!! ÒAM I MY OTHERÕS KEEPER?Ó: ALTERITY, DIALOGIC REPRESENTATION AND POLYPHONIC ETHICAL DISCOURSE IN LATER ANTEBELLUM AMERICAN FICTION By Stephen Andrew Gaertner A DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of English ÑDoctor of Philosophy 2015 !!ABSTRACT ÒAM I MY OTHERÕS KEEPER?Ó: ALTERITY, DIALOGIC REPRESENTATION AND POLYPHONIC E THICAL DISCOURSE IN LATER ANTEBELLUM AMERICAN FICTION By Stephen Andrew Gaertner Hayden White argues that to create a narrative is to Òmoralize.Ó As historicists assert, the moral content of a narrative reflects the social, cultural and poli tical discourses i n which it is constructed as well as the ethica l value systems that such discourses contain. However, context does not reveal the entire story. Mikhail Bak htin holds that narratives are polyphonic, that is, they contain multiple, competing discourses, at time s represented through singular idiolects. But what are these various voices talking about, and to whom ? Polyphonic or ÒcarnivalesqueÓ narratives rehearse and contest contrasting ethical paradig ms, exposing their discursive limits as well as their transcendent possibilities in a given milieu. Thus, the text manifests the emergence of a dialogic exchange between ethical discourses, the yield of which is a creative destabi lization that that resist s the archaeological confinement of time, place and ideology. Therefore , I engage an ethical formalist rereading of a selection of antebellum narrative fiction s in order to probe the discursive possibilities latent within the textsÕ moral imaginaries. In addition to deploying BakhtinÕs work on polyphonic narrative, I use Emmanuel LevinasÕ ethical theory of alterity that stresses the moral agentÕs duty to respond on behalf of an individualized subject otherwise totalized by an oppressive, thematizing disco urse. Whereas Levinas describes the moment of this ethical demand as the face -to-face encounter, I argue that the responsive duty suggested by the instance of inter -subjective recognition is represented within fiction as dialogue, in additi on to the more subtle discourses that the narrator adds. !!Beyond exposing the textÕs ethical tensions, these dialogic moments reflect the discursive polyphony theorized by Bakhtin, multi -vocal eruptions often signaled by a perichoresis of distinct idiolects. The works I discuss ÑJames Fenimore CooperÕs Littlepage Trilogy, Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno,Ó Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig Ñall contain ethical discourses elaborated through idiolectical dialogic structures and polyph ony. Furthermore, the context of their production Ñthe late -antebellum United States Ñsituates them within ethical conversations on totalization and interpersonal duty for the Other in that the modernizing republic was struggling with the moral implications of Indian removal, African slavery, urban labor, poverty and gender oppression. Yet, a Levinasian reading of antebellum U.S. literature invites looking beyond ideological power discourses. In addition to reflecting how American republic anism and capit alism of the mid -1800Õs totalized, confined and dehumanized disempowered Others, these texts evidence rhetorical ambivalence respecting the status of the differentiated Other and the moral subjectÕs duty to the Other in a capitalist republic obsessed with categorical ordering and uncomfortable with ambiguity. Despite their concerns with political, social and ethical regulation, though, these polyphonic works contain transcendent ethical counter -discourses on duty and Otherness that expose a symbiosis betwee n radical Others , peoples otherwise divided by contrasting ethical, political, cultural, racial or socioeconomic alignments. !! Copyright by STEPHEN ANDREW GAERTNER 2015 v ! For Fr. Joseph Serrano, O. Praem. who inspired the completion of this project, for the Norbertine Community of Santa Mar™a d e la Vid Abbey that supported it, and for the Zimmerman Library staff at the University of New Mexico who made it possible. vi !TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTIONÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ ...1 I. LevinasÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ ...2 II. BakhtinÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ ...8 III. Historical ContextÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ 14 IV. Overview of Chapters and Primary TextsÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ ...21 CHAPTER 1 : Hist oricizing an Ethics of Otherness : Dialogism and Ambivalent Constructions of Duty in Jam es Fenimore CooperÕs Littlepage Trilogy ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ..26 I. Satanstoe ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ..44 II. The Chainbearer ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ..56 III. The Redskins ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ76 CHAPTER 2 : The Ethics of Confinement: Race, Class and Labor in Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ .ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ..98 I. Israel Potter ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ.110 II. ÒBenito CerenoÓÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ ..133 CHAPTER 3 : Alterity, Compassion and Ethics: Female Antagonists as Sympathetic Others in Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig ÉÉ.ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ.163 I. Ruth Hall ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ172 II. Hybrid ArchetypesÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ .193 III. Our Nig ÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ..200 CONCLUSIO NÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ... .220 WORKS CITEDÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ. .226 1 ! INTRODUCTION Hayden White argues in The Content of the Form that Ònarrativity, certainly in factual storytelling and probably in fictional storytelling as well, is intimately related to, if not a function of, the impulse to moralize reality, that is, to identify it wit h the social system that is the source of any morality that we can imagineÓ (14); in shor t, to create a narrative is to moralize. As White and other historicists suggest, the moral content of a narrative reflects the social, cultural and political discour ses in which it is constructed; like an archaeological artifact, the text speaks to its immediate surroundings, and the ethical value systems that inform them. But a narrativeÕs socio -historical context does not reveal the entire Òstory.Ó Mikhail Bakhtin holds that narrative texts are Òpolyphonic,Ó that is, they contain multiple, competing discourses (Murfin and Ray 86), at times represented through the construction of singular ÒidiolectsÓ (Richter 548). This sort of idiosyncratic, discursive interplay i s what makes them interesting! But what are these various voices talking about, and to whom ? Polyphonic or ÒcarnivalesqueÓ narratives (Holquist xix), in particular fiction Ñcreative prose provides rich rhetorical terrain for the moral imaginary Ñrehearse a nd contest contrasting ethical paradigms, exposing their discursive limits as well as their transcendent possibilities in a given milieu. Thus, the text manifests dialogic exchanges between ethical discourses, the yield of which is a creative destabilizat ion of comprehension that opens up a broader horizon regarding hidden or latent meaning(s) that resist the archaeological confinement of time, place and ideology. In this dissertation , I explore representation s of the ethical imagination and the concept of interpersonal response to the Other within antebellum narrative texts from th e n ortheast ern 2 !United States . On a formalist plane, I am interested in how the suggestion and depiction of dialogue within polyphonic narrative s un dergird and destabili ze larger understandings of social economy , authority, personal responsibility, interpersonal moral obligation and the rhetorical mechanisms for regulating ethical behavior on the antebellum American scene. I also investigate how thes e notions are translated within narratives into a greater preoccupation regarding individual invocation , and how this sense of personal duty places a moral demand on textual subjects at times in accord with conventional notions of social order, authority a nd responsibility , but also at times in conflict with them. This vocational tension as manifested w ithin certain works of northeastern American fiction from the mid -1800Õs opens up a dynamic, discursive public space o f competing moral paradigms , and point s not only to the definitive political rupt ure to occur in the U.S. in 1861 , but also to an ethical imperative for citizens and communities to delineate what c onstitutes the Good and therefore the individual agentÕs moral responsibil ity for a differentiated Other. I will explain this crucial ethical concept of Otherness, or ÒalterityÓ in Emmanuel LevinasÕ wording, before moving on to its critical application to my textual analyses and the overarching sociopolitical, historical context that inf orms the works I examine. I. Levinas In Totality and Infinity , Emmanuel Levinas defines the ÒparticularÓ Other (73) in opposition to the Selfsame ÒIÓ as an individualized, unique subject, separate from the Self, and one whom the Self often attempts to objectify and appropriate. He writes: The other metaphysically desired is not ÒotherÓ like the bread I eat, the land in which I dwell, the landscape I contemplate, like, sometimes, myself for myself, this ÒI,Ó that Òother.Ó I can ÒfeedÓ on these realities and to a very great extent satisfy myself, as though I had sim ply been lacking them. Their alterity is thereby 3 !reabsorbed into my own identity as a thinker or a possessor. The metaphysical desire tends toward something else entirely , toward the absolutely other . (33) This notion of the Òabsolutely otherÓ here is k ey, for it delineates that which cannot Ñor ought notÑbe ÒreabsorbedÓ or ÒtotalizedÓ by or into the Selfsame Ñthe ÒIÓ Ñwho seeks to control, possess and render ÒlikeÓ the absolutely or particularized Other. Levinas explains in Alterity & Transcendence that Ò Ô[t]otalizationÕ may be understood to mean either the grouping of objects or of points in a whole, or the intellectual operation by which that multiplicity of objects or points is encompassed. [É] The true function of totalizing thought does not consist i n looking at being, but in determining it by organizing itÓ (39 -40, 47). A Òtotality,Ó then, is an organizing systematization Òin which all Other is included in the SameÓ (56). It is here where LevinasÕ notion of alterity moves from the abstract to the d istinct and interpersonal, and therefore to the realm of Òethical relationÓ (97). He continues: to see the infinite in the suppression of the Other or in reconciliation with him assumes that the Other is, for the Same, nothing but limit and menace. Who would dispute that it is soÉin a human society subjected, like all finite reality, to the formal principle according to which the other limits or cramps the same : the wars and violence of the world, of all ages, is sufficient proof of that. But the other m anÑthe absolutely other Ñthe Other [ autrui ]Ñdoes not exhaust his presence by that repressive function. His presence can be meeting and friendship, and in this the human is in contrast with all other reality. (56) He then explains the primacy of ethics as t he omnipresent responsibility Ñor ÒdutyÓ (105) Ñof the Selfsame ÒIÓ to strive for this particular OtherÕs Òright to well -beingÓ (146), as opposed to attempting, often via language, to reduce this Other to a dehumanized type, a part of a totality of 4 !genericiz ed beings who, as a result of their systematized generality, are now assimilated within the dominant hegemonic discourse: In the relation to the other, the other appears to me as one to whom I owe something, toward whom I have a responsibility. Hence the asymmetry of the I -You relation and the radical inequality between the I and the being toward whom I have obligations. I insist, therefore, on the gratuitousness of the Ôfor the other,Õ resting on the responsibility that is already there in a dormant sta te. The Ôfor the otherÕ arises within the I, like a command heard by himÉ [É] The person for whom one is responsible is unique , and the one who is responsible cannot delegate his or her responsibility. [É] In that relation to the other, there is no fusio n: the relation to the other is envisioned as alterity . (101, 102, 103, emphasis mine ) Here I pause to emphasize that within the scope of my textual analyses, I will deploy the words ÒOtherÓ and ÒOthernessÓ Ñto offset the importance of these words, I capitalize them Ñin two ethical senses. One refers to Levinas Õ notion of the non -totalized, un ique Other for whom the ÒIÓ is always responsible. The second Ñand this is key Ñis the Other, the person different from the Selfsame ÒIÓ who has been inscribed within a given ÒthematizingÓ (123) or totalizing discou rse, that is, one who has been absorbed, assimilated into a type -category and who comprises in part the unaccounted Òthird partyÓ Other in LevinasÕ ethics, or the ÒotherÓ Other, the totalized person to whom one chooses not to respond on a moral plane. 1 In those portions of the project where I !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"!Levinas explains in Alterity & Transcendence : ÒAlterityÕs plot is born before knowledge. But that apparent simplicity of the relation between the I an d the You, in its very asymmetry, is yet again disturbed by the arrival of the third person, who stands next to the other, the you. The third party is also a neighbor, a face, an unattainable alterity. [É] Here, with the third party, we have the proximity of a human plurality. Between the second and the third person, there can be relations in which one is guilty toward the other. I pass from the relation in which I am obligated to the other, responsible for the other, to one in which I ask myself which i s first. I ask the question of justice: Which one, in that plurality, is the other par excellence? How can one judge? How to compare others Ñ5 !dis cuss the concept of hybridity and hybrid identities in conjunction with the ethics of alterity, this bifurcation of the meaning of Other is more essential. But w hy ethics as opposed to a more co mmon literary -critical approach? A nd why study just novels ? To return again to Hayden White, narrative, whether considered history or fiction, contributes to the authorÕs and the predominant cultureÕs dialectic/didactic project of social and intellectual ordering, of trying to represent, interpret and resolve th e conflicts and contradictions that bedevil a society at a given p oint in time. Underlying this edifying narrative poetics, I argue, is an often unconscious impulse to model moral interpersonal relationships, communities and/or polities cond ucive to human flourishing Ñthe Good Ña desire which is the quintessential ethical aim in terms of the definition of ethics that I adopt from Paul RicoeurÕs Oneself as Another : Òaiming at the good life with and for others in just institutions Ó (180 , emphasis authorÕs ). Part and parcel with this narrative ordering is a need to codify motivations and behaviors as either ÒgoodÓ or Òbad,Ó in addition to creating or reinforcing various categories into which different persons, the moral agents of such behaviors, are inscribed. These are the hierarchies of socioeconomic classes, occupations, ethno -racial and cultural -linguistic groups, genders, and geographic and political associations that comprise the various totalities within which the individuated subjectÕs unique identity b ecomes generalized, losing personal distinction and human particularity. Important to note is that Levinas connects this totalizing impulse with the textual realm. He writes regarding the Òhermeneutic totalityÓ that [t]he understanding of a text, a cult ural workÉgoes from the parts to a whole, but the parts derive their meaning from the totality. There would appear to be a circle in totalizing and analyzing thought that one would be tempted to call vicious, as !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!unique and incomparable? The person for whom one is responsible is unique, and the one who is responsible cannot delegate his or her responsibility. In this sense, the latter is also uniqueÓ (101 -02). I offer that such is the paradox of LevinasÕ ethics of alterity, and thus the practical, instinctual and unconscious allure of thematizing totalization. 6 !the analysis and the synthesis mutually pre suppose one another. [É] A notion of totality and of intellect that would lead to the understanding of all experience, and perhaps all reasoning on things, according to the model of interpretation of texts. (49) If the text is a written attempt to totalize reality and all individual subjects therein, I would answer LevinasÕ claim by asserting that its Òanalysis and synthesisÓ shows Ñand this point I will concretize when I arrive at the matter of novelistic dialogics and polyphonic discourse in my treatment o f Mikhail Bakhtin Ñthat formally and ethically narrative, by virtue of i ts inherent interpretive instability, tends to eschew totalization by the dominant sociopolitical, historical context which envelopes its production, even if such a hegemony -resistant p henomenon appears counterintuitive at first. Still, I concede that novels with a pronounced didactic dimension often attempt to suture hierarchical social categorization with particular rhetorical constructions of good and bad interpersonal conduct. That is, ÒgoodÓ archetypal characters represent persons who champion a stable construction of social order: even abolitionist texts from the 1850Õs contain strong versions of such rhetoric as part of their ethical fiber. ÒBadÓ archetypes, however, foster categorical ambiguity on one or numerous levels of identity, whether obscuring boundaries between distinct social classes or ethno -racial groups. Put simply, the dangerous yield of such incursions is a blurring of the Selfsame/Other distinction crucial to mos t paradigms of social ordering. I assert that this narrative model o f hierarchicalized, compartmentalized social ethics is problematized in the U.S.Õs later antebellum period in that the young republic, within the fabric of its philosophical -ideological i nception, was grappling with the ethical implications of a radical reinterpretation of its republican ideals. The nation was also dealing with the increasing and 7 !alarming disintegration of conventional socia l, hierarchical boundaries that had ordered and totalized various categories of persons , as well as gove rned the interpersonal ethical relationships between them. Rising numbers of ÒfreeÓ and mobile African Americans and mixed -race persons, the social incorporation of American Indians, a beginning floo d of Catholic immigrants, the phenomenon of economically and politically ambitious tenant farmers, the emergence of an urban -industrial yeomanry , and the changing roles Ñdomestic, public and professional Ñof women in the U.S. made typological classification, and the socioeconomic and ideological -political structures that enforced it, almost impossible to sustain. Within this complicated, dynamic milieu would arise a volatile but necessary dialogue suturing the abstract debate over the U.S.Õs republican ideals and the vaguer, though no less present, conversat ion over the moral status of the particular person . What was the ethical duty owed to the differentiated human subject within a democratic state grounded on the governmentÕs, as well as the individual moral agentÕs, responsibili ty for an -ÒOtherÓ personÕs wellbeing? As I will demonstrate, this antebellum ethical preoccupation comes into relief when the concept of interpersonal duty involves not just the invocation of the SelfÕs moral responsibility for an individuated subject within a common socioeconomic, cultural or ethno -racial caste, but also for the unique, differentiated Other, the particularized , non-totalized human otherwise inscribed within a contrasting subs et of ÒlikeÓ subjects. Or in other words, what happens in a modern republic when the moral agent can no l onger dismiss the needs of the absolutely Other by categorizing him or her within a larger generalizing and dehumanizing totality of Others ÑÒthird par tiesÓÑregarding whom one has already absolved him or herself of moral responsibility on the basis of this ethno -racial, cultural or socioec onomic divide? The novels I examine grapple with varying facets of this question, directly and indirectly, sometimes 8 !with ambivalence and often with irony. I believe that within their ÒcarnivalesqueÓ dialogic narratives, these texts both reflect and contribute to this polyphonic ethical dialog ue in late -antebellum America. I pursue a historicized ethico -formalist read ing of antebellum fictions in order to probe the discursive possibilities latent in their moral imaginaries. II. Bakhtin Regarding my ethico -formalist focus on novelistic prose, I rely on the theory of Mikhail Bakhtin, in p articular his essay ÒDiscourse in the Novel.Ó BakhtinÕs exploration of the polyphonic or ÒcarnivalesqueÓ phenomenon of competing, socio -ideological discourses within the dialogic rhetorical makeup of narratives works well with a project engaging ambivalent and contradictory discourses, overt and latent, representative of national conversations about the meaning, and future, of American society at an anxious moment in U.S. history. 2 This idea of dialogue is the interpretive linchpin of my critical approach and textual analysis. Like Ba khtin, I employ the terms ÒdialogueÓ and ÒdialogicÓ on two levels. Literal ÒdialogueÓ refers to the textual representation or simulation of speaking, conversing subjects within the narrative. Als o like Bakhtin, I use the word dialogi c to connote the inte rplay or polyphony within the authorÕs otherwise monologic prose of contrasting and competing moral -ethical discourses ÑÒinternal dialogismÓ (ÒDiscourseÓ 326) Ñrelating to these fictional textsÕ rhetorical constructions of Otherness. As my discussion will m ake evident, sometimes these two distinct yet related senses of dialogue overlap: the literal dialogues in a novel de pict through the simulation of particularized speech patterns Ñregional accents, vernaculars or other individualizing !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!2 BakhtinÕs assertion of the primacy of the dialogic interface within language and narrative literature over the monologic Ñ in the sense of there always being within linguis tic expression, whether verbal utterance or its repr esentation, the assumption and a nticipation of a response Ñparallels LevinasÕ privileging of ethics over ontology, in that his understanding of the ultimate Good within a viable ethical system implies as well the encounter between a Self Ña speaking individual subjec tÑand an Other (or betw een two Others) wherein arises the moral invocation to assume responsibility for the wellbeing of the Other as a distinct, non -totalized person. 9 !mechanisms Ñdifferent i deological, philosophical and ethical positions. However, at times the larger discursive sense of ÒdialogicÓ implies how the narrativeÕs rhetorical machinery Ñplot, descriptive language, character archetypes and genre conventions Ñsuggests and services thes e competing interpersonal ethical discourses, and often with ambivalence and irony. Levinas and Bakhtin necessarily form the critical backbone of this project, for as I will show, just as LevinasÕ understanding of the ethics of alterity connotes conversati on with the Other, so too does BakhtinÕs literary theory on dialogue and discursive polyphon y in the novel invoke an ethics of particularity and interpersonal response for the non -totalized, individuated subject. 3 To begin with Levinas, he writes in Total ity and Infinity that Ò[t]o approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expressionÉ The relation with the Other, or Conversation, is a non-allergic relation, an ethical relationÓ (51), later explaining: [t]he claim to know and to reach the other i s realized in the relationship with the Other that is cast in the relation of language , where the essential is the interpellation, the vocative. The other is maintained and confirmed in his heterogeneity as soon as one calls upon him, be it only to say to him that the one cannot speak to him, to classify him as sick, to announce to him his death sentence; at the same time as grasped, wounded, outraged, he is Òrespected.Ó The invoked is not what I comprehend: he is not under a category . (69) Levinas then continues: in its expressive function language precisely maintains the other Ñto whom i t is addressed, whom it calls upon and invokes. To be sure, language does not consist !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!3 In the context of LevinasÕ thought, I define ÒindividuationÓ as the byproduct of Ò[a]n ethical relation that would thus not be a simple deficiency or privation of the unity of the One reduced to the multiplicity of individuals in the extension of the genus! Here, on the contrary, in ethical peace, a relation to the unassimilable other, the irreducible other, the unique other. Only the unique is irreducible and absolutely other!Ó ( Alterity 137-38). 10 !in invoking him as a being represented and thought. But this is why language institutes a relation irreducible to the subject -object relation: the revelation of the oth er... Language presupposes interlocutors, a plurality. Their commerce is not a representation of the one by the other, nor a participation in universality on the common plane of language. Their commerce, as we shall show shortly, is ethical. (73) What L evinas establishes here is the ethical link between vocalized language, in particular inter -subjective dialogue or Òconversation,Ó and the Òface to faceÓ encounter with the individuated Other that makes true ÒjusticeÓ possible in the world (71), in that su ch an encounter impedes the rhetoric of thematizing totalizat ion. Thus, I hold that in novels containing significant moral didacticism, the textual simulation of dialogic face to face encounters suggests an inter -subjective ethical exchange, the moment of mutual, ÒirreducibleÓ Selfsame/Other recognition that either bears or implies the ÒinvocationÓ of the moral agentÕs responsibility Ñduty Ñof Òbeing -for -the -OtherÓ ( Totality 261).4 As Jeffrey T. Nealon points out, the dialogic instance is where Levinas and Bakhtin intersect. Discoursing on LevinasÕ ethics of alterity as a response to authoritarian, rhetorical totalization in history and its contemporary relevance and applicability, Nealon explains that postmodern thinkers have increasingly turned to a dial ogic, intersubjective understanding of ethics. Dialogic intersubjectivity, understood in terms of an impassioned play of voices, [polyphnony, or the ÒcarnivalesqueÓ] has displaced the dominant modernist and existentialist metaphor of the monadic subject a nd its plaintive demand for social recognition and submission from the otherÉ Voice !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!4 Paul Ricoeur echoes much LevinasÕ thinking on the interrelationship of alterity, ethics and verbal exchange in Oneself as Another in his explication of the Òsituatio n of interlocutionÓ Ñconversation Ñ between individualized, ÒirreplaceableÓ speaking subjects (40 -49). 11 !can Òde -essentializeÓ ethics precisely because it also highlights an emphasis on ÔresponseÕÉone must learn to find oneÕs own voice and to hear the voice of the other within a common social context. It is precisely the movements of seeking, listening and answering that an intersubjective ethics of response might be born. And this points to the distinctly ethical character of dialogics: if social space is understood as a ric h dialogue of voices rather than a fight for recognition and domination, then the other is not necessarily a menacing or hostile force. (33) He then invokes BakhtinÕs Òethics of ÔanswerabilityÕÓ from Art and Answerability as a ÒdialogicÓ comple ment to Levi nasÕ project, though it is not congruent in every respect. He writes: [a]t first, this may seem like an odd pairing insofar as BakhtinÕs formidable reputation has not been built primarily as an ethicist. However,ÉBakhtinÕs dialogics is becoming recontex tualized as a powerful ethical discourse. [É] It is BakhtinÕs and LevinasÕs mutual insistence on the subjectÕs irreducible engagement with otherness that has brought them so centrally into the contemporary dialogue concerning ethical subjectivityÉ Both thi nkers deploy some notion of unassimilable excess as a bulwark against the reification of othernessÉ Both Bakhtin and Levinas insist that ethics exists in an ongoing obligation to respond to the other, rather than a static march toward some philosophical en d or conclusion. [É] For both Bakhtin and Levinas, then, it is ethics Ñanswerability or responsibility Ñthat is literally first philosophy: response to the concrete [particularized] other comes first, before the thematics of ontologyÉ Both Bakhtin and Levina s link ethical dialogue to the bewildering 12 !specificity of others and social contexts, rather than to the monologizing generality of ethical rules. (35 -36, 37). In addition to situating Bakhtin within the scope of Levinasian alterity ethics Ñor vice versa in that Bakhtin predates Levinas ÑNealon makes another crucial move tha t connects BakhtinÕs ethics of answerability with his formalist, dialogo -centric literary criticism: To use his most suggestive metaphor, the Bakhtinian subjectÕs encounter with the other is based on aesthetic [literary] models, where I am the author and the other is my character Ñsomeone with whom I relate and experimentÉ The hero or the other, then, is in some sense a version of the authorÉbut still remains absolutely irreducible to that author, remains in fact the marker of the authorÕs openness to his or her own excessive, eventful self -overcoming in dialogue with the otherÉin the eyes of the author, his or her text is precisely oneÉin which he or she is a voice situated among a carnival of many others. (41 -42) As will become evident during my analysis of the primary texts , the authorsÕ Ñand narratorsÕ Ñ voices add a significant rhetorical dimension to the discursive ethical polyphony that emerges in them, in addition to the ambivalent and often ironic ÒcarnivalesqueÓ interplay amongst the main characters. Yet, as Bakhtin also argues, the represented dialogues between characters are also instructive and of ethical importance. Anticipating the work of Hayden White, Bakhtin insists that Òth e study of verbal art can and must overcome the divorce between the abstract ÔformalÕ approach and the equally abstract ÔideologicalÕ approach. Form and content in discourse are one, once we understand that verbal discourse is a social phenomenonÓ (ÒDisco urseÓ 259). He then continues: ÒAs a living socio -ideological concrete thing, as heteroglot opinion, language, for the 13 !individual consciousness lies on the borderline between oneself and the other. [É] Therefore, the stratification of languageÉthat of par ticular world views, particular tendencies, particular individualsÉupon entering the novel establishes its own special order within it, and becomes a unique artistic systemÓ (293, 299). The key point here is the association, also seen in Levinas, between linguistic exchange, the denotation of Other ness from the Selfsame, and of individual particula rity. Regarding the singular, discursive import of dialogic representation within the genre of the novel, Bakhtin elaborates: heteroglossia either enters the n ovel in person (so to speak) and assumes material form within it in the images of speaking persons, or it determines, as a dialogizing background, the special resonance of novelistic discourse. [É] From this follows the decisive and distinctive importance of the novel as a genre: the human being in the novel is first, foremost and always a speaking human being; the novel requires speaking persons bringing with them their own unique ideological discourse, their own language. [É] The fundamental condition, t hat which makes a novel a novel, that which is responsible for its stylistic uniqueness, is the speaking person and his discourse . (332) Later, he links the novelistic representation of the speaking Ñor dialogizing Ñsubject with ethics: The enormous signif icance of the motif of the speaking person is obvious in the realm of ethical and legal thought and discourse. The speaking person and his discourse is, in these areas, the major topic of thought and speechÉ An independent, responsible and active discours e is the fundamental indicator of an ethical, legal and political human being. [É] In a word, the novelistic plot serves to represent speaking persons and their ideological worlds. What is realized in the 14 !novel is the process of coming to know oneÕs own la nguage as it is perceived in someone elseÕs language, coming to know oneÕs own horizon within someone elseÕs horizon. (349 -50, 365) According to Nealon, BakhtinÕs earlier works ÑArt and Answerability and Toward a Philosophy of the Act Ñinvest his later mast er work of formalist criticism, Ò Discourse in the Novel ,Ó with an inter -subjective ethical ballast when read against this larger intellectual backdrop which, as Nealon argues and I affirm, links BakhtinÕs ethical mediations with LevinasÕ work on alterity. Thus, I posit that an ethico -formalist reading of novelistic fiction employing LevinasÕ and BakhtinÕs theories holds critical merit as an insightful analytical interpretive strategy. III. Historical Context The works I have chosen to discuss ÑCooperÕs Lit tlepage Trilogy, MelvilleÕs Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno,Ó Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig Ñall contain competing ethical discourses and pronounced dialogic structures featuring Bakhtinian idiolects that signal polyphonic discursi ve eruptions. Furthermore, the context of their publication Ñthe late -antebellum U.S. Ñsituates them within significant conversations on interpersonal duty as an ethics of Òbeing -for -the -[differentiated] Other,Ó in that the modernizing republic was struggli ng with the moral implications of Indian removal, slavery, internal migration, foreign immigration, urban labor, poverty and gender oppression. As Lorna Wood affirms, a Levinasian ethical reading of earlier U.S. literature invites looking beyond ideolog ical power discourses. Wood claims that [w] hile LevinasÕs ideas concerning literary criticism do not preclude cultural and historical analysis Ñsuch analysis would be crucial t o the broader social work of justice Ñthey do refocus attention from issues of ideology and power relations 15 ![discourses] to the ethical considerations connected with recurrence as initiated by aesthetic experienceÉ LevinasÕs insistence on the delusory nature of freedom in being opens u p a space in which to consider both individual aesthetic experiences and cultural work in general as potentially more than [but not divorced from] struggles for and against systems of power . (172)5 Nealon goes further, articulating how different critica l camps, situated under the umbrella of identity politics, prove inadequate for engaging an ethics of Otherness to the extent that Levinas and Bakhtin manifest in their work, in that identity politics only succeeds Ñironically Ñin creating more thematized categories of Others and type amalgamations, as opposed to dignifying the individual person . He writes: For all its gains, such a contemporary intersubjective or multiculturalist reinscription of identity politics remains unable to deal with the other as other; it continues to thematize differences among persons, groups, and discourses in terms of (the impossibility of their) sameness. Each group or identity wants to rule the field, but it canÕt, so every group and individual must share this lack, mourn co llectively for what each canÕt have. In turn, however, it is precisely this lack or expropriation that bolsters the recriminatory politics of resentment that has plagued and continues to plague identity politics. (6 -7). !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!5 From a Bakhtinian angle, I posit that LevinasÕ ethics as employed in literary criticism need not be subsumed within a totalizing power discourse. Rather , what Wood suggests is the possibility of the ethical interrogation, within literature, of contested notions of justice and freedom. This intersection of ethical conversations surrounding American conceptions of justice and freedom with literary scholars hip offers the potential for a re -framing of the present discourse on northeastern antebellum texts. This would allow for the incorporation of an ethical -critical optic within a field which has long relied on analytics shaped by politics and ideology. 16 !I venture that whereas this limit ation of identity politics rears its head in general within contemporary literary criticism, as WoodÕs argument suggests, it has a specific application to American literature . Likewise, Nealon focuses his ÒethicalÓ assault: virtually all critical camps Ñgroups as diverse as Habermasians, feminists, postcolonial theorists, Marxists, Deleuzians, African Americanists, deconstructionists, Lacanians, queer theorists, and pragmatists Ñremain aligned in their attempts to critique a subjectivity that inexorably goe s about reducing the other to the categories of the self. Any ethical system that understands the other as simply Ôlike the selfÕ will be unable to respond adequately to the otherÕs uniqueness and singularity; indeed, such a reduction amounts to a kind of subjective colonialism, where all the otherÕs desires are reduced to the desires of the Ôhome country,Õ the self. (31 -32) That said, I temper NealonÕs position, which speaks to a certain level of critical Ò BalkanizationÓ within literary studies, with the observation that such articulations of Otherness within culture and history are necessary if we are to gain a nuanced understanding of the individualized Other and her/his experience. After all, it is for this differentiated subject that LevinasÕ and Bakh tinÕs ethics call us to respond or Òanswer,Ó either as an actual pers on we encounter face to face, or as an Other dialogically represented withi n textual discourse. Both the real and the textually simulated instance require, in tandem with recognizing the inter personal ethical importance of particularity, an awareness of socioeconomic, political, cultural and historical contexts. Therefore, my analysis integrates a significant concern for time and place. In addition to reflecting how American republican ism and ÒfreeÓ market capitalism of the mid 1800Õs in the North and South totalized, confined and dehumanized disempowered Others, 17 !the selected primary texts evidence ambivalence. That is, they show a polyphonic Ñand ironic Ñinstability of ideas respecting the status of the differentiated Other, in addition to a general hesitancy regarding the moral subjectÕs duty to the Other in a Òre volutionaryÓ capitalist republic obsessed with order and categorical control and uncomfortable with ambiguity. Thus, these narratives, even FernÕs and WilsonÕs, suggest within their dialogic structures a preoccupation with the discursive restoration of au thority, socioeconomic, ethno -racial hierarchies and ÒauthorizedÓ ethical relationships amidst menacing societal instability. Despite their thematic concerns with political, social and ethical regulation, though, these polyphonic works contain volatile di alogues voicing contextually transcendent counter -discourses on interpersonal ethics. These dialogues express a counterintuitive sense of duty to the singular subject, exposing a symbiosis between radical Others, peoples otherwise divided by contrasting m oral, political, cultural, socioeconomic or ethno -racial alignments. Again with respect to Bakhtin and Levinas, I counterbalance this theoretical assemblage of secondary authors and abstract critical thought with a selection of works that ground the primar y texts within their socioeconomic, cultural, political and historical contexts during the 1840Õs and Ô50Õs in the northeastern United States. This conscious methodological, geo -historical commitment is also due to the fact that the conceptions of time, h istory and chronology as framed within the primary works is significant to my ov erall discussion. Within this polyphony of voices I locate my own critical terrain regarding the evolving academic conversation on antebellum American literature. In proceedi ng to this end, I was inspired by the work of Myra Jehlen, in particular her introduction to the collected volume Ideology and Classic American Literature (1986, co -edited with Sacvan Bercovitch), and by Linda BoltonÕs Facing the Other: Ethical Disruption and the American Mind (2004). While tracing the chronology of 18 !literary criticism and scholarship, Jehlen announces the possibility of, and the demand for , a bolder breed of academic analysis treating Òc lassicÓ American literature, such as ideological form alism, that pushes beyond the longstanding interpretive boundaries of cultural materialism that have defined, and at times limited, the fieldÕs critical and methodological horizons (1 -18). With this broad critical heuristic in place, Linda Bolton models th e novel possibilities of applying LevinasÕ ethical theory of alterity to early republican and antebe llum texts as a new approach to an existing sociocultural discourse on the problematic, contradictory notion of justice in American thought and writing of t he late 1700Õs and 1800Õs. 6 In view of this critical genealogy, I build upon BoltonÕs approach to early American literature. I develop a hybrid or ÒsyntheticÓ analytical study of antebellum narrative prose that investigates not just the ethical questions they raise through a Levinasian optic, but also one which equally incorporates BakhtinÕs dialogic -polyphonic formalism as well as a historicist reading, the interpretive validity of which BakhtinÕs formalism still permits. Before again examining my choice in genre and texts, a glance at American scene of the mid 1800Õs is warranted. For early American historians and literary scholars, this particular moment, situated betw een Nullification and Secession with the Battle of New O rleans and Andrew Jacks onÕs in famous Trail of Tears in the background and the Mexican -American War in the fore , demands critical attention . Daniel Walker Howe testifies: Some Americans [after 1815] felt largely satisfied with their society the way it was, slavery and all, especially with the autonomy it provided to so many individual white men and their local communities . . . other Americans, however, were beguiled by the prospect of improvement to pursue economic !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!6 To my knowledge, Bolton is the first to apply in an extended, systematic fashion LevinasÕ ethical concept of alterity to early republican and antebellum texts and the development of the American ethical imagination. 19 ! diversification and social reform, even at the risk of compromising some precious personal and local independence. They envisioned qualitative, not just quantitative, progress for America. In the long run, the choice was more than an economic decision; it was a moral oneÉ (62, emphasis mine ) The volatile antebellum period was convulsed by questions regarding modernization, economic development, social change a nd the continuing evolution of rhetoric of national self -imagining. Howe touches a nerve in linking the notions of autonomy, morality and historical progress prior to Secession. These interrelated yet conflicting ideas are most effectively and affective ly mined within the genre of narrative writing. Not only does narrative evidence a Òpolitical unconsciousÓ as a text produced within a specific socio -historical context (Jameson 13), but it also represents through its mechanisms of action, plot movement, description, character and dialogue discursive simulations or Òdress rehearsalsÓ of competing models of American republicanism , cultur e, economy, citizenship and ethics in the decades before the Civil War. Again w ith respect to my focus on narrative as well as my further emphasis on dialogue , I borrow from the criticism of Mikhail Bakhtin. BakhtinÕs understanding of textual polyphony as a diversity of actualized and implied voices within narrative fits well with an analytic project treating a multitude of dialogized voices or idiolects representing a diverse, changi ng U.S. socio political topography. Ana lyzing diverse Bakhti nian dialogue s and polyphonies within mid -century American narratives from the northeast functions as a critical point of entry into a la rger conversation about how these texts were wrestling with late modern ethical thought on the American scene during the mid -1800Õs. That said, I discuss the antebellum emergence of a preoccupation with ethics in the sense of the demand placed on the moral agent to respond for the Good of the differentiated , particularized Other that interpersonal duty invokes. The latent presence of simultaneous, 20 !competing ideological -ethical discourses within n ortheaste rn antebellum fiction offers a concrete glimpse into how language , in particular the textual representation /simulation of dialogue , reflects the U.S.Õs shifting moral imaginary prior to 1860. Finally, aside from bei ng American novels from the mid 1800Õs, the texts I selected share a regional affinity, in that their authors are all rooted in either New Y ork or New England. My focus on the American northeast is not arbitrary: as the primary locus of political power and abolitionism as well as industrial manufacturing, urbanization, migration and immigration during the mid -1800Õs, this region before most o thers was confronting modern social problems and accompanying ethical concerns, as Thomas Skidmore would remind us. Labor issues, poverty, overcrowding and ethno -racial tensions threatened to bury the poor individual worker in a mass urban grave of generi c proletarians drained of personal identity and no longer warranting ethical concern as particularized subjects. The work of John Stuart Mill and Thomas Robert Malthus in particular evidence the western trend at the dawn of late modernity to treat human b eings as demographic abstractions. The texts I will discuss all engage facets of this greater ethical -historical problem of recognizing the individual human subject within a modern culture of interpersonal distancing and generalization. That said, my pur pose in selecting these texts is not to suggest that narra tive writing from the American n ortheast in the 18 40Õs and Ô50Õs is somehow more ÒnormativeÓ than from other regions of the United States or historical periods, though James Fenimore Cooper and Herm an Melville are two of the most well known American authors . Rather, what I do suggest in my reading of these works is that in spite of contextual relatedness, fissures in their ethical understanding and treatment of notions of duty, responsibility and Otherness appear in the textsÕ language and narrative structures when juxtaposing Cooper (New York), Melville (New York), Fanny Fern (Boston and New York) and Harriet E. Wilson 21 !(Connecticut and Massachusetts ). A diversity of cultural, political and socio -economic experience s amongst these authors is at play here, even within a limited geo -historical milieu that, in my study, excludes Edgar Allan Poe, Caroline Kirkland and William Gilmore Simms. IV. Overview of Chapters and Primary Texts In Chapter 1 I disc uss James Fenimore CooperÕs novels Satanstoe (1845), The Chainbearer (1845), and The Redskins (1846). I posit that the se text s manifest within their dialogic structure s salient examples of Bakhtinian discursive polyphony and idiolect. Furthermore, the no velsÕ juxtaposition of distinct dialects is complicated by a chronological polyphony where varying voices across a wide sp an of time synthesize their plots as narrative totalities, yet in their diversity and plurality destabilize the Òtotalization of histo ryÓ which would otherwise ÒthematizeÓ the Other ( Totality 52, 55, 65). However, in that the three novels have different historical settings, feature different central characters and reflect distinct rhetorical strategies as stand -alone works, I elect to e ngage each text individually , while still acknowledging the larger Ònarrative totalityÓ that the trilogy forms. I also note that the novels have two implied a udiences, one past and fictive Ñthe first -person narratorÕs audie nce Ñand another contemporary and actual Ñthe ÒEditorÕs.Ó W ithin this tangle of voices and idiolects is the historica l context surrounding the trilogyÕs composition, for the novelsÕ ethical ballast , implicit and explicit , is informed b y New York StateÕs Anti -Rent Wars of the 1830Õs and 40Õs. I also focus on how Cooper interweaves the ethical concerns of duty, interper sonal responsibility, familial estate obligation and Otherness within the textsÕ conventional storylines and archetypal characters. The result is a marked d eparture from liberal, romanticized notions of indi vidualism, freedom and natural rights that Cooper presents in The Pioneers (1823). 22 ! In the second chapter I focus on Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter (1854-55) and ÒBenito CerenoÓ (1855). Though both are s et in the late 1700Õs, they are nevertheless written against the incendiary backdrop of the Revolution s of 1848, the Compromise of 1850, the Kansas -Nebraska Act and Free Soil politics. MelvilleÕs texts expose in their ambivalent, unstable and ironic polyp honic dialogism the extent to which the late -antebellum republicÕs obsession with delineating and ÒconfiningÓ national ethical discourses that resisted such containment. I discuss how these narratives demonstrate the ways in which the urban -industrial Nor th and the rural -agrarian South offered competing versions of socioeconomic Otherness and interpersonal ethics in addition to their rival political views on federal republicanism and secession. In particular, Israel Potter champions the industrial yeoman as oppressed Other, as well as the figure of the African slave in ÒBenito Cereno.Ó Furthermore, in both works the notions of hybrid identity and language complicate the representation of particularized Otherness and thus the interpersonal ethical response that the individuated Other invokes according to LevinasÕ paradigm. Finally, Chapter 3 includes close readings of Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall (1854) and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig (1859). As I show, these novels work well within a project employing LevinasÕ ethical theory of alterity as well as BakhtinÕs formalism, in that both authors call attention to interpersonal ethical concerns surrounding sociocultural constructions of the O ther in the ÒprogressiveÓ and ÒabolitionistÓ North: antebellum women oppressed within the domestic and the urban -professional sphere as well as liminal housewives and indentured mulatta girls. They also showcase dialogic structures that mirror the polypho nic ethical discourses contained in their narratives. In this final chapter, I focus in particular on the dialogic novelistic construction of sentimental/melodramatic archetypes and their ambivalent and ironic deployment in FernÕs and WilsonÕs novels. Dr awing from LevinasÕ description of the ÒpersecutorÓ as a particular 23 !Other for whom the moral subject must also assume ethical responsibility ( Otherwise 111), I show how the prevailing sentimental -rhetorical discourse fueled by the novelsÕ female, sympathet ic protagonists and vilified antagonists obscures a competing counter -discourse within the texts. I argue that this ethical counter -discourse destabilizes FernÕs and WilsonÕs ÒstaticÓ characters, resulting in more complicated Ñand rhetorically problematic Ñfigures that embody aspects of the heroine and villainess archetypes, blurring the boundary between the victimized Other and the Selfsame oppressor. By engaging this permutation of Levinasian ethic s, I neither ignore nor diminish pertinent, and necessar y, historicist, deconstructionist and postcolonial readings done within early American ist studies: on the contrary, my intervention build s upon and work s in tandem with such criticism, for despite Ne alonÕs legitimate admonitions, identity politics has cont ributed much to the field. Still, like Nealon I hope that the application of Levinas Õ theory of alterity guards against theoretical myopia, for as Lorna Wood expounds, ÒLevinasÕs privileging of the Other as transcendent lays bare questionable assumptions underlying any critical theory that views struggles for negative (in LevinasÕ terms, Ôarbitrary and violentÕ) freedom and universal recognition of every individual within a totality as the goals toward which society ought to moveÓ (172 -73). Thus, I propos e a synthesis of, rather than opposition between, Levinasian ethics and critical approaches engaging identity politics and interrogating Òpower discoursesÓ within ear lier U.S. literature. I submit that dialogic narrative, in its form and substance, is about storytelling. The narratives that I selected each tell a Òstory Ó about nineteenth -century American ideology, politics and culture generally, but even more compellingly about the development of the ethical principle of interpersonal re sponsibility in relation to Otherness within the northeastern U.S. in the mid 24 !1800Õs. Levinas and Bakhtin provide the analytical optics for this critical project. My objective, in broad strokes, is to trace the competing understandings of ethics , Otherne ss and the demands of interpersonal duty that contributed, in 1860, to a destabilizing and dramatic social, political and cultural disruption within the adolescent republic . That said, Cooper, Melville, Fern and Wilson each demonstrate a facet of the esca lating discursive te nsion between a moral sense of duty for the differentiated, particular Other versus an emergent republican 7 preoccupation with categorizing groups of persons as types inscribed within one or several totalities: social classes, cultures, races, genders, political factions, etc . Put simply , these narratives reveal competing ethical invocations. That is, what con stitutes the higher calling in an ÒethicalÓ republic Ñthe Good of the unique Other, or a more dispassionate philosophical allegiance to genera lized sociopolitical sectors and abstract ethical principles such as law, justice, equality or democ racy? I argue that despite heavy -handed didacticism regarding ethical principle within these texts, polyphonic counter -discourse s erupt within the ir dialogic structures, drawing the readerÕs gaze back to the fundamental question that Levinas would later pursue and from which I have adapted my projectÕs title: ÒWhy does the other concern me?... Am I my brotherÕs keeper?Ó ( Otherwise 117). That is, where lay the moral command to assume responsibility Òfor -the -Other Ó as a unique person , and not just as a representative type ? Am I my Other Õs keeper? I hold that it was the collective failure to discern this sense of interpersonal responsibility for the differentiated Other in antebellum America, a failure represented by the fiction that this epoch spawned, that in part led to the collapse of public dialogue and political consensus that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!7 I use the term ÒrepublicanÓ within th is context in that the U.S.Õs republican government necessarily orders and represents its citizenry Ñas well as omitting ÒOtherÓ persons Ñby placing them into constituencies, i.e. districts, states, munici palities, territories or other totalities which bear strong ethno -cultural and class identifiers: this was true in particular during the early republican and antebellum periods. This is in a contrast to a pure ÒdemocraticÓ system, which champions a Òone person, one voteÓ approach that, while impractical, ch aotic and prone to manipulation, by its nature maintains a sense of the citizen as a distinct individual . 25 !preceded slaveryÕs final chapter , the Civil Wa r and the military subjugation o f the remaining autonomous American I ndian nations to the west. As Levinas claims, the modern StateÕs recourse to dehumanizing tactics of brute force, violent domination and wars of annihilation are the telltale symptoms of will-to-power totalization, spawned by the empowered political communityÕs fearful need to categorize, to Òabsorb,Ó to render ÒSameÓ and master a different, and dangerous , Other ( Totality 222). To the extent that Cooper, Melville, Fern and Wilson each contribute to the telling of that tragic narrative of systematic totalization, ethical ambivalence and epic moral failure, I a m invested in relating something of their Òstories.Ó 26 ! CHA PTER 1: Historicizing an Ethics of Otherness: Dialogism and Ambivalent Constructions of Duty in James Fenimore CooperÕs Littlepage Trilogy James Fenimore CooperÕs Littlepage trilogy of Satanstoe: A Tale of the Colony (1845), The Chainbearer; or the Littlepage Manuscripts (1845), and The Redskins; or Indian and Injin (1846) is a conduit to understanding CooperÕs evolving thought on American republicanism, law, interpersonal ethics, social economy and Otherness as he entered mi ddle age. Therefore, I submit along with Daniel Marder that the CooperÕs stories about New York in the 1700Õs and 1800Õs are more than a reaction to New YorkÕs Anti -Rent controversy of the 1830Õs and Ô40Õs (31), though the textsÕ overt didactic rhetoric about that controversy dominates their plotlines and dialogues. In dealing with the Anti -Rent controversy allegorically and literally, I argue with Jesse Bier that Cooper demonstrates more ambivalent thinking respecting these topics than the texts suggest at first glance. 1 Such an assertion is striking, in that many view CooperÕs later writing as reflecting a time when his moral, social and political views had concretized around a conservative Democratic discourse on American culture and its place in histo ry. Daniel Marder argues: [i]n the Littlepage trilogy, Cooper nostalgically winds through the cycle of exile one more time, not of the Leatherstocking being driven from his wilderness home but of the gentleman, the aristocratic democrat, from his village patriarchy. The !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 Nevertheless, Marder points out that on the literal level, Òthe anti -rent wars served to revive lost causesÉ In psychological terms, [CooperÕs] op position to the moneyless tenants, refusing to pay rents and demanding ownership rivaled his libel suits as an outlet for vengeance. It also provided as sense of allegiance with some acceptable society, the Dutch patroonsÓ (31). 27 !ostensible purpose is to show the validity of the New York land patents and how subversion of them, even by legislated changes of the law, would erode American society and bring it to the brink of destruction. (31) That said, the Littlepage novelsÕ polyphonic dialogic structures open fis sures within the monolithic or monologic worldview that Cooper otherwise constructs on the sociopolitical and ethical levels. 2 We find evidence of this creative instab ility in the following motifs: idiolectical miscommunication, confused social roles, captivity, shifting allegiances, sympathetic antagonists and melodramatic scenes of apocalypse. These narrative elements impact how we understand CooperÕs conflicted thoughts on duty , ethics and socia l ordering in the republic. A single, prevalent discourse is not obvious, a counterintuitive assertion in light of the popular view of CooperÕs Òhardened latter stageÓ (Bier 514). To illustrate this textual/rhetorical ambivalence, I offer a reading of th e ÒapocalypticÓ end of the third novel. At the conclusion of The Redskins , the ÒEditorÓ notes the absence of a conclusive resolution to Hugh LittlepageÕs Ñand thus the Littlepage trilogyÕs Ñnarrative. Despite the moral defeat of the Anti -Renter ÒInjins,Ó th e novel ends with a pessimistic lament, as Hugh and family leave their ancestral estate, Ravensnest, for Washington in search of just, ÒlegalÓ redress regarding the Anti -Rent disputes in the Hudson Valley (365). The following statement from the ÒNote by t he EditorÓ is telling: ÒMr. [Hugh] Littlepage significantly remarked, at parting, that should Washington fail him, he has the refuge of Florence open, where he can reside among the other victims of oppression, with the advantage of being admired as a refug e from republican tyrannyÓ (365). The final EditorÕs note affirms that a battle has been won ÑÒthe ÔInjunsÕ are all defunctÕ (364) Ñbut that this ÒvictoryÓ is ephemeral, as the war to preserve Òthe more valuable !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!2 This statement assumes that CooperÕs didacticism always steer s him toward concrete, unified ideological rhetoric: some Americanists, like Jerome McGann and myself, do not hold this view. 28 !parts of the institutions of this countryÓ (3 65) will be lost if populist mobocracy prevails over law, order, morality and justice Ñthe true spirit of 1840Õs genteel republicanism. The novelÕs finale chronicles a fighting retreat, as the ruling class of a doomed regime flees a relentless enemy, prepa ring to enter exile should their ÒcapitolÓ fall. Though the Editor mentions the disguised Òi njins,Ó the ÒenemyÓ here is vague; he refers in general to a Ònefarious spirit of cupidityÓ and, ironically, to Òrepublican tyrannyÓ (365). Similar to the Anti -Ren ters in calico masks, the identity of the actual enemy of American republicanism is difficult for Cooper to specify. As with termites, we see the destructive results of their activity, but the agents remain hidden. Cooper can identify the Òvictims of opp ressionÓ (365): the genteel Littlepages and the actual Hudson Valley land barons they represent. Still, despite CooperÕs excoriation of the Anti -RentersÕ legal, political and economic abuses, these generic antagonists, epitomized by the intergenerational S eneca -Jason Newcome a malgamation, function like the i njinsÕ calico masks and feathers: we know what these categorical descriptions are supposed to represent, yet we have the sense that more lies beneath Coope rÕs stereotypical rendering of Yankee Anti -Rente rs. In depicting genteel Hudson Valley landowners as wronged, soon -to-be dispossessed victims , Cooper portrays them as Other. For antebellum conservatives, educated Americans with hereditary wealth should be moral and cultural leaders in the republicÕs id eal, patriarchal social hierarchy. Yet instead of focusing on the ethical duty that these ÒpatriciansÓ owe to ÒplebianÓ citizens in a republic, Cooper emphasizes the responsibility and agency of the Òmasses,Ó the government and the legal system respecting a vulnerable, passive gentility inclined to abandon their tenants to save themselves. This prompts the question: who are the plebian Others ironically terrifying their patrician Others? I a rgue that CooperÕs Anti -Renter i njins are 29 !rhetorical placeholders for the proletarian bogeymen of conservative Northern Whigs and Democrats in the 1840Õs, the urban working classes of immigrants and free African Americans. Furthermore, making the ÒfacelessÓ mass of Injun Anti -Renters a generic enemyÑthe embodiment of a Ònefarious spiritÓ Ñplaces them within a depersonalizing, mastering totality, negating the interpersonal ethical response that, according to Levinas, they would invoke as individuated Others. 3 Conversely, in being individually named and described in the EditorÕs note, the wealthy Littlepages usurp this ethical r esponse as unique Others while fleeing the responsibility for their Others Ñthe present tenants under historic lease contracts as well as their family legacy and posterity Ñthat their status as estate holders demands. 4 I posit that this circumstance conflicts with CooperÕs overt rhetoric in novels preoccupie d with reinforcing traditional republican notions of moral obligation and allegiance. In other words, the LittlepagesÕ esc ape fails to buttress CooperÕs conservative ethics of duty and order as it ÒoughtÓ to be deployed between differentiated individuals, cultural groups and social classes. CooperÕs novels typically evince a strong moral compass, though his morality, like anyoneÕs, was shaped by historical and cultural context. And though all narrative contains a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!3 In ÒStranger HistoryÓ Lloyd Pratt paraphrases Nancy Fraser, who encapsulates the ethical stakes of interpersonal recognition: Òin political philosophy, recognition Ôdesignates an ideal reciprocal relationship between subjects in which each sees the other as its equal and also as separate from it.Õ This relationship between subjects [É] Ôis deemed constitutive for subjectivity; one becomes an individual subject only in virtue of recognizing, and being recognized by, another subject. Thus, ÒrecognitionÓ im plies the Hegelian thesisÉ that social relations are prior to individuals and intersubjectivity is prior to subjectivityÓ (159). I would argue that Fraser (inadvertently) via Hegel touches on LevinasÕ thesis on the primacy of interpersonal ethics over ontol ogy, which is significant for me here in that a) Pratt, like Linda Bolton, applies the concept of ÒalterityÓ to nineteenth -century American literature and also in that b) he invokes a sense of diachronicity within his overall algorithm treating the Otherne ss of the ÒmassesÓ textually relegated to an ÒinferiorÓ past defined by an intellectually superior present. As I will show throughout this chapter, the specter of diachronic historical responsibility for Others forms part of CooperÕs ethical and ideologic al preoccupation within the multi -generational narrative of the Littlepage trilogy, though with a vector opposite to PrattÕs: CooperÕs ÒOtherÓ concern is for an unfinished present and a foreboding future for the American republic. 4 Lloyd PrattÕs discus sio n is illuminating , as he invokes a sense of responsibility for individualized Others not just in the present, but a across a diachronic spectrum: Òwe find ourselves owing recognition to and requiring it from not only those who live among us; we also owe it to and require it from those who died long ago but whose significance is still in the mak ingÓ (159). I argue that this historical ethos is strong in the first two Littlepage novels, but ironically falters in The Redskins , as romanti cized nostalgia for th e past, cynicism f or the present and pessimism regarding th e future begin to crowd out moral rhetoric pointing to an intergenerational sense of duty. 30 !moral dimension, CooperÕs dialogic constructions of duty show considerable energy. 5 Throughout his writing career, Cooper, like Balzac, hearkens back to an eightee nth -century model in devoting a significant amount of narrative space to explaining his charactersÕ ethical thought processes and moral decisions. This pertains in particular to their sense of allegiance to abstract principles as well as their dialogic in teractions with other persons and political communities. 6 His most iconic character, Natty Bumppo, is a case in point, though the lesser known Tom Coffin or Andries Coejemans function similarly: whether it be the loyal relationships to Oliver Effingham an d John Mohegan of The Pioneers (1823) or NattyÕs choice of celibacy in The Deerslayer (1841), Cooper is meticulous in unfolding the sociocultural rationale and et hos undergirding his charactersÕ motives. And though CooperÕs legal and sociopolitical views evolve throughout his long writing career, biographical study reveals his philosophical and ideological investments, even in novels set in times and places remote from CooperÕs nineteenth -century upstate New York. 7 Despite CooperÕs sociopolitical and mora l didacticism, though, moments of ambivalence erupt within his novelsÕ dialogic structures, revealing competing preoccupations that destabi lize CooperÕs otherwise obvious ideological and ethical allegiances as a conservative Democrat. Regarding the later Cooper, Jesse Biers remarks, Òno matter how overt he appears to be, he is a man of deep fissures and of apparent paradoxes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!5 In adopting LevinasÕ ethical method , I privilege the spoken , dialogic moment as a proxy for LevinasÕ not ion of the Òface to faceÓ encounter with the non -totalized, individualized Other , as this dialogue invokes the free subject Õs literal response for the Good of this particular Other. 6 Louise K. Barnett writes in Authority and Speech : Ò[u]until a fairly rec ent period in literary history, the novel was identified as the genre that expressed in fiction the dynamic of the individual and society,Ó as well as a literary form that functioned as an out growth of Òpublic languageÉ whose appeal to uniformity of percep tion, as well as thought, is particularly blatant, a discourse that eschews a total or unbiased view and functions prescriptively to maintain the values and attitudes of some collective entity. The vision of the world inculcated by public language is inev itably some sort of official or authorized versionÓ (6 ). I counter that though such may be the discursive project within CooperÕs novels , even his most didactic narratives resis t serving a single ideological totality. 7 Some critics suggest that the didactic voices of CooperÕs characters become intertwined with the author Õs, though as Jerome McGann claims, this phenomenon is CooperÕs choice, not an unintend ed aesthetic/ rhetorical by -product of his inability to distance himself from hi s characters (ÒFenimore CooperÕs Anti -AestheticÓ 129 -30). 31 !that are immitigable though highly interesting contradictionsÓ (511). 8 But so was the Democratic Party in the first half of the 1840 Õs as home to rival political factions led by Andrew Jackson, John C. Calhoun, Martin van Buren and New YorkÕs William H. Seward. As ÒparadoxicalÓ Democrat, Cooper was in esteemed company. 9 Within this chapter, then, I engage CooperÕs Littlepage Trilogy (1845-46), whose polyphony problematizes conventional historicist readings of Cooper and the Sitz im Leben that his fiction ÒoughtÓ to represent. I focus on contradictory constructions of Otherness that inflect or undercut CooperÕs overt conceptions of e thical responsibility for the Other, sociopolitical allegiance and the rule of law in a well -ordered republic. 10 Whereas some critics, such as Charles Hansford Adams, focus on CooperÕs obsession with civil and common law guarantors of divine natural law an d the hierarchical structures that they ÒnaturallyÓ ordain (5), I assert that his perspectives, implicit or explicit, on law, polity or social order are actualized first by CooperÕs moral imagination and ethics. 11 That CooperÕs views evolve does not dimini sh this reality. And though Adams interconnects CooperÕs legal preoccupations with his understanding of the Self and individual character as defined by the law within public and private spheres (5), I argue that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!8 On the yield of these tensions within CooperÕs novels, Charles Hansford Adams posits in ÒGuardian of the LawÓ : Òthe readerÕs effort to hold in suspension the possibilities Cooper explores Ñhis conf licting images and contradictory insights Ñis a small price to pay for the moral energy generated by his ambivalencesÓ (24, emphasis mine ). 9There are Ògreat fissuresÓ within Cooper scholarship as well, even that which admits his contradictions. According to Steven Watts, Ò[t]he great denouncer of crude popular politics, demagoguery, and selfish interest -group maneuver was himself, as it turns out, a solid Jacksonian Democrat. Cooper supported ÔOld HickoryÕ in the 1828 election and continued to do so throu ghout the following decadeÓ (71). Marius Bewley would temper this , and I hold that regardless of where Cooper was politically in the 1830Õ s, by the mid 1840Õs he was a different political animal. 10 Although my focus is not the role of law in CooperÕs fict ion per se , law form s a powerful current in his writing. However, in that I examine ethical responsibility as represented in character dialogues, law and authority are significant elements in this discussion . Adams argues respecting CooperÕs milieu: Ò[i] n the swarm of ethnic and religious groups and subgroups, law provided an established framework for social intercourse. The law, with its precise description of the obligations of each to each, and its formidable array of rituals designed to enforce those bonds, reduced social friction in a world characterized by competing codes of behaviorÓ (5). 11 Catherine Zuckert speaks to the ethical underpinnings of politicized American novels manifested through their principal characters : ÒGreat American novels also extend American political thought by showing the effects of the regime on the formation of characterÉ Since novels often depict ÔlÕeducation sentimentalÕ of their characters, these works of fiction can provide important insights into the effect community standards of right and wrong have upon the development of individual charactersÓ (ÒAmerican Novelists as Political ThinkersÓ 684). 32 !if ethics precedes law in CooperÕs fiction as it precedes ontological totalization in LevinasÕ philosophy, so does the primary ethical duty of the Selfsame to be for the individualized Other precede political or legal definition of the Self. From this last point comes the following claim: CooperÕs ambivalence respecting interpersonal ethical obligations for others and ÒOthersÓ in the Littlepage novels is fueled by his attachment to American common law which safeguards CooperÕs hierarchical visions of republicanism, social economy, human beh avior and natural law. Yet by the 1840Õs these visions were ironically threatening the paradigms of moral law, order and individuality that he held dear. 12 As a modernizing American nation changed socially, politically and economically, Cooper attempted t o resolve this tension within his legalistic Littlepage novels by positing hyper -controlle d, ethical dialogues with more Òmanageable,Ó amalgamated Others, Yankees, American Indians and women. These function as affective outlets for his ÒOtherÓ source of u nease, the prospect of African Americans gaining legal status as individualized citizens, 13 which would contribute to the problematic rise of a lower class democracy comprised of poor whites, immigrants and now ÒfreeÓ blacks. CooperÕs discomfort with the i mpending traumatic end of slavery, 14 when juxtaposed with his moral/ethical ambivalence, is thematically disruptive throughout the Littlepage novels, resisting rhetorical containment. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!12 Daniel Marder points out in ÒCooperÕs Second CycleÓ that Cooper portrays a Òlicentious majority who use their lawful freedo ms in the later novels to violate natural and moral law and to change the civil law. They wrest power from the narrowing class of the principled and distinguished, the landed gentry. This is the story Cooper tells in various forms and guises during the l ast decade of his lifeÓ (23), later adding that Ò[h]e desired, rather, humble obedience to civil law and the preservation of the order established by the landed gentryÓ (27). 13 In Facing the Other Linda Bolton links Levinas ethical concept of the Òthird pa rtyÓ to the African slave : ÒThe third party, as Levinasian ethics reminds us, is the Other to whom I have not chosen to obligate myself. She is the one who stands invisibly beside and behind the Other whose face [or voice, as I choose to deploy this notio n] I have learned to recognize and whom I may be willing to admit into the narrative of history w here the rule of ÔsamenessÕ [totalizatio n] prevailsÓ (14). T he character of the loyal hou se slave Jaap functions as the Òthird partyÓ Other to Susquesus, the extolled American Indian Other , that the narrators and Cooper ÒrecognizeÓ and Òadmit. Ó 14 Despite the ÒGreat Compromi seÓ of 1850, I argue that before and after this date many Americans, David Walker not the least, viewed slavery as a doomed institution, a nd the Union as a nation would have to endure a traumatic evolution as the 20 th century approached, ev en from the perspective of steadfast political optimists. 33 !Bill Christopherson probes this dilemma of race relations, focusing on ho w slavery, after the Missouri Compromise in 1820 -21, was becoming a source of social, political and racial hysteria North and South in the 1820Õs. Whereas he argues that violent American Indians function for Cooper as allegorical racial proxies for latent fears of slave insurrection in The Last of the Mohicans (1826), The Pioneers (1823) and The Prairie (1827), I posit that the locus of this unease shifts a generation later for Cooper and the U.S., though as Christopherson concedes, Ò[g]auging CooperÕs tho ughts on slavery isnÕt easyÓ (282). As North and South became more polarized, by the1840Õs the thinking of Northern conservatives like Cooper turns ambivalent and alarmist as the prospect of a large, uneducated and free black population contributing to th e Òtyranny of the majorityÓ comes closer to reality. Daniel Marder explains that for Cooper, Òthe people themselves are the most serious social danger. The majority are not talented, not gifted with intelligence, and not educated. Such democracy drowns its proper leaders, men of natural talent, in mediocrityÓ (26). Given CooperÕs racism towards African Americans in The American Democrat and other writing, 15 I extrapolate that despite the inherent, harmful moral evils that Cooper saw in slavery, he felt t hat the infusion of a massive population of unrefined, landless ÒplebeiansÓ into American society would hasten the republicÕs apocalypse, a grim future vision to which he had become resigned by the1830Õs and which was epitomized in The Crater (1847) four y ears before his death (Marder 35). 16 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!15 See CooperÕs sections ÒOn Slavery,Ó ÒOn American SlaveryÓ and ÒOn Slavery in the District o f C olumbiaÓ in The American Democrat (220-24). 16 Donald A. Ringe writes in ÒCooperÕs Littlepage NovelsÓ: ÒCooper was well aware of a principle of change operating throughout society, and although he was certainly unsympathetic with the growing democracy of th e 1840Õs and the tenantsÕ revolt in the Anti -Rent War, he was far too intelligent a man to believe that change could be halted or society return to what it had been in his youthÓ (281). 34 !That said, I submit that the racial paranoia that Christopherson analyzes in The Last of the Mohicans evolves from a conversation engaging white fears about violent social upheaval 17 to one that also encompasses an ethica l dimension as manifested in apprehensions concerning the well-being of future American citizens and society. Furthermore, as American Indians receded into a contained, totalized, and thus non -threatening history, their affective capacity to embody such s ublime racial anxieties had become by 1845 inadequate for Cooper and his readers. 18 A new question thus reared its head in the collective American consciousness: what would constitute the individual citizenÕs and the republic Õs moral duty respecting a host of newly freed African American Others after the inevitable collapse of slavery? As much as the apocalyptic prospect of slaveryÕs sudden, universal abolition terrified whites North and South, the overarching unease, I argue, lay not in the public debates over racial, social and political justice that would follow this radical upheaval. Rather, t his disquietude pertained to the ways in which such a seismic shift in the U. S.Õs sociocultural topography would reorient individual citizensÕ interpersonal ethi cal relationships with one another in a modern, diverse republic. CooperÕs treatment of this question through the characters, dialogues, and editorializing sociopolitical commentary of his Anti -Rent novels is the focus of this chapter. 19 I contend there is a polyphonic dialogue within these texts that features three competing discourses on interpersonal ethical obligation Ñduty Ñin the antebellum U.S. that are a lternately residual, dominant and emergent. Thus, I see CooperÕs notion of duty for the unique Other in a post -!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!17 Ringe adds that Òall three [Littlepage] novels are linked by an ever recurring threat of violent change, symbolized most clearly by the squatter and the rebellious tenantsÓ (283). 18 Rin ge argues that ÒSusquesusÉ survives as a prod to the consciences of the whites, for he reminds them that the lands they are fighting over we re bought at the price of a grievous wrong to the original owners [the American Indians]Ó (282). I add that suc h a lament is only possible in hindsight, after a former existential threat has been neutralized, therefore allow ing the victors ( Euro -Americans ) to apprehend from a safe his torical distance a romanticized sense of injustice. 19 According to Adams, ÒCooperÕs overriding concern with creating in his books a world of order [specifically regarding social relations and obligations] typically leads him t o fabricate conclusions that paper over, unconvincingly, these contradictionsÓ (19). 35 !abolition American society operative within three primary historical paradigms: the romantic -nostalgic, the nationalist -progressive and the cyclic -eschatological Ñthis last model is linked to an ominous, Skidmorean proto -socialism. 20 But as Bill Christopherson and others have argued regarding antebellum American novels, often their deeper ethical, social or ideological significance is obscured, sometimes consciously (281), stopping short of being pure allegories. I claim that the Littlepage trilogy is an exception to this tendency in that these novels, the final two in particular, are outspoken in their sympathy for the landlords Õ ÒlegalÓ position during New York StateÕs Anti -Rent controversy 21. Erected around the Anti -Rent issue is a scaffol ding of semi-aristocratic, anti -Jacksonian and anti -New England rhetoric which champions the non-Yankee history of New York State as a sociocultural prototype of what the U.S. should be. Also important to note is that fact that New York was a slave state until 1827: the first two novels in the sequence feature CooperÕs portrayal of slavery in New York. It is here where CooperÕs ambivalence begins to show, for though Satanstoe appears to champion New YorkÕs colonial permutation of the Òpeculiar institutio nÓ in contrast to an unfavorable depiction of Southern slavery, the Littepage novels overall betray a sympathy not just toward slavery, but also respecting the antebellum SouthÕs views on quasi -aristocratic social hierarchy, political autonomy and economy. Though Cooper as a Northerner was nominally anti -slavery and as a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!20 For an approximation of these modalities of Co operÕs historical imagination, s ee Edgar A. DrydenÕs analysis of The Crater in ÒHistory and ProgressÓ (63 -64). Daniel Mard er, however, renders CooperÕ s ÒtrifurcatedÓ thinking in more negative terms, identifying social, political and ethical disillusion in his later texts: ÒThe radical reformers epitomized licentious grasping, destroying what order existed. The Whigs acted al ways to make money, never with popular opinion, adhering to the idea of the free press and trial by jury, which gave more power to the ignorant than the knowledgeable since they were greater in number. Alone, Cooper tended to become more strident, shoutin g for attention to his notion of rational behaviorÓ (27). Whereas MarderÕs categories do not parallel as near as D rydenÕs the analytic model of competing dialogic discourses that I employ , there is some congruence. 21 Kay Seymour House explains in the ÒHistorical IntroductionÓ to Satanstoe that the Anti -Rent Wars were a n occurrence where some New York tenants refused to honor the terms of their leases to the point of armed resistance and on the ÒprincipledÓ grounds that their landlordsÕ conditio ns were Òanti -republicanÓ (xxiii -xx). 36 !Democrat anti -aristocracy, though not anti -gentility or anti -patriarchy, 22 the Littlepage novels, in particular The Redskins , promote anxieties over democratic populism in step with those f elt by Southern Òaristocrats,Ó Democrats and Whigs, prior to Secession. 23 That said, CooperÕs treatment of American slavery and the Anti -Rent Wars are topical portals through which we can peer into the Littlepage trilogyÕs dominant ethical preoccupation: t he tension between allegiance to a flawed American republic and a larger sense of interpersonal duty owed to oneÕs fellows, family, posterity and the law. For Cooper, this ÒdutyÓ demanded the preservation of a genteel hierarchy, including class -mediated r elationships with oneÕs social superiors, inferiors and peers. 24 In the post -Jackson era, the crucial debate for Cooper might be framed thus: who was more tyrannical, the oppressive land barons or the ÒplebianÓ populist mob seeking to deprive the rich of l and, liberty and even life through extreme mode s of social ÒlevelingÓ (OÕDonnell 406)? 25 Who was the villain and who was the victimized Other? !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!22 The term ÒaristocracyÓ demands unpacking . This term often connotes a wealthy, educated class that wield s disproportionate influenc e in society. Cooper, however, understood ÒaristocratÓ in the archaic continental se nse as one who, connected with royal or noble families, holds formal political power (EnglandÕs ana chronistic House of Lords) as opposed to Ò just Ó belonging to a genteel, wealthy class. In the wake of Marxis m, some contest distinguishing ÒgentilityÓ from a formal ruling class, titles or no. As Donald Ringe implies in ÒCooperÕs Littlepage Novels: Change and Stability in American Society,Ó this line is also blurred i n the Littlepage trilogy (283 -84), though Cooper underscores the difference in Satanstoe Ñtho ugh quite wealthy, Herman Mordaunt was not a colonial ÒaristocratÓ Ñand in The Chainbearer , expressing a moral preference for gentility . Hence, Anneke Mordaunt chooses Corny over the baronet Bulstrode, and young Mordaunt marries the poor Duss Malbone since her education and refinement still ma ke her a Òlady .Ó The social rhetoric within The Redskins , however, becomes more apologetic respecting European aristocracy, amalgamat ing it with American ÒgentilityÓ in a positive light. 23 The anti -majoritarian socio political views of South Carolinian John C. Cal houn in the 1840Õs are similar to CooperÕs in the Littlepage novels. Orestes Brownson, a supporter of Calhoun, also mirrors CooperÕs soci opolitical thinking on re publicanism during the same period. See Wilentz, The Rise of American Democracy (499 -501, 535). 24 Marder comments that Ò[a]though [Cooper] proclaimed himself loyal to America to the end of his years, Cooper had reduced his principle of loyalty to authority for its own sakeÓ (29), ex plaining later that Ò[t]here is no moral law left for Cooper, only civil law based on the ConstitutionÓ (35). I understand this evolution in CooperÕs thought as evidence that pessimism regarding the future of the antebellum or Òpost -bellumÓ r epublic had p ushed him beyond earlier incarnation s of American nationalism, cultural triumphalism or progressive humanism, leaving him to cling to a conception of authority as a bulwark against the destructive social -leveling which , in his view, interpersonal morality and just laws had failed to check. 25 In addition to fears of slave uprisings, Thomas Wilson DorrÕs violent crusade for majority rule in Rhode Island in 1841-42 influenced the thought of wary conservatives, Democrats and Whigs, in the n ortheast (Wilentz 539 -45). 37 ! From a historical perspective, the answer to this question is complex. But the fact that this issue was haunti ng the work of an older Cooper in a different, more pronounced way than in his earlier novels is telling. I do not argue that there is a linear connection between the evolution of CooperÕs views on American nationhood and the rising political and economic tensions between North and South. Still, CooperÕs cultural and regional xenophobia respecting French, English, Iroquois and New Englander incursions into New York and his upper class resistance to what he perceived as disruptive, greedy, ambitious and cr iminal outsiders ironic ally parallels similar sentiments amongst Southern gentility towards invas ive Abolitionist and Free Soil Yankees. I argue t hat the paranoia of the Hudson Valley elite and Southern landowners lay in each ÒgenteelÓ groupÕs self -identi fication as a wronged Other and in a dialogic incapacity to recognize the interpersonal ethical demand of unique Otherness in those they saw as ethno -racial, cultural or social inferiors as well as political and economic adversaries to be assimilated withi n a mastering categorical totality. For genteel Southerners such as John C. Calhoun and Northerners like Cooper, this paranoia over threats to their preferred visions of social order and republicanism finds a repository in the image of the mob. With Amer ican Indian threats 26 to Euro -American settlement all -but-neutralized Ñexcept in the far west Ñby the 1840Õs, in addition to the fact that French and British imperial interests had ceased to menace the territorial integrity of the United States, eastern citiz ens began to distinguish more immediate bogeymen. 27 Whereas Mexicans to the southwest, Catholic Irish and Germans in the East, Yankee Anti -Renters in the North and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!26 Cooper himself historicizes this progression, for just as Susquesus is valorized and the disappearance of American Indians lamented by Hugh Littlepage in The Redskins in 1845, Corny Littlepage expresses distrust of the young Onondago in 1758. 27 In The Redskins the ÒEditorÓ notes: ÒIn our view, Oregon, Mexico and Europe, united against us, do not threaten this nation with one half as much real danger as that which menaces it at this moment, from an enemy that is now in possession of many of its stron gholds, and which is incessantly working its evils under the cry of liberty, while laying deeper the foundation of a most atrocious tyrannyÓ (365). 38 !Abolitionists in the South represented violent social disorder and cultural destabilization in antebellum America, I argue that the anxiety that these groups spurred suggests fear of a more radical Other: African Americans. Though the threat of slave insu rrection always haunted the antebellum South, CooperÕs Littlepage Trilogy, despite its preoccupations with individual ethical conduct, filial interpersonal duty and the principle of law, displays just how pervasive was Northern discomfort with the Òinferio rÓ African American Other prior to slaveryÕs abolition. I further submit that CooperÕs Yankee tenants, squatters and Anti -Rente rsÑsignificantly disguised as Òi njinsÓ Ñrepresent a graver social concern respecting the presence of free African Americans in mo dern American society. Cooper speaks of this eschatological unease in The American Democrat (1838): The time must come when American slavery shall cease, and when that day shall arrive, (unless early and effectual means are devised to obviate it,) two ra ces will exist in the same region, whose feelings will be embittered by inextinguishable hatred, and who carry on their faces, the respective stamps of their factions. The struggle that will follow, will necessarily be a war of extermination. The evil da y may be delayed, but can scarcely be averted. (222) It is this anxiety which destabilizes CooperÕs ethical rhetoric throughout the Littlepage novels, a polyphonic phenomenon which complicates his more overt, conservative sociopolitical leanings. Wherea s Cooper remains committed to buttressing New York landownersÕ rights against the populist Anti -Renter Òmob,Ó his reflections on slavery betray a belief that such oppressive socioeconomic systems were doomed and that their demise would result in a national apocalypse. As he concedes in the ÒPrefaceÓ to The Redskins , New YorkÕs patroon system was a 39 !modern American incarnation of state ÒfeudalismÓ (3), a charge likewise leveled by some Abolitionists at wealthy Southern planters owning vast numbers of African Òserfs.Ó Thus, I argue that it is not a great rhetorical leap to associate disgruntled Yankee tenants, squatters and Anti -Renters with African American slaves, for each of these groups was a powder keg with a fast -burning fuse for social conservatives l ike Cooper. And though Cooper may have backed away from prognosticating an actual Òrace warÓ except in hyperbole, the prospect of legal and political victory for the Anti -Renters represents the more plausible apocalypse that Cooper envisioned for the post -slavery U.S.: the forced redistribution of land, wealth and political power amo ngst plebian mobs unfit for such stewardship. 28 ÒNaturalÓ hierarchical and familial relationships featuring interpersonal ethical resp onsibility amongst and between like persons and Others would be dismantled as freed Southern slaves joined the ÒlevelingÓ ranks of Northern proletarians as parasitic wards of a modern welfare state. I feel it is no historical coincidence that when Cooper completes The Redskins , which betrays the g reatest Europhilia of the three novels, the ÒapocalypticÓ Revolution of 1848 is only two years away. Some argue as well that CooperÕs deeper disaffection within the Littlepage novels and elsewhere was the result of his growing alienation from his native N ew York and his nation after returning from Europe in 1833. I posit, as does Robert H. Zoellner, that Jacksonian America was too much of a social and ideological con trast to CooperÕs vision of an Ò orderingÓ gentility manifest in his fiction and social and political commentary (56), though, ironically, at first Cooper had embraced JacksonÕs social politics and promotion of the Òcommon man.Ó Thus, the Anti -Rent controversy offered Cooper the perfect topical justification for excoriating the abuses of ÒpureÓ democracy latent in the slightly educated masses, as Daniel Marder suggests (34). Insolent and violent Anti -Renters were not the problem but rather the symptom of a greater !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!28 The figure of the greedy, ruthless Yankee ÒcarpetbaggerÓ in the post -Civil War South personifies this anxi ety. 40 !egalitarian and ironically democratic malady affecting the antebellum United State s, in particular the political and economic threat of social instability facing rural landholders in the South and the North. This fear of sociocultural disruption competes with CooperÕs moral/ethical sensibilities regarding interpersonal responsibility a nd duty within the Littlepage trilogy, evidencing a polyphonic discursive tension that forestalls a final concretization of a single sympathetic figure or antagonist, despite didactic diatribes and jeremiads to the contrary. The ironic result of this rhet orical instability is the emergence of a pro -South , ÒNorthernÓ ideology and therefore a quasi -feudal, 29 pro-slavery ethos. However, just calling attention to fears of social, political, and cultural disorder present in the Littlepage novels is to risk over simplifying the significance of CooperÕs polyphonic ambivalence. In order to treat CooperÕs fluctuating social and ethical anxieties with accuracy, we must understand that the dilemma of race itself, while it exists as a powerful leitmotif in his novels, is not the sole source of his preoccupation. Rather, the intersection of notions of history, social class and property, in addition to ambivalent concerns over ethno -racial Otherness, are what complicate the textsÕ overt didactic contours. As Edgar A. Dr yden notes, the problem with the Yankee squatters and Anti -Renters is that they are a people without a history (60), for the texts imply that it is this sense of history, in particular a familyÕs legacy, which makes the most forceful ethical demand on the individual subject. 30 CooperÕs rhetoric suggests that greater than the threats of violence or death that the Squatters and Anti -Renters represent is the disruption of positive historical progress, a rupture !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!29 See CooperÕs ÒPrefaceÓ to The Redskins (8). 30 Dryden offers t hat ÒCooperÕs imaginationÉ derives its intensity from a conviction that man lives and acts always in the presence of the past. As he begins his imaginative journey he is motivated by the p urpose of returning to the present, for he is convinced that the nature of society will stand clear only when there is made manifest in it that which wasÓ (49 -50), later adding: ÒThe novelistÕs task, as [Cooper] conceives it, is one of reawakening the past by re-creating its atmosphere with the intent of revealing societyÕs constitutive elements and the links which bind one generation to the nextÓ (51). I mention that Dryden implies a sense of diachronic ethical responsibility in Coop er, as opposed to a la teral synchronicity of immediate relationships in a static, two -dimensional present. Herman MordauntÕs argument regarding a multi -generational project of gradual estate settlement and development in Satanstoe exemplifies this ethical, though self -interest ed, diachronicity. 41 !with the past upon which hope for the present and future Ñsymbolized and actualized by a genteel dynasty Ñis constructed. The seizure or usurpation of ÒhistoricÓ family estates would constitute such a breach. 31 Conversely, the American Indian, even the French -allied Huron enemy encountered in Satanstoe , represents a people with a noble history, yet now without land or a future. Though Cooper renders them as primitive, the American IndianÕs sense of history entitles him to the status of nobility in a moral and hierarchical sense to which lower class Yankee s such as Jason Newcome and Aaron Thousandacres can never aspire. Though the moral SusquesusÕ racial Otherness makes him the social inferior of the Anglo -Dutch Littlepages and their caste, the juxtaposition of Susquesus and Jaap, Corny LittlepageÕs person al slave, establishes a hierarchical racial disparity between American Indians and African Americans. This juxtaposition is thematically paralleled by CooperÕs contrast of opportunistic Yankees with honorable Anglo -Dutch New Yorkers in the trilogy. Similar to the Yankee tenants, squatters and Anti -Renters, Cooper depicts African American slaves as unsympathetic, having neither history nor property. Though Jaap and Susquesus end their days living in the same hut, the ancient Susquesus resides there as an honorary co -proprietor; as we learn in Satanstoe , SusquesusÕ nation, the Onodagos, first owned the land that would later comprise the colonial Anglo -Dutch estates (347). Reinforcing this distinction, in The Redskins the English butler, John, tells the eff ete Hugh Littlepage that Susquesus is welcome to eat inside the dining room at Ravensnest, whereas Jaap, even as a long -emancipated centenarian, is still relegated to the kitchen, though according to his supposed preference (227). Considering CooperÕs jux taposing contrast of the trilogyÕs distinct non -white !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!31 Focusing on The Redskins , Dryden posits that Òthe evolution of the gentleman is the result of manÕs attempt to sustain and direct his life unaided by God, and for this reason societyÕs stability is dependent on him. To destroy the Ame rican gentleman or to drive him abroad Ñas the anti -renters almost succeed in doing to Hugh Littlepage Ñis to rob American society of its supporting substance and le ave it vacant at the coreÉ The Littlepage trilogy attempts to reveal the implication of this social subversionÓ (53 -54). 42 !Others, I note how Cooper utilizes their relationship and close physical proximity to contain larger anxieties regarding social destabilization and ethical confusion. The noble Susquesus emerges as the ideal of racial and cultural Otherness that Cooper uses as a foil for the ÒmoreÓ inferior, landless and history -less Jaap. This point is reinforced in The Redskins , where we see that though Susquesus is the elder of the two, Jaap is the centenarian who c annot keep the Littlepage family history clear in his mind (101), let alone the fact that he never mentions anything significant of his own history. 32 More noteworthy is the humorous yet close friendship that develops between these Òodd coupleÓ cabin mates in their old age. This dialogic association between differentiated Others as well as their joint relationship with the Littlepages highlights CooperÕs literal ambivalence regarding Otherness and the interpersonal ethica l demand that the Other invoke s. To better unpack this, I argue that Jaap and Susquesus in The Redskins offer a double -foil, not just respecting each other, but also for the Anti -Renters, a circumstance which emerges with its greatest clarity at the conclusion, where the magnanimous centen arians shame the Anti -Renter mob into retreat. Though without a history, language or land of his own in that he rejects being Òfrom Africa,Ó a senile Jaap ironically serves as the guardian of the genteel LittlepagesÕ historical continuity Ñit is only recen t history that he forgets Ñwhereas as the ancient Susquesus functions as the traditional repository of its honor and conscience. While the conservative gentleman Hugh and Ro dread the socioeconomic and political leveling that looms in the later antebellum period, these two typological Others, the only two characters present in all three novels and also their stoutest warriors, embody CooperÕs ethical, and ideological, dilemma. That is, within a conservative republican ethics that underscor es the moral duty of societyÕs genteel !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!32 The ÒEditorÓ of The Redskins remarks: ÒAs f or his [JaafÕs] descendants, he had not been heard to name them for the last forty yearsÓ (364). 43 !leaders to care for the less fortunate, does the ÒgentlemanÓ have the right to refuse this obligation to Others deemed inconvenient or unfit? As Linda Bolton remarks regarding Levinasian ethics, the Òthird partyÓ Ñthe African slave in antebellum America Ñcomplicates the subjectÕs sense of duty for the ÒacceptedÓ Other (14), or for the Other that has, paradoxically, been drained enough of his or her ÒuniqueÓ Otherness to fit within the totalizing paradigm of the dominant social discourse . Thus, the fact that Susquesus and Jaap, while not described as equals i n their Otherness, form a comple mentary tandem betrays a counterintuitive and counter cultural current in Cooper which suggests the possibility of ethical response for the Òinconvenie ntÓ radical Other. Furthermore, the description of these intergenerational contrasting Others in the presence of Yankee squatter and Anti -Renter Others creates a diachronic historical awareness which laments an idealized, ordered past while offering two contradictory possibilities for the U.S.Õs future: progressive adaptation and reinvention, or sociopolitical and ethno -racial Armageddon. Despite overt, didactic rhetoric to the contrary, the omnipresent Susquesus and Jaap evidence that the older, disillu sioned Cooper saw, beyond Abolition and Secession, the possibility of a functional republic where citizen and polity could respo nd to the ethical demand to be for the individualized Other and resist the subject -object mastery 33 of systemic totalization. Whereas the past in the Littlepage novels speaks of familial obligation to a romanticized, hierarchical social economy, fading American Indians, empowered African Americans and violent, self -serving Yankees present the plausible yet sublime prospects of eth ical rejuvenation and annihilation at a crucial juncture in U.S. history. In The Crater (1848), CooperÕs ÒPlatonicÓ political and ethical ideal is doomed to destruction. The Littepage trilogy that precedes it is fascinating, therefore, because its ambiva lent, historicized treatments of republicanism, ethics, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!33 Jean -Paul SartreÕs discussion of the Òmaster -slave dialecticÓ in Being and Nothingne ss is helpful in understanding this human phenomenon ( Being and Nothingness: A Phenomenological Essay on Ontology 347). 44 !and radical Otherness tell us that Cooper was able to imagine an alternative future for American democracy where the ÒlevelingÓ social inclusion of the non -totalized, absolutely Other leads not to national Armageddon, but to progress, modernity and human flourishing. I. Satanstoe Satanstoe , the first and most accomplished volume of the Littlepage series (Adams 112), offers several aven ues for the close analysis I apply, manifesting polyphony through its dialogues. Though CooperÕs fascination with differing speech patterns Ñregional, cultural and ethnic idiolects Ñassociated with archetypal figures and the ethical perspectives they embody is not rare in antebellum fiction , his focus in Satanstoe on dialect, paralleling correct pronunciation with ethical Òcorrectness,Ó is extensive. His juxtaposition of distinct dialects ÑBrit ish English, New York English, Yankee English, Dutch English and Native American and African Òpidgin sÓÑis further complicat ed by a chronological polyphony, where different voices across time synthesize the plot. They include: the narrator, Cornelius ÑÒCornyÓ ÑLittlepage circa 1800, who also frames his younger dialogized voice from the 1740Õs and 50Õs; the fictitious ÒEditor,Ó w ho layers in explanatory footnotes from the 1840Õs; and other characters who through monologues or framed correspondence contribute to the story. In addition, there are two implied audiences, one past and fictive Ñthe narratorÕs audience, circa 1800 Ñthe ot her contemporary and actual Ñthe ÒEditorÕsÓ in 1845. I argue that the narratorÕs evoc ation of an earlier audience fabricates a sympathetic public as a way of justifying the textÕs overt, pro -land grant rhetoric. Though historical context of the narrative is the French and Indian War, much of the textÕs ethical didacticism, implicit and explicit, is informed by New YorkÕs Anti -Rent controversy of the 1830Õs and 40Õs. Still, ethical notions of duty and familial responsibility are subsumed within the novelÕs formulaic plot structure and archetypal characters, as Cooper 45 !borrows conventions from Òmorals and mannersÓ romances of the early 1800Õs as well as elements from his Leatherstocking Tales. Yet it is within these clich”d formulae that Cooper sutures conce pts of interpersonal responsibility, the reciprocal duty of landlord and tenant and the financial obligations posed by the estate, the original purpose of the Littlepage partyÕs excursion to Mooseridge. It is this concern for landownersÕ rent collection r ights that orients much of the novelÕs moral Ñif less legalistic Ñdidacticism concerning the financial and laboring duties of heirs and tenants prevalent in several dialogues. But there is another ethically salient ÒstoryÓ in Satanstoe . As Christopherson argues, though American novels of the early to middle 1800Õs were not often overt in their cultural commentary, contemporary social, ethical and political anxieties lurked beneath the surface (281). Christopherson posits that slavery was a significant pre occupation within The Last of the Mohicans , though CooperÕs plot, set in New York colony during the French and Indian War, focused on American Indians and Frenchmen as its subjects of ethno -cultural difference (264). CooperÕs Satanstoe evidences a similar anxiety, but with more ambivalence. In terms of Satanstoe Õs schizoid rhetoric, Jesse Bier comments that ÒCooper constantly subverts his own meanings on point after point and intention after intention in the book. He undermines his primary tenets so freq uently, indeed almost systematically, that the self -division presented to us at every turn cannot be ignoredÓ (511). That said, I argue the novel manifests polyphonic eruptions of competing ethical discourses on slavery, highlighted by pregnant dialogic e xchanges offset with contrasting idiolects. 34 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!34 Zuckert notes the thematic significance in American novels of the narrative interweaving of diverse voices, setting and plot structure in terms of how this relationship problematizes the readerÕs search for a coherent message in the text: ÒNovelists rarely speak consistently, if at all, in their own voices . Instead, they tell us stories; they present us with the experiences and fate of certain characters in specified circumstancesÉ The only thing we can attribute to the author and only to the author is the structure or organization of the novel in question ; he chooses to put these characters into these circumstances; he controls what happens. In order to discover what the novelist thinks, we must therefore study each of his works as an intentionally designed literary wholeÓ (686). Though I consider the 46 ! As a historical novel, Satanstoe is salted with didactic sociocultural commentary on New York colony in the mid 1700Õs, in addition to the EditorÕs explanatory footnotes. Earlier in the novel , during the illuminating Pinkster festival episode, the narrator contrasts colonial New YorkÕs more ÒhumaneÓ institution of slavery amongst the Dutch with its degrading counterpart in the South, representing African slaves in the North as more akin to fellow Òhusbandm enÓ or domestic coworkers than human chattel on plantations. The text even likens a young ladyÕs or gentlemanÕs relationship with a personal slave to a marriage (69 -70). With this frame of commentary, it is ironic that more racist, dehumanizing language respecting African slaves erupts in the textÕs later dialogues. Furt hermore, we can view the Pinkster scene though an a -chronological optic, for the narrator and the Editor call our attention away from its diachronic past -ness to a greater sense of immane nt futurity in 1757 and in 1845, for the Pinkster fieldÕs diverse panorama offers a glimpse of the U.S.Õs future metropolitan modernity. Persons of various ages, genders, races, cultures, regions, languages, occupations and classes, including African slav es, socialize during an ancient Dutch festival which in the northeast had evolved into a multicultural event, but with a unique African flavor. Considering CooperÕs Òethical Ó preoccupations regarding the historical maintenance of hierarchy, this episode i s illuminating and ironic when juxtaposed with his classist, typifying social didacticism. Cooper also historicizes and thus bifurcates the cultural Otherness of the Africans, for his narrator notes that already by the mid 1700Õs it was rare to find Afric an slaves in New York who were born in Africa. To reinforce this point, the nar rator shows the festivalsÕ few native born Africans engaging in dances imported from their African countries of origin that the American bornÑcreole ÑAfricans can only watch and attempt to emulate. While brief, this episode is !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Littlepage trilogy as a Òliterary whole Ó in that the characters and plots are interconnected, the Aristotelian disjunction of time between the three novels as well as their featuring of different protagonists renders them distinct narrative subcomponents tha t warrant individual analysis. 47 !important. As Corny and his companions fetishize the Pinkster spectacle, the old native Africans become the Others to the younger, creole African Other, an ticipating the introduction of indigenous America n Indian Others in the presence of African slaves later in the narrative. In assuming the role of the OtherÕs ÒOther,Ó the native Africans Ñand later the American Indians Ñfunction as LevinasÕ Òthird partyÓ or the ÒstrangerÓ ( Alterity & Transcendence 142) for whom the moral subject does not assume responsibility (Bolton 14). Their more pronounced differentness exists beyond the safe margin of racial and cultural Otherness that characterizes the younger creole slaves with whom the genteel Anglo -Dutch have be come familiar, though not equals. Thus, descr iption of ManhattanÕs Pinkster f estival introduces contrasting discourses regarding Otherness and duty manifest throughout the trilogy. By and large, the narrator describes the festival positively, leaving it to the clownish, Yankee bore Jason Newcome to find fault with the revelers. But the Africans Americans encounter with their African -born Others also creates a significant contrast within the episode. First, whereas the creole Africans behold the native Africans with Òintense interestÓ as well as Òrespect and affectionÓ (70) ÑCooper differentiates each group, ironically resisting the temptation to categorize the creoles and the indigenous Africans into a generic totality Ñthe Anglo -Dutch interactions at the festival, while also casual and humorous, show tension and conflict. The ill -bred though well -intentioned Jason Newcome progresses through a series of exasperating social faux pas bet raying his Connecticut lack of genteel upbringing, while the black nann ies display a hierarchical sense of propriety and duty superior to his: ÒMany a sable nurse did I see that day, chaperoning her young master, or young mistress, or both together, through the various groups, demanding of all, and receiving from all the resp ect that one of these classes was accustomed to pay the otherÓ (65). The contrast is striking, suggesting that New 48 !YorkÕs African slaves have a better cultural awareness of social decorum and inter -class obligation than a white Yankee, as the satirical dialogue over the ticket purchase at the lionÕs cage demonstrates. Jason Newcome attempts to pay for Anneke MordauntÕs ticket, a ÒtreatÓ as he terms it, though his action is deemed inappropriate by the standards of New York gentil ity in this circumstance. Nevertheless, Jason reprimands Corny for allowing Anneke to reimburse him, as this woul d have been considered rude in Yankee Connecticut (72 -75). The humorous dialogue leaves the impression that JasonÕs sense of propriety in thi s context is d”class” . I argue that this moment of humorous but awkward misunderstanding places in relief the c ontrasting notions of duty and gentlemanliness that separate the Anglo -Dutch gentility from their less -refined Yankee neighbo rs. For Corny and Anneke, the chivalrous gesture of service is of primary importance, whereas Jason emphasizes material exchange Ñfinancial expenditure Ñas being integral to interpersonal duty, without which the overture is meaningless. JasonÕs relentless pedagogical critici sm of CornyÕs views and conduct throughout the Pinkster scene adds another level of meaning to the text. Though he is intended as a lampoon of the stereotype of the myopic, provincial Yan kee, JasonÕs dialogic focus on Ò appropriateÓ social interaction high lights the importance, for Cooper, of ethical mentoring on interpersonal responsibility that transcends class, race, and culture. Through a series of ironic juxtapositions, Cooper presents the African nurse Katrinke shepherding her ward Anneke (67), while the latter moderates the behavior of her personal slave Mari, Òwho was often kept in order by her more sedate and well -mannered young mistress with a good deal of difficultyÓ (71). In turn, the lower class Jason, who owns no slaves, assumes an air of sup eriority and patronizing condescension towards Corny and Ann eke, lecturing his Anglo -Dutch betters on manners from his narrow Yankee perspective. As an exclamation point to this ironic didacticism on social strata, decorum 49 !and int erpersonal duty, it is Co rnyÕs chivalrous rescue of Anneke from the claws of the caged lion that accelerates the romance that ends in their marriage, though the Littlepages, even as land barons, are the social inferiors of the Mordaunts in terms of fortune and family connections. Despite the browbeating Corny receives from Jason and his awareness of his social inferiority to the Mordaunts, it is only the arrival of British officers on the scene which elicits the narratorÕs sense of inadequacy, envy and resentment. At this point C orny begins to note caste -segregation on the Pinkster field as well referring to the Africans in pejorative terms, in contrast to his descriptions o f the diverse, intermixing and polyphonic crowd pages earlier: ÒThe whole town seemed alive, and everybody h ad a desire to glance at the sports of the Pinkster field, though the more dignified and cultivated had self -denial enough to keep aloof, since it would hardly have comported with their years and stations to be seen in such a placeÓ (79). The narrator the n describes his ambivalent emotional reaction to seeing British officers at the festival: I will confess that I gazed at these youths with admiration, and not entirely without envy, as they passed me in pairs, laughing an d diverting themselves with the gr otesque groups of blacksÉ These young men, I knew, had enjoyed the advantages of being educated at home, some of them quite likely in the Universities, and all of them amid the high civilization and taste of England. I say all of them, too hastily, as th ere were young men of the Colonies among them, who probably had not enjoyed these advantages. The easy air, self -possession, and quiet, what shall I call it? Ñinsolence would be too strong a word, and a term that I, the son and grandson of old KingÕs offic ers would not like to apply, and yet it comes nearest to what I mean as applicable to the covert manner of these young menÑbut, whatever it was, that peculiar air of metropolitan superiority over 50 !provincial ignorance and provincial dependence, which certai nly distinguished all men of this class, had an effect on me, I find it difficult to describe. I was a loy al subject, loved the KingÉ One thus disposed could not but feel amicably towards the KingÕs officers, yet, I will confess there were moments when th is air of ill -concealed superiority, this manner that so much resembled that of the master towards the serv ant, the superior to the depende nt, the patron to the client, gave me deep offence, and feelings so bitter that I was obliged to struggle hard to sup press them. But this is anticipating, and is interrupting the course of my narrative. (79 -80) On the one hand the narrator ÒanticipatesÓ the feelings of many ÒColonialsÓ in the 1770Õs; in this way, Cooper references the growing tensions between British r egulars and their Others, the colonial militiamen, that surface during the French and Indian W ar, despite the mutual call of patriotic duty which otherwise cements their ÒBritishÓ solidarity. 35 Towards the novelÕs conclusion, Corny and his friends even joi n General Howe Ñand Major Bulstrode, CornyÕs rival for Anneke Ñat the ill -fated Battle of Ticonderoga in 1758. On the other hand, regardless of the superabundant ethno -racial intermixing and social role juxtapositions of the previous two chapters, the lang uage of the narrator here betrays, even with Corny re -establishing racial and social boundaries, an increased level of ambivalence, shame and alienation. Though he feels a Òloyal subjectÕsÓ sense of duty to the King, Corny resents the condescension of Bri tish officers reared at Òhome,Ó despite his pedigree as the son of a British officer and membership within New YorkÕs Anglo -Dutch landowner class. Tempted to relegate these ÒinsolentÓ British ÒpatronsÓ to a separate totality, Corny self -corrects, noting t hat !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!35 We learn in the sequel The Chainbearer that Corny, like many militiamen, serves in the Continental Army during the American Revolution. 51 !some of their ranks were c olon ial officers, and proceeds to ÒsuppressÓ his feeling of resentment. Through this internal affective description, Cooper captures the psychology of American colonists prior to 1775. That said, when juxtaposed with the semi -egalitarian rendering of the Pinkst er festival, this extended diatribe in Satanstoe also evidences discursive polyphony, for within CornyÕs monologue Cooper demonstrates with irony the attitudes of the Yankee squatters and Jason NewcomeÕs Anti -Renter progeny respecting their resistance to t he ÒaristocraticÓ landlords in the following volumes. The narrator concludes with this telling reflection: ÒI am inclined to think there must always be a good deal of this feeling [of bitterness], where the relation of principal and dependent exists, as b etween distinct territoriesÓ (80). From a rhetorical perspective, here Cooper likewise Òinterrupts the courseÓ of his moralizing trilogyÕs pro-landowner c ondemnation of the Anti -Renter Other. These ethical concerns regarding social order, interpersonal r esponsibility and Otherness reemerge at the novelÕs dramatic culmination. In particular, CooperÕs depiction of the Battle of Ticonderoga and the accompanying dialogues highlight the narrativeÕs intertwined manifestations of duty. In the sequences leading up to the battle, duty is rendered as a mixture of the following: filial responsibility; financial obligation; chivalry; friendship; regional, cultural, political and social class allegiances; and martial comradeship. All possess elements of social visibi lity, suggesting the requirement of public approbation. Adams writes: Ò[t]he world Cooper paints at Satanstoe and Albany is given shape not by laws but by social relations. Manners, the unwritten code of an established social order, tell people [both whi tes and slaves] who they are and how they relate to othersÓ (124). However, the polyphonic dialogues surrou nding the capture and abuse of the Huron Muss by CornyÕs slave, Jaap, evidence a rhetorical 52 !destabilization of CooperÕs ÒdominantÓ ethical discourse on duty and slavery positing an alternative perspective on interpersonal, moral conduct toward the differentiated Other. The remainder of SatanstoeÕs narrative is shaped by the complication that JaapÕs abuse of his prisoner, Muss, engenders. Ironically, JaapÑdisempowered, disrespected, voiceless, landless and history -less throughout the novel, a prototypical Levinasian Òthird partyÓ Other Ñassumes an enormous amount of agency through his immoral treatment of the American Indian Òadmitted OtherÓ (Bolton 14 ) who the slave has rendered powerless and subject to his arbitrary will. 36 The ironic juxtaposition is more striking in that Jaap, so -named by his master, in turn names his Huron prisoner, the word ÒMussÓ being, the narrator explains, a corruption of the actual Huron name which the Òignorant,Ó illiterate Jaap is unable to pronounce, though ÒJaapÓ Ña defective form of Jacob Ñproceeds to make a pun with the name, likening it to ÒmessÓ (337). The bizarre scene continues as Jaap emulates and assumes the role of a slave -master, refusing his masterÕs order to release Muss, whom he instead flogs. The narrator recalls: ÒI repeated the order, somewhat sternly, for Jaap to cut the cordsÉI heard heavy stripes inflicted on the back of someoneÉ Muss, as Jaap called him, neither flinched nor criedÉ Indignantly , I thrust the negro away, cut the fellowÕs bonds with my own hands, and drove my slave before me to the canoeÓ (338, emphasis mine ). Just as Guert Ten Eyck refuses as un -Christian the Onondago SusquesusÕ brutal sugg estion that the Huron prisoner be scalped Ñthough Guert refers to Muss as a ÒdevilÓ in the same sen tence Ñlikewise Corny takes the enemy Huro nÕs part against his slave and fearless battlefield comrade, reinforcing the former identity over the latter. Also s ignificant is !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!36 As Adams notes, Ò[t]he hostilities that characterize the last section of Satanstoe mark the fall into an era in which law is made necessary by the collapse of the self -regulating order the Littlepages representÓ (125). I add that a significant part of this ÒfallÓ of the Òs elf -regulating orderÓ that the eruption of the final battle symboli zes is bound to a latent discomfort with JaapÕs increasing agency and the failure of the ÒwhitesÓ to live up to their social responsibility to contain racial Other s, either the slave Jaap or the Indian Muss. In killing Muss, who Corny and the others first sought to protect, it is Jaap who most ÒcontainsÓ the violence, ironically, through his defiance. 53 !the fact that Muss, the storyÕs chief antagonist, never utters a syllable; nor do we ever learn his real name, aside from the appellation Jaap gives him. The odd ÒpublicÓ debate amongst Corny, Dirck, Guert, Susquesus and Jaap puts the prece ding episodeÕs confusion of morals and social roles into a more unsettled state. The ensuing dialogue shows a fluid ethical terrain where the narrator is unable to offer a conclusive sense of where proper morality and responsive interpersonal duty lay res pecting the differentiated Other. While disapproving of Jaap flogging Muss as if he were his slave, he litigiously comes to the defense of Jaap when Susquesus accuses him of acting foolishly in whipping the Huron enemy like a ÒdogÓ: ÒYou should not bring such a charge against my slave, OnondagoÉunless able to prove itÓ (345). Yet, upon listening to JaapÕs self -justifications for his ill-treatment of Muss, he threatens to flog him ÑJaap is likened to a ÒdogÓ himself throughout the novel Ñto which the impetuo us Dutchman Guert assents: ÒA little hiding does a nigger good sometimes,Ó a statement in conflict with the narratorÕs earlier remarks that ÒAmong the Dutch, in particular, the treatment of the negro was of the kindest characterÓ (69 -70). Perhaps most tel ling, though, is the description of Dirck Follock in this instance: ÒI observed that Dirck, who loved my very slave principally because he was mine , looked at the offender reprovingly, and by these combined demonstrations, we succeeded in curbing [JaapÕs] tongueÓ (345, emphasis mine ). This ironic scene serves as a trial for Jaap, a slave and therefore not subject to civil or common law as were free persons , where his master first takes his part as advocate , and then as judge pronounces him an Òoffender,Ó though the precise ÒoffenseÓ is not specified: was it for flogging Muss, or for the public attempt to justify his conduct? As the narrator suggests , DirckÕs ÒethicalÓ sense of interpersonal responsibility for Jaap is not due to the slaveÕs unique Otherness, but stems from CornyÕs totalizing ownership of him, subsuming his identity within his masterÕs. JaapÕs vocal 54 !agency, his ability to voice a mora l demand before his white auditors as a particularized Other, is literally silenced as the group intimidates him into submission, Òcurbing the fellowÕs tongue.Ó In that Jaap is so reprimanded, it is either ironic or fitting that at the climax Jaap kills M uss, the novelÕs archetypal antagonist, an honor often reserved for a more prominent, heroi c character in CooperÕs novels, though this time, Corny issues no moral objections. Indeed, Cooper is ambivalent towards JaapÕs Otherness, for during the Battle of Ticonderoga JaapÕs bravery and martial ability conflicts with his otherwise prescribed role as an ignorant, obsequious slave. As Jesse Bier observes, Ò[g]enerally, the Negro is portrayed as a loyal retainer and is congratulated for his Ôdog -likeÕ fidelity Ó (512), though [t]he superiority of the nominal hero [Corny] is undercut in other respects. The patronized inferior Negro, it turns out, is a quite equal man, in the very terms of athletic heroism that Cooper inaugurated. If anything, JaapÕs performanc e in combat surpasses that of both Corny and Guert. When he fells three charging Indians with the butt of his empty rifleÉhe climactically exceeds everybody in the book; and the fact is that he has been a consistent, indomitable warrior throughout the cam paign. (515) JaapÕs valor and fighting skill is also combined with the fact that Cooper permits this otherwise ÒinferiorÓ slave character to bear and discharge firearms against whites Ñthe French Ñas well as Hurons, though the text depicts both groups as cu ltural, ethno -linguistic Others to the Anglo -Dutch. Despi te the historical fact that this was not unprecedented during either the French and Indian War or the American Revolutionary, I contend that the prospect of an armed slave , in particular one who cou ld use his musket to deadly effect against ÒunequalÓ European adversaries, would have been unnerving for white American readers in the1840Õs. 55 ! The fitting epilogue to this conflicted subplot is the burial of Pete, GuertÕs slave, who is tortured to death by the vengeful Muss in reprisal for the HuronÕs capture and abuse by Jaap. The narrator relates: ÒGuert Ten Eyck actually repeated the LordÕs Prayer and the Creed over the grave, when the body was placed in it, with a fervour and earnestness that a little surprised me Ó (366, emphasis mine ), to which Guert foll ows: ÒHe was but a niggerÉ but he was a very goot nigger, in the first place; then, he had a soul, as well as a white man ÉÓ (366, emphasis mine ). This ambivalence and moral confusion is underscored as Guert then prays over the graves of the slain white surveyors, again in public -address fashion. 37 Like the others, this passage illustrates the extent to which an otherwise dominant sociocultural discourse on race and slavery, as ventriloquized through the voice of the narrator, the older Cornelius Littlepage, and the supporting characters, unravels through affectively contradictory descriptions and dialogues. What these ironic, polyphonic dialogues showcase amidst a plethora of racist epithets is an ethical inquietude respecting slavery and racial Otherness Ñpertaining to American Indians as well as African Americans Ñmore prevalent in the 1840Õs U.S. than in New York colony during the 1750Õs. Sutured to this formalist and historicist analysis is LevinasÕ interpersonal ethical optic, which asks: who is the differentiated, particular Other with whom th e moral agent publically ÒconversesÓ and thus for whom the subject assumes responsibility? As we see, the aforementioned dialogues simulate for an audience ÑCornyÕs, the EditorÕs or the textÕs fictional auditors Ñhow morally conflicted white Americans strug gled to attain a ÒnormativeÓ interpersonal ethical stance toward slaves, American Indians and even ÒOtherÓ Europeans as non-totalized individuals. In short, CooperÕs ambivalent dialogues display significant rhetorical fluctuation on this point. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!37 Compare this scene in CooperÕs Satanstoe with the grisly image of the African in the hanging cage in CrevecoeurÕs Letters from an American Farmer , which Li nda Bolton highlights as a n example in early Amer ican letters of LevinasÕ notion of the ethical ÒdemandÓ of the radically Other (35 -53). 56 ! As the no vel concludes, the reader apprehends a restoration of a ÒproperÓ social order of class-mediated relations and interpersonal obligations, a thematic denouement that does not materialize to the same extent in The Chainbearer and which is absent altogether in The Redskins . John P. McWilliams focuses on a weakening of CooperÕs narrator -protagonists as the trilogy progresses, each generation of Littlepages becoming less heroic (310), leaving Corny as a romanticized exemplar of genteel leadership and intrepidity that his descendants, in particular Hugh, will fail to match (ÒCooperÕs Littlepage Novels Ó 283). I counter that the focus of this decline for Cooper is not the thinning genteel bloodline per se , but the misguided march of American history, where the opti mistic progress of Satanstoe Õs ideal, socially stratified past devolves into an ever more pessimistic, chaotic and cyclical eschatology in the seriesÕ final two volumes. Yet, whereas the Littlepage protagonists become less heroic in The Chainbearer and The Redskins , Susquesus becomes more magnanimous, Jaap more obsequious and the Yankees more menacing. It is this typological evolution of the differentiated Other and its ethical significance within the trilogyÕs diachronic narrative that I engage in the fol lowing sections. II. The Chainbearer Set after the Revolutionary War, The Chainbearer resumes the Littlepage story a generation later. The narrator -protagonistÕs nickname, ÒMordyÓ Ñshort for Mordaunt, his motherÕs maiden name Ñsuggests an amalgamation with his father, ÒCorny.Ó However, as Donald Ringe notes, Mordaunt Littlepage is not his f ather (ÒCooperÕs Littlepage Novels Ó 284); nor is the older Jason Newcome just the annoying clown he was in Satanstoe . In contrast to its precursor, The Chainbearer constructs an ethics of duty regarding the early republic that posits an inversion of Levin asian responsibility as that which the differentiated Other Ña non -white person or white yeoman Ñowes the Selfsame subject . Reduced is the ÒlevelingÓ martial 57 !comradeship that characterizes the ethos of interpersonal duty in Satanstoe. Despite its post -Independence setting, The Chainbearer evinces a preoccupation with maintaining social hierarchy as a necessary mediator of ethical and political relationships in the early republic, in addition to ÒdiachronicallyÓ championing intergenerational familial obligat ion. Cooper c ritiques majoritarian politics Ñmobocracy Ñin a telling scene early in the novel. Upon arriving at his ancestral Ravensnest estate, Mordy, operating incognito as his fatherÕs Òattorney,Ó witnesses with moral indignation a series of votes manip ulated by the conniving Yankee Jason Newcome, his estateÕs agent, to ÒdemocraticallyÓ determine the denomination of the settlementÕs church (117 -29). Cooper uses this episode, ventriloquizing through his narrator, the middle -aged Mordy, to illustrate the ironic conflict between the ÒYankeeÓ notion of direct democracy , as a guard against aristocracy and autocracy, and his ideal of hierarchical republicanism . For Cooper, unchecked democracy is vulnerable to the machinations of unscrupulous demagogues and th e Òtyranny of the majorityÓ that result when unsophisticated plebian voters lack the paternalistic guidance of cultivated statesmen. 38 Though this action and dialogue is satirical, the warning is clear Ña polity governed solely by the rule Ñor whim Ñof the majority will lead to factional domination and oppression by the strongest and most cunning, irrespective of democratic Òjustice.Ó This didactic scene fits well with the message of the prior episode, where the narrator recalls a Socratic discourse he has with the Onondago Sureflint, or Susquesus in Satanstoe . Mordy here explains western civilizationÕs dependence on the principles of priva te ownership and rule of law as key to societal progress (107 -110), channeling Adam Smith, John Locke and Friedrich Hegel. The !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!38 Steven Watts explains in ÒÔThrough a Glass Eye DarklyÕ: James Fenimore Cooper as Social CriticÓ the authorÕs political thought: Òin a democracy the danger lay in public tyranny. With a susceptibility to the momentary whims and petty desires of public opini onÉthis system easily degenerated into a short -sighted and unstable mob rule. Obeisance to majoritarian sen timent of the moment obscured questions of truth and justiceÓ (65). 58 !inconsistency and the irony in this instance lay, as Bolton points out respecting the Declaration (2), in the conflict between a self-interested American principle, whether it be the tot alizing notions of freedom, justice, republican democracy, law or the right to property, and a selfless ethical duty to respond, as Levinas puts it, for the Good of the particularized Other. Watts captures this tension in Cooper: Cooper found himself trapped in a life -long dilemma about the virtues of profit -seeking ambitionÉFor the novelist, American politics embodied the unhappy social developments of post -republican society, and it came down to an uncomfortable choice between capitalism and democracyÉThe two conflicting sides of his ideological position Ñthe enshrinement of virtue and condemnation of self-interest, the pursuit of profit and defense of individualism Ñeventually converged in a certain fashion. (70, 71 -72). Whereas I do not argue that there is a ÒconvergenceÓ of these poles within CooperÕs later work, I posit a creative coexistence of the two. But this occurs more on an ethical level than on the political, in that Cooper viewed the role of the Òdemocratic gentlemanÓ as one of disinterested moral leadership and public service during and after JacksonÕs presidency (Watts 73). At the core of CooperÕs text Ñand the Declaration Ñlies the question: is the Good of the individual subject bound to conceptions of allegiance, law and the polity that prioritize self -interest, or is there a greater ÒtheologicalÓ sense of duty that invokes personal dis interest, yoking the Good of the Selfsame to that of the unique, non -totalized Other? That raised, at first glance The Chainbearer offers a Òtotalized monologueÓ ÑI use LevinasÕ and BakhtinÕs terms in tandem Ñbuttressing CooperÕs rhetoric on republicanism, interpersonal responsibility and Otherness. Nevertheles s, this ethical question erupts within the textÕs discursive polyphony, 59 !showing CooperÕs ironic ambivalence in responding to it. The competing ethical discourse s within the novelÕs dialogues voice the unfinished business of defining an ethos of interperso nal responsibility in an antebellum republic comprised of ever more diverse Others, and one still struggling to forge a single national identity in the1840Õs. I argue that the old, menacing Yankee squatter, Aaron Thousandacres, incorporates much of this a mbivalent, and creative, rhetorical tension. At first, we apprehend an intransigent, paranoid, angry and violent usurper bent on asserting his will according to his self -serving vision of Òrights.Ó His angry diatribes evince a pathetic, juvenile sophistr y, as he constructs simplistic, circular arguments devoid of higher logic. Thus, Thousandacres functions not just as an ideal antagonist, a composite of Ishmael Bush of The Prairie (Dekker 230) and Tom Hutter in The Deerslayer , but also as a straw man for CooperÕs Ò republicanÓ rhetoric, as contrasted with the sociopolitical and economic views of Andrew Jackson or Thomas Sk idmore. Reexamined from this rhetorical vantage point, we see a more dynamic character that complicates the didactic ethical func tioni ng of CooperÕs archetypal heroes, Mordy, Sureflint, Andries and Duss. As already indicated, most of the The ChainbearerÕs ethical critiques concern the obligations of non -white and/or lower class subjects toward Mordy and the Littlepages. Whereas in Satan stoe Corny views Susquesus with suspicion and Jaap exceeds his social role as a slave, in the sequel Cooper presents the older versions of these Others as more passive, operating as ex -Continental officer MordyÕs dutiful aides de camp , though their boldnes s still exceeds that of their young leader. Even the faithful old Dutchman, Andries Coejemans, despite his bravery and magnanimity, does not match the martial intrepidity of the Òman of actionÓ Guert Ten Eyck, his younger Dutch amalgamation, in Satanstoe . Rather, Andries serves as the novelÕs moral conscience, functioning as a rhetorical foil for Thousandacres during the latterÕs heated rants. By 60 !contrast, the lower class Yankees ÑThousandacres, his family and the wily Jason Newcome Ñdisplay boldness, init iative, tenacity and decisiveness that, while deployed for unlawful, self -serving ends that threaten the interests of the Littlepages and the Anglo -Dutch land barons they represent, bring into relief MordyÕs relative helplessness. In spite of their lack o f education, refinement, wealth and pol itical connections, the Yankee Others in The Chainbearer are a force to be reckon ed with, possessing rough -hewn virtues that Andrew Jackson would admire. The novelÕs rhetorical preoccupation thus comes into focus: wh ereas the unsettling image of assertive African slaves is left behind in Satanstoe , CooperÕs anxiety regarding unmanageable, aggressive Others is transferred to Thousandacres, Jason Newcome and the militant, lawless and ÒlevelingÓ Yankees they represent. In addition to this social anxiety, the significance of the past Ñor competing pasts Ñis also at issue f or Cooper here. Viewed as a historicized totality comprised of relational ethical alignments, the dystopian present Ñand its immediate future Ñof The Redsk ins in 1845 looks back on two competing pasts, one in Satanstoe in 1757 -58, the other in The Chainbearer in 1784. In short, the trilogy presents the reader with a bifurcated diachronicity. On the one hand, the problematic intrepidity of the racial Others Susquesus and Jaap in the 1750Õs of Satanstoe is subsumed within CooperÕs ideal of martial duty in that both in the end serve the ÒcorrectÓ masters Ñthe genteel Littlepages Ñfor the ÒrightÓ cause ÑAnglo -Dutch supremacy over the French Ñalongside subservient, mute and genericized tenants. On the other, the Yankee squattersÕ aggressiveness in the 1780Õs of The Chainbearer repudiates any sense of allegiance to a hierarchical social economy. Thus, in contrast with Satanstoe Õs conclusion, the climactic combat in The Chainbearer does not feature a battle against an enemy Other in the sense of a national or imperial adversary. Rather, the novel depicts lawful tenants and U.S. government 61 !deputies confronting fellow Americans as renegades defying the law as well as a hierarchical ÒrepublicanÓ ethos delineating interpersonal responsibility and duty within the sanctioned social order. From this perspective, ThousandacresÕ sanguine rhetoric on ÒrightsÓ and his familyÕs violent encroachments constitute the embryonic beginning in 1784 of the Anti -Rent rebellion that would rock the Hudson ValleyÕs gentility in the 1830Õs and 40Õs. Yet beyond this violence, the ÒdemocraticÓ reader ironically sees much to admire as well as fear in CooperÕs rendering of Thousandacres, his family and the Yankee yeoman class they represent. That said, I argue that Cooper attempts to depict Thousandacres as an uneducated, brutish, and opportunistic encroacher on the rights and property of law -abiding cit izens. However, a sympathetic Jacksonian perspective shows a dynamic, self -reliant and decisive leader spearheading a group of rugged entrepreneurs in a remote area, far from commercial infrastructures and government regulation. 39 His Òsquatting, Ó which for Cooper is theft on a grander scale, would appear to Americans such as Thomas Skidmore 40 as socioeconomic progress toward an egalitarian democratic society. Furthermore, the Timberman clanÕs industriousness is impressive, beyond the stereotype o f indolent backwoods hunters, in that the extent of ThousandacresÕ Òbetterment,Ó including sawmill, is a commendable achievement as even Mordy co ncedes, though illegally erected on the LittlepageÕs patent (232). We can read MordyÕs character in several way s as well. Foreshadowing the prevalent motif of disguise in The Redskins , the proud, ÒheroicÓ Mordy is not able to persist in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!39 Watts remarks of CooperÕs perspective that his Òaffirmation of hierarchy was balanced by reciprocal respect for the sturdy, independent citizen of the commonwealthÓ (ÒJames Fenimore Coop er as Social CriticÓ 58). I wonder, however, to what extent Thousandacres and family are citizens of any commonwealth, the narrator explaining that the residents of the Hampshire Grants/Vermont were not incorporated into the republic until 1789 (217 -18). 40 Sean Wilentz explains in The Rise of American Democracy that beyond John LockeÕs views on property, under SkidmoreÕs program Ò[a]ll existing property holdings were illegitimate, based on a primordial violation of t he self -evident principleÉ that each had an equal claim on the creatorÕs endowmentÉ [I] ndividuals would be permitted to labor as they chose, in cooperative independence. Men and women of superior talent, diligence, luck and intelligence would, Skidmore allowed, inevitably produce more, to the gr eater benefit of all Ñand would therefore accumulate, rightfully, more property than others during their lifetimesÓ (353 -54). 62 !counterfeiting a backwoods hunter before ThousandacresÕ family, despite SureflintÕs prudent entreaties. As a result, Mordy become s ThousandacresÕ prisoner, rendered helpless for most of the novel, his only pretensions to escape being with the aid of ÒOthersÓ: the Onodago Sureflint, the slave Jaap, the old Dutchman Andries, and the Yankee girl Lowiny. The irony is that Mordy, legall y vested with more authority than any other character as his fatherÕs Òagent,Ó is stripped of his liberty, authority and Òagency,Ó literally a prisoner on his own estate. The usurping, lower class Yankee squatter, through audacity and brute force, turns t he tables on the genteel Littlepages, explaining to Mordy his proposed ÒtarmsÓ [terms] of settlement with ÒginÕral Littlepage,Ó who he stereotypes, denigrates and implicitly threatens, yet with whom he is still willing to dialogue. In his willingness to c onverse with the Other , Thousandacres ironically restores the symbiosis in LevinasÕ ethics of alterity. Though differentiating, totalizing and thereby Othering the Littlepages through his own ÒmasteryÓ and proto -Skidmorean rhetoric, he nevertheless acknow ledges in his dialogue with Mordy the just obligation that he owes the landlords as Others, conceding Òthat ginÕral Littlepage has some rightÓ to the land he legally owns (235). But as himself the sociocultural Other to the upper class Littlepages, Thousa ndacres articulates his understanding of the LittlepagesÕ duty to his family: allowing the Timbermans to keep the lumber and mill equipment on the ÒbettermentÓ prior to departing. Cooper foreshadows this rhetorical -ethi cal ambivalence during another Socra tic dialogue between Mordy and Sureflint, the latter positing the same objections that Thousandacres raises over the LittlepagesÕ ÒlegalÓ claim to the patent (221 -22), though Sureflint, the exemplary ÒadmittedÓ Other, remains loyal to the Littlepages by vi rtue of the martial comradeship forged in the Satanstoe .41 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#"!I argue this is another example of Cooper favoring the romanticized colonial past of 1758 in Satanstoe as ironically anchoring his ideal of ÒrepublicanÓ duty, as opposed to the problematic ethical narrative of 1784, despite the also -ironic fact that The Chainbearer is set after the Rev olution, when t here actually exists a U.S. republic .!63 !Thus, I contend that though CooperÕs descriptions and sequences of action undergird his ÒrepublicanÓ rhetoric, it is the novelÕs polyphonic dialogues which evidence competing ethical discourses in The Chainbearer . In this line, Louise K. Barnett explains the discursive value and interpretive stakes of novelistic dialogue: ÒIf the authorial [narratorÕs] voice has powerful advantages, fictive speech has the dramatic immediacy that characterizes the d ynamic and competitive process of conversational interaction. Compared to the pronouncements of the authorial voice, its unmediated nature has experiential validity for the reader, the impact of showing rather than tellingÓ (13). Channeling Bakhtin, Barn ett then expounds: Ò[t]he unwritten rules of social discourse apply to fictive speakers, not their authors, along with such extralinguistic factors as the Ôcapital of authorityÕ that each speaker commands and the type of social occasion which furnishes the context for their talk. For these reasons, the role of language as a social instrument is more directly apparent in fictive speech than in authorial utteranceÓ (15 -16). To apply BarnettÕs argument to the present analysis, MordyÕs initial vocal exchanges with Thousandacres, followed by the sublime verbal duels between the latter and his foil, Andries, ÒshowÓ us more than the narrator would Òtell,Ó in particular due to t he fact that the last dialogue terminates, literally, in AndriesÕ homicide. With regard s to this last remark, each of the novelÕs four primary ÒThousandacresÓ dialogues conclude s with attempted coercion, incarceration or physical violence, signaling either a failure of dialogue or, as Barnett would argue, its natural albeit extreme continuat ion as a ÒcontestÓ of contrasting discourses and competing wills (5 -6). As to the f irst, one could posit that the failed dialogues display an irremediable cognitive dissonance amongst mutual Others, Thousandacres on one side and Mordy or Andries on the ot her, concerning their different notions of morality, authority and duty and bearing enough affective tension to lead to extra -verbal 64 !conflict. The second viewpoint Ñthe one I subscribe to Ñsituates these dialogues within a discursive context that is already combative, the irony being that the moral obligation for a differentiated Other here is determined not by a higher, objective sense of ethical duty, but by the subjectÕs capacity to implement a larger, ideologically invested and totalizing paradigm of Otherness in order to superimpose a self -serving meta -discourse on interpersonal ethics. MordyÕs initial dialogue with Thousandacres and its accompanying actions are a case in point. At first presenting himself as a hunter along with an ÒacceptedÓ Other, the well-known Sureflint, Aaron and his family offer the Onondago and the ÒstrangerÓ Mordy food and hospitality. They assume that as a backwoodsman with an American Indian companion, the incognito Mordy identifies more with the rustic Timbermans than with th e effete Littlepages. The dialogue thus commences with the moral reference point being that duty is owed to a subject that is either personally familiar or with whom one can sympathize as a member of a common social stratum. As the conversation proceeds, however, cracks appear in MordyÕs fa“ade, in particular respecting his erudite diction, which Thousandacres notes: ÒBut youÕve had opportunities, as a body can tell by your speech, which isnÕt exactly like ourÕn, out here in the woods, from which I had ki nd oÕ thought your schoolinÕ might be more than common. A body can tell, though his own lÕarnin amounts to no great matterÓ (232). Mordy attempts, as affirmed by his older, narrator self, to downplay his higher education level: ÒÔMy schooling,Õ I answere d, modestly enough, I trust, Ô has been a little better than common, though it has not been good enough, as you see, to keep me out of the woodsÕÓ (233). More betraying than his educated diction, though, is the Ò immodestÓ sentiment Mordy expresses that a c entral concern of formal education is to keep one from the indignity of the Òwoods,Ó AaronÕs chosen environment. The ÒOtherÓ rejoins: ÒSome folks have a natÕral turn for the wilderness, and itÕs workinÕ agÕin the 65 !grain, and nearly useless, to try to make settlement -bodies of ÔemÓ (233). Despite the stoic SureflintÕs attempts to restrain him, in the end Mordy is unable to bear ThousandacresÕ insults towards his family. With haughtiness, Mordy discloses his true identity as General Cornelius LittlepageÕs s on and ÒattorneyÓ (239), though he had somewhat self -disclosed at the outset o f the interview, revealing his given name to be ÒMordaunt,Ó the surname of his maternal grandfather, the former landlord of Ravensnest. The revelation of MordyÕs identity is rev ealing: more than a crude device on CooperÕs part to advance the nar rative, it underscores MordyÕs elitist reluctance to assume the guise of a lower class Other, even if to assure his safety. Though MordyÕs self -unmasking confirms the mutual Otherness bet ween him and Thousandacres, the exchange that follows concerning his service in the Revolution ironically expresses ambivalence respecting the ethics of allegiance. In an attempt to reestablish social credibility with the Timbermans, Mordy explains that d espite his youth, he saw combat as an officer in the Continental Army during the Revolutionary, then commenting as narrator : ÒMy announcement of this new character was not without a marked effect. Fighting was a thing to the whole familyÕs taste, and what they could appreciate better, perhaps, than any other deed. There was something warlike in ThousandacresÕ very countenance and air, and I was not mistaken in supposing he might feel some little sympathy for a soldierÉI saw that he once more relented in purposeÓ (247). Mordy -as-narrator then expounds on this attempted emotive appeal to martial comradeship and a sentiment of national duty as a way to downplay the now -adversarial, fully Othered relationship between himself and the Timbermans: I knew that th ere was often a strange medley of soi -disant patriotic feeling mixed up with the most confirmed knavery in ordinary matters, and saw I had touched a chord that might thrill on the sympathies of even these rude and supremely selfish 66 !beings. The patriotism of such men, indeed, is nothing but an enlargement of selfishness, since they prize things because they belong to themselves, or they, in one sense, belong to the things. They take sides with themselves, but never with principles. That patriotism alone is pure, which would keep the country in the paths of truth, honour and justice; and no man is empowered, in his zeal for his particular nation, any more than in his zeal for himself, to forget the law of right. (248) Even as Mordy searches for common ground with Thousandacres to ensure his personal safety, he demonstrates what he perceives to be an unbridgeable gulf between his Òpure patriotismÓ based on Òtruth, honour and justiceÓ and the TimbermansÕ ÒselfishÓ permutation. The fac t that Mordy is unable to convince the Timbermans that he fought in the same army is symbolic, for considering the narratorÕs diatribe, in a sense they did fight for different causes and for different Òprinciples,Ó even if under a common national standard. This portion of the exchange is also framed by ThousandacresÕ story of keeping the goods that the British Army took from the Continentals and which he then stole from the British (233-34). Cooper intends to present ThousandacresÕ conduct as dereliction o f duty, yet ThousandacresÕ unapologetic boasting respecting this incident, which he has oft recounted with pride, betrays an alternative ethos opposing the narratorÕs. Thousandacres does not revel in nefarious deeds; rather, he feels that his actions here were justified as duty, considering the poverty which the war caused for persons of his persuasion and class. Anticipating the Anti -Rent rhetoric of the 1800Õs, Thousandacres explains his rationale for keeping the supplies: We lumbermen have had an awfu l time on it these las t eight years [of the war]É Congress was poor enough, IÕm willinÕ to own, but it was richer than I was, or 67 !ever will be. When property has changed hands once, title goes with it; and some say that these very lands, coming from the k ing, ought now to go to the people, jist as folks happen to want Ôem. ThereÕs reason and right, IÕm sartain, in the idee, and I shouldnÕt wonder if it held good in law, one day. (234) The irony is that paired with this dialogue, as well as that which fol lows MordyÕs self -revelation, is again the reality that Mordy and the Timbermans technically fought on the same side of the Revolution. This exchange also invokes competing versions of an actual past , debating whether or not Mordy fought against General B urgoyne (248). Furthermore, the notion of duty is ambivalent here, polyphonically implying either allegianc e to particular Others or to a particular Ñmeaning abstracted Ñpolitico -ethical community. Though compelling, these dialogues are but prologue to th e final verbal duel between Andries and Thousandacres, where the two literally argue themselves to death. Heightening the drama on a formal level is its theat rical arrangement, Cooper staging the conversation in AaronÕs house, described as a de facto cour troom, which is ironic considering ThousandacresÕs disdain for the law. In addition, the exchange is d ivided into two episodes by an intermission or Òrecess,Ó during which Mordy and Andries are incarcerated. Though this is primarily a dialogue between Th ousandacres and Andries, the formerÕs wife, Prudence, and Mordy interject as advocates for one or the other. As the ÒEditorialÓ footnotes here suggest (243, 303, 349 & 350), the debate is meant to foreshadow and discredit the Anti -Renters of the 1840Õs an d the shameful government officials and politicians c owed by them. Thus, as Cooper scripts the contestÕs outcome, we see the magnanimous if also uneducated Andries get the better of ThousandacresÕ fallacious, self -serving logic at every turn, exposing the depravity and illegality of the ÒsquattersÕÓ claim to the Littlepage lands and resources. Nevertheless, even within a verbal 68 !contest that Cooper manipulates to the rhetorical advantage of the Anglo -Dutch landlords, dialogic polyphony erupts. Ironically, CooperÕs conservative, ÒrepublicanÓ ethical discourse on social relations, duty and economy is destabilized by the same formal, rhetorical mechanisms by which he attempts to reinforce it. The first fissure emerges as Thousandacres and Andries argue over what principle confers the right to c laim, occupy and sell land. Andries once again gains the upper hand in the debate, noting the flaw in the ÒOtherÕsÓ case. Thousandacres claims that what one sees, desires and what Òis necessary for his wantsÓ (303) on e can possess provided no one ÒclaimsÓ such property first (305). Andries rebuts that the Mordaunts and Littlepages, by that logic, have a more valid claim to the land in that they ÒviewedÓ it and ÒdesiredÓ it before anyone else (307), implying Euro -Ameri cans . As we learn in Satanstoe , the Mordaunts and Littlepages cheated the Onondagos out of their land, weakening the legitimacy of their claim in the moral/ethical sense reg arding what is owed to the differentiated Other, a dialogue renewed between mutual Others Susquesus and Corny in Satanstoe and again between Mordy and ÒSureflintÓ in The Chainbearer . In addition to this, Thousandacres builds upon his position that the Revolution invalidated all land titles authorized by the King, making an indirect ap peal to Locke and Skidmore as to why his family can claim the land on which they dwell and labor: ÒWell, admittenÕ all you say, squatter, how does tÕat make your right [to the land] here better tÕan tÕat of any other man?Ó demanded Andries, disdainfully. [ É] Why, reason tells us where a manÕs rights begin, youÕll see, ChainbearerÉWhen you and I are born, some parts of the world is in use, and some parts isnÕt. We want land, when we are old enough to turn our hands to labour, and I make my 69 !pitch out here in the woods, say where no man has pitched afore me. Now, in my judgment, that makes the best of titles, the LordÕs title.Ó (303). Thousandacres then rationalizes further: ÒI donÕt think IÕm fully understood, aÕter all thatÕs been said,ÓÉÒHereÕs two men start in life at the same time, and both want farms. Wa -a-l; thereÕs the wilderness, or may be it isnÕt all wilderness, though it once was. One chooses to buy out betterments [ThousandacresÕ mill], and he makes his pitch. Both them menÕs in the right, and can hold on to their possessions, I say, to the eend of time. That is, on the supposition that right is stronger than might.Ó (305) In response, Andries, who has no mind for arithmetic, uncharacteristically redirects the debate in terms of the problems of precise land division and ascertaining specific quantities of property (303, 305), though the contest is first framed by Andries in particular as being about abstracted notions of rights, obligations, entitlement and ownership. Thus, despite the fact t hat Cooper presents Andries as having the advantage for the majority of the argument, at this crucial moment Thousandacres makes the most salient point, in contrast to his other rhetorical absurdities here and elsewhere. In sum, he holds that human labor, land improvement Ñhence ÒbettermentÓ Ñand material production, in addition to divine mandate, are what entitle one to the Òestate,Ó and from which the property derives its economic value. Considering CooperÕs overt ideological investment in the outcome of his simulated debate, it is ironic that the educated Littlepages and their heroic chainbearer, Andries, are the parties who have not Òfully understoodÓ the larger ethical stakes of the land dispute, and not the Yankee Timbermans. To examine this line of th ought through a historical optic familiar to CooperÕs 1846 audience, the American Indians lost any ÒrightÓ to their land on the ÒethicalÓ basis of its apparent 70 !lack of economic or agricultural development, according to the sophistry of Euro -Americans. Yet, the Littlepages, who swindled their property from the Onondagos, have accumulated a quantity of land so vast that they cannot develop all of it or make it Òproduce.Ó Ironically, the Timbermans , though Òsquatters,Ó have ÒbetteredÓ their small piece of it . Furthermore, in that Cooper laments the American IndianÕs doom, Andries and ThousandacresÕ dialogue proves doubly iron ic: Thousandacres, the novelÕs villain, espouses a more fluid, impermanent and unwritten conception of land rights based on immediate n ecessity and circumstance, more akin to Susquesus/SureflintÕs discourses on land, whereas the mathematically deficient, semi -illiterate Andries becomes a stickler for precision measurements, deeds and official legal claims, despite his friendship with Sure flint. Thus, it is not clear which characterÕs argument is more ethical and consistent, in spite of CooperÕs dialogic demonization of Thousandacres. That said the logical inconsistencies present within the dialogueÕs argumentation are not the sole evidence of ethical -rhetorical polyphony during this culminating episode, for the problemat ic dilemma of Otherness versus sameness also emerges amongst the novelÕs ÒdifferentÓ groups of Euro -Americans. Dana D. Nelson historically frames this early republican/antebellum issue of white male fragmentation in the U.S.: Adapting Òwhite manhoodÓ as the marker for civic unity worked as an apparently democratizing extension o f civic entitlement. It worked symbolically and legally to bring men together in an abstract but increasingly functional community that diverted their attention from differences between them Ñdifferences which had come alarmingly into focus in the post -Rev olutionary era. Men whose interests had been temporarily unified in wartime were increasingly encountering fellow men not as citizen but competitor in an unstable, rapidly changing, post war 71 !market economy. The national need to cultivate ÒsamenessÓ was t hreatened by the differences structured not only through the variety of ethnic, religious, and political backgrounds of the colonial population, and the regional, colonial and state affiliations that they had come to employ, but by the very market economy that supposedly ensured the nationÕs health. (6) Most of these divisive anxieties that Nelson catalogues manifest themselves in the dialogues between Thousandacres, Andries and Mordy, though competing economic interests, philosophies and sociocultural dif ferences are not all that separate these mutual Others. Whereas CooperÕs social conservatism reemerges in his need to reinforce social hierarchy and the interpersonal obligations they order, Th ousandacres attempts to reach an understanding with Andries, c oncluding such to be impossible with the refined Mordy. ÒThereÕs no use in talkinÕ to this young s park [Mordy], ChainbearerÉ heÕs passed his days in the open country, and has got open -country ways, and notions, and talk; and themÕs things I donÕt pretend t o understand. YouÕre woods, mainly; heÕs open country; and IÕm clearinÕ. ThereÕs a difference atween each; but woods and clearinÕ come clussest; and so IÕll say my say to youÓ (353). Thousandacres seeks the ÒwhiteÓ solidarity with Andries that Nelson de scribes, utilizing a Òtriangular structureÓ to foster an Òimagined affiliationÓ 42 with his adversary by objectifying and Othering Mordy a s an ironic Òthird party,Ó whose Òopen country ways, and notions, and talkÓ so differentiate him that they cannot dialog ue. But while acknowledging Andries Õ difference from him, Thousandacres downplays the cultural and philosophical gulf between Òwoods and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!42 Nelson also explains in National Manhood tha t ÒÔrepublicanÕ subjectivity is consolidated through a triangular structure, in imagined affiliation with other men who have power over groups of people Ñthe power to objectivity, to identify, to manage. Those powers collate discourses of science, legality , and property (personal ity and realty) to a certain select, commanding, and specifically raced, masculine identityÓ (3). The irony here is that though Mordy , by dint of the laws of the republic, has the most authority, property and status of any of the characters , he is by and large Othered as impotent throughout most of the text. 72 !clearin.ÕÓ Yet AndriesÕ magnanimity for Cooper lies in his resistance to ÒclearinÕÓ ThousandacresÕ ÒlevelingÓ or same -ing as the Dutchman insists: ÒI do not tÕink, however, tÕat tÕere ist much resemplance petween you and me, TÕousandacres, in any one tÕing, except it pe in olt ageÓ (343). Andri es thus rebuffs ThousandacresÕ same -ing scheme, the proposed marriage of his son, Zephaniah, to AndriesÕ better -bred niece, an attempt at a formalized alliance that would work to MordyÕs disadvantage, considering his romantic attachment to her. 43 Still, the eventual failure of AaronÕs attempted accords with Andries and Mordy, the i nability of each to make his dissonant thinking on duty, legality and authority intelligible to the ÒOther,Ó parallels the sectional political tensions of the 1840Õs in that this fictionalized failure of dialogue ends not in compromise, but in violence. In spite of the stark philosophical polemic that Cooper displays through the Andries -Thousandacres debates, the charactersÕ dialogic -rhetorical representation betrays polyphonic ambivalence. The speech of both offer s examples of contrasting idiolects, in th at the phonetic rendering s of their spoken language suggest specific ethno -cultural, political and class differences. However, at the dramatic height of this scripted, idiolect -rich dialogue, Andries blurts: Òname your tarms Ñname your tarms !Ó (347, empha sis mine ), ÒtarmsÓ being a phonetic spelling of ÒtermsÓ that Cooper attributes to Yankee pronunciation within this novel, as seen earlier (342). AndriesÕ exclamation is doubly curious in that he soon concedes: ÒI haf no proposals to make, nor any autÕorit y to offer tÕem. IÕm nutÕin here, but a chainpearer, witÕ a contract to survey tÕe patent into small lots, and tÕen my tuty is toneÓ (348). Andries contradicts himself: he demands to hear ThousandacresÕ Òtarms,Ó when he has not the official ÒautÕorityÓ t o !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!43 Also i nteresting is the fact that one of the few succes sful intercultural/interclass alliances that evolve during the narrative is between Lowiny and Mordy, the forme r cla ndestinely assisting the latter, though her implausible romantic affections for Mordy are ÒnaturallyÓ unrequited in CooperÕs ideal social hierarchy. All that Lowiny yields from her allegiance to Mordy is employment as one of the LittlepagesÕ domestic s following her familyÕs flight. 73 !make counterproposals, though he acknowledges that Mordy, his fatherÕs Òattorney,Ó does (348), despite his silence and effective irrelevance during most of the discussion. There thus occurs a confusing double amalgamation: despite his antipathy for the squatter, Andries literally assumes ThousandacreÕs voice while usurping t he prerogative of the estateÕs official agent, Mordy. Ironically, the ÒunambiguousÓ chainbearer, who by his profession is invested in demarcating straight, clear lines, here blurs the textÕs ÒlinesÓ of duty, authority, hierarchy and Otherness. Beneath AndriesÕ c olorful, archetypal dialogue is a more complicated, and ambivalent, character. George Dekker remarks that as an honorable yet humble woodsman, he forms an amalgamation with the older Leatherstocking in The Prairie (230-31). Within the context of The Chainbearer he functions as differe nt ÒtypeÓ of liminal figure, not one straddling the Othering dichotomy of wilderness and civilization, but rather the gulf between gentry and peasantry. At the novelÕs beginning the narrator introduces the brave, chivalrous Dutchman as one who could claim genteel heritage, also having served as an officer in the Continental army, yet also as a person whose status as a gentleman was matched by neither education nor fortune, though ironically, like his Littlepage Òmasters,Ó he too owns slaves. 44 From a diffe rent perspective, then, the obsequious Andries is the inferior of the younger Mordy while often functioning as an alternative father -figure for him in that Corny Littlepage is absent for most of the novel. The narrator also notes that Captain Andries refu ses the post -service promotion to major that he accepts (20), signaling more than a distinction in military rank, but a social one. Furthermore, the Littlepages patronize the destitute Andries with employment as a humble chainbearer, though the family hol ds him in the high regard, hoping to offer the ÒproudÓ Andries some land to farm (79-80). As an uneducated woodsman and Dutchman, Andries is the Anglo -Dutch MordyÕs !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!44 Andries must be a gentleman in order to render socially appropriate MordyÕs marriage to Duss, who despite her proclivity for the woods is described as possessi ng a true ladyÕs refinement, education, and family connections . 74 !Other, while his technical status as gentleman, army officer and slave holder aligns him w ith the LittlepagesÕ patroon class interests in opposition to Thousandacres, who on an ironic level is his lower class peer . That said, how the ambivalent Andries embodies duty and Otherness inflects CooperÕs ethical rhetoric. But even if not quite a gen tleman on p ar with the Littlepages, Cooper still depicts Andries as a moral exemplar, for the selfless duty he manifests in speech and action serves as a rebuke to the self-serving Thousandacres. 45 Within CooperÕs conservative republican social structure, the uneducated chainbearer knows by intuition with whom his allegiance must lie: societyÕs shepherding elite. Likewise, Jaap, Sureflint, and Lowiny also offer examples of this instinctive hierarchical sense of loyalty. Even in his reticence respecting th e match between Duss and Mordy, AndriesÕ hes itancy has only to do with his hierarchical sense of propriety, the belief that the Littlepages are too far above his familyÕs class to allow such a union (335). However, Donald Ringe notes that as the trilogy unfolds we see with respect to marriage and social strata an ambivalent nuancing of CooperÕs ÒrepublicanÓ social thought ( James Fenimore Cooper 118, 121), for not only do Mordy and Duss wed, but in Satanstoe Anneke chooses the socially inferior, ÒcolonialÓ Corny over the British soldier -baronet Bulstrode to her fatherÕs initial displeasure. Even the effete Hugh chooses the poor parsonÕs daughter, Mary Warren, as his bride in The Redskins , though in this case Cooper furnishes a contrast, for Hugh rejects th e advances of the ÒopportunisticÓ yet attractive Yankee woman, Opportunity Newcome, indicating a definite matrimonial hierarchy even amongst those with lesser material social advantages. In other words, genteel character and conduct , over and above wealth or land, are what qualify a person for the solemn duties that accompany inclusion within the republicÕs social !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!45 ThousandacresÕ daughter , Lowiny, also proves herself to be a steadfast confederate of MordyÕs throughout the narrative, a n irony for the conservative Òrepublican Ó Cooper , for above her romantic interest in Mordy , her noble conduct as an ignorant Yankee , suggests the common citizenÕs Ñeven a young woman ÕsÑinnate capacity to discern right conduct and duty without the direction of a social elite. T his facet of the plot is radically democratic even for a one-time Jackson supporter like Cooper. 75 !vanguard. It is within this ÒrepublicanÓ social matrix that Andries can serve as Òan officer and a gentleman,Ó and offer his niece to the heir of a Hudson Valley land baron. Like Satanstoe , The Chainbearer concludes with a Òbat tleÓ against armed encroachers invading a patroonÕs lands, though here the ÒenemiesÓ are Yankee squatters as opposed to French -allied Hurons. In one sense, both texts conc lude with the restoration of a proper social hierarchy and the affirmation of ÒrightfulÓ land possession through the aid of a homogenized tenant yeomanry which drives out the lawless invaders. Unlike Satanstoe , however, the climactic skirmish in the seque l, aside from being less dramatic, is also distinct in historical context, and not just in terms of chronology. Whereas Satanstoe Õs battle against the Hurons is part of the French and Indian War, the final confrontation in The Chainbearer takes place after the end of the Revolution and between groups of Americans who, ironically, had both fought the British. Furthermore, the anticlimactic gunplay in The Chainbearer is the result and representation of the failure of intra -national dialogue and compromi se, whereas the battle in Satanstoe is against a generic Other that, even as a paramilitary force, is already muted by virtue of their inscription within a thematizing totality of ethno -racial difference. Thus, we behold a dialogic as well as ontological e volution regarding the Others in proceeding from Satanstoe to The Chainbearer. In the former, all the antagonistic and insubordinate Others are either racially or culturally categorized as Frenchmen, American Indians and Africans, none belonging to the An glo -Dutch political community. The antagonists and insubordinates of the latter, however, are less distinct from the protagonists racially, culturally and politically, for the Littlepages and the Timbermans are Euro -American and Patriots: regional affinit y, wealth and education are what separate them, in addition to their contrasting political and economic views. That said, the ethical and idiolectical gulfs between 76 !the Others in The Chainbearer , in particular their understandings of interpersonal respons ibility, have grown wider in anticipation of the Anti -Renter/landlord polemic to come in CooperÕs trilogyÕs third and final novel. Before discussing The Redskins , though, I call attention back to the three discourses on duty and history outlined in this ch apterÕs introduction. Whereas Satanstoe evinces romantic nostalgia, CooperÕs nationalist -progressive discourse in The Chainbearer does not match its predecessorÕ s rhetorical or poetic strength: the evident amalgamation of the novelsÕ climaxes suggests a r epetitive or ÒcyclicÓ dimension to the narrative of 1784, just as The ChainbearerÕs anti climactic finale Ñsome of ThousandacresÕ sons escape and formal justice for AndriesÕ murder is never dispensed Ñhighlights CooperÕs ethical ambivalence. Put another way, the ethical ÒdialogueÓ that occurs between the contrasting histories of 1758 and 1784 manifests with irony that for Cooper, the U.S.Õs sociopolitical and ethical fabric post -Independence does equal the ÒrepublicanÓ standard set by its colonial precursor. Thus, as Cooper fast -forwards the trilogy to 1845 in The Redskins , to his contemporary audienceÕs historical present , we can examine the culmination of CooperÕs sociopolitical and ethical critique of antebellum American society. It features a rhetoric of ideological disillusion, cyclical -historical decline and national apocalypse which, at first glance, appears to have little of the polyphonic ambivalence prevalent in t he first two Anti -Rent novels. Upon closer analysis, however, a more conflicted, and ironic, ethical narrative concerning interpersonal duty, sociopolitical allegiance and Otherness in the 1840Õs U.S. emerges in the concluding volume . III. The Redskins The most didactic and t he angriest of CooperÕs Littlepage novels, The Redskins was, according to most critics, an aesthetic failure. But Jerome McGann takes a contrary view of this 77 !novel, one that considers the context of the entire trilogy, though not in terms of aesthetic or poetic comparisons: ÒThe Littlepage books are not a quest; they are a conscious project. If they fail (or disappoint), it is not for want of deliberation and purpose. In that respect, the problem of the trilogy may be less a problem of CooperÕs art and m ore a problemÉof his audienceÕs desires and dreams for America and the representation of AmericaÓ (149). With respect to The Redskins in particular, McGann concedes that Òthe book has scandalized the project as a whole,Ó yet adds : ÒIt seems to me obvious and demonstrable, however, that The Redskins has been seriously misreadÓ (150). I also posit that as an object of e thical analysis, the otherwise anticlimactic conclusion of CooperÕs trilogy is the most illuminating volume of the three. 46 The sympathetic Other figures of Susquesus and Jaap in their own ways add diachronic as well as dialogic depth to the ethical exhortation on interpersonal duty that Cooper constructs throughout his trilogy, but only unveils fully in The Redskin sÕ melodramatic episodes. I argue that Susquesus, the ÒadmittedÓ Other, and Jaap, the Òthird partyÓ Other, form an unstable and peculiar amalgam in that both Others ironically totalize a second Òthird partyÓ Other, the Òleveling mobÓ of injin Anti -Renters. For Cooper, the injins personify the apocalyptic present, and future , which the U.S. faces in 1845, the nation having opted for the The Chainbearer Õs problematic past of 1784 as opposed to Satanstoe Õs idealized one of 1758. To understand this complicated dynamic at play in The R edskins , we must first grasp the essentials of the political discourse unfolding in the U.S. during the 1840Õs. Ironically, the perspective of a Southerner , !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!46According to Barnett, Ò[s]ince the novel is both a written form of discourse and an artwork, we conventionally assume that it is both a stable text and a finished product, revised and refined before publication to be a meaningful communication. The degree will vary not only among individ ual texts but among genresÉ When resolution and certainty are absentÉ the reader accustomed to traditional novels is apt to be uneasy, prey to a deep seated conviction that since the literary construct can provide order and significance to an extent that life cannot, it ought to do soÓ (10, 15). This supports McGannÕ s assertion that the Littlepage trilogyÕs perceived aesthetic problems are more a byproduct of the readersÕ unfulfilled expectations than a function of the text sÕ poetic limitations . I extend this type of analysis to the thematic instabilities or incompatible ideological polyphonies prevalent or latent within the trilogy, particularly in The Redskins , viewed as the most flawed novel of the series. 78 !John C. Calhoun, best illuminates CooperÕs conflicted thinking in the third novel. Stranger still is the fact that the Anti -Rent or deal pushed Cooper closer to a Whiggish ideology, an evolution in his sociopolitical and ethical thought unthinkable even in 1840.47 Calhoun began his Disquisition on Government (1850) at about the same time that Cooper was writing his Littlepage trilogy in answer to New YorkÕs Anti -Rent conflict. In articulating his vision for a democratic republic, Calhoun was responding to his experiences with the controversial Federal Tariff in South Carolina as well as to the oft -sectional tensions amongst pro-Bank Whigs, hard -money Democrats, radical abolitionists, Free Soilers, and pro -slavery advocates during the 1840Õs. 48 CooperÕs Anti -Renters and the Littlepages appropriate the core elements of CalhounÕs political argument in their respective rhetoric and oratory in The Redskins , though on paper neither group has much in common with CalhounÕs Southern constituency. During an Anti -Rent meeting, a rabble -rousing lecturer, in attempting to win the Ravensnest tenants to the populist ca use Ñand channeling ThousandacresÕ rhetoric from the previous novel Ñaddresses the problem that Calhoun and Hugh raise regarding majoritarian tyranny: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!47 With respect to the effect of the Anti -Rent episode on CooperÕs socio political thought, Schlessinger writes in The Age of Jackson : ÒCooperÕs radicalism [of the election of 184 4] was soon to disappearÉ As a champion of the land, Cooper had rejoiced at the Jacksonian att acks on business; but now demagogues were extending the attack, under the same rallying cries, to the land itselfÉ From a minor fault of democracy the ÔdemagogueÕ [Anti -Renter] was becoming a major threat, and the vicious agitators of the antirent trilogy s howed CooperÕs abhorrence of the classÉ The antirent troubles did more than shake his belief in popular rule. They destroyed his Jeffersonian faith in the moral inf allibility of life on the landÉ His old hatred of the commercial oligarchy had weakened, and h e recognized it as the only bulwark of propertyÓ (379 -80). 48 One of the cornerstones o f CalhounÕs thought is his awareness of the governing challenges presented by the vast diversity of persons , cult ures and interests in the U.S. (9, 13 -14). This inflects his argument throughout the Disquisition , particularly his apprehensions over ÒnumericalÓ majority rule in a popular democracy (23 -24), and his insist ence on a process of ÒnullificationÓ to protect the rights of the minori ties (28). M any of CalhounÕs fea rs were born out within the Anti -Rent conflict, in that William H. Seward and his agents fro m CooperÕs perspective reacted timidly to the legal transgressions of the radical Anti -Renters due to fear of electoral repercussions. Or, as Calhoun writes, ÒThe right of suffrage, of itself, can do no more than give complete control to those who elect over the conduct of those they have electedÓ (12). Of concern here for Calhoun and for the conservative Democrat Cooper is that universal suffrage cannot be extended in governments Òof the numerical majority without placing them under the control of the more ignorant and dependent portions of the communityÉas the poor and dependent [ tenants] become more numerous in proportion, there will be in governments of the numerical majority no want of leaders among the wealthy and ambitio us [ Whigs] to excite and direct them in their ef forts to obtain controlÓ (36). Thousandacres implies this threat in The Chainbearer. 79 !I think the majority ought to rule in all things, and that it is the duty of the minority to submit. Now, IÕve had this here sentiment thrown back upon meÉ and been asked, ÔHow is this Ñthe majority must rule, and the minority must submit Ñin that case, the minority isnÕt as good as the majority in practice, and hasnÕt the same right. They are made to own what they think ought not be done? The answer to this is so plain, I wonder any sensible man can ask the questions, for all the minority has to do, is to join the majority, to have things as they want Ôem. (189) Though he does not use CalhounÕs exact wording , the lecturer anticipates CalhounÕs distinction of ÒnumericalÓ and ÒconcurrentÓ majorities, highlighting the principal objection to majority rule as well as proposing, in ham -handed fashion, CalhounÕs solution: the rule of a Òconcurrent majority,Ó compris ed of the majority and minority ( Disquisition 36-37). Though Cooper wishes to make the lecturerÕs reasoning appear foolish and contradictory Ñrhetorically a ssociating him with Thousandacres Ñthat he acknowledges minority concerns and the possibility of an inclusive polity as opposed one with a marginalized minority is significant, as is the fact that he is a Democrat and not a Whig. Cooper ventriloquizes his own rhetoric through Tim Hall, a generic yeoman and also Democrat, to add proletarian Òstreet credib ilityÓ to his Ñand CalhounÕs Ñrebuttals to the lecturerÕs populist, anti -ÒaristocracyÓ rants, though the lucid precision of HallÕs dialogue destroys the subterfuge; Cooper is doing the talking. Acknowledging the possibility that a voting minority could alte r the Constitution to protect durable leases, Hall sermonizes that Òthe people, in the common meaning, are not as omnipotent as some suppose. ThereÕs something 80 !stronger than the people, after all, and thatÕs principlesÓ (195). Hugh as conservative Democr at and narrator then responds to the lecturer following HallÕs erudite discourse: The idea that the people are not omnipotent, was one little likely to find favor among any portion of the population that fancy themselves to be peculiarly the people. So m uch accustomed to consider themselves invested with the exercise of a power which, in any case, can be rightfully exercised by only the whole people [concurrent majority], have local assemblages got to be, that they often run into illegal excesses, fancyin g even their little fragment of the body politic infallible, as well as omnipotent, in such matters at least. To have it openly denied, therefore, that the popular fabric of American institutions is so put together, as to leave it in the power of a decide d minority to change the organic law, as is unquestionably the fact in theory, however little likely to occur in practice, sounded in the ears of Mr. HallÕs auditors like political blasphemy. (195) HughÕs telling of the Anti -Rent meeting suggests the Littl epages identify with CalhounÕs fears of tyranny and oppression in a republic where law and government are created and enforced by a popular or ÒnumericalÓ majority comprised of citiz ens from societyÕs lower strata . That said, the Anti -Renters could refer to CalhounÕs understanding of negative power in a polity, where an oppressed faction can exercise a localized veto Ñnullification Ñor appeal to the Òspirit of the institutionsÓ to justify a ÒlegalÓ refusal to honor their lease agreements. 49 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!49 For Calhoun, a veto or Ònullifi cationÓ is employed for the good of the entire polity , not just in service of the narrow in terests of a particular faction: compromise is the ideal. Thus, he explains that Òin governments of the concurrent majority individual feelings are, from its organi sm, necessarily enlisted on the side of the social, and made to unite with them in promoting the interests of the whole as the best way of promoting the interests of each, while in those of the numerical majority the social are necessarily enlisted on the side of the individual and made to contribute to the interest of parties regardless of th at of the wholeÓ (54). The motive behind compromise, according to Calhoun, reveals the partyÕs ethical disposition : ÒIn the one, it is done with that reluctance and h ostility ever incident to enforced submission to what is regarded as injustice and oppression, accompanied by the desire and purpose to seize on the first favorable opportunity for resistance; but in the other, willingly and cheerfully, under the 81 !From a Levinasian perspective, CooperÕs rhetoric in The Redskins as well as CalhounÕs political philosophy create a competitive dynamic respecting ethical obligation wherein a polityÕs different factions attempt to claim the status of oppressed Other to whom the whole commu nity ÒoughtÓ to respon d, but who nevertheless remain marginalized. CalhounÕs minority and CooperÕs genteel Littlepages both fear the tyranny of a proletarian numerical majority, who will abuse the electoral process to skirt principle, create unjust laws and intimidate elected officials at the expense of the vulnerable minority. The narrator reflects on the ideal, ÒrepublicanÓ ethic of governing Òprinciple Ó: As yet, the experience of two centuries has offered nothing so menacing to th e future prosperity of this country, as the social fermentation which is at this moment at work, in the State of New York. On the result of this depends the solution of the all -important question, whether principles are to rule this republic, or men; and these last, too, viewed in their most vulgar and repulsive qualities, or as the mere creatures of self, instead of being the guardians and agents of that which ought to be. (213, emphasis mine ) However, CooperÕs Anti -Renters, in claiming that New YorkÕs pa troons are a Òfeudal aristocracyÓ in ow ning large estate s first granted by the British k ing, view the Hudson Valley oligarchy o f land barons as existing in a state within a state. They perceive that here tenants are subject to an arbitrary and oppressive authority protected by antiqua ted durable leases and royal land grants anachronistically honored by the federal and state governments, as the Anti -Rent lecturer claims (186 -88). Thus, the Anti -Renters view themselves with irony as marginalized !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!impulse o f an exalted patriotism, impelling all to acquiesce in whatever the common good requiresÓ (54). I posit that the Anti -Renters and the Littlepages both fail on this count , neither responding for the greater good of the Other. 82 !Others livin g in a republic shaped by democratic and egalitarian ideals. 50 The real battle in The Redskins is not over land , but about both groupsÕ opposing understandings of law and ethical governing principle as protectors of their rights, as well as each ÒfactionÕs Ó capacity to implement and enforce its own interpretation. Presiding over this contest over rights and legalities are, ironically, bona fide non-citizen Others who have the least legal status or recourse to justice of anyone in the U.S.: Susquesus, JaapÑthe Òthird party Ó Other Ñand the delegation of Indian chiefs returning from the Capitol. As Ringe maintains, throughout the narrative and at its conclusion in particular, Susquesus, Jaap and the chiefs add moral gravitas to CooperÕs anti -Anti -Renter rhetoric (Ò CooperÕs Littlepage Novels Ó 282), not just as ÒcolorfulÓ racial Others but as chronological Others as well. As the last surviving links to the events of Satanstoe , Jaap and Susquesus memorialize via the dramatic monologues and dialogues Cooper assigns them a fading ethos of duty in 1845, serving in tandem as a living rebuke or ÒconscienceÓ (ÒC ooperÕs Littlepage Novels Ó 282) to a generation of Euro -Americans and their descendants who chose ThousandacresÕ degenerate, populist ethos of 1784 over the genteel ÒrepublicanÓ ideal of 1758. 51 Susquesus and Jaap in the final episode have !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!50 Alexis de Tocqueville notes i n Democracy in America that where the phenomenon of social ÒlevelingÓ is pronounced, the popular fixation with equality trumps the concern for freedom (583 -84). For Cooper, this view is consistent with his assessment of the Anti -Renters or Yankee sÑpersoni fied by Thousandacres and Jason Newcome Ñwho will deprive others of liberty and wield autocratic authority when it serves their interests . 51 De Tocqueville writes concerning the effects of popular democracy and egalitarianism on society that just as class disti nctions are effaced, so too is a diachronic sense of the past and future replaced by a focus on present needs , particularly in terms posterityÕs duties as well as a personÕs, familyÕs or communityÕs responsibilities respecting antecedents or descendants (588). CooperÕs sense of chronology /diachronicity, his preoccupation w ith the past and the notion of legacy , inflects his dialogic rheto ric on ethical duty and Otherness in the Littlepage trilogy. I also note that his sense that Americans opted for the ÒwrongÓ histor y is driven home by the rhetorical amalgamation of the Anti -Rent lecturerÕs speech with ThousandacresÕ squatterÕs discourse: ÒI respect and revere pre -emption rights; for they fortify and sustain the right to the elements. Now, I do not condemn squattinÕ as some does. ItÕs actinÕ accordinÕ to naturÕ, and naturÕ is right. I respect and venerate the squatterÕs possession; for i tÕs held under the sacred principle of usefulness. It says, ÔGo and make the wilderness blossom as the rose,Õ and means ÔprogressÕÓ (188). Whereas Cooper represents ThousandacresÕ as bested by Andries during their epic debates in The Chainbearer , the sad irony for the Littlepages Ñand Cooper Ñis that ThousandacresÕ argument appears to have prevailed in 1845 . 83 !an air of dignity and magnanimity in their idiolectical monologues before the Anti -Renter mob that the effete Hugh cannot match. Jaap harang ues the masked crowd thus: What all them fellow want, bundle up in calico, like so many squaw? ... Home wid ye! Ñget out! Oh! I do grow so ole! ÑI wish I was was I wasn when young for your sake, you varmint! What you want wid Masser HughÕs land? Ñwhy dat you tÕink to get gentleÕemÕs property, eh? Member eÕ time when your fadder come creepinÕ and begginÕ to Masser [Mordaunt], to ask just a little farm to lib on, and be he tenant, and try to do a little for the family, like; and now come, in calico bundle, to tell my Masser Hugh da he shanÕt be masser of he own land. Who you, I want to know, to come and talk to gentleÕem in dis poor fashion? Go home Ñget off Ñoff wid you, or you hear what you donÕt like. (345) Hugh -as-narrator comments that Òwhile there was a good deal of ÔniggerÕ in this argument, it was quite as good as that which was sometimes advanced in support of the Ôspirit of the institutionsÕ more especially that part of the latter which is connected wi th ÔaristocracyÕ and Ôpoodle [feudal] usagesÕÉ I have recorded the negroÕs speech, simply to show someÉthat there are two sides to the question; and, in the way of argument, I do not see but one is quite as good as the otherÓ (345). Distinct from CooperÕs erudite ventriloquizing of the proletarian Democrat Hall at the Anti -Rent assembly, Cooper here employs JaapÕs slave -idiolect as a humble, non -ÒaristocraticÓ voice in order to shame the plebian Anti -Renters. Yet the narratorÕs commentary is ambiguous: is he saying that JaapÕs argument, which adheres to the LittlepageÕs ÑCooperÕs Ñposition, is just as flawed, or just as valid as the Anti -RentersÕ? Either way, JaapÕs speech injects ambivalence into CooperÕs hierarchical rhetoric in that his follows HughÕs, a sequential circumstance which, in the public oratory tradition, invests Jaap Õs, an Other Õs, with more status than his ÒmasterÕs.Ó 84 !Futhermore, JaapÕs speech in defense of his young ÒmasserÓ assumes a paternalistic authority, not just due to his extr eme old age, but also due to his direct connection to the LittlepagesÕ history on the land, which in the centenarianÕs brain has become confused, amalgamated with the familyÕs present (101). Noteworthy too is the fact that Jaap, a long time slave who repudiates his and his familyÕs legal emancipation, lectures the ingrate Anti -Renters on their legal duty as tenants to the generous Littlepages, who have leased them land on liberal terms. Once again, though, the dialogic polyphony of this exchange betrays ambivale nce: does JaapÕs shaming rebuke of the masked injins dismantle their claim to being oppressed Others within an anachronistic ÒfeudalÓ system, or does the contrast drawn between JaapÕs understanding and Anti -RentersÕ pertain to moral/ethical conduct only ? Or, as a third possi bility, does Jaap address the injins as an ungrateful mob of fellow ÒserfsÓ who, unlike the ancient, magnanimous house slav e, have forgotten their proper place on the estate under the benign protection of ÒgentleÕemÓ? Ironic is the fac t that Jaap particularizes his remarks, addressing an individual ÒinjinÓ ÑSeneca Newcome, JasonÕs son Ñthereby refusing to treat the Anti -Renters, despite their g enericizing calico masks, as a faceless totality as the narrator Õs language does, just as the Anti -Renters would literally tar all of the Littlepages as Òaristocrats.Ó 52 Thus, even though CooperÕs conscious views are clear, the novelÕs rhetorical picture is quite ambivalent. I contend that the moral high ground regardi ng interpersonal duty that Jaap and Susquesus occupy, in particular during the concluding dialogues, does not just shame the Anti -Renters as per CooperÕs overt intention, but ironically marginalizes as Other both the Littlepages and the injins. This readi ng is reinforced by the fact that Hugh and Uncle Ro as well as the Anti -!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!52 The name ÒLittlepageÓ itself is ambivalent in its etymology, in that ÒpageÓ in English denotes a youth aspiring to knight hood, a lower order of nobil ity, though the qualitative modifier ÒlittleÓ makes it too diminutive to have any noble significance, aside from signifying that the Littlepages are Ò genteel -men,Ó even if not linked to English nobility, as is Bulstrode, CornyÕs bested rival, in Satanstoe. 85 !Renter tenants for much of the novel are disguised as disempowered ethno -racial Others. Even after they shed their German peddler disguises, though, it is evident that the ancient ÒUp right Onondago,Ó buttressed by the centenarian Jaap, remain s the narrativeÕs center of moral gravity as well the focus of the trilogyÕs concluding melodrama, a centrality Susquesus does not hold in the first two novels. Thus, it is no coincidence that the sublime secret behind SusquesusÕ near -century of self -imposed exile, his magnanimous refusal to take his beloved as wif e because she was, by Onondago law, betrothed to another, is revealed at the moment of CooperÕs ultimate rhetorical condemnation of the injins, featuring SusquesusÕ dramatic farewell discourse: These men are not warriorsÉThey hide their faces and they carry rifles, but they frighten none but the squaws and pappooses. 53 When they take a scalp, it is because they are a hundred, and their ene mies one. They are not bravesÉThey want the land of this young chief [Hugh]. My children, all the land, far and near, was ours. The pale faces came with their papers, and made laws, and said ÔIt is well! We want this land. There is plenty farther west for you redmenÕÉThey made laws, and sold the land, as the redmen sell the skins of beavers. When the money was paid, each pale -face got a deed, and thought he owned all that he had paid for. But the wicked spirit that drove out the redman is now about t o drive off the pale -face chiefsÉ He wanted land then, and he wants land nowÉWhen the pale -face drove off the redman there was no treaty between themÉWhen the pale -face drives off the pale -face, there is a treatyÉThis is the difference. Indian !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!53 Jaap makes a similar remark in his discourse. It is curious in light of these rebukes that in addition to Òsquaws and pappooses [small children],Ó the fictional Littlepages and the actual Cooper appear to be frightened by the Ant i-Renter inji ns, whereas Jaap, Susquesus and the chiefs are not. T his circumstance ironically highlights just how thin the Òdari ngÓ Littlepage bloodline has run since 1758. 86 !will keep h is word with Indian; pale -face will not keep his word with pale -face. (349-50) Whereas Susquesus condemns the sham eful, cowardly conduct of the injins, taking care to emphasize that they are not real Òbraves,Ó his oratory and EagleflightÕs also highlight t he moral, and legal , dubiousness regarding how the Littlepages and other patroons acquired their lands. As it is recounted in Satanstoe , the Littlepages and Mordaunts cheated the Onondagos out of their land for a few casks of cheap liquor and a handful o f muskets. Ironically, then, SusquesusÕ speech augments the Anti -Rent lecturerÕs argument in delegitimizing the original patroon claims. The lecturer argues, albeit in error according to both federal and New York state law at the time, that the kingÕs pa tent grants were made null and void by the Revolution, whereas Susquesus questions the moral basis of the original land acquisition itself. If read in this way, SusquesusÕ concluding oratory, together with JaapÕs, destabilizes CooperÕs implicit championin g of the ethical duty owed to posterity, the bearers of the genteel ethos of 1758. Though the romanticizing of entrepreneurial, risk -taking Anglo -Dutch gentlemen forms the foundation of the ensuing generationsÕ legal and moral claims to the land, the flag rant injustice, even fraudulence, behind this original ÒclaimÓ puts everything that follows in doubt. In the last analysis, Jaap and Susquesus, the trilogyÕs near -amalgamated ethno -racial Others who have, as the narrator notes, even assumed the same greyi sh skin tone in their extreme old age and long domestic proximity (97), indict their white Littlepage patrons just as they condemn the injinsÕ greed and cowardice. Jaap is caricatured and parodied yet also honored as a loyal ÒformerÓ slave who refuses leg al emancipation and whose senility has forced him to live his life in the idealized past of the mid -1700Õs, whereas the more lucid Susquesus ironically interrogates that very history of martial duty, comradeship and Òbeing -for -the -OtherÓ which Cooper inten ds him to memorialize. 87 ! Beyond SusquesusÕ and JaapÕs references to the ÒshameÓ and cowardice that the calico masks of the injins represent, the Leitmotif of disguise also plays a role here. We recall that in The Chainbearer Mordy conceals his identity fro m Thousandacres, who takes him prisoner upon the disclosure of his real name and purpose. In The Redskins , Hugh and Uncle Ro are disguised as poor German merchants and sho wmen: a foil to the disguised injin Anti -Renters, who also conceal their true identi ties as a self -protective measure. The nature of their disguises is also significant. Hugh and Ro disguise themselves not only as foreigners, but as destitute , though as Hugh defines these roles, their ÒcharactersÓ are those of educated gentlemen fallen on hard times, and therefore not the complete social Others of the relations they deceive. The injins, on the other hand, are a composite caricature, racially offensive even by the standards of the 1840Õs. The more important contrast is the fact that the ir ruse is not credible: no one believes that the feathered, pidgin -utterin g injins are real American Indians, nor is such their intent ion. Rather, the calico -mask injin disguise is only meant to hide the particular identities of the Anti -Renters to prote ct them from prosecution Ñtheir corporate identity in New Yor k State by 1845 is already well established. I maintain , though, that the notion of disguise in The Redskins is more than a signal preoccupation with racial difference or a conventional narrative mechanism. Though Cooper endeavors to contrast the Yankee Anti -Renters and the Anglo -Dutch patroons, the phenomenon of hidden identity evidences rhetorical ambivalence within the text. As I argue, conflicting impulses regarding an ethos of responsibility for the individualized Other in the antebellum U.S. emerge and destabilize CooperÕs moral didacticism throughout the trilogy. Furthermore, as CalhounÕs writing makes c lear, a Northerner like Cooper could share soci opolitical terrain with a pro-slavery, anti -Tariff, statesÕ rights Southerner while backing away from the residue of 88 !Andrew JacksonÕs ÒdemagogicÓ Democracy and backing into elements of the Whig platform (Schle singer 379 -80), though all three fig ures were Democrats. That said CooperÕs fixation with disguise in the third novel introduces another example of Whiggish cross -pollination within his sociopolitical and ethical thought, reflective of similar anxieties a nd blurred lines within antebellum New York and elsewhere. 54 Again, the oratories of the Anti -Renter meeting prove iconic. Framing this episode is the fact that the injins, who are functioning as paramilitary security force for the assembly, as well as Hugh and Ro enter the meeting in their disguises. As the polyphonic political discourse t o follow makes clear, however, disguise is a metaphor for the reality that even within the inflammatory, polarizing context of the Anti -Rent controversy political all egiances are not always what they appear to be. The Anti -Rent lecturer remarks: Fellow -citizens, I profess to be what is called a democrat. I know that many of you be what is called whigs; but I apprehend there isnÕt much difference between us on the sub ject of this system of leasing land. We are all republicans, and leasing farms is anti -republican. Then, I wish to be liberal even to them I !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!54 In The Political Culture of the American Whigs , Daniel Walker Howe describes ÒWhiggeryÓ as a current of American thought in the mid 1800Õs that championed e ntrepreneurship, large businesses, and progressive economi c development. It was also an ÒabsolutistÓ Ñand often evangelical flavored Ñmoral philosophy based on Scottish Common Sense and self -discipline, gov ernment regulation, and a social conservatism characterized by an ordering, social hierarchy led by educated statesmen (23 -42). In particular, Howe notes that ÒAmercian Whigs typically assumed moral responsibility for others Ó (34), as well as emphasizing morality and duty over ÒJacksonian rhetoricÓ on equality and individualism (21 -22). Walker explains that Òthe Whigs were usually concerned with muting social conflict. In their determined assertion of the interdependence of different classes, regions, an d interest groups [e. g. Ôdifferentiated OthersÕ], one recognizes the same analogy between the individual and society that also characterized the other two main principles of Whig social thought [directing the improving Ôforces of changeÕ and ÔcorporateÕ morality]Ó (21). Like Cooper, Whigs tended to support the cause of the American Indian, though they were divided on the issue of slavery (28 -29). Finally, while progressive in their understanding of history, the Whigs, as with Cooper in the Littlepage tri logy, looked back to colonial times for examples for the U.S. future (71), while also maintaining Òthe right and duty of one g eneration to bind anotherÉ Whigs sought to imbue Americans with a proper sense of responsibility, both toward previous gener ations, whose sacrifices [ CooperÕs Littlepages and Mordaunts] had made freedom possible, and toward subsequent generations, who depended on present exertionsÓ (72). Along with Cooper, the Whigs were responding to de TocquevilleÕs critique of American democracy i n the sense that democracy tends to foster historical amnesia and a sense of individualism and personal disconnection from posterity and even oneÕs immediate fellows. 89 !commonly oppose at elections É on the whull, the whigs have rather outdone us democrats on the subject of this an ti-rentism. I am sorry to be obliged to own in it, but it must be confessed that, while in the way of governors there hasnÕt been much difference Ñyes, put Ôem in a bag, and shake Ôem up, and youÕd hardly know which would come out first Ñwhich has done hims elf the most immortal honor, which has shown himself the most comprehensive, profound, and safe statesmanÉ Let but the people truly rule, and all must come out well. (188 -89). Some of this is tongue in cheek on CooperÕs part, for in addition to the Ògover nors,Ó the Anti -Renter injins had, literally , already placed themselves in calico Òbags,Ó regardless of their party affiliations. More signifi cant is the fact that Cooper denigrates his own Democratic party, or at least a portion of it, in associating it with Whigs, whom he detested (Schle singer 379). Yet beyond the question of party alliance here is the perversion of republicanism, which the lecturer links with the principle of majority rule and, as his myopic discourse continues, with his own constructi on of political equality : ÒEquality is my axiom. Nor, by equality, do I mean your narrow, pitiful equality before the law, as is sometimes tanned [by Cooper and Calhoun], for that may be no equality at all; but, I mean equality that is substantial, and wh ich must be restored, when the working of the law has deranged it [according to Skidmore and even Jackson]Ó (189). From this rationale follows the lecturerÕs insistence that in order to achieve socioeconomic ÒequalityÓ which the ÒlawÓ failed to establish, Òwe must, from time to time, divide up the landÓ (189). Though Hall, the noble proletarian Democrat and CooperÕs mouthpiece, rebuts these assertions, the confusion of political allegiances persists, as does CooperÕs ambivalence, for just as the disguise s suggest within the novel, for actual New York Democrats of the 1840Õs it was 90 !becoming difficult to distinguish friend from adversary. 55 That said, I suggest that the narrative deployment of hidden identities within the novel mirrors the ambiguous politic al, socioeconomic and ethical commitments of the historical players during New YorkÕs Anti -Rent crisis of the 1830Õs and Ô40Õs, such as Governor William H. Seward. 56 At least on paper, the m ajority of the Yankee Anti -Ren t proponents were Whigs (Schles inger 379), whereas the Anglo -Dutch patroons, the social class and ethno -cultural faction that Cooper champions, were mostly conservative Democrats ( Political Culture 17, 35). In terms of social ethos, historical understanding and politics, though, as Schles inger and I suggest, by the mid -1840Õs, Cooper was ironically drifting towards Whiggery. This is also ironic on a chronological plane in that by this time, the Whigs Ñas a viable political party as opposed to a loose confederation of related ideas Ñwere decli ning, to be superseded by the modern Republican Party in the 1850Õs, their political successor. At the same time, though, within the Anti -RentersÕ ÒdemagogicÓ rhetoric on democracy and popular rule Ñas Cooper pejoratively presents it Ñwe detect the strains of Jacksonian Democratic thought as well. An ethico -formalist reading of The Redksins Ñand hence the entire trilogy Ñis at its best when we consider the historical tensions it manifests between Jacksonian Democracy, CalhounÕs alternative to Jackson, and Wh iggery. In terms of the Bakhtinian formalist and the Levinasian ethical contours that I trace, these political tensions present within CooperÕs polyphonic !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!55 I consider CalhounÕs position on the Tariff here: despite the areas of ideological comm onality the later Cooper and Calhoun appear to share, the Anti -Rent Rebellion could be viewed , by a Jacksonian, as a microcosm of the Nullification Crisis in South Carolina. 56 According to Howe, Ò the Anti -Rent WarÉ caught Seward between his obligation to up hold the law, on the one hand, and, on the other, the just cause and political strength of the protesters (most of them Whig voters). The governor made it clear that his sympathies were with the tenants and succeeded in calming them while calling on the legislature to abolish the archaic system of land tenure that had caused the problem. The persistence of the relics of feudalism was hardly in keeping with SewardÕs ambitions for his stateÓ (200). While Cooper too advocates law and order throughout The Red skins , in the ÒPrefaceÓ he characterizes the New York state legislatureÕs measures to force the break -up of the vast patroon estates through excessive taxation as Òfar more tyrannical than the attempt of Great Britain to tax her colonies, which brought abo ut the revolutionÓ (4). 91 !dialogues and narrative structures, considering the socioeconomic and ethical ballast they hold, hav e everything to with how the antebellum U.S. was trying to come to terms with the competing ethical concepts of individualized Otherness, categorizing social hierarchy and citizensÕ interpersonal responsibility. This was complicated by the reality that th e republic in the 1840Õs was drifting toward sectional political fragmentation, to the growing alarm of Americans in the North and South, east and west. Also embedded within these political anxieties was the problem of how antebellum Americans were attemp ting to develop a distinct, diachronic sense of their own historicity within public and literary discourses, a national self -imagining that, as CooperÕs Littlepage novels show, often resisted unity in thought and voice. Just as The Redskins anticipates much of CalhounÕs political philosophy in Disquisition in addition to giving evidence of CooperÕs political and ethical shift towards Whiggery, likewise I argue that it responds to Alexis de TocquevilleÕs Democracy in America , considering Coop erÕs sensitivity to continental opinion on American culture, politics and letters since his formative travels in the 1830Õs. Amongst many areas of congruence, de TocquevilleÕs views on the effects, and the social impetus, of universal equality in a democr acy are echoed pessimistically in CalhounÕs and CooperÕs rhetoric. Similar to CalhounÕs remarks in Disquisition ,57 Cooper criticizes the Anti -Renters for their views on universal equality, asserting in the ÒPrefaceÓ that [i]n point of fact, the relation o f landlord and tenant is one entirely natural and salutary, in a wealthy community, and one that is so much in accordance with the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!57 Calhoun writes: Òit is a great and dangerous error to suppose that all people are equally entitled to liberty. It is a reward to be earned, not a blessing to be gratuitously lavished on all alike Ña reward reserved for the intelligent, the patriotic, the virtuous and deserving, and not a boon to be bestowed on a people too ignorant, degraded and vicious to be capable either of appre ciating or of enjoying itÉ These dangerous errors have their origin in the prevalent opinion that all men are born free and equ alÑthan which nothing can be more unfounded and falseÉ As, then, there never was such a state as the so -called state of nature, and never can be, it follows that men, instead of being born in it, are born in the social and political state; and of course, i nstead of being born free and equal, are born subject, not only to parental authority, but to the laws and institutions of the country where born and under whose protection they draw their first breathÓ (42, 45). 92 !necessities of men, that no legislation can long prevent itÉThe notion that every husbandman is to be a freeholder, is as Uto pian in practice as it would be to expect that all men were to be on the same level in fortune, condition, education, and habits. As such a state of things as the last never yet did exist, it was probably never designed by divine wisdom that it should exi st. (6) De Tocqueville articulates much of what both Calhoun and Cooper fear respecting the detrimental effects of a ÒlevelingÓ democracy. In particular, he treats the sense of ethical obligation Ñor lack thereof Ñthe subject holds for a distinct Other in democratic society, as opposed to in an ÒaristocraticÓ society, though de Tocqueville is not advocating for a reinvigoration of aristocracy, but only pointing out democracyÕs weaknesses. He writes: Individualism is democratic in origin and threatens to gro w as conditions become equalÉaristocratic institutions achieve the effect of binding each man closely to several of his fellow citizensÉAs each class closes up to the others and merges with them, its members become indifferent to each other and treat each other as strangers. Aristocracy had created a long chain of citizens from the peasant to the king; democracy breaks down this chain and separates all the linksÉ As social equality spreads, a greater number of individuals are no longer rich or powerful eno ugh to exercise great influence upon the fate of their fellowsÉ Such a people owe nothing to anyone and, as it were, expect nothing from anyone. They are used to considering themselves in isolation and quite willingly imagine their destiny as entirely in their own hands. (588 -89) To examine all three through a Levinasian lens, the key point to note is that totalizing class Òleveling Ó threatens more than just the interests of the upper echelons, but destroys a polityÕs 93 !capacity to foster a virtuous citizenr y with a greater sense of interpersonal, ethical obligation for differentiated, particularized Others. Hence, the ironic lesson that Jaap and Susquesus offer is the circumstance that the ÒadmittedÓ Other and the more -marginalized Òthird partyÓ Other who occupy the lowest rungs of the social ladder that Cooper, Calhoun and de Tocqueville champion cultivate an ethos of duty for history and their distinct Others, their Anglo -Dutch overlords, that has escaped the Yankee Anti -Renters and the sermonizing narrato r alike. John P. McWilliams, reflecting on the diachronic significance of the Littlepage trilogy as a whole, offers that The Redskins was clearly the book for which the Littlepage trilogy was written. The gradual emergence of social lawlessness and the eclipse of the gentry were to end in violent, domestic conflict. In Satanstoe [1758] the blood shed to establish Ravensnest had seemed to Corny to be a necessary sacrifice for a community that was to evolve settled, gracious forms of living. By 1784, how ever, jealous, alegal settlers had already darkened CornyÕs expectations. (325) As I have argued, CooperÕs tone in The Redskins is not just didactic, but apocalyptic : McWilliams focuses in particular on the themes of post -Revolution proletarian violence a nd lawlessness that emerge in The Chainbearer Õs 1784 and reach their ÒdarkÓ fulfillment in the The Redskins Õ 1845. I add, though, that CooperÕs ÒeschatologyÓ here is not just about violent class conflict or lawlessness. CooperÕs contrast of the ancient y et humble Jaap with the proudly indolent Susquesus in The Redskins illuminates best what I am driving at: ÒAccustomed to labor from childhood, he could not be kept from work, even by his extreme old age. He had the hoe, or the axe, or the spade in his ha nd daily, many years after he could either to any material advantage. The little he did in this way, now, was not done to kill thought, for he never had any 94 !to kill; it was purely the effect of habit, and of a craving desire to be Jaaf still, and to act h is life over againÓ (322). 58 JaapÕs refusal of emancipation has as much to do with the sentiment Cooper describes as his fear of Òdisgrace and povertyÓ were he to embrace freedom and leave the rigid social hierarchy to which he had become accustomed (323). What these passages suggest, however, is that Jaap, the Òthird partyÓ Other, now oblivious to the boundaries between past and present due to his increasing senility, nevertheless opts for a recurring history of servile duties towards his masters , uncompl icated by a shifting sociopolitical and ethical climate and the uncertain and foreboding future to which the Anti -Rent turmoil pointed. By contrast, the more alert Susquesus chooses stoic resignation to historyÕs ÒprogressiveÓ ma rch, whereas the Littlepag es pursue a course of despair, disengagement and flight rather than reimagine an ethical paradigm of duty toward malignant social and cultural Others grown too powerful to control. Even as a ÒformerÓ slave, JaapÕs salvation is that he can imagine and will a return to the dutiful ideal of 1758, where he both fought and, ironically, exceeded the mandates of his social station. As for Susquesus, he accepts that the past is gone, and that doom will follow the Euro -Americans just as history has annihilated the American Indians. But the most acute anguish of all for the Littlepages Ñand Cooper Ñis the realization that their ideal, ÒadmittedÓ past of 1758, constructed on a fraud, is no better than the post -Revolution degeneracy of greedy squatters, ambitious entre preneurs and ÒlevelingÓ proto -Whigs like Thousandacres and Jason Newcome of 1784. The rhetorical instability and ambivalence referenced in my discussion of Cooper are not limited to that which we encounter in the Littlepage texts, or across the diachronic spectrum of his work; they also reference the critical conversation surrounding these novels, which displays a remarkable instability of ideas regarding CooperÕs ethics and ideology. Whereas Marius Bewley !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!58 The wording of this passage is uncannily similar to that of NietzscheÕs description of eternally -recurring will to power in Thus Spoke Zarathustra (249 -254). The fact that a slave functions as the exemplar for this line of thought in Cooper is ironic on several levels. 95 !claims that CooperÕs rhetoric in the Littlepage t rilogy betrays an anti -Whig conservatism bent on preserving a strong social hierarchy within the republic, Donald Ringe takes the opposite view, asserting that the Littlepage narrator -protagonists and their didacticism become progressively more Òdemocratic Ó in a liberal, egalitarian sense throughout the novels. A generation later, Steven Watts finds a middle ground between the two. Though I align more with BewleyÕs historicist conclusions, such disparate critical interpretations are significant, for in ev idencing the polyphonic presence of contrasting discourses embedded in the trilogyÕs dialogues they suggest that Cooper had more than an unconscious ambivalence. They show a nuanced rhetorical attempt to engage political, social and ethical conflicts thro ugh the supposedly monolithic heuristic of conservative Northern republicanism in the 1840Õs. That Ringe and Bewley read these texts with varying optics betrays more the latent discursive tension within CooperÕs work than the analystsÕ ideological biases. The thing to keep in mind with CooperÕs later fiction is that unlike the incendiary unnerving issue of slavery that haunts CooperÕs fiction in the 1820Õs, by the 1840Õs the problem of Otherness in Cooper has shifted and expanded. Christopherson frames The Last of the Mohicans , The Pioneers and The Prairie within the debate over the Missouri Crisis, positing that Òdark cloudsÓ of hostile Americans Indian Others conjure Southern fears of slave insurrection and Northern concerns about racial conflict. I arg ue, however, that by the 1840Õs, in the wake of Andrew JacksonÕs championing the Òcommon manÓ and majority rule, increasing industrialization, urbanization and immigration and the rejection, as Cooper saw it, of an ordering, hierarchical republicanism thre atened his idealized agrarian and patriarchal model of interpersonal ethical relations in thus U.S. True, the prospects of disunion, rebellion and civil war weighed on the American collective consciousness in the 1820Õs. By the 1840Õs, though, the 96 !more disturbing questions for social and political conservatives like Cooper and John C. Calhoun, Northerners and Southerners concerned what would follow these events. For Cooper, gentlemen citizens had a responsibility to shepherd the crude masses including radical Others just as constables, the judiciary and the government had the moral obligation to uphold laws and protect citizensÕ rights while all were to be loyal t o the State. That said, how would this sense of duty be affected by extreme, violent, self -determining Others now legitimized by a ÒSpirit of the InstitutionsÓ which heretofore had guarded an American republicanism that connected polity with caste stratif ication? Might not a post -1848, post -Abolition Unites States risk substituting a worse form of totalization for the previous? Would the Good of the differentiated Other, now including free African Americans, working class Jacksonians and American Indians , be served in a radical, reorganized republic? Could this majoritarian paradigm spawn new classes of oppressed Others subject to the unconstrained currents of profit -driven, populist politics? How would an ethos of interpersonal duty survive in this ver sion of America? As I shift my discussion to Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno,Ó these questions remain in play. However, Melville casts the issues of interpersonal ethics, social order, polity and Otherness in a different hue. As I argue, by the 1850Õs, issues of sociopolitical stability in the U.S. had expanded beyond CooperÕs ÒLittlepageÓ conversations on the roles of gentility, peasant ry and indigenous persons in a democratic republic. Thus, what emerges through the polyphonic di alogues of MelvilleÕs texts is an ambivalent, ironic discourse on the two primary competing visions of American polity, economy and social organization: Northern industrialism and Southern agrarianism. As we will see, the issues reflected in Melville conc ern the ways in which the different models of economy and labor in the North and South create two 97 !contrasting classes of totalized Other, the Northern industrial worker versus the African slave in the South. Melville also suggests a further anxiety: ethno -racial, social and functional hybridity threatened the socioeconomic stability of both regions , in addition to confusing the larger ethical sense of responsibility for the oppressed, particularized and laboring Other. ! 98 ! CHA PTER 2: The Ethics of Confinement: Race, Class and Labor in Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ Charles N. Watson argues that Herman Melville likely read Edgar Alla n PoeÕs Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (1838) because ÒIsraelÕs three -day entombment in Squire WoodcockÕs mansion [in Israel Potter ]Ébears a close resemblance to PymÕs initial adventure on the Grampus ,Ó where Pym is confined Òin a coffinlike box in the hold to prevent his being detectedÓ (105). However, Wat son also points out the contrast between the two authors: ÒThough both writers were concerned with the nightmarish emotions inspired by the sensation of entombment, Poe took Pym through a series of ingenious attempts at escape, in each of which PymÕs ratio nality was put to the test and defeated. These contrivances were apparently of no interest to Melville, who seems to haveÉreshaped the source to his own endsÓ (107). But if PoeÕs deeper, philosophical aim in representing scenes of premature burial is to argue that Òingenious rationalityÓ cannot provide the subject an ÒescapeÓ from the existential confines of fate or the fallen human condition, what are Melville Õs ÒendsÓ in depicting ÒentombmentÓ? What is his greater interest in the motif of confinement ? This is the central ethical question that I address in this chapter: I argue that in MelvilleÕs Israel Potter: His Fifty Years of Exile (1854-55) and ÒBenito CerenoÓ (1855) the polyphonic -dialogic representation of physical and psychological confinement ge stures towards an ambivalent ethical preoccupation regarding the totalization and implementation of urban workers and African American slaves as objectified Others in the United States of the 1850Õs. 99 !That said, the notion of premature burial or ÒconfinementÓ in an antebellum context was never just a titillating narrative device in Poe and Melville, and on the metaphoric -historical plane it signified more than adolescent AmericaÕs spatial claustrophobia in general: it was emblematic of many issues confronting the growing New World republic. Followi ng the War of 1812, succeeding presidential administrations looked inward as well as entertaining expansionist designs, forced to grapple with inadequate infrastructures in the U.S.Õs hinterland as the population and the economy mushroomed. Modern roads, canals and railways would be needed, especially in the manufacturing North, to accommodate unprecedented growth and urbanization as AmericaÕs Industrial Revolution took hold following JacksonÕs victory in New Orleans. Despite vast quantities of land, natur al resources and a vigorous populace, the U.S.Õs lack of financial and transportation development confined the republicÕs empire -sized ambitions during the early and mid -1800Õs. 1 Within growing metropolises, an emerging class of urban poor, many recent im migrants 2 and free blacks, reflected the poverty of American workers and their families who were being asphyxiated within squalid living and working conditions that totalized and entombed them in large manufacturing neighborhoods. 3 The agrarian South, the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 In Waking Giant: America in the Age of Jackson , David S. Reynolds notes, ÒMadison and his successor, James Monroe, praised such projects [internal transportation improvements of Henry ClayÕs American System], which they saw as crucial to national growth and unityÉ Transportation c hanges fed the movement toward a capitalist economy, which gained momentum in the opening decades of the nineteenth century. The subsistence economy of the pastÉshifted toward a market economy, in which goods were produced, sold, and bought outside the ho me. Economic development and westward migration were closely linked to transportation of goods and peopleÓ (11 -12). I submit that a manufacturing economy in turn spurred improvements in the U.S.Õs transportation infrastructure. 2 Ralph Waldo Emerson note s this phenomenon with ambivalence in ÒWealth,Ó the influx being the result of AmericaÕs economic rise (711). 3 Gavin Jones argues in ÒPoverty and the Limits of Literary CriticismÓ that poverty is Òa term that has registered construct ions of inferior other nessÉ A number of recent scholars have suggested that the racial explanations and representations of social difference that are so prevalent in the US have traditionally stood in for the nationÕs Ôextremely impoverished political language of classÕ (Wray a nd Newitz 8). But the antebellum era saw the establishment of a complex, conspicuous discourse on poverty that comprehended economic inequality in ways largely independent of race and slavery (issues that admittedly outweighed poverty as a national concer n)Ó (771), later adding, Òa focus [in literature and literary criticism] on race has acted to divide and pacify the working class, thus delegitimating poverty as a political question É poverty is clearly connected to the cultural questions of power, differ ence, and signifying practice that animate any discussion of social marginalization in its most basic and universal senseÓ (777 -78). As I argue, the figure of the poor urban worker in the antebellum North emerges as a 100 !supposed test case for JeffersonÕs idyllic vision of the republic, 4 offered no better alternative for an underclass of poor whites and African Americans, as the explosion of cotton planting on an ÒindustrialÓ scale created an insatiable thirst for laborer s, cheap freemen and slaves, to meet the enormous demands of Northern and European textile mills (Reynolds 32, 62). Powerful political interests, North and South, staked their financial wellbeing, and their visions for the future, on perpetuating and expa nding these competing models of production and labor in the 1850Õs. Thus, cultural, economic, and sectional conflicts added to a sense of national confinement as well. As CooperÕs Littlepage trilogy demonstrates, the quasi -feudal ÒpatroonsÓ of New YorkÕs Hudson Valley by the 1840Õs found themselves enmeshed in violent class/labor conflicts with their serf -like tenants, who viewed their hereditary landlords as medieval barriers to modernity and economic justice. Each faction understood its duty as aligned with a certain ideological model (Democrat or Whig) and epoch of American history as much as with the ethical principles that they claimed. While Cooper wrote, however, a younger New Yorker was commencing his writing career in the 1840Õs with a sequence of exotic, semi -autobiograp hical maritime novels. Like Cooper, Herman Melville addressed pressing social, political, and ethical issues erupting on the American scene, though with differing and more obscure views. For Melville, a former sailor, the inter -subjective ethics of duty held a special fascination, in that his historical perspective on social and political confinement was inflected by a global vantage !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!modern representative of a post -Ind ustrial Revolution category of Other, counterbalancing earlier versions of labor -related Otherness based on ÒaristocraticÓ notions of social class or those rooted in race/ethnicity, such as African slaves, American Indians and Spaniards. This social distinc tion finds representation within the work of antebellum writers as well ÑMelvilleÕs Israel Potter is an example. 4 Though Thomas Jefferson was a planter, his vision for the American Republic was that of a rural nation of small yeoman farmers. L arge, indust rial -scale plantations did not fit this model, though many Southerners interpreted Jefferson differently. 101 !point. 5 As the U.S. and Melville entered the 1850Õs, questions concerning duty and confinement would come to the forefront of the ethical consciousness, and conscience, of his fiction. But what does ÒconfinementÓ mean within an ethical literary context? Within the works of Melville that I treat, confinement manifests itself in physical, psychologi cal, socioeconomic and political ways. In a literal sense, confinement is manifested as a constriction of oneÕs space, freedom and personal agency, exemplified by the claustrophobic episodes of captivity, dialogic coercion and existential despair that rec ur in Israel Potter. ÒBenito CerenoÓ too features motifs of captivity and constraint; I argue, however, that this text engages confinement on a subtler, more psychological level through the pressured sequences of ethno -racial paranoia and linguistic manip ulation. 6 On the historical plane I point to the frustrating confinement of aspirations encountered by the American yeoman typified in Israel Potter , a Patriot during the Revolution who, anonymously ÒentombedÓ for decades as a stranger -Other in a post -Industrial Revolution urban wasteland (Rogin 228), never accesses the promise of ÒLife, Liberty and the pursuit of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!5 Melville engaged in social and political critique in his semi -autobiographical maritime fiction, such as Typee , Omoo , Redburn and White -Jacket . Evi dent within these texts is a rendering of non -commissioned sailors (and immigrant steerage passengers in Redburn ) as a mixture of ages, nationalities, races and ethnicities whose common poverty renders them as a servile class vulnerable to deception and abuse on the part of those who hold authority over them. In particular, the sense of claustrophobia or ÒconfinementÓ within the imprisoning barriers of a sailing vessel is palpable, in the sense of physical space restrictions and through the stifling , arbitrary power wielded by the shipsÕ officers, including the legal right to ÒflogÓ insubordinate sailors in the U. S. Navy. WellingboroughÕs explorations of working -class Liverpool in Redburn suture MelvilleÕs depiction of life at sea for a sailor to th e plight of workers in a post -Industrial Revolution city. I also assert that t he Revolutions of 1848 had an effect on the labor and class awareness of most literate America ns, especially those with more global experience, like MelvilleÕs. For further dis cussion of this topic, see Janis P. Stout, ÒThe Encroaching Sodom: MelvilleÕs Urban FictionÓ (163 -64). 6 Both Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ are based on actual historical events and persons, extracted by and large from Henry TrumbullÕs Life and Remarka ble Adventures of Israel Potter and Amasa DelanoÕs Narrative of Voyages and Travels in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres , to the extent that Melville uses many of the same names for his characters . Nevertheless, I read MelvilleÕs texts as works of his torical fiction , though containing reconstructions of real occurrences and representations of real figures . Despite the historical bases for these narratives, however, Melville made deliberate choices as to w hat elements would remain Òtrue Ó to the histo rical records, and those persons or episodes he would alter or omit. For discussions of MelvilleÕs source texts for Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno,Ó see Peter J. Bellis, ÒIsrael Potter: Autobiography as History as FictionÓ; David Chacko and Alexander Kulc sa, ÒIsrael Potter: Genesis of a LegendÓ; Douglass M. Coulson, ÒDistorted Records in ÔBenito CerenoÕ and the Slave Rebellion TraditionÓ; Jean nine Marie De Lombard, ÒSalvaging Legal Personhood: MelvilleÕs Benito Cereno Ó; and Shari Goldberg, ÒBenito CerenoÕs Mute Testimony: On the Politics of Reading MelvilleÕs Silences.Ó 102 !HappinessÓ championed by Jefferson. 7 By contrast, ÒBenito Cereno,Ó though set in 1799, reflects the U.SÕs anxieties of the 1850Õs regarding the nationÕs inability to ÒconfineÓ threats of slave insurrection, of intersectional conflict, and of the blurring of hierarchical ethno -racial, social and labor boundaries in a republic featuring two different regional, economic cultures. On the one hand, there were Northern concerns that slavery would expand into newly admitted frontier States, confining the expansion of the free labor economy; 8 on the other, both North and South feared a general racial conflagration and intersectional conflict, as violence in Missouri and Kansas foreshadowed ( Waking Giant 196, 381). Underlying these confining currents of political instability, class oppression, social confusion, urban degeneracy and violent rebellion within MelvilleÕs works, though, is an interpersonal ethical probe, brought into relief through their dialogic polyphony and evocative discourses on duty, differentiated Otherness and totalization. To be tter demonstrate my critical axis of approach, I present an orienting analysis linking significant elements from Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno.Ó A thematic key to each text is a cryptic slogan that announces, frames, and actualizes their layers of meani ng. In Israel Potter Melville imports Benjamin FranklinÕs ubiquitous ÒGod helps them that help themselvesÓ (70) from Poor RichardÕs Almanack. ÒBenito Cereno,Ó by contrast, features the more sinister, enigmatic motto ÒFollow your leaderÓ scrawled beneath D on AlexandroÕs skeleton on the bow of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!7 Cindy Weinstein notes in ÒMelville, Labor a nd the Discourses of ReceptionÓ: ÒMelvilleÕs representation of workers damaged (and here erased ) by their work was not unique. These anxieties we re most acutely expressed in working -class publications and speeches to working -class audiencesÓ (205, emphasis mine ). Thomas Skidmore again comes to mind. With respect to MelvilleÕs Israel Potter, I reinforce this notion of erasure within an urban -indus trial context as that which follo ws the laborerÕs socioeconomic confinement. 8 See Abraham LincolnÕs ÒSpeech on the Kansas -Nebraska ActÓ (307 -48). Wai -chee Dimock also offers a lucid discussion of this topic in Empire for Liberty: Melville and the Poetics of Individualism : ÒWhat Lincoln dismissed was not only the Southern claim to sovereignty, but any version of history that refused to recognize the primacy of harmonyÉ In short, LincolnÕs plea for harmony operated, paradoxically enough, by an act of subord ination: most immediately, by subordinating the validity of conflict. America was personified strictly for the benefit of the North. With is organic governance, its sovereign dictates, the Ôbody of the RepublicÕ permitted the South no identity except as part of a whole, a whole of which it would always have to remain a partÓ (28). 103 !the San Dominick (234). Within both narratives, each saying voices an ethical theme which, ironically, the texts also undercut. In Israel Potter , Benjamin Franklin consecrates his slogan with his larger -than -life pers ona as one of the United StatesÕ founding fathers and its greatest bona fide celebrity of the late 1700Õs. Nevertheless, Israel, who Òhelps himselfÓ via tenacity and practical thinking as a yeoman Patri ot soldier, EmersonÕs quintessential Òself -reliantÓ American, 9 receives no help from God, in that he dies in obscure poverty, the scant assistance he does receive coming from unlikely benefactors. The motto on the San Dominick is also ironic in that Captain Delano enters the blighted shipÕs story in medias res, after a slave mutiny has decimated the vesselÕs governance structure and the original crew, leaving Don Benito, the shipÕs nominal Òcaptain,Ó as the prisoner and masquerading puppet of his personal Òslave,Ó Babo, the lea der of the revolt: Babo and the slaves no more intend to ÒfollowÓ their previous Òleaders,Ó Don Benito and Don Alexandro, any more than the surviving crew members wish to continue under the tyrannical rule of BaboÕs re -ordered hierarchy. Hence, each text repudiates the ethical logic of institutional loyalty, interpersonal duty and the belief in a benevolent authority, and so champions a ruthless, individualistic ethos of mercenary survival on the one hand, and self -preservation through compulsory submission on the other. Indeed, the mo tto of both texts could be the famous last words attributed to the Titanic Õs Captain Smith: ÒEvery man for himself .Ó !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!9 Ralph Waldo Emerson in ÒSelf -RelianceÓ extols the industrious New England yeoman over the easily discouraged young Òcity dollsÓ of Boston and New York (146). I add that Emers onÕs advocacy of a pastoral ideal suggests more than a mere romantic fixation with the rural yeoman or the city/country dichotomy discussed by Raymond Williams in the 1970Õs. T aking my lead from Gavin Jones, I argue that the more pressing sociocultural pol arity in American society during the late antebellum period revolves around impoverished labor as a distinct category of Otherness, and what that means within the totalizations of rural Southern slavery and the Northern urban industrialism . In both arenas , an ethos respecting dialogic responsiveness to the individualized Other is overridden by the pragmatic economic interests of each region. Emerson alludes to this loss of individuality within the context of labor in ÒThe American Scholar,Ó where he notes , with th e dismemberment of the original ÒOne ManÓ of whom all persons are individualized functional components, that Ò[m]an is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food is seldom chee red by the idea of the true dignity of his ministryÉ The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney a statute -book; the m echanic a machine; the sailor the rope of the shi pÓ (46). Tragically, MelvilleÕs Israel Potter too is rendered an implement struggling to Òhelp himself,Ó and at the hands of his own countrymen. 104 !A closer analysis of these two phrases is revealing. In the first instance, ÒGod helps them that help themselves,Ó agency is dispersed, albeit linked: one could interpret this as implying that taking initiative toward self -sufficiency invokes GodÕs compassion. Furthermore, aside from this sloganÕs theological baggage, the language is ethically confining in its ego centric insularity, a rep udiation of the Golden Rule: responsibility towards an Other does not enter this value equation. If anything, the Selfsame ÑÒthem selves ÓÑbecomes the ÒOtherÓ party who God assists only after the Selfsame has first attended to its -Self, for -itself. But wher eas Poor RichardÕs is a statement , intended as advice that ought to be heeded by anyone reads or hears it, the clipped and emphatic ÒFollow your leader,Ó or Ò Seguid vuestro jefe Ó in Spanish, is a command , though its lack of any surrounding sematic context renders it ambiguous, despite the thematic color of the enveloping narrative. Still, respecting the mandate itself, the issuer of the command, not necessarily the referenced Òleader,Ó and the group 10 being tasked to ÒfollowÓ are obscure, though the text discloses Babo as its author at the conclusion. The motto exists in a vacuum of meaning, though the Spanish grammar implies multiple familiar addressees. The mottoÕs reader is hailed as a part of a general audience, but to what end , and by what governing authority ? Just as Poor RichardÕs slogan emphasizes agency and initiative while confining any greater sense of duty toward the community to the wellbeing of the Selfsame, or a conglomeration of similar -minded Selves, the San Dominick Õs motto res tricts agency while demanding submission to an imposed hierarchical structure from any persons who might read it. One phrase totalizes through unfettered egocentrism authorized by narcissistic popular wisdom, the other through a generic appeal to social o rder, an authorita tive mandate without a visible !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!10 The Spanish verb seguir , meaning Òto follow ,Ó is here conjug ated in the more archaic, informal, second person plural imperative, suggesting not only a command to a group, but also persons either familiar and/or inferior to the issuer . If one were to associate this motto with Babo, the Spanish grammar would indicat e not only an a uthoritative role and maleness Ñjefe is masculine Ñbut also higher social status in relation to the implied audience . 105 !source. What this exegesis says about these texts their antebellum milieu is the focus of my argument. I claim that the sloga ns that MelvilleÕs texts contain and critique, in conjunction with the larger his torical narrative that contains them , offer contrasting versions of a common ethos, two different avenues through which the antebellum United States, as a confederation of cultural, regional and ethical communities, might realize a single , symbiotic social hierarchy. In the midst of technological proliferation, urbanization, industrialization, arguments over slavery and a crisis over the Federal Union itself following the debates of 1850, 11 Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ manifest an ethical preoccupation with physical, social, psychological and dialogic confinement that ironically resists containment, just as the changes facing antebellum America could no longer be controlled, as Paul Michael Rogin asserts (229). Granted, neither Melville nor anyone else in the 1850Õs could envision the cataclysm to occur after 1860 or the long, painful and uncertain period of national rebuilding and self -reimagining to follow. Nevertheless, the volatile, ethical anxieties that these texts treat reveal a duplicitous, vio lent and unpredictable context where interpersonal duty is a practical liability, where Otherness is hybrid and dangerous, and where the ordering of epistemological totalization is incapable of restoring either a benign social economy or of recovering from history a paradigm of ethical values to illuminate a dark, ÒmodernÓ future. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11 Wai -chee Dimock sutures the issues of western expansion, sectional conflict, slavery and labor in Empire for Liberty : ÒAnte bellum America, the age of individualism, was also a period of sharpening tensions and polarities É Jacksonian America, in short, was an America newly confronted with class difference, which explains why ÔprosperityÕ became a damning word in the periodÕs p ublic oratoryÉ Images of earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and other catastrophic violence dominated antebellum discourse on labor relation s and class divionsÓ (11 -12). Sh e notes that especially for the North, the western territories offer ed a needed outle t for surplus labor saturating large urban areas (15 -20). Thus, the NorthÕs stake in slaveryÕs potential exp ansion westward was more than ethical , but bound to its own socioeconomic interests. 106 ! Published after EuropeÕs Revolution of 1848 12 and the U.S.Õs Compromise of 1850 (with its amplified Fugitive Slave Law) and between the controversial Kansas -Nebraska Act (1854) and the infamous Dred Scott Decision (1857), Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ must be read in critical acknowledgement of their historical context. That said, the issues of slavery, racism, class/labor turmoil related to industrialization, and the image of the ship as a claustrophobic, dystopian microcosm of the modern polity, while important from an interpretive standpoint, do not tell the whole story. 13 I argue that the questions of Otherness, morality and duty raised in Melville should not be ÒconfinedÓ by a solely historical interpretive optic as they are in the criticism of Douglas M. Coulson, Wai -chee Dimock and Christopher Hager, but are better addressed through LevinasÕ ethics of alterity. MelvilleÕs polyphonic and ambivalent interrogation via Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ of antebellum AmericaÕs two predominant versions of the totalized laboring Other, the urban laborer and the African slave, institutionalized by the differing socioeconomic systems of the industrial North and the agrarian S outh, exhibits an anxiety respecting the confinement of the individual in a modern, production -driven republic. Could the United States in the 1850Õs still !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!12 The Revolution of 1848 was a transatlantic phenomenon. Davi d S. Reynolds writes in Waking Giant : Òthe most important product of 1848 was the revolutionary spirit that energized Northern reform movements at a time when Southern proslavery sentiment was turning into a self -justifying cultural mythÉ Utopian socialism , for instance, exposed Northern class divisions, providing a convenient platform for fire -eaters like George Fitzhugh and John C. Calhoun to contrast the misery of urban workers with the alleged unhappiness of enslaved blacksÓ (379). 13 According to Warner Berthoff in The Example of Melville , Ò[t]wo works most notable for scene and atmosphere, and most explicitly pictorial, are Israel Potter and ÔBenito Cereno,Õ and both of these were in good part pieced together out of old documents, the main substance of which Melville somewhat reinterpreted but did not systematically changeÓ (68). Berthoff adds that Òthe effective setting is something more than the sum of bac kground (or foreground) descriptions. It embraces also the kinds of life and enterprise that are proper to the conditions presented, and it includes some corresponding view of the capacity for action and the reaction within the human agent. It realizes, then, a general view of nature and a general view of human nature. I am convinced that there is no simpler way of defining setting , in MelvilleÕs caseÓ (69). Though Berthoff is not speaking strictly of historical context in Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cere no,Ó and though I take issue with his minimizing of the narrative differences between the ÒhistoricalÓ records and MelvilleÕs fiction, his overall argument is well -stated, in that the Òbackground ,Ó while important, ought not to be the end of all analyse s. To the extent that questions regarding Òhuman natureÓ and the Òhuman agentÓ are crucial to any discussion concerning ethics, Otherness or duty, BerthoffÕs literary criticism foregrounds my own analysis. 107 !realize the Revolutionary ethical invocations implicit in the DeclarationÕs language when economic forces North and South were rendering increasing numbers of poor whites and black slaves faceless, voiceless, powerless and immobile implements of commercial production? Ironically, as debate over the personhood, emancipation and the potential citizenship of African -Americans increased, impoverished, urban workers saw their autonomy, social mobility and individuality obliterated as the collateral damage of AmericaÕs Industrial Revolution. 14 If by the 1850Õs actual Southern slaves, like the fictitious ones on board the claustrophobic San Dominick , could no longer be ethically ordered to Òfollow their leader,Ó neither could the totalized proletariat of the Northern metropolis be told, a la ÒPoor Richard,Ó just to Òhelp themselves.Ó So the question is raised: was Melville gesturing toward the possibility of a redemptive American ethics, the invocation of a proto -Levinasian individualized Other for whom citizens ought to assume personal responsibility in a post -1854 polity confined not just by race, ethnicity, regional politics or social class, but by ruthless socioeconomic and labor barriers as well? Despite the bleakness and existential despair that dominate the imagery and tone of Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno,Ó I answer yes, for the stark ethical confine ment that MelvilleÕs dialogues represent point beyond the textsÕ horizons. That is, they suggest the possibility of something better by invoking an ethical demand to redraw the contours of an American polity and social economy heret ofore sketched by explo itative self -helpers at the expense of an Othere d underclass of depersonalized leader -followers, totalities of laboring Ònobodies,Ó in Israel PotterÕs language. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!14 Russ Castronovo discusses the ÒobliterationÓ of the individual as a Òdead citizenÓ in Necro Citizenship: Death, Eroticism, and the Public Sphere in the Nineteenth -century United States. He argues that in the 1800Õs the U.S. develops Òan ideology of citizenship that prefers the immobile and abstract identi ty of state citizen over the dynamic condition of materially specific historical subjectsÓ (7). I claim that the yeoman Israel Potter is an excellent literary example of this phenomenon of Òimmobile,Ó abstracted and ÒdeadÓ personhood typified in Ò[t]he laboring body, licentious body,Éemancipated slave body, and corpseÓ (17, emphasis mine ). Suturing this notion of the democratic StateÕs Othering of the Òabstract identityÓ to the hierarchical totalization of the Òdead citizenÓ on the nineteenth -century Amer ican scene, Castronovo continues: ÒAbstract personhood is rhetorically, if not actually, financed by the experiences, memories, and stories of others ; the privileges of (white male) citizenship are tied up with the hyperembodiment of blacks, women, and wor kersÓ (17, emphasis mine ). 108 !With respect to ÒBenito Cereno,Ó beyond probing the significance of the inscrutable, Iago -like Babo, to borrow Charles N. WatsonÕs allusion (404), I argue that the emasculated, hybridized Don Benito, emblematic of the Anglo -American ethnic stereotype of the Òdark Spaniard,Ó complicates conventional treatments of African Otherness versus Southern Eur o-American ÒwhitenessÓ and hierarchical mastery in the 19 th Century. 15 Complementing the typological descriptions in ÒBenito CerenoÓ are those in Israel Potter, which also includes characters based on actual historical figures. Though both works are set in the late 1700Õs, each grapples with the ethical issues of duty and Otherness emergent in the United States during the 1850Õs. I am referring to the brief per iod in U.S. history where, ironically, two competing, disempowered laboring Others coexist, each within one of the U.S.Õs dominant regional cultures: the poor ÒfreeÓ worker of the urban North and the African American slave in the rural South. Both gro ups constituted an oppressed labor force within the antebellum United States and, as Alan Brinkley asserts, each was an indispensable cog in the realization of each sectionÕs vision of AmericaÕs economic future and the prosperity instrumental in securing p olitical power (452-57). Thus, I argue that the industrial NorthÕs totalizing of the proletarian Other was just as economically necessary as the agrarian SouthÕs oppression of black slaves. On the one hand, Northern Free Soilers and Abolitionists could i nvoke an ethical imperative regarding the welfare of the individual African American Other in the South while ignoring the plight of Northern Òwage slaves.Ó On the other, the South could point its moralizing finger at the dehumanization !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!15 As Mar™a de Guzm⁄n discusses in SpainÕs Long Shadow: The Black Legend, Off -Whiteness and Anglo -American Empire , the ÒSpaniardÓ character Benito Cereno can be read as a liminal figure, that is, as racially Òoff -white,Ó as Spania rds have been traditionally contrasted with ÒwhiteÓ Anglo -Saxons, an d therefore are Other to Africans, northwestern Europeans and Anglo -Americans (47 -67). This racialized understanding of Benito Cereno is also found in readings of DelanoÕs Narrative where, as Douglass M. Coulson posits in ÒDistorted Records in ÔBenito CerenoÕ and the Slave Rebellion Tradition,Ó the ÒSpaniardÓ is suspected of complicity with the slaves in the revolt (28). I too hold that a suspicion of Don BenitoÕs true allegiances, e ven within a tale dominated by intentional and coerced performativity, situates him in a liminal space between African and ÒwhiteÓ European identities. That said, I assert that the diminished Don Benito does not fit the stereotype of the sanguine Spaniard , either: on at least two levels he is an ambiguous figure of singular Otherness , as I will discuss. 109 !of Northern factor ies and the vast urban slums of impoverished ÒfreeÓ laborers. Supremely ironic is the fact that it was the slave -powered production of Southern cotton that fueled the growth of textile mills in new industrial cities like Lowell ( Waking Giant 62-64); from this perspective , Big Cotton helped create slaves on both sides of the Mason -Dixon Line. 16 Hence, what links Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ within the present discussion is how their scenes of confinement and paranoid hyper -control shape their polyphoni c ethical discourses on socioeconomic hierarchy, individualized versus totalized Otherness and interpersonal duty. Much of MelvilleÕs pre -Billy Budd fiction engage s prisoner motifs within the ÒconfinesÓ of a labor or class hierarchy, such Redburn, Typee, O moo and ÒBartleby, the Scrivener.Ó Furthermore, any novelistic conversation suturing ethical issues of duty, Otherness and agency after 1854 carries additional baggage, for the potential expansion of slavery intensified the ethical debate between the Nort h and South reg arding the moral status of each sectionÕs contrasting yet exploited labor force. Thus, I argue that Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ mirror this ironic, ambivalent dialogue, a circumstance that we also glean from the ÒethosÓ of their motto s. If ÒBenit o Cereno ÓÕs ÒFollow your leaderÓ connotes an ubiquitous, authoritative command to submit to the prevailing socioeconomic and ethno -racial hierarchies of oppressive plantations and wage slave factories, FranklinÕs more individualistic, Whiggish ly entrepreneurial slogan in Israel Potter anticipates NietzscheÕs will to power ethos, for embedded within it is a permutation of Emersonian ÒSelf -RelianceÓ that authorizes, from a Malthusian angle, the totalization of a vulnerable, laboring underclass wi thin the mechanized, metropolitan State. And though MelvilleÕs claustrophobic polyphonic texts, despite their suggestiveness, are never quite able to trans cend the rhetorical -contextual confines of race, labor and antebellum !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!16 Carolyn L. Karcher makes a similar observation in Shadow Over the Promised Land: Slavery Race and Violence in MelvilleÕs America (126 -27). 110 !socioeconomics, Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ nevertheless speak toward a modern, and potentially redemptive, ethical ÒdialogueÓ on interpersonal duty that invites social and literary critics alike to reexamine how persons understand the dialogically -invoked ethos of response for the particularized Other. I. Israel Potter Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter , while set several generations in the past, is Òremarkably well-attuned to the Zeitgeist of its cultureÓ (Temple 16), though it did not sell many copies. Unlike Coope rÕs gentility -sympathizing Littlepage n ovels, however, Melville Õs novel champions the American yeoman Israel Potter, a forsaken, destitute, wandering Moses -figure ÑÒIsraelÓ Ñunable to enter the ÒPromised LandÓ and exiled in a hostile London, Òa landscape of desolationÓ (Stout 169). As an old man he returns to the United States, only to find the environs of his youth unrecognizable and himself a stranger still, an alien Other in his native country. 17 America had of course changed in the intervening fifty year s: but, was this the same traumatic sociocultural, ethical metamorphosis that the later generations of CooperÕs Littlepages experience? I assert that Melville does something distinct from Cooper respecting his rendering of chronology and historical change 18 in that, while treating many ÒAmericanÓ issues of the day, little of Israel Potter , while about America, takes place in America: the text eludes, literally, national Òconfinement .Ó That said, we might consider the circumstance that by the 1850Õs, much of the political and ethical discourse in the United States was also concerned with events on the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!17 Judith R. Hi ltner writes in ÒFrom Pisgah to Egypt: Narrative continuities in MelvilleÕs ÔIsrael PotterÕ and ÔThe Two TemplesÕÓ that Israel Potter Ò[explodes] the popular American typological association between the Old Testament nation of Israel and the original settl ers of the New World, destined for deliverance from Old -World bondage into the Promised Land of America É In the Israel Potter narrative . . . the repudiation of America as fulfillment of the promise to Israel is the Ôinside narrativeÕ of the novel, as the aptly named protagonist is delivered from freedom to bondage, from the Canaan of his Berkshire mountain home to the wilderness of London, the ÔEnglish EgyptÕÉ Israel discovers himself a slave in the heart of modern civilization, imaged as no more than a wilderness that consumes its victimsÓ (305). 18 Janis P. Stout notes in The Encroaching Sodom: MelvilleÕs Urban Fiction that Melville Òshares a symbolic world with the creations of CooperÕs mythmaking (though not his critical) imaginationÓ (158). 111 !periphery ; the Transatlantic world to the east, the remaining Frontier to the west and Mexico and Latin America to the south. With respect to Israel Potter , I am referring to the unraveling of the Missouri Compromise of 1820, the Revolutions of 1848, the Compromise of 1850 and the Kansas -Nebraska Act of 1854. 19 Israel Potter does not deal with African slavery directly, although at several junctures Israel exper iences similar hardships and is treated much like an African slave in encountering violent captivity and involuntary servitude. 20 During those episodes where Israel wanders as a fugitive prisoner of war, he assumes a false identity, including when he serve s as a clandestine intelligence courier for Benjamin Franklin in Paris and Patriot sympathizers in England. The myriad subterfuges that Israel engages prevent him from manifesting a concrete identity within an ethical community as he roams from locale to locale. Bill Christopherson argues: ÒIsraelÕs obscurity [is not] just luckless coincidence. Rather it suggests an identity vacuumÉ Like the marginal characters and nonentities he impersonates, Israel seems somehow insubstantial Ña fast talking figment, s topped time and again by the question, ÔWho are you?ÕÓ (141). Respecting this question of an Òidentity vacuumÓ in Israel Potter Gale Temple posits: ÒMelvilleÕs goal isÉto throw into relief the psychic disruptions inherent in finding intelligible visions of individual and collective identity through a literary form [the serial publication] thatÉwas intimately tied to the rise of the capitalist marketÓ (5), adding: ÒIsraelÕs inability to sustain a unique self is rooted in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!19 As Manuel Broncano notes in ÒStrategies of Textual Subversion in Herman MelvilleÕs Israel Potter ,Ó ÒMelville published [ Israel Potter ] in a context of rising social tensions and turmoil, at a time when American society was beginning to realize its inherent paradoxe s and contradictions: on the same Fourth of July when the novel started to appear in a serialized form, Henry David Thoreau read his ÔSlavery in MassachusettsÕ before an abolitionist assembly, in which he contrasted the heroism of Massachusetts in Revoluti onary days to its present moral cowardice as evident in the enactment of the Fugitive Slave LawÉ These and similar events show that the sense of crisis so apparent in MelvilleÕs novel was in the very air of its times and is an active, if invisible interloc utor in the dialogue that is embedded in the bookÉthe novel becomes a deep and bitter discussion of U.S. society unable to find a happy balance between its ideals and its realitiesÓ (494). I add that the social condition of labor in urban centers during t he late antebellum period is also a part of this prevalent Òsense of crisisÓ within the country and Melville. 20 Melville repeatedly deals with t he une thical, unjust practice of British naval impressment, a form of involuntary conscription into the Royal Navy. This was one of the grievances that brought the U.S. into the War of 1812. 112 !the logic of the marketplace itselfÓ (10). As a fugitive he is prevented, as a categorized Other, from making any ÒmarketableÓ claim upon the charity of those equipped to assist him. Among the few persons to whom Israel makes his true identity known, an English nobleman and the King treat hi m with the most benevolence, despite being the symbols of everything that the Patriots are fighting against . As an enemy, they owe him no duty, yet they respect his individual dignity and take an interest in his wellbeing. By contrast, Benjamin Franklin and the Patriot sympathizers regard Israel as a mere cog in a larger mechanism of war and Realpolitik to be ÒdutifullyÓ cared for in order to assure his continuation as an agent of their interests. This reading of IsraelÕs Òrepresentational formÓ is consi stent with Wai -Chee DimockÕs understanding of Òpersonified agencyÓ in antebellum America, in that Israel represents Òthe personification of Property, the making of a human agent out of a proprietary relationÓ (26) to the extent that Franklin treats him as a piece of ÒpropertyÓ whose functionality he owns and to which he Òhelps himself,Ó a la Poor Richard. Likewise, Dimock ex plains: ÒTo be human at all, in LockeÕs [a nd Thomas SkidmoreÕs] terms, is by definition to be a property ownerÓ (31 -32), which Israel is not, accounting for FranklinÕs coercive and ethically non -responsive dialogues with him. The severe, literal confinement that Israel experiences comes from Franklin and Squire Woodcock and not from the ÒobviousÓ oppressors, King George III and Sir John Millet, who assume responsibility for his welfare. An examination of the polyphony present in these dialogic encounters illuminates this strange but significant circumstance. But as Warner Berth off would admonish, the novelÕs ethically responsive dialogic encounters should not be read only against the historical backdrop of the setting , but also with the Zeitgeist of the 1800Õs in mind. Manuel Broncano insists that Israel Potter Õs Òpolyphonic structure is further extendedÉ by the voices of the historical contextsÉ Revolutionary America, 113 !the 1820s [Missouri Compromise] and the 1850s [Kansas -Nebraska]Ó though Ò[t]he importance of the polyphonic structure has remained almost unnoticed by criticsÓ (4 97).21 That said the dichotomy between IsraelÕs dialogues with Benjamin Franklin, Squire Woodcock and John Paul Jones on the one side and those with Sir John Millet and George III on the other connotes more than a superficial contrast between American repu blicans and British monarchists. I suggest that MelvilleÕs typological amalgamations offer the reader a critique of an economic culture struggle within the antebellum United States, a dialogic discourse that shows the interpersonal ethical stakes at play as a young America sought to define its labor reality as a modern capitalist republic. Anne Baker writes: Ò Israel Potter reveals a fundamental shift in MelvilleÕs imagination. His writings from this period convey an increasing preoccupation with the way s that historical forces like capitalism, industrialization, and urbanization diminish or even destroy individualsÉ The conditions of mass production objectify the workers as if they become the products they so monotonously createÓ (19). However, this Òob jectificationÓ occurs when Israel encounters the penny -pinching, ÒproductÓ -oriented Franklin, long before his dehumanizing ÒEgyptÓ experience in the London brick factory. Thus, MelvilleÕs juxtaposition of IsraelÕs dialogic encounters with British rulers and Patriot leaders evidences deep ambivalence. In both his experiences with Sir John and George III, Israel assumes the status of a rural , serf -like laborer within a feudal hierarchy; nevertheless, he receives, as an impoverished fugitive Other, more res ponsive treatment from would -be oppressors than he does from the pragmatic, urban interactions with his own non -aristocratic, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!21 Broncano follows up : Òfor [Mikhail] Bakhtin, the purport of a novel necessarily varies from one period to another. This phenomenon [ heteroglossia ] ensures the primacy of the context over the textÉ In the case of Israel Potter , the multitude of voices that participate in the text offered to the reader contemporary with Melville a plural of meanings which is necessarily different from what would be perceived by a modern day read er. The voices are not just narrative, but also historical and literary, since Israel Potter is both a meditation on the fate of America and a reflection on literature itselfÓ (501). For example, Gale Temple connects the novelÕs serialization with antebe llum market economic s. For more on the significance of the historical contexts of the 1820Õs and the 1850Õs in Israel Potter , see Peter J. Bellis, Ò Israel Potter : Autobiography as History as Fiction.Ó 114 !American countrymen. I argue, as Manuel Broncano also suggests (497), that what we encounter here is not so much an accommodation of British monarchy and aristocracy over American republicanism, but rather a textual hesitancy to underwrite a vision of the American Revolution that has as its socioeconomic teleology an endorsement of Hamiltonian manufacturing. Melville would not endo rse Jeffersonian agrarianism while legal slavery still existed; 22 still, the industrial NorthÕs literal ÒimplementationÓ of thousands of indigent workers like Israel, signified by FranklinÕs, Squire WoodcockÕs and John Paul JonesÕ ÒutilizationÓ of him, tota lized and dehumanized the laboring Other almost as much as legal slavery did to blacks in the South. MelvilleÕs sobering descriptions of IsraelÕs abject and ÒanonymousÓ sojourn in London, to use ChristophersonÕs descriptive (144 -45), puts this in stark re lief. These typological contrasts also showcase the da rk underside to Poor RichardÕs self -reliant ethos: for those few fortunate who are able to Òhelp themselves,Ó a laboring Other like Israel necessarily bears the ÒdutifulÓ cost of their self -aggrandizem ent. That said, in IsraelÕs dialogic encounters with Sir John, George III and Benjamin Franklin, an ethical ambivalence regarding interpersonal duty arises in each exchange, as the characters manifest, in a Bakhtinian sense, multiple ethical voices. Th ough Sir John Millet insists with frustration that Israel, who m he knows to be an escaped American prisoner and who thus refuses to call him ÒSir John,Ó address him with his title of nobility, he relents after !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!22 Janis P. Stout argues that Òmetaphysical contrasts s uch as freedom and constraintÓ emerge as a consiste nt thematic dichotomy within MelvilleÕs ÒurbanÓ narratives, such as Israel Potter : ÒMelville only tentatively accepts the stereotyped opposition of country and cityÉ Ever the expounder of ambiguities, he b oth adopts the conventions and collapses them by revealing their inadequacy. To the urban hell he contrasts an imagined but generally unavailable primitive heaven, not the agricultural America of sentimental idealization. Thus his indictment of social mi sery in his cities implies no vision of rural virtueÓ (158). This theme of social Ò confinementÓ forms a significant portion of MelvilleÕs rendering of the urban sphere, in particular regarding the material condition of the working -class Other. Anne Baker remarks in ÒWhat to Israel Potter is the Fourth of July? Melville, Do uglass, and the Agency of Words Ó in contrast to Stout that ÒIsraelÕs fictional birthplace in the Berkshire mountains is an important component of MelvilleÕs critique of indus trialization and urbanization, for it represents a kind of pastoral paradise É The New World wilderness of IsraelÕs youth enables him to profit from his entrepreneurial spiritÉ But the Old World in which Israel finds himself an exile [Britain] is an urban, industrial nightmare. The capitalism and poverty of post -Independence London keeps him struggling to survive, with no way to get ahead.Ó (17, 18 -19, emphasis mine ). 115 !ÒpledgingÓ Israel sanctuary and offers him e mployment (33 -34). This vocal exchange signals a lack of a contractual one, to the extent that Sir John grants Israel refuge despite the ÒOtherÕsÓ refusal to return any symbolic social capital. Nevertheless, Sir John warns Israel, ÒI do not wish unnecessarily to speak against my own countrymen . . . I but plainly speak for your good. The [British] soldiers you meet prowling on the roads . . . are a set of mean, dastardly banditti, who, to obtain their fee, would betray their best friendsÓ (33). On the one hand, Sir John attempts to control IsraelÕs American form of vocal address ÑÒmisterÓ Ñinsofar as it resists the English duty of verbally recognizing social rank, though in the end he tells the polite but firm Israel, ÒI excuse you from Sir Johnning meÓ (33). On the other, he elects with ambivalence to Òspeak for Ó IsraelÕs ÒgoodÓ at the literal ÒexpenseÓ of his Òcountrymen,Ó whose mercenary conduct towards both Others and ÒfriendsÓ is unworthy. The vulnerable Israel also wishes to treat with respect his new -found benefactor and confidant, yet in contrast to Sir John, he remains t rue to his identity and allegi ance as a democratic American, refusing, though with embarrassment, to address Sir John by his title, despite the latterÕs repeated entreaties: ÒWhy sir Ñpardon me Ñbut somehow I canÕt. You wonÕt betray me for that?Ó (33). Unli ke the condescending Franklin, Sir John does not ÒcapitalizeÓ on his social and material advantages over Israel in order to ÒconfineÓ him. He does not Òhelp hims elfÓ by coercing or implementizing him as a cheap source of expendable labor, even though Isra el insists on his individuated cultural Otherness to the extent of declining to use his hostÕs preferred form of address. Far from rendering Israel obnoxious, however, this dialogic resistance acknowledges the differentiated individuality of ÒSirÓ John be yond his aristocratic categorization. Thus, Israel too refuses to Òhelp himselfÓ by vocally totalizing a social Other, and at the risk of offending a needed material benefactor. Despite his poverty and vulnerability, 116 !Israel opts not to use obsequious dia logue to manipulate and implementize an Other who has manifested, without formal obligation, such interpersonal ethical responsiveness. In a similar vein, during his encounter with George III, Israel struggles again with this conundrum regarding democrati c principle, national allegiance, and oneÕs duty to a material benefactor. Upon happening upon George III in the garden at Kew, Israel fails to remove his hat, which exposes his true identity as a ÒYankeeÓ (37). A curious exchange then ensues, whereby Israel admits to fighting at Bunker Hill and ÒfloggingÓ the KingÕs soldiers, at the same time expressing regret to the King: ÒI took it to be my sad duty Ó (38, emphasis mine ). This is an odd remark, for when the subject of the American Revolution was earlie r raised by a Briton, the narrator expounds: ÒIlly could the exile [Israel] brook in silence such insults upon the country for which he had bled, and for whose honoured sake he was that very instant a sufferer. More than once, his indignation came very ni gh getting the better of his prudence. He longed for the war to end, that he might but speak a little of his mindÓ (34 -35). But despite his regret and deference to George III, Israel insists Òfirmly, but with deep respectÓ: ÒI have no kingÓ (38). 23 Yet, upon being informed by George III that, as at Sir JohnÕs, he would be afforded sanctuary as a fugitive, Israel erupts, ÒGod bless your noble Majesty!Ó to which the king replies, ÒI thought I could conquer yeÓ (39). Israel then explains that it was not the ÒkingÓ who ÒconqueredÓ him, Òbut the kingÕs kindness,Ó to which George III then invites the ever -loyal Patriot to join the British army, an offer Israel declines. But in contrast to IsraelÕs dialogic encounter with Sir John, the King and Israel do in the end categorize each other as types , Israel as a member of a Òstubborn raceÓ (37), !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!23 This response, in conjunction to the literal reference to Òflogging,Ó renders the dialo gue between Israel and George III reminiscent of the one between Pontius Pilate and the mob in John : ÒShall I crucify your King? . . . We have no king but CaesarÓ (J n 19:15 ESV ). In both the Gospel and Melv illeÕs text, this statement is made by ÒIsrael.Ó This is ironic because Israel Potter embodies Christ -like kenosis far more than defiance ÑBill Christopherson refers to Israel as a ÒYankee ChristÓ (138) Ñdespite being a combatant in several theaters during the Revolutionary War and having been tempted to a ssassinate his (former) king. For more on Israel Potter as a resurrected ÒChristlikeÓ figure, see also Charles N. Watson, ÒPremature Burial in Arthur Gordon Pym and Israel Potter Ó (107). 117 !George III as a monarch. Thus, I read this episode as inter -subjectively inconsistent with IsraelÕs prior dialogue with Sir John, marking ambivalence. However, this ambiva lence lies within the singular dialogue itself, for despite the fact that each character totalizes his Other, this vocal obscuring of individuality in favor of typology does not translate into an explicit, contractual exchange of materiel for labor nor the implicit construction of inter -class duty between a master and Òserf.Ó Still, in terms of its interpersonal ethical responsiveness, this exchange inhabits a liminal space between IsraelÕs dialogue with Sir John and his conversations with Ben Franklin. Though the King doe s not try to utilize or confine Israel to the extent that the ÒSageÓ does, he does request that Israel Ò[s]ay nothing of this talk to anyoneÓ (38) and join the British army (39), ignoring IsraelÕs both differentiating and composi te ident ity as an American soldi er by inviting him to embrace the ÒOtherÓ ideological totality. Upon IsraelÕs refusal, the King orders him to Ògravel the walkÓ (39), appearing content to command, and accept, IsraelÕs dutiful compliance with anonymous menial labor. George III does endeavor to Òhelp himselfÓ in requesting IsraelÕs enlistment, yet he does not insist, respecting the ÒOtherÕsÓ autonomy. And though Israel grants the King verbal recognition through addressing him as ÒMajesty,Ó he still resists George IIIÕs pressure to concede to additional claims to his labor, a coercion camouflaged as ethical duty that Israel succumbs to before Benjamin Franklin and John Paul Jones. Melville also adds the narratorÕs ambivalent voi ce to this ethical polyphony. As the episode with the King concludes, the narrator offers the following: Without any impeachment of IsraelÕs fealty to his country, it must still be narrated, that from this his familiar audience with George the Third, he went away with very favorable views of that monarch. Israel now thought that it could not be 118 !the warm hear t of the king, but the cold heads of his lords in council, that persuaded him so tyrannically to persecute America. Yet hitherto the precise contrary of this had been IsraelÕs opinion, agreeably to popular prejudice throughout New England. (39) The narra tor then muses, Ò[t]hus we see what strange and powerful magic resides in a crown, and how subtly that cheap and easy magnanimity, which in private belongs to most kings, may operate on good -natured and unfortunate souls. Indeed, had it not been for the p eculiar disinterested fidelity of our adventurerÕs patriotism, he would have soon sported the red coatÉÓ (39-40). Despite IsraelÕs newfound high -regard for George IIIÕs unsolicited hospitality, the narrator cautions that a kingÕs responsive liberality ough t not to be confused with true charity, for excessive resources render arbitrary gestures of kindness of small account, in that little of personal value is ventured with in an inter -subjective ethical economy devoid of contractual obligations of material or labor. Once again, illuminating is the fact that George III confines Israel within a totality in that he addresses him not by name, but rather as ÒYankeeÓ and Òone of that stubborn raceÓ (37), answering Sir JohnÕs earlier query of the democratic Israel: Òare all your countrymen like you? If so, itÕs no use fighting themÓ (33). Still, the reader apprehends the extent of the polyphonic ambivalence, and irony, displayed in these dialogic encounters. True, Israel receives the greatest meas ure of kindness f rom these two type figures, Sir John Millet and George III, representatives of an aristocratic and imperial ideology, who stand to lose the most in history should democratic republicanism prevail. At the same time, in their present generosity and forbeara nce they risk the least of anyone by assuming interpersonal ethical re sponsibility for an individual alien Other due to their empowered status as elites. 119 ! IsraelÕs own ethical ambivalence regarding duty erupts within the dialogues with Sir John and George III. Though wishing to avoid vocalizing titles of nobility or royalty as inconsistent with democratic ideals, Israe l also does not want to offend Ò enemiesÓ to whom he feels he owes respect and gratitude for their assistance. Despite his ÒYankeeÓ mentalit y, Israel questions whether he can Òlie to a kingÓ (37). Also with regard to George III, the narrator explains: Unauthorized and abhorrent thoughts will sometimes invade the best human heart. Seeing the monarch unguarded before him; remembering that the war was imputed more to the self -will of the king than to the willingness of parliament or the nation; and calling to mind all his own sufferings growing out of that war, with all the calamities of his country; dim impulses, such as those to which the reg icide Ravaillac yielded, would shoot balefully across the soul of the exile. But thrusting Satan behind him, Israel vanquished all such temptations. (37) 24 As a soldier of the American Revolution, personal grievance and a sense of natio nal duty might impe l Israel to regicide, should the opportunity present itself. Yet the narrator ascribes such impulses to diabolical temptation, deeming such a plan of action reprehensible even within the context of war. But as we see when the ruthless privateer John Paul Jones enters the story, this ethical stance regarding the ÒmoralÓ conduct of war is not consistent either in the narratorÕs rhetoric or in the dialogue and action of the American characters. Within the polyphony of ethical voices that emerges in Israel P otter there is an unstable competition of moral impulses concerning interpersonal duty. That said, I argue that these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!24 Another semi -veiled Gospel reference: this time, Israel assumes th e role of Jesus, who chides Peter, ÒGet behind me, Satan!Ó (Mt 16:23 ESV ). This is interesting considering that the previous reference places ÒIsraelÓ in the position of the Judean mob, who intended to kill Jesus for claiming to be Òthe King of the Jews,Ó just as Israel earlier contemplates killing George III who, to add another level of irony to this exegesis , behaves more as an examining Pontius Pilate than Christ. This alternating assigna tion of biblical -symbolic roles buttresses my claim regarding Mel villeÕs polyphonic ethical ambivalence in his dialogues and narration. 120 !ethical preoccupations remain thematically oriented, like the narrative itself, by the destabilizing irony of Poor RichardÕs motto: if ÒG od helps them that help themselves,Ó then who Òhelps them that help an Other ?Ó In the cases of Sir John Millet and King George, the reader in 1855 knows that Great Britain is on the losing end of the Am erican Revolution. If British elites inten ded to ret ain the colonists as slaves to their imperial, mercantile ambitions, the benevolence of Sir John and the King toward Israel could appear as the hollow ÒmagnanimousÓ gestures of those on the losing side of history anyway, as Sir John already suspects (33). By contrast, the ever -dutiful Israel finds hims elf literally and ironically a Ò prisonerÓ of Benjamin Franklin and Squire Woodcock, his nominal allies in the victorious cause of American Òfreedom.Ó Ever the pragmatist, Franklin rebuffs IsraelÕs intent to go sight -seeing in Paris as compromising his overall utility: ÒYou must absolutely remain in your room, just as if you were my prisoner É Not knowing now at what instant I shall want you to start, your keeping to your room is indispensableÓ (55, emphasis mine ). Squire Woodcock then entombs him in a dungeon -like hiding place with few amenities once Israel returns to England, as he remarks, Ò[t]hough to be sure I was a sort of prisoner in Paris, just as I seem to be made hereÉ Poverty and liberty, or plenty and a prison, seem to be the two horns of the constant dilemma of my lifeÓ (88 -89). Though the episode is intended to be humorous, IsraelÕs ÒbetterÓ accommodations in Paris are stripped bare by a controlling, condescending and hypocritical Fra nklin who a lways advocates for simplicity and pecuniary frugality, prompting Israel to observe: Ò[e]very time he [Fran klin] comes in, he robs meÉ with an air all the time, too, as if he were making me presentsÓ (69). The shrewd Franklin indeed Òhelps himselfÓ to Isr aelÕs clandestine courier services as well as to the accoutrements of his bedroom Ñincluding denying the lonely Israel the sexual availability of a French prostitute who doubles as a chambermaid Ñthough he does not guarantee 121 !an opportunity for passage back t o the United States for his accidental agent (54). Also noteworthy is the fact that the business -savvy Òsage,Ó unlike Sir John or King George, presumes upon and conscripts the services of Israel, securing his risky labor against only the conditional Òprom iseÓ of offering future assistance as part of his Òofficial duty as agentÓ of the United States.25 At the same time he expresses far more ÒethicalÓ concern that Israel deliver money, which Franklin forcibly ÒlendsÓ him, to a random soldierÕs widow, and als o that he reimburse the Parisian boot -black whose box Israel demolished in suspecting him to be a spy (54 -56). For Franklin, depersonalized, faceless Others, as representative ÒabstractionsÓ as Castronovo would put it, make more of an ethical demand on hi m than does one with whom he converses, for it is through interpersonal dialogue that Franklin coerces and acquires Ñor ÒrobsÓ ÑIsrae lÕs labor, placing the onus of duty on the disadvantaged Other as opposed to responding to an individualized subject. As an example, within the same paragraph where Franklin ÒselflesslyÓ deflects IsraelÕs Òover -gratitudeÓ for what he characterizes as Òsimply doing part of [his] official duty Ó (54, emphasis mine ), he proceeds to place Israel in his literal debt within the confi nes of an impromptu labor -loan contract, which money Israel then returns to him. Nevertheless, the affective transaction delineating IsraelÕs new -found duties has already been consummated: both Israel as agent and the labor -value he represents are now unde r FranklinÕs control. Franklin then lectures Israel on the merits of ÒpecuniaryÓ prudence while issuing a series of presumptive commands (55 -58), reinforcing IsraelÕs Otherness, material dependence and inferiority. In the last analysis, Benjamin Franklin and the mercenary privateer John Paul J ones, the closest adherents to Poor RichardÕs admonition as individualists, capitalist entrepreneurs and egoists, fare better than anyone in the novel. Unlike Israel and those concerned for the welfare of Others, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!25 John Bryant states in MelvilleÕs Comic Debate: Geniality and the Aesthetics of Repose that Ò[the character of] Franklin is MelvilleÕs first substantial confidence manÓ (162). 122 !Franklin and Jones each Òhelp themselvesÓ to a lionÕs share of the fame, patriotic heroes in what would prove to be the winning cause. Or, as John Bryant summarizes, Ò[a]s confidence men, Franklin and Jones are all -too successful; they characterize the glor y of AmericaÕs shallow pragmatism and predatory power. IsraelÕs schemes also succeed but afford him little more than subsistence and anonymity. For him, the confidence game erodes identityÉ IsraelÕs confidence game makes him a ÔnobodyÕÓ (163). But there is more to Poor RichardÕs motto than just an ironic critique of American narcissism and pragmatism, for it speaks to the Free Soil platform of the 1850Õs in light of the Compromise of 1850. As ideologues with a certain perspective on American history, Fr ee Soilers, similar to anti -slavery Whigs, sought the demise of slavery not so much as an abstract moral Good or a tangible Good for slaves, but rather as a step to creating a modern, industrial capitalist society. In their view, the United StatesÕ place in history was at stake in the debate, and the institution of slavery was an obstacle to progress. 26 I posit that MelvilleÕs portrayal of the practical and business -savvy Franklin in Israel Potter reflects a similar ethos. That is, Franklin does not respo nd to the imprisoned, impressed and fugitive Israel as an individual ized Other in need of help, but rather does so as a means to an end: the yeomanÕs wellbeing ensures his valuable labor for Franklin Õs ÒprogressiveÓ agenda. Sir John and King George , by contrast, profit nothing by their beneficence towards Israel, though their ruling status implies that they require nothing. Of more interest in this comparison, however, is the fact that Israel is more confined by his urban -dwelling American ÒalliesÓ than his elite British patrons in the country. Even when he returns to London as a Hebrew -like brick -maker, his quality of life is worse than when employed as a field and yard worker in the rural !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!26 See Alan BrinkleyÕs overview of the Free Soil movement and the emergence of the new ÒcottonÓ South in American History: A Survey (452 -57). 123 !environs of Sir John and King George. Subtly lodged within thi s narrative dichotomy is the agrarian SouthÕs rebuttal of the Free Soil agenda: the NorthÕs industrial economic vision would lead to miserable urban wastelands for ÒfreeÓ white workers and emancipated blacks who, Southerners felt, would fare better under t he protective umbrella of legal slavery (Brinkley 456 -57). Almost as if to reinforce this point, the fugitive Israel leaves Sir JohnÕs and the KingÕs gardens only to encounter heartache, imprisonment and poverty in the urban environments of Paris, Boston and London Ñin metropolitan Òliberty,Ó ironically, Israel encounters his harshest confinement. 27 Extrapolated from MelvilleÕs model of the forced laborer and fugitive Israel Potter, a pro -slavery advocate could also assert that the Fugitive Slave Law of 185 0 not only protected the ÒpropertyÓ of slave owners, but safeguarded the wellbeing of the slaves , who in their infantile inferiority were ill -equipped to care for themselves as freepersons in the NorthÕs urban -industrial centers, where white laborers were sinking into poverty and depravity. 28 Despite his Jewish ÒChristianÓ name and peasant sur name, Israel Potter functions as more than a representative model for factory laborers or slaves within an industrializing, urbanizing terrain. He is also a tragic fi gure who, though a ÒfreeÓ citizen, suffers as a result of a loss of autonomy, ironically at the hands of his countryÕs Òliberty -lovingÓ authorities. The issue of autonomy was also at stak e in the Kansas -Nebraska debate, packaged by Stephen A. Douglas and other Democrats as an issue of Òpopular sovereigntyÓ (Brinkley 450 -51). Like Southerners, pro-slavery Kansans felt confined by the prospect of other states or the Federal government !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!27 Not only is the London metropo lis a site of confinement, but also one wh ich strips away individuality, rendering the laboring Other a dehumanized drone, respecting whom one neither dialogues nor ethically responds. As Judith R. Hiltner explains, ÒLondon is Ôthe city,Õ depicted as a concrete embodiment of forces that deny uniq ue meaning and value to the individual. What Melville emphasizes in his descriptions of London [in Israel Potter ] . . . is the protagonistÕs sense of human insignificance and the corollary reduction of people to things in a setting where masses Ôpour like an endless shoal of herringÕ or trudge like Ôconvict tortoisesÕ (304). 28 Caroline L. Karcher shows the amalgamation of the African American slave and the urban worker in antebellum America within Israel Potter : ÒIsrael apparently stands for AmericaÕs slave s, both black and white. Once again exemplifying MelvilleÕs unsegregated sympathy with the oppressed, IsraelÕs experience suggests many parallels with the NegroesÓ (107). 124 !restricting slaveryÕs expansion into newly organized territories, though Franklin PierceÕs administration was sympathetic to the pro -slavery regime in Kansas (Brinkley 451). With respect to Melville, Michael Paul Rogin concludes that Israel Potter also inverted Stephen DouglasÕs use of the Revolution. Douglas invoked Òour fathers, when they framed the Government under which we liveÓ to justify popular sovereignty; the fathers, he argued, would have allowed the territories to vote for slavery. Douglas spoke, as an American democrat, for territorial self -government. He was actually a confidence man like MelvilleÕs Franklin, promoting a transcontinental railroad and advancing his Presidential ambitions. (229) On the other end of the spectrum, Free Soilers and emergent Republicans saw the Kansas -Nebraska Act as not just a fa ilure to contain slaver yÑas a step toward its demise Ñbut as asphyxiating their urban, industrial vision of a modern republic in favor of the backward, feudal -agrarianism of the cotton South (Brinkley 452 -53). If MelvilleÕs Benjamin Franklin represents Nor thern urban -industrial ÒprogressÓ and the mercenary John Paul Jones unfettered modern capitalism, the imprisoned, impoverished Israel embodies Southern anxieties over a Free Soil future. Ironically, this ÒAmericanÓ concern regarding post -Industrial Revolu tion urbanization and labor was shared by socialists and Marxists on both sides of the Atlantic. 29 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!29 A supreme irony within Israel Potter is the layers of confinement exposed by three separate but related revolutions : the American Revolution, the Industrial Revolution and the Revolution of 1848. The world Melville portrays images a disillusioned vision of the American Revolution where the individual citizen becomes a bonded Other , exa cerbated by the degenerate social conditions that follow the technological ÒprogressÓ of the Industrial Revolution and contribute to the Revolution of 1848 in Europe, as we ll as the dehumanization of slavery. F ar from addressing these socio -ethical ills, for Melvill e the American Revolution offer ed no unifying vision for a more just political alternative, as Paul Rogin notes in Subversive Genealogy : ÒIsrael Potter, inverting the story of the American Revolution, moved from freedom to slavery. Mocking Fran klinÕs autobiography of success, Israel Potter is a biography of failure É In one decisive respect, however, the reopening of the slavery issue left Israel Potter behind. Melville made the Revolution a prison at the moment when eulogies of the fathers Ñby Douglas and Lincoln alike Ñ125 ! But if Benjamin Franklin is Òmeddlesome, condescending, and manipulative, exercising a form of power over Israel that is virtually impossible for him to resi stÓ (Temple 10), the self -aggrandizing and ÒsavageÓ (80) John Paul Jones is a virile, bold and strategizing warrior, in great measure the prototypical entrepreneurial Amer ican Òman of actionÓ in the mid -1800Õs. Thus, his religious enthusiasm for Poor Rich ardÕs motto is easy to fathom: ÒÔGod helps them that help themselves.Õ ThatÕs a clincher. ThatÕs been my experience. But I nev er saw it in words beforeÉ I must get me a copy of this and wear it around my neck for a charmÓ (79). John Paul Jones is hard t o dislike in that the unfortunate Israel finds him an inspiring figure as a military leader, but also one who, like Sir John and the King, appears to take a personal interest in Israel after ÒliberatingÓ him. However, there is a significant difference bet ween this benefactor and the British: beneath Paul JonesÕ popular charm is a pure mercenary, and so Israel is again made an implement of someone elseÕs agenda. For the privateer, the aim is more about fame, fortune and vengeance than the revolutionary eff ort (74). In a way John Paul Jones is more Other than Israel, being likened to a swarthy Indian ÒsavageÓ (72) in addition to having tattoos on his arm (81), as if he were a Pacific islander from MelvilleÕs Typee . From this point of view, LevinasÕ ethos of responsive duty for the Other ironically demands more of the Yankee Israel than vice versa . By contrast, IsraelÕs lack of pronounced differentiating Otherness evident in his dialogic encounters with fellow Americans Ñexcepting his humbler social and edu cational levels Ñrenders his latent claim to the ethical response of the ÒOtherÓ beholding him less urgent than what was demanded of Sir John and the King, for whom Israel was Other not just in terms of social class and culture, but also in his slave -like v ulnerability as a fugitive. Also in contrast to IsraelÕs dialogic experiences of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!were generating political disintegration rather than containing it. The stone sepulchers of the fathers were losing their power to domesticate American politics; they were also about to disappear from MelvilleÕs fictionÓ (229). 126 !Otherness, the exchanges between the strong -willed John Paul Jones and the wily Franklin model a discursive transaction of labor and compensation that inverts an ethos of int er-subjective responsiveness, as each endeavors to render the ÒOtherÓ an agent of his own designs. The persuasive Franklin desires the captain to serve in a secondary role as a decoy to British privateers in a small vessel, while an indignant Paul Jones demands of Franklin the more prestigious, autonomous command of a larger ship to raid the British coast (74): ÒDoctor Franklin, whatever Paul Jones does for the cause of America, it must be done through unlimited orders: a separate, supreme command; no lead er and no counsellor but himselfÉ Why then do you seek to degrade me below my previous level? I will mount, not sink. I live but for honor and glory. Give me, then, something honorable and glorious to do, and something famous to do it withÓ (74). Thoug h mutual Others in terms of age, temperament and appearance, Franklin and John Paul Jones confront one another as equals within a common hierarchy and political cause, each claiming an official title Ñthough Franklin is John Paul JonesÕ nominal superior Ñand attempting to secure the ÒOtherÕsÓ acquiescence. Frustrated in his designs to re -obtain command of the Indien , John Paul Jones, ironically impressed by IsraelÕs non -flattering, ÒbluntÓ speech, attempts to requisition IsraelÕs services, a request that Fr anklin ÒbluntlyÓ counters despite IsraelÕs willingness to comply: ÒOur friend hereÉis at present engaged for a very different duty Ó (75, emphasis mine ). FranklinÕs sense of loyalty and subordinate obligation is quite different from John Paul JonesÕ, and s o these exchanges require unpacking. On the one hand, Franklin, self -serving and egocentric in the extreme, understands his personal interest, being an American ÒFounding Father,Ó as bound to his nation Õs fate, though viewing the ÒnationÓ as an idealized abstraction in his case leads to an ignorance of the real, particular person, such as Israel. On the other, John Paul JonesÕ reflections , ÒI live but for honor 127 !and gloryÉ My God, why was I not born a Czar!Ó (74), in tandem with his desire for an autonomous Òsupreme commandÓ (74), express a desire to be free of any ethical obligation to an Other or duty beyond securing his immediate good. Paul J ones understands the ethics of ÒautonomyÓ within the literal con fines of the termÕs Greek etymology: like a Russian ÒCzar,Ó he exists above ÒOthersÓ and separately as a law (nomos ) unto him self (auto ). Also Òblunt,Ó Paul Jones thus enunciates his Otherness and what his martial labor entitles him to, embodying the ind ividualism and self -reliance promoted by Poor RichardÕs motto. Each in their own way , both Franklin and Paul Jones serve as functionaries of the nascent American government while at the same time operating as agents of their own subjectivity. Within the c ontext of 1855, the polyphony of the competing voices of Israel, Franklin and John Paul Jones o ffers a glimpse into the textÕs conflicted engagement of antebellum politics, labor economics and the confining ethics of Otherness. Similar to Southern Democra ts, John Paul Jones views his relationship to the ÒUnitedÓ States as a contract of convenience ensuring self-interest, whereas Franklin embodies a Northern Whig/Republican view of the federated states as a unity of interdependent polities. In this regard, IsraelÕs knee -jerk response to Paul JonesÕ invitation ÑÒFired by the contagious spirit of Paul, Israel, forgetting all about his previous desire to reach home, sparkled with response to the summons. But Doctor Franklin interrupted himÓ (75) Ñin conjunction with his happy, rural labor sojourns at Sir JohnÕs and Kew, signifies an working class preference for an autonomous, Jeffersonian paradigm of American polity and economy, as opposed to the urban totalization of the metropolitan Franklin. But this polyphonic dialogue betrays ambivalence as well, for FranklinÕs overriding authority, as a ÒFounding Father,Ó in re -establishing where IsraelÕs primary duty lay, in addition to IsraelÕs and Paul JonesÕ acquiescence, delineates the textÕs ideologic al trajectory by aligning 128 !working class Otherness with the urban -industrial sphere. This ambivalence is reinforced by the fact that yeoman Israel, though o pting at first for Paul JonesÕ Southern version of social economy, nevertheless ÒforgetsÓ about retu rning home, though his origins are also rural. This contradiction speaks to the fact that, from a Whig, Republican or Free Soil perspective, there was no going back to JeffersonÕs or CalhounÕs romantic, agrarian vision for the republic. Though John Paul Jones by happenstance ÒliberatesÓ Israel following his re -apprehension by the British, while sailing back to the U.S. Israel is literally ÒensnaredÓ by a passing British vessel (175), returning him, the laboring Other, to captivity and later to the miserab le London of the late 1700Õs, the proto -industrial metropolis where the proletarian worker ÒbelongsÓ in a modern capitalist society. 30 Thus, FranklinÕs interjection proves prophetic, for Israel, like the yeoman Other he represents, has no agency in that hi s labor, duty and subjectivity are always -already defined and con fined, as Gale Temple discusses: ÒIsrael must ultimately accept the values Franklin imposes on him, for they have become part of the moral and economic foundation of citizenship in America. To reject FranklinÕs ÔwisdomÕ would be tantamount to rejecting his very identity as a citizen and a patriotÓ (11). 31 Similar to the predetermined reality of the working !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!30 Gale Temple unpacks this circumstance in Ò Israel Potter : Sketch PatriotismÓ: ÒJust as Israel cannot return home Ñfor to do so would be to reach a point of self and systemic closure Ñso to must readers always remain in figurative ÔexileÕ from the narratives of national belonging that ostensibly represent ideal forms of citizenship,Ó then qualifying: to be in metaphorical Ôexile; is not necessarily a bad thing, for such a condition enables readers to become collaborators in, even producers of, more ethical an d pluralistic visions of American history. In the absence of patriotic affiliation, Melville suggests, we are more apt to relate to each other as equals, and to process global political change collaboratively rather than chauvinisticallyÓ (18). TempleÕs Ò readerlyÓ analysis is creative in its global viewpoint, though I counter that her suturing of American patriotism with modern capitalist economics and hero -worship contradicts the logic of a disinterested ethical stance on the readerÕs part . 31 Temple elabo rates on this point, explaining that ÒMelvilleÕs novel implies thatÉsubjects of American capitalism have little choice but to submit to it. As IsraelÕs plight makes clear, for one to remain a viable human being in the midst of a society that sutures self -knowledge to the necessarily instable nineteenth -century marketplace, one must remain fragmented, in figurative exile from a fully self -actualized identityÓ (6). Temple adds: Òdespite the seeming despair of MelvilleÕs only serialized novel, the disruption and alienation of modern life portrayed in Israel Potter was also in some ways liberating for Melville, for it offered space for an unmoored, unaffiliated identity that could be meaningful and ethical in the absence of patriotic nationalismÓ (6, emphasis mine ). T his sense of the ethical and the ÒunmooredÓ identity implies the LevinasÕ imperative to be for the differentiated or ÒunaffiliatedÓ Othe r. The ironic complication is that as an American yeoman/everyman, Israel is always -already Ò affiliatedÓ with a working class totality, which renders him an abstracted Other while his unique ness makes him a particularized subject. 129 !class urban ci tizen, however, is that of the rejected non-citizen, the enslaved African American in the rural South. Neither worker would experience the human dignity with which Israel is treated while, ironically, laboring as a ser f-like Other within the feudal confines of Sir John MilletÕs and George IIIÕs rural estates. To return to Joh n Paul Jones, in that he represents the autonomous Southern agenda, a circumstance typologically reinforced by his swarthiness and sanguineness, the captain is understandably taken with Poor RichardÕs individualistic motto to the extent that he decides to rename his cramped vessel Duras as the Bon Homme Richard in honor of the mottoÕs author, in accordance with IsraelÕs suggestion: ÒBeing cribbed up in a ship named Duras ! a sort of makes one feel as if you were in durance vileÉcall her Poor Richard Ó (152), to which the captain responds: Ò Poor Richard shall be her name, in honour to the saying, that ÔGod helps them that helps themselves,Õ as Poor Richard saysÓ (153). The charm of the mottoÕs self -reliant narcissism functions as an appropriate ethical frame i n subsisting within the name of a solitary vessel appropriated by the American navy, as if being Òcribbed upÓ in a wooden ship were somehow less confining if one could embrace a self -serving ethos of duty. The greater significance of the American shipÕs n ame is brought into relief during the epic battle with the British Serapis , where the narrator recounts the bloody naval encounter as a confused, claustrophobic and dialogic moment in which the themes of duty, mastery, servility, captivity, Otherness and a llegiance come to a dramatic, if convoluted, climax. The death and destruction on both sides is so devastating that neither crew knows who is victorious and who surrenders (172). The narrator remarks, Ò[t]he belligerents were no longer, in the ordinary s ense of things, an English ship and an American ship. It was a co -partnership and a joint -stock combustion -company of both ships; yet divided, even in participationÓ (167), later adding: 130 ![t]he men of either [vessel] knew hardly which to do Ñstrive to destr oy the enemy, or save themselves. In the midst of this, one hundred human beings, hitherto invisible strangers, were suddenly added to the restÉ Mutual obliteration from the face of the waters seemed the only natural sequel to hostilities like these. It is, therefore, honour to him as a man, and not reproach to him as an officer, that, to stay such carnage, Captain Pearson, of the Serapis , with his own hands hauled down his coloursÉ In view of this battle one may ask ÑWhat separates the enlightened man from the savage? (170, 172 -73). Melville returns to the trope of Paul JonesÕ tattooing to highlight his Òsavage,Ó diabolical ferocity (167, 171), implying that he would fight to the last man rather than surrender, even if capitulation was the humane moral imperative (Gilman 52). Of greater interest, though, is the way Melville likens the fighting ships to a large business, suturing the Òsav ageÓ metropolitan world of modern capitalism to a bloody battle where Òinvisible strangersÓ Ñanonymous laboring Others Ñare torn between two impulses, self -preservation and the martial duty to kill an enemy Others, competitors in the extreme. 32 Ironically, t he mercenary Paul Jones commands a ship renamed in honor of a self -serving American ethos, and yet he would perversely accept his and his crewÕs destruction rather than submit to the Serapis (Gilman 51). Thus, the American captain answers the narratorÕs ha unting question: unlike the ÒsavageÓ example of Paul Jones, the ethical, ÒcivilizedÓ man does not Òhelp himselfÓ to the point of either his or an OtherÕs destruction, regardless of the ambition or duty which calls him. This scene, enlivened by MelvilleÕs philosophical narration, anticipates the confused allegiances and ironically intimate ÒindustrialÓ -scale slaughter of the Civil War. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!32 Janis P. Stout follows this thread : ÒMelvilleÕs interpretation of the city as a constraint has intensified to a vision of the city as a prison [recall FranklinÕs ÔimprisoningÕ Israel in Paris], and the sea, long emblematic of freedom, has become only a potential escape blighted and botched by man. A warship [is] imaged as a crowded cityÉÓ (169). 131 !Following the battle, Israel, appearing destined to return to his homeland, is entangled on the boom of a passing British s hip. By this ill -luck Israel is forced to resume a fugitive life of subterfuge and evasion: pretending to be a British sailor, he searches for sanctuary within the shipÕs watches. In a series of interviews, he passes from one stratagem of ubiquitous fals ehood to another, yet is always rebuffed, Òthrust from one floating world, where he is known and admired, to one in which he is a complete strangerÓ (Temple 12). Within these dialogic encounters, Israel, fearing apprehension and literal confinement, is un able to individuate himself as a real person. Thus, he is incapable of eliciting succor from the ÒOtherÓ sailors as a particularized Other, in that his dialogic counterfeit has, ironically, already incarcerated his true self within an auto -generated total ity. In this way, Israel attempts to shield himself with a generic non -identity of linguistic -cultural sameness that draws only contempt and annoyance from his would -be peers. The humorous exchanges Israel has on the British ship illustrate this, in addi tion to MelvilleÕs quasi -satiric rendering in this dialogic episode of a monologic Òpolyphony,Ó wherein Israel, as a subject of politico -cultural Otherness, performs a multitude of generalized idiolects to conceal, ironically, his actual national different ness. The episode highlights the working class subjectÕs problem within the antebellum urban sphere, represented by the social microcosm of the ship: the laborerÕs isolating alienation and dehumanizing anonymity. Israel cannot assume an actual name, and his repeated expulsion from each group betrays a dialogic inability to solicit ethical responsiveness as a differentiated Other. However, as Janis P. Stout suggests, MelvilleÕs ethical commentary here transcends theoretic, politico -cultural or socioecono mic concerns and focuses instead on the interpersonal, dialogic dimension: ÒIn the late workÉ Melville is less concerned with social injustice such as poverty and class hostility, and more concerned with failures of communication and compassion between 132 !ind ividuals [or Others]Ó (172). Yet she concedes that the confining, modern urban topography contributes to these ÒfailuresÓ: ÒBecause there is no escape from the city walls, isolation becomes an inevitabilityÓ (172). I add that in a pragmatic industrial ag e of commodification and totalization, Poor RichardÕs proverb epitomizes the individualistic, self -serving ethos eschewing dialogic, inter -subjective responsibility for the absolutely Other that Melville critiques. The contrasting experiences that Israel e ndures localize the ethical stakes of confinement in a post -1848 and post -Kansas -Nebraska Act United States. As Anne Baker alludes, Israel is often confined as a slave, despite being white and an American citizen (10), albeit a traitor from the British perspective, though King George concedes that he is Òan honest rebelÓ (38). Granted, a sociopolitical context assigns one a legal, totalized status within a local e: the Dred Scott Decision in 1857 would bring this question to a head. But the textÕs clima te inflects more than MelvilleÕs treatment of IsraelÕs hybrid identity. On the level of inter -subjective ethics, IsraelÕs implementation by his ÒrevolutionaryÓ comrades engages the antebellum conversation surrounding the Compromise of 1850 and the Kansas -Nebraska Act, considered by pro -slavery advocates as circumventing unjust Federal Òconfinement,Ó yet condemned by Free Soilers as immoral, orchestrated attempts to perpetuate slavery. That is, to what degree did the Kansas -Nebraska Act and the preceding F ugitive Slave Law contribute to a Òmodern Ó ethical environment where working class citizens , and not just African slaves, were expected to function as dutiful implements of a larger political and economic mechanism? Tho ugh Melville was not pro -slavery, Israel Potter Õs dialogues betray his ambivalence toward this question. If the repudiation of the Kansas -Nebraska Act, the Fugitive Slave Law and the confinement of Southern slavery to follow were to facilitate the expansion of Northern urbanization, indust rialization and the totalization of ÒfreeÓ laborers, white and black, it would 133 !be difficult to discern the moral superiority in the Free Soil platform over the Cotton SouthÕs agrarian model. But in between these two confining economic paradigms ambivalent ly represented by Melville lies the potential for ethical redemption in telling an alternative, and better , story of individuated Otherness and inter -subjective dialogue, which the ironic, creative destabilization of narrative polyphony actualizes. I thus keep MelvilleÕs ambivalence and irony in view as I shift to ÒBenito Cereno,Ó focusing on the questions of Otherness, interpersonal ethics and antebellum politics more within the socioeconomic context of Southern slavery. II. ÒBenito CerenoÓ The surreal, claustrophobic and fa“ade -ridden world of the San Dominick appears at first to have little to do with Southern labor and economics, other than the fact that as a slaver , the shipÕs ÒcargoÓ of enslaved Africans feeds the New WorldÕs massive pla ntation economy of the 1790Õs. Rather, for antebellum readers, ÒBenito Cereno ÓÕs most apparent concern is the general anxiety over slave insurrections that many held, particularly in the South, since such had preced ent s in the U.S., Haiti, and on a number of slave ships. 33 But if we read the novella through the trifocal lens of labor economics, Levinasian alterity ethics and dialogic inter -subjectivity, a more complex picture of the textÕs sociopolitical unconscious emerges. Wedged between a maritime anal ogue to manifest destiny and the Monroe doctrine on the one hand and an allegorical disparagement of Southern slavery on the other is an ironic antebellum anxiety over socioeconomic order and hierarchical control. MelvilleÕs attacks on the autocratic !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!33 A salient facet of thi s anxiety is the fact that the ringleader Babo and the rebel slaves he commands harbor designs on Amasa DelanoÕs ÒYankeeÓ vessel, the BachelorÕs Delight , in addition to the Spanish slaver they have already seized (256), for as Dana Luciano writes in ÒMelvilleÕs Untimely H istory: ÔBenito CerenoÕ as Counter -Monument NarrativeÓ, ÒMelvilleÕs readers in 1855Éwould likely have had in mind other slave uprisings on U.S. soil, from GabrielÕs Rebellion to Nat TurnerÕs abortive revolt; the alternat ion and invention of detail in ÔBeni to CerenoÕ deliberately invite other events, such as the Haitian revolution and the Amistad incident, into its historical overlay as wellÓ (47). As I discuss, however, another fear represented by this plotted aggression deals with the possible destabilizi ng spread of ethno -racial, socioeconomic and labor -functional disorder, latent in the antebellum South, to the urban -industrial North. 134 !Òtyr annyÓ and ÒdespotismÓ of cramped ships within his fiction and his representation of the vessel -as-polity signals not just the psychological processing of his traumatic seafaring experiences, but also a ÒCooperianÓ fixation on sociopolitical stability and h ierarchical models of governance. 34 I contend that whereas Melville struggled with the moral/ethical implications of Southern slavery and its possible expansion, issues of socioeconomic order and political stability also loomed large for him as sectional te nsions rose in the 1850Õs. As Maurice S. Lee cautions, we ought not Òlimit [MelvilleÕs] social concerns solely to the subject of slaveryÓ (496), for Òabolitionists and slaves are not the only parties suppressedÓ in the novella (498). He resumes: we sho uld note that by 1855 few Americans could describe their political scene without dwelling on the more and more prevalent themes of fragmentation, degeneration, and apocalypse. This was especially true after Webster and Clay followed Calhoun to the grave, as bloodshed in Kansas came to prefigure a widely anticipated war, and when the Whig collapse of 1854 prompted cries from Northern observers that Òwe are to have political chaos ÑÔconfusion worse confoundedÕÓÉ In its leaderless, violent, fractious confusion , ÒBenito CerenoÓ is timely indeedÉ In many ways, ÒBenito CerenoÓ is a cunning critique of a nation founded on a diverse and often incompatible body of political thoughtÉ This narrative crisis is also manifest in the antebellum era, where studies of politi cal !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!34 Geoffrey Sanborn notes in Whipscars and Tattoos: The Last of the Mohicans , Moby -Dick , and the Maori that both Cooper and Melville, while fix ated on the ordering binary of savagery versus civilization, exhibit ÒrevolutionaryÓ sympathies in their work s as well, championing noble, indomitable, independent figures, such as Magua or Queequeg, who resist stru ctural oppression yet who also represent , in their intrepidity, ideal leaders. I argue that SanbornÕs reading of Cooper and Melville reflects their ambival ence with respect to governing order ; the y do not reject structure or hierarchy per se , but nonethel ess stress the importance of the right kind of leadership in ÒcivilizedÓ society, as opposed to tyranny. See SanbornÕs chapters on Cooper (37 -72) and Melville (93 -131). 135 !discourse discuss profound linguistic anxieties at the center of the national debate . (505, emphasis mine ) Amongst LeeÕs observations, most crucial is how he sutures text, contextual ÒdiscourseÓ and multi -vocal Òlinguistic anxieties.Ó I posit that Ò Benito CerenoÓ offers an allegorical psychological insight into the Free Soil movement which, as Sean Wilentz explains, was not a monolithic ideology or ethos but a convenient polyphonic alliance of diverse antislavery voices who, beyond halting slaveryÕs expansion, sought to wrest power Ñvotes Ñfrom influential pro -slavery Southern Democrats (617 -28): the issue of slavery provided the political adhesive. But if Northerners in general and Free Soilers in particular saw slavery as a moral cancer Òdivisive eno ugh to sever the bonds of CalhounÕs union, to dissolve Van BurenÕs party connections, and to assemble platforms so evasive and specious [i. e. Free Soil]Ó (Lee 505), national ÒchaosÓ and Òleaderless, violent, fractious confusionÓ emblematized by Ò cacophono us political conventionsÓ (Lee 505) was the greater bogeyman. For Free Soilers, the urban -industrial vision of economy and labor represented not just a lucrative alternative to Southern agrarianism and its quasi -feudalism, but also a more stable socioeco nomic structure. In sum, the inter -subjective, ÒethicalÓ concern that paternalistic Northerners shared respecting Southern slave culture Ñand slaves Ñwas not only that slavery was neo -feudal, an immoral system of labor, or that it was powerful enough to thr eaten the future of urban industrialization. It was also a fear of the SouthÕs inherent weakness and the ÒchaosÓ that would ensue in the U.S. following a systemic collapse of the SouthÕs slave -dependent economy. 35 Therefore, while first appearing counterintuitive, the abolition of slavery and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!35 I hold that the chronicle of African slave rebellions in the New Word, Haiti being t he pre eminent example, justified the apocalypt ic fears of m any within the antebellum U.S. regar ding slavery, North and South. I n connection w ith ÒBenito Cereno ,Ó Carolyn L. Karcher captures the fearful antebellum perspective on slaveryÕs imminent collapse : ÒEven if we succeed in putting down more revolts Ñand there are bound to be more Ñsooner or 136 !socioeconomic reordering of Southern culture in favor of the urban -industrial model, far from seeking to destroy boundaries of race, class and labor within American society as Southerners feared, would be the best means to preserving them long -term: legal segregation ÑJim Crow Ñwould endure until 1964, and de facto labor, economic and racial divides persist over fifty years later. As is the case on board the Òleaderless, violent , fractiousÓ San Dominick , from a Northern perspect ive the American South blurred necessary distinctions between race and labor -function, a perception to which Captain DelanoÕs ÒYankeeÓ observations Ñand mastering designs Ñregarding the slaves and crew of th e Spanish slaver attest. 36 In addition to sectional tensions over slavery and StatesÕ rights, advances in communications, transportation, factory technology and ÒindustrialÓ -scale plantation production were drastically affecting the U.S.Õs social topography overall in the mid 1850Õs. Also impacted was discourse on labor ethics, featuring contested visions of labor in an expanding American economy, Free Soil versus pro -slavery. That said, the Compromise of 1850 and its Fugitive Slave Law occupy a large port ion of ÒBenito CerenoÕsÓ political unconscious (DeLombard 35) in terms of the allegorical interplay between the San Dominick and the BachelorÕs Delight and their crews. The two ships, as modern political microcosms, signify contrasting socioeconomic vision s of the nation: not imperial Spain versus the American republic, but the agrarian, slave -dependent !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!later we will succumb to our own inner rotÓ (140). She claims, as do I, that the text shows how Òthe perpetuation of slavery spells apocalyptic destruction for Ame ricaÉthat unless slavery were abolished, the irreconcilable conflict between a white master class blinded with racism and a black slave population seething with hatred would culminate in the ruin of the flawed republic [Melville] lovedÓ (109, 158). Simila rly, Robert S. Levine writes in Conspiracy and Romance : ÒWhile Northern celebrants of Ôfree laborÕ saw themselves as words apart from Southern enslavers, they too remained fearful about the prospect of black violence, for it was a tenet central to antislav ery writing that the presence of chattel slavery in republican America only exacerbated potential for a Ôwar of exterminationÕ between the races. FurthermoreÉNorthern elites possessed their own related fears of insurrectionary violenceÉnot of the black sl aves, but of the urban poor, especially Catholics and other European immigrants, who likewise were feared as incipient revolutionariesÓ (167). I posit that for many Americans in the 1850Õs, one form of ÒinsurrectionaryÓ violence would stimulate the other. 36 Jeanine Marie DeLombard discusses the blurring of race and labor categories in ÒSalvaging Legal Personhood: MelvilleÕs Benito Cereno ,Ó arguing that the ÒcontractualÓ relationship of the African slaves with Benito Cereno post -ÒuprisingÓ opens up an unsta ble, lim inal space between slaves and ÒfreeÓ contract laborers (40 -49). 137 !South versus the industrial, ÒfreeÓ labor North (Lee 500). Below I sketch the contours of this allegorical contrast. The San Dominick and its nominal comm ander, Don Benito, are depicted via the normative gaze of the Yankee captain as being in a state of deterioration and ÒdebilityÓ (168), 37 mere shades of a once -glorious imperial past fallen into a condition of Òfaded grandeurÓ (164). 38 By contrast, the Bach elorÕs Delight of Duxbury, Massachusetts , is described as a large Ògeneral traderÉwith a valuable cargoÓ (160) characterized by a Òquiet orderlinessÓ (172). Furthermore, the forlorn Spanish slaver and the tattered remnants of its crew and human ÒcargoÓ ap pear stagnant, as if the doldrums encountered after the slave mutiny left the vessel and its remaining comple ment in suspended animation, a Òwhitewashed monasteryÓ with ÒBlack Friars pacing the cloistersÓ (163). The Òhatchet -polishersÓ and Òoakum -pickersÓ proceed monk -like with their ÒmonotoneÓ -ous work and ÒchantÓ (166 -67), just as the collared Atufal ÒmustÓ appear every two hours before Don Benito in a timeless rhythm (183), these ÒritualsÓ all being a part of BaboÕs fa“ade. Nevertheless, just as the crippled San Dominick drifts at the mercy of t he weather, time and its slave mutineers, the Southern society that the Spanish ship and its inhabitants represent likewise sought to raise a cloak of normalcy to mask from the Northern Other its socioeconomic helplessness, moral/ethical contradictions and underlying sense of impending crisis. In addition, the cryptic phrase scrawled on the San Dominick Õs hull, ÒFollow your leader,Ó provides the key to unlocking the polyphonic significance of ÒBenito CerenoÕsÓ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!37 With respect to Don Benito, Carolyn L. Karcher writes: Òthe character type on which Melville models him is to be foundÉin the contemporary plantation myth; for Don Benito corresponds in almost every respect to the literary stereotype of the southern gentlemanÓ (136). 38 Dana Luciano affirms that Òby the nineteenth century viewers were inclined to see ruins in accordance with their own sense of history, framed by a progressive view of c ivilization in which the cyclical rise and fall of great powers drove humanity upwardÉ Accordingly, the ruined ship, for Delano, testifies toÉhis own ascendancy, as a hard -working American, on the wo rld -historical stageÓ (41). I argue that the Òascendancy Ó that DelanoÕs triumphant gaze speaks to is not limited to an Anglo -American ÒriseÓ at the expense of a European colonial Òdecline,Ó but rather the industrial NorthÕs eventual domination of the agrarian South. 138 !contextual anxieties, in particular the U.S.Õs sectional tensions and unstable social, racial and labor -functional boundaries. As a command , albeit an ambiguous one in that addressor and addressee are obscured, an assertion of hierarchy is implicit. Yet, the sloganÕs author, the slave ÒleaderÓ Babo, ironically destabilizes it in that the translation of the Spanish jefe is ÒbossÓ or ÒchiefÓ in a labor context, akin to a foreman, as opposed to ÒleaderÓ in a political or martial sense, which in Spanish is rendered as caudillo , gu™a or l™der . This word i s more fitting for the militaristic leader ship role that Babo assumes as the instigator of a mutiny, despite his claim to having been a ÒslaveÓ to both blacks and whites (183). Further complicating this picture, the ÒleaderÓ of Captain DelanoÕs boarding p arty yells the same slogan when taking control of the San Dominick (237), also deploying the shipÕs motto during a military -like action, though again, the specific ÒleaderÓ is unclear, the subjectless motto inviting an ÒOtherÕsÓ appropriation. But just as the imperative motto does not enunciate one specific ÒleaderÓ that its implied reader must Òfollow,Ó likewise the narrative foments ambiguity, for it presents not one would -be Òleader,Ó but three (Lee 502): Benito Cereno, Amasa Delano and Babo, the Òcaptain of the [rebel] slavesÓ and the mutinyÕs architect (222). Furthermore, the economy of labor on the San Dominick is confusing. The Òinverted hierarchyÓ (Lee 498) of the shipÕs ÒleadershipÓ after the insurrection manifests a drastic reordering and a subterfuge. This is mirrored by the shipÕs division of labor, turned upside -down post -revolt, a destabilized economic structure with a sham production system. 39 In a scene that reveals this blurring of labor roles with Africans operating as oversee rs of white menials, Delano observes Òa sailor seated on the deck engaged in tarring !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!39 Maurice S. Lee notes too that Òin ÔBenito C erenoÕ revolution brings only new oppression. Melville does challenge race relations by inverting color supremacy, but class consciousness remains largely inchoate, even if Melville bemoans the ambivalence of antislavery and labor reform Ó (504, emphasis m ine). I counter that the confusion of labor roles amongst crewmen and sla ves raises the issue of proper class boundaries, not just within an ethno -racial hierarchy as it pertains to the Southern plantation system, but also respecting the NorthÕs Òmodern,Ó industrial economy, whe re the type and location ( factor ies and surrounding slums) of labor did as much to denote socioeconomic boundaries, social immobility and physical confinement as race did in the American South. 139 !the strap of a large block, a circle of blacks squatted round him inquisitively eyeing the processÉ The mean employment of the man was in contrast with something superior in his figure. His hand, black with continually thrusting it into the tar pot held for him by a negro, seemed not naturally allied to his faceÓ (196). Like the tarring sailor, t he Òoakum -pickers,Ó the Òhatchet -polishers,Ó the group of African women and c hildren and the remnants of the shipÕs original crew Ñincluding officers forci bly disguised as common seamen Ñall ÒperformÓ a counterfeit function, as do ÒcaptainÓ Don Benito, the ÒobsequiousÓ Babo and the chained, mute Òking,Ó Atufal. The assertive, self -reliant Yankee is the only one on board the San Dominick whose actions and words are somewhat genuine. Ironically, though, this maritime prototype of Poor RichardÕs mercenary proverb, due to his situational ignorance and his willful, and avaricious, self -delusion, also misreads the situation and overestimates his agency, despite Don BenitoÕs coolness. But, as Dana Luciano puts it: ÒDelanoÕs approval of himself makes up for the Spanish captainÕs indifferenceÓ (41). Yet even if the Yankee captain has less power than he assumes, his endeavor, and through him, the narrator Õs, to subdue the literal cacophony of languages/voices on the Spanish ship speaks to the antebellum Òlinguistic anxietiesÓ that Lee spotlights. Such being the case, the attempted muting o f the polyphony on the San Dominick adds another ironic wrinkle to the textÕs discourse. Beyond the West African dialects that the slaves spoke, the concluding deposition affirms that Òthe negro Babo understands well the SpanishÓ (249) in addition to othe r African slaves whose Spanish was ÒtolerableÓ (203), just as the Delano, a native speaker of English, knew enough Spanish to Òconverse with some freedomÓ with Don Benito (168). 40 Of course, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!40 Gavin Jones marks the significance of this linguistic phenomenon in ÒÔDusky Comments of SilenceÕ: Language, Race and Herman MelvilleÕs ÔBenito CerenoÕÓ: Òalongside the employment of African languages in the tale, there is equal evidence for the African manipulation of a European language: a m anipulation that has even more terrifying 140 !both Melville and the historical Captain Delano relate their narr atives in English , translating, paraphrasing and editing the Spanish sources as they see fit. When an old Spanish sailor tries to converse in secret with Delano in limited English, the narrator re -appropriates the ÒOtherÕsÓ attempted dialogue, framing and paraphrasing in standard English the imperfect English which the sailor would ÒconfineÓ with his native tongue: ÒWhile Captain Delano stood watching him, suddenly the old man threw the knot towards him, saying in broken English Ñthe first he heard on the ship Ñsomething to this effect : ÔUndo it, cut it, quick.Õ It was said lowly, but with such condensation and rapidity, that the long, slow words in Spanish, which had preceded and followed, almost operated as covers to the brief English in between Ó (202, emphasis mine ). The Spanish sailor uses English as a covert idiom, masked by proximate Spanish utterances in that many of his slave captors know Spanish, though inexplicably Delano, who speaks both languages, can make no response: Òknot in head, Captain Del ano stood muteÓ (202). But if only (Yankee) English can provide a ÒnormativeÓ discursive frame for reestablishing the categorical Otherness of Spaniards, as proxies for American Southerners, and slaves speaking Spanish and West African dialects, then it is curious that, as an empowered Northerner, Captain Delano is incapable of any utterance in ethical response to a differentiated Other. However, if we reground this reading of ÒBenito CerenoÓ within the context of the North -South d ebate, the significance of the Yankee DelanoÕs bizarre linguistic incomprehension comes into focus. Maurice Lee explains: By 1855, the North and South preferred different dictionaries, read different textbooks, and had become largely separate literary markets, while the slavery ÒdialogueÓ had entered a stage where the most compelling political topic was at !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!implications for the whites on board the shipÓ (40). I add that this Òmanipula tionÓ of language by non -white Others is likewise ÒterrifyingÓ from the mastering Northern perspective that Delano embodies. 141 !what point endlessly repeated arguments must finally give way to war. In ÒBenito Cereno,Ó Melville predicts that language will not solve sectional conflict, that whether mist ranslated, ignored or suppressed, words will eventually end in deeds, (499) that is, Òcutting the [political] knotÓ binding North and South. Though the Spanish sailor speaks in Òbroken EnglishÓ according to DelanoÕs Yankee ear, it is as if Delano is incap able of comprehending or responding to the ÒOtherÕsÓ command to untie the knot, rejecting his language and authority. Likewise, Lee also adds: ÒMore than most of his peers, Melville implicates both North and South in sectional misprisionÉ We can even argu e that ÔBenito CerenoÕ anticipates a revisionist version of the [Civil] war, one that blames not the ethics or economics of slavery but the inability of two alien cultures to talk over differences peaceablyÓ (499, emphasis mine ). This sequence also indica tes that the narrator assigns to the Yankee captain the sole, ethical responsibility for mastering the textÕs discourse Òas a dominant narrative perspectiveÓ and embodiment of Òthe lawÓ (Pah l 179n8), regardless of what spoken language is implied. The interpersonal demand belongs to Delano, to whose voiced initiative ÒOthersÓ must respond, not vice versa. Thus, the dialogic interplay the reader encounters throughout MelvilleÕs novella, a limited third -person narrative, is fil tered through DelanoÕs Yankee perceptions of linguistic, cultural and ethno -racial difference. 41 DelanoÕs mediation as a narrative conduit is reinforced by the fact that, whereas Spanish would have been the lingua franca on the San Dominick , MelvilleÕs En glish ÒtranslationÓ standardizes the dialogues, the accompanying action and the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!41 Paul Dow nes notes in ÒMelvilleÕs Benito Cereno and the Politics of Humanitarian InterventionÓ that though it is difficult to Òidentify a position of narrative authority or culpability with an y one individualÉ without Delano there is no perspective on these events a t all. Without Delano the third -person narrative voice is nowhereÓ (481). 142 !narratorÕs commentary. 42 The ambivalent, bilingual exception is the motto on the bow. First given in Spanish ÑÒSeguid vuestro jefe ÓÑbut restated in English near the conclusion, it is appropriated as a martial rallying cry by the ÒleaderÓ of DelanoÕs boarding party prior to capturing the San Dominick , a symbolic act of cultural -linguistic domination. BaboÕs and Don BenitoÕs ÒSpanishÓ dialogues, however, are always narrated in En glish. Ironically, Babo, Don Benito and the rest of the San Dominick Õs diverse company, all figures of differentiated Otherness, in a literal manner of ÒspeakingÓ are linguistically totalized. That is, they are confined by the narratorÕs dominant, hegem onic discourse as routed through the internal voice and evaluative Yankee perspective and of Delano, Òthe embodiment of white oppressionÓ (Pahl 172). 43 The ÒSpaniard,Ó though, is voiceless, Òapathetic and muteÓ from the beginning of the narrative (171): ÒH is voice was like that of one with lungs half gone Ñhoarsely suppressed , a husky whisperÓ (169, emphasis mine ). What he does manage to say is a product of BaboÕs ÒsuppressiveÓ ventriloquism, the mutinyÕs enigmatic ÒleaderÓ also becoming silent when captured, thereafter Ò[meeting] his voiceless end,Ó beheaded and burned (258). In an ambivalent peripatetic maneuver, the narrator exerts final mastery over the mysterious African who had manipulated Don BenitoÕs discourse (256), ironically ventriloquizing through a re -Othered subject reduced to silence, stripped of agency by force of narrative description: ÒSeeing all was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!42 Gavin Jones comments that there are levels of linguistic representation within the text, even if for practical reasons: ÒWe might conclude that the narrator is simply ignoring the specifics of African language; that he is avoiding the problem of having people speak in little -known African tongues by displacing African speech altogether, replacing it with the taleÕs supposed English transl ation of SpanishÓ (43). H e later goes furth er: ÒÔBenito CerenoÕ acts to blur the linguistic differentiation between African and European speechÓ (43), a statement which reinf orces the textÕs polyphonic character, in that the Del ano -flavored narrator expends significant space reestablishing the ethno -racial, socia l and functional categories of Otherness that MelvilleÕs novella blurs. 43 Contradicting the notion that the non -white Others on the San Dominick are linguistically assimilated by the narrator, Gavin Jones writes: ÒInstead of implying rac ial sameness, Melville clearly demarcates ethnic boundaries, dividing the slaves into several groupsÉmoving toward a vision of increased cultural heterogeneityÓ (40 -41). However , the mastering ethno -racial, social and labor -functional categorization that the narrator employs via DelanoÕs Yankee gaze operates as a form of textual totalization in that the individual non-white Other remains undifferentiated on the ethical level, even as a unique person meriting moral/dialogic responsiveness. 143 !over, [Babo] utte red no sound, and could not be forced to . His aspect seemed to say, since I cannot do deeds, I will not speak words Ó (258, emphasis mine ). To return to Don Benito, when asked to elaborate on his shipÕs misfortunes, the ÒSpaniardÓ refers to his own Òmute dÓ plight as Ò[p]ast all speechÓ (209), remaining ÒspeechlessÓ and ÒincoherentÓ at the moment of BaboÕs capture and his deliverance (232 -33). The narrator adds: Òthe SpaniardÕs melancholy sometimes ended in mutenessÓ even when he spoke with the American c aptain as a ÒfreeÓ man (258). With regard to Delano, after boarding the San Dominick the narrator describes the following muddled scene: Ò[Delano] was at once surrounded by a clamorous throng of whites and blacks , but the latter outnumbering the former mo re than could have been expected, negro transportation -ship as the stranger was. But, in one language , and as with one voice , all poured out a common tale of sufferingÓ (165, emphasis mine ). MelvilleÕs mastering representation of dialogic polyphony Ñone language and one voice, the narrator Õs English ÑÒspeaksÓ not just to an ethical response to undifferentiated OthersÕ Òcommon tale of suffering,Ó but to a meta -textual desire to reassert a stable social order. If the narratorÕs English uni -vocality ÒspeaksÓ to an attempt at narrative mastery, then MelvilleÕs chosen construction of linguistic consonance amongst the mixed ÒthrongÓ of whites and Africans in the first place is as ambivalent and ironic as it is illogical. Furthermore, it signals an uneasy preoccu pation with sociolinguistic blurring, emphasized by the fact that such is DelanoÕs first impression upon boarding the ÒunrealÓ Spanish vessel (166), and one quite unnerving for the regimented Yankee. The narrator explains: ÒHere it may be observed that as , on the first visit of the boat, the American had not permitted his men to board the [ San Dominick ], neither did he now; being unwilling to add to the confusion of the decksÓ (208, emphasis mine ). However, 144 !Delano would in the end order these same crewmen to seize control of the Spanish ship, thus mastering its sociolinguistic Òconfusion.Ó 44 This sociolinguistic blurring also runs concurrent with a blending of races and laborers on the Spanish slaver, as the narrator rem arks: Òthe work of hoisting in the casks was resumed, whites and blacks singing at the tackleÓ (207, emphasis mine ). Or, as Gavin Jones surmises, Ò[t]he linguistic logic of the tale is equivocal: it tends to equate racial groups, thereby confusing the rac ist hierarchy upon which DelanoÕs ideology dependsÓ (48). On one level, the limited narratorÕs deployment of DelanoÕs internal English monologism is ironic, for the narrator explains in English that Delano converses with Don Benito and Babo in Spanish whi le rendering their dialogues in English . Also, as a descriptive channel DelanoÕs internal voice exerts a normalizing mastery over the narrative which confines various groups of Others within their totalized ethno -racial and labor -functional categories, as exemplified by the racial descriptions of the Òoakum -pickersÓ and the Òhatchet -polishersÓ (166 -67). Nevertheless, polyphonic discourses erupt within MelvilleÕs dialogues which resist categorical confinem ent insofar as they re -announce the ethical imperat ive to respond to the individualized speaking Other as a subject of racial, social or labor -functional hybridity. Such an eruption occurs prior to the shaving episode, where Babo proposes: Òmaster can talk, and Don Amasa can listen, while Babo here lather s and stropsÓ (210). Babo, secretly orchestrating all on the San Dominick , ÒperformsÓ menial labor as a faithful servant. At the same time, he subtly ÒmastersÓ the dialogue between the Yankee and Spanish captains via his vocal interjection, masked as sel fless responsiveness to the needs of ÒOthers,Ó Delano and Don Benito submitting to the ÒslaveÕsÓ verbal coercion. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!44 Gavin Jones ma rks the interrelation between linguistic multi -vocalism and confusion within the text: ÒA situation of increased linguistic variety would inevitably create a chaos of incomprehensibility on board the shipÓ (41, emphasis mine ). And, as Maurice Lee notes, t he specter of ÒchaosÓ is one of the principal North -South anxieties opera tive throughout ÒBenito CerenoÓ (505). 145 ! As this example shows, the question of overt versus covert motivation and the presence of competing layers of intentionality erupt during the se polyphonic dialogues. At first, Delano boards the San Dominick Òto render whatever assistance might be in his powerÓ to a vessel in apparent distress (167). He then assumes a patronizing attitude towards the ÒinvalidÓ Don Benito (171) and the ÒcuriousÓ Spaniards, in addition to the frequent racist observations he makes respecting the African slaves. Like the shipÕs intermingled personnel, DelanoÕs ÒethicalÓ intentions towards Don Benito and the San Dominick are also mixed, for as the captain of a commercial vessel with a ÒprivateerÕs -manÓ first mate, his calculations include a mercenary element, as ÒDon BenitoÕsÓ offer of reward for the San Dominick Õs recovery suggests: ÒThe more to encourage the sailors, they were told that the Spanish captain considered his ship as good as lost; that she and her cargo, including som e gold and silver, were worth more than a thousand doubloons. Take her, and no small part should be theirs. The sailors replied with a shoutÓ (235). The text never clarifies whether this ÒofferÓ of salvage rights issues from Don Benito or Captain Delano. If the lat ter, DelanoÕs inter -subjective respo nse to Don BenitoÕs Òoff -whiteÓ Otherness 45 is not just condescending, but also predatory: ÒThe imperialism American is almost too glad to take over for Don BenitoÉ Melville suggests that selfishness lies at t he core of human interactionÓ (Lee 501, 511). Thus it is Delano , and not Don Benito, that should be suspected of being a Òplotting pirateÓ (232). 46 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!45 Don BenitoÕs Òprecise and costlyÓ clothing was part of BaboÕs deception (258), in that he dressed his ÒmasterÓ to fit dandy stereotype of a yo ung Spanish gentleman, rendering him more culturally Other to the American Delano. 46 Douglas M. Coulson argues that Ò[t]here are also suggestions that DelanoÕs original decision to investigate the San Dominick is motivated by the hope of commercial salvage gainÓ (29). Paul Downes too raises this question of DelanoÕs ethical motivation, opposing benevolent duty and aggressive ÒinterventionÓ: ÒMelvilleÕs story, I want to suggest, attempts to grapple withÉthe relationship between intervention that is ultimate ly ÔmilitaryÕ Ñbacked by all the violence that political power is capable of exerting. Furthermore, MelvilleÕs attempt to comprehend these dynamics proceeds, simultaneously, by examining the play of vulnerability and power that defines the storyÕs (insiste ntly) American protagonist, the ÔgenerousÕ Captain Amasa DelanoÓ (473). I alter DownesÕ assertion by referring to the Massachusetts captain as a Yankee Òprotagonist.Ó 146 ! Weighed against these circumstances is the fact that the ÒrealityÓ Delano perceives proves illusive, and wh at he believes concerning the San Dominick and its remaining company is hubris -fed self -deception. As with much of what Delano assumes to be true, the myth of his own ethno -cultural superiority over Benito Cereno, his Spanish crew and the African slaves i s constructed upon the presumption of Anglo -American power over the narrativeÕs actors and incidents. But DelanoÕs ÒcontrolÓ of the San Dominick , like Don BenitoÕs, is nominal , the American captain being the willing dupe of BaboÕs pa ntomime: his agency is just as confined as that of his Spanish counterpart. It is only when Babo fails to contain the information regarding the mutiny, therefore relinquishing control of the narrative as well as Don Benito, that Delano is able to gain actual control of the San Dominick , literally invading the ship and subduing it by force. The story ironically comes full circle: the Spanish slaver, at first confining its human cargo, experiences a revolt whereby its Spanish masters become de facto prisoners of the Òfugitive Ó African slaves, who are in turn violently recaptured and re -confined by the mercenary Yankee Delano and his crew. 47 To situate this peripeteia within MelvilleÕs historic surroundings, DelanoÕs ultimate domination of a traumatized slave -polity as imaged by the San Dominick is ironic not just beca use a Yankee recaptures ÒfugitiveÓ slaves after offering to purchase one (194 -95), but more subtly so in that his smaller vessel, the BachelorÕs Delight , is a sealer (161). Thus Delano and his mercantile ship, at first glance representing the Northern, Free Soil industrial counterpart to the SouthÕs agrarianism and ÒfeudalÓ hierarchy emblematized by the Spanish slaver, also signify a socioeconomic paradigm of labor both Other and inferior to the SouthÕs plantation system: as literal hunters, they rate as more primitive than agrarians within CrevecoeurÕs ÒprogressiveÓ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!47 Carolyn L. Karcher contextualizes the denouement of ÒBenito CerenoÓ: Òthis ominous endi ng may also expose the ÔcompromiseÕ the North had recently made with slavery, by reaffirming her commitment to suppressing insurrections and recapturing fugitives, as a futile attempt to postpone the day of reckoningÓ (140). 147 !developmental model of civi lization. That said, does the Yankee DelanoÕs mercenary, Òwill to powerÓ gaze (Pahl 174) warrant an assumption of superior Otherness as compared to the Òoff -whiteÓ Spaniards when Delano and Don Benito were at the mercy of Babo and the African mutineers all along? True, DelanoÕs self -serving grandiosity, camouflaged as disinterested benevolence toward an Other in need, indica tes that in assuming tactical command of the ship, the Spanish Others on the San Dominick ought to ÒfollowÓ their new ÒleaderÓ and his modern, Free Soil ethos, for as Dana Luciano posits, Ò[DelanoÕs] sympathy -inspired good works operate as the means for hi s own self -consolidationÓ (41). 48 I submit, though, that on this point Melville remains ambivalent, for as the San DominickÕs ambiguous motto implies, the binary of ÒleaderÓ and Òfollower,Ó like that of mastery and duty, remain undetermined, fluid within the text and in the antebellum United States. For instance, the usurping Delano muses that after being Òrestored to healthÓ Don Benito Òshould also be restored to authority,Ó but only following the American captainÕs Òdu tifulÓ paternalistic intervention (193). As we see in several dialogues, scenes of confinement and attempted subjugation of Others fail to contain the narrativeÕs ambivalent, polyphonic discourses on mastery and inter -subjective duty. This problematizes ethical or ideological readings of ÒBenito CerenoÓ that suggest the text functions as mere critique of European colonialism, Southern slavery and ineffectual tyrannical governance. Rather, the text manifests a dialogue within a dialogue 49 during DelanoÕs s tunted interactions with Don Benito and Babo, as his initial thoughts of benevolent duty toward a particularized Other evolve into a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!48 In ÒThe Gaze of History in ÔB enito CerenoÕ,Ó Dennis Pahl affirms DelanoÕs desire to ÒdomesticateÓ the San Dominick (175), ÒforcingÓ the Òsigns he seesÉto become an integral part of his own system of truth, of his own ÔnaturalÕ view of the world, his own ideologyÓ (174). Pahl adds: ÒA ll this naturalization, or domestication, of the world around him serves Delano well as a way to construct a self that would have complete dominion over all those he considers Other,Ó including Benito Cereno (176). 49 Lee also writes: Òthe most provocative readings of ÔBenito CerenoÕ see it as Ôa discourse about discourseÕ (497). 148 !paternalistic concern for restoring social order (Nelson 4), followed by manipulation, coercion, conquest and plunder. This metamorphosis commences soon after Delano witnesses the scuffle between the Spanish and African youths. Delano remarks to Don Benito, ÒHad such a thing happened on board the BachelorÕs Delight , instant punishment would have followedÓ (179), while musing in silence: ÒIs itÉthat this hapless man is one of those paper captains IÕve known, who by policy wink at what by power they cannot put down? I know no sadder sight than a commander who has little of command but the nameÓ (179). Granted, Don Benito was n ot in ÒcommandÓ at all, hence the black youthÕs bold attack on his Spanish counterpart; still, DelanoÕs unspoken judgment in response to his vocalized query inaugurates a new pattern of thought for the Yankee captain. The San Dominick is not just a strick en Spanish vessel with a starving, dehydrated crew in need of assistance, but a dysfunctional social economy where blurred racial, hierarchical and labor divisions have become unstable, Òlike a slumbering volcanoÓ (192), ÒethicallyÓ demanding the re -imposi tion of order. 50 Douglas M. Coulson also affirms this: ÒDelano finds the relationship between the Spaniards and slaves on the San Dominick deeply disturbingÓ (2). Responding to the racially confused scene before him, the unwitting Yankee captain challenges his Spanish counterpart with unsolicited advice on the correct management of his African ÒlaborersÓ: ÒI should think, Don BenitoÉthat you would find it advantageous to keep all your blacks employed, especially the younger ones, no matter at what useless t ask, and no matter what happens to the shipÉI find such a course indispensable. I once kept a crew on my quarter -deck thrumming mats for my cabinÓ (179). As Delano becomes more ill -at-ease on a Òstrange craftÓ with Òst range folksÓ (205), the benign manag erial suggestions to a fellow captain mutate !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!50 Even the shipÕs name, Ò San Dominick ,Ó connotes sociocultural hybridity. A pure ly Spanish rendering of it would be Ò San(to) Domingo ,Ó the appellation Ò DominickÓ being an inexplica ble Anglicization adjoined to the Spanish equivalent of Òsaint,Ó suggesting that the colonial vessel was always destined for Anglo -American appropriation. 149 !into designs on assuming control of the Spanish vessel through any ÒhelpfulÓ pretext. Don BenitoÕs Otherness likewise devolves in DelanoÕs Yankee estimation from European peer to incompetent and treacherous ÒSp aniard.Ó Delano muses: Ò[h]ow unlike we are made! Éthese Spaniards are all an odd set; the very word Spaniard has a curious, conspirator, Guy -Fawkish twang to itÉÓ (181, 206). The narrator then grants further access to DelanoÕs thinking: Òhe would spare three of his best seamen for temporary deck officersÉ On some benevolent plea withdrawing the command from [Don Benito], Captain Delano would yet have to send her to Conception, in charge of his second mateÉ Such were the AmericanÕs thoughtsÉ There was a difference between the idea of Don BenitoÕs darkly pre -ordaining Captain DelanoÕs fate, and Captain DelanoÕs lightly arranging Don BenitoÕsÓ (177,193). Despite his involuntary part in BaboÕs subterfuge, Don Benito is less the ÒconspiratorÓ than the opportu nistic Yankee. In paranoid instances of auto -projection, the American captain suspects the Òcurious SpaniardÓ of scheming to use the African slaves to kill him and steal his ship (203 -04), though in the end this stratagem was BaboÕs, not Don BenitoÕs (256 ). As the tense dialogue unfolds amongst the three would -be Òleaders Ó of the San Dominick , Don Benito, Captain Delano and Babo, these suspicions and covert motives come to the fore, fueling the textÕs ethical polyphony. Despite the novellaÕs title, the majority of the narrative surrounds Amasa Delano Õs actions and thoughts (Goldberg 6) and the sectional anxieties they represent on a contextual plane. The chief ambivalence is DelanoÕs emblematic ethical conundrum, similar to that of the industrial Fr ee Soilers in the 1850Õs. The Yankee captain is caught between conflicting ethical impulses: his obligation to assist an individual Other; his duty as an officer to restore a segregated social order and functional labor economy within a disintegrated hierarc hy; and his mercenar y interest as the captain of a Yankee commercial vessel 150 !to appropriate the assets of a vulnerable ship. The textÕs dialogues delineate this trajectory of ambivalent thought. Towards the conclusion of Amasa DelanoÕs ÒstrangeÓ sojourn aboard the San Dominick , the textÕs conflicted preoccupation with the shipÕs confused categories of race and labor emerges through the American captainÕs spoken and unspoken discourses with Don Benito, in particular as the focus of his musings shifts to assuming control of the ÒOtherÕsÓ vessel. After Babo feigns being cut on the cheek by his Òmaster,Ó a disapproving Delano reflects, Òthis slavery breeds ugly passion s in manÓ (218), whereupon he minimizes his initial ethical response to BaboÕs apparent mistreatment: ÒBut a sort of love -quarrel, after allÓ (218). Upon the appearance of the ÒmulattoÓ cabin steward, an African with a European Òphysiognomy,Ó Delano rumin ates on the subject of racial hybridity in the context of slavery (219), noting to Don Benito: I am glad to see this usher -of-the -golden rod of yours; the sight refutes an ugly remark once made to me by a Barbadoes planter; that when a mulatto has a regul ar European face, look out for him; he is a devil. But see, your steward here has features more regular than King GeorgeÕs of England; and yet there he nods, and bows, and smiles; a king, indeed Ñthe king of kind hearts and polite fellows. What a pleasant voice he has, too? (219). Yet DelanoÕs rhetoric shifts again, as he hedges: But tell me, has he not, as far as you have known him, always proved a good, worthy fellow? ... Come, for the reason just mentioned, I am curious to knowÉ For it were strange, indeed, and not very creditable to us white -skins, if a little of our blood mixed with the AfricanÕs, should, far from improving the latterÕs 151 !quality, have the sad effect of pouring vitriolic acid into black broth; improving the hue, perhaps, but not the wholesomeness. (219) Don Benito then affirms enigmatically: Ònot to speak of negroes, your planterÕs remark I have heard applied to the Spanish and Indian intermixtures in our provinces. But I know nothing about the matterÓ (220). In addition to DelanoÕs alloyed response to the presence and notion of the Òadulterated African,Ó next to whom he renders the Òfull -bloodedÓ African Babo inferior and ÒjealousÓ (219), his paranoid distrust of the ÒOtherÓ captain, akin to his latent and then overt concern over th e ÒintermixtureÓ of his shipÕs social and labor roles, concretizes around the idea of hybridity. The language characterizing DelanoÕs growing, albeit ambivalent, suspicions of Don Benito is telling: Òif the whites had dark secrets concerning Don Benito, c ould then Don Benito be any way in complicity with the blacks? But they were too stupid. Besides, who ever heard of a white so far a renegade as to apostatize from his very species almost, by leaguing in against it with negroes?Ó (201). But when DelanoÕs crew assaults the San Dominick , two Spanish gentlemen officers, made by the Africans to look the part of common sailors, are shot by the boarding party, who assume that they Òin some way favored the cause of the negroesÓ as ÒrenegadeÓ seamen (253 -54). Ironically, one of them yells Ò[d]onÕt boardÓ out of concern for the Americans Õ safety (254) and not as an abettor of the mutineers, though as was the case with Delano on the San Dominick , these Spanish sailors are also unable to make their selfless warnings understood by any ÒOthersÓ (252 -53). Simply put, the remaining ÒSpaniardsÓ on board the ship are too amalgamated with the Africans to be perceived by DelanoÕs crew as European confreres , a form of ethno -racial totalization that not even Don Benito escape s. This ethno -racial Othering of the ÒSpaniardÓ Don Benito occurs early in the text, a sense of uncanny alienation which increases during the course of DelanoÕs interior monologues. Don 152 !Benito is characterized as a Ò dark Spaniard . . . the central hobgobl in of allÓ (193, emphasis mine ) and likened to a treacherous ÒJewÓ (229), 51 losing credibility in the views of Delano and the narrator in presiding over a social economy where racial, labor -functional and linguistic boundaries have broken down. 52 Noting Bab oÕs ÒfamiliarityÓ with his Òmaster,Ó DelanoÕs genial regard for Babo as Òless a slave than a devoted companionÓ (169) ÑÒÔ[s]lave I cannot call himÕÓ (176)Ñ alters as the narrator relates his changing affective response to their dialogic interactions: Òthe m enial familiarity of the servant lost its original charm of simple -hearted attachmentÓ (185). Delano later remarks to Don Benito: Òyour black here seems high in your trust; a sort of privy -counselor, in factÓ (189), the Spanish captain explaining that Òsi nce losing his officers he had made Babo (whose original office, it now appeared, had been captain of the slaves) not only his constant attendant and companion, but in all things his confidantÓ (222). Of course, the Òspectacle of fidelityÉand confidenceÓ that first characterizes the Òbeauty of that relationshipÓ between Don Benito and Babo is a charade, Babo commanding as the ÒleaderÓ of both slaves and Spaniards post -mutiny. 53 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!51 Mar™a de Gu zm⁄n reasserts the Otherness of Don Benito for Delano, noting that Òwithin the [1800Õs ] Ango -American imaginaryÉÔSpainÕ and ÔSpaniardsÕ meant African, Asian, Middle Eastern, and ÔIndianÕÓ (64). 52 De Guzm⁄n likewise comments that Ò[ÔBenito CerenoÕÕs] determinism is projected into the future in the service of an Anglo -American white -supremaci st manifest destiny intolerant of any complicity between black and Spaniard and focused on an image of Spanish rule as enabling not only complicity between, but miscegenation of, master and slave, white and black. Such fears of a hybrid empire where power relations are not clear between blacks and whites on account of ÔfamiliarizationÕ (in all senses of that word), blackmail, and so forth are expressed in [the nove llaÕs] passagesÓ (63). I add that the parallel here with my argument is that the ÒAnglo -Amer icanÓ fear of a ÒhybridÓ Spanish empire to the ÒsouthÓ is a n analog to Yankee fears pertaining to a miscegenation -prone American South, whose slave -powered plantation economy, like that of the SpainÕs American empire, was more closely connected to the comm erce and culture s of the Caribbean and the Southern Hemisphere than the North. 53 Melville Õs use of the word ÒmutinyÓ before any other term to characterize what had occurred on board the Spanish ship is significant (235), for a ÒmutinyÓ connotes an ove rthro w of the lawful commander(s) on the part of crewmen or officers, persons within the formal chain of command. With respect to slave uprisings, the term ÒinsurrectionÓ or ÒrebellionÓ is more common, and accurate, in that such ÒpersonsÓ exist outside of the polity, legally excluded, while still remaining subject to its social governing structures. Thus, the fact that the text uses ÒmutinyÓ voices a certain ambivalence; that is, even as racial, sociolinguistic or laboring Others, the African slaves on the San Dominick at some point prior to the ÒmutinyÓ merited status within the social economy/governing structure of the shipÕs polity; as Benito CerenoÕs deposition reads, Òall the negroes slept upon deck [with the sailors], as is customary in this navigation, and none wore fetters, because the owner, his friend Aranda, told him that they were all tractableÓ (241), though his text is also ambivalent, for the fi rst word it employs in reference to the slave mutiny is ÒrevoltÓ (241). 153 !I posit, though, that the confusion of labor -functional roles presents a Òspec tacleÓ of social disorder more ominous for the Yankee Delano than the interracial ÒfamiliarityÓ and interchangeability of Spanish ÒwhitesÓ and Africans suggest by themselves. Delano observes after boarding the San Dominick that Òeither a white, mulatto or blackÓ relayed Òformal reportsÓ to the Spanish captain, and that Ò[w]hatever special orders were necessary, their delivery was delegated to [Babo], who in turn transferred themÉthrough runners, alert Spanish boys or slave boysÓ (170 -71). The narrator the n expounds on the Yankee captainÕs analysis: Wonted to the quiet orderliness of the [ BachelorÕs Delight Õs] comfortable family of a crew , the noisy confusion of the San DominickÕs suffering host repeatedly challenged his eye. Some prominent breaches, not only of discipline but of decency, were observed. These Captain Delano could not but ascribe, in the main, to the absence of those subordinate deck officers to whom, along with higher duties, is intrusted what may b e styled the police department of a populous shipÉthe old oakum -pickers appeared at times to act the part of monitorial constables to their countrymen, the blacksÉ What the San Dominick wanted was, what the emigrant ship has, stern superior officers. (172 , emphasis mine ) I conclude from these descriptions that Captain Delano fast comes to associate his duty towards the Spanish ship and ÒOtherÓ captain with the restoration of a proper social order, including strict labor divisions within the shipÕs economy. This above alleviating the hunger and thirst of the shipÕs company, a circumstance to which Melville devotes far less space than to the ÒconfusedÓ social and functional roles alternately occupied b y Spaniards, Africans and mulattos. The narrator mention s that the Òoakum -pickersÓ had assumed the ÒhigherÓ law -enforcement role that deck officers perform, those gentlemen functionaries on the San Dominick being forced to don 154 !the authority -less guise of inferior seamen and menial workers, no longer the shipÕs official Òleaders,Ó roles that Babo appropriates for himself and his deputies. 54 Furthermore, the comparison to an Òimmigrant shipÓ reinforces the anxiety over ethno -racial and social confusion, for such vessels by design host a diversity of ethnicities, s ociolinguistic groups, classes and laborers, signifing a literal polyphony within a single confined space. Babo, referring to AtufalÕs chain restraints, vocalizes the socially -blurred, functional symbiosis on the San Dominick which so unnerves the Yankee captain: ÒThe slave there carries the padlock, but master here the keyÓ (184), each individualÕs implement being useless without the ÒOther.Ó 55 Dennis Pahl comments on DelanoÕs Northern ÒinquietudeÓ respecting the role -blurring and the social, functional interconnectedness of the microcosmic San Dominick Õs ÒSouthernÓ slave culture: ÒDelano tries to deny the facts to which the images before him plainly attest: that the masterÕs identity is inextricably bound up with that of the slaveÕsÉ Thus, the image of th e incapacitated Cereno leaning on the slave Babo mirrorsÉa relationship of interdependency that would make the identity of master and slave, of self and other [indiscernible]Ó (177). The concluding dialogue between Delano and Don Benito encapsulates the a nxiety and ambivalence the text manifests respecting inter -subjective ethics and the social duty of categorizing Others on ethno -racial and labor -functional planes. The narrator initially represents the final discourse between the two ÒleadersÓ as one amo ngst friends and peers: Òthe two !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!54 Dennis Pahl argues that Òthe blacks here are anything but a faceless, homogenous group; they are themselves broken down into their own order of masters and sla vesÉ Commanding the other slaves with absolute rule, and manipulating most of the events Delano witnesses, Babo is thus cast as no less a self -possessed authority figure than is DelanoÉ In their own ways, both Babo and Delano represent the Law with regard to their own respective ÔothersÕ over whom they ruleÓ (178 -79). I counter that what Delano perceives , as relayed through the limited narrator , is a spectacle of ethno -racial, social and functional Òconfusion,Ó if only to the extent that the new Òabsolute ruleÓ that Babo and his lieutenants have imposed represents a hierarchical, social ordering literally and figuratively unrecognized by the Yankee captain and the political society he represents. 55 Luciano notes the passageÕs irony and dialogic polyphony : ÒBaboÕs skill as ironist enables him to locate freedom within the very rituals of slavery, as his inversion of the Ôsignificant symbolsÕ of padlock and key demonstrates; his subterfuge evokes a duplicity of meaning from even the most single -minded commentar yÓ (52, emphasis mine ). 155 !captains had many cordial conversations Ñtheir fraternal unreserve in singular contrast with former withdrawmentsÓ (255, emphasis mine ). Yet the conflicted dialogue which follows is different, as Don Benito accuses Delano, the distrustful ÒrescuerÓ and paternalistic usurper of the ÒOtherÕsÓ vessel, of succumbing to his own totalizing gaze: you were with me all day; stood with me, sat with me, talked with me, looked at me, ate wit h me, drank with me; and yet, your last act was to clutch for a monster, not only an innocent man, but the most pitiable of all men. To such degree may malign machinations and deceptions impose. So far may even the best man err, in judging the conduct of one with the recesses of whose condition he is not acquainted. But you were forced to it; and you were in time undeceived. Would that, in both respects, it was so ever, and with all menÉ (257, emphasis mine ) Here Melville anticipates through the voice of an Other, Don Benito, LevinasÕ ethics of alterity, in suggesting the moral subjectÕs duty to understand the individuated OtherÕs Òcondition.Ó Yet Don BenitoÕs loaded speech also demonstrates the tragic and violent degree to which DelanoÕs mastering opt ic has totalized Don BenitoÕs Otherness, as he vocally reflects back the normative, dehumanizing gaze of the Yankee Other, to whom the ÒSpaniardÓ appeared a Òmonster.Ó More significant is Don BenitoÕs ambiguous, ambivalent language: we are left to infer to who belong the Òdeceptions and machinationsÓ and who the Òbest manÓ is who ÒerrsÓ and ÒjudgesÓ the ÒOtherÓ; Delano, Don BenitoÉor Babo ? On the obvious level, Delano is implied. However, Delano does not directly respond to Don BenitoÕs charges, but rea sserts the Òdark SpaniardÕsÓ ethno -racial Otherness, asking, Òwhat has cast such a shadow upon you?Ó (257, emphasis mine ), to which the ÒOtherÓ captain replies in the generic: ÒThe negroÓ (257), 56 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!56 Respecting this particular dialogue, Catherine Toal observes in ÒÔSome Things Which Could Never Have HappenedÕ: Fiction, Identification, and ÔBenito CerenoÕÓ that Don BenitoÕs Spanish Òoff -whitenessÓ manifests itself 156 !whereupon the narrator terminates the dialogue without addit ional clarification: ÒThere was silenceÉ There was no more conversation that dayÓ (257 -58).57 This anticlimactic, amputated dialogue reprises the unnerving and literally ÒunspeakableÓ subjects of disordering miscegenation and racial ÒintermixtureÓ on South ern plantations illustrated b y the discourse on treacherous mulattos. The earlier cryptic dialogue is cut short by Don Benito, who concludes the conversation by claiming to Òknow nothing of the matterÓ (220). In sum, neither the narratorÕs commentary nor the frame d final dialogue specifies who judges who m, and whose is the greatest ÒmachinationÓ; likewise, Don Benito is unable to reorder his own social, labor -functional and ethno -racial alignments, remaining an ambivalent hybrid to the end. 58 Even at the dramatic moment of his ÒdeliveranceÓ from the San Dominick , the Spanish captain appears indecisive, telling Captain Delano prior to jumping into his launch: ÒI can go no further; here I must bid you adieuÓ (231). He later explains his ambivalence as an in ner ÒconflictÓ between se lf-preservation and duty to an Other : ÒDon Amasa, I know not whether desire for my own safety alone could have nerved me to that leap into your boat, had it not been for the thought that, did you, unenlightened, return to your ship, youÉwould never in this world have waked againÓ (256). Here Don Benito does ÒfollowÓ the Yankee Captain who he calls his Òbest friendÓ (231), though as the narrative concludes, the ÒleaderÓ who he ÒfollowsÓ to his grave is the Ònegro,Ó Babo (258). !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ironically in a repudiation of the evil or ÒblackÓ imperial conduct of Euro -Americans, Òreflect[ing] ÔwhitenessÕ back to itselfÓ (63): ÒEarly champions of Cereno are keen to point out that, since the two speak in Spanish, his answer, Ôthe negro,Õ also means simply Ôbla cknessÕ or metaphysical Ôevil,Õ accepting a dubious ÔtautologyÕ that overlooks the SpaniardÕs own spurious translation: having seen a display of the horror of Ôwhiteness,Õ he reacts with a demonization of ÔblacknessÕ so confined within the identity and int erests of his race that, when shown its true color, he sees only the OtherÓ (56). 57 At this moment of hones ty between Don Benito and Delano, it is telling that the conversation fails. Maurice S. Lee offers a plausible, albeit pessimistic, explanation: Òpr ivate relationships do not flourish when public masks are ostensibly dropped, and language falters even at the moment we seem free of devious discourseÓ (511). 58 I argue Don Benito was always a hybrid figure, if only on a functional level, in that he did n ot own the slaves he was transporting; they belonged to Don Aranda. Nevertheless, Don Benito owned the San Dominick . At least in an administrative capacity, ÒCaptainÓ Benito Cereno occupied a middle ground between the African slaves and their actual Spani sh proprietor, not a slave himself, but still ÒlaboringÓ for a slave -owner, much as an overseer, a role sometimes occupied by mulatto s on Southern plantations. 157 !Despite his official exoneration before the tribunal for the loss of his ship, ÒCaptainÓ Benito regains neither his health nor his command prior to his death. I interpret this to mean that Don BenitoÕs true ethical offense, as the shipÕs legal authority, was not the loss of the San Dominick itself, but rather the disor dering relaxation of the shipÕs social, racial and labor -functional boundaries that preceded the Òmutiny.Ó It is for this unspoken crime that the Spanish captain Ñlike the ÒOtherÓ commander, Babo, and the two Spanish sailors killed during the San DominickÕ s recapture Ñis punished, now confined in a terrestrial monastery as opposed to the seaborne ÒcloisterÓ of the San Dominick , condemned within and by the narrative. But the textÕs Ò voiceÓ remains ambivalent and Òinconclusive,Ó in Shari GoldbergÕs words (1), respecting the ultimate ethical significance of the ÒcaptainsÓ ÑBenito Cereno, Amasa Delano and Babo Ñand the strained interpersonal dialogue they share for much of the narrative. I posit that the diminutive Babo functions as Don BenitoÕs externalized homun culus within the San Dominick Õs unstable slave polity, reminding his charge as a coercive voice of conscience where their joint loyalties must lie as implicated agents of slavery: Òwhat Babo has done was but duty Ó (176, emphasis mine ). Yet once removed al ong with his ÒmasterÓ from the confinement of the Spanish slaverÕs chaotic social context and re-confined to the compartmentalized environs of the Yankee vessel, Babo relinquishes the power and desire to speak. Menacing BaboÕs singular influence over his ÒmasterÓ is the rival, paternalistic discourse of the Yankee captain. That said, it appears that it is Delano that Babo attempts to kill when he ÒfollowsÓ Don Benito into the launch, as if he were the greater enemy all along: Òwith the dagger presented at Captain DelanoÕs heart, the black seemed of purpose to have leaped there as to his markÓ (232). Of course, the industrial North that Delano and the BachelorÕs Delight represent, despite bein g sealers, 158 !threatens to confine the perpetuation and mobility 59 of the disordered, hybridized slave culture that BaboÕs rule signifies, and of which the Òdark SpaniardÓ and his crew become implements. The chief textual ambivalence in this regard lies in the ethical decisions, actions and dialogues of Captain Delano and Don Benito. Should one characterize DelanoÕs dialogic responsiveness to the enfeebled Spanish captain and ÒdutifulÓ overtures of assistance as exhibiting a genuine, selfless concern for an ind ividualized Other? Or, is the Yankee captain more about confining and immobilizing as an undifferentiated totality a confused slave economy of ÒintermixingÓ classes of laborers and races, with an eye to securing his own financial self -interest? As to Don Benit o, does his confined discourse speak of abject victimization and supplication, o r to complicity in, and failed leadership of, a slave culture that has rendered him just as categoric ally Other as the Africans and mul attos that become his masters an d ÒleadersÓ? An illuminating statement from Captain Delano in his final dialogue with Don Benito illustrates this ambivalent dilemma and the textÕs polyphonic nature overall. Reflecting upon their narrow escape from the San Dominick in the Rover , Delano remarks, Ò you have saved my life, Don Benito, more than I yours; saved it, too, against my knowledge and will Ó (256, emphasis mine ). This statement proves true, in that Don BenitoÕs death soon follows. I insist, however, that this statement is true on a figurative level, providing redemption from the totalized ethical confinement that the text dialogically constructs, as well as from its antebellum political, socioeconomic and ethno -racial commitments. Despite Don BenitoÕs hybrid Otherness and the debilitated slave economy he typifies, Delano Õs remark voices another peripatetic moment, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!59 The fact that the Spanish slave ship functions practically as a vehicle of human mobility and metaphorically as a representation of Southern slave culture is significant , in that the Kansas -Nebraska Act (1854) authorized the ÒmobilizationÓ of Southern slavery into new western states, based on Stephen A. DouglasÕ interpretation of Òpopular sovereigntyÓ. The Yankee Delano and hi s crew, while fulfilling their duty to apprehend ÒfugitiveÓ slaves, likewise ÒarrestÓ the literal, autonomous movement of the sl ave ship, thereby figuratively confining and mastering the ethno -racial, social and labor -functional disorder of slavery. 159 !exposing an ironic symbiosis between the culture/ideology ÑFree Soil and pro -slavery Ñthat each character represents. Even as DelanoÕs endeavors to totalize and ma ster, according to a normative Yankee gaze, the confused economy of Òhelplessly mixed inÓ (234) races and labor functions over which Don Benito and Babo preside, the Òdark SpaniardÕsÓ voluntary leap of faith, now in complicity with the Yankee captain, not only saves DelanoÕs ship from the ÒOtherÕsÓ soci al confusion, but engenders the YankeeÕs domination the San Dominick . Thus, DelanoÕs self -effacing words to Don Benito are not just a gesture of gratitude, but suggestive of the redemptive ethical possibility, in LevinasÕ parlance, of being for the diffe rentiated Other, even an individual that society would totalize. He also voices that unique OtherÕs own reciprocal duty to respond for the Good of still ÒOtherÓ particularized individuals. The irony here is that in each acting for the Good of the ÒOther, Ó both captains Òfollow their leader,Ó the antebellum racial and social class discourse whose ethos of Anglo -American mastery demands the re -confinement of the African slaves and Òintermi xedÓ Spanish sailors, LevinasÕ third party Others, within their prope r social, ethno -racial, labor -functional totalities. Indeed, socioec onomic/labor hierarchies had to be reinforced if Northern industrialism was to realize its commercial manifest destiny, even as Southern agrarianism and slavery threatened to defy section al confinement and expand west following the Kansas -Nebraska Act. In ÒThe Fugitive Slave LawÓ Ralph Waldo Emerson writes: ÒAre you for man and for the good of man ; or are you for the hurt and harm of man? It was the question whether man shall be treated a s leather ? Whether the negro shall be, as the Indians were in Spanish America, a piece of money ? Whether this system, which is a kind of mill or factory for converting men into monkeys, shall be upheld and enlarged?Ó (758, emphasis mine ). He concludes: Òas the Turks say, ÔFate makes that a man should not believe his own eyes.Õ But the Fugitive Law did much to 160 !unglue the eyes of men, and now the Nebraska Bill leaves us staring. The Anti -Slavery Society will add many members this year. The Whig Party wi ll join it; the Democrats will join it. The population of the free states will join it. I doubt not, at last, the slave states will join itÓ (768). EmersonÕs languag e highlights the stakes of my discussion of Israel Potter and ÒIsrael Potter,Ó suturing the ethical questions surrounding slavery, labor, race and interpersonal responsibility, framing the moral controversies of the day. Emerson blends the dehumanizing system of Southern slavery Ñreferring to ÒmenÓ as ÒleatherÓ a nd ÒmonkeysÓ Ñwith the mercantile greed of Spanish colonialism and the degrading, oppressive mechanization of the Northern ÒfactoryÓ which also turns workers Òinto monkeys.Ó Still, Emerson was optimistic that a diverse American populace would embrace an ÒAn ti-SlaveryÓ ethos. I add along with Emerson that slavery was not the only form of antebellum totalization that needed to end, as a white Ishmael rhetorically suggests in Moby-Dick: ÒWho ainÕt a slave?Ó This conflation of antebellum socio -ethical concerns with respect to the ethical demand of the individualized Other, whether a Northern Òwage slaveÓ or the African American bonded in the South, is dialogically operative in Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cereno.Ó But as polyphonic texts, they remain ethically amb ivalent regarding ÒfreeÓ labor and involuntary servitude, as Carolyn Karcher attests (128). MelvilleÕs discourse, shaped within the crucible of socioeconomic, intersectional tensions, fluctuates between incisive social/ethical critique and a desire for or der and stability, that is, social Òconfinement.Ó If Israel Potter, like Moby-DickÕs Ishmael , suggests that in a modern, manufacturing America anyone can become a ÒslaveÓ or a Ònobody,Ó Amasa Delano demonstrates the mercenary extremes to which otherwise a ltruistic persons will go to perpetuate a totalizing hierarchy of ÒcaptainsÓ and laboring Others when social disorder, functional confusion or ethno -racial hybridity threatens their privileged positions. 161 !Just as the mottos of Israel Potter and ÒBenito Cere noÓ champion selfish individualism and the submission to a preexistent social economy, together they offer, in a complementary polyphony, a glimmer of ethical redemption. If the connotation of ÒGod help them that help themselvesÓ is ÒconfinedÓ only to mer cenary self -interest, ÒFollow your leaderÓ voices the necessity of a transcendent ethos free of individualism. Likewise, the authoritarian Spanish motto, when tempered by FranklinÕs common sense self -interest, invites submission to a liberating inter -subj ective ethos where persons identify their own Good in responding to the differentiated Other. In doing so, they resist any political, socioeconomic structure that would prevent the subject from seeking to Òhelp her or himself.Ó I argue that Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ interrelate like their mottos. The polyphonic dialogues within and between these texts form the edge of a redemptive horizon, even if Herman Melville could neither see beyond his antebellum discourse nor embrace the republicÕs ethical duty ÑNorth and South Ñto respond to the unique Otherness of the urban laborer and the African American slave, despite the s ocial upheaval that such would demand. In the third and final chapter, I continue this discussion on the ethics of Otherness in con junction with the representation of hybridity within late antebellum American fiction. Engaging novels by Harriet E. Wilson and Fanny Fern, I add neglected voices to this ethical literary conversation on inter -subjective responsiveness: those of laboring women Others. Whereas in Melville I apprehend hybridity as it pertains to identity , particularly in terms of language, race, ethnicity, social class and labor -function, with respect to Fern and Wilson I focus on a complicating rhetorical dimension of char acter hybridity: the dialogic blurring of the melodramatic archetypes of the heroine and villainess. As we will see, the hybridizing of these archetypes also confuses the Selfsame/Other binary as well as their ethical positions, introducing 162 !the polyphony of ambivalence and irony into sentimental discourses whose moral didactics ÒoughtÓ to appear without ambiguity. The interpersonal ethics of Fern and Wilson are anything but monologic. 163 ! CHAPTER 3: Alterity, Compassion and Ethics: Female Antagonists as Sympathetic Others in Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall: A Domestic Tale of the Present Time (1854) and Harriet E. WilsonÕs Our Nig: Sketches from the Life of a Free Black (1859) are autobiographical sentimental novels that scandalously call attention to unspeakable elements in Northern antebellum society, specifically: gender and class discrimination, racism, poverty, the vict imization of children and family dysfun ction. Utilizing conventional types within domestic settings, both narratives present suffering female characters who struggle to survive amidst a repressive culture and vindictive persecutors. A number of critics, s uch as Jennifer Larson, Karen A. Weyler, Gale Temple and David Dowling, have hailed these works as boldly critiquing the labor injustices of modern American capitalism. At times, however, recent readings of Ruth Hall and Our Nig are incomplete and overly dependent on binary thinking, focused as they are on unearthing and championing female protagonists and representative authors emblematic of the periodÕs most oppressed and totalized Others, particularly women of racial minorities. 1 Feminist critic Nancy Armstrong writes: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 Lisa Elwood -FarberÕs article, ÒHarriet WilsonÕs Our Nig : A Look at the Historical Significance of a Novel that Exposes a CenturyÕs Worth of Hypocritical IdeologyÓ is a case in point. Elwood -Farber becomes so engrossed in valorizing Wilson and Frado that she misreads the text, missing key elements in her analysis. To point out only two examples, though the title to her article refers to WilsonÕs text as a Ònovel,Ó she later writes that the ÒbookÉis supposed to be a fictio nal third -person autobiography Ó and that ÒWilsonÕs greatest tormenter in the novel, Mrs. B, has a history of abolitionist activity in her family treeÓ (472, emphasis mine ). For one thing, Òfictional third -person autobiographyÓ is a contradiction in terms, indicating that dealing with the issue of the textÕs genre is essentially ignored by Elwood -Farber. As Jill Jones points out in ÒThe Disappearing ÔIÕ in Our Nig ,Ó Ò[t]he body of Our Nig is not simply in the third person, but is so steeped in the conventi ons of the sentimental novel that it seems to belie any claim to autobiographyÓ (14). Furthermore , Elwood -FarberÕs characterization of the fictional ÒMrs. BÓ would be accurate if she were referring to the historical Mrs . Hayward of Milford, Connecticut. Though Mrs. Bellmont is 164 !The rhetoric of victimization has worked its way into the heart of literary critical theory and will remain there, I am sure, to generate re -readings of texts by, for, and about women for a number of years to come. Powerful academic wo men will continue to insist on the powerlessness of womenÉ But it should not prevent us from undertaking other projects that go beyond the work these women have already doneÉthey have also opened the way for new methods and research É (255, emphasis mine ). I follow ArmstrongÕs methodological lead and argue that if we look at FernÕs and WilsonÕs texts more closely, resisting the novelsÕ attempts to invoke sentimentality and liberal sympathy, we see women protagonists who, while experiencing oppression and cruelty nevertheless adopt a mercenary, will to power ethos to survive. 2 Ironically, this selfish individualism also characterizes the dehumanizing socioeconomic structures of the antebellum American culture which has rendered them voiceless, powerless an d categorically Other. That both Ruth and Frado, like the actual authors, turn to writing as a means to make a life and garner voices counter to the repressive hegemonic discourse testifies to this. What I propose is that if we begin reading from the pos ition that Frado and Ruth function as models of disadvantaged female Others who endure incredible adversity in their quests for survival and self -empowerment, we find polyphonic narratives that offer within their dialogic structures another ethical counter -discourse. Susan K. Harris posits that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!based on Rebecca Hayward, as Barbara A. White establishes in ÒÔOur Nig and the She -Devil: New Information about Harriet Wilson and the ÔBellmontÕ FamilyÓ (29), in WilsonÕs fictional account, no mention is ever made of Mrs. Bellmont being an abolitionist. 2 My understanding of this term is based on the existential conc ept of the will to power expounded by Friedrich Nietzsche in Thus Spoke Zarathustra (226 -228) and further refined by Jean -Paul Sartre in Being and Nothingness , that is, the sense of an autonomous individualÕs will -to-power as the appointment one makes, and keeps , with him or herself (467 -72). FernÕs and WilsonÕs heroines texts model this modern, individualist ethos. 165 ![i]n nineteenth -century womenÕs literature, in fact, the putative authorial voice, heard through the strong narrative persona, sounds the note for the cover story [the authorÕs culturally ÒacceptableÓ intent], and this is the voice that most first -time readers hear. Subsequent readings reveal other voices, however, in addition to character, plot, and thematic variations, that function to undermine the narratorÕs authority. Éthe novels contain thematic and structura l tensions that prevent them from achieving thematic closure. (33) 3 The ethical ambivalence evident in the melodramatic, dialogic interplay between Frado and Ruth and their female nemeses indicates the ÒcarnivalesqueÓ emergence of rival ÒunderminingÓ voices. Furthermore, I argue that in their struggle for autonomy in a republic that would deny them dignity as full citizens, both characters, as thematized Others, nevertheless suggest an imperative ethics of duty for the radical Òthird partyÓ Other, those antagonists ÑÒpersecutorsÓ in LevinasÕ diction Ñwho, in addition to the sociocultural discourse which necessarily informs their material context, are most responsible for their oppression. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!3 Harris opens the door to this sort of ÒpolyphonicÓ formalist reading of domestic/sentimental fiction in 19th-Century American WomenÕs Novels: Interpretive Strategies . She writes: ÒI see these as having a common structural overplot; I am most interested, however, in the way the ov erplot functions to disguise multiple hermeneutic possibilities. ÉI see these novels as being open to different interpretations by different groups of readers; ÉI do not see this as a strategy in a war between female demons and male victims. Émy discussi on is predicated on the assumption that nineteenth -century readers were as capable as we Ñperhaps more so Ñof bringing more than one interpretive strategy to the texts they readÓ (13). Harris implies, as do I, that contemporary readers of nineteenth -century womenÕs fiction ought to be open to multiple Òi nterpretive strategiesÓ and thus multiple interpretations. The challenge, as Harris explains, is that Òas readers, with a wealth of reading (that is, of absorbing literary conventions) behind us, we bring to each new text only those expectations that have been created by other texts. The first reading involves having those expectations aroused and either fulfilled or disappointedÉ The re-reading, however, focuses on the division within the text itself, disc overing that there is no such thing as a stable identityÉ What a text, employing narrative conventions and reflecting cultural codes, thinks it is saying (or pretends to be saying) and it may be saying to some readers are not necessarily the same thingÓ ( 31, 33). Much of the tension that my Òre -readingÓ of Fern and Wilson highlights arises from this textual ÒdivisionÓ between melodramatic expectations of characters within the sentimental genre and the dialogic -polyphonic complications which subvert the rh etoric of archetypal totalization and the interpersonal ethics implicit within it. 166 !As did many critics of slavery, such as Frederick Douglass in My B ondage and My Freedom ,4 both Fern and Wilson delineate the contours of a unique Òthird partyÓ Other who Levinas describes as the totalized ÒpersecutorÓ ( Otherwise than Being 111) ironically also victimized by the morally desensitizing societal structures o f which they have become agents. I posit that within a fictional discourse inflected by an interrogation of social injustice, this Òthird partyÓ Other functions as a pariah -figure beyond sympathy, even within their family and social class. Despite melodr amatic, dialogic rhetoric to the contrary, the sentimentalism of Ruth Hall and Our Nig gestures beyond the psychological and physical violence done to their protagonists, suggesting the possibility of compassion 5 for the persecutor as an individuated Other . Yet, according to Jane Tompkins, Ò[t]he power of the sentimental novel to move its audience depends upon the audienceÕs being in possession of the conceptual categories that constitute character and event . That storehouse of assumptions includes attitu des toward the family and toward social institutions; a definition of power and its relation to individual human feeling; [and] notions of political and social equalityÓ (126 -27, emphasis mine ). To clarify this point regarding !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!4 For example, see DouglassÕ description of the change in the personality of his mistress, Mrs. Auld, as she is forced to uphold slaveryÕs systemic prohibition against teach ing slaves to read, contrary to her natural inclination (153 -55). 5 The Latin root of this term formed from the words cum (ÒwithÓ) and passio (ÒsufferingÓ) signifies the state of Òsuffering in solidarityÓ with another Ñor the Other (Bakhtin, Art 48). Therein lies the basis of human sympathy and empathy, that is, the ability for the su bject to identify with or tak e on the pain of an Other, if only vicariously. Thus, the affective core of all ÒsuccessfulÓ sentimental narrative s depends upon the ab ility of its poetic mechanisms to elicit this sensation from the reader or auditor. In Hard Facts: Setting and Form in the American Novel Philip Fisher explains the key role of compassion in sentimental fiction: ÒCompassion is, of course, the primary emot ional goal of sentimental narration. Compassion exists in relation to suffering and makes of suffering the primary subject matter, perhaps the exclusive subject matter, of sentimental narrative. It is, as Rousseau calls it, a species -preserving feeling a s opposed to those feelings which have only the individualÕs own survival at their sourceÓ (105). Fisher also explains that Ò[t]he political content of sentimentality is democratic in that it experiments with the extension of full and complete humanity to classes of figures from whom it has been socially withheld. The typical objects of sentimental compassion are the prisoner, the madman, the child, the very old, the animal, and the slave [and, I would add, oppressed women as well]. Each achieves, or rat her earns, the right to human regard by means of the reality of their sufferingÓ (99), and therefore Ò[t]he sentimental novel [ideally] arouses and excites action toward that part of the public future that is still open to deci sion and alternativesÓ (18). The problematic figure of the Òwounded persecutorÓ occupies a suggestive and interpretively fec und position of sympathy within antebellum sentimental narrative , particularly when considered from the vantage point of Levinasian ethics ; that is, such charac ters, as dialogically individuated Òthird partyÓ Others , also demand an ethical response from the moral subject, even that sympathetic protagoni st who is simultaneously the object of their persecutio n, thereby warranting ethical responsiveness as a victimi zed Other as well ( Otherwise than Being 111, 157) . 167 !Òconceptual categories,Ó I will show how the concept of melodrama undergirds my understanding of novelistic sentimentality. Peter Brooks offers an explanation of the conventional use of melodrama, in which we see its rhetorical function in the sentimental novel: The connotations of [melodrama] include: the indulgence of strong emotionalism; moral polarization and schematization; extreme states of being, situations, actions; overt villainy, persecution of the good, and final reward of virtue; inflated and extravagant expression; dark plottings, suspense, breathtaking peripety. The few critics who have given serious attention to melodrama have noted its psychological function in allowing us the pleasures of self -pity and the experience of wholeness brought by the identification with Ò monopathicÓ emotionÉ The term seems useful, even necessary, because it pointsÉto a mode of high emotionalism and stark ethical conflict that is neither comic nor tragic in persons, structure, intent, effect. (12) Brooks then sutures theatrical melodrama to nineteenth -century novels Ñby implication, the sentimental novel Ñadding that [melodramaÕs] polarization of good and evil works toward revealing their presence and operation as real forces in the world. Their conflict suggests the need to recognize and confront evil, to combat and expel it, the purge the social orderÉ In considering melodrama, we are in a sense talking about a form of theatricality which will underlie novelistic efforts at representation Ñwhich will provide for the making of meaning in f ictional dramatizations of existence. The nineteenth century novel needs such a theatricalityÉto get its meaning across, to invest in its renderings of life a sense of memorability and significance. (13) 168 !Indeed, a glance at the plot schematics, particula rly the dialogic interactions of the heroines and villains in Ruth Hall and Our Nig , reveals fidelity to the melodramatic formulae present within sentimental fiction of the period, including peripeteia .6 Still, it is where Fern and Wilson fail to adhere t o archetypal constructions of good and evil on which their rhetorical projects rest that the polyphony within each text erupts within the narrativesÕ dialogic structure and amongst the ÒcarnivalesqueÓ interplay of competing discourses. Given the self -awareness with which both authors root their novels in the sentimental tradition, such conventional departures, from the vantage point of the genreÕs poetics, appear counterintuitive. 7 But it is precisely in this discursive space opened by the creative destab ilization of both genre and character archetypes that we encounter the demand for an alternative ethical reading of these texts. Where the presumed totalization of the archetypical Other Ñheroine or villainess Ñis undermined, there emerges the textÕs dialog ic capacity to imagine a dynamic human subject, alternate ly issuing, responding to and refusing to act for the Other. Antebellum womenÕs fiction, until comparatively recently, has been received and often dismissed as merely occupying the realms of melodram atic sentimentality and domesticity, 8 forming the 19 th centuryÕs American counterpart to Great BritainÕs novel of Òmorals and manners,Ó where idealized maternal women inhabit the sphere of the home as guardians of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!6 Jill Jones also no tes in that Ò[t]he melodrama, the appeal to the sentiments of the reader, is typical of sentimental fictionÓ (41). 7 Operating within a particular convention or genre does not automatically determine the nature of the narrative structure or character development in every respect: such rules invite transgression, especially with respect to the moral -ethical expectations that surround the reading of the text. I n Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America Cathy N. Davidson points out that Òwe regularly encounter in the very structure of the sentimental novel tensions and unresolved contradictions. There is often a glaring gap between the public morality officially es poused and the privat e behavior of the characters who voice or supposedly validate that morality. What is promised in the preface is not always proven in the plotÓ (215). !8 William Spengemann explains in The Adventurous Muse: The Poetics of American Ficti on, 1789 -1900 that Ò[w]hereas mill -run works in the genre normally begin in a perfect home that is invaded by antidomestic forces from without, the great ones begin with a domestic situation that is marred by a conflict between parental authority and youth ful ambition or sentimentÓ (72). O ne could argue that both Fern and Wilson employ versions of both the Òmill -runÓ and the ÒgreatÓ domestic formulae. 169 !virtue, dependent femininity and familial stability. 9 A deeper textual analysis of FernÕs and WilsonÕs ethical dimensions, though, requires that we probe beyond the genreÕs conventional ethics. Of course, the character of Ruth subverts many of these Victorian values and gender binaries in that s he i s individualistic, self -reliant, assertive and, perhaps most shocking of all, content to pursue her family and professional life without remarrying (Warren xxii). 10 WilsonÕs rambunctious Frado, by comparison, too is strong -willed, intelligent, and emot ionally resilient in the face of oppression and physical abuse, seeking as well independence from a domestic context where being an abandoned child, a female and a mulatta has rendered her triply inferior in the eyes of her white Òcaretakers.Ó Also like R uth, Frado by implication 11 turns to writing as a way to escape poverty. In both novels, neither sentimentality nor domesticity offer happiness, security or moral edification for women or anyone else. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!9 In All -American Girl: The Ideal of Real Womanhood in Mid -Nineteenth Century America Frances B. Cogan dis cusses the presence of polyphonic discourses at the intersection of moral didacticism and the depiction of gender roles in domestic fiction: ÒDidactic literature by its very nature evaluates the world and presents its message straightforwardly, even stride ntly. [É] Once could make the case (and many have) that this direct didacticism, especially in the case of domestic novels, is simply a stalking -horse for darker, more rebellious and contradictory feelings. I acknowledge that such a subtext is indeed pos sibleÉ [D]omestic novelsÉtend to reveal interesting contradictory attitudes underneath the apparent support for the traditional restrictions on the womanÕs sphereÓ (12). She later adds: ÒAs a result of such didactic fiction and advice textsÉideals of fra gility clashed with ideals of competence, pious self -sacrifice with survival, and the popular middle -class reader was left with two countering class images of womenÕs nature, capabilities, and goals to study and possibly emulateÓ (18). The contrast betwee n Ruth and Mrs. Hall in Ruth Hall is an excellent example of an ambivalent ÒclashÓ of feminine Òideals.Ó 10 Joyce W. Warren writes in her ÒIntroductionÓ to Ruth Hall and Other Writings : ÒRuth Hall gains power and control over her environment, but her influe nce extends into the world outside of the home. The domestic values of love and harmony which seem to be extolled at the beginning of the novel gradually give way to a cynical realism as the heroine evolves from a trusting innocent into a hard -headed busi ness womanÉShe learns that if she is to survive, she cannot retreat from the unpleasantness of a moneyed society, but must adapt herself to itÉ Finally, Fanny FernÕs portrayal of her heroine departs from most womanÕs fiction in her encouragement of self -assertion as a positive virtueÉOnce she enters the male -world of competition, she needs that individualistic self -assertion American society encouraged in menÓ (xxiv -xxv). These alternate ÒvirtuesÓ that Ruth acquires, and which dilute her sentimental claim to sympathy as a hel pless victim, she ironically learns from her chief antagonist, Mrs. Hall. 11 In ÒRenovating Domesticity in Ruth Hall , Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl , and Our Nig Ó Jennifer Larson infers a narrative amalgamation between Harriet Wilson a nd the autobiographical protagonist Frado at the textÕs conclusion, ded ucing that Frado, like Wilson, employs her literacy to become a writer as a means to support herself. Larson writes: ÒIn the textÕs key turning point, Frado Ñlike Ruth [Hall] Ñdiscovers how the written word can be a valuable expression of freedomÉ Discovered in conjunction with her work as a seamstress, the written history of the book inspires Frado and names her plight and her opposition to and conflict with her society. This i nspiration soon comes to fruition through authorship... But as it appears in FradoÕs text, knowing that writing a personal narrative would have been a possible way for her to make money, we can also read the Ôuseful articleÕ as a written history of her own (the one we hold in our hands)Ó (553). 170 !Though Ruth Hall undercuts many of the literary convent ions of the ÒwomanÕsÓ sentimental novel 12 as Susan K. Harris notes, Our Nig borrows and departs from the American slave narrative tradition, although, technically , Frado was never a ÒslaveÓ in the strict sense of the term. Despite building off of different literary conventions and reflecting contrasting experiences of disadvantaged female Otherness, both texts contain a didactic dimension that lauds individualism and interpersonal distrust. They deplore a social reality where women of supposed greater powe r, those who Òought,Ó though their own feminine experience, to be more sympathetic 13 not only fail to respond to the needs of the differentiated Other, but inflict further suffering on marginalized persons already reduced to poverty. Thus, these novels evi dence an ethical polyphony: that is, must the Other always look toward herself first for sustenance in a hyper -competitive American culture, or does there still exist the possibility of selfless relationship amongst radical Others? This ethical conundrum is brought into relief through the dialogic structure of each text, in addition to the conventional liminality of the novels themselves 14 and the hybrid dynamism of the protagonists and the antagonists. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!12 Nina Baym prefer s the term ÒwomanÕs fictionÓ as opposed to Òsentimental fictionÓ in that, from her Òthe term ÔsentimentalÕ is used to imply that a work elevates feeling above all elseÓ ( WomenÕs Fiction: A Guide to Novels by and about Women in America, 1820 -1870 24-25). In that I am using the terms ÒsentimentalÓ and ÒsentimentalityÓ more in connection with the rhetorical functions of melodramatic archetypes, I too prefer to distance myself from defining the sentimen tal novel as a form solely preoccupied with gratuitous displays of Òfeeling.Ó "$!Lori Merish offers a perspective in Sentimental Materialism: Gender, Commodity Culture and Nineteenth -Century American Literature : ÒSpecifically, as codified withinÉnineteenth -century domestic fictions, sentimental sympathy prescribed forms of paternalism Ñspecifically, of ÔbenevolentÕ caretaking and ÔwillingÕ dependency Ñsuited to a liberal -capitalist social order that privileged individual autonomy and, especially, private prope rty ownershipÉ Critics of sentimental literature have often pointed out that sympathy in these narratives are children, slaves, the poor, the disabled; and in sentimental narratives, it is the sympathy of the empowered for the disempowered, the ÔstrongÕ fo r the Ôweak,Õ the fully human for the dehumanized, that is enlisted as socially and ethically salientÉsatisfaction and ethical value lie in the voluntary, unregulated, deeply felt exchanges of interpersonal lifeÓ (3). I counter that the absence of this so rt of relationship between FernÕs and WilsonÕs protagonists and antagonists speaks to the similar absence of a more pronounced ÒpowerÓ divide between them. Or if, as Merish argues, Òsentimental sympathy can seem to neutralize the relations of political in equality it upholdsÓ (3), does its lack indicate the lessening of such a ÒrelationÓ of Òpolitical inequality,Ó between Selfsame subject and Other? I argue that Ruth Hall and Our Nig answer in the affirmative. !14 Many critics have noted that both Our Nig and Fanny Fern straddle several genres; however, I focus on their formal relationship with the conventions of sentimental and domestic fiction, though Wilson borrows archetypal elements from the slave narrative tradition as well. 171 !I want to argue, then, that whereas a significant amou nt of recent scholarship on Harriet Wilson and Fanny Fern treats the socioeconomic, racial, cultural, political, and gender issues that these novels touch, such interventions suggest yet fail to address a more nuanced ethical dimension. WilsonÕs and FernÕ s texts, within their polyphonic dialogic structures, offer unexpected ethical alternatives to the myopic familial and cultural discourse(s) of their Òantagonists.Ó As opposed to championing more sanitized models of female self -empowerment amidst possibil ities of extra -domestic mobility within a diversifying, modernizing society, these novels depict protagonist -exemplars of a cynical, ultracompetitive attitude that responds neither to the needs of the radical Other nor to the moral demand to enter into rel ationship with an immediate Òthird partyÓ Other. Intuitively, the representation of the protagonistsÕ experiences of persecution and marginalization would suggest an empathetic response. 15 Instead, these ÒheroinesÓ display an ethos of will to power ambiti on that totalizes persons, even friends and family, as either competitors to be vanquished or objects to be appropriated. 16 Such a reading does not disregard discourses of racial prejudice, gender discrimination, class oppression or child abuse that are manifest in FernÕs and WilsonÕs novels. Rather, what I !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!15 The fact that a signific ant degree of selfishness animates the action and thinking of both Ruth and Frado , despite appearances to the contrary, complicates these textsÕ relationship with more conventional sentiment al and domestic forms (and ethics ). As Mary Kelley writes in Priv ate Woman, Public Stage: Literary Domesticity in Nineteenth -Century America , Òto tout the selflessly serving woman as a powerful figure of influence and control was to beg the issue and betray an underlying conviction that the opposite was the case. The i nsistent, urgent presentation of the woman as the glorified, ultimate practitioner of the ethic of selfless service stood instead as a transparent shield overlaying the always dependent and vulnerable figureÓ (277). 16 Herein lay a great deal of the rhetori cal risk in FernÕs and WilsonÕs n ovels, written as they are for public consumption. Harris explains the bind of nineteenth -century women novelist who would venture such dynamism for their protagonist: ÒOn the one, [womenÕs] writings show an intense, almos t paranoid awareness of the needs, the censures, of the Ôpublic,Õ an entity conceived of as easily influenced by the written word. On the other hand, they are equally intensely aware of other possibilities for female protagonists than the ones they public ly espouseÉ They do, however, express fascination with deviant characters, ambiguous situations, and most of all, with heroic womenÉ Within this context, womenÕs novels function as a means of testing womenÕs possibilities for alternative modes of beingÓ ( 19). In ÒA Purchase on Goodness: Fanny Fern, Ruth Hall and Fraught IndividualismÓ Gale Temple isolates this phenomenon, Òfraught individualism,Ó as suggesting that the Òideal citizen can and should be a paragon of individuality and beleaguered goodness in the midst of a corrupt social realm,Ó adding that it Òconnects femininity and gentility to a competitive ethic of market -oriented acquisitivenessÓ (136). 172 !want to show is that the fundamental destabilization in these texts of the melodramatic archetypes of the heroine and villainess reveal s an ethical counter -discourse that not only runs contrary to conventional didactics associated with antebellum womenÕs novels, but one which exposes a new frontier for criticism of sentimental fiction. Within a popular literary field as well as national d ialogues that had become dependent on the rhetorical use of archetypes, 17 Wilson and Fern demonstrate that categorical totalities of Otherness can be subverted by not only the textual representation of racial, gender or class hybridity, but also by ambivale nt discourses that foil the narrativeÕs overt design to secure sympathy for the protagonist and antipathy for her nemesis. The result is the uncontainable emergence within Our Nig and Ruth Hall of a depolarized ethical discourse of compassion, camouflaged beneath antebellum sentimentality. 18 In spite of rhetoric justifying their heroines and damning their villainesses, the prevailing message in both novels is that injustice, as in ÒrealÓ life, only begets further moral tragedy. Such immorality develops w ithin the unfortunate subjects that endure it an ethical disdain for the Good of the individualized Other and extolls mercenary survival, hierarchical power and vengeance. I. Ruth Hall The verbal exchanges between Ruth and Mrs. Hall are significant for the ir ethical ambivalence. Almost from the beginning, FernÕs rendering of RuthÕs and Mrs. HallÕs diction establishes a contrast, differentiating the voices of the adversaries and reinforcing the conflict of their ethics and agendas. Mrs. HallÕs language is curt and commonsensical, similar to the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!17 As Stephen Hartnett explains in ÒFanny FernÕs 1855 Ruth Hall , The Cheerful Brutality of Capitalism, & The Irony of Sentimental Rhetoric,Ó ÒAmericans relied upon a variety of sentimental forms to makes sense of modernity by appealing to the immediacy of emotionsÓ (3). He later adds: Òthe principles of sentimental discourse Ñimmersion in the wo rld of emotion, seeing history through personal experience, saturating the text with relentlessly intense prose and marked by exclamation points, tears, grueling repetition, and melodramatic emplotment Ñwere employed in response to many of the eraÕs most pr essing political crisesÓ (10). 18 Or, as Larson argues, Fern and Wilson (and Harriet Jacobs) Òreveal still more innovative ways in which women, black and white, moved beyond the seemingly stifling conventions of the sentimental and domestic novels while sti ll working within their confinesÓ (539). 173 !overbearing Ben Franklin in Israel Potter , whereas RuthÕs betrays a romantic affect indicative of ÒgentilityÓ (Hamilton 101), establishing her as the (naŁve) social superior of her mother -in-law.19 In their initial e xchange, Ruth shows her lack of domestic industry and romantic indolence, remarking: ÒI was just thinking whether I was not glad to have [Harry] gone a little while, so that I could sit down and think how much I love him,Ó to which Mrs. Hall responds by sh ifting the conversation to practical matters: ÒI suppose you understand all about housekeeping, Ruth?Ó (19). RuthÕs answer completes the contrast of the two in terms of upbringing, class, and frugal sensibility, 20 highlighting their experiential, socioecono mic disjunction: ÒNoÉ I have but just returned from boarding schoolÓ (19). To this, Mrs. Hall comments, ÒIt is a great pity that you were not brought up properlyÉ I learned all a girl should learn, before I marriedÉ I would advise you, too, to lay by all your handsome clothesÉ I never had a pair of silk stockings in my life; they have a very silly, frivolous lookÓ (19 -20, emphasis mine ).21 As Gale Temple notes, Ò[t]he markers of RuthÕs consumption are insignificant and frivolous when considered solely for !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!19 This is consistent with MerishÕs critical observation s as well. S he explains that in many works of domestic fiction , ÒÔvirtuousÕ middle -class women are identified through a class -inflected symbolics of differenti ation, and are constructed in opposition to female characters notably lacking in the interior, emotional endowments of domestic woma nhoodÓ (14). I ronically Mrs. Hall, though lacking Òinterior, emotio nal endowments,Ó remains more committed to the domestic sphere than the independent, business -savvy Ruth, complicating this archetypal binary. 20 Warren notes in Fanny Fern: An Independent Woman that the textÕs polyphonic language , RuthÕs in particular, evolves during the course of the novel: ÒIn the first part of the novel, the prose often takes on the sentimental rhetoric of the [antebellum] periodÉ Yet after RuthÕs husband dies and she is thrust out on her own, these phrases disappear, and Fanny Fern consistently uses staccato proseÉ The earlier prose reflects the young heroineÕs state of mind Ñinnocent and trusting in her idyllic bower Ñwhereas the later writing conforms to her disillusionment and realistic determination to succeed on he r ownÓ (135). Such a shift in idiolect also betrays a ÒcarnivalesqueÓ inter play of ethical discourses , as the young, romantic Ruth evolves into a shrewd, self -reliant mercenary. 21 Joyce W. Warren claims that ÒFanny Fern, unlike less sensitive writers who make minority groups and the uneducated classes the butt of their humor, alw ays directed her satire at pretentiousness and pomp. Her sympathy is with decent people, whatever their race, religion or social statusÓ (xxviii -ix). She later adds: [Fern] advocated practical, comfortable dress for women and plenty of fresh air and exer ciseÉShe undercut s the idealized portrait of happy submissive w ivesÓ (xxxiii). I counter that this assertion is not without exception in Ruth Hall , and even underscores the textÕs irony. In this case, the dialogue bet ween Ruth and Mrs. Hall showcases the latter, the Òvillainess,Ó as the one without Òpret ention,Ó a character who advocates for simplicity, activity and not for wivesÕ Òhappy submission.Ó Furthermore, the novel does poke fun at Òminority groups and the uneducated classesÓ through the satirized figures of Mrs. Jiff, Mrs. Skiddy and Bridget. If, as Nancy A. Walker claims, Òthe implied narrative stance isÉthat of Fanny FernÓ (47), the rheto rical alignment here of her ethics with t he voice of Mrs. Hall as opposed to Ruth Õs, indicates a certain hesitancy. 174 !their usefulness. They are vital, however, when considered from the perspective of the social realm, for they serve to distinguish Ruth as superior to ÔenemiesÕ like the boorish, absurdly practical Mrs. HallÓ (137). In addition to enunciating this class tension, though, the early monologues of and dialogues between Ruth and Mrs. Hall spotlight the sites of contestation between the two, the domestic space and HarryÕs affections (and later their children). Even after Harry and Ruth move to their own house in the idyllic countryside, Mrs. Hall attempts to exert control over the coupleÕs home, instances of emotional aggression that characterize her relationship with Ruth for the balance of the novel. Yet the text offers the potential for a different reading of Mrs. Hall and her contentious relationship with Ruth. Mrs. Hall and Ruth initially form an amalgamation, first in that they share a surname, affection for Harry and briefly a common dwelling. More sign ificantly, though, Mrs. HallÕs Poor Richard -esque salvos of unsolicited practical advice to the young Ruth ironically anticipate the transformative travails that Ruth experiences after HarryÕs death; her lack of basic skills in domestic economy, business or manual labor puts the upper -middle class Òboardi ng schoolÓ Ruth at a disadvantage once she has fend for herself. Even though Mrs. Hall does not assist Ruth much through her brief time of poverty, her initial admonitions regarding frugality are not just mean attacks on RuthÕs impracticality, but would h ave served Ruth well if she had heeded them. For example, Mrs. Hall reflects, ÒHarry has his fortune to make, you know. Young people, now -a-days, seem to think that money comes in showers, whenever it is wanted; thatÕs a mistake; a penny at a time ÑthatÕs the way we got ours; thatÕs the way Harry and you will have to get yours,Ó then adding: ÒAnd Ruth, if you should feel the need of exercise, donÕt gad in the streets. Remember there is nothing like a broom and dust -pan to make the blood 175 !circulateÉ ÔWaste not, want not.Õ IÕve got that framed somewhere. IÕll hunt it up, and put it on your wall. I wonÕt do you any harm to read it now and thenÓ (21). 22 Though first appearing obnoxious, the shrewd pecuniary sense of which Mrs. Hall speaks becomes the corn erstone of RuthÕs successful professional and financial rebirth, whereas the young newlywedsÕ, particularly Harry Õs, inability to prepare for financial apocalypse (Larson 543) is prognosticated by Mrs. HallÕs cynicism. I venture that Mrs. Hall, far from f eeling only Oedipal jealousy towards Ruth as a rival for her sonÕs affections, tries to help the young couple avoid disaster in drawing from her practical knowledge Ña pessimism which, again, is vindicated. Rather, one might claim that it is the upper -class Ruth , immature, naŁve, egocentric and quarantined from reality, whose myopia and personal stubbornness sabotage the potential for a beneficial relationship with her steely yet streetwise mother -in-law. As the forthcoming dialogues suggest, it is Ruth Õs prejudices that render Mrs. Hall as Other, not just vice versa . Mrs. HallÕs soliloquy following Harry and RuthÕs wedding offers a lucid rendering of her disapproval respecting Ruth in addition to introducing melodramatica lly the social class, ethos of duty and values that she represents. She muses: I canÕt say, though, that I see the need of his being married. I always mended his socks. He has sixteen bran new shirts, eight linen and eight cotton. I made them myself out of the Hamilton long -cloth. Ham ilton long -cloth is good cotton, too; strong, firm, and wears wellÉ As to Ruth, I donÕt know anything about her. Of course she is perfect in his eyes. I remember the time when he used to think me perfect. I suppose I shall be laid on the shelf nowÉ I ca nÕt say I fancy [RuthÕs] !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!22 Temple explains: ÒAt one levels, the conflict between Ruth and her mother -in-law indexes a shift in nineteenth -century American cultural values. Mrs. Hall is critical of RuthÕs indifference to the parsimony that supports Mrs. HallÕ s own personal ethic Ñan older, ostensibly more practical value system that attached moral and ethical significance to self -abnegation, simplicity, and humility. Ruth represents a generational shift, for her sense of personal value and ethics is tied to th e marketplaceÓ (138). 176 !family either. Proud as Lucifer, all of ÔemÉ The son, a conceited a jackanapes, who divides his time between writing rhymes and inventing new ties for his cravat. Well, well, we shall see; but I doubt if this bride is anything bu t a well -dressed dollÉ Had he married a practical woman I wouldnÕt have cared Ñsomebody who looked as if God made her for somethingÉÓ (18) 23 This monologue is meant to solidify RuthÕs position as an unfairly maligned, sympathetic figure, 24 in addition to est ablishing her mother -in-law as an uncharitable, meddlesome and jealous matriarch. 25 At the same time, her speech also reinforces her practical credibility, for her pejorative appraisal of RuthÕs family, as the novelÕs events and descriptions show, proves accurate. Furthermore, Mrs. HallÕs sense of the young Ruth being ÒimpracticalÓ is likewise true to an extent, for though the narrator takes pains, almost as an overcompensation for her ÒvillainessÕsÓ evident practical attributes, to demonstrate RuthÕs near ÒperfectionÓ as an exemplar of upper -middle class domestic taste, RuthÕs near -helplessness following HarryÕs death and the familyÕs subsequent bankruptcy justify Mrs. HallÕs working -class trepidation. Finally, Mrs. HallÕs admission that she Òmended [H arr yÕs] socksÓ as well as made his shirts reinforces her !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!23 Pride is one of the characteristics tha t complicates RuthÕs status as ÒpureÓ heroine. According to Linda Huf in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman: The Writer as Heroine in American Literature , Òpride is RuthÕs primary feeli ng and Ñif we would believe FernÕs reviewers Ñher principal failingÓ (24). 24 Huf also remarks that Òthe womanÕs artist novelÉpits its protagonist against a sexually conventional foil. This frivolous friend or enemy, who embodies excessive devotion to the fe male role, serves to make the aspiring artist look, not unwomanly, but heroic by contrastÓ (7). 25 Regarding melodramatic ÒtypeÓ characters in Ruth Hall , Julie Wilhelm notes in !ÒAn Expenditure Saved Is an Expenditure Earned: Fanny FernÕs Humoring of the Capitalist EthosÓ that the Ònarrator implies that readers already know these types or can predict what they will say or do in response to a given situation [such as] the meddlesom e mother -in-lawÉ ÉMrs. Hall cannot recognize individual emotions and unique people because of her generic world viewÉ Mrs. Hall cannot see past dominant cultural forms to appreciate nature and emotion Ñor, for that matter, daughters -in-law Ñin their particul arityÓ (205, 206). Ironically, one could argue that Mrs. Hall is an archetypal projection of FernÕs own tendency to totalize Others by refusing individuals ÒparticularityÓ and interpersonal ethical responsiveness. But Wilhelm adds a key caveat: ÒNonethel ess, the comical stereotypes and playful puns of Ruth Hall participate in a counter discourse that creates a space of resistance for the narrative and the reader. To some extent, all authorsÕ practices reveal contradictory impulses absorbed from their eco nomic and cultural milieu, and Fanny Fern is no exceptionÓ (215 -16). I would add that the creative destabilization of these melodramatic archetypes themselves becomes the Òcounter discourse.Ó !177 !identity as not only frugal and industrious, but also as subservient and d”class” in comparison with her new in -laws, the Òproud as LuciferÓ Ellets. Mrs. HallÕs self -characterization also contributes to establishing her as, ironically, RuthÕs social inferior , rendering her Other in relation to Ruth and not vice versa , though Fern takes great pains to buttress Mrs. HallÕs agency and archetypal function as the oppressor. 26 Still, Mrs. HallÕs credibility, that is, her working class status and the narrativeÕs initial ambivalence respecting her villainy, is not just the fruit of her being proven right through the storyÕs development or of performing menial chores, but is undergirded by her materialist ethos, individual in itiative and familial sense of duty, all of which Ruth adopts. 27 During their initial exchange, Mrs. Hall suggests to Ruth: Ò[Harry] will occasionally offer you pin -money. In those cases, it will be best for to pass it over to me to keep; of course you can always have it again, by telling me how you wish to spend itÓ (20). Though this dialogue is meant to be satiric as well as illustrative of Mrs. HallÕs selfish, miserly tendencies, 28 it also speaks to a lack of confidence in Ruth (Harris 120 ), who has confessed to knowing nothing about housekeeping. From a certain perspective, Mrs. HallÕs offer to serve as RuthÕs financial steward and domestic mentor is neither !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!26 Warren explains Mrs. HallÕs greater narrati ve function as Rut hÕs Other in Fanny Fern: An Independent Woman : ÒRuth has developed her identity through a series of exterior signifiers or contacts with the world outside the selfÉ However, when she goes outside her usual sphere, she redefines herself through contact wit h another ÔOtherÕ: friends and relatives who are no longer friendlyÓ (133). With respect to LevinasÕ notion of the interpersonal ethical demand, Mrs. Hall functions as Other both as ÒexteriorÓ antagonist to Ruth as well as embodying what Levinas terms the Òthird partyÓ Other. 27 Nancy A. Walker explains in Fanny Fern that in womenÕs ÒdomesticÓ fiction, ÒFemale strength is thus defined as self -denial: denial of any impulse that would lead to autonomy rather than connectedness, independence rather than famili al dutyÓ (42). Interestingly, both Ruth and Mrs. Hall alternately di splay via their dialogue these idealized virtues associated with exemplary women featured in domes tic novels ÑÒfamilial dutyÓ Ñas well as tendencies towards ÒautonomyÓ and Òindependence.Ó 28 Walker notes that Mrs. HallÕs Òcautions and criticismsÉare so exaggerated as to seem ridiculous Ó (49). I agree, but as I argue, such humorous ÒridiculousnessÓ also weakens Mrs. HallÕs s tatus as the textsÕ archetypal villainess. 178 !uncharitable nor unedifying; later, Ruth sees the value in pecuniary mentorship i n the business relationship she develops with Mr. Walter at the onset of her writing career. 29 Moreover, Mrs. HallÕs attempt to manage RuthÕs money models another lesson for Ruth; that is, the importance for a woman , as family head and protector, of contr olling monetary concerns. She exemplifies feminine self -empowerment and business aggressiveness that will be indispensable to a poor and abandoned Ruth. Later Mrs. Hall remarks to Ruth, ÒYou keep a rag bag, I supposeÉmanyÕs the glass dish IÕve peddled aw ay my scissor clippings forÓ (20 -21); and, after the birth of Daisy, she advises: Òtake care of the baby yourself; a nursery girl would be very expensiveÉI always took care of my babiesÓ (27). Again, Mrs. Hall models industriousness and financial prudence in contrast to the young RuthÕs more delicate, upper -middle class sensibility, employing and marketing her own craftsmanship as well as avoiding wasteful expense in favor of relying on her own labor and competence. Indeed, the description of the indolent , gluttonous Mrs. Jiff bears out Mrs. HallÕs wariness of nannies (25 -26). In another instance of dialogic foreshadowing, Mrs. Hall exclaims to Ruth: ÒlandÕs sake, child, you mustnÕt quote your father now youÕre married; you havenÕt any father,Ó then addi ng: ÒWives should be keepers of the homeÓ (20). This first statement proves to be practically true, in that RuthÕs father abandons her financially after HarryÕs death. Julie Wilhelm reads Mrs. HallÕs second admonition as reinforcing the domestic side of the nineteenth -century male/female labor binary. 30 Yet, in the conversation over the Ònursery girlÓ Mrs. Hall reinvests this traditional assertion with a strong sense of female agency: ÒIf you hadnÕt made a fool of Harry, he never could have dreamed of [hi ring a nursery girl]. You ought to have sense enough to check him, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!29 Harris notes: ÒAs with m any other womenÕs novels of the mid -nineteenth century, the unacknowledged model for the successful heroineÕs behavior is the lower -class woman, whose status frees her from the gender definitions and restrictions of the middle and upper -middle classesÓ (12 2). Though Harr is is referring to Mrs. Skiddy, I argue that Mrs. HallÕs Òlower -classÓ tendencies establish her as this sort of mentor -figure as well. 30 Wilhelm describes Mrs. Hall as Ò[t]he main representative of domestic ideologyÓ in Ruth Hall (210). 179 !when he would go into such extravagances for you, but some people havenÕt any senseÓ (27). This statement prompts the question: who lacks ÒsenseÓ here, Ruth or Harry , despite being Òbroug ht up sensiblyÓ (19)? Mrs. Hall assumes that the younger Ruth possesses a certain modicum of ÒsensibleÓ agency, in that she suggests that Ruth might ÒcheckÓ Harry, who though Òtaught economyÓ (19 -20) is nevertheless capable of ÒextravagancesÓ such as a na nny. Thus, Mrs. HallÕs understanding of women as Òkeepers of the homeÓ implies a more authoritative role than just serving as cook, maid and mother. 31 Soon after the initial dialogues between Ruth and Mrs. Hall, though, we see more emphasis on the constru ction of Mrs. HallÕs villainy. Almost as if Fern were aware of the rhetorical problem of her early depictions of the novelÕs antagonist, the narrator assumes centrality in Chapter XIV as a ÒknowledgeableÓ moral interlocutor and advocate for her heroine (Weyler 100), simulating a dialogue with Mrs. Hall as the latter, snooping through RuthÕs and HarryÕs home, soliloquizes rhetorical questions to which the narrator responds (33). Commenting on the expensive appearance of RuthÕs parlor, Mrs. Hall snidely und erstates, ÒA few dollars laid out here, I guess,Ó to which the narrator answers: ÒNot so fast, my dear madam. Examine closely. Those long, white curtains, looped up so prettily from the open windows, are plain cheap muslin; but no artist could have dispo sed their folds more gracefullyÓ (33 -34). Regarding such episodes, Julie Wilhelm posits, Ò Ruth Hall alternates between the excesses of sentimentality and the concision of humor in chapters that, by turns, demand reader participation and expense. As the novelÕs sentimentality resists Mrs. HallÕs penal statute by encouraging the reader to feel for Ruth in trying times, so, too, does humor resist this economyÓ (204). But humor and ÒsofterÓ sentimentalism are not the only rhetorical elements in play here, for the narratorÕs language turns sarcastic: ÒBut, my dear old lady, we beg pardon; we are keeping you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!31 Again, see Warren (xxxiii). 180 !too long from the china closet, which you are so anxious to inspect; hoping to find a flaw, either in crockery or cake. Not a bit! You may draw those prying fingers across the shelves till you are tired, and not a particle of dust will adhere to themÉthe silver might serve for a looking glass, in which you could read your own vexationÓ (34 -35).32 As is the case with Mrs. HallÕs previous dialogues with Ruth, the presentation is satirical, reinforcing FernÕs caricature of the busybody matriarch. Simultaneou sly, though, the semi -dialogic episode inaugurates Mrs. HallÕs transformation from humorous mother -in-law archetype to malevolent antagonist. Such an abrupt rhetorical, tonal shift is consistent with FernÕs style, as Ann D. Wood observes: Òshe had two sel ves, two voices, one strident and aggressive, the other conventional and sentimentalÓ (18). Yet, the intrusion of the narrator here overstates the case, highlighting the artificiality of Mrs. Hall as a mere rhetorical construct. This indicates that Fern was preoccupied with micro -managing her audienceÕs (negative) ÒsentimentalÓ response to Mrs. Hall, ensuring that the reader view Mrs. Hall not just as a satiric pest, but as a villainess , thus taking care that Ruth, the heroine, appear as a blameless victi m.33 However, the result of this strategy is a sentimental backfire: in supplanting Ruth as interlocutor, Fern overplays her hand, framing Mrs. HallÕs Òinterior monologueÓ ( Fanny Fern: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!32 According to David S. Reynolds, such an ÒeditorializingÓ us e of narrative voice is consistent with FernÕs style. In Beneath the American Renaissance: The Subversive Imagination in the Age of Emerson and Melville he writes: ÒHer most deadly stylistic ÔnooseÕ was her ability to shift tone and assume different guises rapidly. [Fern] was reportedly shifty and manipulative by natureÉ It w as her combined manipulativeness and her vindictiveness against family members that led to t he writing of Ru th HallÓ (404). In this example, the narrator attempts to ÒmanipulateÓ the reader I posit that it is too obvious to be effective rhetoric . Fern may have done better being more sub tle. 33 Harris remarks on the overwrought presence of the Ò sentiment alÓ narrator : ÒI take FernÕs sentimental voice as a conscious creation. Rather than seeing it as a reflection of RuthÕs innocence, however, I suggestÉthat Fern used the sentimental mode against the subculture that mandated it as proof that the wr iter was a ÔtrueÕ womanÉ Our interpretive conventions have been inadequate for assessing just how deliberately nineteenth -century women writers were capable of manipulating the writing conventions of their dayÓ (12). I agree that Fern Òmanipulate sÓ the Òwriting convention ,Ó but only to create a sentimental straw (wo)man for her protagonist. This rhetorical device does not Òreflect RuthÕs innocenceÓ due to a lack of intent, but because Fern tries too hard to do so. Harris admits that FernÕs intent is about developing Ruth, though the surrounding ÒvoicesÓ are also potent ÒFernÕs own strategy is to orchestrate a variety of voices, all focused on the central character but all exhibiting their own will to power as they inscribe (and therefore define) the protagonist. The question of voice is at the heart of the novelÓ (114). 181 !Independent Woman 136) with an overpowering commentary which, ironical ly, emasculates Mrs. HallÕs discourse and behavior of any rhetorical value by hyper -stressing her archetypal villainy. This faux pas is brought into relief by the effusive depiction of RuthÕs exquisite taste in d”cor and newly -acquired domestic frugality as prototypical, especially in characterizing Mrs. HallÕs snooping venture as an Òexploring tourÓ (33), a phrase which connotes visiting an immaculate museum exhibit. Regarding the narratorÕs depictions of RuthÕs Òtaste,Ó Temple remarks that Ò Ruth Hall continually positions RuthÕs taste, gentility, and natural superiority as muted by her immediate community, which is flatly vilified as a set of jealous, competitive, clinging parasitesÓ (146). 34 So the novel recedes back into melodramatic sentimentality, where a perfect, moral Ruth is authorized as beyond reproach, and her nemesis, Mrs. Hall, beyond redemption. Regardless of what else might occur respecting the her oine or villainess, the textÕs authorized rhetorical conclusions are beyond ambiguity. Pu t an other way, even if Ruth is ÒmartyredÓ by Mrs. Hall or public opinion, she is already redeemed, just as Mrs. Hall is already damned, as Susan K. Harris explains: Ò[i]f uncomplaining wives are martyrs, those who oppress them are tyrants. Certainly, Mrs. Hal l is a tyrantÉÓ (120). Thus, the readerÕs capacity to sympathize with the one and demonize the ÒOtherÓ is, ironically, limited to an intellectual understanding of the narrativeÕs rhetorical strategy, as opposed to a more affective experience. Such a Òstat icÓ state of affairs, I posit, is only rehabilitated by a humanizing complication of the principal characters, the dialogic deployment of an ironic peripeteia . In spite of FernÕs rhetorical designs, this destabilizing counter -discourse erupts, eroding Rut hÕs moral purity and Mrs. HallÕs status as an evil archetype. Lauren Berlant writes: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!34 Mar™a C. S⁄nchez notes: Òclass is understood, both in FernÕs novel and in my reading, through the individual markings of taste and style that ma nifest oneÕs relation to a dominant culture É Ruth Hall is of the middle class, but more importantly, she Ôhas class,Õ it is FernÕs construction of this elusive quality that I connect here to individualism Ó (ÒRe -Possessing Individualism in Fanny FernÕs Ruth Hall Ó 26). 182 !Fern shows how the elasticity of sentimental form includes its diverse popular audience Ñby appealing to the ÒrealityÓ that all women are genericized and therefore misapp rehended in their very uniquenessÉ Nina Baym has suggested that the nineteenth -century American novel reproduced a contradiction in these terms with respect to the feminine subject. The novel increasingly promotes psychological complexity and depth of cha racter, while insisting that women be drawn as a type. (444). What emerges in Ruth Hall , then, is a flawed heroine and a nuanced, sympathetic villainess, who together undermine the persecutor/victim binary in that both figures suggest the moral agentÕs duty to respond to the suffering Other Ñparticularly where they fail to do so Ñas well as assuming the role of the maligned Other. Again, Chapter XIV offers a glimpse of this ironic counter -discourse during Mrs. HallÕs Òexploring tour,Ó as the narratorÕs la nguage goes from sarcastic to vindictive, addressing Mrs. Hall in the second person: ÒYou should see your son Harry, as he ushers a visitor in through the low door -way, and stands back to mark the surprised delight with which he gazes upon RuthÕs little fa iry room [the ÔexquisiteÕ parlor]. You should see how HarryÕs eyes glisten, as they pass from one flower vase to another, saying, ÔWho but Ruth would ever have spied that tiny little blossom?ÕÓ (34). When considered in tandem with Mrs. HallÕs earlier lame ntation that she would be Òlaid on the shelfÓ once Harry and Ruth were married, the narratorÕs uncharitable remarks seem malicious. They highlight an experience that would be painful for any mother, however flawed, in being reminded how her child now dote s on the spouse , the principal and victorious rival for the childÕs affections. 35 Put colloquially, the narrator is twisting the knife, which was characteristic of Fern: Ò[t]he half -confused, half -!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!35 According to Walker, ÒRuthÕs mother -in-lawÉinterferes in RuthÕs domestic life because she resents losing her son to another womanÓ (54). 183 !deliberate union of the sentimental and the mischievously S atanic was to be Fanny FernÕs trademarkÓ (Wood 18). This circumstance makes Mrs. HallÕs otherwise static character dynamic , just as the evolution of RuthÕs mercenary tendencies augment her dynamism beyond being ÒmerelyÓ a heroine who, through hardship, be comes mature and self -reliant. 36 However, the textÕs rhetoric evidences that the author is never comfortable with such an ironic polyphony; hence, the recurring attempts to contain it by Òdoubling downÓ on the archetypal characterizations of each figure. One of the best examples of FernÕs attempt, through sentimental melodrama, to re -exert rhetorical mastery within the textÕs dialogic structure occurs following the death of Daisy. The narrative showcases a stark contrast between the responses of the symp athetic narrator and Ruth on the one hand, and those of the unfeeling Mrs. Hall on the other. Whereas Ruth laments, ÒThere can be no sorrow greater than this sorrow,Ó establishing the ÒappropriateÓ response to DaisyÕs death, Mrs. Hall meanly remarks to an empathetic Mrs. Jones: ÒIt is my opinion the childÕs death was owning to the thriftlessness of the mother. I donÕt mourn for it, because I believe the poor thing is better offÓ (46). In addition to the fact that the narrative ascribes responsibility for DaisyÕ death to Dr. HallÕs negligence as opposed to the perfect RuthÕs ÒpatternÓ mothering (46), Mrs. HallÕs bizarre yet outrageous lack of feeling respecting RuthÕs and Harry Õs loss (and her own as DaisyÕs grandmother) as well as her refusal to ÒmournÓ t he death of the child Ò itselfÓÑa notable semantic dehumanization Ñrenders her a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!36 In ÒSara PartonÕs Ruth Hall and the Literature of Labor,Ó Kristie Hamilton observes that Fern Òescaped the contemporary censure of being classed a Ôpolitical writerÕ by creating a character, Ruth Hall, who embodied at once middle -class, ÔfeminineÕ respectability and American individualism É When read in the context of novels written by middle -class women an d men, [FernÕs] appropriation of heroic individualism for women becomes apparent, as does her accommodation of the domestic ideal within this new womanÕs story. [FernÕs] novel thus clearly remains within the parameters of bourgeois literary conventionsÓ (89, 95 ). HamiltonÕs evaluation of RuthÕs hybridity is accurate, th ough I disagree with her conclusion that Fern escaped Òcontemporary censure,Ó for RuthÕs destabilization of the sympathetic heroine archetype did not evade public notice or critical disappr obation. Indeed, as Hamilton also adds, Òthe focus of the negative criticism by male and female critics was defined by assumptions about what a womanÕs novel should and should not doÓ (95), specifically in terms of how a Òmorally exemplaryÓ female protago nist ought to be portrayed. 184 !reprehensible foil to RuthÕs sympathetic status as an unjustly treated, suffering victim. Juxtaposed with the earlier, less malignant dialogic rendering of Mrs. Hall, these lat er attempts to demonize her and canonize Ruth ironically indicate FernÕs desperate need for unambiguous archetypes to reinforce a rhetoric threatened by competing ethical discourses. 37 Indeed, the initial plot establishes ambivalence with respect to Mrs. H all: FernÕs portrayal of th e matriarch fluctuates between Dickensia n satire, the meddlesome mother -in-law, and that of a tough but edifying mentor for the young heroine within a Bildungsroman . From the perspective of melodramatic sentimentality, however, Mrs. Hall becomes more problematic in the later narrative, for here emerges an awkward dynamism inconsistent with an otherwise static figure, as Fern attempts to solidify Mrs. Hall as the vil lainess. The sequence that commences with the HallsÕ quasi -adoption of Katy while Ruth and Nettie starve in urban poverty complicates FernÕs earlier humorous presentation of Mrs. Hall as an overbearing matriarch, or her second, less endearing incarnation as a selfish busybody. Rather, what emerges at the novelÕs denouement is a third version of Mrs. HallÕs character, foreshadowed by her inhuman reaction to DaisyÕs death. Here she fal ls in line with the malevolent wicked stepmother archetype often deploye d in popular Gothic texts as well as childrenÕs fiction and fairy tales. 38 Yet even in this extreme rendering, FernÕs dialogic portrayal of Mrs. Hall as wantonly malignant fails, as the following alternately humorous, horrifying and bizarre episode shows, as !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!37 In Fanny Fern: An Independent Woman Joyce Warren offers another possibility respecting the rhetorical function of M rs. HallÕs ÒharshÓ dialogue : Òeach time the author seems to indulge in a tender description of family life or death, the reader is snapped to a harsher realityÉ It is almost as if the first part of the book were written from two points of view: the perspective of the young Ruth and that of the cynical realist, Fanny Fern (or the disillusioned Ruth Hall indirectly commenting on her own prior experience)Ó (136). If such is th e case, this dialogue is another polyphonic example of the author ironically u sing the voice of her antagonist for contrasting purposes: to establish Ruth as an ideal heroine and sympath etic vic tim while also spotlighting the younger RuthÕs practical naŁvet” and emotional weakness. Harris also comments on this phenomenon: ÒThe alternation of voices, each revealing a worldview that contradicts the worldview of its opposing voice, is continued in the voices of other charactersÉeach of whom reveals her - or himself as she or he defines RuthÓ (116). 38 For example, Giambattista BasileÕs Cinderella, or The Little Glass Slipper . 185 !she attempts to force Katy to descend into the flooded, rat -infested cellar. The dialogue between Mrs. Hall and Katy showcases this ÒcarnivalesqueÓ interplay between humor and horror: ÒCome here, Katy; Bridget is as contrary as a mule, and wonÕt go in to the cellar to get those hamsÉso you must go in and bring them out yourself. Climb up on those barrel heads, and then feel your way along to the further corner; go right down the cellar stairs now, quick.Ó ÒOh, I cannot! I dare not!Ó said Katy, tremblin g and shrinking back, as the old lady pushed her along toward the cellar -door. ÒIÕm so afraidÉoh, donÕt make me go down in that dark place, grandma.Ó ÒDark, pooh!...what are you afraid of? rats? There are not much more than half -a-dozen in the whole cellar.Ó ÒCanÕt Bridget go?...oh, IÕm so afraid.Ó ÒBridget wonÕt, so thereÕs an end of that, and IÕm not going to lose a new girl IÕve just got, for your obstinacy; so go right down this minute, rats or no rats.Ó ÒOh, I canÕt! if you kill me I canÕt,Ó sai d Katy, with white lips, and clinging to the side of the cellar -door. ÒBut I say you shall,Ó said the old lady, unclinching KatyÕs hands; ÒdonÕt you belong to me, IÕd like to know? and canÕt I do with you as I like?Ó (184) Mrs. HallÕs nonchalant, minimizi ng remarks underplaying the ordeal of navigating the dungeon -like cellar connote satire in over -determining Mrs. HallÕs role as the wicked stepmother, in that an archetypal villain understating or ignoring the sublime has long been a staple of western humo r in fiction as well as burlesque theater. 186 !Yet the episode soon turns sinister in gesturing toward the popular Gothic and slave narrative genres, where the antagonist attempts to inflict a horrific act of cruelty on a powerless victim with whom the audie nce is supposed to sympathize. The narrator adds pointed descriptions of the action, emphasizing Mrs. HallÕs brutal coercion of Katy, who m she objectifies as ÒherÓ possession with whom she can Òdo withÓ as she pleases, much like the archetypal, sadistic s lave mistress bullies her domestic slave. 39 Ironically, the actual servant girl, Bridget Ñdialogically offset from the other characters by her idiolectical rendering as working -class Irish Ñresists Mrs. HallÕs summons to descend into the dreaded cellar, expr essing fearlessness, confidence and defiance as she claims her labor value within a domestic Ò sellerÕsÓ market. In a bizarre sense, Bridget serves as foil and Other to Katy and her mistress, in that Katy, even in the midst of her terror before the dangero us cellar, like her grandmother requests that ÒBridget goÓ instead, only to identify again with servant -Bridget in refusing to obey th eir common mistressÕs command. Just as the scene displays a fluctuation between the humorous and the horrific, it likewis e communicates instability respecting KatyÕs position in the HallÕs household: is her position that of an authoritative family member or servant? Her status as a child renders problematic any claim to a power position within the family, as was the case wi th children during the 19 th century. In the end, however, Fern ensures that KatyÕs Otherness and lack of agency emerges as the dominant markers of her identity. Whereas Bridget is able to assert her autonomy in direct defiance of her mistress and Katy, c onfirming her higher market value, as a child Katy is unable to withstand her grandmotherÕs domination alone. Thus, only the melodramatic reappearance of the financially -empowered Ruth at the episodeÕs crescendo is able !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!39 I dis cuss further this conventional archet ype common in the slave narrative tradition in the next sectionÕs discussio n of Mrs. Bellmont in WilsonÕs Our Nig . 187 !to thwart Mrs. HallÕs child cruelty , as her entrance into the dialogue alters the power dynamic, rendering Mrs. Hall as the weaker, Othered party. Even after RuthÕs triumphant rescue of her daughter from the Halls with her newly acquired wealth Ñdepicted as an actual bag of coins (185) Ñshe n evertheless tells her daughters that Mrs. Hall, despite her sadistic behavior, ought to be pitied. Thus Ruth humanizes her as a harmed Other who warrants sympathy from those she had persecuted, but who now, by virtue of RuthÕs fiscal renaissance , inhabit a more fortunate social position than the miserly villainess. After Òreceiving the fainting form of her frightened childÓ (184), Ruth engages in a climactic dialogue with her in -laws: ÒDoctor! Doctor!Ó said the old lady, trembling with rage; Òare you mast er of this house or not?Ó ÒYes Ñwhen you are out of it,Ó growled the doctor; ÒwhatÕs to pay now?Ó ÒWhy, matter enough. HereÕs Ruth,Ó said the old lady, not noticing the doctorÕs taunt; ÒRuth interfering between me and Katy. If you will order her out of th e house, I will be obliged to you. IÕve put up with enough of this meddling, and it is the last time she shall cross this threshold.Ó ÒYou never spoke a truer word,Ó said Ruth, Òand my child shall cross it for the last time with me.Ó ÒHumph!Ó said the doc tor, Òand you no better than a beggar! The law says if the mother canÕt support her children, the grand -parents shall do it.Ó ÒThe mother can Ñthe mother will ,Ó said Ruth. ÒI have already earned enough for their support.Ó 188 !ÒWell if you have, which I doubt , I hope you earned it honestly ,Ó said the old lady. (184 -85) This dialogue is illuminating, in that her character as villainess again is problematized via the statements themselves as well as their fluctuation in tone. The campy spousal banter between t he Halls weake ns the horror of the preceding cellar incident, as did Mrs. HallÕs humorous understatements remarks at the episodeÕs outset. Furthermore, polyphony is evident within the dialogue, where Mrs. Hall appeals to her husband, as Òmaster,Ó to Òorde rÓ Ruth to leave, as if her matriarchal authority were insufficient, to which the Doctor ÒtauntsÓ her, implying that she is in charge of their home. However, this banter gives way to the real battle ÑRuthÕs and her in -lawsÕ rival claims to Katy. This cruc ial episode, while on the one hand seeking to establish Ruth as the heroic, morally -vindicated mother settling accounts with her nemesis and rescuing her child, on the other ironically reinforces the constructive side of the earlier mentor relationship, in that an older Ruth Ñnow Òa shrewd, bitter, business -oriented and aggressive womanÓ (Wood 21) Ñhas learned Mrs. HallÕs self-reliance. Just as Mrs. Hall uses her financial superiority to leverage the acquisition of ÒHarryÕsÓ daughter, Ruth now turns the tabl es on Mrs. Hall, employing her own will to power ethos to repossess Katy: ÒÔSee here Katy;Õ and Ruth tossed a purse full of money into KatyÕs lap. ÔYou know, mother said she would come for you as soon as she earned the money ÕÓ (184 -85, emphasis mine ). As far as the actual storyline is concerned, this last statement is true. But, on a deeper level, RuthÕs demonstrative explanation to her daughter indicates a further truth: gaining money and autonomy were always the higher priorities, a circumstance reinforced by RuthÕs 189 !self-satisfied gesture of throwing the money pouch on top of her daughter, literally submerging Katy beneath her motherÕs greater mercenary objective. 40 The epilogue to this melodramatic climax puts this sequence into better relief. Up on arriving at RuthÕs hotel, Katy, her younger sister Nettie and their mother have the following illuminating conversation , which I need to quote at length to demonstrate its perversity : ÒWhy! What a great, big mark on your arm, KatyÉhow did it come?Ó ÒHush!Ó replied Katy; Ògrandma did it. She talked very bad about mamma to grandpa, and I started to go up into my little room, becauseÉI couldnÕt bear to hear it; and she called to me, and said, ÔKaty, what are you leaving the room for?ÕÉmamma teaches us al ways to tell the truth, so I said, Ôbecause I cannot bear to stay and hear you say what is not true about my mamma.Õ And then grandmaÉseized me by the arm, and set me down, oh, so hard, on a chair; and said, Ôbut you shall hear it.ÕÉI could not hear it, s o I put my fingers in both ears; and then she beat me, and left that place on my arm, and held both my hands while she made me listen.Ó During this recital, NettieÕs eyes glowed like living coalsÉshe clenched her little fists and said: ÒKaty, why didnÕt you strike her?Ó !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!40 Wal ker picks up on a rhetorical inconsistency that the Òmoney purseÓ episode exemplifies: ÒGiven Fanny FernÕs suspicion of the morality of material success, RuthÕs own ultimate success might seem ironic or even hypocriticalÓ (57). Ironic, yes, but it also highlights the textÕs ethical polyphony rather than hypocrisy. Or, as Hamilton suggests, Ò[i]t would be a mistakeÉto pretend that Ruth Hall is not a novel about possessive individualism or to fail to suspect thatÉ[Fern] reinforces a socioeconomic and indeed a literary paradigm that identifies success and happy endings with capitalÓ (102). Harris also remarks: Òthough the sentimental narrative voice stresses RuthÕs parental anxieties, the iconoclastic voice emphasizes RuthÕs evolution into a professional wri ter whose own voice is at least as business oriented as it is parentalÓ (123). Gale Temple muses that Ò[g]oodness and citizenship in Ruth Hall are informed by an ethos of consumerism... RuthÕs authenticity and uniqueness are indeed indexed by her ability seamlessly to display the way she has fulfilled her very specific needs, desires and aspects of self. Bad characters [i. e. Mrs. Hall], conversely, are portrayed as stingy, gauche yet overly concerned with social decorum, and they are unabashedly mean -spi rited, competitive and exclusionaryÓ (135). 190 ! [É] ÒOh, Nettie, she would have killed me! When she got angry she looked just like that picture of Satan we saw once in the shop window.Ó ÒKaty, I must do something to herÉshe shanÕt talk so about mamma. Oh, if I was only a big woman!Ó ÒI suppose we must forgive her,Ó said Katy thoughtfully. ÒI wonÕt,Ó said the impulsive little Nettie, Ònever Ñnever Ñnever.Ó ÒThen you cannot say your prayers,Ó said the wise little Katy; ÒÔforgive us, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.ÕÓ ÒWhat a pity!Ó exclaimed the orthodox Nettie; ÒdonÕt you wish that hadnÕt been put in? What shall we do, Katy?Ó ÒNettie,Ó said her mother, who had approached unnoticed, Òwhat did you mean when you said just now, that you wished you were a big woma n?Ó [É] Òyou wonÕt love me, mamma, but I will tell you; I wanted to cut grandmaÕs head off.Ó Little Katy laughed outrightÉ Ruth looked serious. ÒThat is not right, NettieÉyour grandmother is an unhappy, miserable old woman. She has punished herself wo rse than anybody else could punish her. She is more miserable than ever now, because I have earned money to support you and Katy. She might have made us all love her, and help to make her old age cheerful; but now, unless she repents, she will live miser ably, and die forsaken, for nobody can love her with such a temper. This is a dreadful old ageÉÓ ÒI think IÕll forgive herÉ DidnÕt you ever wish, Katy, that she might fall down stairs and break her neck, or catch fever, or something?Ó 191 ! ÒOh, mother, what a funny girl Nettie is!Ó said Katy, laughing until the tears cameÉ ÒÉOh, how grandmother would have boxed your ears, Nettie!Ó The incorrigible Nettie cut one of her pirouettes across the room, and snapped her fingers by way of answer to this assertion. ( 191-92) This sequence, like others that precede it, is alternately humorous, sublime, didactic and sentimental, especially in that children account for the majority of the dialogic motion, serving as ventriloquists for the authorÕs own ambivalences. In re lating her experience of abuse by her grandmother, Katy demonizes Mrs. Hall as capable of cruelty towards children. In response, Nettie, described as being like her mother in appearance and temperament (186), expresses through a series of horrific images her wish that harm befall Mrs. Hall as punishment for her mistreatment of Katy, even decapitation. That such sadistic vengefulness is routed through the voice of an ÒinnocentÓ little girl renders them both humorously endearing and shocking. Furthermore, as if to sanitize Ruth from any moral taint with respect to NettieÕs violent discourse, Katy and Ruth each rebuke Nettie, the former reinforcing the Christian duty to forgive, and the latter explaining that Mrs. Hall too has suffered misery and deserves pi ty. But RuthÕs magnanimity fails in comparison with KatyÕs, for RuthÕs tone shifts from compassion for a ÒmiserableÓ Other to vengeful blame and self -righteous indignation at the prospect of Mrs. Hall experiencing a Òdreadful old age.Ó RuthÕs ambivalence mirrors the discursive instability of the narrative at its conclusion, as the text again shifts course with regarding its ethical appraisal of Mrs. Hall. Though Katy claims the moral high ground of compassionate forgiveness, even this ÒdecisiveÓ resoluti on mirroring the textÕs supposed moral stance pertaining to its antagonist Ña rendering of Mrs. Hall as deserving of ÒChristianÓ sympathy, despite her maliciousness Ñsoon falters. The ÒforgivingÓ 192 !Katy later relays to her sister more tales of her grandmother Õs abuse, featuring a pathos -ridden account of how Mrs. Hall took away her kitten (196 -97). Ironically, his final attempt to categorize Mrs. Hall as villainess creates a double -bind. The text, in its self -awareness of its conventional sentimental roots, tells the reader how he or she ÒoughtÓ to feel about Mrs. Hall. Nevertheless, the narratorÕs affective heavy -handedness, ventriloquizing RuthÕs daughters in order to add melodramatic ballast, comes across at best as ridiculous in its over -determinedness (Hartnett 1), at worst as manipulative. In other words, how could the proper ÒsentimentalÓ reader contest the voices of suffering children in contemplating an empathetic response to Mrs. Hall? The fact that Katy suggests forgiveness se rves as a potential r hetorical fig -leaf for the text: in raising the ethos of forgiveness through Mrs. HallÕs child -victim, Fern leaves reader -juror with the impression that Mrs. Hall has been given a ÒfairÓ hearing, and so one should feel comfortable condemning her as a crimi nal given every benefit of the doubt. Mar™a S⁄nchez asserts that ÒFernÕs novel is itself obsessively concerned with cultural divides and the ways in which they classify personsÓ (27); yet, she also cautions: Ò Ruth Hall is far more complex, ambivalent and subtleÉconcerning its depictions of a feminine individualism and sentimentalismÕs allure, than it has been given credit forÓ (28). I posit that just because a text is Òobsessively concernedÓ with the ÒclassificationÓ of individuals, it does not necessari ly follow that its project succeeds. As S⁄nchezÕs reading too suggests, the novelÕs ÒambivalentÓ use of sentimentalism Ñat times manipulative, at times indicative of a character ÒcomplexityÓ beyond that of melodramatic archetypes Ñsignals an ethical polypho ny that challenges the conventional antebellum readerÕs expectations of the text, in particular regarding its ÒtypicalÓ protagonist and antagonist. The character of Ruth is problematic as a purely altruistic heroine due to her de facto ÒendorsementÓ of Òp ossessive individualismÓ (S⁄nchez 25)). But as S⁄nchez 193 !also remarks, Òit is necessary to remember that Ruth, as a proper lady and no -account daughter, is surrounded by textual OthersÓ (42). To the extent that Mrs. Hall, in addition to Ruth, Katy or Mrs. Leon, lays claim through her dynamism to the status of individuated Other, warranting ethical responsiveness as one also marginalized and totalized, Fern spotlights a counterintuitive rhetorical ÒdynamismÓ within antebellum sentimental fiction that, like h er own writing, Òis not so much sentimental as dialectical and ironicÓ (Hartnett 2). II. Hybrid Archetypes In terms of any joint discussion of Fern and Wilson and the conventions which they gesture toward and resist, their points of congruity and departure are not difficult t o observe; rather, it is their Ò categoricalÓ ambivalence that is important. Ruth Hall commences as a novel of sentimentality, domesticity and matrimony and ÒscandalouslyÓ evolves into a lesson to women on the virtues of individualism, Emersonian self -reliance and financial independence, rejecting the marriage plot denouement 41 as a young woman Õs Bildungsroman or ÒKunstlerroman .Ó42 WilsonÕs Our Nig also appears to follow a conventional formula, the antebellum slave narrative model, though the story is not related in the first person, nor is the protagonist a Òslave,Ó but a mulatto child abandoned by her pauper family and left in the cruel hands of a wicked stepmother. Thus WilsonÕs novel also aligns with the popular Gothic genre as well as with Òthe ÔoverplotÕ of nineteenth -century womenÕs fictionÓ (Gates x), exhibiting traces of the fairy tale according to !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!41 Hamilton notes that Fern Òdevotes the first third of Ruth Hall to the deconstruction of the middle -class ideal of love and marriageÉ By its very nature, [FernÕs] novel becomes a critique of antebellum sentimen tal fiction that conventionally concluded with the marriage or projected marriage of the heroineÓ (96). 42 See Huf (151). Huf notes as well that Ò[t]he woman artist who refuses to be at the beck and call of everybody, who puts work before relationship, considers herself a monsterÉ More and more artist heroines are refusing to be selfless, sacrificing, self -effacing. They are declining to give priority t o the needs of others Ñrefusing to serve others in the name of compassion and loveÓ (150, 151 -52). She later adds: Òwomen are increasingly creating artist heroines who are daring to be selfishÓ (157). FernÕs renderi ng of Ruth, despite her unconv entionalit y, is also unapol ogetic in her individualistic, professional life choices. As I argue, RuthÕs career eclipses her daughter as her high est priority, which from a traditional perspective compromises her Ò heroicÓ altruism and moral purity . 194 !Helen Frink (184). 43 Essential to note wit h both texts, however, is that their unconventional narrative hybridity mirrors that of their authors and main characters; just as Ruth, Frado, Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Bellmont resist totalizing categorization within their textual descriptions and dialogues, 44 likewise do their unique host -texts defy convenient labels that would confine them, along with their authors, within a single, static literary genre. 45 Though they might appear as typical melodramatic heroines and villainesses at first appraisal, the hybrid singularity of the main characters in each novel renders any archetypical description of them difficult to sustain. 46 To begin with Ruth Hall , though some critics have characterized Ruth as oppressed both as a woman and as a member of the working poor, the reality is that she, even in the midst of her temporary poverty, maintains her identity as a member of the A nglo -Saxon, upper -middle class Yankee establishment. Ruth is a Ògenteel citizenÓ (Temple132), having noteworthy connections, refined tastes, and a private education. She only endures ÒgenteelÓ poverty for a few years, given the cold shoulder by her relations, though the Halls and her father do provide a meager allowance for her sustenance. Once her writing career !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!43 Jane Tompkins ex plains in Sensational Designs: The Cultural Work of American Fiction, 1790 -1860 that Òa novelÕs impact on the culture at large depends not on its escape from the formulaic and derivative, but on its tapping into a storehouse of commonly held assumptions, r eproducing what is already there in a typical and familiar form. The text that becomes exceptional in the sense of reaching an exceptionally large audience does so not because of its departure from the ordinary and conventional, but through its embrace of what is most widely sharedÓ (xvi). Perhaps Our Nig failed to reach a larger audience in part because it straddled too many Òfamiliar forms,Ó whereas Fern was able to subsume Ruth Hall more completely within the ÒconventionÓ of the womanÕs sentimental nov el. Still, these antebellum authorsÕ engagement of popular conventions Ñparticularly archetypes Ñshapes the rhetorical terrain upon which their didactic discourses rely. 44 For example, regarding just the novelsÕ villainesses here, Huf claims that within ear lier womenÕs fiction Òheroines often had ultra -conventional stepmothers or aunts, who, because of their extreme femininity, provided inadequate role models Ó (155). As in case of Mrs. Hall and with respect to Mrs. Bellmont, FernÕs and WilsonÕs ÒstepmotherÓ figures are anything but Òultra -conventionalÓ or ex emplars of Òextreme femininity.Ó !45 Lauren Berlant discusses at length the linkage between Fanny Fern and antebellum African -American female authors in that they both employ sentimental forms and female archetypes while also subverting such conventional roles for women in their narratives. See ÒThe Female Woman: Fanny Fern and the Form of Sentiment Ó (429 -54). 46 With respect to archetypal villain(esse)s in drama and sentimental and Gothic fiction, Peter B rooks argues that Ò[m]elodramatic good and evil are highly personalized: they are assigned to, they inhabit persons who indeed have no psychological complexity but who are strongly characterized. Most notably, evil is villainy; it is a swarthy, cape -envel oped man with a deep voice. Good and evil can be named as persons are namedÓ (16 -17). Despite FernÕs and WilsonÕs attempts to create this Òmelodramatic moral universeÓ with villainous archetypes, their antagonists Ñlike their heroines Ñdo not lack psycholo gical complexity, though they do function within this conventional stereotype. 195 !takes flight, with significant hel p from Mr. Walter, Ruth is in better socioeconomic position Ñquite rich Ñthan before HarryÕs death: famous, morally vindicated, professionally esteemed and financially independent. Admittedly, during the antebellum period adult women could not vote or, if m arried, administer property in many circumstances (Baym 40). Still, having an abundant income, in addition to remaining single, grants Ruth a level of autonomy beyond that of the affluent housewife of the period. And though her femininity, temporary impo verishment and maltreatment by her relations and acquaintances create the context of RuthÕs totalized Otherness, her success fuels her agency, eliminating the vulnerability of the bona fide Other. The abusive situation of WilsonÕs Frado is more severe th an the genteel poverty briefly endured by FernÕs Ruth. Still, her claim to absolute Otherness is precarious. Though viewed as ÒblackÓ and treated by Mrs. Bellmont like a domestic slave in the antebellum South, she is nevertheless sent to school for three years and learns to read. Furthermore, she enjoys friendly relations with core members of the Bellmont family who advocate for her and condemn Mrs. BelmontÕs cruelty, though with little success. Thus, Frado occupies a liminal space between black indentu red servant and white family member, a source of confusion and familial tension that is never resolved prior to her leaving the Bellmonts, as Barbara Krah notes: ÒFrado remains a liminal figure, caught between the worlds of black and white, and yet part of neitherÓ (473). Also, the fact that Frado possesses sufficient legal autonomy to leave the Bellmonts at age eighteen sets her apart from Harriet Jacobs or Frederick Douglass. Finally, unlike slaves in the South, the Frado turns to employing her craftsma n skills as way to dignify and financially support herself and, by implication, she ÒmarketsÓ her school -acquired literacy 47 to fashion a self-narrative for publication to supplement her income. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!47Again, see Larson (553 -54). 196 !More problematic from an identity standpoint, however, is the convoluted status of FernÕs and WilsonÕs ant agonists. In both novels, the chief persecutors are women , who manifest an inexplicable antipathy towards the respective heroines. As Nancy A. Walker suggests regarding the socio -/psychological dynamics of Ruth Hall , the introduction of an ÒalienÓ female within the family who could become a motherÕs rival for the affections of a favored son could account for such extreme hostility (54), just as the cruel, hypocritical racism of Mrs. Bellmont was not unheard of in ÒabolitionistÓ n ortheastern states, a reality that forms the didactic objective of WilsonÕs autobiographical novel (3, 129). I argue, however, that there is a more profound dynamic in play in these novels, one that stems from the unstable hierarchical p ositions of Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Belmont, a circumstance which complicates the ethical Selfsame/Other relationship between the heroines and their persecutors. Just as Ruth and Frado, as hybrid figures, are never entirely Other, neither do Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Belmont inhabit a position of absolute power as their superiors. The result is the dialogic representation of persecution and resistance between Òdiffering non -OthersÓ who are, ironically, both empowered and dis empowered subjects. What accounts for an ad ded dimension of hybridity regarding these heroines and their antagonists is their shifting ethical positioning. With respect to the protagonists, their will to power motivations, while not rendering them unsympathetic from a sentimental point of view, nevertheless weaken their claim to a status of complete victimization. Within each textÕs dialogues, not only personal ambition, but also a malicious desire for vengeance animates RuthÕs and FradoÕs thought, a circumstance which, far from representing them as unworthy subjects, humanizes them with a greater degree of realism, creating psychological depth and believability. 197 !Thus, I claim that despite the authorsÕ rhetorical aims, their protagonists are not always moral exemplars of a selfles sness, forgiveness and compassion. But just a s the protagonists are not all good in attitude or deportment, the villainesses are likewise more dynamic than the authors themselves Òintended.Ó Of course, t he rhetoric of the novelsÕ concl usions at first sugg est otherwise: in retribution for their vindictiveness, Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Bellmont becomes social pariahs and an objects of vengeance whose eventual moral defeat ÒoughtÓ to provide righteous satisfaction for the reader as for the other characters. In sho rt, the narrators attempt to convey that Òjustice is done.Ó 48 Nevertheless, WilsonÕs and FernÕs dialogic polyphonies point to a counter -discourse that ironically positions the textsÕ presumed villainesses as sympathetic Others as well, individualized perso ns for whom one has an ethical duty to respond. Thus, I posit that Fern and Wilson offer a double admonition: just as one has the ethical duty to respond to the oppressed, categorized Other as a unique subject, likewise one must resist the tendency to dem onize, and thereby totalize, the persecutors when their hybridity destabilizes any simplistic evaluation of their identity or agency. In the end, neither Fern nor Wilson depicts a strict binary of angels and devils, oppressors and oppressed, the powerful and power less. These novels do demonstrate through their dialogic structures, however, the rhetorical importance of voiced, external c orroboration in maintaining an authorized binary of sympathetic victims and damnable villains. To turn again to Armstro ngÕs discussion of the domestic novel, she notes the failure of this binary already in earlier British fiction, though her thinking is applicable to antebellum American novels: the opposition of angel and monsterÉprovided a means of oppressing other oppositionsÉthe novel exercised tremendous power by producing oppositions !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!48 Nina Baym comments: ÒThe novels of Southworth, Hentz, Holmes, and Marion Harland all permitted their heroines to triumph in satisfying ways over t heir enemies, thereby indulging the readersÕ wish for revengeÓ (252). 198 !that translated the complex and competing ways of representing human identity into a single binary oppositionÉ By thinking in such oppositions, we ourselves have come to inhabit a politic al world composed not of races, classes, or even genders, but of individuals who in varying degrees earn or fail to earn our personal trust and affection. As the world around us acquires psychological complexity, political conflicts tend to appear simpler still. (253) With respect to FernÕs and WilsonÕs novels, the polyphonic ÒfailureÓ of this affect -laced ÒoppositionalÓ structure speaks to a greater rhetorical ambivalence and ÒcomplexityÓ on the late -antebellum American scene as well. In a nation suffe ring from increasing socioeconomic, political, regional and cultural polarization, typecasting villains and sympathetic Others, winners and losers, etc. within public discourse was, ironically, also becoming more difficult. As we saw in the case of Melvil leÕs ÒBenito Cereno,Ó defining agency, identity and moral allegiance within a divided United States had become complicated by the 1850Õs. Likewise within Ruth Hall and Our Nig , the hierarchical disparities in power and the differences between persecutor an d Other are far less quantitatively and qualitatively distinguished than they first appear. Yet even where the protagonistsÕ and antagonistsÕ hybrid identities, social alignments and interests would seem to intersect, the novels manifest an absence of co mpassion and solidarity between them, 49 indicating that an etho s of duty can only be deployed safely for an Other so unique that their radical differentness quarantines the absolutely Other from having any relation with Selfsame subject. This suggests, as a paradox, that the moral agentÕs recognition of racial, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!49 Hamilton writes that Fern Òreveals middle -class women to be generally isolated and competitive with each other Ñan irony surprising only in light of antebellum ideologies of gender that projected the reverse as the ideal and the actual. Acting upon individualized self -interest, a number of women characters in Ruth Hall reproduce and facilitate the oppression of other women. RuthÕs mother -in-law, for instance, consistently seeks to unde rmine her; RuthÕs friends do not wish to Ôlose casteÕ by helping her when she is poor; and her female cousin chooses to take advantage of RuthÕs poverty, rather than aiding herÓ (103). Similar phenomena are evident Our Nig . Hamilton also observes this co ntinuity between Fern and Wilson respecting their incorporation of Òeconomic issuesÓ (107; n. 14). 199 !social, cultural or gender singularity operates as a form of depersonalizing totalization: responsibility for the Good of this radical Other is always assumed at a safe, impersonal distance. By con trast, the hybrid Other that is like and unlike the Selfsame, and in relation to whom the Self exists in closer proximity, becomes either an object of appropriation or a Òquasi -OtherÓ with whom the Selfsame subject competes for affective control over a vul nerable Òthird party,Ó exemplified by Katy in Ruth Hall and the invalid James in Our Nig .50 The result is a modern will to power ethos clandestinely packaged either as resistance to oppression or benevolent concern for a sympathetic, suffering Other. Furt hermore, I maintain that the dialogic hostility that WilsonÕs and FernÕs vindictive matriarchs manifest toward the protagonists stems not only from unresolved Oedipal tensions, but also from a fundamental envy over the fact that RuthÕs and FradoÕs liminali ty frees them, ironically, from the confinement of social conventions that their antagonists must endure. Thus, to reduce the moral ballast of these novels to a mere elaboration of antebellum ethical discourses on race, class and gender would be to miss something far more profound in WilsonÕs and FernÕs texts. Rather, what is embedded within their melodramati c dialogues is a counter -discourse that exceeds Emersonian self -reliance, individualism and modern capitalist materialism, one that anticipates NietzscheÕs will to power ethos and Jean -Paul SartreÕs master -slave dialectic. Frado and Ruth, as Òheroines,Ó d o not just overcome oppression, but ironically, as hybrid and representative Others, emerge as the successful agents of a new, prevailing mercenary mindset. In contrast, Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Bellmont, emblematic of the previous !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!50 The Òthird partyÓ Other is an importan t ethical concept here as it was in Cooper. Linda Bolton writes: Ò[t]he third party, as Levinasian ethics reminds us, is the Other to whom I have not chosen to obligate myself. She [or he] is the Other who stands invisibly beside and behind the Other whose face I have learned to recognize and whome I may be willing to admit into the narrative of history where the rule of ÔsamenessÕ [or ÔtotalizationÕ] prevailsÓ (14). I argue that the protagonistsÕ objectification of these vulnerable figures, sentimental archetypes often depicted as children or the infirm (Fisher 102), render s them less as particularized persons to whom one is obligated out of a sense of compassion, and more as generic rhetorical commodities. 200 !generationÕs insular ethos of familial duty, ironically become Othered not so much as immoral villainesses who must be castigated but also as hybrid, marginalized ÒpersecutorsÓ that champion anachronistic bloodline allegiance and cultural homogeneity within a modernizing, pluralizing American society also characterized by increasing socioeconomic mobility. The concluding section explores this ethical dynamic within WilsonÕs text in greater depth. III. Our Nig If FernÕs ÒcarnivalesqueÓ dialogic representations of protagonist and antagonist defy archetypal categorization, complicate the melodramatic good/evil binary and send mixed signals respecting the ÒproperÓ affective responses that ÒoughtÓ be triggered by th ese characters, WilsonÕs Our Nig pushes this ambiguity further, for Ò[u]nlike the moral stereotypes of the domestic or seduction novel, Wilson develops plot situations and characters with realistic ambiguitiesÓ (Doriani 215). As P. Gabrielle Foreman and E lizabeth J. West affirm (314, 3), WilsonÕs novel exists as a hybrid text straddling several popular literary conventions: whereas Ruth Hall blends elements of the journalistic sketch, the sentimental novel and autobiography, Wilson employs elements of the (auto)biographical slave narrative, the Òconversion narrativeÓ and the popular Gothic novel (Mitchell 8) in addition to nods towards sentimental plot devices. R. J. Ellis posits that Òthe novel establishes a liminal dialogue between [these] genresÓ (164), a phenomenon he characterizes as Ògeneric polyphonyÓ (183). Not surprisingly, then, Wilso n too creates a version of the wicked stepmother villainess (Frink 184), though Mrs. Bellmont exhibits a sadistic cruelty surpassing that of her counterpart in Ruth Hall . But despite Mrs. BellmontÕs abuse of Frado, the heroine, one can detect cracks within the villainessÕs ÒstaticÓ construction. The social -dialogic interplay between Frado, Mrs. Bellmont and other characters evidences a counter -discourse that problem atizes FradoÕs claim to the status of sympathetic victim as well as 201 !positioning Mrs. Bellmont as a liminal Other, an individuated subject also warranting interpersonal, ethical responsiveness. R. J. Ellis argues, [t]he reader is compelled to address the underlying economic realities that cause Mrs. B., the resistant victim of gender politics, to become the racist victimizer, in a fundamental recasting of sentimental generic pattersn,Ó also adding: ÒNorthern racismÉin differing ways and to differing degree s itÉmaims the lives of Mrs. B., Mary, Samuel [FradoÕs deceiving husband], Seth, Jim, Mr. Bellmont and even FradoÕs would -be, but ineffective, supporters. (124) Even the selfish, vicious Mrs. Bellmont makes a sentimental demand on the compassion of her fellow characters and the reader. When considering the polyphonic instability of Our Nig , then, the question of the audience comes into play, as WilsonÕs ÒPrefaceÓ specifies that the narrative is directed to the authorÕs Òcolored brethren universally for patronageÓ for her and her childÕs sustenance (3). That said, the selections within the ÒAppendixÓ indicate that the intended audience is white Northeasterners. 51 Ellen Pratofiorito notes, Ò[t]here is, seemingly, a fundamental contradiction between Wilso nÕs Preface in which she addresses her story to her Ôcolored brethrenÕ and her appeals, or stance, towards her audience within the principal text of the novelÓ (41). Though my focus is not WilsonÕs audience per se , that Wilson, unlike Fern, addresses two c ontrasting reading pu blics has a bearing on how the reader comprehends her rhetorical strategy and the interpersonal ethics it suggests. For a free African -American readership in the North, Mrs. BellmontÕs role as the villainess would function through thi s audienceÕs experiences of Northern !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!51 ÒMargaretta ThornÓ admonishes : ÒI have long since learned that we are not to look at the color of the hair, the eyes, or the skin, for the man or woman; their life is the criterion we are to judge by. [É] I hope those who call themselves friends of our dark -skinned brethren, will lend a helping hand, and assist our sister, not by giving, but by buying a bookÓ (138, 140 , emphasis mine ). Her rhetoric indicates that the audience is not African American. 202 !racism and the hypocrisy of Òprofessed abolitionists.Ó 52 A white Yankee reader, however, might have seen in Mrs. Bellmont a Northern version of the vindictive Southern ÒmistressÓ stereotype (Carby 44 -45) encountered in Frederick DouglassÕs Narrative and Harriet Jacobs, especially in that Our Nig Õs ironic subtitle reads: Ò Sketches from the Life of a Free Black, in a Two -Story White House, North. Showing that SlaveryÕs Shadows Fall Even There .Ó Nevertheless, for both prospective audiences, WilsonÕs narrative rhetorically functions through the assumption that the reader, white or black, has familiarity with popular sentimental and Gothic genres and the narrative formulae and character types they employ. 53 Likewise, Frado r esonates in different ways with contrasting readers as a character who Òremains almost as elusive as her creator Wilson, who plays with conventional feminine roles without definitely choosing one as a framing identity for her protagonistÓ (Krah 466). For an antebellum white audience, Frado would assume the role of the slave narrativeÕs Òtragic mulattaÓ or minstrel stereotype, whereas contemporary African American readers would view her as the Òtrickster figure of African -American tradition folkloreÓ (Krah 474).54 Again, though, sentimental and Gothic conventions serve as a genre bridge of sorts, in that both cultural facets !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!52 Following FradoÕs departure from the BellmontsÕ farm and the death of her husband (128), the narrator offers the following harangue regarding FradoÕs subsequent Òstrange a dventuresÓ: ÒWatched by kidnappers, maltreated by professed abolitionists, who did nÕt want slaves at the South or niggers in their own houses, North. Faugh! to lodge one; to eat with one, so admit one through the front door; to sit next one; awful!Ó (129 ). 53 According to Claudia Tate, Ò[b]lack writers apparently appropriated many sentimental conventions to give expression to their social concerns and to demonstrate their intellectual competence in terms that the dominant culture respected. Henry Louis Ga tes, Jr. also comments in the ÒIntroductionÓ: Ò[i]t is equally clear that the author of Our Nig was a broadly read constituent of nineteenth -century American and English literatureÉ True., the structure of the novel would suggest that Mrs. Wilson not only read a number of popular, sentimental American novels but also patterned her fiction largely within the received confines of that once popular formÓ (xxxix). 54 As Peterson explains, Wilson Òtold her life story by means of multiple outside perspectives on her fictionalized self, Frado, in an effort perhaps to accommodate her double audience of both black and white readers. According to these outside perceptions, Frado is not socialized into the feminine graces of traditional tragic mulattas. Instead, like StoweÕs Topsy, she is depicted as a Ôwild, frolicky thingÕ (18) whom white readers might well have viewed with condescending mockery rather than identification but in whom black readers might well have recognized a figure of resistance. Indeed, Frado is r epeatedly represented as a figure of minstrelsy through which the dominant culture constructed and economically exploited black stereotypes. She performs, for example, for her schoolmates by puffing on a cigar and hiding it in the teacherÕs deskÉ And she performs again for Jack Bellmont when, in order to eat from Mrs. BellmontÕs plate, she has her dog wipe it cleanÓ (166 -67). !203 !of FradoÕs heroism, like Mrs. BellmontÕs villainy, are refined by these generic literary conventions to which the well -read Wilson was beholden. 55 It is this familiarity with popular genres that hybridizes the textÕs classification and WilsonÕs assumed readership ÑOur NigÕs protagonist, antagonist, audience(s), author and the narrative itself share a destabilizing hybridity, as R. J. Ellis and Carla L. Peterson note. 56 I contend that the unstable dialogic representation of the textÕs archetypes voices ambivalence respecting WilsonÕs interpersonal ethical rhetoric. Furthermore, I argue that the central forum for this ethical polyphony is th e narratorÕs alternating sympathetic and antipathetic renderings of Frado and Mrs. Hall in tandem with the charactersÕ particularized dialogue. Though Mrs. Bellmont and Frado qualify as the textÕs villainess and heroine, upon closer inspection the relatio nship between the two characters in terms of their mutual Otherness is not shaped just through the empowered/disempowered binary that characterizes the interactions between Mrs. Hall and Ruth in Fern . In the latter case, there is a clear power disparity b etween Mrs. Hall and Ruth that shapes the affective terrain of the narrative, 57 whereby Ruth triumphs and Mrs. Hall is ÒjustlyÓ punished at the novelÕs peripatetic climax (Frink 188) Ñboth are alternately winners and losers. By contrast, and ironically desp ite heightened dialogic !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!55 Again, Peterson explains, Ò[i]n order to interest a good publishing house while remaining faithful to their ideological agendas, African -American writers had to produce commodities that would please both a white audience, unfamiliar with African -American culture, and a black readership seeking to imagine community. As they charted new terrain within the tradition of American fiction, these writers inherited novelistic conventions from the dominant discourse that ultimately revealed themselves inadequate to express their concerns. Subve rting, revising, and adapting these conventions while simultaneously introducing Ôdenied knowledgesÓ from their native traditions, African -American writers created hybrid forms of novelized discourseÓ (151). 56 Peterson speaks to the ÒpoliticalÓ implication s of such narrative hybridity: ÒThe history of African -American writersÕ tentative shift from autobiography to novel, from first - to third -person narration, is fully inscribed in the [text] of Our Nig É It suggests the degree to which autobiography in gener alÑand the slave narrative in particular Ñalready contains within it subversive fictional techniques, and it underscores the extent to which the grammatical choice of person, like that of genre, is not a purely formal act, but a profoundly political one. I t points, finally, to the presence of yet another liminal space created and occupied by antebellum black womenÉÓ (151 -52). Also see R. J. EllisÕ discussion of character hybridity regarding Mrs. Bellmont and Frado in Harriet WilsonÕs Our Nig : A Cultural Biography of a ÒTwo -StoryÓ African American Novel (112 -118). 57 Such a power disparity between Òauthority figuresÓ and the Òsocially weakÓ is a plot staple of sentimental fiction, according to Peterso n (168). See also Fisher (102) and Baym (37). !204 !melodrama, WilsonÕ s does not manifest an obvious winner and loser in the battle between Frado and Mrs. Bellmont. True, Mrs. Bellmont often possesses a greater degree of agency compared to Frado, a circumstance exploited through coe rcive threats and physical abuse. But Frado is never isolated in the way that Ruth is. That is, Òthis brazen young girlÓ always has Òan audience of sympathetic listeners and watchers who are able to bear witness to her suffering and who help to validate her voiceÓ (Green145), advocates who, though inadequate to assist her at times, at others do intervene on her behalf. For example, when Mrs. Bellmont and Mary object to FradoÕs attending school, ÒMr. Bellmont declared decisively that she should go to schoolÉ The word once spoken admitted of no appealÉthe word became lawÓ (30 -31). Similarly, when Mrs. Bellmont expresses a desire to whip Frado for being ÒsaucyÓ (47), her husband responds in a ÒdeterminedÓ and ÒdecisiveÓ manner: ÒÔYou shall not strike, or scald, or skin her, as you call it, if she comes back again. Remember!Õ and he brought his hand down upon the tableÕÓ (47). Later, following an incident where Frado deliberately ÒinsultsÓ Mrs. Bellmont before the rest of the family by having her dog, Fido, lick her mistressÕs plate rather than eat off of it (46), 58 James comes to FradoÕs aid: ÒJames sought his mother [Mrs. Bellmont]; told her he Ôwould not excuse or palliate NigÕs [FradoÕs] impudence; but she should not be whipped or be punished at all You have not treated her, mother, so as to gain her love; she is only exhibiting your remissness in this matterÕÓ (72). The narrator then characterizes Mrs. BellmontÕs clandestine response: ÒShe only smothered her resentment until a convenient opportuni ty offered. The first time she was left alone with Nig, she gave her a thorough beating, to bring up arrearages; and threatened, if she ever exposed her to James, she would Ôcut her tongue outÕÓ (72). In this way, the narrator compensates for whatever vi llainous capital Mrs. Bellmont may have lost in the previous !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!58 Another Ò tricksterÓ rendering of Frado. William L. Andrews writes, Òthe slave trickster is to be interpreted as a kind of culture hero for a black community that asserted itself through ÔputtinÕ on old Mass aÕ [or Ômistress Õ]Ó (265). 205 !sequenceÕs revelation of her familial alienation and lack of supreme agency respecting her treatment of Frado. Thus, like the other benevolent and appalled members of the Bellmont family, ÒWilso n clearly hoped that she would have a similarly sympathetic readership for her controversial bookÓ (Green 145). Yet despite this episode of ÒunexposedÓ abuse, the dying James reinforces his moral support for Frado within the family: ÒI took the opportunity to combat the notions [Frado] seemed to entertain respecting the loneliness of her condition and want of sympathizing friends I assured her that motherÕs [Mrs. BellmontÕs] views were by no means generalÉthat she was not unpitied, friendless, and utterly d espisedÉÓ (75 -76), whereupon the narrator adds, ÒWith all his anxiety for his family, whom he might not live to protect, he did not forget Frado. He shielded her from many beatingsÉÓ (76). On the one hand, JamesÕ and the narratorÕs use of the pejorative ÒNigÓ in reference to Frado preserves a sense of her categorical Otherness and oppression, thereby semantically retaining the readerÕs sympathy for her. On the other, this circumstance of non -isolation mitigates FradoÕs victimization: the fact that other members of the family, particularly the sons and Mr. Bellmont, almost always ally with Frado again st Mrs. Bellmont inscribes the wicked stepmother as a marginalized Other who is unable to evoke the sympathetic responsiveness from even her relations (with t he exception of the vindictive Mary) that Frado elicits with impunity. Whereas FradoÕs tearful outbursts and tales of suffering extract compassionate statements such as ÒPoor thingÓ (46) from almost everyone she encounters during the narrative (exceptin g Mrs. Bellmont and Mary) Ñcall-and -response sequences that model how the reader ÒshouldÓ respond to Frado ÑMrs. Bellmont receives no such affective support from her family. After her husband prevents her from whipping Frado, Mrs. Bellmont emotes: ÒÔOh dear ! I did not think it 206 !would come to this; that my own husband would treat me so.Õ Then came fast flowing tears, which no one but Mary seemed to noticeÓ (47 -48).59 Of course, her vicious nature offsets whatever sympathy the family Ñor reader Ñmight feel for h er. But the fact that the villainess sheds tears in addition to the heroine, as she does again upon hearing the news of daughter MaryÕs death (107), breaks a conventional norm for the antagonist archetype within sentimental fiction, where the maligned her oine repeatedly sobs while the villainess seldom expresses tender emotions. 60 The occasion of Mrs. BellmontÕs tears is also significant here, for as Philip Fisher explains, Ò[i]t is particularly important for sentimentalism that there be two victims rather than oneÉmother and child tied by the quintessential bond of feeling, maternal love. The primary victim is not the child who undergoes physical destruction, but the mother who must be present when all that she values most is torn from her and destroyed. Even worse, she will survive the event and be marked by it permanentlyÓ (106). Yet if Mrs. BellmontÕs tears humanize her as a sympathetic Other, rhetorically destabilizing her role as antagonist, the novelÕs conclusionÕs brief treatment of her melodramat ically overstates her ÒexpectedÓ narrative castigation: ÒAs age increased, Mrs. B. became more irritable, so that no one, even her own children, could remain with her; and she was accompanied by her husband to the home of Lewis, where, after an agony in de ath unspeakable, she passed awayÓ (130). As in Ruth Hall , the narratorÕs design is that the (vengeful) reader ÒoughtÓ to garner a sense that Òjustice is done,Ó Mrs. BellmontÕs physical suffering and death being fitting recompense for the abuse inflicted o n Frado. But the reference !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!59 Cassandra Jackson touches on Mrs. BellmontÕs Otherness in ÒBeyond the Page: Rape and the Failure of GenreÓ: ÒWilson portrays Mrs. Bellmont as one who callously abused Frado and yet repeatedly characterizes herself as the victim of abuse. When her husband or her sons criticize or mere ly refuse to participate in her maltreatment of Frado, Mrs. Bellmont repeatedly frames herself as their victim. [É] WilsonÕs depiction of Mrs. Bellmont exposes what Karen Sanchez -Eppler calls Ôpatterns of exploitation, appropriation, and displacementÕ that often characterizes the relationship between feminism and abolitionÓ (162). 60 William C. Spengemann explains: ÒThe ability to cry separates the good characters from the heartless villains, and Ôpellucid drops of sympathyÕ validate every event in the novel. Like pornography, the baldest sentimental fiction pays minimal attention to those situations which serve merely to link one titillating passage with the next, conserving its energies for details descriptions of often sketchily motivated sentimentÓ (88). 207 !to her total estrangement from her children, in addition to her ÒirritabilityÓ and Òunspeakable agony,Ó po rtrays a figure that, if not a victim in the mold of Frado, is still Othered by social marginalization and constricted age ncy (Ellis 111) even within her own household. In contrast to Ruth Hall , though, WilsonÕs text features no melodramatic climax depicting FradoÕs final ÒvictoryÓ over her nemesis. Later in the narrative, Frado simply threatens to cease working for Mrs. Bellmont if she continues beating her, experiencing Ò[h]er triumph in seeing [Mrs. Bellmont] enter the door with her [FradoÕs] burdenÓ (105), though this accelerated episode does not hold the same peripatetic, sentimental gravitas seen in RuthÕs ÒrescueÓ o f Katy at the conclusion of Ruth Hall . Rather, Wilson hurriedly relates FradoÕs departure from the BellmontsÕ upon coming of age, her failed marriage to an impostor posing as an ex -slave lecturer, the births of her children, and her continued poverty and deteriorating health. The reader only learns in passing of the deaths of Mrs. Bellmont and other members of the family. Furthermore, we are never left with the assurance encountered in Ruth Hall that all will turn out well. FradoÕs fate, for good or ill , remains undetermined, as the character by implication fuses with the persona of the ÒPreface,Ó supplicating the readersÕ aid for an unfortunate Other, just as the Òinvalid mulattoÓ and ÒstrangerÓ protagonist receives succor from a woman to whom she relat es her ÒsorrowsÓ in the previous chapter (124): ÒStill an invalid, she asks your sympathy, gentle reader. Refuse not, because some part of her history is unknown, save by the omniscient God. Enough has been unrolled to demand your sympathy and aidÓ (130) . I add that FradoÕs hybrid identity as a mulatta in the North establishes her as the Other of her Òcolored brethrenÓ to whom she appeals in the ÒPrefaceÓ (3), as well as the implied white audience that emerges from the endorsements in the ÒAppendixÓ (133 -40). All in all, Frado and Mrs. Bellmont coexist as suffering, (sym)pathetic figures as well as persons with malicious dimensions, as I will discuss. 208 ! The literal polyphony of voices, the narratorÕs as well as the various charactersÕ, resists the typecas ting of Frado within a single conventional role, as R. J. Ellis maintains: Ò Our Nig locates Frado precisely on the border between servant and slaveÓ (169). WilsonÕs contradictory, ironic title anticipates the narrativeÕs dialogic polyphony or Òdeliberatel y constructed double -voiced representationÓ (Tate 39), playing with the readerÕs latent genre expectations and juxtaposing the racist epithet ÒNigÓ in the main title with the term ÒFree BlackÓ in the first subtitle. In the extended subtitle, the descripti on of the setting, Òa Two -Story White House, NorthÓ ( emphasis mine ), is contrasted with the ÒblacknessÓ of the protagonist as well as ÒshadedÓ b y an implicit association with Southern bondage in that ÒSlaveryÕs Shadows Fall Even There,Ó that is, in the Òfr eeÓ North. Claudia Tate notes the Òself -reflexive ironyÓ as well as the rhetorical barbs loaded into the lengthy title (40) as a narrative framing device which highlights the textÕs attack on the racism of Northern abolitionists. 61 But the ironic title an nounces several competing literary conventions as well: the words ÒNigÓ and ÒSlaveryÓ evoke the popular genre of the slave narrative; the image of an edifice associated with horrific trauma raises the ÒspecterÓ of the Gothic novel; 62 the term ÒSketchesÓ res ists any reflexive categorization of the work as either a biographical slave narrative, an autobiography, a history or a sentimental Bildungsroman . Though sensational title seems to announce that the work operates within the slave narrative tradition, lik e the hybrid text and complex heroine that follow it, a semantic study of the extended title relates a more ambiguous Òstory.Ó The ambiguity/ambivalence of the title is reflected in the contradictory Frado, the novelized third -person projection of Harriet Wilson. FradoÕs hybridity is established at the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!61 Claudia Tate affirms this: ÒThis last subtitle implicates white abolitionists in the racial oppression of Northern black people and complicates what had to have been at least an indirect appeal to the very people who had the financial means to assist [Wil son] by purchasing her bookÓ (39 -40). 62 See Edgar Allen PoeÕs Ò The Fall of the House of Usher,Ó Ann RadcliffeÕs The Castle of Otranto or Emily BronteÕs Wuthering Heights , to name a few popular examples. 209 !outset, as the reader is told that she is the issue of an interracial marriage between a destitute white woman, Mag, and Jim, an honest black yeoman. In this respect, the text exists in unique opposition t o the slave narrative genre respecting the conventional origin of the Òtragic mulattaÓ; that is, Frado is not the result of the rape of a female slave by a Southern slave master. 63 Instead, the union is consensual , and the father is black, not the mother, a social -sexual dynamic almost as taboo in the ÒabolitionistÓ North as in the South, as the narrator attests (13). Nevertheless, upon being abandoned by Mag Smith and her second (black) husband, Seth Shipley, at the BellmontsÕ Connecticut farm, the six -year-old Frado, described as possessing Òroguish eyes, sparkling with exuberance of spirit almost beyond restraintÓ (17) and characterized by her mother as Òa wild, frolicky thingÓ who Òmeans to do jest [sic] as sheÕs mind toÓ (18), 64 is now rendered a sympat hetic figure, as the reader is introduced to FradoÕs Òright she -devilÓ mistress, Òwholly imbued with southern principles,Ó Mrs. Bellmont (17, 3). With the abandonment device, the introduction of the abusive, Southern -flavored wicked stepmother and the dar k attic -garret (ÒL -chamberÓ) in which she is forced to live like a prisoner (26), Wilson takes a turn for the Gothic (Mitchell 17). FradoÕs sympathetic status shifts from Gothic heroine to Òtragic mulattaÓ with Mrs. Bellmont acting the role of the cruel slave mistress, referring to Frado as Ònigger,Ó beating her and working her as hard as a field hand. But Wilson shifts course again as Mr. Bellmont, playing the part of caring stepfather as opposed to slave master, insists that Frado should attend school in that Ò[i]t was now certain that Frado was to become a permanent member of t he familyÓ (30), education and familial inclusion being unheard of for African slaves in the South. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!63 See Peterson Õs definition of Òthe sentimental figur e of the tragic mulattaÓ in American fiction (154). 64 Note the idiolectical Othering representation of MagÕs speech -dialect here wit h the word ÒjestÓ (ÒjustÓ) as opposed to her earlier dialogic rendering in contrast with JimÕs idiolect. A lso, in referring to her daughter, this term Ñconnoting ÒjesterÓ Ñpotentially signifies FradoÕs minstrel/ÒtricksterÓ role in the novel. 210 !Yet this benevolent experience is short lived, as the other schoolchildren no tice FradoÕs racial singularity, referring to her as ÒniggerÓ and shunning her ÑÒSee that niggerÉI wonÕt play with herÓ (31) Ñwhereupon the narrative veers once more, as FradoÕs schoolmistress (and the readerÕs sentimental -ethical pedagogue), Miss Marsh, mod els the appropriate empathetic response for the classÕs unique Other: ÒShe then reminded them of their duties to the poor and friendless; their cowardice in attacking a young innocent child; referred them to one who looks not on outward appearances, but on the heart. ÔShe looks like a good girl; I think I shall love her, so lay aside all prejudice, and vie with each other in showing kindness and good -will to one who seems different from youÕÓ (32). Following Miss MarshÕs admonition, Frado wins over her cl assmates with her vocality and minstrel/ÒtricksterÓ behavior, 65 becoming a school favorite at the jealous MaryÕs expense. Mary, like her mother, becomes the one isolated, stripped of social agency: ÒDay by day there was a manifest change of deportment towa rds ÔNig.Õ Her speeches often drew merriment from the children; no one could do more to enliven their favorite pastimes than Frado. Mary could not endure to see her thus noticed, yet knew not how to prevent it. She could not influence her schoolmates as she wishedÓ (32 -33). As is often the case in the Bellmont household, Frado appropriates the lionÕs share of sympathy, especially from James, whereas the Mrs. Bellmont and Mary, who form an amalgamation ÑÒ[Mary] was indeed the idol of her mother, and more n early resembled her in disposition and manners than the othersÓ (25) Ñare shunned, without allies. Still, the narratorÕs ambivalent yet deliberate incorporation of the pejorative ÒNigÓ in reference to Frado reminds the reader that despite her vi ctories in the forum of public opinion, the protagonist should still be regarded as a sympathetic Other. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!65 This is a goo d example of Beth Maclay DorianiÕs argument in ÒBlack Womanhood in Nineteenth -Century America: Subversion and Self -Construction in Two WomenÕs AutobiographiesÓ that ÒFradoÕs cleverness and trickery allow her some degree of mastery over her oppressive white worldÓ (216). 211 ! FradoÕs constant shifting between conventional archetypal roles, from Gothic protagonist to ÒCinderella -like heroineÓ (Jones 42) to Òtragic mulattaÓ to humorous minstrel to evangelical conversion subject 66 to independent young mother, makes her sympathetic Otherness difficult to quantify and qualify. Lois Leveen writes, Ò Our Nig emphasizes the indeterminacy of FradoÕs position among the Bellmonts. [É] Frado hersel f is a figure of great ambiguity; despite her centrality in the text, it is difficult to know how to read herÓ (565, 577). Ironically, such subjective instability impedes a greater dehumanizing totalization, preserving a sense of individuality even as Fra doÕs sentimental appeal to the readerÕs sympathy is restricted by the textÕs repeated failure to inscribe her within an abject, melodramatic category, as Beth Maclay Doriani suggests (217). Barbara Krah even claims that ÒWilson chose exactly that roleÉof the indefinable, the floater between categories, as the primary identity for her protagonistÓ (474). Though the majority the persecution is conducted by the villainesses, Mrs. Bellmont and her proxy Mary, the narrator hints at a vindictive aspect of the h eroine as well. FradoÕs practical jokes at school and at home point to a darker side of her character, reflecting the nineteenth -century Òliterary typeÓ of the Òdisorderly girlÓ (Green 144), in particular the incidents with the ÒwillfulÓ sheep and the des sert plate, episodes which also align her with the minstrel and African American ÒtricksterÓ stereotypes. 67 The narrator relates: ÒAmong the sheep was a willful leader, who always persisted in being the first served, an many times in his fury he had thrown down !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!66 Peterson writes t hat Wilson ÒturnedÉto the sentimental figure of the tragic mulatta whom Remond was simultaneously invoking in her speeches across the AtlanticÓ (154). With respect to FradoÕs, Christian Òconversion,Ó see R. J. Ellis (84 -88). Ellis also adds: ÒThe sentime ntal patterns embedded within WilsonÕs sparse narrative are further undermined by a failure to deliver in full a message of Christian consolation Ñthe other main support conventionally available to Ôsorrow and trialsÕ protagonists. The pattern of Òsorrows and trialsÕ novels Ñindeed, of ante -bellum American sentimental womenÕs novels in general Ñis one within which the protagonist, starting off a Christian, typically moves towards a more perfect understanding of the true nature of ChristianityÉ By contrast, W ilson introduces a note of sustained equivocation. The development of FradoÕs Christian sentiments is unstable and her religious conversion far from secureÓ (85). 67 FradoÕs irreverent response to the Òsheep -dunkingÓ incident is a perfect example: ÒMr. B ellmont talked seriously to the child for exposing herself to danger [in ÔtrickingÕ the sheep into falling into the river]; but she hopped about on her toes, and with laughable grimaces replied, she knew she was quick enough to Ôgive him a slideÕÓ (55). 212 !Nig, till, provoked she resolved to punish himÓ (54). I read this sequence as analogous to FradoÕs attitude towards her mistress and Mary as later Frado likens Mary to Òour cross sheepÉthat I ducked in the riverÓ (80), dehumanizing and Othering her before vocalizing her desire for vengeance: ÒIÕd like to try my hand at curing her tooÓ (80), ÒcuringÓ connoting not just castigation but butchering within the context of animal husbandry that her reference to the sheep raises. Following FradoÕs Douglass -esque Òvictory at the wood -pileÓ over Mrs. Bellmont (Jones 49), the text renders Frado uncannily and ironically similar to her abusive mistress: Ò[Frado] had learned how to conquer; she would not abuse the power while Mr. Bellmont was at homeÉ She contemp lated administering poison to her mistress, to rid herself and the house of so detestable a plagueÓ (108). In addition to the fact that Mary and Mrs. Bellmont threaten to kill Frado at different junctures in the story, FradoÕs pretensions to lethal aggres sion are in this instance accompanied by an inclination to the covert, just as Mrs. Bellmont reserves the bulk of her abuse for when John, James and Aunt Abby are absent. Furthermore, though the side -narrative of FradoÕs near -religious conversion through the encouragement of the invalid James occupies a significant amount of the plot, Frado does not become a second Sojourner Truth. She refuses to forgive in true ÒChristianÓ fashion her ÒtormentorsÓ (Krah 472 -73), and even expresses that ill befall them, despite the disapproval of her most stalwart moral mentor and supporter, Aunt Abby (80 -81). Upon FradoÕs hearing of MaryÕs death, the narrator describes her reaction: ÒIt seemed a thanksgiving to Frado. Every hour or two she would pop in into Aunt AbbyÕs room with some stranger query: ÔÉSÕposen she [Mary] goes to hell, sheÕll be as black as I am. Would nÕt mistress be mad to see her a nigger!Õ and others of a similar stamp, not at all acceptable to the pious, sympathetic dame; but she could not avoid the mÓ (107). Beyond FradoÕs ÒunacceptableÓ Schadenfreude , her dialogue ironically 213 !suggests a second comparison with Mary while at the same time it reinforces her Othering Òblackness,Ó 68 in that Jack notes that Frado is Òreal handsome and bright, and not very blackÓ (25), the narrator later adding: Ò[Frado] was not many shades darker than Mary now; what a calamity it would be ever to hear the contrast spoken ofÓ (39). FradoÕs instability as a melodramatic archetype is paralleled by these fluctuations regarding her hybrid racial alignments in that, as a mulatta, she is always white and black. But if FradoÕs status as a sympathetic Other is rendered suspect by her ambivalent dialogic inscription, Mrs. BellmontÕs role as the evil antagonist is destabilized by the presence of similar conventional fluctuations and dialogic polyphonies. Not only does Mrs. Bellmont lack sympathetic allies throughout the story, she is often depicted as possessing limited agency within the family, a circumstance that deteriorates as sh e continues to lose the affection and trust of her relatives (excepting Mary) due to her malicious behavior. In this way, Mrs. Bellmont is Othered by her isolation and alienation, and so, despite her sadism toward Frado, she exists as an object of sympath y. Furthermore, Mrs. Bellmont is also Othered by the ironic ways in which she is dialogically amalgamated with Frado. As mentioned, the text compares Frado in several places with daughter Mary, who is in turn regarded as Òthe idol of her motherÓ (25). T hat said, it is Ò[l]onely Mag SmithÓ (5), FradoÕs tragic birth mother, who introduces a possible Frado -Mrs. Bellmont amalgamation, despite each characterÕs melodramatic function as an oppositional archetype for the other. Upon SethÕs suggestion that they Òmust give [Frado and her sibling] awayÓ due to their inability to support them, Mag ÒsnarlsÓ: ÒWhoÕll take the black devils ?Ó (16). While pondering giving Frado to the Bellmonts as an indentured servant, Mag refers to Mrs. Bellmont as a Òright she -devil Ó (17), creating an immediate, oddly pejorative semantic link !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!68 This dialogue accomplishes this with the racially descriptive term ÒblackÓ as well as the idiolectical ÒsÕposen,Ó a contraction which FradoÕs father, Jim, uses when he proposes ma rriage to Mag Smith (12). 214 !between Frado and her Òwicked stepmother.Ó This association is reinforced when the narrator describes Mrs. Bellmont as Òself -willed , haughty, undisciplined, arbitraryÓ (25, emphasis mine ), follow ed by another rendering of Frado as ÒimpetuousÓ and Òof [a] wilful , determined natureÓ (23, 28 emphasis mine ). In addition, Seth calls Frado Òa hard oneÓ after a defiant Frado knocks him out of his chair (19), and even James later refers to her as exhibit ing ÒpertnessÓ (69). Such descriptions of FradoÕs imperfect deportment 69 continue throughout the balance of the novel, as the narrator remarks that Ò[Frado] would venture far beyond proprietyÓ (38), being told by James repeatedly that she Òmust try to be a good girlÓ (50, 95) who concedes even to his mother that Òhe Ôwould not excuse or palliate NigÕs impudenceÕÓ (72). Likewise, the text relates that Mr. Bellmont Òtalked with [Frado] seriously, told herÉhe did not wish to have her saucy or disrespectful, b ut when she was sure she did not deserve a whipping, to avoid it if she couldÓ (104), the word ÒsaucyÓ being the exact epithet that Mrs. Bellmont directs toward Frado earlier in the text (47). The italicized Ò sure Ó here bears a double signification, expre ssing either the narratorÕs sarcasm at the prospect that Frado could avoid a Òwhipping,Ó or on a subtler level, as R. J. Ellis suggests, ironically hinting that FradoÕs conduct Ñperhaps her ÒpertnessÓ Ñmay have warranted corrective punishment (118), though M rs. BellmontÕs brutal beatings indicate criminal child abuse rather than mere corporal punishment. Even if the ironic character amalgam of Frado and Mrs. Bellmont yields no mutual affection or solidarity, Mrs. Bellmont does voice on several occasions her a ppreciation of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!69 FradoÕs imperfection is not necessarily unconvent ional in womenÕs fiction of the 19 th century, as Nina Baym explains: ÒThere are two kinds of heroine in this novel, the flawless and the flawed. The flawless are those who already possess the emotional strength and stability to function effectively when a dversity strikes. The flawed are those whose characters are defective, so the triumph in adversity becomes a matter of self -conquest as well as conquest of the otherÉ The overly dependent women has to acquire firmness, the self -willed woman learns to bend so as not to break. The idea of what is, and what is not, a flaw varies according to the perspective of the individual author, yet all agree that some degree of self -control is a moral and practical necessity while total self -abnegation is suicidalÓ (35 -36). I suggest that Frado exhibits Òself -willÓ and Òdependency,Ó yet it is not always clear whether the reader is to regard Òself -willÓ as a ÒflawÓ. It seems that Wilson regards dependency as a greater limitation, as Frado struggles to support herself on ce independent of the Bellmonts. 215 !FradoÕs practical ÒvalueÓ as an indentured servant, despite FradoÕs Otherness and her antipathy towards her. She relates to her husband: ÒI do nÕt mind the nigger in the childÉ If I could make her do my work in a few years, I would keep herÓ (26), later admitting: ÒIf [Frado] wasnÕt tough she would have been killed long ago. There was never one of my girls could do half the workÓ (88-89). Prior to FradoÕs departure from the BellmontsÕ, the narrator too recounts that ÒMrs. B felt that she co uld not well spare one who could so well adapt herself to all departments Ñman, boy, housekeeper, domestic, etc.Ó (116), highlighting FradoÕs functional hybridity. Likewise, James sees FradoÕs potential for Òself -relianceÓ in her Ònative witÓ and Òcommon senseÓ (69), and near the conclusion the narrator also observes that Frado begins to realize her own Òwill to power,Ó first in standing up to Mrs. Bellmo nt (105), and then by furthering her meager education: Òretaining what she had learned, in spite of the few privileges enjoyed formerly, was striving to enrich her mind. Her school -books were her constant companions, and every leisure moment was applied t o themÉ OftenÉdid she pause to ponder on her situation and wonder if she could succeed in providing for her own wants. Her health was delicate, yet she resolved to tryÓ (115 -16, emphasis mine ). Upon recovering from a debilitating illness, Frado ÒfeelsÓ the old resolution to take care of herself, to cast off the unpleasant charities of the public. É Frado experienced a new impulse. She felt herself capable of elevation; she felt that this book information supplied an undefined dissatisfaction she had lon g felt, but could not express. Every leisure moment was carefully applied to self -improvementÉ Thus she passed months of quiet, growing in the confidence of her neighbors and new found friends. (125) Likewise, the description that Frado ÒfeltÓ that she m ight improve her life via literate self -determin ation calls to mind the iconic will to power scene in Ruth Hall where a sick, half -starved 216 !Ruth states, ÒI can do it, I feel it, I will do itÓ (116). As the narrative concludes, the narrator reaffirms, now i n the present tense, that Ònothing turns [Frado] from her steadfast purpose of elevating herselfÓ (130), and though we are not left with the sense of financial security for the protagonist present at the conclusion of Ruth Hall , there is the same Òself -reliantÓ Emersonian individualism (Jones 48), as the narratorÕs language expresses a desire for self -sufficiency and productive autonomy in lieu of charity, which ÒMargaretta ThornÕsÓ endorsement also affirms in the ÒAppendixÓ (140). In concluding the prese nt section, I underscore the ethical ambivalence that the reader encounters through the ambiguous, dialogic character amalgamations that destabilize the melodramatic heroine and villainess archetypes and thus the textÕs rhetorial strategy, whether we chara cterize Our Nig as sentimental fiction, a slave narrative, novelized autobiography, Gothic novel or a fairy tale. Specifically, we see channeled through the textÕs dialogues a double -amalgamation of mutual Others ÑMag-Frado as impoverished, desperate mothe rs and Mrs. Bellmont -Mag as marginalized yet ruthless women Ñthat helps engender a third , Mrs. Bellmont -Frado as headstrong, aggressive competitors. 70 In particular, we witness this mercenary tendency in Mrs. BellmontÕs and FradoÕs desperate attempts to ap propriate the affections of the invalid James, to whom ÒFrado had become greatly attachedÓ (52), Mrs. Bellmont by lying in order to keep Frado and Aunt Abby from visiting James (91), and Frado in employing a clever stratagem of Christian conversion to win his esteem and attention (85, 100, 103). 71 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!70 Wilson indicates that Mrs. Bellmont and Mary form an amalgam; I make the case that daughter Mary and step daughter Frado do as well. 71 R. J. Ellis refers to Fr adoÕs pretentions to Christian conversion as both Òunconvincing and ÒmanipulativeÓ (85 -86). Regarding the mercenary side to the heroineÕs Òconversion,Ó Ellis adds: ÒDoubt about FradoÕs final sincerity is increased by the suspect way the narrative formulates its closing religious sentiments. Her claim to piety is com plicated by an inference that self -interest might underlie the religiosityÓ (87). 217 !But despite WilsonÕs charactersÕ close interrelationships and amalgamations, there is a pregnant lack of mutual compassion or solidarity between Others . Such instances never materialize in the text, a phenomeno n that, as R. J. Ellis implies (124) and David Dowling argues, reflects the context of an individualistic, avaricious Northern ÒmarketÓ culture that Òis unnaturally bent against cooperation and mutual aidÓ (128). I argue that this counterintuitive lack of ethical responsiveness evident within the dialogues amongst the novelÕs archetypes and individualized Others, in EllisÕ words, Òoffers [a formulaic] uncovering ,Ó in that the textÕs Òrepeated deviations from formulaic norms impel its readers towards a rec ognition of the contradictory tensions pervading representations of freedom, escape and triumph in abolitionist influenced slave narratives and other sentimental representationsÓ (183, emphasis mine ). That said, this ÒuncoveringÓ via the polyphonic destab ilization of WilsonÕs sentimental archetypes is that which invites a Levinasian ethical reading of the text, for as Angelyn Mitchell states in Armstrongian fashion, Ò[i]f Our Nig is to be remembered as a novel of great significance, it must be resc ued from critics of a narrowly s tructuralist and a narrowly ethnic persuasion and must be placed in its proper context as a sentimental novel about women, mothering, children, and humanity as well as about hatred, indifference, bondage, and inhumanityÓ (19). Thou gh I take issue with categorically labeling WilsonÕs text as a Òsentimental novelÓ for the reasons already enumerated, Mitchell frames the ethical stakes of the larger critical conversation about Harriet E. Wilson and the notion of compassion in late -anteb ellum America. Though the narrative destabilization of melodramatic archetypes within sentimental fiction might seem to confuse through rhetorical ambivalence the textÕs ethical didacticism, the dialogic polyphony in Ruth Hall and Our Nig engenders a proto -Levinasian discourse on the duty of interpersonal responsiveness, in that the hybridization of their protagonists and 218 !antagonists resists their being totalized as either persecutors or disempowered Others. If the textsÕ various voices, i ncluding the narratorsÕ, offer overstated or contradictory sentimental prompts as to how the reader is ÒsupposedÓ to feel about their archetypes, failing to totalize either heroine or villainess successfully, their apparent need for public approbation sugg ests an instability of ideas with respect to an ethics of Otherness. What is ironic, then, is the fact that though Wilson and Fern never stabilize, via melodramatic dialogue, their protagonists and antagonists, blurring the Selfsame/Other binary, t heir na rratorsÕ appeals to the authority of the reader indicate that their audiences, and not their principal characters, are the ones totalized, in that both rely on the readerÕs emotional predictability. Unlike the previous two, this final chapter has focused on the affective -ethical response of the novelsÕ readers as key to understanding the polyphonic dynamism of the textsÕ discourses, dialogues and characters. And even though WilsonÕs text alternately implies a ÒcoloredÓ readership and a ÒwhiteÓ New England audience, like Fern she gambles the success of her didactic project Ñthe sentimental acquisition of the readersÕ sympathy and money Ñon the assumption of an affectively genericized ethical imagination on the part of the reader. Still, the intrusiveness of FernÕs and WilsonÕs narrators, often cynical and sarcastic in tone, shows that neither author was entirely willing to take such a rhetorical risk without emotively Òstacking the deck.Ó It would requ ire no small degree of readerly moral courage to resist FernÕs and WilsonÕs affective coercion of their audienceÕs ethical consciousness. That is, if both Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Bellmont exemplify interpersonal alienation resulting from being on the wrong sid e of public opinion regarding an authorized discourse based on archetypal heroines and villainess, the textsÕ anticipated readers may think twice before indulging in any proscribed ÒsentimentalÓ response for a non -sanctioned Other. 219 ! The paradoxical irony t herefore lies in the interactive dialogic representations of the textsÕ archetypes. Despite t he narratorsÕ prodding, protagonistsÕ, antagonistsÕ and supporting charactersÕ speech in both novels form a discursive polyphony that betrays, in contradiction to the voices of the narrators, an experience of Otherness and moral imperfection that would suggest an ethics of mutual solidarity. Yet the narrators suppress the development of any renegade solidarity of Otherness, either between the textsÕ dynamic arche types or within the readerÕs empathetic capacity to respond to unconventional Others in antagonists. Still, the legacy of Ruth Hall and Our Nig is neither the rhetorical failure of melodramatic archetypes nor the dialogic emergence of polyphonic ethical d iscourses, but the implication that the rhetoric of categorized totalities was not adequate in shaping the contours of interpersonal ethical discourse. Democracy could not be contained by types. Even so, many of those engaged in the polarizing national c onversations on slavery, ethno -racial injustice, socioeconomics, labor, intersectional politics and womenÕs rights were inclined to restore Òproper Ó rhetorical order to such moral -ethical discourses by reinforcing the conventional melodramatic archetypes a nd sentimental narratives that, as Fern and Wilson demonstrate, were ÒaffectivelyÓ collapsing in popular American fiction on the eve of the Civil War. 220 ! CONCLUSION In this study, two of the words I frequently use to describe the dial ogic -polyphonic phenomena in Cooper, Melville, Fern and Wilson are ÒironyÓ and Òambivalence.Ó To the extent that the moral rhetoric within the textsÕ dialogic structures vocalizes contrary ethical discourses on Otherness and totality, ÒambivalenceÓ is an appropriate descriptive. But ambivalence, polyphony or contradiction do not necessarily imply Òirony.Ó Furthermore, the presence of irony in a text is not always worthy of examination. That said, what is significantly ironic about the polyphonic ethical discourses within these novels? I posit that their historical -contextual situation as works of American fiction from the mid 1800Õs makes their unstable ethical polyphonies regarding Otherness reflective and ironic within this milieu. Additionally, in that the moral/ethical dialectic regarding Otherness in each text is pronounced, mirroring the ethical conversations of the place and period, similar to Jeffrey Nealon I hold that this irony reflects and anticipates the larger irony of Levinasian alterity ethics for a diverse ÒUnitedÓ States on the eve of Secession and at the threshold of late modernity. In an antebellum republic increasingly characterized, and lauded, by commentators like de Tocqueville for its demographic pluralism, et hical accommodation for the wellbeing of the absolutely Other in lieu of national sameness was giving way to the tendency to deal with social, cultural, political and racial differences through a mastering totalization enforced by militaristic power and vi olence. Furthermore, in the age of EmersonÕs and ThoreauÕs transcendentalism, when the primacy of individuality as sovereign subjectivity was gaining philosophical prominence, this collective Òwill to totalize Ó threatened to engulf the individualÕs irredu cible 221 !particularity within a thematizing discourse of hierarchical categorization. Each of the select ed novels attempts , through its rhetorical, dialogic representation , to call attention to the oppressive injustice born by any socioeconomic or political construct that would totalize and implementize individuals as objects. At the same time, these texts, like the systems they critique, voice a moral rhetoric that merely substitutes an alternative narrative of dehumanizing totalization as a counterweight to previous Òinjustices.Ó As a result, CooperÕs, MelvilleÕs, FernÕs and WilsonÕs polyphonic texts embody varying degrees of irony, if not hypocrisy. Yet the greater significance of these textsÕ polyphonic, ethical ambivalence and irony is not just a matte r of displaying the imaginative limitations in the authorsÕ moral -ethical visions, or that, in postmodern hindsight, they somehow should have Òknown better.Ó I do more than merely call attention to their inability to envision an ethical society that ackno wledges the collective and individual moral invocation to assume responsibility for the Good of the particular Other within an escalating national conversation ÒironicallyÓ centered around questions of personhood, human flourishing and justice. I argue th at these texts depict an ethical quandary implied by LevinasÕ ethics and still confronted by identity politics today, within academic literary studies and in general: can a political society founded on ÒethicalÓ notions of human dignity and individual righ ts, one wracked by violent social upheavals in seeking to refine and redefine these same principles, respond to the moral demand to seek the well -being of the individuated Other without rhetorical totalization within an ÒethicalÓ dialectic? Do Cooper, Melville, Fern and Wilson point to a persistent inability to treat the ethical subject, the absolutely Other, as anything but a representative type ? Levinas argues that rhetoric itself is the beginning of such discursive thematization ( Totality and Infinity 70). I posit that the morally didactic rhetoric in fiction is no exception. Thus, to the extent that these authors suggest the demand for 222 !an ethics of Otherness and particularity while employing the mastering optic of totalization, their works do contai n a tragic irony. LevinasÕ ethics of alterity help us to understand the ethical paradox within these novelsÕ ironic dialectics, which in turn exposes the enduring modern conundrum of fecundating totalization implicit within LevinasÕ own rhetoric; his media tions on the particular, response -evoking Otherness of the ÒpersecutorÓ acknowledges this problem ( Otherwise Than Being 111). At the same time, Mikhail BakhtinÕs formalist criticism on novelistic dialogism and polyphony allows us, as modern readers, to un earth redemptive ethical ambivalences within the polyphonic -dialogic structures of Cooper, Melville, Fern and Wilson. For example, CooperÕs inability t o contain classes of persons Ñand the ideologies they represent Ñwithin upstate New YorkÕs historic hierar chy of wealth and ethnicity in the Littlepage Trilogy gestures to an ethics of particularity, and not just a sense of interpersonal obligation predefined by oneÕs position within a socioeconomic structure. Melville articulates in Israel Potter and ÒBenito CerenoÓ the inter -subjective ethical complications that arise when different Northern and Southern constructions of oppressed Otherness conflict. He opposes the totality of the urban -industrial yeoman with that of the African slave, positing as well the moral -ethical confusion confronting any thematizing rhetoric that emerges in contexts of racial, functional and linguistic hybridity where the OtherÕs particularity resists the mastery of type -categorization. Finally, despite their rhetorical projects tha t would convey where the ÒmoralÓ readerÕs sympathies and antipathies ÒoughtÓ to lie, FernÕs and WilsonÕs melodramatic dialogic representations of their heroines and villainesses also create hybridity in a sentimental context through the amalgamation of pro tagonist and antagonist traits within would -be archetypes, destabilizing the Selfsame/Other binary as well as blurring the ethical boundary between persecutor and victim. 223 !In each text, the charactersÕ dialogues convey through attributing quotation, idiol ectical diction and phonetic orthography a particularity that also, within the authorsÕ totalizing rhetoric, ironically associates the speaking subject with a ÒparticularÓ type. L ikewise, the polyphony of such particularized voice -types reinforces a singu lar authorized discourse concerning ethics and thematized Otherness while evidencing the presence of ethical counter -discourses that point to the invocative presence of irreducible Other. Therefore, I conclude that these texts offer a rehabilitative ambiv alence that allows them to transcend the confines of ÒmereÓ tragic irony. BakhtinÕs critical method also allows us to discover additional, latent interpretive possibilities for Levinaisan ethics when applied to narratives otherwise trapped by the paradox of rhetorical totalization. And, to the degree that his conception of ÒanswerabilityÓ for the Other tracks with LevinasÕ ethics of Òresponsibility,Ó my deployment of BakhtinÕs analysis of novelistic dialogism and discursive polyphony lays the me thodologic al groundwork for an ethico -formalist critical approach to the study of earlier American literature that, aligned as it is with the work of Lorna Wood and Jeffrey Nealon, would serve as an interpretive complement to the continued application of power disco urse methodologies/identity politics as integral parts of the field. I conclude this project where I began, with a reflection from Hayden White. Considering that I made a decision to pursue an ethical reading of selections of antebellum American fiction, White expresses best the ethical stakes of the sorts of theory literary scholars choose Ñor refuse Ñin doing textual analysis. He writes: there is good theory and bad theory Ñby which I mean theory that conduces to morally responsible thought and that which leads us away from itÉ Theory asks us to consider what, from a specific perspective, will be permitted to count as a fact, the truth, rationality, morality, and so forth. [É] This is why the only 224 !criterion that is appropriately invoked for the assessment of a theory is its utility in promoting aims, goals, or ends of a specifically ethical, moral or political kind. Bad theory promotes bad ends, good theory, good onesÉ This is why theoretical thought is always involved in ethical and aesthetic as well as cognitive concerns. And this is why a given theory is appropriately assessed as to its ethical and aesthetic implications and not, as in science and philosophy, as to its cognitive validity alone. ( Figural Realism viii -xi). He then adds: Òthe relation between literary discourse (where writing is supposed to be free and even abandoned) and historical discourse (where factuality, realism, and rational commonsense are supposed to prevail) provides a microcosm of modern Western thoughtÕs effort to relate imagination (the vision of what might be) and commonsenseÓ (ix). In broad strokes, White synthesizes the purpose of my study: calling attention to the crucial ÒdialogicÓ intersection of an ethical (ÒgoodÓ) theoretical practice, literary discourse and histo rical context. My choice of primary texts, theoretical framework and accompanying criticism takes all of these components into account. Indeed, LevinasÕ ethics of alterity and particularity, novelistic dialogism, discursive polyphony and the political a nd ideological dialectics of the United States in the mid 1800Õs are all intellectual and aesthetic facets of a common ethical narrative. It is a story that speaks to the ongoing modern dilemma of discerning how the moral subject ÒoughtÓ to respond to the individualized Other as a unique human being as opposed to a generic representative of a demographic totality with an impersonal, abstracted ÒrightÓ to ÒLife, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.Ó I also argue that the totalization of the Other is an ac utely modern concern, as Levinas affirms in his reflections on violent totalitarianism and the State in the 19 th and 20 th centuries in Alterity & Transcendence . In particular, I point to the technological 225 !proliferation and urban mechanization following th e Industrial Revolution as well as to Adam SmithÕs laissez faire economics, John Stuart MillÕs rational utilitarianism and Thomas MalthusÕ dehumanizing mathematics as prime examples, in that late modernity would be characterized by the mass replication of identical, interchangeable implements and the translation of soci alÑand ethical Ñproblems into cold economic equations and depersonalized demographic appellations like Òsurplus population.Ó Such a context, and such language , reduces the particular human subject to a type , little more than a generic, replaceable cog in a totalizing machine. That said, James Fenimore Coooper, Herman Melville, Fanny Fern and Harriet E. 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