“Through Ev’ry stage of life, the slave of man”
Nicholas Rowe, Forgotten Poet Laureate, ponders feminism
“How hard is the Condition of our Sex,
Thro’ ev’ry State of Life the Slaves of Man?”
Nicholas Rowe, The Fair Penitent
This thing which seeps like gaping wounds turned ripe
These debts, with each confounded wraith’s respite
Forgive? Like sins, discredited anew
Securitized, unbonded rakes fall due.
Lothario! That left Iberia’s ill-fated fleet
On Rowe’s twee boat, thus shrouded and discrete.
One nocturnal frolic, and the dame’s undone
Hell-Fire, Sulphur, canned-spammed Perdition.
A quaint melodrama about lost virginity, a 21st century lens might distort Nicholas Rowe’s “The Fair Penitent” into farce, rather than tragedy.
A simple plot: after being seduced (or raped?) by Lothario, Calista must die, along with Lothario, Calista’s father, and quite a few others.
Debts that Calista’s father paid off for Calista’s betrothed suitor are still paid off. So at least somebody came out of this ahead, despite many dozens of lines referring to how wretched he was that his betrothed had sex with another man.
Google tells me that a character called ‘Lothario’ originated from Don Quixote (hence ‘Iberia’s ill-fated fleet’), but Britannica asserts this play popularized the name and character in English. Probably.
After Lothario dies, the play degenerates into interesting statements by Calista (the female protagonist and supporting actresses do have intriguing, nuanced lines) — and moralizing pomposities as the male characters commence various suicides and/or homicides.
Nicholas Rowe could never have conceived of feminism. In Georgian England, Calista committed a crime (adultery at the worst, but even fornication was a criminal offense). Equality? Never.
In the 20th century, most European countries eliminated ‘fornication’ as a crime. Other countries did not. Cultures vary.
But in America, the precise mechanism for decriminalizing ‘fornication’ is closely entwined with a concept of ‘privacy.’
To Elizabethan England, what happens in the bedchamber could be a matter of national security (if it might produce an heir). To Georgian England, what happens in the bedchamber was still a matter of power and property: an adulterous wife might have another man’s child, and thus, the entire estate might fall into the wrong hands.
Rather than overturn the cult of virginity, America opted to sweep it under the covers. We conceived the odd notion that certain matters are ‘private’ — and no government should intrude into such matters (unless forced to do so).
Should that notion of privacy be dismantled, it’s highly improbable that we might reach the melodramatic tragedy Rowe conceived. But we should anticipate tragedies whenever some people take ethical duties seriously, and others shrug at them, enjoying the silly, quaint antics of the sheep whom they may fleece.
