Friday, October 27, 2017

The Adulterer, Part X: More Real than Real, contd.

Turning from Warren’s erstwhile protagonists and their equally virtuous forebears to The Adulterer’s undisguised villains, one may find yet more examples of her rhetorical use of exaggeration. Far from representing the rivals of Brutus and his cohort as simply misguided in their aims or methods, characters like Rapatio, Hazelrod, Meagre, Gripeall, and Bagshot are depicted as self-consciously vile, bloodthirsty, avaricious, and cruel. Not only do they take often drastic steps to stymie the calls for relief emanating from the Patriot camp, but they do so with the sort of hand-wringing, teeth-gnashing glee very much of a kind with the moustache twirling evil of a silent movie villain. Not only, as Warren depicted them, do they act immorally, but they acknowledge and revel in their immorality. They don’t appear to think that what they are doing is right. Rather, they seem act as they do out of some innate sense of viciousness which they make no effort to bring to heel. For a significant portion of Warren’s audience, this doubtless comported with their experiences of life in Massachusetts under the administration of Thomas Hutchinson. His leadership had seen much harm visited upon the general population, both directly and indirectly, and by 1773 his reputation was surely at its lowest point yet. Easy though it may have been – and rhetorically effective – to attribute this suffering to some black design of Hutchinson himself, however, the facts hardly corroborate any such characterization.

Take Rapatio’s first appearance in The Adulterer as a particularly illustrative example of the kind of hyperbole Warren seemed keen to engage in. Opening upon a chamber in Rapatio’s house, Act I, Scene II finds the man alone and giving voice to his thoughts. First, he acknowledges his own good fortune at having finally attained the rank of Govenror of Servia. His predecessor “Brundo” – a reference to Hutchinson’s own forerunner and benefactor, Sir Francis Bernard (1712-1779) – having retired, Rapatio muses, “The stage is clear. Whatever gilded prospects / Ever swam before me […] All at command [.]” From this accounting of his forthcoming affluence, however, Rapatio quickly – and characteristically, it will soon become clear – shifts to expressing resentment and recrimination for a wrong he perceives that his fellow citizens have done him. “Now patriots think,” he declares,

Think on the past and tremble.
Think on that gloomy night when, as you phrased it,
Indignant justice reared her awful front,
And frowned me from her – when ten thousand monsters,
Wretches who only claimed mere outward form
To give sanction to humanity,
Broke my retirement – rushed into my chamber,
And rifled all my secrets – then slung me helpless,
Naked and destitute, to beg protection.

For the moment laying aside the text itself – and the fist-shaking bitterness expressed therein – it bears noting that the real world analogue of the sequence of events here described took place in Boston on the 26th of August, 1765.

In the aftermath of the passage of the Stamp Act in March of that year, the selection of Hutchinson’s brother-in-law Andrew Oliver as the officer responsible for overseeing its implementation in Massachusetts brought forth accusations of corruption by the political opposition upon the then-Lieutenant Governor. Though by all accounts Hutchinson had no prior knowledge of or input into Oliver’s appointment, and in fact he had argued against the Stamp Act in dispatches to London upon the eve of its passage, members of the increasingly radical Boston opposition like Samuel Adams (1722-1803) and James Otis, Jr. (1725-1783) publicly avowed that their deputy executive and Chief Justice was scheming against his fellow countrymen in order to enrich himself and his allies. While a mob inflamed by these sentiments – and having already visited its collective rage upon the dwelling of the aforementioned Oliver – was successfully turned away from Hutchinson’s home in the North End of Boston on the night of August, 13th, a second gathering on the 26th succeeded in driving the Lieutenant Governor and his family into the street. The house’s furnishings were subsequently destroyed, silverware, furniture, and other belongings were carried away, and Hutchinson’s personal papers – including a draft of his three volume history of Massachusetts – were scattered. The Lieutenant Governor was subsequently indemnified by the colonial government to the tune of three thousand one hundred pounds sterling – significantly in excess of his claimed losses of two thousand two hundred – and he moved his residence outside the limits of Boston to the nearby village of Milton.

Bearing these facts in mind, the complaints of Rapatio – Warren’s stand-in for Hutchinson – perhaps stand in somewhat starker relief. To begin, though it may be rather pedantic to do so, it would seem worthwhile to acknowledge Rapatio’s claim that his dwelling was besieged by “ten thousand monsters [.]” Granting that the exact number of people involved in the mob that gathered before Hutchinson’s domicile on the 26th of August can only be estimated, it should nevertheless be noted that the population of Boston in 1765 was only slightly in excess of fifteen thousand. It therefore seems an unlikely thing for Raptio/Hutchinson to truthfully claim that a full two-thirds of the city’s residents turned up to force him out of his home. Such an assertion on Rapatio’s part was therefore almost certainly intended by Warren to portray both that character’s deceit and paranoia. In essence, either he is lying to himself – and in turn to the audience – about the nature of the threat he recently faced, or else he has become convinced that the majority of his fellow citizens conspired to rob him of his dignity and his property. In either case, the principle antagonist of The Adulterer makes it known that he possesses something of a persecution complex and– self-consciously or otherwise – is somewhat out of touch with reality. While it is difficult to say for certain how Hutchinson conceived of the events of August 26th, 1765 in the privacy of his own mind, his continued willingness to publicly engage with his detractors over the course of the 1770s rather than denounce them outright would seem to indicate a degree of patience and moderation not much in evidence with his counterpart Rapatio.

Similarly significant – and misleading – is Raptio’s claim that the mob in question, “Broke my retirement – rushed into my chamber, / And rifled all my secrets [.]” Though there is significant evidence to indicate that Hutchinson did keep much of what he thought about the events of the Anglo-American Crisis of the 1760s and 1770s to himself, or else communicated it only to select confidants and correspondents, the use of the term “secrets” to describe these private observations would seem to carry an inappropriately sinister connotation. In the context of government, secrets are pieces of information generally seen to be compromising, sensitive, or dangerous – their circulation is strictly controlled, and their exposure often constitutes a very serious crime. With Rapatio, however, the context of the scene implies conspiracy rather than professional caution. He seems less concerned for any potential damage done to the legitimacy or stability of his government than he is outraged that his fellow citizens would invade his personal domain or dare to peer into his private affairs. Even his use of the word itself seems to imply something knowingly untoward. The mob did not disturb his papers or ransack his documents, but rather “rifled his secrets [.]” Of the many and various benign phrases Warren could have selected to describe this event, she had Rapatio give voice to perhaps the most devious possible. The character thus appears, as well as bitter and paranoid, suspicious and scheming.   

  Furthermore, the placement of the phrase in question within the cited passage appears to imply something far from flattering about the Governor of Servia’s personal priorities – and in turn, his personal values. Making no mention of lost property or lost work, Rapatio instead worries that compromising information has been seen by his detractors. They “Rifled all my secrets” he says, and only then describes being thrown naked and helpless into the street. Thus phrased, secrets would seem to be what Rapatio treasures most – hardly a sterling quality in a public servant. By way of comparison, what appeared to trouble Hutchinson most about his unfortunate brush with mob justice were the material losses he suffered and the damage done to his aforementioned manuscript. These are the things he made account of in seeking remuneration, or whose recovery was later remarked upon. If he had been robbed of certain confidences – if potentially compromising information in his possession had been seized by his besiegers – the record makes no mention. Granted, the penultimate Governor of Massachusetts would come to known such concerns in time. After a series of letters written by Hutchinson to a Member of Parliament in which he observed that the citizens of Massachusetts could not reasonably expect to exercise the same rights and privileges as British residents were published in 1773, the resulting furor severely damaged his public standing. This unambiguous invasion of privacy was unconnected to the events of August 26th, 1765, however, and Hutchinson’s response was hardly to swear vengeance upon his countrymen. Rather, in response to a consequent petition by the colonial assembly to have him removed from office, the Governor simply requested the chance to depart for London and defend himself in person.

Rapatio was far from the only character in The Adulterer to paint such an ominous portrait of himself, of course. From snivelling Dupe, to pragmatic Bagshot, to self-important Hazelrod, Warren made sure to stock the pantheon of Servian officialdom with the most odious, egotistical, and bloodthirsty personalities it was surely in her power to render. And while not every one of them seems to possess an equivalent among Governor Hutchinson’s inner circle in 1770s Massachusetts, their collective depiction of the contemporary administration of that colony was doubtless quite cutting at the time of publication. By the same token, however, Warren’s was not necessarily the most accurate portrayal. Take, for example, the figure of Andrew Oliver (1706-1774). Brother-in-law to Hutchinson, Provincial Secretary, and Lieutenant Governor, Oliver seems to have been represented in The Adulterer by two separate characters. One, the aforementioned Dupe, is Servia’s Secretary of State under Rapatio. The other, Limput, is Rapatio’s bother-in-law and a general hanger-on and sycophant. Unsurprisingly, neither is portrayed as anything other than reprehensible.

Dupe makes his first appearance in Act I, Scene II, following immediately on Rapatio’s declaration of revenge against his fellow Servians. “But here comes Dupe,” Warren’s villain remarks, “A creature formed by nature / To be a sycophant. Though I despised him, / Yet he’s too necessary for my purpose, / To be relinquished [.]” Entering, Dupe thereupon gives an account of himself that in every way lives up to this discreditable description. “It gives me highest joy to see your honor / Servia’s sole ruler” he fawns.

What though not complete
And primly seated in the chair of power,
Yet all the reins of government you hold.
And should that happy period every arrive
When Brundo quits for thee entire possession,
Remember Dupe, and think on former friendships.

Here, it seems, is one of the most powerful officials in Servia – judging from his title in the Dramatis Personae – acting in a manner almost sickeningly effusive towards the occupant of the office of Governor. As Secretary of State, Dupe would presumably have been responsible for keeping any and all records of government in Servia, particularly in terms of spending and revenues, and been required to turn them over in the event of a potential enquiry or investigation. In spite of the independence that such responsibilities would seem to require, however, Dupe is presented by Warren as shamelessly grovelling to Rapatio, expressing personal joy at his success, and seeking favor upon his assumption of even greater power.

The remainder of Dupe’s appearance – comprising two further lines – serves only to reinforce this characterization. Upon Rapatio’s assurance that the time for revenge upon the people of Servia is yet at hand, Dupe exclaims, “What halcyon days! And have I lived to see them? / And share them too? Enough – I’ve lived my day.” When Rapatio then asks of Dupe to confirm the rumors he has heard of the restlessness of the Patriots, he does so without pause. “The thing is fact [,]” he avows. “The worthy citizen / Finds property precarious – all things tend / To anarchy and ruin.” While the former serves to communicate Dupe’s obsequiousness in fairly straightforward terms – he counts himself lucky to have lived to see Rapatio come to power – the latter accomplishes the same objective in a slight more indirect way by showing how emphatically and unquestioningly he agrees with Rapatio’s reading of contemporary events. Whereas the Governor of Servia describes his detractors as having, “Grown fond of riot, and, with pageantry, / Do ridicule the friends of government [,]” the Secretary of State goes so far as to declare that events are tending towards “riot and anarchy.” By way of exaggeration, Dupe thus appears keen to validate the opinion of his chosen benefactor. Far from the noble officer of state that his title denotes, he is rather the “ready tool” whom Rapatio sees fit to wield in his pursuit of revenge.

Limput – perhaps a closer match to Oliver for being Rapatio’s bother-in-law – is portrayed by Warren in a similarly unflattering light to that which she shone upon the obsequious Dupe. Appearing only briefly in Act III, Scene IV, he nevertheless manages to emphatically describe the depth of depravity to which he is willing to sink in service of his friend and benefactor. Responding to Rapatio’s call for willing co-conspirators, Limput explains that,

If this is all you want –
If breaking through the sanction of an oath,
And trampling on the highest obligations
Would back this good design – here’s one will do it.

Though his soul was once, “Full of virtue,” he further avows, so that he would shudder when faced with a crime, “Thoughts like these have long since slept; old habits / Have seared my conscience – Vice is now familiar – / Prescribe whatever form you choose – I sign it [.]” Whereas even Rapatio must occasionally steel himself against attacks of pity or sympathy that would stand in the way of achieving the end he seeks, Limput paints himself as wholly beyond such doubts or concerns. “Old habits have seared my conscience [,]” he explains, and so he is particularly capable of committing the most heinous acts commanded by his friend and brother. In light of what The Adulterer thus far exhibited of Rapatio’s methods – deceit, manipulation, and murder – this ought to be received as a particularly damning admission. No matter what Raptio asks of him – what high obligation he is made to trample – Limput declares that he is ready and willing.

            Rapatio’s immediate response is fairly straightforward, though no less significant for it. His administration having suffered in the aftermath of the slaughter of Servian civilians by soldiers under his command, he asks Limput to swear,

           That long before that night,
            In which we snuffed the blood of innocence,
            The fractious citizens, urged on by hell,
            Had leagued together to attack the soldier,
            Trample on laws, murder the friends of power
            And bury all things in one common ruin.

As if it were not already so unequivocally vile for Rapatio and his followers to scheme at framing a people still mourning their dead for the very circumstances under which they suffer – while speaking freely of having “snuffed the blood of innocence,” no less – Rapatio goes on to damn himself further in the eyes of Warren’s audience by the manner in which he requests that the pledge be sealed. “All this,” he instructs Limput, “You call the majesty of heaven / To witness to as truth.” Quaint it may now seem, but this blasphemous invocation of God in service of such an odious plot was doubtless intended by Warren to further convey the utter depravity of Servia’s Governor and his supporters. Innocent Servians have been killed, and here Rapatio appears keen to set in motion a conspiracy that would likely entail further repression, more suffering, and more deaths. In keeping with his prior claims, Limput responds simply. “I do,” he declares, “And swear.” Whereas Dupe is the pitiful lickspittle who seeks favor in exchange for obedience, Limput seems to give himself over to Rapatio’s schemes out of personal affection and personal habit. That the Governor of Servia would count such a man his brother-in-law, seek his counsel, and engage his service was surely meant to be an object of horror.

            As it happened, however, Andrew Oliver closely resembled neither Dupe nor Limput. Though he was certainly a man of wealth and education whose ascent to the highest levels of the Massachusetts elite was in some part a function of his class and his connections, Oliver was by many accounts also a sober, pious, and dedicated public servant. Far from achieving distinction solely by marrying into the inner circle of the ascendant Thomas Hutchinson, he in fact held a variety of municipal offices in Boston in the 1730s, won election to the Massachusetts Provincial Assembly in 1742, and was finally granted appointment as Provincial Secretary by Acting-Governor Spencer Phips (1685-1757) in 1755. The subsequent selection of Oliver to administer the provisions of the Stamp Act in Massachusetts in 1765 was likewise unrelated to his family connections, though he suffered alongside Governor Hutchinson in the ensuing popular backlash. The events of the 1770s proved similarly trying, particularly as a result of Oliver’s relationship with his brother-in-law. Chosen by Hutchinson to assume the office of Lieutenant Governor in 1771, he subsequently became embroiled in another controversy surrounding the publication of a series of inflammatory letters. Though Hutchinson and Oliver were both privately opposed to the passage and implementation of the Stamp Act, they also harbored certain views as to the relationship between the government and people of Massachusetts and the Crown which ostensibly placed them in opposition to the increasingly radical elements of that colony’s political culture. When these views – as expressed to certain correspondents in Britain – saw print in June, 1773, both men suffered renewed accusations of conspiracy, treason, and betrayal. Oliver, who had damningly stated his belief that the government of Massachusetts ought to have been reformed in order to strengthen the office of Governor, was notably burned in effigy in Boston Common. The strain of enduring such repeated public repudiation took its toll on the exhausted and ageing Lieutenant Governor, and he eventually suffered a fatal stroke in March, 1774.     

Granting that it is now, and may be forevermore, impossible to determine the exact nature of the relationship between brothers-in-law and political confidants Thomas Hutchinson and Andrew Oliver, there is very little to indicate that it bore a particular resemblance to those Warren depicted in The Adulterer  between Rapatio and his followers Dupe and Limput. Unlike these characters, whose respective roles in the drama are wholly a function of their adoration of and loyalty to the Governor of Servia, Oliver spent the better part of his career in public service charting a course that was largely his own. His appointment to the office of Provincial Secretary in 1755 came at the conclusion of almost twenty years of service in municipal and colonial government, and notably pre-dated Hutchinson’s assumption of the Lieutenant-Governorship by nearly three years. Furthermore, whereas Dupe and Limput seem content – or at the very least willing – to wholly submit to Rapatio’s ambitions, Oliver appeared to be more of a partner to Hutchinson than a mere pawn in his supposed machinations. He was, after all, publicly burned in effigy in 1773 not merely because of his association with Hutchinson – because he was known to have done that man’s bidding – but rather because letters he wrote independent of his brother-in-law were also intercepted and published. And while the content of those letters may rightly be seen to have placed Oliver at odds with the political and ideological currents then taking hold of contemporary Massachusetts, the implications thereof in no way equate to the conspiracy, duplicity, or cruelty contemplated by the likes of Dupe and Limput. Indeed, where those men seemed to revel in the successes of their spiteful benefactor and embrace the foul deeds he requested they undertake, Oliver rather appeared to find the hatred and the vitriol of his fellow citizens tremendously – and in the end, fatally – taxing. 

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