of the novella recounting tales of herself as a passive victim, almost without realizing how active this passiveness is in her fate. Although her tendencies are born from a childhood defined by abandonment, she had numerous opportunities to turn her life around, but deciding against it facilitated her tragedy. Mathilda’s character is not written to be only a victim, nor only a perpetrator, but most importantly, to be human, and her mistakes should be judged accordingly.
Works Cited
Shelley, Mary. Mathilda. The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mathilda, edited by Elizabeth Nitchie,
University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, 25 Sept. 2022.
Works Cited
Shelley, Mary. Mathilda. The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mathilda, edited by Elizabeth Nitchie,
University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, 25 Sept. 2022.