Narrative Structure and Reader Formation in Lady Mary Wroth's Urania

Rahel Orgis

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781317090489
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literatura
• Subtopic: Crítica literaria para escritoras

Narrative Structure and Reader Formation in Lady Mary Wroth's Urania offers the first systematic formal and thematic analysis of Wroth's Urania in its historical context and explores the structural means by which Wroth fashions her readership. The book thus has a dual focus, at once on narrative art and reader formation. It makes two original claims, the first being that the Urania is not the unorganized accumulation of stories critics have tended to present it as, but a work of sophisticated narrative structures i.e. a complex text in a positive sense. These structures are revealed by means of a circumspect narratological analysis of the formal and thematic patterns that organise the Urania. Such an analysis furthers our understanding of the reading strategies that Wroth encourages. The second claim is, then, that through the careful structuring of her text Wroth seeks to create her own ideal readership. More precisely, the formal and thematic structures of the Urania engage with readers' expectations, inviting them to reflect on prominent thematic issues and respond to the text as what early modern prefaces term "good" readers. Combining narratological methods with a generic perspective and taking into account the work of book historians on early modern reading practices, this monograph provides a new approach to the Urania, supplementing the typically gender- or (auto)biographically-oriented interpretations of the romance. Moreover, it contributes to the study of early modern (prose) narrative and romance and exemplifies how historically contextualised narratological analysis may yield new insights and profit research on reading strategies.

1 Entering the Urania through the frontispiece

Abundance versus lack

Lady Mary Wroth’s The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania presents a challenge to its readers due to a paradoxical combination of abundance and lack. The attribution of the work –

Written by the right honorable the Lady

MARY WROATH.

Daughter to the right Noble Robert

Earle of Leice∫ter.

And Neece to the ever famous, and re:

nowned S^r. Phillips [sic] Sidney knight. And to

y^e most exelēt Lady Mary Counte∫se of

Pembroke late decea∫ed.

– is abundant in its heralding of the author’s noble descent and, by implication, the work’s literary lineage and status. Equally abundant is the engraving on the title-page by the artist Simon van de Passe, inviting the viewer’s gaze to enter, through an arch bearing the work’s title in a cartouche, into a world that appears at once familiar and elusive. The Urania hence exemplifies Kevin Sharpe and Steven N. Zwicker’s general observation that in early modern books “the architecture of the title-page framed the authority of and entrance to the text, at times literally with column, arch and cartouche” (6). Before fully entering the world of the Urania, however, one has to step over or walk around, as it were, another cartouche, which is placed between the columns like a barrier and reads,

LONDON

Printed for

MARRIOTT

and IOHN GRISMAND And

are to bee ∫ould at theire ∫hop

pes in S^t. Dunstons Church

yard in Fleet∫treet and in

Poules Ally at y^e ∫igne of

the Gunn.

Compared to the lofty aspirations evoked by the title, this second cartouche is down to earth, foregrounding the material mediation of the work and the publishers’ financial stakes in it.

The rich title-page, which will be discussed in more detail below, stands in striking contrast to the curious lack of other paratexts both preceding and following the narrative: there is no dedicatory epistle, no letter to the reader, no index and no “clavis.” Instead, the title-page is immediately followed by the opening of the text, preceded only by a repetition of the title and the heading “THE FIRST BOOKE” (I.i.1).¹ Josephine A. Roberts puts forward the following hypothesis to account for the missing paratextual material:

When Mathewes [Augustine Mathewes, the probable printer according to the STC (2:479)] began setting the text of the Urania on sig. B, he left sig. A for the expected preliminary dedicatory poems or prefaces, typically found in volumes of this period, especially those by aristocratic authors. Yet he apparently failed to receive any introductory material from the author or her friends, and so the text begins on sig. B, abruptly following the title-page in all surviving copies. (I.cx)

As Roberts’ explanation implies, the lack of preliminaries in the Urania is remarkable from a historical point of view. In Reading Revolutions Sharpe refers to early modern preliminaries in which writers pretend that the prefatory material is requested by the “saleman” or the “stationer” to satisfy the expectations and demands of the readers and hence to guarantee a favourable reception of the book (56–57 n302).² Brayman Hackel even suggests that a work unaccompanied by an epistle would have been regarded as incomplete at the time (103) and claims that “Aside from title-pages” preliminaries belong, together with printed marginalia, to “the most nearly standard paratextual features of an early modern book” (88). This statement is supported by an analysis of the Countess of Bridgewater’s library in which “93 percent of the [241] books open with at least one preliminary address” (Brayman Hackel 90). One may thus wonder how early modern readers of the Urania would have interpreted this unusual absence of preliminaries – especially since, as mentioned above, the text starts on signature B and signature A is missing.

If the lack of paratexts begs interpretation – much more so from an early modern than a modern perspective – the same is true for the work’s title-page. As Roberts notes, the engraving “depicts the central episode of the Throne of Love” (I.cvi), the enchantment that appears in the first book of the Urania, and is described as follows:

Thus, on they went (but as in a Labyrinth without a thrid) till they came within sight of a rare and admirable Pallace.

Figure 1.1 The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania, frontispiece. Folger STC 26051 Copy 1, leaf [A]1 recto. Reproduced by permission of the Folger Shakespeare Library.

It was scituated on a Hill, but that Hill formed, as if the world would needs raise one place of purpose to build Loves throne upon; all the Country besides humbly plaine, to shew the subjection to that powerfull dwelling. The Hill whereon this Pallace stood was just as big as to hold the House: three sides of the Hill made into delicate Gardens and Orchards: the further side was a fine and stately Wood. This sumptuous House was square, set all upon Pillars of blacke Marble, the ground paved with the same. Every one of those pillars, presenting the lively Image (as perfectly as carving could demonstrat) of brave, and mighty men, and sweet and delicate Ladies, such as had been conquer’d by loves power: but placed there, as still to mainetaine, and uphold the honour, and House of Love. Comming towards it, they imagined it some Magicall work, for so daintily it appear’d in curiositie, as it seem’d as if it hung in the ayre, the Trees, Fountains, and all sweet delicacies being discerned through it. The upper Story had the Gods most fairely and richly appearing in their thrones; their proportions such as their powers, and quallities are described. As Mars in Armes, weapons of Warre about him, Trophies of his Victories, and many demonstrations of his Warre-like God-head. Apollo with Musicke, Mercurie, Saturne, and the rest in their kind.

At the foote of this Hill ranne a pleasant and sweetly passing river, over which was a Bridge, on which were three Towres: Upon the first was the Image of Cupid, curiously carv’d with his Bow bent, and Quiver at his backe, but with his right hand pointing to the next Towre; on which was a statue of white Marble, representing Venus, but so richly adorn’d, as it might for rarenesse, and exquisitenesse have beene taken for the Goddesse her selfe, and have causd as strange an affection as the Image did to her maker, when he fell in love with his owne worke. She was crownd with Mirtle, and Pansies, in her left hand holding a flaming Heart, her right, directing to the third Towre, before which, in all dainty riches, and rich delicacy, was the figure of Constancy, holding in her hand the Keyes of the Pallace: which shewed, that place was not to be open to all, but to few possessed with that vertue. (I.i.47–48)

The inclusion of an important scene on the title-page is not uncommon for romances published at the time according to Quilligan. In Incest and Agency in Elizabeth’s England, she cites the example of the 1619 edition of Anthony Munday’s Amadis de Gaule, which depicts the finding of Amadis on the frontispiece (174–175).³ What is extraordinary about the frontispiece, however, is its spatial organisation, providing a view through the framing architectural structure. Whereas the use of the arch, the columns and cartouches as framing devices is common on early modern frontispieces, the space between the columns is normally filled with the work’s title, the name of its author and further publication details, as Quilligan justly remarks (174). Thus, the vista through the arch offered on the frontispiece of the Urania is exceptional at the time, and Quilligan mentions only three other engravings comparable to the Urania in this respect (174): another engraving by van de Passe for Francis Bacon’s 1620 Instauratio Magna, and two by William Hole for Michael Drayton’s 1616 Poly-Olbion and Aaron Rathborne’s 1616 The Surveyor, which likewise provide a view through a framing architectural structure although that view is more limited than on the van de Passe frontispieces.

The vista offered by the frontispiece and the lack of prefatory material are thus extraordinary. Both features call for interpretation and would have been as intriguing to early modern readers as they are to today’s scholars. In the following sections, I will therefore discuss how the striking lack of preliminaries, on the one hand, and the abundance of the ornate frontispiece, on the other, might be read and how such a reading of the missing and present paratexts prepares readers – early modern and modern alike – for Wroth’s complex narrative.

Reading the lack of prefatory material

The missing paratextual transition from the title-page to the opening in medias res of Wroth’s work means that readers face the text on their own, at liberty to read it in their own manner, but also without any apparent authorial or editorial guidance. Discussing preliminary material, Stephen Dobranski argues that it served to “establish common interpretive ground” and to “set the bar by which authors and stationers wanted readers to measure their reactions” (106). In other words, it delineated an ideal readerly approach from the point of view of publishers and authors and implicitly censured other readerly interventions. It would be simplistic of course to take letters to the reader – be they addressed “TO THE GENTLEMEN READERS HEALTH” (144) or “To the Courteous and Courtly Ladies of England” (146) as in Robert Greene’s Penelope’s Web – entirely at face value with regard to their claims about a work’s nature and the recommended ways of reading it. Paratexts addressed to readers also serve promotional or apologetic functions, i.e. authors, editors or booksellers try to sell the book, obtain patronage, justify the book’s publication or shield themselves from possible negative reactions to a work.⁴ Moreover, as Louise Wilson points out, preliminaries can be appropriated for less straightforward purposes like intertextual games or jokes addressed to a restricted audience (122, 131–132). However, even if driven by such material or personal motives, paratexts still construct models of reading and raise expectations according to which, or against which, readers approach a text – assuming that they have not skipped the prefatory material, that is.⁵

With regard to the Urania no such model is provided; a circumstance which might have perplexed early modern readers and left them wondering about the agent responsible for the publication and the reason for this curious lack. One plausible reaction might have been to regard the text as unauthorised for publication and the absence of signature A as a ploy of the publishers’ to make the book look authorised but accidentally incomplete. In other words, the publication of the Urania might have been considered as an attempt to profit from the popularity of Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia and the author’s illustrious family connections. Such an attitude would, in turn, make the work appear potentially scandalous because it might contain matter not meant for the general public, whether in terms of the story or in terms of personal information and references. This possible reaction of early modern readers to the lack of prefatory material places the responsibility for the publication of the Urania with the publisher, although this would not exempt Wroth from blame since it could be held against her that she should not have written the work in the first place. Indeed, the mere fact of publication revealed to Wroth’s contemporaries that she did not only write the occasional poem, which Christina Luckyj suggests was an expected accomplishment of aristocratic women at the time (263–264), but that she spent a considerable amount of her time as a widow writing a romance, a potentially frivolous occupation.⁶ Moreover, in Women and Romance Fiction in the English Renaissance Helen Hackett shows how male-authored letters addressed to women readers conjure up the fantasy of voyeuristic access to women’s more private spaces for men (11–12). The publication of the Urania, one might argue, allowed for this type of fantasy too, since it is material evidence of the hours Wroth spent writing in her closet or study.⁷

Another approach would be to see Wroth as responsible for the omission of preliminaries. If intentional, the lack of letters to the reader or the dedicatee of the romance might seem an arrogant gesture because it appears to signal that – presumably thanks to her family connections – Wroth considers herself above the need of any protection from the dedicatee or the traditional “gentle” reader. It is clear that authors’ apologies for their work – a traditional element of the letters to the dedicatee or readers – often serve self-promotional purposes. Still, the absence of any such apology is striking – all the more so considering that Wroth is a woman writing in a traditionally male genre. Moreover, most of Wroth’s readers would probably have been familiar with Sidney’s Arcadia, prefaced by his letter addressed to his sister, the Countess of Pembroke. The letter contains Sidney’s well-known apology for “this idle work of mine,” characterised as “a trifle, and that triflingly handled” (NA 57).

If the omission of prefatory material is not read as a presumptuous gesture, it could be interpreted as a means of indicating the intended readership of the Urania. Brayman Hackel states that learned readers and dedicatees were often expressly told in preliminaries that they might skip the prefatory material and proceed to the text immediately (98). According to Aristotle, “prefatory remarks are unnecessary if one has either a good case or a good audience” (Brayman Hackel 116), implying that “a good audience” would be able to understand and therefore appreciate a text, just as “a good case” would convince readers. Hence the absence of preliminaries from Wroth’s romance might be seen to signal that the work is aimed only at a sophisticated audience that would not need any additional guidance to make their reading profitable. However, while the actual buyers of the folio – a relatively expensive work – might indeed primarily have been more educated people, the reaction of Lord Edward Denny, Wroth’s most famous contemporary critic, shows that this in itself was not enough to prevent negative criticism.

A third possible explanation for an intentional omission of prefatory material is offered by Lamb, who, discussing the question of whether or to what extent Wroth was responsible for the publication, suggests that she might have “wished for it to seem accidental or beyond her control” (UA 6). The missing introductory and dedicatory material could then be interpreted as the result of a deliberate authorial strategy.⁸ Indeed, as Roberts puts it in “Lady Mary Wroth’s Urania,” “The publishing history of the Urania offers very mixed evidence concerning the author’s involvement in the bringing the work to press” (126).⁹ Wroth herself protested that Urania copies “were solde against my minde I never purposing to have had them published” (Poems 236). Anything but such a denial would have been highly surprising at the time, considering Wroth’s position in society and the worldly subject matter of her work.¹⁰ The circumstance that, as Roberts mentions, “the book received extensive and careful correction during the entire printing process” (I.cxi) can also be interpreted in different ways: Roberts favours the idea that the corrections are due to the corrector of the press “without the author’s involvement” (I.cxii). Suzanne Gossett and Janel Mueller, on the other hand, emphasise that such extensive correction indicates that the author or at least an agent of hers was involved in the printing process (II.xx n11). A further strong argument for Wroth’s involvement in the publication is the elaborately engraved title-page, as I will discuss in the following section. Conversely, the dubious reputation with regard to pirated publications of “the probable printer,” Augustine Mathewes, as well as the publishers, Marriott and Grismond, rather seems to speak against Wroth’s involvement (I.cvii), as does the puzzling ending of the printed text after an “And” that starts a new clause. Roberts identifies this “And” as the catchword for the manuscript continuation of the romance (I.cxi) – rather than as an imitation of Sir Philip Sidney’s ending of the New Arcadia in mid-sentence – and interprets its inclusion in the printed text as owing to a lack of instruction from the author (I.cx). Given the contradictory evidence, critics tend to assume that Wroth herself or some agent close to the family was at least to some extent involved in the publication. Thus, Michael G. Brennan, for example, opts for a compromise in the debate, proposing Wroth might originally have intended to publish her work but later decided otherwise, with the publishers proceeding “regardless of...